#my boss has started to make comments about how unkempt I look

[smarterthantheaverageloser]

How to lose 20 pounds in 3.5 weeks!

Have an autoimmune disorder

[fakesurprise]

A First Adorcism

The worst part about no one having seen the ghost was that I had no idea what I was getting into. Marcel had vouched for me to the family as his student - which technically I was, seeing as I’d aided him in helping four ghosts in the past two years. I had no ranking on Hauntr, but Hauntr was mostly Yelp for exorcists and adorcists were the opposite of exorcists. Marcel was on it, but often had to deal with being review-bombed, hateful comments and threats on his life. It would likely be even worse for me, which I wasn’t looking forward to.

Being an exorcist wasn’t the most high-paying job, and some of them could make poltergeists look kind. I touch the phone in my pocket, knowing Marcel is only ten minutes away and let go as I walk toward the house. It’s raining, which feels oddly natural but does mean the fall chill in the air can hide a ghost better than normal. Not that I’m worried, but I’m almost not-not worried.

The ghost had died in his sleep from a heart attack, which didn’t normally make ghosts except that Edith Danby had begun packing up things to move less than a week after the vacation. Her son had offered to let her stay with him for a month or two and she was putting things away beforehand as a way of trying to put the past in order. Which was all fine and good until every moving box and suitcase was destroyed, the destruction harming nothing within the containers.

She’d run into the garage, called her son. He called the local priest who realized a ghost who could do that was more than a simple exorcism could fix and he called someone who called someone and reached Marcel. The Quercus Foundation doesn’t advertise at all save by word of mouth, but most of the time it’s enough for us.

I’d thought ‘for us’ without hesitating. I decide to take that as a good omen as I turn off my Toyota and walk up the driveway. The house is a small two-storey affair. Peeling paint, slightly unkempt lawn: a home that had aged along with the owners, just far enough out of town for no one to comment, not so far that people would worry and check in. No lights are on, the doors closed up tight as I walk up to the front door.

The key that Comor Danby gave me works, the door opening without issue.

As first steps go, this is good. I pocket the key and walk inside, looking about slowly.

The house smells slightly cold and musty but looks fine. Dated furniture and wallpaper, an older-style kitchen kept clean and tidy. No shattered windows, no plates hurling through the air. Nothing dangerous, but there was still the feeling that I wasn’t alone.

“Charles Danby?” I say, keeping my hands visible and loose at my sides.

The ghost walks down the stairs, each foot touching a stair. He is translucent, but not overly so. Slight stubble on his cheeks, wearing the pajamas he had been wearing when he died. He is frowning, and there is a cold glint of anger in his eyes that his family never mentioned.

The dead are never the person they were in life, and the biggest danger for the living is to forget that.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my home?”

The temperature drops about me. Nothing is flung through the air, no force shoves me into me, but his anger twists into the world. Lost. Afraid. Alone.

“My name is Miella Sinclair,” I say quietly, so he has to make the effort to listen in. “I’m here to help you.”

“Help? I’m fine. If this is some attempt by Edith to get me to join that jazzercise class again, I’ll have you know that it’s just people trying to con exercise out of those who don’t need it.”

“No, it’s not. Jazzercise is for the living. You’ve been dead for over two weeks, Mr. Danby.”

He stops. The air doesn’t get colder, which I take as a good sign. “I beg your pardon?” “You died in your sleep. Most people who do that don’t become ghosts, but there are exceptions. It’s common for you to not realize you are a ghost, but I am six feet tall and you are eye level with me.”

He starts, lowering down to the ground. Stares down at his feet, then up at me. “Where is Edith?” “She is going to spend a few days with Comor. She needed space away from memories, but then you destroyed all the moving boxes and that changed things.”

“I didn’t - I thought we’d had a fight. That she found out….” he trails off.

I wait.

“The second of June, 1972. I was at a convention for work. I almost cheated on her. I never told her, I always meant to. It came closer than I would have liked, being talked into a co-workers room and she was my boss so I thought it was work until it wasn’t. I didn’t lose my job, but it was close. Comor was two years old, and I almost threw my life away after three glasses of beer. Edith always said she loved me, but she never knew.”

“You want to tell her?” His eyes flash. A flicker of blue-white energy and the air takes on a discordant hum.

“Mr. Danby. Charles. I said I was here to help you. An exorcist wouldn’t say that.”

The hum dissipates into a buzzing. “Then what are you?” “Exorcists banish. Adorcists like myself help you let go and pass on. No one knows what happens to ghosts. No one knows what happens after we die. But some of us have learned another way to help the living and the dead.” The ghost doesn’t move, the hum of menace fading into a soft whisper. “I can tell your wife and son what you told me. But you have to understand that Edith isn’t going to come back while you are here. She might not see you, but she’ll sense you and feel like a stranger in her own home.”

“I’d never want that. She meant the world to me.” “She did, yes. And your family loved you enough to contact someone like me to help you.”

“How?” the ghost asks.

“You spoke in the past tense. That is part of it. You won’t stop caring for her. But you are an echo of Charles Danby, a reflection of who you were. You can do things you never could in life, and you could hurt those you care for when trying to help them.”

“I’d never hurt Edith like that!”

“You ruined over two suitcases. What if she packed more? What if you’d thought she was leaving you?”

He stops moving. The air ceases to be quiet so cool about me.

“I don’t want to hurt my family.”

“They know that. I know that.” I held out my right hand. “You just need to relax and take my hand. Meditate. Jazzercise, in its own way?”

That wins a startled laugh from the ghost. “No dancing. I was never a good dancer.” “No dancing, unless you want to.”

The ghost floats over, more translucent than before.

I reach out, trying to visualize the part where the ghost has touched a psychic scar in the world, as if my words can gently relax the wound.

“Relax and let go. Relax with the knowledge that you are loved. You slept then, so you can sleep now. Breathe in the world, breathe out with it. The moment is everything. The moment is nothing. Relax and be at peace.”

The ghost fades from my sight, and I feel the moment Charles Danby departs entirely, the sensation of a soap bubble popping against my skin.

I wait a minute. I text Marcel that I’m at 85% surety. Put my phone away.

“I’m not going to tell Edith Danby. She doesn’t deserve that pain.”

I wait another minute. Nothing happens, and nothing continues to happen.

“Okay. Good. Be at peace, Charles Danby.”

I relax my senses and walk through the house from top to bottom, but no trace of the ghost remains. I let out a breath, and another one, and head back to the front door. The door opens. I close it behind me. Wait ten minute. Enter and leave again.

Then call Marcel as I walk back to my car, dropping the house keys near the front door . “I think it’s good. I’d like you to check it out to be certain?” He chuckles softly. “I’ll be there in five.”

Marcel drives a range rover, which he parks further down the road. He walks past me without a glance, snags the keys and goes inside. I wait a minute. Two. Five. He comes out at just after the eight minute mark, locking the door and walks over to my car.

I accept the keys.

“Drink?” he offers.

“At least two. You know a place?”

He nods and I follow his vehicle to a slightly upscale bar. It still has pool tables but at least no televisions. We order high balls and sit in a booth with a good view of the front door out of habit.

Marcel is easily old enough to be my father, his face lined with age though his white beard hides most of it. He has a sip of his drink. "How was it?” “Good. He got angry once thinking I was an exorcist, but I talked him down, learned his secret.”

“Took longer than I’d thought you would.”

“After he was gone, I waited and then said I wasn’t going to tell his secret. He didn’t manifest.”

Marcel frowns slightly. “That was very risky, Miella.”

“I know. But I wanted to be sure I’d helped him be at peace.”

He lets out a sigh. “This will go on the official report, but in all honesty I did the same. Don’t know of an adorcist who doesn’t do that their first time out. That will be on the report too. Do you plan to tell the family the secret?” I nod. We don’t have to, but it’s generally considered good form to do so. “I’ll return the keys and meet you back at the office?”

He nods, and we clink glasses before finishing the drinks and ordering a light supper and water.

I had expected to feel tense or relieved, but all I feel is eager. “What next?”

` “You’ll go over what you did and could have done better a few times, and we’ll do another assignment together. Two more on your own with my near, another on your own with me a city away. And if all goes well, you’ll be able to do some assignments on your own just fine after that.”

We clink glasses and the world seems almost normal.

[secretpeachtea]

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 4

Title: the celebrity and his con man

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: LETS GOOOOO (hope yall enjoy)

Previous///Next

“(Name)-san, you mind passing me the sesame seeds over there? And, on the way back, pass on this order to that customer at the last seat over there.” Osamu held out the finished onigiri on one hand while gesturing an open hand with the other.

You grab the sesame seed container with haste and take the onigiri from your boss. “Got it! You also have another order of one Pickled Plum onigiri, less salted!”

Osamu gives you a thumbs up before getting back to work immediately, and you hand over the order to the awaiting customer. 

You’ve had your fair share of lunch rushes, but today has been busier than usual. You and Osamu haven’t had a single break since the shop opened for the day, at least one customer arriving every time one leaves. Suddenly, the phone rings and you go ahead and answer it. “Hello, this is Onigiri Miya! How can I help you?”

You hear the front entrance open, but since you were busy jotting down the phone order, you didn’t get the chance to glance at the two people who just arrived.

“Why couldn’t Fukunaga just cook some food?” a monotone voice drawled.

“Kenma, the man sprained his wrist and you still expect him to cook for all of us?” Kuroo combed a hand through his signature bedhead and began to gesture at himself as his friend pouted. “Look, I even came straight from work in my suit to accompany you so you wouldn’t have to carry everything alone.”

The two men walked up to the register just as you ended the call. You quickly passed on the note with the written down order to your boss and tucked your hair behind your ear to get it out of your face. You finally got the chance to direct your full attention on the people in line. 

“Hello! What can I-...!!!” You didn’t get to finish your sentence once you realized who was ordering. Kodzuken, the Youtuber you practically spent the majority of your free time watching, was standing less than 3 feet in front of you in the flesh.

“Um...is there something wrong?” Kenma asks slightly confused at your frozen expression. Your mind was a jumbled mess as you attempted to say something coherent, failing in the end.

“N-no! Uh...you...I just...um…,” you stutter.

Before you could make a bigger fool of yourself, Kuroo leans forward with a smug grin. “Hm? Kenma, it seems like you got yourself a fan~”

“Oh…”

You and Kenma just simply stare at one another for a moment not really knowing what to do in this situation. All of a sudden you hear someone clear their throat rather loudly behind the two people in front of you. While you were distracted, you didn’t notice that another customer had entered the shop and was waiting in line. This snaps you out of your daze. “O-oh! Right. Sorry about that. What can I get for you guys?”

“There’s actually quite a bit of food to order, so I’ll list it out slowly.” Kuroo pulls out his phone and opens up a note file. “Two Tamago onigiri, one Miso, three spicy cucumber…”

As Kuroo continues to relay the order, you frequently hear someone scoffing or clicking their teeth in irritation from behind him and Kenma. You try not to pay attention and focus on the large order being made. Kuroo eventually gets to the end of the list and you let him know the total cost.

“What’s the name for the order?”

“Kuroo.”

You type in the name into the register and give him the printed out receipt. “Alright, Kuroo-san. Just letting you know, because it’s a large order, it might take some time.”

“That’s fine. We don’t mind waiting a bit.”

Kuroo and Kenma walk off to the side to let the person behind them order next. A displeased looking man treads forward with a bit of a demeaning posture and a cup of coffee held out in his right hand. He’s adorned in a suit that’s much too tight for his form and has a toupe two shades darker than his natural hair color poorly placed on top of his head.

Before you could even greet him, the man flails out his left arm in exasperation. “Finally! I don’t have time to wait for children.”

You try your best to keep your face from contorting into a glare. Not wanting to prolong his presence inside the shop, you choose to ignore his rude comment.

“Hello, sir. What can I get for you?” You ask.

The man takes a brief glance at the menu. “Make me an Unagi onigiri.”

“Alright. That’ll be-”

“And, make my order before theirs.” He points at Kuroo and Kenma who look up from their phones and seem just as shocked as you are. So, he was going to be one of those customers. You think you see Kenma shifting around a bit from the corner of your eye, but you’re too appalled by the person in front of you to really pay any mind.

“Excuse me?” You’re in a bit of disbelief at the words coming out of this man’s mouth.

He raises one of his unkempt eyebrows and sneers. “You’re really going to make me repeat myself? I said to make mine before theirs. They ordered way too much.”

“I apologize, but I can’t do that for you,” you reply with your teeth slightly clenched in frustration. “There are also a few customers before you who are still waiting for their meals as well.”

“Listen.” He lets out an unpleasant huff and eyes you down with a condescending stare. “I’m on a tight schedule. I think I should have priority. I’m a businessman, so my time is important.”

You shake your head, the fake smile on your lips feeling heavier by the second. “Like I said, sir. I can’t do that for you.”

“Are you kidding me?!” The businessman shouts. You flinch at the sudden outburst. “I waited for those children to finish their order and you can’t even make my order first?”

By now, everyone in the shop is watching the scene between the register girl and the entitled businessman. Osamu looks just about ready to intervene and go off on the customer, but you signal him to stay where he was under the counter. He reluctantly stays back, but makes sure to keep an eye on you.

“Sir, you’ll have to wait for your order like everyone else or find another place to eat.” Your tone is firm despite your exhaustion as you answer back. The man did not seem to like your response very much.

“How dare you!”

Everything happened so fast. The male lifts his right arm that’s in possession of the cup of coffee, obviously getting ready to hurl it directly at you. Your feet are glued to the ground in panic, so you fling your arms over your head instinctively. Your boss practically leaps towards your direction and encases your body with his own to protect you. You hear a splashing noise, but your vision is too obstructed by Osamu’s broad shoulders to witness what just happened. There’s no coffee on you, so you immediately assume that Osamu took the impact. 

“Osamu-san! Are you-” You cut yourself off as you grab onto Osamu’s completely dry uniform. He seems to be just as perplexed as you are, but forms a slightly amused expression when he turns his head. Confused, you look over his shoulder to follow his line of sight and your eyes automatically widen at the view in front of you.

Standing in a puddle of his own lukewarm beverage, the rude man is frozen in disbelief. His wet hair is flat against his forehead and the tight suit is drenched in coffee. The man still held his coffee cup in the air, but what really brings the whole scene together is the tight grip on the man’s right arm by none other than Kuroo himself. He had twisted the man’s arm just enough to have the liquid fall directly downward.

“Whoops~ I just tried to save the nice girl, but I guess I overshot it.” Kuroo’s lips create a mischievous smile. “I wouldn’t recommend going to work with coffee all over your suit and your wig. Although, your boss might, uh, loosen up that tight schedule of yours for you if you do.”

The man comes to his senses and aggressively shoves Kuroo’s grip away. “You ungrateful brats! I’m going to call the police!”

You furrow your eyebrows, not liking the idea of the police getting involved in such a trivial thing. 

Luckily, Kuroo seems to have something up his sleeve. “You can try. But then I guess there wouldn’t be an excuse to not turn you in for harassment and attempted assault. My friend here got everything on camera.”

Sure enough, when you direct your gaze onto the quieter one of the two friends, he has his phone in his hands in a recording position. He must’ve started recording as soon as the whole situation began. The rude customer turns beet red with anger and embarrassment. He must’ve realized that he ultimately lost because he swiftly stomps to the exit and slams the door shut, grumbling insults under his breath. Some of the other customers start clapping with satisfaction, while Kuroo and Kenma fist bump each other.

You let out a sigh of relief, but then you remember that Osamu was still holding onto you. Your boss must’ve been caught up with everything that happened too since he still had a fairly tight grip on you. Despite the warm feeling that was tingling your insides, you lightly tap his elbow and look up at him with a soft smile. “Hey, I think the coast is clear now.”

Looking you directly in the eyes, a light blush forms on his cheeks and he quickly lets you go even taking a few steps back to give you some space. He starts rubbing the back of his neck shyly. “Right. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for such a heroic gesture,” you laugh and Osamu’s face flushes a bit more. You then turn your attention to Kuroo and Kenma with a grateful smile. “Thanks guys. I don’t know if I could’ve held it in any longer if he actually threw his drink on me.”

Kuroo returns your smile and leans against the counter nonchalantly. “No problem. That was really uncalled for.”

Kenma silently nods his head in acknowledgement before directing his gaze to the floor. “Kuroo, the floor is wet.”

The taller man sheepishly turns to you after realizing how much of a mess he actually made with the spilled coffee. “Ah, I’ll clean that up.”

Kuroo attempted to wipe the floor with some small napkins displayed on one of the tables, but there was a surprisingly substantial amount of coffee that was still spread across the floor. You tell him that you’ll just wipe the floor with the mop and to dispose of the used napkins. He tries to apologize again, but you brush it off since it’s really not that big of a deal. You direct him to the bathroom and prepare your cleaning supplies. During this time a group of girls start whispering to each other at the corner of the room, stealing glances at Kenma. Everything that happened seems to have brought some unwanted attention to the gamer.

“Hey, isn’t he that super famous Youtuber?”

“Yeah, that has to be him! We should go and get a picture with him. I bet everyone else would be so jealous.”

“I heard he’s loaded with cash too. Maybe if we play our cards right, he’ll buy us a drink or even a new purse.”

As you mop the floor, you hear the clicking of heels coming closer to where you are. Curiously, you turn your head and see three young females encircle Kenma. You would even say they have pretty faces if their expressions weren’t so predatory. He looks extremely uneasy over the close proximity and sudden attention from the strangers. They all speak one after the other without giving the poor guy any room to reject.

“Hey, you’re really popular, right? I’ve seen you on Youtube and you have millions of subscribers!”

“Do you wanna hang out with us? There’s a bar down the street that has really strong drinks. They’re kind of pricey, but I’m sure you’ll be able to afford it.”

“That sounds like a great idea, no? Come on, you could have some fun with the three of us.”

At this time, Kuroo walks out of the bathroom and immediately notices his friend’s obvious discomfort. He shakes his head in dismay and starts making his way towards the gamer to play the savior role again. This time, however, you seem to be one step ahead of him. One of the girls reaches out to try and grab onto Kenma’s upper arm, and you feel something in you snap. Before she could come in contact with Kenma, you thrust the back of your mop right into her side earning an ear-piercing yelp.

“OW!”

As you turn around to face the group, you make sure to add a little swing to your arms and the bottom of the soaked mop splatters onto another girl’s heels.

“EW! What the hell?!”

“Oh! Sorry about that!” You apologize half-heartedly and tilt your head innocently. You’re proud to say that you were even able to hold your best counterfeit customer service smile as you continued. “You see, the shop is pretty small so you probably shouldn’t hang around in the middle of it. I think there’s a pretty big thrift shop down the block if you wanna kill time. You could also probably buy a replacement purse for the fake one you’re holding now.”

The girls don’t seem as adamant as the previous ill-mannered customer, so they just speedily strut outside with lowered heads and annoyed frowns. Still feeling a bit petty, you make sure to wave a hand sarcastically. “Don’t get your extensions stuck on the door on your way out!”

You feel a pair of eyes trained onto your form, so you make the effort to turn around. Kenma is just quietly fixated on you. You shift a bit at the awkward moment before breaking the silence. “Ah, sorry Kod-...uh...Kozume-san. You just looked a bit uncomfortable with those girls and I was still a bit upset by the man from before.”

There’s a small quirk to the corner of his lips. “Thanks. And, just Kenma is fine.”

Your body tenses a bit at the Youtuber’s words. “B-but…”

It was at this time Kuroo decided to make his presence known. He was slightly bent over with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. “That’s right~ You mentioned that you watch his videos. How long have you been a fan?”

“Um...about 2 years?” You scratch your cheek shyly as you remember all the lonely nights in your apartment when you binged on Kodzuken’s streams while munching on five different brands of cookies. “The videos got me through some rough patches in college.”

“That’s just about the time he even started making videos. You must be a pretty loyal fan then.“ Kuroo hums in thought. His eyes shift between you and his friend before ultimately landing on his male figure. “Kenma, why don’t you take a picture with her?”

Both of your hands shoot up at the suggestion and start waving them in dismissal. “N-n-no! That’s okay! I don’t want to make him more uncomfortable!”

“Aw, come on! No guy would mind taking a picture with a pretty and sensible girl like yourself. You’re definitely more pleasant than those fakes from before.” Kuroo takes this time to rest his elbow on your shoulder and draw a bit closer to you while still facing Kenma. Your nose catches the subtle musky cologne from the tall man and can’t help but appreciate the attractive scent despite your current predicament. 

The two of you continue to go back and forth for a bit, neither of you backing down with your stubbornness. Kenma just watches in amusement for another minute or two before deciding to finally say something. “I don’t mind.”

You and Kuroo both pause when you hear Kenma’s voice. Once you actually comprehend what Kenma had just said, it takes all of your energy to try and calm your excited heart. Kuroo grins triumphantly and claps his hands together. “Then, that’s that!

After pulling out his own phone from his pocket, Kuroo signals you and Kenma to get closer until your shoulders are touching. You manage to calm your heart to a certain extent and pose with a small peace sign. Kuroo takes a couple of pictures and even changes the camera to selfie mode with all three of you for one of them. 

“Hey, what’s your number? I’ll send the pictures to you.” Kuroo passes you his phone and you type your contact information in. When you return his phone, he sends the images right away and you feel vibrations in your pocket. When you pull it out the check, you can’t help but smile. You tap one of the pictures to see the full screen and surprisingly you look a lot calmer than you had felt at the time. You and Kenma were both holding up a peace sign with happy expressions. You were beaming while Kenma sported a small, but genuine smile. The picture was perfect. You were definitely changing this picture to your lock screen soon.

“Order’s ready for Kuroo-san!”

You let out a silent gasp when you remember that you’re still in the middle of working after hearing your boss. You make the effort to get rid of all the cleaning supplies before rushing back to your spot on the register. “Sorry, boss!”

Osamu’s pretty chill about the whole situation and you’re once again thanking the universe for gifting you with such a kind boss. As you’re passing the food to Kenma and Kuroo in multiple plastic bags, the latter looks into one of them and gives Osamu a bewildered look. There was an extra bag of side dishes and drinks. “We didn’t pay for these.”

“Take it as a thanks for helping out and saving my little coworker.” Your boss just smiles and you just pout at Osamu’s teasing.

“Are you sure? It’s more like we drove away some of your customers.”

“No worries. I’d rather run a small business with decent customers than have to deal with people like them for a couple extra points on reputation,” Osamu reassured. “But, if you’re still concerned, I guess I wouldn’t mind an autograph to put up in the shop. Only if Kozume-san is alright with that, of course.”

To say the least, Kodzuken’s autograph was framed and displayed on the wall next to the windows by the end of the day. Kenma had even posted a picture of him and his high school friends from Nekoma eating the food on social media while tagging Onigiri Miya. This would surely bring in a lot more customers to the shop in the future.

Despite the busy work day and the mishaps in between with impolite customers, you had a great experience. You never thought you’d ever get to stand next to the only Youtuber you’ve ever really wanted to interact with in person, let alone get a nice picture with him. The world was really on your side when you got accepted into this job.

“Didn’t know you were such an avid video game fan,” Osamu points out as you’re both wiping down the counter and putting away ingredients. It was closing time, so the both of you were on cleaning duty.

“I actually don’t play as much. I mostly just enjoy watching other people play since I don’t really have a lot of free time,” you reply back.

“Oh yeah?” Osamu playfully flicks a stray sesame seed in your direction. “You sure you didn’t just fall head over heels for Kozume-san?”

Your cheeks become warm. “W-what? Stop teasing me! It’s not like that!” 

Your boss laughs at your flustered state. Feeling satisfied with your reaction, he changes the subject. “You know, him and Kuroo-san played volleyball in high school the same time I did.”

This piqued your interest. “Did you guys play any matches against each other?”

“Nah. I saw them around, but we never got the chance to play against each other. To be honest, my team was a bit more focused on facing the schools that had the top spikers in the nation.”

At the mention of talented spikers, something clicks in your memory. “Oh! I think there was someone in one of my classes that mentioned something about being on a volleyball team with a top ranked spiker. He said he’s an alumni from...Sarato...Shirata…”

“Shiratorizawa?” Osamu corrects.

You confirm with a nod. “Yeah! That was it!”

“Ah, Shiratorizawa...That team had some pretty interesting players and there was always some kind of commotion wherever they went. If I remember correctly, they had a guy that kind of looked like Benkei*.”

“That’s an interesting comparison.” You snort at this comment. 

“If you ever saw him, you’d agree.” Osamu tied up the last trash bag and hefted it up onto his shoulder. You go ahead and wipe down the now empty trash can.

Placing the washcloth in the laundry pile, you start heading towards the back room to get ready to leave. “Well, point him out if he ever visits the shop, or any one of them for that matter. All of the people you’ve ever mentioned from your high school days seem to be entertaining.”

Osamu chuckled. “You have no idea.”

Benkei: a japanese warrior from the past; also a reference to Haikyuu season 3 hehe

A/N: kuroo and kenma were done so well this past week’s episode and UGH KENMA. actually UGH NEKOMA. This chapter actually took me a fat minute to plan, so i hope it’s not too obvious that i lost some sleep over this (but dont worry i had fun hehe)

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

They’re Funny That Way, Chapter 2

A/N: Hey, guys!  I’m pretty happy with the feedback I received on Chapter 1, and I’m so so thankful to everyone who took the time to read it (especially those of you who offered me kind and encouraging words, ily!)  So, the story continues!

I’ve found over the years that dialogue is my biggest strength, and scenes with little to no dialogue stretch and challenge me a bit.  So this chapter was a touch longer in development than the last. But I hope to get a consistent update schedule going pretty soon here because I have a very fleshed-out plan for this fic.

That said, I hope you enjoy!  Please like, reblog, and comment if you do!

(cross-posted to my AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/marie_deneuve)

______________________________________________________

Arthur Fleck has seen an angel. There is no other way to describe it.

Things are especially tedious since he returned from his latest stint at the psychiatric ward. The same things, day in and day out, until each day begins to blur together like a watercolor painting. No clear lines separating one grueling day from the next, every shape hazy and undefined beyond the smoke of his cigarettes. He himself disappears into the smog and goes about his life unseen. Unknown. Not to mention, he's now on thin ice at work – Hoyt, his boss, made that much clear to him right off the bat. "You've missed a lot of days, Arthur," he had said the morning he came in to pick up his belongings. "Just try not to be a pain in the ass. No fucking up, you got that?" Arthur can't remember how he responded, if he responded. Only that the voice in his head (it's his mother's voice that time) told him to Smile. At least you got your job back. It's so much easier to smile when he's Carnival, and not just because the expression is painted on for him. He loves his job, honestly, he does. Every once in a while, when he's working gigs at birthday parties or at the children's hospital, when he's able to make the kids laugh, it seems worth it. For just a minute, it seems as though he's good for something after all. As though maybe when his mother used to tell him his purpose was to spread joy and laughter in the world, she was right. And maybe he could actually do it. Then he takes off the wig, the brightly-colored clothes, the greasepaint...and the illusion is broken. Sometimes it's easy to forget the husk of a man that lies underneath the makeup. Arthur Fleck. Who is Arthur Fleck? Hard to say. Carnival is easier. And so Carnival stays that evening as he walks home. Also because he's just so fucking exhausted. Not changing out of his clown costume at work means a little less dealing with his coworkers and a little more getting home to sequester himself from the rest of the world for the remainder of the evening. The woman on the elevator is not part of the plan. She holds the door open for him and retreats silently into a corner. The air between them is still as death as they ascend, her eyes burning holes in the back of his coat all the while. Arthur initially avoids looking back at her, afraid that if he does, she'll vanish into thin air. He's becoming too used to his lonely, damaged psyche playing such tricks on him. She never even pushes any of the buttons for a specific floor – if she's a hallucination, she's not even a convincing one. The trip is not smooth by any means – surprise, surprise – and the woman seems more than a little perturbed. "Does...that happen often?" Her voice, gentle and feathery, suddenly drifts over him, covering him like a weighted blanket. He turns to face her fully, intending to respond, but pauses when he feels his heart stop. She is undoubtedly the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. She instantly evokes images of those actresses in the black and white films of his youth. The same powerful air of sophistication as Grace Kelly. The same allure as Rita Hayworth. Only she's in vivid color, and they're not separated by a screen, and she's so close. Even in the elevator's dingy lighting, her blonde curls glow like a halo. Her full lips are pulled into a concerned frown, and her icy blue eyes are trained quizzically on him. Right, that's because she asked him a question. And he's so far done nothing but stare at her like a depraved creep. Carnival, his work persona, doesn't generally speak - and thank fuck for that. Arthur doesn't think he could power out a single word if he wanted to, his mouth has gone so dry. In the end, all he manages is a shrug. Idiot. She must not think he's a total loser because she keeps talking to him anyway, even pays him a compliment – a compliment! When's the last time that happened? He's definitely glad he kept the clown costume on now; interacting with her this way is safer, gives him less of a chance to screw it up. Less of a chance for her to see how pathetic he really is underneath it all. All good things must come to an end, however, and they do eventually reach the eighth floor. And when they do, she surprises him yet again. "I'm new to the building, by the way – my name's Emma. It's a pleasure." Emma. Emma. Emma. She extends a perfectly-manicured hand, and for a moment, Arthur just stares. This is most likely when he finds out that this woman, this magnificent vision in his hallway, this Emma, is nothing more than a fantastic dream. And if she is, in fact, a dream, he's not so sure he's ready to wake up. Nevertheless, he gingerly returns the gesture. Their hands connect. Soft and tentative, but tangible. Warm. Light. So light that Arthur feels as though he's floating, hovering just above the tiled floor, and he could continue to float forever, as long as he just holds on. To his disappointment, she is the one to let go. Arthur crashes back down to the floor, a chill running through him at the sudden loss of contact, simple though it was. She bids him good night and takes off down the hall, the click of her heels in perfect sync with the thrumming of his heart against his ribcage. Emma. Emma. Emma. He gets the feeling he won't forget that name for as long as he lives. Arthur Fleck has seen an angel. And she is so, so beautiful. _____________________________________ "Hey, you look like shit." "Thanks, motherfucker." On her way to the kitchen, Emma totters past the open bathroom door, where Eddie is busy shaving his face. Apparently not too busy to comment on her fresh-out-of-bed appearance, though. She will admit, she's not surprised if she doesn't look her best at the moment. Almost a week of sleeping on a rapidly-deflating air mattress on Eddie's living room floor has not done her back any favors. The bags forming under her eyes make her look like she hasn't slept since the seventies, and her hair has become stringy and unkempt since the last time it was washed. To top it off, she still has none of her clothes or other belongings. So she's currently sporting an oversized Creedence Clearwater Revival t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both borrowed from Eddie. They hang off of her smaller frame, giving her the appearance of a sickly child who will be hard-pressed to survive the coming winter. "You making breakfast?" her brother asks, poking his head into the foyer. A glob of shaving cream drips onto the tile below him, and Emma grimaces. She returns her focus to her previous mission of rifling through the freezer, pushing past an assortment of cheap vodka and TV dinners until she finds his deposit of frozen waffles. "Eggos!" she calls out. "Cool! Pop an extra one in the toaster for me, yeah?" Emma complies, setting an extra plate out for him as well. As the toaster whirs quietly atop the kitchen counter, she begins her morning ritual of planting herself on the sofa and burying her face in the job listings section of the local newspaper. The job hunt so far has yielded results that are...less than stellar. So many applications, so many interviews, and so far...nothing. "We'll call you if something else opens up" here and "we'll keep you on file" there. Even a "your educational background is good, but we're looking for a little more experience". It's starting to take a toll on her self-esteem. The only real offer she's gotten is from a dive bar across town called The Harlequin. She's familiar with the bartending world – it's how she put herself through college. And she likes to think she's damn good at it, too – hell, she had mastered the Bloody Mary with only a couple weeks' practice! Run-of-the-mill margaritas and martinis? Piece of cake. Not to mention, studying psychology at the same time has granted her an uncanny ability to manipulate a conversation, bend it to her will. Sniff out how to get the biggest possible tips from each kind of patron. Yes, she's a master, all right. But she's really hoping to move on to something with a more...prestigious title. "Any new prospects today?" Eddie emerges from the bathroom just as the toaster lets out a soft 'ding!' He quickly joins Emma on the sofa, a plate of waffles in either hand and bottle of syrup under his arm, completely bypassing the dining room table as per usual. She hasn't seen him eat a single meal at that table yet, instead opting to bring his food into the living room and spill his goddamn crumbs all over the furniture. "Nothing yet, besides The Harlequin thing," Emma grumbles, taking the fork he offers and muttering a quick "thank you" as he sets a plate down on the coffee table for her. "I'm tempted to accept it, just so I can end the madness." "Didn't Sophie recommend you at the bank?" Eddie goes to town with the syrup, drowning his breakfast until the golden-brown liquid threatens to spill off of his plate and onto the coffee table. "She tried. Nothing was open." Emma puts down the newspaper for the time being, feeling the beginnings of a migraine creeping along her scalp. She instead grabs the remote and flips on the TV across the living room, the background noise helping her to relax her mind. Eddie shovels in a forkful of his syrupy concoction. "Sorry we couldn't get you on at the record store. We had a spot last week, but Ron's back from rehab now..." he says with his mouth full. "That reminds me, you still thinking about medical school?" That gives her pause. Honestly, she hasn't thought about medical school in quite a while. More pressing matters to attend to. Besides, it's been years since she last studied. Who's to say that she could pick up where she left off now, even if she were to apply? In the end, after a moment's hesitation, she shrugs. "Maybe. I'm a little rusty, you know?" She takes a meager bite of her own breakfast, chewing carefully. "Aw, come on, that's a cop-out!" Eddie abruptly stands and rushes to the kitchen, leaving his plate behind. As he begins to rummage through the fridge, he continues. "You gotta at least try! You're smart and talented, you work your ass off – where the fuck? – oh, there it is..." He returns with a can of whipped cream and unleashes about half of it onto his plate, and the other half directly into his mouth. "Plus!" He grins. "You look like me, so you know you've got it goin' on." The fraternal twins did bear a striking resemblance to one another as children, but age has individualized them greatly. Where Emma remains on the shorter side, Eddie is now a solid six feet tall. Eddie has also experienced a little more horizontal growth; although Emma suspects his rampant drinking (more so than his atrocious diet) is the cause. "I'm not sure what looks have to do with anything..." Emma scans her brother's plate for the waffle. She can't see it - it's forever lost to the sugary onslaught. Maybe it is his diet after all. "Looks have to do with everything, Em. Not fair, but true." His eyebrows furrow, and he scrutinizes her face. "Speaking of which, you really do look terrible." "You mentioned." "No, like...have you been sleeping at all?" His eyes narrow with concern, meeting her own sunken ones. "I know that air mattress is a piece of shit - you can get yourself something nicer if you want." Emma sometimes forgets how observant Eddie can be when he focuses. She really hasn't been able to sleep a wink since she arrived in Gotham several days ago. He's right, the air mattress is an awkward and lumpy piece of shit, but that's not the real reason sleep evades her. The walls of the tiny apartment seem to cry in anguish at night. Sirens blare outside the window near constantly; they're sometimes accompanied by flashing red and blue lights, the colors piercing through the curtains and waltzing unsettlingly across the floor. People wander the streets until the wee hours, shouting at each other, their combined voices drifting toward the sky in an unpleasant cacophony. Emma can easily understand why folks here on the East Side are so exhausted. The only person who sleeps less than she does is the man who lives next door. She's never seen him, but she's definitely heard him. At least once every night, when she least expects it, he bursts into sudden uproarious laughter. Normally, Emma would march right over and ask the man what could possibly be so fucking funny at three in the morning (only a bit more tactfully, she's not an animal), but she never brings herself to do it. Truthfully, she's scared to. Something is not right about that laugh. It's discordant and jarring, as if clawing its way into the apartment like a demon prying frantically through the drywall. It lacks joy, and in fact, actually sounds pretty damn miserable. A part of her wonders if the man is all right. Regardless, a better mattress couldn't hurt. "Yeah, I might do that," she says. "I probably should prioritize getting some clothes of my own first." Satisfied, Eddie returns to demolishing his waffle creation. "Get whatever you want, as long as you can make the space for it. Want you to be comfortable while you're here, however long that is." He chuckles. "With your money, I'm sure you can spoil yourself much better than I can." Emma snorts, gesturing wildly at herself and at her surroundings. "Money? What money?" "You kidding?" He looks genuinely surprised for a moment. "Your ex is a millionaire! You mean to tell me you haven't hopped on that alimony pony?" "Oh, don't be ridiculous, I don't give a shit about Daniel's money." Emma rolls her eyes. "Not to mention, we only separated a week ago. We have to set a court date, fill out the paperwork-" "Yeah, yeah," Eddie drawls, waving her off. "When that check comes, you remember who took your ass in, no questions asked. Got it?" It's nice to know his sense of humor hasn't changed. Emma nods once. "You got it." They eat in peaceful silence for a while, the distant voice of the news anchor on TV the only sound in the room. Something that doesn't happen often for the siblings. After a few minutes, Eddie speaks up again. "Hey, Em?" "Yeah?" "...Glad you're back. Missed you." "Hm." A faint smile plays along her lips. "Missed you too." 

[citrinekay]

Prompt: A case detective takes a dislike to Bill. Bill deals with it--not the first time this has happened--but when the guy starts getting on his age his self-esteem takes a hit. He *is* getting older and doesn't have the same energy he once did, but it also makes him think more about his and Holden's age difference. But Holden realizes what's going on and gives the detective a tongue-lashing. Basically an Insecure!Bill and a Protective!Holden.

Thanks for the prompt! I like it when someone makes me write something from a perspective I haven’t thought of before. Here you go, hon:

As if the week couldn’t get any worse, it’s fucking monsoon season in Albany, Oregon. Bill’s lungs are burning as he backtracks through the flooded, narrow streets, carefully avoiding the potholes creating tiny ponds in the pitted asphalt. Through the sheets of rain cascading from the angry, gray stormclouds, he glimpses their rented, tan sedan turning down the street. 

Bill stops walking, and bends down to brace his hands on his knees. He’s yet to catch his breath aftering chasing the unsub across four blocks before the younger man turned a corner, jumped a fence, and disappeared out of sight. Now he’s soaked to the bone, cold, lungs aching, and the arrest is a bust. The fact that they know where he lives is the only silver lining in this miserable day. 

Holden pulls the car up alongside him, and Bill ducks inside. Rain water drips off his coat and pools on the leather seat as he yanks the door shut behind him with a grunt. 

“You okay?” Holden asks. 

“No.” Bill says, “Let’s get back.” 

Holden’s mouth is pursed in a thin line as he steers them back in the direction of the suspect’s house. As they approach, the lights from no less than five police cars smudge red and blue across the slick windshield. Crime scene tape is stretched in damp ribbons around the perimeter while detectives in trench coats shelter themselves on the front porch and crime scene techs carry their equipment inside with tarps dragged overtop. 

Detective Messing is among those on the porch. 

Holden sighs, putting the car into park. “You know he’s going to have something to say about this.”

“I know.” Bill says, sharply. “Let’s just fucking get this over with.”

They climb out of the car, and flash their badges at the perimeter. Making their way across the muddy, unkempt lawn, they reach the porch just as Messing concluding a conversation with one of the CSU officers. 

The detective is a tall, fit man in his late thirties with dark hair combed back in neat waves against his nape. He radiates an air of self-assurity that had pissed Bill off the moment they met. 

They were called in on this case because a string of rapes that Messing had been lead detective on turned to homicide. The case, which in Bill’s estimation should have been solved over a year ago, is now stretching past its third year, tallying up eleven victims - three of them dead. He and Holden had only been on the case a week before they matched the profile to a previous suspect who had already been interviewed, but released on an alibi provided by his mother who he lives with.  

Bill doesn’t consider family a solid alibi, and he’d told Messing as much as soon as they came across the file on their suspect, Howard Jennings. Right away, he got the sense that Messing is used to getting things his way. The friction between them had only built since that first confrontation which had ended in Messing storming out of the conference room. Bill tries not to let internal politics or bad attitudes get to him when he’s on the job, but there’s something smug and infuriating about the way Messing treats almost everyone around him that gets under his skin. 

“So, he got away.” Messing says, his tone already indicating a fresh meltdown. 

“He’ll turn back up.” Holden says. 

“Yeah?” Messing says, his eyebrows rising. “And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will.” Holden assures, climbing the porch steps to get level with Messing. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“We know where he lives.” Bill adds, stepping up beside Holden. “We already know his alibi is shit, and now that there’s police and CSU crawling through her house, his mother is bound to tell the truth.”

“So fucking what?” Messing says, sharply. “There’s nothing here, Bill. He doesn’t rape or kill them here. There’s not going to be any physical evidence that he’s our guy. Maybe you can close this up and call it done, but I’m the one who has to stick around once the charges are filed and try to prove to the jury that he’s our man.”

“We’re not just going to leave you holding the bag.” Bill says, disbelief sparking hot in his already simmering blood. “That’s not how we operate.”

Messing scoffs. “I should have run after him myself. You know what they say - if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Bill draws in a deep breath, telling himself to cool it. They’re standing here on the front porch of the suspect’s house surrounded by uniformed officers and crime scene techs. The last thing he wants to do is lose the respect of everyone else in the department. 

“Look, we know how he thinks.” Bill says, managing an even tone. “And we can get him to come out of the woodwork. It might take a few days, but-”

“A few days? He could hurt someone else by then.” Messing interrupts, “You guys are unbelievable, you know that? We’re here to do real police work, not sit behind a desk and spout a bunch of psychological mumbo-jumbo. This bastard requires on-the-ground, physical legwork. If you can’t fucking keep up, then you should have stayed back the precinct.” 

“Man, what is your fucking problem?” Bill says, the words leaping from his throat before he can take them back. 

Messing stares him down, his face flushed with anger. 

“Okay, everyone take a deep breath-” Holden says, using his hostage negotiator voice that really just makes Bill even angrier. 

“Stay out of this.” Messing says, “I don’t have a problem with you, Ford. You’ve got your head in the game. I’m not so sure about your partner here-”

“You think I can’t keep up?” Bill interrupts, taking a threatening step closer to Messing. “Great. Let’s go. Let’s take this out back right now so everyone on this task force can watch an old man put you on the ground-”

“Bill.” Holden says, disbelief ballooning in his tone. He puts a hand on Bill’s chest, and pushes himself in between them. 

Messing’s jaw is quivering with rage, like he’s about to swing, and Bill almost wants him to do it just so he can make good on his threat. 

“You talk big game.” Messing says, “But where’s my suspect? Huh?” 

“I think we all need to calm down and think about this rationally.” Holden says. 

Both Bill and Messing begin protest, but Holden’s voice rises firmly above them both, “No. Let’s think about this, Detective. Be honest with ourselves.” 

Messing glares, his brows furrowing. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“It means that we shouldn’t even be here.” Holden says, his tone steady yet cutting. “You’ve had Jennings within reach for months. You interviewed him, then you let him go. Bill and I are here because what should have ended with rape turned into one murder - then two, then three. We’re here because your chief of police took this case away from you, and handed it to us - because you couldn’t make the cut. Maybe you can run a little faster than both of us, but you certainly aren’t smarter than us when it comes to understanding how these men think and act. If you want us to leave now, that’s fine. Maybe you’ll get Jennings to resurface, and maybe you won’t; but we won’t be around to help you when your boss comes back looking for answers.” 

The sound of the heavy downpour fills in the silence. Messing looks like he might explode. Bill lowers his head, fighting back a smile as Holden matches Messing’s glare, unwilling to back down. 

Finally, Messing turns and walks off the porch without comment. 

“Come on, Bill.” Holden says, nodding towards the house. “I want to get a look at this bastard’s bedroom, and see if we can do any real groundwork to flush him out.” 

~

The next day, Bill’s body hurts. As soon as he wakes up in the hotel bed, he realizes that he’d pulled a few muscles in the chase after Jennings. He rolls back against the pillows with a groan, and closes his eyes against the hot pain that races down his back and into his leg. 

Maybe Messing wasn’t far off from the truth. 

Bill grabs his cigarettes from the nightstand, and inhales nicotine against the force of that self-pitying thought. He doesn’t like to spare any effort towards feeling sorry for himself, but it’s an idea that had cropped up in his mind long before Detective Messing and his arrogant vitriol came along. He smokes and drinks too much, and he doesn’t eat very well either. Most of their work is from behind a desk, and if he does expend himself the way he did yesterday, he pays the price the next day. More recently, there’s been times when Holden was up for round two, and he simply couldn’t muster the energy. Maybe he is getting too fucking old for all of this. 

Bill opens his eyes, jarring himself out of the deepening pit of misery when a knock comes on his door. 

He climbs out of bed, hissing at the pain shooting down his lower back. Throwing on a pair of trousers, he goes to the door, and pulls it open.

Holden is standing on the other side, already dressed for the day in a slate gray suit and navy blue knit tie. His hair is combed, jaw clean-shaven, eyes bright and alert, focused on the tasks ahead of them. 

Bill tries to muster a smile. “‘Morning.”

“Good morning. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” 

Bill stands aside as Holden strides into the room, going straight to the coffee maker in the corner to start adding water and grounds. 

“Have you showered yet?”

“No.” Bill says, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. 

“Well, you better hurry up.” Holden says, dumping coffee grounds into the filter and flicking the lid shut. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” 

Bill rubs a hand over his stubbled chin, thinking he probably looks afright. Worse than that, pathetic. Pull it together. But the thought makes barely a dent in his flinching subconscious. 

Holden jabs the button to brew, and turns around to pin Bill with an expectant gaze. “Well, are you gonna go get dressed?”

“Yeah.” Bill says, drawing in a deep breath. 

He wanders to the closet, and retrieves a clean pair of clothes. He can feel Holden watching him as he chooses a powder blue shirt, and sifts through his tie choices. 

“Is something the matter?” Holden asks. 

“Nope.” 

Holden crosses his arms, and draws in a deep breath. Gearing up like he’s about to pull a tooth. 

Bill closes his eyes, and clenches his jaw. “Don’t.”

“Bill, come on.” Holden says, “Don’t tell me Messing got to you. That guy is a prick.”

“Yeah, he is.” Bill says, cutting Holden a glare. “And to an extent, he’s not wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“There was no way I was ever going to catch up to Jennings.” Bill says, “Physically. Thought was I going to have a fucking coronary right there on the goddamn street.”

Holden sighs, and shakes his head. “That’s not what we’re here for, Bill - chasing down suspects. We went into that interview unprepared. We had no idea he was going to run. We should have had uniformed officers there with us. Running after suspects is their job.”

“Just stop trying to make me feel better. It’s over, done with.” Bill says, yanking a pair of clean trousers off the hanger. 

He turns to head for the bathroom, but Holden stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“This is not just about Messing, is it?” He asks, softly. 

Bill glances away, feeling his face burning. He should have kept his mouth shut, but Holden has a way of getting him talking - and once he starts, he can’t really stop. 

“Bill, talk to me.” Holden whispers, taking the clothes out of Bill’s hands, and setting them aside in exchange for his own hands. 

Bill clutches Holden’s fingers, focusing on the neat, clean lines of his nails. His hands are soft and youthful, meant for devout, virile passion. For someone as young and fiery as him. 

“Where is this leading?” He asks, slowly lifting his gaze back to Holden’s. 

Holden’s brow creases with a little, confused frown. “What do you mean?” 

“This.” Bill says, “You and me.” 

Holden presses closer, whispering, “Wherever we want it to.” 

“I’m serious.” Bill says, “It’s the best sex I’ve had in years, but what about you?” 

“What? You think you’re not satisfying me?” Holden asks, scoffing quietly. “When have I ever complained?”

“You haven’t. Yet.” 

“Yet?” 

“Well, in five years you could be buying me little blue pills to get your rocks off.” Bill says, mustering a casual tone even as the words sting underneath. 

Holden stares at him blankly for a moment before his confused expression breaks into a smile. He laughs, shaking his head. “Bill, you are not that old. I think you need to give yourself a little more credit.” 

“Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.” 

Holden shrugs. “It hasn’t.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, really.” 

Bill wraps his arms around Holden’s waist, and meets Holden’s calm, reserved gaze with a choked chuckle. “Well … all right.”

“Even if I did have to buy you little blue pills, it wouldn’t matter.” Holden says, spreading his hands over Bill’s chest. “I’m not with you just because you’re good in bed.” 

Bill lowers his head, biting back a smile, but Holden tucks his fingers under his chin to lift his gaze back up. He presses a soft kiss to Bill’s mouth, and sighs quietly into the tiny space between them. 

“And you are.” He murmurs. “Really good in bed.” 

Bill clears his throat. “I’m glad you think so.” 

“I know so. Now go get a shower.” Holden says, nudging the heels of his hands into Bill’s chest. “We have to go show that prick, Messing, who’s boss.” 

Bill chuckles, taking a shuffling step backwards. Holden has already crossed the room to pour himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the conversation miles behind his high velocity initiative for the day ahead. 

Bill lags behind, still caught up in the revelation. I’m not with you just because you’re good in bed sounds a lot like something else, something more serious. He can’t push it right now, but he tucks it in the back of his mind overtop his insecurities. It rests there like a blanket, smothering everything else in warmth - and maybe something more.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @PrincessaBitchessa!

Hello hello! I got a bunch of the things you asked for and, like my previous two works, this is completely stupid fluffy goodness and I hope it'll put a smile on your face! Merry Christmas!

Read on AO3

*****

Infamnia

The money lasted longer than he thought it would, but not long enough to get out of the dog house of all the debt from medical bills and the mortgage. Stiles didn’t know what to do, how to find himself out of the zeroes and commas and the red ink on the envelopes, until he remembered the letter inside the safe his father set aside before he was killed. He pulled it out from where he’d locked t away, wanting nothing to remind him of what took the better part of two years to even partially come to terms with.

The blue-lined paper still had the frayed edges from where it was torn from a notebook, and the penmanship was as dicey as his father’s ever was.

Stiles I’m so sorry you have to read this letter. But since you are, let me say that whatever happened to me was not your fault. It wasn’t, Stiles, and if you’re blaming yourself I’m going to haunt your scrawny little ass. Don’t. There’s more that I want to say than I can ever put into paper, but this is held securely in the safe specifically because this information is extremely confidential.

If you’re ever in trouble, if you need money, protection, a job, anything, you give the following number a call, and ask for whatever Hale is in charge. You tell them you’re John and Claudia Stilinski’s son. They’ll take care of you. Whatever you find out about me, about what I did and what I accepted, know that it was to protect the town. From what it didn’t want to know about. They owe me a debt, one that I saved for you.

Love you, kid

Dad

Stiles’ bony fingers trembled slightly as he held the paper, mulling over the words as if this was the first time he’d read them. In truth, it was the first time he ever was really taking in the meaning. While he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what exactly whatever you find out about me, about what I did meant, he would maybe check this out before selling foot pics.

Phone in hand, he tapped a pen on his knee, waiting for someone to pick up. Pick up pick up pick up pick u- THANK YOU.

“You’ve reached Beacon Hills Wildlife Preserve Management, how may I help you?” Secretaries all had this extremely creepy customer service voice that was robotic. Every one of them had the same voice.

What in the flying technicolor fuck was the Beacon Hills Wildlife Preserve number doing in this bizarrely ominous letter? This couldn’t be real. “Uh, could I talk to whoever’s in charge?” He sounded so lame. He could hear himself sounding so incredibly lame.

“May I ask for the purpose of your call so I can route you to the correct person?” The woman’s voice indicated that she could hear his lameness.

“Uh, I got bills I need to pay and I need help, I was told to call the number.”

“I’m sorry, we have no open positions at this ti-“

“Wait, wait wait, can I speak to the, uh, Hale in charge?” He remembered there was a name in the letter, maybe the name would help.

“Transferring your call now.” The voice cut directly to a hold tone. Well, that got him instant results.

The pen tapping his knee increased in speed as he waiting for someone to pick up the phone.

----

“This is completely insane.” Talia Hale rubbed her temples, a headache coming on. The fae wanted to move their court to the Preserve, even though that would not only effectively shut down anyone else trying to use the land. Some true galaxy-brain level genius released no less than five wolpertingers into the forest and now every one of her soldiers was out hunting goddamn flying jackalopes. And now, this.

“We have to do something, though.” Laura stood in the middle of the room, arms folded. “They won’t just stop here. Jerry’s bloodthirsty, and he wants a werewolf with an apple in his mouth on his Christmas dinner table.”

“Not it.” Peter said, because it was the most inappropriate thing that he could possibly say. He felt the eyes of the ladies staring at him, and decided not to acknowledge it. “Would you prefer nose game?”

“Thank you for your contribution.” Unhelpful ass. Talia stood, looking at the map of the preserve on the center table in the room. The lines marked out territories, the fenced off areas for endangered species, paranormally important spots, the Nemeton of course, everything of relevance. And right on their eastern border was a brand new Argent Armory establishment. How they got clearance for that when California had some very impressive gun laws was beyond her. The local lines had been redrawn and somehow those French-blooded fucks had gotten the ordinances to allow a firing range. Which would allow them to have a massive store house of guns and ammunition right there, so they could plan to clean house.

“Can we claim it’ll disturb the birds?” Laura offered. “It must, right?”

“Maybe. But you know the people love their guns. And don’t care about birds.” The phone started ringing across the room. “I’m more worried one of em will gun down a wolpertinger and then I’ll have way too many questions to answer.” The door opened brusquely and a young man strode in, looking cross as ever, throwing the body of a rabbit-quail-deer looking thing on Talia’s desk. “Number three.” He was slightly out of breath, looking at the body like it had personally called him a bitch. “And maybe they won’t shoot wolpertingers, but someone definitely did fucking shoot me.” He yanked off his coat and, yep, that was a bullet wound on his shoulder.

Laura poked it, just to hear him yell at her. Cain instinct.

“Stop it.” Talia gently smacked Laura’s hand. “You see who did it?”

“Y’even need to ask?” He snapped. He watched Gerard Argent smile and wave just a little from his property line, walking back as calm as he pleased at the edge of the woods. The bullet wasn’t wolfsbane, but in a way that was even worse. A wolfsbane bullet would at least do something. It would kill him, yeah, but it was a purpose that had a ‘reasonable’ point. The point of this mundane bullet was just to piss him off. And it was working.

“Will someone answer that phone?” Talia asked, fussing over her wounded boy.

---

Stiles sat in the office of the BHWPM headquarters, with a cup of coffee in his hands. The woman in front of him had introduced herself as Talia Hale, and given that two of the children in the room had the same severe cheekbones, dark hair, and piercing stare like they could see right into his bone marrow, he was fairly certain they were her children. They were attractive in the exact way that terrified him, which was probably not a good thing, because that was definitely his type. “Your father has done a great deal for us over the years, we are happy to help you now in payment for the help he gave you. Is it money you need?” Talia asked, looking over the young man. While not unkempt, there was something in the rakish hair and the unpressed shirt that said he might not be doing so well.

“A job would probably be better, I’ve been trying to get further in the FBI, but-“ He shrugged, not keen to detail his psychiatric history to people he didn’t know. “That’d be more of a help than a one-time get-outta-debt free card.”

“The FBI?” Talia asked, looking at him with new eyes. “Do you know what your father did with us, exactly?”

Stiles was entirely clueless. “I’m....guessing he helped clear drunk hooligans outta the preserve?” Stiles was definitely not the drunk hooligans ever, shut up. “Nah, I’m guessing he helped you hide bodies, smuggle people, and/or doctored police records for Scary One and Scary Two over there, and instead of taking bribes he took it on future favors.” The vibe in this room was way too Corleone for it to not be some undercover operation.

While the woman’s expression didn’t shift even at the comment to her own children, something in her eyes imperceptibly altered. Something a bit like amusement, or interest. “Would you want a job with someone who would do those kinds of things?”

“If my dad thought it was a good thing to do, it must have been for damn good reasons. I’m willing to find out.

“Derek, why don’t you take Stiles to get a proper suit. If he’s running with us, we need him looking the part.” Talia said with a smile. “And get him a proper gun.”

Scary Two: Tall Dark And Terrifying stepped forward and walked Stiles out the door without a word. He could work with that, and hey, any excuse to ogle the boss’ kid, right?

-----------

And Stiles thought those little fuckin wolpertingers were bad.

This was, in fact, infinitely worse.

He sat next to Derek in their little foxhole, only yards away from the Argent stronghold. Apparently Cora, the last piece of the Hale puzzle, and the so-described baby of the family, was inside. Who the fuck steals a baby, Stiles thought. And every one of them was ready to go utterly feral to get it.

Feral being both the operative word and unsettlingly accurate, as it turns out, with his boss lady on all fours and snarling at the people lobbing smoke grenades at them. Derek had his fangs out and everything, but luckily said nothing about how clearly Stiles wanted to climb him like a slightly more angular pine.

Because werewolves. Of course werewolves. Why wouldn’t there be werewolves.

Stiles popped out of the foxhole and nailed one of the Argent soldiers directly in his face, giving a startle to the others behind the line and giving an opportunity.

Stiles didn’t run out first, everyone else could go first and get shot at, he didn’t really want to catch any of them. Instead, he snuck out and around the melee, getting his gangly ass right into their stronghold as Talia was probably ripping someone’s throat out. Ew.

Inside was warm, and a little off-beat. “Hey, Cora?! Where you at!” He hissed, gun drawn in case someone stayed behind. He snuck around, looking for where the baby would be. Make a sound kiddo, come on, something, Uncle Stiles didn’t have a super-sniffer equipped.

After poking around what felt like a century, he finally heard the whine of an itty bitty kid, and lo there the child was, adorable as a button. “Aw, heya kiddo, c’mere.” He picked up the child, humming a little to try and keep them calm as he now had the great joy of having to get out of there. With the kid. He walked the whole back-asswards way around to stay far enough away from gunshots and yelling, because if that baby started crying, both of their asses would be dead! And the werewolves could smell his and Cora’s cocktail of gross or whatever, they could track him down anyway and it would be fine! Cora was fine, he was fine, everything was Gucci.

Back at the headquarters, he started looking around for anything that would help the child, blankets or diapers or at least something. But there wasn’t even a car-seat or anything. Where were they keeping the kid if the whole family was there the whole damn time? Stiles sat in one of the office chairs, baby sleeping soundly on his chest, as he waited for the family to get back.

There was no calm awakening for either, as a foot blasted through the door of the wildlife preserve office, splintering it instead of opening it. The sound of the voice cursing was definitely Derek, and he busted it down properly, a slight girl’s arm over his shoulder and a quart or so of blood apiece on everyone.

“Stiles, where the fuck did you go, we-“ Derek halted his scolding when he looked at him.

“Shhhhh, you’ll wake Cora up!” Stiles hissed.

Derek blinked those stupid pretty eyes as he looked truly lost for words. “Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Where did you get a baby?”

“Whaddaya mean? In the stronghold, where you all said-“

“This is Cora.” He said, pointing to the unconscious woman he dragged in.

Oh. Baby of the family meant. Youngest sibling not. Actual infant. Huh.

Huh.

So then who exactly was he holding???

“Who the fuck steals a baby?” Peter asked,  pointing at the kidnapper.

Stiles looked at the child like it had turned into a 30 megaton nuke.

Talia sighed. “Stiles.”

“Yes’m.”

“....Laura, go get some formula and diapers. I’ll....ask around about the baby.”

----

Stiles didn’t get into the family business to actually start a family. This was not his intention in the slightest. But here he was, singing a very off-key Jurassic Park theme song he composed himself to a tiny baby girl he decided to call Izzy, after his suggestions of Katie, Smelborp, Stormageddon, Cirilla, and Dreamsmasher were all shot down.

Derek walked in, and stood next to Stiles, hands out, offering to take the kiddo. Derek shouldn’t be allowed to dress down ever in Stiles’ presence, because the thin tee and the sweatpants were doing far too many good things for him. Too much was on display.

“No. Mine. Go kidnap your own.”

Derek exhaled, which was as close as Stiles ever got to a laugh from him. “C’mon, you’re dead on your feet, you adrenaline crashed hours ago, and the kid’s not falling asleep anytime soon. Give her over, alright?”

“Mine.”

“I get it, I get it, you like the kid. But what happens when you get attached and we have to hand the kid back over?” Derek folded his arms, and it....hhough he shouldn’t be allowed to fold his arms either, what were those arms even??? It wasn’t fair. Stupid werewolf whatever magic bullshit.

“Give her back?” Stiles asked, offended by the suggestion. No, they were not giving Isabel back, no no no, not happening.

“Yes, give her back. Do you think you can just keep her here forever? The Argents might burn the whole preserve down if this is one of their daughters. You don’t have a birth certificate for her, even.”

“Shhhhhh stop saying sense words.”

Derek slipped his arms in and yoinked the baby before Stiles could react, but as soon as the baby was nestled against him, Stiles didn’t have the heart. Derek looked hot as hell all the time, but that, with the light from the lamp bouncing off of his face, and even a smile? He was beautiful. “There, was that so hard?”

“Yes. Give her back.” But Stiles wasn’t trying to take her back, he knew in a battle of strength he wasn’t going to win that. Unless it was strength of will, that he could go toe-to-toe with any of them. Stiles sat in one of the chairs, ready for a long night ahead of him, watching Derek pace softly in socked feet around the room.

With Izzy settled in a makeshift crib, Derek sat in another chair, rubbing his eyes that were still dusted with gunpowder and smoke from the fight. Cora was up and running again, talking things over with Talia and Laura, his job was to watch the baby. And Stiles, though they came as a joint package.

Stiles fiddled with a fraying end of the chair. Ever since he joined the family months ago, he didn’t ask any of the specifics of what his father did, but he was curious. “You know what my dad did, exactly, to get this kind of treatment for me?”

Derek looked up. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” Stiles had stolen a baby he wasn’t exactly king of the moral high ground that day.

Derek sighed, thin mouth pressed so tight it was almost one dimensional. But something in his mind must have won out, that Stiles deserved to know, so he told. About how he was fifteen, with a girlfriend, and given some frankly terrible advice from Peter, that ended up getting her in a bad way, and Derek had to snap her neck. It was a mercy kill, but that was a dead girl’s body, and any whiff of that reaching the public would ruin Derek’s life forever.

Talia and Claudia had been friends for years, so when Talia asked for John to come to the preserve, no lights no sirens, for a favor, she made a leap of faith that John wouldn’t betray her family. But he didn’t. John fixed the autopsy results to show she was hit by a car, fixed everything up so she was mourned by her family in the normal way for a tragic death, and no one was the wiser that Derek had killed her.

Stiles was silent for a long time after that. Derek thought he’d fallen asleep, but finally Stiles spoke. “He did the right thing. He warned me, you know, that he did and accepted some things I might not like. But that’s....that’s not what happened.” They looked at each other for a moment, the quiet intimacy of secrets laid bare broken by the sound of a stirring baby.

“Aw c’mon Izzy, please just sleeeeep.....be a good lil Mafia princess for me, huh?” Stiles begged, getting up.

“We’re not the Mafia!” Derek objected.

“You wear suits, you talk about the family business, you run a front organization to alter cashflow, just cause you’re wolves doesn’t make you not-Mafia.”

----

“She’s a spark.” Talia announced to the collected family, Izzy playing with the square in Derek’s suit pocket.

“Shiiiiit, where’d they get one of those?” Peter asked, side-eyeing the little one. Someone snapped at him about his language choices, but it didn’t matter, as he would continue to do what he wanted. Stiles didn’t care for Peter too much in general, but after hearing what happened with Derek and Paige, he was not exactly feeling it.

“Explanation for the newbie?” Stiles asked with a raised hand.

“Spark, you know, magical talent. Some channel it into Druidism, some channel it in other magical schools of thought, that kind of thing. They become our emissaries, or...if the Argents raise one up from the ground, a devastating weapon.” Laura explained, looking at Isabel with a look more concerned and less suspicious.

“Oh, you mean like this?” Stiles snapped both sets of fingers, and a shot of electricity arced from one thumb to the other.

Every wolf in the room stared at him in utter silence for a solid ten seconds of uncomfortable quiet.

“Stiles.” Derek ventured the conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you could do that.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Are you always this- never mind I know you are.” Derek shook his head.

Stiles grinned at being so well known, but the conversation was too serious for many jokes. “We’re not giving the her back to those unhinged fu- people, are we? She’s like me. Mine.”

“Well. That depends. If she was born to one of them, they are their child.” Talia wouldn’t like that if it were the case. “But, the fact that the police haven’t knocked on our door tells me that either they think we’ll kill the kid if they do, or they have no better right to her than anyone else. I think it’s the latter. However, they’ll bring their whole force against us to get her back. If we had John-”

Stiles froze at the mention of his father’s name, but said nothing more.

“If we had John, we would definitely be able to sort her paperwork out. But we don’t. We need to find a new contact in the police that can arrange us those papers. Until we get that, Derek and Stiles, I want you both to take her into the vault with everything you need to last a week with her. You’ll be safe there. Any questions?”

Stiles raised his hand again. “Is there wi-fi in the vault?”

---

There was no wi-fi in the vault.

There was also no cell service either, which meant no Netflix, which meant no video games, no Youtube, nothing to amuse him. And it was only two days in. He had nothing. Except for, of course, annoying Derek. At least Derek was very generous in this.

“Twenty questions.”

“No.”

“I’m thinking of....a noun.”

“No.”

By four days, Stiles had run out of annoyances and had drifted into just mindlessly babbling at Izzy, while Derek’s forehead wrinkles got worse and worse with every minute that his brain cells slipped away.

On the sixth day, Derek finally decided to play ball. Either Stiles had worn him down enough, or maybe the two bottles of whiskey were going to help him cope.

“Truth or dare?” Stiles offered, smile with as he took the offered booze.

“Only because I don’t have a deck of cards. As a warning, never play Laura in King’s Cup, she has never lost a game and given me alcohol poisoning three times.”

“How does the whiskey even work on you, Mr. Healsalot.”

“Is Healsalot the best you can do?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s actually a bit of halite. Disables werewolf abilities while in close proximity, if something happens I toss it away as quick as possible and I’m good in, I’d say a minute or so with this level of exposure. Cora had a couple day’s worth, which is why she was knocked out.”

“Gotcha.” At least it made as much sense as anything else these weirdo furries got up to. Once each had downed a respectable amount of alcohol, they could begin. “Alright, truth or dare, big guy.”

“Dare.”

“Dare you toooooo.....fuck never mind there’s nothing fun to dare you with in here. These are all your family’s valuables and shit how am I supposed to dare you to dress up in Auntie Myrtle’s wedding dress and sing Poker Face on video for my own personal blackmail?”

“Truth, then.”

“You like guys?”

Derek stared at the directness of the question. “Subtle, aren’t we?”

“Literally never.”

“Okay. Sometimes.” Stiles didn’t look happy about the answer. “Why did you steal the baby?”

“I thought she was Cora!”

“You thought they wouldn’t have any sort of defenses around the hostage they’d taken from the werewolf family that they were fighting a turf war with?!”

“Shhhhhhh it’s fine it’s fine it all worked out right?”

“Did it? We’re hiding in a vault, that you have not stopped bitching about once since we came in here, and we might be giving her back, and even if we don’t, who’s going to take care of her?”

“Me.”

“You.”

“Moi. Yo. Io. You want it in any other language?”

“Polish?”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.” Derek had something of a grin as he took another shot.

“Do you wish you could fuck me?” Stiles was getting bolder a couple shots in.

Derek took a moment to answer. “Sometimes.” Vague bastard.

“Oh? Like when?”

“Ah ah ah, my turn.” Derek took a swig, forgetting the dainty shot glass. “How many moles you got?”

“You wanna count em up?”

“Not an answer.”

“Over a hundred.”

Derek nodded, considering this thought as carefully as someone half-drunk really can. “Interesting.”

“Where do your eyebrows go when you shift?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to answer that question?”

“It’s your body, dude! How am I supposed to know how many moles I got when you don’t know where your friggin eyebrows go?!?!” Stiles’ limbs flailed as he gesticulated his exasperation.

“You’re gonna wake Izzy.” Derek warned. The baby was in another room of the vault so she could sleep while the adults could have their last-day-of-vaulting fun.

“Alright alr- wait, you called her Izzy.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeeeeeeees, yes you did you called her Izzy instead of the baby. You like her.”

“Shhh.”

“New question: do you like Isabel Stilinski-Hale, the new baby of the family?”

Derek chuckled, man he really must be drunk. “We’re hyphenating?”

“I found her so I get first billing, but like y’all took me in so like, I guess you can join. Whatever.”

“Yes, I like the kid. She’s pretty good for a baby. Only projectile vomited on me twice. That’s not bad.”

“She’s the best kid.”

“Do you really think you’re in a good place to adopt her right now in your life?”

“Nooooo stop with the serious questions.” Stiles whined. “Serious ones aren’t fun let’s get back to the flirty ones those were fun.”

“It’s my question.” Derek shrugged.

“If I stole you as a kid I’d name you Moodkiller the Great.”

“Is ‘the Great’ my last name or is ‘the’ my middle name, like Kermit.”

“God you’re such a fucking nerd.”

“You know, no, I’m not in like the...perfect spot. But who IS when they get a kid? And I got the magic thing, and she does, so like....I dunno, she’s got no one else, probably, so.....wouldn’t you guys help me?” Stiles’ big dark eyes looked so beautiful in the scant light of the vault. Derek’s kryptonite.

“Of course we would, don’t be stupid.” Derek mumbled, looking away.

“.....Isabel Stilinski-Haaaale you’re gonna come home with uuuuuuus.” Stiles grinned, getting his own way.

“Whose turn is it?” Derek asked, not sure where the game had gone.

“Mmmmmine. I think. Maybe. Does it matter?”

“Guess not.”

Stiles paused for a second, looking at the distance between them on the floor, the thought process unfolding before Derek’s eyes as he saw Stiles decide exactly how to ambulate himself closer. With a thud, Stiles flopped on top of him and they fell flat on the floor.

“Ow.”

“Oh shut up that didn’t hurt, you big baby.” Stiles wasn’t going to let Derek get another word in, pressing his mouth against his, clumsy and off-center and everything bizarrely fitting together despite everything.

Derek only let Stiles win that for a half a second, before pinning Stiles down to the floor himself.

----

Stiles’ hangover next day was legendary. The wakeup screaming baby was violence to his ears and Derek was disgustingly FINE and Stiles hated him so much except for the fact that he still wanted to make out with his stupid face. Once he got up off the floor maybe. Everything hurt. Ow.

“C’mon, dumbass, Mom and Laura showed up outside, they said we got the kiddo and gotta go fill out the paperwork at the station. Gotta tell the world she’s your girl.”

“Yeah.” Stiles mumbled a little, looking up at Derek with the baby on his hip. “Mine.”

[multifandom--imagine]

(requested by anon)

➽ How did you meet

• Your meeting was particularly unusual. If it was at the wrong time it is quite questionable. • You met in a hospital, the day of the death of your grandmother, your second mother, as well as "guardian angel".

• The doctors contacted you because you were one of the closest relatives and after communicating your death, they asked you to come and give a final greeting.

• And it was that day that you met him, before entering her room, you noticed an old man who was absorbed in watching your grandmother's helpless body, caressing her head.

• You had never seen that man, so untidy you doubted he could be acquaintance of your grandmother (lady of the order and cleaning).

• But you didn't pay much attention to his presence, not even when it came out of the room, giving you the chance to enter.

• In a blink of an eye he disappeared into the corridor, leaving behind a heavy smell of tobacco and alcohol.

• You met him again at your grandmother's funeral. It was a rainy and cold day, like your mood, bitter and empty.

• You looked at the coffin that was swallowed by the earth, without noticing the presence of the old man next to you.

• It was his scruffy stink that made you wake up from your depressive state.

• "My God, does it seem like smoking time?" you said at the edge of the nervous.

• The man gave you a quick glance, settling the dusty rustic jacket and taking the consummate cigarette between his fingers he blew the heavy smoke in his face and giggling he said to you "I'm not afraid of cancer"

• This sentence sent you on a rampage.

• "Well the person who was burying under the earth has been cut short by a cancer, so if you want to keep on being a asshole, you can take your fetid jacket and go fuck yourself" you whispered through clenched teeth and threateningly approached the figure of man.

• The man smiled almost amused at your words ... ah silly human, if only you had known who you were against.

• "I remembered your grandmother, very kind and faithful, surely you didn't take a shit from that good woman" he ventured to comment on the man. • "My grandmother never told me about you, probably because people like you didn't count for shit for her"

• Ouch! Someone has just touched a sore point in Czernobog's soul.

• Without thinking too much about it, the man took a last plentiful shot at a cigarette, then took the butt and threw it on your shoes and without saying anything else left, leaving you in the cemetery all alone.

• THAT’S A BINGO! EH EH EH

• However the story does not end here.

• "The most lovable man in the world" came back a few days at the bar where you worked as a waitress.

• He had ordered several drinks and well ... he was drunk to say the least.

• He was so drunk that he almost fought with another client, threatening to smash his testicles with his hammer.

• ...... ok?

• It is pointless to say that a couple of punches and that lout, half Russian and half American, lay on the floor of your senseless bar.

• Your boss was going to leave the body on the street, but as much as you hated that piece of shit, you would never have had the courage to let him make that end so cruel, it wasn't what your grandmother had taught you.

• so you decided to drag it to your apartment. You lived practically above the bar where you worked.

• But obviously you threw it on the sofa and then you took refuge in the room, collapsing exhausted from sleep.

• The next morning you woke up and going to the kitchen you realized that your apartment smelled terribly of alcohol.

• so you opened all the windows to let the air change, making Czernobog wake with a start.

• "What the fuck..." he said through gritted teeth and then stared at you in shock for a few seconds "We didn't fuck, right?" he asked you in no uncertain terms.

• You looked at him unkempt, shaking his head.

• The expression of the man seemed disappointed for a few seconds, only to shrug, adding a sustained “Luckily".

• whatta.piece.of.cosmic.shit.

• "Anyway you are in my apartment and I do not accept that you scrunch everything, then lift your ass and go and wash, as it should" you said in a stern tone indicating the bathroom.

• With a lazy line the ancient god went to the bathroom to wash as requested.

• When he came out of the bathroom he smelled decidedly clean even though the aroma of tobacco did not give up.

• his gaze settled on your butt, because you had your shoulders busy preparing breakfast.

• He would probably have thrown you a slap on the ass if he wasn't reported for sexual harassment.

• You turned towards him sipping a cup of coffee and schairendoti the voice you said: "Anyway you should thank me, I saved your ass. If it wasn't for me, my boss would have thrown you on the roadside"

• "Thanks..." he murmured too proudly.

• "Sorry? I didn't hear you right"

• "I said thank you, fuck"

�� "If you know my grandmother, you will already know my name"

• "(y/n)" he said without blinking "You have a nice shit name" he added, as he looked out the window, lighting a cigarette.

• "Then what's your name, asshole?"

•"Czernobog"

•"You have a shitty name than mine"

➽ Skinship n’ cuddles

• Old marpion

• As I said before, he would be very tempted to give you some pats on the ass, but in the early days of your relationship Czernobog prefers to stay on his own.

• Only when the situation becomes more intimate then the old god brings out the beast in him.

• Your first kiss was one of the most intense.

• You were probably entertaining with your usual pungent conversations, but then a long exchange of glances was enough to completely reverse the situation.

• Czernobog got up from the sofa and advancing quickly towards you, he took you by the hips and slammed you gently against the wall.

• in less than a second your lips attacked in a fierce languid struggle.Your tongues sought each other out, creating sensual snaps and perverse verses.

• Probably the old god would grab your face with one hand, to subdue you even more and with a predatory gesture would bite your lower lip until a small trickle of blood came out.

• needless to say, you slapped him in the face.

•despite the somewhat ferocious contacts, Czernobog also has its tender side.

•Especially when it's sad. A striking example is the death of Zorya.

•You found him on the couch, dark and with a cigarette in his hand. He did not utter a word and his eyes were empty.

•But when he felt your delicate hand tracing the outline of his hollow and wrinkled face, he couldn't help but let his face fall on your chest, letting bitter tears fall on his cheeks.

•Probably the night would end with you two embracing on the sofa, while the arms of the old god wrapped your soft and young body, so fragile and precious, while its nostrils intoxicated with the white perfume of your living skin.

• Your nights of passions are certainly the most brutal in the world. Trapped clothes, broken bed, neighbors complaining about the constant mess. In short, we understood each other.

•Surely his favorite position is the doggy style or simply squeeze yourself between his body and the wall.

• your ass will turn purple for continuous spanking

➽ Arguments

• Arguing with Czernobog is a daily and frequent thing.

• This god is practically born to discuss and be melodramatic and the war obviously accentuates all the components.

• surely your most serious and heavy quarrel was when you found out he was a god. You have almost destroyed your home as well as your relationship.

• probably, you would try to stay calm, but instead he would immediately start to fight with cruel and angry tones.

• you would probably both end up throwing the house objects at you and cursing each other.

• Even if cruel Czernobog would never dare raise his hands with you or beat you, he would never forgive him. Rather it insults you heavily, it still doesn't do you any honor.

• In the end, you would be chasing him from home in the worst cases and he wouldn't show up for days and weeks. He would probably show himself around as if nothing had happened.

• Rare times he apologizes, put your soul in peace

➽ Dates

• Let's be clear, Czernobog hates the city as much as the new gods.

• Probably on special occasions it would lead you to take some walks in the countryside or in the woods, and although you suck, he would insist on hunting animals or telling you how he killed cows.

• Often it takes you to some bar or pub, nothing fancy, after all it is Czernobog.

• He probably will never introduce you to other gods, he would be too afraid to put you in danger.

• Sometimes you spend whole afternoons at home playing chess or drafts, or watching a few films on netflix together.

➽ Some of your conversations

you: "So why did you and my grandmother know each other?"

Czern: "Well you know your grandmother has Slavic origins"

you: "And ... then?"

Czern: "I am one of the many gods who prayed, and probably after her death, I lost the only faithful fuck I had left"

you: "You what ?!"

Czern: "What the fuck are you yelling at, woman? I'm the fucking god of death so what?"

***

Czern: "Zorya is dead"

you: "I'm sorry ..."

Czern: "Do you want to know what the fucking funny thing is?"

you: "..."

Czern: "is that a fucking god of death shouldn't give a fuck about who dies or not, we will all sooner or later, woman. Yet although I am aware that if the new gods don't take you away from me, it will be my own hammer that kills you, I think I would go mad more than I am already seeing you dead, rather I'd rather kill myself "

#12

– Taiga 🐯

[fuwafuwamedb]

Mr. Phone Sex Man (Hakuno, Gilgamesh)

“What are you doing right now?”

Those were the first words she had heard from her mystery caller. Hakuno stared at the lion in front of her, puckering her lips in a soundless kiss to the beast before she decided to humor herself.

“I’m looking at a great beast,” she told the stranger over the line. “He has the most majestic mane I’ve ever seen, a great strong jawline, and I’ve seen him tear apart countless enemies and devour them.”

“Oh?”

“He has the greatest body, all muscle with great claws that I’ve attended to personally.”

“You did?”

“Mhmm. Utu appreciates being attended to. He’s a good lion.”

The man on the other end, to her surprise, laughed, the sound filling her ears and making her chuckle a little as well.

“Tell me of his teeth,” the man insisted.

“Oh, great chompers,” she praised. “Although he’s no good at holding the toothbrush. Talk about a fault. The beast has no idea how to hold his toothbrush. Don’t get me started on his catnip.”

“He’s an addict then?”

“Terrible addict.”

Her lion grumbled near her, nuzzling against her side.

“You should see this oversized housecat, already begging me for his fix like I’m some kind of dealer. He wants to roll in the ‘nip all day. I bet he wants a box too. Expecting me to provide him a shelter from the outdoors just so he can tear the walls down.”

“Dreadful,” the man told her.

“The worst. Thank the gods this beast knows I’m a sucker for assholes.”

“How sad. I’m sure your family must be disappointed. I’m afraid I cannot relate.”

“Says the man who calls during the middle of the day to do what? Have phone sex?”

“Absolutely not. I’m simply calling to have a conversation about a catnip addicted, desperate lion with majestic manes and grooming habits attended to by a rather average sounding woman.”

“If you flirt with me any harder, I may come right here in the lion exhibit,” she told him, snorting at his witty comeback.

“Climaxing at work-“

“Don’t give me that, Mr. Sex Voice. A woman has to be able to finish her workday.”

She hung up, patting Utu on the head.

“You would not believe the prideful lion that tried to call me just now, Utu. He thought to seduce me with asshole comments about being average and shaming my family.”

The lion rubbed against her more.

“Alright,” she motioned towards the building nearby. “Let’s go grab your catnip. Just don’t tell the others about my weird work day phone calls.”

Going home that evening, Hakuno found her phone vibrating again.

She answered without a thought, holding her phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Ah, my Lion Tamer answers.”

“Mr. Sex Voice again. Did my first taunting not work?”

“I was so amused I decided to subject myself to another round of your banter. How were the lions? All limbs still in place?”

“I was licked to death after I hung up. Utu was incredibly jealous that I was spending so much time talking to you. He insisted to remove the memory of you from my mind. It almost worked too. Damn, you should have seen him in that catnip.”

“You gave him the catnip?”

“The whole container. The lion was higher than a kite.”

The man clicked his tongue, making her smile as she entered her home and tossed her purse onto her kitchen counter.

“What kind of zookeeper are you?”

“I’m a vet.”

“Ah, wanted to get paid?”

“I appreciate having money in my pocket sometimes.” She rummaged through her fridge for a block of cheese and the bottle of wine she had waiting for her. “But Mr. Sex Voice, I don’t believe you got any work done. It sounded like you were jacking off to my talk about Utu.”

“I was thinking about some average looking woman actually,” he told her. “I was imagining her slammed against my office desk and moaning loud enough for the secretary to hear.”

“An office grunty, does your boss know that you’re jacking off in your cubicle.”

A laugh came. “Woman, there is no boss. I am the leader of this company.”

“I hear compensation from your end.”

“I assure you nothing lacks in my regard.”

Mhmm.

She took a swig of her wine, staring out at the park area behind her small home. The quiet breeze and the fall colors met her gaze. The silence was nice.

“What are your plans this evening, Ms. Lion Doctor?”

“Entertaining a very bored man sitting in his tiny apartment.”

“I’m sitting at home, actually.”

“Home alone on a Friday night. You poor thing. Are your usual strippers taken? It’s so sad. I feel like you’ve got all the best strippers in town on speed dial.”

“Oh, but then I’d have your number.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but you do have my number.”

The man laughed again.

“What does a vet do on a Friday night?”

“Dinner dates as a third wheel, Karaoke with noise cancelling headphones firmly in place, quiet nights drinking wine and eating cheese on the couch.”

“Virgin.”

“Says the phone sex man.” Hakuno flicked on the television, hearing the warning sound that her phone was going dead. “It would seem I need to go.”

“Date?”

“Dead phone. Apparently, technology says you’ll have to just imagine me taunting you until you cum.”

“I will call back.”

She hung up again, laughing a little.

Of course he would.

He called when she was back in Utu’s habitat, making her laugh as she answered the phone.

“Good morning, Sex Voice.”

“Already awake?”

“Back with Utu. He seduced me greatly so I’m back in his habitat, trimming claws and checking bloodwork.” She cooed towards Utu a moment as the lion rolled more onto his side. “I’m sure a man like  you would not know of Saturday shifts.”

“I’m sitting, annoyed, in my office.”

“Ooh, did one of the interns learn that you have phone sex while they’re working?”

A small chuckle came. “Actually, we’re working on a marketing proposal.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, filing Utu’s nails as she listened to him.

“You seem very focused.”

“No catnip for Utu today?”

Obviously, he was tired, Hakuno thought, brushing shavings from her lap and giving another silent air kiss to the lion.

“I thought about it,” she told him. “But you know how addicts are. Sometimes you have to ween them off. You have to make them face reality. Hitting me up for a fix won’t fix things. Besides, Utu has a musk to him that should be left alone, free of catnip and whatever else he rolls in.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. He’s a king after all. A king should always smell like a woman’s next meal.”

The man laughed.

“I might use that.”

“What? That kings smell like a woman’s next meal?”

“Yes. It beats the marketing team.”

“Mhmm. Are you going to drape yourself over a chair and hold the bottle in hand, letting your hair be a bit unkempt to show that you’re both capable of ruling and getting down and dirty?”

“…Want a second job?”

She laughed. “Cheer up, Phone Sex. You sound more upset than Utu is about his ‘nip.”

He talked to her through her whole visit with Utu.

He talked to her while she had dinner that night.

Each day, the call came and she answered.

She laughed as she listened to him whine about his friend.

He laughed as she whined about monkeys being useless animals.

“I’m falling asleep, Mr. Phone Sex.”

“Dream of me then, Lion Girl.”

She grinned as she hung up, letting her phone rest on her face.

One day, she’d just maybe have to meet this man.

If only to give him the number to a good sex hotline.

[edales-drabbles]

Untitled Drabble - Mob Boss 2

Themes: Family, betrayal, moving on, taking responsibility for past mistakes.

Summary: Mob Boss’s son falls for a boy whose parents were killed by his father. This Drabble would make up a prologue of how they met and then the romance would occur later when they are older. This part goes into what I guess would be the prologue expanded. So if I was to make this into a story, book one would likely be the pre-slash stuff with romance occurring later. Certainly, Kedron (Mob boss) grows fond of the boy who keeps trying to kill him. 

Part 1

“Sir?”

Kedron looked up from his work as his driver called for his attention. The man knew better than to interrupt him without cause. “The brat is escaping school,” the driver said calmly, nodding over in the direction of a wall. Kedron looked outside and sure enough, Neirin Colman was swinging down of the tall wall carefully. Black hair wild and uniform looking dishevelled and unkempt. He exhaled and gave his bodyguards a look. They nodded with a look of resignation before getting out of the car, his driver parking for the moment. 

He watched as the guards caught Neirin as before he could really hit the ground running. Neirin yelled in surprise and began to fight but his guards were too used to him by now. Kedron crossed his arms and looked suitably intimidating as Neirin was pushed into the car, one guard either side of him. 

So of the panic left Neirin’s eyes as he saw just who had captured him. His bag was tossed over to Kedron’s feet and the door shut. They pulled off and Neirin only scowled and looked down on the floor. 

“It’s been less than a week since I released you from my custody and already you are causing problems,” Kedron said calmly, picking up the bag and poking it gently. It was in a disgusting state. The white parts of it having long turned grey and holes in many places. “This is going in the bin,” he said idly, opening up some of the pockets. 

“It’s not yours to throw out,” Neirin growled. He went to stand but the guards only pushed him back down. One reached around him to put his seatbelt on for him. Neirin blushed and crossed his arms. 

Kedron gave him a look. “This is no state for your school back to be in,” he scolded, pulling books and paper out of the bag. Grimacing at the state of the paper and books. Nothing was cared for, most of it shoved in without a care. At the bottom of the bag was some pens and pencils, one of the pens leaking ink onto a science book. “Lovely,” he shook his head, pulling some wipes out of the side of the car and cleaning his fingers. 

“If you stopped being a nosy tosser…”

One of the guards elbowed Neirin in the ribs, making him shut up and bite his lip, glaring angrily at the man. He sank down on the seat, looking ready to pick a fistfight again. If he needed too, the guards would happily rough him up. Neirin certainly seemed like the type to need to fight to blow off steam. 

“You’re about,” Kedron glanced at the date on his phone and did a quick calculation. “Three weeks away from me putting on my mark on your skin if you don’t start behaving.”

Neirin flushed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When exactly they switched from Neirin trying to kill Kedron to Neirin being weirdly connected to him, Neririn wasn’t sure anymore. “You know my birthday,” Neirin commented slightly, understanding the implication. Kedron had been tracking it. He would be 16. Still young but not a child anymore, and certainly old enough for Kedron to be harsher with his punishments. 

“Of course,” Kedron said idly. He looked up at Neirin and tapped the seat next to him idly. “You tried to break into my house regularly for a year or so. I know a lot of things about you, Neirin. For example, I know that your grades are far too low for you to be skipping school. Or ruining your books,” he shook his head at the state of the things. 

“And yet, you didn’t drop me back at the gates,” Neirin challenged, a suspicious look in his dark eyes. Kedron had seen that look before.  

“No,” Kedron agreed, smiling. 

“So why…” Neirin looked out the window and realised where they were. He paled. His hands clenched tight. The look in his eyes turned wild and scared. Neirin knew they were in dangerous territory right now. At least for him. They were in Kedron’s district. This was a place that if Kedron decided to get rid of him, no one would question his age or care. Kedron was King here. The guards shifted, almost as to make themselves known and Neirin visibly gulped. The teenager gusto fading almost instantly under a very real fear of what was about to happen to him.

Watching the boy go into panic mode, Kedron rolled his eyes. “Breath,” Kedron advised. “I have business today. You can sit in my office and study like a good boy until it’s time to go home. Unless you’d rather join me?” he offered. Laughing broadly as Neirin shook his head fiercely. “Smart. I hope you’re smart enough to behave. The men here are less forgiving than my home guards,” he warned, typing a message on his phone.

“They don’t put up with snot-nosed kids,” Dave grunted, ruffling Neirin’s hair. Neirin yelled in annoyance, shaking his head and leaning over Carlos to get away from him. Carlos said nothing, only grunting as Neirin caught him with his elbow. 

“I’m not a kid!” Neirin complained.

 “You very much are. Now, I’ll arrange a tutor to come to help you study. I assume you were trying to avoid a test of some?” Kedron said firmly. This was not up for discussion. 

There was a moment of hesitation from Neirin, still partly hanging over Carlos. That look of wariness was back and Kedron almost felt sorry for the boy. He was about to start counting when Neirin finally began to talk. “Yes, math,” Neirin admitted slowly, curling up slightly on the chair, one foot coming up to tug under him. Dave grinned at him and Neirin moved closer to Carlos. 

“Get your shoes off the leather,” Kedron warned, as he sent the message and put the phone in his pocket. Neirin put his feet back on the floor and put his hands on his lap, unclenching them but still clearly nervous. “Neirin, it’s time you started to talk to me with a bit more respect,” Kedron added firmly. 

“You killed my parents,” Neirin said bluntly.

“I have killed a lot of parents,” Kedron said equally bluntly. “Would you prefer I treat you in the same manner?”

“Not particularly,” Neirin grumbled.

“Sir,” Kedron coughed with a pointed look on his face. He watched carefully as Neirin looked angry for a moment. Emotions flitted across his face until finally came a strange kind of resignment. Kedron killed his parents. Neirin didn’t want to die too. He said the word. Kedron grinned. Maybe Neirin was trainable after all. Dave and Carlos smirked at the boy.

--

Kedron led Neirin to his office with one hand on his back. Neirin staying close as he was walked through a sea of crooks and vipers. Some knew his father, many didn’t. All of them were vaguely interested in the young man he was personally overseeing. A few licked their lips at the sight of fresh meat. Neirin pressed close to him, Kedron letting him. Neirin had no idea how lenient Kedron was with him. His sons had been expected to walk with their heads high. Even Colton. They would never gain respect if they did not. 

Carlos peeled off as his replacement appeared, Carlos having finished his shift of the day. Dave remained with them for the moment. Kedron walked into his office and was pleased to find an older woman standing there with a bag and several books on the meeting table. She bowed slightly as he entered. 

“Sir, I have prepared the requested materials,” she said calmly. “I am available for the rest of the day to deal with your pet project.”

“I’m …” Neirin went to complain but Kedron just looked at him and he quietened. This was not the time to fight. Neirin clutched at the bag that had been returned to him and looked at the floor. 

“You are to spend the day studying what you need for that math test. Ms Spencer will assess your ability and where you need to improve critically. We shall set up a study system for you in order to improve your scores. I have no intent on watching you waste your talents any longer now you are in my purview,” Kedron instructed firmly, pushing Neirin to a chair and sitting him on it. 

“I’m not one of your sons,” Neirin complained.

“Good. If you were I’d cane you for your behaviour. Most unbefitting of one of my blood,” Kedron sniffed. “As it is, your uncle has clearly been a failure as a caretaker. Now. Be quiet. Stay out of trouble.”  

[imagine-korea]

Comfort - Chen Mafia! AU

@ilook-soperfectstandinghere14 :  Hi there, I recently had a very horrible day at work where comments kept building (mainly from my boss) and I ended up crying… please could I have a EXO or bts or monsta x mafia scenario with any member/s where this has happened and they comfort the reader please?? Thank you xx

Here you go!! Sorry it took a while. And this was a bit rushed, too, so it isn't proofread or anything. I'm really sorry!

xoxo, 🍪

“I'm home.” Your voice echoed through the large mansion as two men in black held the giant oak doors open for you. You gave them a thanks, before continuing on your way.

His mansion was big; which was understandable. For he was the one and only Chen, one of the senior members in the dangerous mafia group EXO. But you knew better than that. You knew him as Kim Jongdae; not Chen. Despite the ruthless façade with the taunting smirk that never seemed to leave his face, you knew he was human, too. He was just Kim Jongdae, someone who needed to be loved.

Meanwhile, you were a simple person who was happily living their life. But nonetheless, fate had other plans and here you were. The significant other to Jongdae. Being his partner was actually easier than you thought, as Jongdae didn't want to put you in danger. Only his team members, his mansion workers, and bodyguards knew about you. Parties and meetings, you prefer to pass. After all, you have your own job.

“Do you really have to work there? You know I make more money than your one year allowance, right?” Jongdae had once said to you, taunting you with a raised eyebrow. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Jongdae, I'm (l/n) (y/n), not some sort of famous rich person. I wasn't born into this life, hell, I wasn't even made for this life,” you huffed. “I don’t want to depend on you solely, you know. What if you're not here anymore? I need to make money somehow.”

Jongdae frowned, “I'm not going anywhere. And besides, it's not safe. Please, at least let me assign a driver to pick you up.”

“Sure, Jongdae. (y/n) the mere office worker with an average income riding a limousine? Totally not suspicious.”

That was ages ago. Jongdae let you win almost every argument, so he gave in on that one, too - though he did sometimes assign someone to accompany you. Sometimes, though, you wish he didn't. Some days you wished he persisted on you not having to go to work.

Those days were days like today. You had one shitty day at work, starting from staining your favorite jacket with coffee, a broken printer, computer crashed before you saved your file, a short-tempered boss, and you despised every second of it.

Your heels were discarded on the kitchen floors as you reached on the counter to grab a bottle -- something that can take your mind off of this pessimism, at least. It wasn't helping, though. You found yourself still feeling like shit, if not more.

Walking into the living room, you saw one of his henchmen. You asked where Jongdae was. He said that Jongdae had a meeting, and that he'll be back soon. Great, now your mood was basically six feet under.

You felt helpless, like life was unfair. Where was your comfort when you needed it? You let your tear duck flow open and just started bawling in front of the henchmen. He stared at you worriedly, contemplating on what to do as you cried, sniffled and whined. The man got you a box of tissues, and left you to your privacy as you put on some crappy romance movies and sipped (read : chug) on your drink.

Halfway through the first movie, there was a loud slamming of doors and a faint “Where's (y/n)?!” from the front door. The clicking of his expensive shoes on the marble tiles became louder as he stormed in the living room to bestow upon the sight of your puffy eyes and sniffly nose, and popcorn scattered on the carpet. But his eyes, the ones that you longed for so badly, was focused solely on your figure.

“Hey, baby.” Jongdae gave you a soft smile, his first panicked and cold stature melting away as you broke into fits of sobs again. He opened his hands, offering you a hug which you gladly gave into. Sobs wracked your body, vibrating onto Jongdae's warm ones as he caressed your hair softly.

“It’s okay,” Jongdae hushed your cries. “Just tell me what happened.”

And so, you did. For what seemed like hours, you told him everything that has been bothering you, all the while Jongdae just nodded in understanding. He cradled you in his arms, placing his chin on top of your head.

“I want to quit my job,” you admitted. “It sucks.”

Jongdae frowned, “But you’ve worked so hard on it, and you were the one who fought so hard to keep it. Are you sure?”

“I don’t know, Jongdae,” You ran a hand through your unkempt hair. “I honestly don't know.”

“Well, I’m okay with whatever you choose," Jongdae shrugged. “But really, (y/n). Bad days happen to everyone - including you, and me.

“We just have to suck it. It hurts, but at least you have someone to comfort you - just like you do to me,” he ended with a smile. When you look up at him with red eyes, he continued.

“Remember that one time where I broke the vase near the front door because Baekhyun was being a dick?” he hummed, and you let out a giggle. “It wasn’t my fault! He was the one who jeopardized the mission, and Junmyeon blamed me instead. How unfair.” he pouted.

And so the both of you spent the rest of the night drinking out your sorrows as you searched your memories for funny moments, like the time where a passerby thought that Minseok and Jongdae were a gay couple - “We’re not, for Christ’s sake, I wasn’t even  holding his hand!” - and the other time where Sehun had everyone bring him different flavors of bubble tea because he won the bet.

By the end of the night when fatigue kicked in, you were another crying mess - but this time, it was the tears of joy and awe. Jongdae was a bad guy and did illegal stuff for a living, yes, but that doesn’t make his heart any less kind.

You’ve fought. But in moments like this where everything disappears and it’s only Jongdae, his sparkling eyes and boisterous laugh, or his loud whines - you cherished all of them.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hugged him tight, whispering a small thank you. Jongdae seemed to be taken aback by the action and he froze on the spot.

Not long after, though, he wrapped his own arms around your fragile figure and hugged you tightly, nuzzling into your hair.

The back pains the next morning from sleeping on that position on the couch was nothing but worth it.

[thehuggamugcafe]

The Charlatan: First Day I

OOC: Good morning, my dear customers. I’ve been on quite the roll lately, haven’t I? I hope this trend continues.

This is something to tide you marvellous people over until I get around to posting something related to the Halloween requests.

Well, that’s enough rambling from yours truly. Let us start the game, shall we? ☕

Part 4 of Transfer Student is here. https://thehuggamugcafe.tumblr.com/post/179520794687/the-charlatan-transfer-student-iv

A sigh was breathed past the lips of Ms. Kawakami as she walked on the courtyard’s walkway, the soles of her white kitten shoes clicking as she stopped at a familiar voice addressing her. She glanced up at a tall man with unkempt brown hair, thick brows pinching the slant of his brown eyes as he frowned in clear disapproval. He sighed as he raised a thick, masculine hand, fingers tussling his hair.

Suguru Kamoshida, the PE teacher and volleyball coach. He was also an former Olympic medalist, and if his dedication (for lack of a better word) to the volleyball team was anything to go by, he certainly had talent in athletics.

“What a troublesome situation.”

The brunette Japanese Language teacher sighed as she rested a hand on her hip.

“I can’t believe they pushed someone with a record on me. A male teacher would be better suited for this...”

Although... She couldn’t help but silently admit that she wasn’t sure who she was complaining about the transfer student to: Kamoshida or herself.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It wasn’t something she should fret over for now. She had enough on her plate to deal with already...

“Why in the world was someone like that admitted here?”

Mr. Kamoshida made no attempts to hide his disapproval he felt at the situation; his face and his voice spoke volumes of his irritation.

“Who knows? It was the principal’s decision. I was told that it was for the school’s reputation.”

“I would’ve thought that my volleyball has contributed more than enough to cover that.”

“That’s certainly true.”

“Be careful, okay?”

Mr. Kamoshida flexed his lightly muscled arms as he talked.

“Then again, if anything were to happen, I’d kick out a student like that right away.”

Ms. Kawakami pursed her lips as she scratched her head, her slim, feminine digits toying with her brunette hair. As Shujin’s “golden star,” Mr. Kamoshida certainly did have a lot of strings to pull at Shujin Academy. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he was able to convince the faculty, the student body to give the cold shoulder to the transfer student, and all for having a criminal record.

Shujin Academy couldn’t afford to have any blotches stain its reputation for being a prestigious college-prep school, after all. Then again... It would only bolster the school’s notoriety if, say, a student with a criminal record was reformed.

As the situation was currently playing out, they would most likely outcast her without Mr. Kamoshida having to say anything at all... She couldn’t help but quietly pity the transfer student a bit, just a bit.

“I keep wishing that she’d just end up not coming to school. Still, that isn’t something I should be saying as a teacher...”

“Well, I should be returning to practice.”

Ms. Kawakami’s head bobbed up and down as she nodded.

“Oh, right. The tournament’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

“Hehe,” Mr. Kamoshida paused to laugh, letting a hearty grin pull at his mouth, displaying pearly white teeth, “having such high expectations placed on you by others is quite a problem in itself.”

Yet you clearly love the attention it brings you.

Ms. Kawakami didn’t dare to voice the thought that just crossed her mind.

There were rumours, of course, unsubstantiated for the most part, but rumour was that Mr. Kamoshida “had a talk” with the necessary people in Shujin Academy to have the previous volleyball coach fired.

She wouldn’t put it past him to have her sacked, simply for speaking up against him or disagreeing with him in any way, shape, or form.

“We’ll have to work hard to make up for the track team too.”

“Yes... that’s true.”

She watched Mr. Kamoshida walk away, and it wasn’t until that she was sure that he was out of earshot that she muttered to herself.

“Why’d it have to be my class...?”

The atmosphere in Sojiro’s car was tense, and although you didn’t show it, you worried that saying the wrong thing might upset your caretaker somehow.

Keep your hands folded in your lap.

Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.

Don’t speak unless your opinion is asked for.

Don’t say anything unnecessary.

The barista in question grunted in annoyance, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared---no, glared---out through the windshield. Taillights blinked red, horns honked, and several unkind words were given and exchanged.

It looked like you and Sojiro would be returning home late today...

“Traffic’s not moving at all. You’re taking the train starting tomorrow.”

You nodded silently, not daring to open your mouth.

He paused, and the stress that wrinkled his forehead softened slightly. It was barely noticeable, but for once since you met him, he spoke to you in a somewhat mild manner. You saw that he was doing his best to show that he was annoyed with the traffic jam, and not you; your first impression of him improved slightly because of it, but only slightly.

“So, how was it? The school, I mean. Think you can manage?”

You voiced a soft “mm,” nodding once. “It seems fun.”

However, he breathed a sigh at your response. He didn’t look totally convinced.

“Do you even understand your situation...?”

You blinked as your (f/c)-framed glasses glinted. Your eyes showed confusion behind the spectacles that you wore, and a shimmer of annoyance.

What’s he getting at here? I understand the situation I’m in perfectly well.

“Still, you were expelled once already. To think you’d re-enroll at a different one. It’s not like anyone will be sympathetic with you.”

The passenger seat shifted as you tried to make yourself comfortable. You breathed a silent sigh as you stared out at the busy street, pursing your lips as your caretaker continued talking.

“...If that’s what it was like at school, people might say stuff about me in the future too... What a troublesome kid I’ve taken in.”

You felt a hand curling to a fist that shook in your lap. You clenched it tighter, forcing the barely-there trembling of irritation to stop.

“...Why did you take me in?” you asked, glancing at Sojiro.

“I was asked to do it, and I... just happened to agree to it. I’ve already been paid for it too, after all.”

You said nothing, redirecting your attention back out the windshield, blankly staring at the traffic jam, at the flashing taillights.

It was probably her idea. She convinced Dad to pay Mr. Sojiro to take care of me for my probation period.

Your mind conjured the enraged visage your mother had on that evening. If you focused hard enough, you still felt a phantom pain that was surprisingly familiar, but negative. The phantom pain of being struck across the face.

The low, droning voice of a newscaster on the radio caught your attention.

“Again, a subway has derailed at Shibuya Station, greatly affecting the timetable all across the---”

Sojiro voiced a low, growling sigh of clear-cut vexation.

“Another accident...? So that’s why it’s so crowded. There’s been a lot of those lately.”

Screams filled the air, hair-raising shouts of fear and panic as citizens rushed for safety, running away from the subway platform. The loud screeching of metal was heard as the subway rolled on its side, the high speed resulting in the train colliding one compartment of the train to another. Finally, a cloud of dust hung in the underground subway tunnel, the live footage cutting to a brunette news anchor.

“That was direct footage from the accident. According to the police, the engineer’s life was not in danger despite his injuries. After questioning, even he could not explain his high speed, and no further comments have been made. Police are looking for a plausible motive. In other news....”

The female reporter’s voice droned through the TV’s speakers, and the staring contest was broken by the gruff voice of an elderly-looking man.

“It’s less of an operating accident and more of a crime of the company and the government. Site inspectors reported all of this 6 months ago. The deterioration of the tracks and ATC. Seems the railway company and the Ministry of Transport both turned a blind eye to the truth. There’s no way they can hide; this will go all the way to the top.”

“Now onto our main story. With this derailment accident, as well as other recent incidents of unknown motive, concern is spreading among the general public. Just what could be causing such a drastic change so suddenly in these people?”

“Everything’s linked. That’s what you’re thinking, correct?”

The tall, long-haired woman standing adjacent to him said nothing. Her brown, mauve red-tinted eyes stared at the TV screen, lost in thought.

“Ah well. You free? You and I haven’t gone for a drink in a while.”

A smile curled the woman’s lips as she glanced at him.

“Thank you, sir, but I have another meeting to attend. I must be going.”

She paused to bow respectfully before her boss, her dark gray heels softly hitting the carpet-covered floor of the SIU Director’s office. Soon, she was descending a winding marble staircase, her gaze falling on a young man who was dressed rather well, dressed to impress himself upon others.

A smile curled the brunet, auburn-eyed 18-year-old’s lips.

“Did you ask for me? Is it a case?”

“Not quite. I want your opinion on something.”

“Sure. Your judgment is quite often correct. Shall we discuss this over sushi, perhaps? You are making a student work late, after all.”

“Conveyor belt only.”

The brunet’s face showed disappointment.

“Aw.”

The lock of the coffee shop was undone with a soft click, and the small golden bell jingled its melodic chime as the door was opened. Sojiro’s disgruntled mood was obvious the moment you crossed Leblanc’s threshold, glancing at the middle-aged barista as his face openly showed the annoyance he felt.

“Damn, to think there’d be that much traffic... What a waste of time. I wasn’t able to open the café today.”

He paused, his gray irises staring into your (f/c)-framed gaze, pursing his lips as he breathed an all too familiar sigh.

“...Whatever. Just head upstairs. There’s something I need to give to you.”

Deciding not to question it, you nodded and made your way for the attic stairs, and Sojiro followed.

He glanced at his cellphone as a news notification blinked on his screen.

“Talk about a gruesome accident... 80 people were involved.”

He slid the cellphone back into his pocket, withdrawing a thin book from the front pocket of his two-button white blazer.

“It’s a diary. Make sure you write in it.”

The black-covered diary hit the table with a noticeable flap noise, landing near your schoolbag.

“You may be under probation, but there’s no special limitations on what you do in particular. Besides following the law, that is. However,” he paused, his forehead wrinkling as his stern stare drilled holes into you, “I’m obligated to report on you, which is why I’m having you record your daily activities.”

Be-be-beep.

You watched as Sojiro took out his cellphone again. You noted how he took the time to glance at the caller ID, and how surprisingly relaxed he sounded. He didn’t sound anything like how he spoke to anybody else, but especially you.

“Hey, what’s up? ...I’m about to leave right now. ...Uh-huh. I’ll see you soon.”

The soft smile that curled his lips fell as soon as he hung up, glancing back at you.

“Well, I’m off for the night, so do whatever you want for the rest of the night. Oh, but don’t mess up my store. If something goes missing, I’ll hand you right over to the cops. You got school tomorrow... You’d better head off to bed, all right?”

“Yes, Mr. Sakura. Good night.”

You weren’t bothered by the fact that he didn’t so much as wish you a good night before he left, no. You watched as he descended the stairs, and it wasn’t until you heard the café door opening and shutting that you moved.

Your gaze eyeballed the diary, picking it up and staring at it.

I should do as I’m told for now.

You all but collapsed into bed, the old, lumpy mattress cradling every curve of your body as you stared up at the ceiling, hands cradling the back of your head in folded palms, in interlocked fingers.

Sojiro had called just as you were getting ready for bed, asking you to flip the sign over to closed, and to lock up for the night. You did as he requested of you.

You had only written a few sentences in your probation diary.

4/10

“Today wasn’t a bad day. All in all, my experience in Tokyo has been as I expected it to be so far: busy and bustling.”

“It’s my first day of school tomorrow. I hope everything goes well.”

Let’s see... I need to take the train to school tomorrow...

You dug out your cellphone from your pocket, eyeing the screen.

Yongen-Jaya... Aoyama-Itchome... Transfer...

More news about that subway accident... It sounds like a lot of people were hurt.

I bet this’ll affect the timetables for tomorrow too...

You breathed a hum of confusion, blinking owlishly as a familiar icon blinked on your phone’s screen. It was red and black, taking the form of an eye.

That strange app from last night is back... It keeps showing up.

“It’s so creepy,” you muttered, placing an index finger on the screen.

You dragged it down as a trash can icon popped up, and it was deleted. Again.

I should probably reboot my phone, just in case...

Exhaustion slowly took its hold on you, and you had enough energy to yawn as your eyes felt heavy. You succumbed to the welcoming abyss of unconsciousness.

The first thing you smelled when you woke up the next morning was the pleasant aroma of coffee and curry. Instinctively, your mouth watered as you got dressed for school. You tugged (f/c) leggings over your thighs, and shoved your sock-covered feet into the dress shoes, tapping the heels on the floor as you straightened the front of your blazer.

I have school starting today... I hope I can get there without getting lost. I don’t want to be late on my first day. I should head out now...

The soles of your shoes clicked as you approached the stairs, grabbing your schoolbag and slinging it over your shoulder as you descended the stairs.

“Oh, so you actually are going to school?”

The surprise that laced his voice, that was across his face was as plain as day.

The bag bumped against your back as you walked, and you greeted Sojiro with a soft, “Good morning” and a small smile as you walked past him.

You didn’t want to intrude on his business, and you didn’t want to be late for your first day, however...

His stern voice stopped you when you were halfway to the café door, and you felt a chill run up and down your spine.

“Hey.”

Crap. It’s this early, and I’m already in trouble? I didn’t touch anything last night!

“You leaving so soon, and on an empty stomach?”

What?

You turned around, confused, and stared at Sojiro as he stood behind the service counter.

“Sheesh... Do country folks go out the door in the morning, hungry? At least eat breakfast first.”

...Breakfast?

Your eyes fell on the steaming plate of curry that was placed in front of an empty stool, complimented by a piping hot cup of coffee. Your mind yelled at you to get to school, but your stomach whined, pleading you to eat the food Sojiro had waiting for you.

So, you swallowed and nodded, shrugging the schoolbag off of your shoulder. You set it on the empty stool on your right, picking up the spoon and slowly, carefully stirred it.

“...Curry and coffee? For breakfast?”

You blinked owlishly up at him, (e/c) irises peering through the (f/c)-framed glasses that sat on your nose.

“...What’s that look for? Make sure to eat it before the customers come in.”

“...Thank you for the food.”

That was all you said as you picked up a helping of curry, popping it past your lips. Immediately, your eyes widened in astonishment, chewing and swallowing what was in your mouth before another helping touched your tongue.

This is... This is delicious! I can taste complex flavours hidden in the bold spiciness... How does he not have more business with food this good?

It amazed you even further when you took a sip of coffee, your (e/c) irises shining with enjoyment.

I’m not one for coffee, but this cup is making me seriously reconsider!

When the last spoonful of curry was washed down with a few sips of coffee, you allowed a smile---a real smile, a genuine smile---to curl your lips as you stared at Sojiro.

“That was delicious. Thank you,” you said, nodding as you stooped down to collect your schoolbag.

“Thanks. Hurry over to school. You’ll end up late if you get lost on the way.”

You nodded, bidding him a quick farewell, and turned on your heels, approaching Leblanc’s entrance.

“Oh, flip the sign outside to ‘open’ for me.”

You turned and nodded. It was the least you could do after he went out of his way to make you breakfast, after all.

“Yes, Mr. Sakura.”

“Be sure to do that for me, all right? Now, you better hurry on out. You’ll be late if you get lost, country girl.”

Again, you nodded, turning around and gripping the latch, tugging on it and pulling the door open. The small golden bell jingled softly as you exited, shutting the door as you left.

You flipped the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’, glancing around your immediate surroundings as you took in a slow, steady breath, doing your best to shake off the first day jitters.

Stay calm. Stay calm. You got this, country girl or not.

You paused to glance up at the sky, brows furrowed as you took silent notice of the dark rain clouds that were slowly gathering.

“...Did the forecast call for rain this morning? ...Well, at any rate, I should get to school.”

[deepseawritings]

After re-reading that one piece I wrote almost a month ago, I decided I don’t completely hate it, so I’m posting it now. A piece of original fiction, written becasue I wanted to write something sort of spooky and based on the area I live in (aka: everything is a figment of my imagination, except for the places depicted). 

Disappeared

Crossing the quarantine line didn’t bring any change to the sights. It was still just pines and more pines at both sides, and the road kept winding further up the mountain. Sandra was glad she’d taken a Dramamine, this road had awful curves and bends and otherwise she’d be green around the gills.

“Has the boss briefed you? About…?” Her designated driver coughed uncomfortable, unable to finish the sentence. Must be a new guy, Sandra couldn’t recall his name.

“Yes, he has. In general lines.”

In fact he dragged her out of her deserved vacations, cashing in a favour from a year ago and promising her to get those days back, and more, whenever she wanted. She could have been sunbathing on Ibiza, yet she said yes. A disappearance case? Completely her specialty and it must be something huge for the freaking superintendent to be this unsettled. He’d practically begged to her. So here she was, still in civilian clothing and with her luggage in the back seat.

“So why the quarantine line and not the usual police tape?” She asked hoping to get some details. He hadn’t been much of a talker up to this point.

He mumbled about how the inspector would inform her of everything. She thought about informing him she was an inspector too, but he was nervous enough without her usual biting comments.

Sandra observed the narrow road, entranced by the looming pines on both sides. She’d heard this forest had burnt on many occasions, yet to her it looked dense like a jungle. So different from what she’d seen around Barcelona. The car passed by the husk of a house, full of graffiti and climbing vines, and then, at the behest of the robotic voice of the GPS, they took the road on the right. The only turn in this road so far. There was a faded sign with a name she didn’t read, in front of an unkempt vineyard patch. Not much further ahead a sizeable field broke the monotony of the flanking pines.

“You’ve arrived to Elm’s Field” announced the GPS. Her almost mute companion pulled up to the other two cars parked by the field. Two uniformed persons were talking to a man she recognized. Inspector Morales. He didn’t seem overly surprised to see her. On her part, Sandra was surprised to meet him here; she had secretly hoped to never see his bearded and condescending face again. He shook her hand like they hadn’t parted in bad terms the last time they spoke, and even looked mildly pleased to see her.

“Inspector Sandra Costa. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re here.” If he was bitter about it, he was making a good job of hiding it. Strangely enough, he looked sincere.

“You already met Sergeant Garcia,” Morales gestured at her driver, then at the uniformed couple in front of him. “And they’re officers Paredes and Segarra, from the local police.”

The young woman smiled and waved at her, while the muscular guy shifted uneasy and scratched his arm under Sandra’s passing glance.

“Have you finished cordoning off the area?” Morales asked them.

“Yes sir,” Paredes nodded and her dark ponytail swayed like a whip. “Although it was a pain in the ass to cordon all the fucking mountain.”

Officer Segarra facepalmed and hissed “Laia!” between his teeth, and she replied with a mocking “Pol!”.

Sandra chuckled quietly and pretended to not notice Morales’ disapproving frown. She missed that camaraderie born after years of working with the same partner.  However, she’d come here to investigate a disappearance, and standing there would not help her solve the case any faster.

“Who’s the missing person?”

A sepulchral silence fell over them, all looking at her with varying degrees of nervousness and confusion.

Morales cleared his throat. “All of them.”

“What? What do you mean all of them?” Their faces told her louder than words that no, it wasn’t an elaborate prank. “How many people are we talking about?”

“The cordoned area includes two residential areas, a handful of farms and cottages, and an already abandoned village.” Officer Segarra ticked off fingers as he listed the places. “About a hundred people in total maybe.”

This was… catastrophic. No wonder the boss had sounded so worried when he called her. The press was going to have a field day with this, and she wouldn’t be surprised if the central government intervened soon.

“Corpses?”

“None so far,” officer Paredes informed.

Sandra licked her lips, thinking. “Has a terrorist operation been ruled out yet?”

“Terrorist cells leave bodies behind. Evidence.” Morales snapped at her. He was out of ideas and in charge, she realized. In other circumstances, she might pity him.

A soft rain started to lazily pour down, barely enough to wet the grass. Calabobos, her mother called it. Fitting, she felt a bit dumb right now. Was there even a crime if there were no victims to be found? Of course, the possibility of all these people packing up and leaving unnoticed was laughable, but a hundred people disappearing overnight was also ludicrous. And worrying. Mostly worrying.

“P-perhaps we should carry on with the programmed search, inspector Morales?”

A sensible suggestion, made by Sergeant Garcia of all people. Sandra had completely forgotten he was here, he occupied so little space he quickly became part of the background. Sandra got in the car with the local police officers, claiming she wanted to ask them some questions. It wasn’t a complete lie. Best of all, her new car companions wanted to talk to her too.

“Can you believe this has gone on for days without anyone noticing?” Officer Paredes commented from behind the wheel. “Some of these people have been missing for almost a week, apparently.”

That was– this was a mess and Sandra was regretting accepting the case. “Is this the first search done here, officer?”

“Apart from me and Pol cordoning off the whole mountain, you mean? And none of that officer thing please, just Laia and Pol.”

“Why a quarantine perimeter?”

Laia chuckled, a joyless sound to convey her opinion of that idea, so it was her companion who answered. “Cover story is that there’s been a toxic pesticide dump.”

As cover stories go, that one was neither particularly good nor bad. Wouldn’t hold for long, tough. Yet it was understandable Morales would be trying to keep the details from reaching anyone outside the investigation.

“Anything else?”

“There was a quick superficial search this morning on the other residential complex. Some of the farms in between too.” Laia had no problems telling her anything she asked about and Sandra loved her for that. Teamwork required freaking cooperation Garcia, goddammit.

The neighbourhood, if you could call it that, was a sparse collection of houses scattered around without a definite order. And people actually lived in this backwater place? The closest spot of civilization was eight kilometres away. Sandra looked intently at the houses from her back seat position. In this section all were clustered together at one side of the road, surrounded by trees and thick bushes, dormant and empty, waiting for owners who had vanished.

“My aunt used to own that house there, but only came in summer.” Pol pointed to a compact two story house. Despite the air of neglect wrapped around it, one could imagine it had been a pretty house back on its day.

The road forked and Laia kept on the main path, until they reached a curious building with a cement terrace and what looked like an old stage. There was a car and a moped parked in front of it. No signs of life around the premises, though. Morales’ car stopped, so they did the same.

“This is supposed to be the local bar.” Morales strode to the short flight of stairs before the door, and Garcia trotted after him.

Being closer to it, Sandra beat them to the punch. A petty victory, but enough to appease her competitive nature for now. She knocked on the metal door. The sound echoed on the presumably empty inside and nobody answered. She looked at the rest of the group, shrugged at Morales and pushed forcefully. The door opened without resistance, groaning dramatically with the movement.

She stepped into the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the half darkness. Nothing out of place at first glance. She paced carefully around, taking into the apparent normalcy of the room. In fact, it seemed like a patron had ordered a beer and was about to return. The glass bottle on the counter remained full to the brim. A single receipt was caught under the bottle, the paper still soggy. It disintegrated when Sandra tried to pick it up.

The door to the covered balcony was unlocked. The secluded space could be considered cozy, with its wooden tables and decorative plants, were it not for the message painted on the window’s glass.

IT’S AWAKEN

The ink used was of a suspicious brown-reddish colour, thick and clumpy. And undoubtedly scribbled by a human finger. Pol poked the substance with a pen he produced from his breast pocket.

“Not blood,” he determined. “It’s more like goo?

Nothing else of interest on the inside. Morales followed her outside, while the other three investigated the kitchen in depth. Sandra had taken a cursory look at it and knew the most interesting thing they could expect to find was a mouldy fridge. Too tidy in that dusty way of places nobody’s been in for a long time.

She lit a cigarette and walked in silence to the left of the bar’s premises. Morales dogged her steps, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. God, how she wished he would stop! She needed to process her ideas about the situation, and she though better while not being observed constantly.

It had stopped raining but a thick fog was rolling in. The child’s park was an eerie sight covered in mist and so empty that Sandra felt like an intruder. A cracking noise startled them, the rustle of something scurrying through the underbrush of the surrounding forest. Probably it was just a rabbit, or a fox, or any other critter. Animals didn’t give a damn about police cordons. Morales was avoiding her gaze now, pretending he didn’t jump at the sound like she did. Bullshit.

“What did you find during this morning’s search?” If he was surprised she knew about that, he didn’t show it.

“We just looked for survivors. Found nothing. The farms were empty too, even the cattle is gone,” he sighed, looking tired and years older than he truly was. “There’s also the candles found on the abandoned village, but I was told that’s normal.”

Well, she didn’t consider it completely normal. “Oh?”

“Hey inspectors, we’re done!” Laia shouted from the bar’s door.

Morales turned around and Sandra crushed the butt of the cigarette under her foot. Nothing to see here, might as well carry on.

Getting back into the cars Sandra once more chose to go with the local officers. Same as before, Laia drove following Garcia at a slow pace, while Pol and Sandra looked out of the windows for any signs of life. The road eventually bifurcated, and Morales gestured them to go straight forward while they took the right turn. Houses were more separated from each other now, and the ever thickening fog created the illusion of roofs and house fronts peeking up like forgotten islands in the sea of mist. It was a moment as good as any to satisfy her curiosity.

“What can you tell me about the abandoned village?”

“Place’s got bad fame because of an unsolved murder in the 90s,” Pol explained, his distaste of the whole ordeal dripping from his voice.

“You forgot the part about the rumours of a cult!” Laia wasn’t one to remain quiet, and bless her for bringing up the interesting details. Pol looked uncomfortable with it, scratching his arm and avoiding looking at her. “The place’s got a fame, you know? It attracts people wanting to commune with the spirits or some shit. And the trash they leave behind fuels the rumours of strange rituals happening there.”

Charming. Sadly, it was another dead end. Cults tended to leave behind either corpses, or pissed people who were scammed.

Ahead of them a tall building emerged from the fog, tall like a lighthouse. Curious to see a block like that after a parade of two story houses, especially when in front of it there was a small cottage with an even smaller fenced garden. And its door was wide open, swaying in the gentle but cold breeze.

Laia stopped the car in the middle of the road, alleging there was no traffic here, and went with Pol inside the house. Sandra stopped to look around, taking into the ruined building before her. Who in their sane mind would choose to live in front of that?

A sound came from within it, pebbles and debris crunching beneath someone’s feet and rolling around. Sandra got closer to the ruin, cell phone in hand to light the dark inside. Vines grew all over the walls and the trees here, smothering everything in a verdant carpet. She went in through a man sized hole in the wall. The bluish light of her phone hit the remnants of a reception counter, with a graffiti painted on the wall behind it. Welcome. A small noise to her right, deeper into the dark.

Her foot landed on something slippery, thick and squelching under her weight. The phone’s light revealed the same rust coloured substance used to paint the message on that window. A drop of it landed down as she was inspecting the puddle, heavy and loud in the resounding silence. Looking upward, Sandra saw a stain of the same substance on the cracked ceiling, slowly filtering down from the upper floor. The stairs were collapsed, though.

There was this prickling sensation in her scalp, as if she was being followed. She caught a quick movement out of the corner of her eye, but there was nothing when she swivelled around. God, she needed a smoke, this place was putting her imagination into overdrive. Better get out of here and join Laia and Pol on the house.

The fog hid both ends of the road and it felt like the car was in a bubble reality, separated from the rest of the world, which did not help much to ease her sudden nervousness.

The small garden surrounding the cabin was in disarray. The patch of flowers next to the gate had been stomped over and a garden rake lay broken in half, the wooden handle stuck on the ground like a defensive stake by the side of the gate.

The inside of the house was completely normal, though. The TV was on, cartoons still playing, with a lively green bowl full of popcorn on the floral couch. The only window, right behind the TV, was covered by a crocheted curtain; and the hearth’s shelf was dangerously full of family photos. Her mother would love the decor.

“Officers? Laia? Pol?” No answer.

Sandra went into the kitchen, looking around the cabin. Nothing. The twin bedrooms. Empty. In the bathroom she found another message, this time painted on the mirror with… it was either mud or shit. She hoped it was the former.

NO ESCAPE

A scraping noise outside caught her attention. Sandra ran to the door and stepped out into the fog. She spent a few seconds trying to puzzle why there was a tree next to the car. Then it moved, turning towards her, and screeched like a banshee.

An extreme feeling of wrong filled her as the tree-like thing started to fucking walk. Sandra bolted back into the house and closed the door, leaning against it as she tried to make sense of what she’d seen. If a stick bug grew to imitate a small tree, and had a disturbingly humanoid looking face, it still wouldn’t be close enough to that horrific thing out there.

A heavy impact rattled the door, nearly dislodging Sandra from her spot. Another thud, followed by a screech that made her wish to cover her ears and press her back against a wall until the chill in her spine went away.

Pushing against the door with one hand, she stretched her other arm to tug at the nearby telephone table and drag it closer, inch by painful inch. The next attack on the door threw her to the ground, nearly hitting her head on the same table she was moving. With one last push, Sandra shoved the auxiliary table in front of the entrance door. Then she stepped away to grab the bookcase next to the TV and bring it to her improvised barricade too. Then went the couch, bowl falling down and popcorn flying everywhere; and then the dining chairs to fill in the gaps. That was the only entrance big enough for that thing, and it wasn’t getting in, no matter how much it banged at the door. Not while Sandra could prevent it. The pounding went on and on, but the barricade held.

She stared vacantly ahead, desperately thinking about what to do, unaware she was digging her nails on her palms. Should she confront that thing? She was unarmed, she’d literally been about to go on a vacation so of course she wasn’t carrying her pistol! She could call for help, but who could help her and how much it would take them to arrive were unknown factors. But it was better than staying here and staring at the wall. She took out her phone with shaking hands. Out of range, fuck!

“Inspector Costa, open the door.”

The assault on the door had stopped. In fact, a disorienting silence had taken over.

“Open the door.”

It was officer Segarra’s voice, as if delivered from Heaven itself.

“Through the window!” Sandra retired the curtain and opened the window for him. It was a narrow fit, but it would work.

Hope is a dangerous feeling, more so when ruthlessly squashed. Pol pushed his head and torso through the open window, and Sandra felt the air leave her lungs. His face was covered in a greying, scaly layer, half fused with his clothes, rough looking and inhuman. Only his left eye remained untainted. Thin vine-like extrusions sprouted from his arm, from the same spot he’d scratched before when nervous.

He groaned, stuck in the reduced opening, shocking Sandra out of her horrified stupor. She might not have her pistol here, but she was full of fear induced recklessness. Sandra grabbed a fire poker from the hearth’s display, an ugly iron thing with a spike on the business end. She rammed it into his human eye. The unnatural, high pitched howl was most satisfying. The next step was to take it out and stab the parasitic growth on the arm. The skin was hard and rigid, but once it shattered the flesh underneath was sickeningly easy to abuse. The creature that once was officer Segarra jerked spasmodically and then withdrew from the window, leaving torn pieces of its bark-like skin stuck to the frame and a splash of rust coloured goo on the floor.

Alright, alright, she needed to barricade the windows too maybe, and -

Sound of static “…Inspector Costa, officers…”Static noise

The patrol car’s radio. The sound was slightly muffled, but in the sudden silence she could understand most of it. Garcia and Morales were investigating on their own, she forgot about them in her panic. And unlike her, they were armed.

“…Morales disappeared…”Static noise“…being followed by mutated…”

Shit. She had a bad feeling about this.

“…Please, I can’t- Inspector Morales? What… AHHHHH!”

The scream lasted a few agonizing seconds, and then static took over again, this time forever.

Sandra was utterly lost. Was it safe to assume everyone else was dead or worse? Honestly, she didn’t feel like going to investigate. The house was a mouse trap, but safe. Barricade the windows it was.

After about fifteen minutes Sandra had fortified the house and scoured it to the last corner in search of a weapon. Surprisingly, she found an axe in one of the cupboards. Countryside folks were weird. With its dulled edge it was of more use as blunt weapon, but heaps better than a fire poker.

She checked her phone again. Still out of range. The meagre light of day was quickly fading, at only six PM. Last time she looked through the window more of those creatures were converging around the house and the patrol car. One of them had a familiar black ponytail sticking out of its inhuman head, blue uniform almost completely assimilated under the bark skin growing all over the body. No matter who they were before, Sandra would chop them all to pieces if any of the creatures attempted to break in.

An infernal chorus of screeches rose, like wolves howling to the skies. Sandra fidgeted with the axe. If she made it through the night, the superintendent surely would send someone to investigate why nobody had reported yesterday. She only had to make it through the night.

The screeching stopped as abruptly as it began. The earth trembled, followed by the unmistakeable sounds of trees falling over. She had a terrible feeling about this. Something low and guttural rumbled outside the house, a distorted shadow passing over the window. Sandra held her breath, praying they would all go away, yet gripping the axe tightly.

A hit against the door shook the barricade and her bones. The door held, but it would not last forever. If pressed, she could still barricade herself on one of the rooms. And it wasn’t like those creatures would fit inside the house, never mind something larger. Right? The door rattled again, the hinges groaning under the strain.

She only had to make it through the night.

[bamby0304]

Season’s Special: Chapter 1

Spring: March

Summary: Life was simple. You worked at the local cafe, starting your days baking some pies before setting off to serve customers. Everything was routine, all year round. Nothing changed. As a creature of habit you were quite content living your life the way it was. But when a flannel wearing flirt walks into the cafe one morning you begin to wonder if maybe you’re missing something...

Over the next twelve months things start to change. Over four seasons your world is turned upside down... only question is, is it for better or for worse?

Masterlist

Warnings: None so far :):)

Bamby

Riding along the edge of the road on your bike, a basket full of bright and beautiful flowers you’d just bought from the florist, you smiled to yourself. Spring was upon your sweet Kansas town. Flowers blossomed, birds chirped, the skies were blue with cute, fluffy, white clouds floating around like large pillows of cotton candy. You waved to all the locals, receiving friendly ‘hellos’ and ‘mornings’ in return.

Today was going to be a great day. You could feel it.

Turning to the path on your left, you slowed down and came to a stop outside the cute and quaint corner cafe. Sitting outside, tied to a nearby pole, was a beautiful Staffordshire Bull Terrier, his mouth stretched into a smile of his own.

“Hey, buddy.” You leaned down to scratch the dog behind his ears.

His tail wagged in response. His head turning to lick your hand.

Laughing, you pulled back to stand straight again, your eyes looking through the window of the corner shop. Your shop.

Sugar and Spice was your pride and joy. Your very own café in the town you had come to love and call home. It was everything you had ever dreamed.

Recycled wood was used to make each piece of furniture, which had been hand crafted by a local carpenter- the piece that hadn’t been made were all from the local vintage and second-hand store. White paint covered the previously exposed brick walls which were part of the nearly century old building. Beautiful green vines and climbers hung around in pots along shelves, with some flowers mixed in to add colour. Large windows looked out onto the busy street and park across the road, letting light pour in at all hours of the day.

Above the store was your very own apartment. People had thought it was odd you’d decided to buy the whole building and not lease the apartment out, but you had wanted to be as close to the store as possible so you could work to your hearts content.

Every day you came down to the shop, early in the morning, before the birds had even woken, and spent hours baking in the kitchen, working away, doing what you loved most. Then you would leave the shop in good hands… Tom and Susie’s hands.

Tom was efficient and hard working. If you told him to spend the day cleaning the shop you knew you’d come back to shining glass and polished cutlery. He never left a job half done. But you’d never expect that just by looking at him. Not with his disheveled and straw-like sandy blonde hair- which you’d never seen brushed. Not when his whole wardrobe seemed to consist of un-ironed and faded t-shirts, wrinkled jeans, and an assortment of hoodies.

His social skills were just as unkempt as his appearance. Sure, he had manners and could manage pleasantries when on the front counter, but there were times he didn’t know when to reign in his blatantly honest opinions and comments.

You didn’t mind though.

When he’d walked into the shop and ordered a coffee one busy morning you couldn’t help but be impressed when he chose to clear all the vacant tables of any plates and mugs while he was waiting for his drink. In the two and a half years he’d worked for you, you’d learnt to love him and all his quirks.

Susie was what you’d expect… all bubbly giggles and bright blue-eyed smiles. Every day was the best day for her. She never saw the bad in any situation or person, and always found the time to make the customers smile. This sometimes meant she was a little too distracted to work, but people loved her bubbliness, and you couldn’t help but love it too.

It had been a quiet afternoon just over a year ago when she’d walked in, dressed in a rainbow dress and heels that added to her already towering height, with her red ringlets cut into a bob and pulled out of her face with a white cat ear headband. You didn’t see any reason why you shouldn’t hire her, and were thankful for that decision ever since.

Both Susie and Tom had been outsiders in the community. Most people had found Susie intimidating with how loud and cheerful she always was, while Tom had been avoided for his frankness. But now they were both loved and respected members of the community, and part of the small family you’d made in a town where you’d once been a stranger.

Smile still on your face, you left the dog and headed inside, carrying the bouquet of flowers you’d brought with you.

“Hey, boss!” Susie beamed, her eyes shining happily as they landed on the flowers. “Oh, wow! They’re gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at the bright outfit she’d chosen today. With a pair of white lace flats, a yellow dress, a floral apron that seemed to have all the colours of the rainbow on it and a daisy headband, her outfit conveyed her personality perfectly.

“Thanks, Sues.”

You walked around the tables and around the counter, coming to stand beside her as she waited by the glass display of cakes, cookies, pastries and pies. Placing the flowers on the bench you reached under the counter to grab the crystal vase that sat next to the extra business cards you kept there.

“Oh, I’ll go fill that with some water.” Susie offered, taking the vase before you could say a word. She dashed around the corner and into the kitchen with a skip in her step as she hummed a light tune.

“So, how’s everything been going this morning? Everything good?” You asked, reaching into the display to straighten a tray that was out of place.

Coming back to the front room, with water now in the vase, Susie hummed a simple yes. “No problems here. Unless you count Mr Jeffers and Tom arguing about global warming again.” She giggled lightly.

As if waiting for his name to be mentioned, Tom’s head poked through the open window that looked into the kitchen behind you. “It’s not my fault the old fart comes in every damn morning when he knows I’ll be on till duty. And it’s certainly not my fault he can’t keep his nonsense opinions to himself.”

Sighing, a small smile tugging on your lips, you turned to give him a pointed look. “What have I told you, Tom?”

“Smile, nod, and keep my mouth shut. I know.” He rolled his eyes. “But how can I when I have to deal with idiots like him day in and day out?”

“I have to deal with you.” You grinned cheekily.

Susie giggled, placing the vase on the counter. “The boss is right, T. You’re a lot of hard work, but we manage.”

“You manage because I’m capable of having an intellectual conversation… and both of you hate washing the dishes.” He countered. “Besides, I’m hardly the worst out of the three of us. Sues, you’re practically a constantly talking, grinning rainbow on legs.” He looked to you then. “While you’re a workaholic who refuses to have a life outside of this store. I mean… when’s the last time you had a day off?”

“It’s true.” Susie agreed with him.

“First of all, I am not a workaholic. Secondly, you both made me have 3 days off for my birthday. And lastly, I’m the boss. Don’t question me.” You told them, trying not to sound offended.

They were right though. Your life outside the café was pretty much non-existent. But the place required a lot of attention, and you didn’t feel like there was anything else that deserved your focus. This was your love and life.

“We’re just saying, maybe you should get out there and… I don’t know… date?” Susie shrugged, her hip leaning on the counter.

Walking away from the window, Tom headed over to the doorway between the backroom and kitchen before nodding his head at you. “How long’s it been since you’ve gotten any, anyway?”

“Oh, my God. You two are absurd and insane. My sex life has got nothing to do with either of you. And I would prefer it if we didn’t discuss it in the middle of the store.” You snapped in a harsh whisper.

“I don’t know… it seems like a perfectly fine conversation to have. I’m kind of curious myself now.” A new voice spoke up.

Cheeks red with embarrassment, you turned to see a customer standing by the till, waiting to be served. But what made it ever worse was the fact he had to be one of the best-looking people you had ever laid eyes on.

He was taller. Taller than Susie, which was something you didn’t see often. He had short light brown hair, that would probably look almost blonde in certain lights. The faintest hint of stubble lined his jaw line, which was the most defined jawline you had ever seen. His lips were curved into a charming and cheeky grin, a shade of pink that looked good enough to bite. His eyes though? That’s what made your heart skip a beat.

Green. They were a beautiful green. The kind of colour that’s only ever describe in stories, the kind you never thought actually existed. And they were breathtakingly gorgeous. You would bet a million dollars that if someone had those eyes hundreds of years ago they would have been worshiped like a God.

“Hi!” Susie was beaming in an instant, the conversation dropped as if it had never occurred. All she cared about at that moment was perfect customer service, like always. “How can I help you?”

“Two coffees, please. Black.” The man responded.

You’d just been about to turn to get the coffees yourself, but Susie was already gone. Then the phone in the kitchen began to ring, giving you a second chance to leave. But, of course, Tom called out that he had it, leaving you standing there stewing in your embarrassment.

The guy seemed to notice you discomfort and opted to change the subject. “Pie!” He beamed, looking to the display.

Silently thankful for the reprieve, you nodded and gestured to the assortment of pies on display. “Yeah. Today we have banana cream, raspberry pie, lemon meringue, and our season’s special,” you pointed to the pies that sat on the top shelf, “peach and blueberry.”

“Season special?” He hummed interest. “Are pies your speciality or something?”

“They’re the best in town!” A customer seated in the corner cheered.

You blushed lightly, shrugging modestly. “People seem to love them.”

“So, what’s so special about blueberries and peaches?”

“Well… there’s a secret ingredient in each season’s special… which I obviously can’t reveal, but it does make this pie different from any of the peach and blueberry pies we make any other time of the year.” You grinned lightly.

His interest seemed to increase at the mystery of the dessert. “I’ll take one.”

“Slice?”

“No. The whole thing.” He grinned back, being completely serious.

A little surprised- it was rare to sell a whole pie to a new customer- you grabbed a box for the pie just as Susie came out with the two coffees. She ran the order through the till, the customer handed over the money- which included a small and probably unnecessary tip- before he grabbed the box and drinks from the counter, flashing a smile in your direction again.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“It is a small town.” You commented. Later you would mentally kick yourself for how stupid you’d sounded.

Chuckling lightly, he reached over and took a business card from the counter before turning and walking out the door. You stood there and watched, catching him looking back at you with that grin still plastered on his face.

You didn’t realise it then… but your life was never going to be the same after that day.

Bamby

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[the-mad-prince-of-denmark]

Extrapolating on characters from my Midwestern Hamlet interp because I’m bored

Gertrude is painfully obsessed w how people see her. Her husband was a powerful and respected business/landowner in their town, and she almost feels like she’s under a microscope.

As a result, she is AGRESSIVE when it comes to things like propriety. She must look a certain way, she must act a certain way, she must talk a certain way. She must be a shining becon of what a good midwestern wife and mother should be.

Polonius started working for Hamlet’s father when he was still v young (Hamlet was young, not Polonius). He was the kind of adult to make unwarranted comments abt other people’s children (“Why is he so skinny? He should eat more.” “…well, all I’m saying is that *I* would never let Laertes keep his hair that long and unkempt.”), even his bosses.

Polonius is V old school in his beliefs abt things like gender roles and sex.

He SAYS he doesn’t have a favorite child, but he’s lying.

Laertes is *peak* Indiana boy. He plays football during the summer and fall, wrestles during winter and spring. He eats like his stomach is a black hole.

He and Hamlet have a…complicated relationship. Laertes has had a crush on Ham since he first met him, when he was six (abt the time his father started working for Hamlet’s). However because of the incredibley toxic masculine mentality that pervaded his environment, Lae never felt comfortable w his feelings for Hamlet. So he basically just bottled that shit up for years and used aggressive masculinity as a coping mechanism.

Growing up, he CONSTANTLY teased Hamlet for being/doing anything feminine, which is ironic considering that later, after Hamlet peaced out for Wittenberg, and Laertes is able to *slightly* come to terms w his feelings for men, and he starts dating Osric. Who is just the *most* femme boy of all time.

Speaking of Osric…

He is quintessential midwestern gay boi. All of his pants are denim, 2/3 of his shirts are crop tops. He is the proud owner of an exceedingly large make up collection.

Osric actually went to school (middle and high school) w Laertes and Hamlet, but their social circles never really intersected enough for them to get to know each other.

He didn’t really form a relationship w Laertes until he started an internship at Hamlet’s family’s business in his early 20s, where Laertes was working in the security dept. They bonded over hating most of their coworkers.

Eventually, Osric’s sense of humor and unwillingness to judge him made Laertes warm up to the guy. After a while, they started dating (in secret).

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern didn’t meet Hamlet until college. Though they had already known each other long before that.

In fact, they’ve known each other for so long that their mannerisms are almost identical. It can be genuinely hard to tell them apart at times, even though they look v different.

Before Hamlet left for Elsinore (the family homestead), their relationship mainly consisted of getting high in their dorm together and talking about nonsense like probability theory and politics and Vonnegut.

[sphericaladventures]

If you somehow missed the main article on my seven-day vacation called Click link〉〉Rincon, Puerto Rico, and Surrounding Treasures, this article is about side trips I took within a short driving distance of Rincon. There was so much to see and do in Rincon that I couldn’t contain it in one article. I will also remind anyone starting with this piece that the trip was taken at the end of November, the weather was mid-80s, and it was not at peak season…

Boating, Fishing, and Snorkeling in La Parguera

La Parguera, Gina @ Johnny’s Boat Rentals

We headed out to La Parguera, about an hour away, to Gina @ Johnny’s boat rentals, where we rented two small open skiffs to ride to a nearby cove and snorkel and fish with friends who had done the same.

On the way, we passed small painted cottages on stilts with covered boat slips and grabbed our cameras. We passed a dock where iguanas came to beg for food from tourists, providing another photo opportunity.

After spending the day in water so clear you could see the color of the sand at your feet and the fish swimming by, we reluctantly left, but detoured through the mangrove forest over the water, in and out of other secluded fishing spots, through tropical tunnels of bird inhabited greenery and twisted tree limbs. If you book a tour in the evening, you can visit one of the islands bioluminescent bays. The best time to go is when there is a new moon for greater visibility.

Jobos Beach in Isabela

Another day was spent about a half hour north of Rincon at Jobos Beach to see the crashing waves on the rocks of a popular surfing beach in Isabela. Once a beach primarily accessible to those living in the area, it is now under construction, with new hotels and restaurants making parking a bit of a struggle. Park along the main road or pay $5 in a local resident’s lot.

Waves crashing into rocks at Jobos Beach in Isabela, PR

You can trek the volcanic and plutonic rock to the top of a cliff and watch the ocean waves make contact and spray seafoam in the air. You are safe in a pair of flip flops, but bare feet would be ill-advised and seriously slow you down. The beach is the typically soft sand found on most of the area beaches and the water is easily accessed for swimming.

There are Spanish style eateries to visit along the beachfront here serving local fare. The construction will likely end up commercializing the area and taking some of the native feel away. New hotels mean new restaurants and activities, but there is a cost. Puerto Rico’s economy is not the best and additional tourism dollars can help. Keep an eye on this transitioning area and see what unfolds.

  Playa Sucia in Cabo Rojo

Playa Sucia Beach and Salt Flats in Cabo Rojo, PR

Puerto Rico has salt flats near the beach in an 1800-acre reserve in Playa Sucia – La Playuela – in Cabo Rojo. The name means “dirty beach” but it is anything but unkempt. Heading south, it takes a little over an hour to get there. Then you will drive on a white sand and salt road riddled with potholes and pools of water through indigenous trees and brush for about a mile to reach a secluded beach area perfect for picnicking. The low-lying trees create a canopy to find shade from the sun. The sand is soft and white and the water is clear blue for miles.

This is where the Caribbean Sea meets the Atlantic Ocean. On one end of the beach are trails to take you along the ridgeline of limestone cliffs until you reach a jetty of rock and natural bridges for some excellent views of the entire area including the lighthouse and observatory. You will see lizards on the path and big blue crabs climbing the rock formations near the water; a spectacular site as waves crash into the cliffs are viewed from above. An unusual number of butterflies gather here that are attracted by the salt and natural plant life.

Los Morillos Lighthouse on the other side of the beach is accessible by walking up the long gravel drive to the top of the cliffs or by shuttle bus. There is a tourist center where you can get water, read about the history of the reserve, salt crystals, and the lighthouse, and purchase local crafts made as you watch; items like jewelry, hammocks, and artwork. Outside, get as close as you dare to the edge of the cliffs to capture this dramatic view. There are no safety barriers. You would not be the first person to fall, be wary.

Gozalandia Falls in San Sebastian

Side view of Gozalandia Falls

With all the cliffs around the island of Puerto Rico, it makes sense to search for waterfalls like the Gozalandia Falls in San Sebastian about 45 minutes away. Be prepared, you will find steep dirt road access to the parking area and it gets even steeper when hiking on foot to the waterfall area. It used to be downright dangerous, but the park added cement steps with railings and walkways to viewing areas in 2010. Wear comfortable shoes and prepare to get wet. Hiking-style sandals with straps would be recommended for traction, to protect your feet, and dry quickly.

Gozalandia Falls, San Sebastian, PR

The falls empty into a swimming hole before continuing down the rocky river bed. A recent rain will make the 50’ falls even more amazing. The water in November, after some pretty heavy rains, was still comfortable for swimming. Even though the weather was mid-80s, it was a little cooler in the shade of the trees. We spotted a drone or two taking photos above our heads to get some crazy angles.

Crash Boat Beach in Aguadilla

We just had to see what the fuss was about at Crash Boat Beach in Aguadilla. A half hour north of Rincon, local fishermen paint their boats in bright colors, load up their gear, push their boats off the beach and into the ocean to fish for the day. On their return, there is no dock to tie up to so they get a running start and head full tilt to crash onto the beach as far as they can go before dragging the boat onto rollers and hauling it up further to unload their catch.

Crash Boats Beach Fishing Boats

There is a long cement pier on one end with a strange bright yellow metal doorway to nowhere. You can walk through it and continue down the pier. You may see a man surrounded by pelicans. Some train them for taking pictures with tourists and it is probably the closest look you can get to a wild pelican.

Look for a rock wall with the national flag painted on it near a path up the rock face that has crumbled from weather. A vendor style food stand is located just off the parking lot. This is a watersport beach and considered a great spot for Scuba diving. The beach is wide for sunbathing, but not for swimming.

Each of these sites is a personal experience I will treasure. Puerto Rico is loaded with other activities, beaches, restaurants, shopping, and historical sites. They provided countless opportunities for extreme picture taking.

I have one more location to share that had so many things to see and explore, I put a third article together titled, La Cueva del Indio in Aricebo.〈〈Click link.

La Cueva del Indio is a hiking excursion through caves to see views of rock bridges and arches and find isolated beaches with incredible scenery. The tallest statue in the US is visible as you approach the town of Arecibo.

Dreamtrips Travel Club has encouraged me to plan more travel. I am expanding my mind, experiences, and culture everywhere I go; I am determined to work on my bucket list of destinations now, while I’m healthy. I would be happy to share information about it with you. Leave your contact information on the site or contact me by email at uppiklos@gmail.com.

[contact-form] Day Trips from Rincon, Puerto Rico If you somehow missed the main article on my seven-day vacation called Click link〉〉Rincon, Puerto Rico, and Surrounding Treasures…