#when both characters in question have aliases

[ramrage]

ghost’s ghost

chapter 1: origin story (feat. date night!)

work rating: T

chapter rating: T

relationship: John “Soap” MacTavish x Simon “Ghost” Riley”

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley”, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Main Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Ghost John “Soap” MacTavish, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Dark Crack, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Changing Tenses, Not (always) chronological,

summary:

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost. Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

Johnny is KIA which sucks, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves? Here are some vignettes of Ghost and ghostly Soap.

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

ao3 link

Johnny is KIA which sucks, obviously, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves?

They discovered it moments after he bled out, Simon still hunched over his body, frantically, futilely performing chest compressions.

“Watch your six!”

Simon jolted, twisted, and landed two shots in the face of the approaching x-ray before stilling. “What the hell?” That was Johnny’s voice. Was he still…? Simon, hopeful, hazarded another look at Soap’s body. It was unchanged—pale and bloodied and most certainly still dead.

“Bleeding’ fucken Jesus…” Johnny’s voice cut through the din of chaos again, but it came from several meters away from where his body was cooling on the ground.

His boyfriend—whatever the fuck he was—was dead, and now he’s hallucinating. Class.

“Simon, fucken look at me, dammit.”

Simon obeyed, and sure enough, there he was: John Fucking Mactavish. In the flesh.

“Bloody hell, Johnny,” Simon gasped, running to meet him, to fall into his outstretched arms. The pieces didn’t fit together, but relief overshadowed logic. It clarified somewhat the steps taken between point A to B, becoming clearer yet when Simon all but phased through his lover’s body

Sprawled on the ground where he fell, Simon’s wide eyes met Johnny’s wide eyes, both men completely, utterly flabbergasted.

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

“What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost . Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

“Don’t worry yer pretty head, I’ll explain it later. First, get your arse out of here alive, ” Johnny said in a rushed sort of way, as if his life was still on the line. He checked over his shoulder. “Now would be nice.”

So Simon did.

The rest, they say, is history.

———————————————

Now, several months later, they are indulging in a much-needed date night. Date nights are often called much-needed, be it as an excuse for getting a little quality time, stress relief, or simply an effort to keep the romance alive. Such concerns are all the more salient for soldiers, especially when only one of the two is alive.

For obvious reasons, the activities requiring more action tend to be a bust. Take for example last month’s arcade excursion. Who would’ve known it’s hard to play pinball when you can’t fucking touch things? As such, dinner dates prove to be a favorite. They’re a pleasant play at normalcy, and as a bonus, they’re an excuse to try out new restaurants.

This week is Johnny’s choice—a swanky little establishment with romantic lighting and an extensive cocktail menu. Johnny haunts Simon’s shoulder as they enter, looking rather pleased with the overall ambiance.

His question of “Not too shabby, eh,?” doesn’t receive a verbal response, but Simon flashes a subtle smile and its answer enough, all things considered.

That is, Simon can’t exactly say “not at all” without the hostess thinking he’s lost his fucking mind. Obviously, such an outcome isn’t exactly “ideal” in the strictest sense of the word. A smile, however, can pass as a greeting, and apparently it does. Public communication is a game of double-meanings these days.

“Just yourself?” the hostess asks the big scary man in front of her.

“Yeah,” Simon nods, “and my stupid ghost boyfriend.”

He keeps that second part to himself. If she thinks the solo-diner is odd, she doesn’t show it. In fact, she remarks that it’s all “grand” before leading him to an open table.

Along the way, Johnny sends a conspiratorial look. “She got something against Scots? Didn’t even look at me”. He makes this joke every damn time they go out, unchanging in its delivery dripping in mock-offense.

Simon shoots him a sharp “shut the fuck up” glare, same as always, and lets Johnny take the far seat, also same as always. Simon isn’t overly fond of having his back to the door, but he levies that risk against the risk of seeming insane for chatting with an empty seat. All relationships involve a bit of give and take.

The hostess isn’t yet out of earshot when Johnny leans in with a mischievous grin. “You’re looking good, Si. Real good. In fact, so good I’d take you over this table, right here, right now.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “You can’t. Twat.”

“A man can dream, no?” Johnny settles with a shrug. He watches fondly as Simon scans the menu, his lovely little eyes trailing from left to right, left to right. What a human thing to do. What a not-human thing to admire.

It’s not even like he can’t read anymore—he can. It’s just hard to find purpose in it when the only way he can apply it to the world is through a tall, blond proxy.

“I mean it, though. You’re the most gorgeous thing I ever did see.”

Simon blushes for the dead man. It’s funny. Johnny was never quite as forthcoming with the compliments when he was alive. His reasoning was that he was afraid of the openness, afraid of any negative reaction his flirtations would get him. He doesn’t give much of a shit anymore. Dying really puts things in perspective.

Simon looks up from the menu with a shy, fond smile. “Anything stand out to you?”

“You” Johnny responds with a wink, “but if you’re talking about what’s on the menu, hm. Can’t say no to some lamb but…” he trails off and pulls a face, “the hell are fondant potatoes”

“Fondant potatoes?” Simon parrots before scanning the menu with a light frown. “No fucking clue. Sounds pretentious as shit.”

“I’m saying!”

“Fondant potatoes...” he mutters. A few more moments pass and Simon finally shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “This whole bloody menu is pretentious, Johnny. You won't do much better than fondant potatoes .”

“Lamb with the pretentious potatoes then,” Johnny says after a bit of hemming and hawing. “Sacrifice them real nice for me, eh, baby?”

“I always do.”

It’s true enough, if only because of the all-or-nothing nature of sacrificing, a process Simon has well worked out since they discovered it.

According to legend, Simon was drinking his sorrows one sad night when Johnny nodded to his beer and requested Simon—verbatim— “pour one out for the homie.”

Simon, not particularly amused, grumbled “for the homie” and wailed the bottle across the room. Just as it exploded into a shower of glass and stout, another similarly half-drunk bottle appeared on the table.

They didn’t notice it at first. Johnny was too busy chewing Simon out and Simon was too busy getting chewed out. It was in the silence afterwards when Simon, looking for a sip of relief, reached for the bottle with swaying hands and startled as his hand passed straight through the bottle, as if it wasn’t even there.

“The hell?”

Johnny glanced over just as Simon’s fingertips emerged from the glass. Half-awed with a half-baked conclusion already in mind, he muttered, “no bleeding way,” and repeated this phrase over and over as he tentatively reached for the bottle to test his hypothesis. To his surprise and delight, it toppled at the touch of a finger.

He was beaming when he looked Simon’s way. “Bleeding fucking Jesus. You did it.”

They found through experimentation that successful sacrifices require two things: destruction and intention. Pouring one out—complete destruction—for the homies—intention.

Both are necessary, and as an interesting and limiting caveat, the sacrifice has to be rendered completely useless in one world to transfer to the other.

In other words, when Simon asks the server for two orders of lamb with fondant potatoes—one for here, one takeaway—he does so with the intention of flushing the latter down the toilet. The wine is a different story.

“Cabernet or pinot noir,” Simon hums in feigned contemplation. In reality, he’s waiting for Johnny to stop cooing about “how sexy he sounds speaking French” and spit out a fucking answer. Luckily, the mask does a great job of hiding his annoyance and blush.

“Pinot noir,” Johnny decides with a nod.

“Pinot noir,” Simon repeats.

Johnny groans indulgently as the server pens the order into her notepad, but is merciful enough to wait for her to leave before saying, “y’know, I only got the pinot because you say it so sexy, and I just needed to hear it again.”

“You’re fucking insufferable,�� Simon responds, utterly devoted to suffering Johnny for as long as fortune would let him. He keeps that to himself, though. No need to tell the world that water is wet.

Case in point, Johnny’s chin rests easy in his palm, turning his fond smile smushed and insufferably sweeter for it. Death filed away at his rough edges somehow, left him soft. Simon, too.

They shoot the shit over the empty table, basking in normalcy they don’t deserve, and let the conversation take a raunchy turn. As if they’d be able to act on half the things they discuss.

The server returns at a decidedly inopportune moment but bless Simon’s poker face, she has no idea her customer is hearing the tail end of a particularly foul fantasy, courtesy of his unseen companion.

“Call me crazy, Johnny,” Simon whispers once the server leaves, “but it seems like you save the nastiest shit for when we have an audience.”

Johnny doesn’t even hesitate. “Aye, I do. Very intentionally.”

“Well, interested in continuing your little story?” Simon asks with raised brows. He idly spins the wine around the glass.

“I’m more interested in trying that cabernet.”

“Pinot noir,” Simon corrects.

“Ooh, baby ,” Johnny croons, and Simon swears when he realizes his mistake, swearing even more as Johnny gloats his victory. Unable to react in any meaningful way without looking insane, Simon instead opts to glare Johnny down, and he continues until Johnny gets his fill of gloating and turns his attention back to the wine. “Come on now. Give us a taste?”

Simon raises a brow. “With that attitude?”

“I’ll let you call it a cabernet,” Johnny barters. Simon lets him squirm. “Or even pin-not no-were .”

“Beg for it,” Simon dares, donning a shit-eating grin while he waits expectantly.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Please can I have some pin-not no-were .”

“Try again. Say it sexy this time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Johnny groans, “can I pretty please have the pee-no nwahr ?”

That seems to do the trick and with a satisfied, obnoxious smirk, Simon bats the glass to the floor. “Cheers, love.”

part 2

[darkshrimpemotions]

People miss the point about Dean's interaction with Marta the post office lady in 14x13 so hard and it's FRUSTRATING.

No, it's not a reversal of the running gag about older women finding Sam attractive (which is gross anyway because it usually involves playing his obvious discomfort at being touched without consent for laughs). It is also not just Dean trading on his looks and flirting to get what he wants.

The point is to illustrate a significant difference between the brothers!

Specifically how they interact with the community of Lebanon, and what that says about their characters.

At this point in the show, Sam and Dean have now lived in Lebanon for like, six and a half years. And yet Sam approaches this woman like he would approach any stranger or witness in any random town in the country. And she reacts to him like any witness would to a strange man asking questions--with caution and some level of suspicion. It is incredibly clear that they don't know each other at all, despite how long they've been living in the same community.

But Dean knows her! And not just by sight and in passing. He's on a first name basis with her! He asks about her grandson and she readily answers! She knows his first name, too! They very clearly have an established report and have talked many times, enough times for her to have complained to him about her "spoiled little jerk" of a grandson!

This scene establishes that Dean is a known entity to at least some of the people of Lebanon. A known and LIKED entity. Trusted, even! He has truly put down roots there in a way that Sam has not, despite them living there for the same amount of time. He's bonded with people he sees regularly. He has little interactions with them offscreen all the time. That tells us something about Dean as a character!

And if it's a reversal or play off of anything, it's 1x11 (Scarecrow) when Dean fails to convince a couple who is in danger to let him fix their car so they can leave town sooner. Dean assumes (incorrectly IMO) that it's because HE specifically comes off to "normal people" as abnormal and dangerous, whereas Sam would be able to convince them with just a sincere look. In reality, of course, it probably has more to do with Dean being a total stranger, with no obvious credentials for car-fixing other than his word, in an unfamiliar place, than it does any inherent quality of Dean himself.

Because the key is, Dean isn't putting in any special effort in either scene. The way he approaches the couple is a contrast to how he usually handles cases. There's no costume, no subterfuge, and no alias. He isn't trying to fool either the couple in 1x11 or Marta in 14x13 into liking and trusting him. He's just being himself and telling the truth in both scenes (maybe not ALL the truth, but the essential basics). It works on Marta because she already knows and likes him. It doesn't work on the couple because he's a stranger to them.

So in 14x13 (and at other times in the show too) we see that Sam is not any better with people than Dean, especially when he makes no effort. He in fact gives off somewhat alarming vibes to strangers when he doesn't present with some kind of subterfuge that engenders immediate trust (i.e. being an FBI or insurance agent). (Think of Amelia's initial reaction to him in season 8 for example.) And this is true even for people who have almost certainly seen him around before, in the town he's lived in for over half a decade.

And the fact that he has made no effort to get to know his neighbors is telling in itself. Sam isn't any more automatically trustworthy to regular people than Dean unless he puts in specific effort to be. Costumes and aliases, fake credentials, even that specific face and voice he uses to talk to witnesses are all effort he has to put in. And that effort is not something that comes naturally to him or occurs to him outside of the context of a case. (I think we also see in season 6 exactly how much conscious effort those things require of him, given that without a soul he not only lacks personability but is downright impatient with and insulting to people.)

It's actually Dean who's good at building bonds, establishing casual report, and eliciting trust from people. And moreover, it's Dean who thinks to make the effort to do so. Sam is better at leading hunters specifically, but that's a whole different story and meta.

[dykerightsmp3]

here are my favorite real things that happen on person of interest

the ai is lesbian coded

the main guy reese is widely known as "the kneecap guy" because he shoots people's kneecaps out

the other main guy finch lives in a library. reese at one point gives him a dog. the dog eats books. reese is aware of this when he gifts the dog

they kidnap a baby and then have to raise it for an episode

reese gets two cops who are partners to do things for him but refuses to tell each one about the other person, so joss (played by taraji p henson) and fusco (this is actually his name) spend an entire season going "john I think they're onto me. I think they suspect i'm working for you." and he just goes "don't worry about it". he does this entirely to fuck with them

the show's evil hot lesbian villain root threatens to torture the show's bisexual sociopath shaw with an iron. it is their meetcute

at one point the dog in question is being used to threaten reese’s life. so they adopt it. fusco has a ball gag on during this scene

the dog eats a first edition isaac asimov

the cia and the fbi have a turf war

the cia and fbi both completely fail to capture this one dude, whose name and face they know, for two years

some fucking guy spends an entire season trying to take down the mafia while fucking with the duo and then when he goes to jail one of them just straight up plays chess with him weekly

the aforementioned evil hot lesbian root tries to kidnap and almost kills finch in the first episode they meet. she becomes a main character

shaw and root steal reese's grenade launcher

reese's backstory is that he straight up killed a man for domestically abusing his ex

one of them gets drugged on ecstacy and dances to a microwave about to explode

they live in a subway basement for a year

the creator of the lesbian coded ai has entirely bird aliases

[electric-hydrangea]

Istaroth is Paimon (ft Venti & Mona's Master)

disclaimer: the amount of comments i've gotten on reddit saying "Istaroth isn't paimon, she's a branch of istaroth!!" that is literally what i'm saying

Who Is Istaroth?

Istaroth is a God who can control time & wind, a shade of Phanes (Primordial One). She was known in Mondstadt and Enkanomiya, but the people of Mondstadt gradually forgot about her. When Enkanomiya sank, she continued to be worshiped because she was the only shade who responded to them. The worship stopped when Orobashi arrived and banned Sun & Moon (a book all about Phanes, Enkanomiya, and Istaroth.)

The statue in Inazuma is Istaroth. I also believe that the Battle Pass Icon is her. The article itself ties connections between her and the Welkin Moon girl. Ignoring how their appearances are identical, they also have connections with the moon. Istaroth is associated with the moon through “Sun and Moon”. Additionally, “Astaroth” (goetic demon) is the personification of the moon and can control it.

Istaroth’s aliases are “The Thousand Winds”, “Tokoyo Ookami”, and “Kairos”.

The Theory:

It’s better if I compile this more into a list. Starting with the smaller stuff…

The Paimon menu allows you to control time. I honestly feel like this is the best evidence.

Paimon is in all of the marketing, emails, she’s the one who delivers us messages outside of the game itself, but no one in the game knows who she is. When people see her, they think she’s a balloon, a fairy, or a pet.

Paimon jokes about being the God of Protection

Paimon’s outfit has the same details as a fully-leveled Statue of the Seven. Her crown has the same design as the golden bar on the statue. Her boot also looks like the nails sent down by Celestia. 

Canotila the Melusine described Paimon as a balloon floating in the air with her string extending upward above the sky itself.

Phanes created Istaroth; she is a being of Teyvat. Since she is affected by the Irminsul tree, it would explain why Paimon is affected by the tree.

Astaroth is depicted as having a crown, which Paimon has. 

Astaroth and King Paimon both specifically teach sciences and answer any question asked of them.

In Gnosticism, which is where Genshin gets a lot of its inspiration from, Barbelo is a part of Bythos, and Barbelo is both male and female.

In Genshin, Istaroth is Barbelo, and Phanes is Bythos, having created her as a shade. Paimon and Venti are parts of her.

In Ars Goetia, King Paimon is aware of all past and future events, anything that has happened or will happen. This includes “secret things”. 

In Genshin, Istaroth has similar powers; control over time and the whole thing that happened with Makoto and Ei (more on that later).

In Venti’s Character Demo, it says that he is “born from the branches of time.” 

In “Sun and Moon”, they say that Istaroth, “Was the measure of a thousand winds and the sun and the moon”, with Venti associated with the wind and Paimon associated with the moon.

In Gnosticism, Barbelo is one of the most important figures of Gnosticism. She is known as the “triple androgynous name”, or as the “three times spirit”, having three parts of herself. Barbelo/Asherah is another name for Ishtar, who is one of the parts of Istaroth’s name. Barbelo is depicted as a figure that looks similar to the Welkin Moon girl. 

Two paragraphs ago I said that Istaroth is referred to as a thousand winds, a sun, and a moon; Venti is the wind, Paimon is the moon. So who is the sun?

There’s a character in Genshin named Barbeloth, Mona’s master. I believe it’s possible she could be the sun. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why she has the name of this important figure connected to Istaroth. Genshin has a theme of “three”, and Mona’s master renamed herself to be “Astromancer Barbeloth Trimegistus”, which could also tie into the three identities of Istaroth. 

In Venti’s Character Story 3, it says that he was a “single thread of the thousand winds that roared through the northern lands.” Notably, Istaroth goes by “the thousand winds”.

In the quest “Time and Wind”, you’ll hear a voice saying “An ancient tale comes whisked away in the wind.. In time it will grow and sprout again.” Which could be referring to the samsara cycles and how Istaroth (Paimon/Venti/Possibly others) will continue the story. Additionally, the sundials are actually more likely to be moondials.

In 2023’s Lantern Rite, Venti shows up introducing himself with the saying connected to Istaroth. Paimon completes the saying, and then remarks “Did Paimon just unconsciously complete that saying?”

The statue of Istaroth in Inazuma wears a necklace with an Eye of the Storm on it, which is most prominent in Mondstadt. It’s also noted that this statue and Venti’s statue are 6666 meters apart from each other. Additionally, this statue is called “Statue of the Omnipresent God”. This perception of Istaroth is supported in the Ars Goetia as well as in Genshin; Paimon is everywhere. The statue’s moniker is “Thousand Armed, Hundred Eyed”, which is a reference to real-life Guanyin, but I take note of the “thousand”, a theme with Istaroth. 

The Sacred Sakura was planted with the help of Istaroth. When Makoto died, Ei went into the Realm of Consciousness  and said goodbye to her sister. When she came back, the tree was there, and all the people acted like it had been there forever. The Realm of Consciousness is also a domain (not the one we’re used to for battle), where time flows differently. Another example of a domain would be the Eternal Oasis.

The ancient Near Eastern goddess Astarte (Istaroth), she works closely with Baal. I thought that detail was cute considering the story quest.

In Raiden’s 2nd Story Quest, Rifthounds attack the Sacred Sakura’s roots which cause it to ooze glowing blue stuff, and Paimon asks what it is, but there was never an answer. 

This might be a stretch, but it could have something to do with what I call Celestial filth. For example, the Lumenspar is Celestial filth. Like the Abyssal goop, it’s invasive to the Chasm and spreads quickly. The description of it is “A sky-blue crystal that glitters so brightly that it brings forth echoes of the heavens above.” Having your Lumenstone equipped causes the Abyssal text to fade away. The Celestial filth comes from the nails sent down from Celestia, but the fact that the tree goop is blue and glows reminds me of the Lumenspar.

When Yae takes us through the Realm of Consciousness, we see Inazuma being built, and the memories are all of Inazuma, except for these Cecilias. Cecilias only grow in Mondstadt, on the Starsnatch Cliff “where harsh winds blow.” Cecilias are tied to Venti.

You could also say that Raiden storing the visions on the statue is symbolic, considering that visions are tied to both Celestia and the Archons.

Also, when it comes to Paimon’s design, she has a cape-thing with the galaxy on it, and in the Paimon menu, when she floats, she leaves behind a constellation trail. I also tie this with Istaroth’s theme of the moon, but it also reminds me of the general concept of otherworldliness. 

There's a Mesopotamian symbol named the Star of Ishtar (Istaroth), which looks similar to the Deshret symbol and the Khaenri’ah star and it's also closely tied to the crescent moon.

Why doesn’t Paimon remember she’s Istaroth?

The answer could be Samsara cycles. With every samsara cycle, the same roles are always present, but it’s new people playing them. Something happened to Istaroth, and we don’t know what it was, but she’s disappeared and now we’re stuck with the twerp Paimon. I’m not sure how to answer this question. Maybe it’s like the Sumeru archons.

Something To Note

In the beginning of Genshin, we start the game at Starfell Lake. It’s never said where we fish Paimon out, but we could imply that it was at this lake. The lake, which isn’t too far away from the Nameless Island associated with Istaroth. People have pointed out that the background of the Paimon-fishing-out-CG is actually Guyun Stone Forest. In the beginning cutscene, we can see the nameless island in the distance. Paimon says nothing about where we fished her, so who knows. It’s our first time being in Liyue, but she knows that the statues look different because we’re in Liyue, so personally it doesn’t make sense that we got her in Guyun Stone Forest.

More About Welkin Moon Girl

This part is at the end because it’s me just playing with an idea. So it’s called “Blessing of the Welkin Moon". Welkin means “the sky” or “heaven.” She’s blessing us with primogems. Primogems are… From the Primordial One? 

They’re described as “beyond the mundane world” and have the same chinese lettering as the phrase Primordial One and Allogene. Considering that the Gnoses are made from the 3rd descender's remains, would it be out of reach to say that Primogems could be created by/from the Primordial One?

Anyway, you could read it as Istaroth blessing us with pieces of Phanes (or, by association, herself). 

The Welkin Girl’s cauldron has the triquetra on it, a symbol of Phanes and his shades, the same symbol on Paimon’s tummy. The Genshin Impact logo itself has Paimon’s crown, the circlet, above it. Genshin meaning allogenes, and thus tied to Phanes. 

reposted from my reddit & hoyolab

[hyunbunlix]

Paragon [hitman!Jeongin]

Characters: Jeongin, Bang Chan, older fem!OC, Lee Know (mentioned), Felix (mentioned), Hyunjin (mentioned) Rating: A/O for Adults Only Content Warnings/Tags: violence, murder, mentor/mentee to lovers, switch Jeongin, blowjob, fingerbanging, riding, raw dogging, power bottom Jeongin, cock-warming Word Count: 7,383 Summary: After years apart, a contract from Bang Chan puts Jeongin back in contact with the woman who established him in the underworld. He's forced to confront his feelings for her, not all of which are negative. Note: This is part of a larger John Wick AU, which can be found here.

Crimson Fox. But most famously, Gumiho. Names Yang Jeong In had earned across the world doing his job. And he was very good at his job. Because he was so good at it, very few people knew his face or his name, and instead knew him only by the aliases, by the names people whispered when they found the remains of his contracted kills.

            One of the few people who did know Jeong In’s name was Chris Bang, though few people called him that, either. Likewise, Chris knew Jeong In’s real name and never used it, not unless they were face to face.

            Which, right now, they weren’t.

            “I’ve got an interesting one for you, I.N,” Chris said. He had been in charge of negotiating Jeong In’s contracts for years, all to help Jeong In preserve his anonymity. In return, Chris could ask Jeong In to take people out at Chris’s discretion, and Jeong In wouldn’t ask questions.

            “What is it?” Jeong In asked, leaning back in the hotel desk chair. The call was voice only, as always, both of them using burners.

            “It’s an extraction,” Chris said. Jeong In frowned.

            “I don’t really do—”

            “I’m not done,” Chris said. “I know the target. They’re part of another operation that went sideways. Deep cover, all that. Their guys haven’t been good enough to get them out. You are.”

            Jeong In leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

            “Is it really worth it?” he asked. “I mean, if their guys aren’t good enough to pull them out, then what’s the point? Couldn’t this just happen again?”

            “It could,” Chris allowed. “But that doesn’t matter to me. I have a personal interest in keeping this one alive. This isn’t part of our annual arrangement, so don’t worry. You’ll still get paid. All you have to do is get in, send a message, and free the mark.”

            Send a message. That was Chris speak for “no restrictions.” Jeong In could kill anything and anyone other than the mark.

            He got a certain thrill when everything was a target. It felt good to let off steam and be indiscriminate sometimes.

            “I’ll do it,” Jeong In said. Chris chuckled on the other end.

            “Thought you might. See you in Seoul.”

Before Jeong In went into the field, he made sure to style his bangs back off his forehead. There had been a time in his life when he’d kept them short and out of the way, but he rather liked the shaggy look these days and didn’t want to cut them.

            For the first part of the infiltration, Jeong In went for stealth. Chris had briefed him thoroughly in person, and according to his intel, whole teams had fallen by the dozen trying to reclaim the mark, so clearly “guns blazing” wouldn’t work here.

            Chris had given him permission to send a message, and Jeong In intended to do exactly that before the night was out. He just wouldn’t be stupid about it. His first few kills were quiet with little resistance. A quick, clean shiv here. An easily snapped neck there. He didn’t go out of his way to hide the bodies (he didn’t have the time), but he wasn’t trying to alarm the entire compound, either.

           Eventually, though, they caught on, and he was ready. Hand-to-hand wasn’t his favorite, but he was still perfectly competent. There were so many ways a body could break, and he was versed in nearly all of them. He snapped bones, used men as shields to thwart each other, put bullets in brains and knives in organs.

            Send a message. Leave no witnesses. He had his anonymity to preserve.

            Finally, with blood on his hands and face, very little of which belonged to him, he found the door he was looking for, and the last man standing to guard it. Without ceremony, Jeong In fired from the hip, two in the body, then one straight-armed shot in the head, and the man collapsed. Jeong In exhaled, ejecting the magazine from his handgun to count the remaining rounds, before putting it back in and priming. He fished through the last guard’s jacket for the badge to get into the room. He scanned himself in with his left hand, gun still in his right.

            He needn’t have bothered. Whereas the prisoners he’d passed on the way here had been kept grouped together and casually guarded, this one was in solitary. All the muscle had been outside; within the walls, only the prisoner, strapped to a chair, was present. They—she—appeared unconscious, slumped forward in the seat. Unlike the others Jeong In had passed on the way, beaten and brutalized, the woman wasn’t in great shape but at the very least didn’t appear to have any broken bones.

            Jeong In didn’t have time to puzzle the treatment out, however, because, at that moment, she lifted her head, and his heart about stopped.

            “Blackbox?”

            There was a layer of blood and grime on her exposed skin, her clothes torn and hair filthy, but it was unmistakably her.

            The woman that had set him up in this world, crafted his reputation. The woman who had given him his name. He’d always been a magnificent marksman, but when he first started out as a teenager, no one had wanted to take a chance on someone so young and untested. She had helped him craft his mythos, made him into one of the most prolific killers of his generation, and instilled in him the need to always keep his identity—both face and name—separate from the work.

            It was thanks to her that the world knew who the Gumiho was. All he’d ever had to do was live up to the hype she generated.

            And he did.

            She lolled her head back as though she couldn’t believe it either, a parched laugh slipping through cracked lips.

           Finally, she leveled her gaze, a smile that looked a lot like a grimace on her face. “Hey, Kit,” she said.

            Jeong In wanted to tell her not to call him that, not anymore, but couldn’t bring himself to speak as he freed her from her binds, the core of his being humming with anger and something else.

            When she was free, he paused to drag his last kill to the back wall, dipping his gloved thumb in the pooled blood and signing the wall GUMIHO in Hangeul. She didn’t ask what he was doing, because the signature had been her idea first, all those years ago.

            He handed her a handgun he’d taken off a body on the way in.

            “There shouldn’t be much resistance left on the way out,” he said. “Let’s go.”

On the way to the Seoul Continental Hotel, she insisted they stop at one of her many drop boxes. There she picked up some cash, a set of clothes, an ID that Jeong In could see at a glance most definitely did not have her real name on it, and a stack of gold coins.

            “The least I can do is pay for your stay,” she said. “Consider it my thanks.”

            “I don’t need your thanks,” he said. “I’m already getting paid.”

            “I insist,” she said, and wouldn’t budge. After they arrived and booked their room—since Jeong In no longer trusted her enough to let her out of his sight—the concierge sent one of the hotel physicians up to tend her wounds. She sat in her undergarments while the doctor closed and patched the various small wounds she’d been dealt. Jeong In was still surprised by the lack of grievous injuries. The worst of her condition appeared to be dehydration and malnutrition.

            When the physician left, she disappeared into the washroom to take the world’s most careful shower. Once Jeong In was certain her ablutions were well underway and she wouldn’t be bursting out anytime soon, he took the opportunity to remove his blazer and button-up shirt so he could peel his Kevlar vest off his sweaty body. After putting the other two layers back on, he pulled out his phone.

            “Did you know?” Jeong In hissed the second Chris picked up, not even giving the older man time to greet him.

            “Know what? I take it by the massacre reports I’m getting that it’s done?” he asked. Jeong In fought the urge to growl at him like the animal so many people thought he was.

            “Of course it’s done,” he said first. “I know Blackbox. Or knew her, I guess. I never thought I was going to see her again.”

            “No,” Chris said, and Jeong In could tell he was being sincere. “I didn’t know. Blackbox and I have helped each other out in the past, and I’m counting on her to help me in the future. That’s all it was. I had no idea it was personal to you. I’m sorry for giving you the wrong impression. I don’t want to risk alienating you, either. I genuinely didn’t know.”

            “Okay,” Jeong In said. He heard the water shut off in the bathroom. “Thanks. I have to go.”

            “Be careful,” Chris said before Jeong In hung up on him.

            After a few minutes, she came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and hair damp. She looked a lot better just having the layer of grime gone.

            “You really don’t have to stay with me,” she said, dropping her old clothes into the trash and liberally applying lip balm. “It’s the Continental. The chances of anything bad happening to me here are slim.”

          “But not zero,” Jeong In snapped. “How likely is it that this shit happens all over again? Chris sent me in there because your guys were getting massacred left and right trying. How certain are you this won’t happen again?”

            She sighed, a weary, heavy sound that almost made Jeong In feel guilty for lashing out at her. Almost.

            “Now that I’m vulnerable, those chances are pretty high. But I know better now, and while I wish my contacts weren’t dead, I have to believe it was worth it. I got too comfortable, I think. They’ll almost certainly try again.”

            “Then I’m not fucking leaving you alone,” Jeong In went on. “You know there have been no fewer than three incidents on Continental grounds in the last five years, right? The chances they’ll come for you here are low, but not zero. I’m not going to let my work be undone.”

            She looked at him, a knife’s edge in her eyes now. “Why do you care, Jeong In? You did your part. You get paid either way.”

            Hearing his name, his real name, on her tongue for the first time in years changed his anger very swiftly into something else, a grievous wound he hadn’t realized she still had the power to inflict. He was practically vibrating as he glared at her, incredulous. How could she say that to him?

            “Because I’m not fucking losing you again,” he said. “I’m not. I don’t care if you thought you did it for my sake, because I would be better off without you. Even if it was true then, it’s not now. I’m not going to just walk away now that I’ve found you again, especially now that I know you’re in danger and have maybe two allies left that you can actually trust. You can’t fucking get rid of me again. I’ve had it with you running away from me.”

            She stared at him, speechless for the better part of a minute.

            “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea it meant that much to you.”

            “No, you didn’t,” Jeong In said, bitter now. “You never asked me, either. And that hurt me the most.”

            There it was. The name of the feeling. Seeing her again, dredging up all those old feelings and memories, pained him. He hadn’t known he could still feel like that. He thought he’d buried it a long time ago.

            And now he couldn’t re-bury it.

            “If you had just bothered to have a conversation with me, you would have known I didn’t want to go. I wanted to serve with you. I wanted to protect you. But you determined unilaterally that parting was best, that it was too dangerous for me to walk your path with you. You didn’t even give me an option. You just disappeared and let me drown. I hated you. I fucking hated you for that,” he said. What had once been scarred over was gaping again, a wound as raw now as the day she’d dealt it.

            “Jeong In, I—”

            “You abandoned me. But your reason is gone. I’m capable now. Capable enough to carry us both. So what will your excuse be this time? Or will you not even have the decency to give me one?” he snapped. Now that it was all coming up, he couldn’t stop. He’d held all this inside for years. She could at least have the decency to listen to him now. She owed him that.

            “I don’t think I deserve a second chance,” she said finally. Jeong In got up from where he’d been sitting on the bed and stalked up to her.

            “Didn’t you hear a damn word I just said? You don’t get to decide that! I do!”

            “Then what do you want from me, Jeong In?” she asked, her voice barely a breath, and he was close enough to hear it.

            “To be with you,” he answered, the bite gone from his voice. It was all he’d ever wanted from her. “I don’t care about the form it takes. I’ll be your friend. I’ll be your weapon. I’ll be anything, just don’t throw me away again. Stop punishing me.”

            She put her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly to her. He was a little taller than her now, as well as broader and stronger. He no longer knew which of them would win in a fight.

            But he had no desire to fight with her anymore.

            He wrapped his arms around her middle, holding her snugly against him, unwilling or unable to let her go.

            “Okay,” she said against his shoulder. “Okay.”

            He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he echoed.

When he woke the next morning, Jeong In half expected her to be gone. The trust wound she’d dealt him was something he’d never fully recovered from and would take a lot of effort on her part to heal.

            But no, she was still in the bed to his right, sleeping soundly. She had to be exhausted from her ordeal. There was a little cut above her eyebrow, bruises on her cheek and near the bridge of her nose. The lip balm seemed to be working.

            He checked the time on his phone and determined it was late morning. Gently, he reached over to shake her shoulder. She whimpered and curled up in the blankets, hiding half her face from him.

            “Noona,” he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her forehead and kissing it. A few moments later, she opened bleary eyes that eventually focused on him. “I’m going to have food sent up. What do you want?”

            “Something easy,” she murmured, her voice muffled in the blanket. “I haven’t had real food in weeks.”

            He hummed a soft acknowledgment and got himself out of bed to make the call down to the concierge. He’d gone to bed in a plain t-shirt and compression shorts the night before, and he pulled his real clothes back on after the order was made. There was no movement from the bed, so he assumed she’d fallen back asleep. Jeong In received the food and started on his portion. He wasn’t willing to leave the room even to take a shower until she was awake.

            Was he paranoid? Probably, but if the goons came back for her, Jeong In wouldn’t leave her defenseless. Killing wasn’t permitted on Continental grounds, but not everyone followed the rules.

            When he had nearly finished eating, she dragged herself out of bed and came to the table. She reached for a water bottle before anything else and drained it. Jeong In didn’t realize he was staring at her throat bobbing until it had already been way too long.

            “How are you feeling?” he asked, as much a distraction for him as it was genuine interest.

            “Sore, but much better,” she said, spearing a piece of cucumber with a fork. “I haven’t slept comfortably since I was captured.”

            “Why were you down there?” Jeong In asked.

            “Chris didn’t tell you?”

            “No.”

            She chewed the vegetable, frowning.

            “That’s a little rude, considering it was a favor to him.”

            Jeong In frowned too.

            “What was?”

            “The deep cover op. I was in there for him. He wanted info on a couple of guys in that outfit, including the boss. He knows them. Or he did. I didn’t think I would get caught. We lost a lot of resources trying to pull me out. His and mine, both,” she said.

            “Well, there’s no way he’ll be pulling that shit again,” Jeong In said, uncapping his own water bottle.

            “No,” she agreed. “He won’t. Is he in town?”

            “I don’t know,” Jeong In answered genuinely. “He was yesterday, that’s all I know for sure.”

            She put her hand out, and it took Jeong In a moment to realize she was asking for his burner phone. He got up to fish it out of his bag and put it in her hand. Chris’s was the only number in it. She dialed, put it on speaker, turned the volume halfway down, and placed the phone on the table between them.

            “Hello?” Chris greeted in Korean, expecting Jeong In on the line.

            “Surprise, bitch,” she said in English. Chris laughed, which Jeong In didn’t expect.

            “Hello to you, too,” Chris said, his Australian accent standing out compared to her American one. “You sound better than expected.”

            “Did you skip town already?” she asked, getting right to the point.

            “Yeah. Looks like our Fox didn’t need any backup,” he said. She snorted.

            “Well, you’d better turn around. I expect you in the Continental’s bar no later than 8 o’clock tonight. Don’t make me wait,” she said.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Chris said, chuckling. “Wouldn’t want you taking your anger out on poor Kit.”

           Jeong In bristled. Chris wasn’t supposed to call him that. Only she ever called him that.

            “Don’t worry, I’ll save it all for you, Bang. You’re the one who almost got me killed, after all,” she said. Chris clicked his tongue on the other end.

            “Fair enough,” he said. “See you.”

            He hung up, keeping the last word for himself. Jeong In took the phone back.

            “Bitch,” she muttered, still in English, though her tone wasn’t exactly sour.

            “What’s with you two?” Jeong In asked, nudging the conversation back into Korean.

            “Begrudging allyship,” she said, cramming an apple slice in her mouth.

She and Jeong In didn’t leave their hotel room until 8:15.

            “I want Chan to sweat,” she said tersely, really leaning into the A, and Jeong In was surprised by the personal, almost joking use of the name. How was it that all three of them knew each other, yet none of it had ever come up in crosstalk? What other secrets were they all keeping from each other?

            When they walked into the bar, Jeong In half a step off her left shoulder, he felt like the last few years had never happened. This was exactly how it had once been—Jeong In under her wing, deferring to her leadership, being her trigger when she needed him. She sat down across from Chris, and Jeong In sat to her left.

            “Congratulations to the happy couple,” Chris said, the beginnings of a shit-eating grin on his face.

            “Shut the fuck up,” Jeong In said at the same time that she muttered, “Chris, please.” Jeong In was now unsure whether he believed Chris’s disconnect from the situation.

            “The guy you wanted is a fucking rat,” she said, getting to the point. She raised her hand to flag down a server. “I’m not sure you’d want him even if you could separate him from the boss.”

            Chris sighed. “I was starting to suspect. He’s two-faced, that one. He wasn’t always that way, but this life changes you.”

            “You’d have a better time fixing things with Lee Know than you would poaching the Smiler.”

            Chris made a displeased sound in his throat, schooling his features into neutrality as they ordered drinks. The server had the audacity to card Jeong In, and his compatriots had the audacity to snicker about it.

            “Poor baby boy,” she teased as the server walked away. She put her hand on the back of his neck and squeezed gently. It took a concerted effort for Jeong In to bristle instead of melt.

            He definitely thought he’d left his crush on her in the distant past. Chris tossed a look between the two of them that Jeong In couldn’t read.

            “Did you find out anything else?” he asked, steering the conversation back to where it had been before.

            “Oh, yeah,” she said. “If you’re determined to use somebody, you’re better off going for Hwang. His loyalty can be bought. He’s a lot like this one.”

            She gestured to Jeong In with her head as she said it, and he scoffed.

            “You’re the one who made me like this,” he protested. “I would have been perfectly loyal if you hadn’t decided I was no longer worth the effort. Just ask Chris. We’ve had a working relationship for almost four years and I haven’t crossed him a single time.”

            “He’s got a point,” Chris said. “I.N has a moral compass, busted as it may be. From what I hear, Hwang is a fucking psycho.”

            “You’re not incorrect,” she relented. “But he’s a psycho that can be convinced, if not necessarily reasoned with.”

            “Convinced how?” Chris asked, quieting down when their drinks arrived. He then ordered the most expensive meal on the menu.

            When the food orders were taken, she pulled out a phone and waggled the screen in Chris’s face.

            “Ask me nicely, and I’ll ask him nicely,” she said. Chris’s jaw dropped in time with Jeong In’s.

            “How did you get that?” Chris hissed as she tucked the phone away.

            “How do you think? I had to let him murder half my contact list. Hwang fancies himself an artist, though what he could be making with all that red I can’t possibly imagine. Suffice it to say he enjoys a sacrifice to his genius,” she said. “I let him do that, and he kept me from getting beaten into ground beef in there.”

            “That’s quite the visual,” Chris said, entirely deadpan. She shrugged.

            “Hwang took pity on you?” Jeong In asked. That would explain why she didn’t have any broken bones despite how badly beaten other prisoners had been. If Hwang had taken a liking to her, then pissing him off would have been more than enough deterrent to the others. Like Chris had said, Hwang was a fucking psycho. He’d been known to put a bullet between people’s eyes for the barest perceived offenses.

            She nodded, looking a little conflicted about it, herself. “Yeah. I don’t think I can take all the credit for it, though. He was trying to get back at the Smiler for something, and I just happened to help out with it before I got caught. Doesn’t matter, though. If I’m going to keep a working relationship with both you and Hwang, then the Smiler is off-limits, Chris. Whatever’s between the two of them is personal.”

            “Lee Know it is, then,” Chris sighed. “Damn it. I really didn’t want to have to talk to him directly.”

            “Bad blood?” Jeong In asked. Chris nodded.

            “Very.”

            The conversation moved to lower-stakes topics as they ate, and Jeong In was grateful for it. He didn’t need any more revelations or threats to their lives today. Finally, a little after 10 PM, they released Chris to get back on the road, and the two of them went back up to their room. Jeong In tossed his blazer over the back of a chair and unbuttoned his dress shirt.

            “To the best of your knowledge,” he asked, “did Chris lie about any of that?”

            “He didn’t,” she said. “It’s a complicated web with Lee Know. He and Chan used to be close. I don’t know exactly what happened. But I do know I don’t intend to put myself in the middle of it ever again.”

            “Good,” Jeong In said. “It might be important to him, but it’s not worth your life. If you weren’t able to cut that deal with Hwang, you might be dead right now.”

            She swallowed, looking at the floor for a moment. “I know. I’m lucky to be alive.”

            She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. Jeong In hung his dress shirt and blazer in the closet and approached her in his dark t-shirt and pants. She looked at him curiously.

            “What is it?” he asked, reaching to touch her arm. He’d meant for it to be just a reassuring graze, but feeling her there, solid in front of him, prompted him to wrap his fingers gently around her bicep.

            “I’m lucky that you came,” she said. “And I’m . . . I’m lucky that you stayed.”

            He wasn’t sure why that of all things made him bashful, but he blinked shyly at her, suddenly unsure of what to say.

            “You could have decided to leave me there,” she said. “When you saw it was me, you could have turned your back and left.”

            “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said. “And not just because of the payout. I hated you, noona, for what you did. But hate like that is only possible if you really cared first. Hatred, to me, has always felt like rotted love. It’s hard for me to explain exactly how much I cared about you back then, and how I wasn’t able to let go of it after all this time.”

            “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” she said. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way, like I knew best and you knew nothing . . . I shouldn’t have shut you out. I’m sorry, Jeong In,” she said, and he knew she meant it.

            He hesitated for a moment, reaching to hold her other arm, too. She didn’t move, only watched his face.

            “There are people who say everything happens for a reason,” he began. “I always thought that was bullshit, but . . . As much as it hurt, as much as I hated you . . . Noona, I met you when I was seventeen. I think . . . I think if I hadn’t been away from you all these years . . .”

            God, was he really doing this? Was he really going to try to say this to her?

            His grip on her arms tightened a little, but he was careful not to hurt her.

            “I think with the time we’ve spent apart, it makes it less weird for me to confess to you now,” he said finally.

            He expected to see her walls go up then, for her to remove his grip and take a step back from him. But instead, she simply held his gaze, looking thoughtful.

            “I liked you then,” Jeong In added softly. “And after the events of the last two days . . . It’s clear to me that I still like you now. I’m . . . I’m sorry for putting you in such a strange position. But if I’m going to be in your life again, if you’re going to consent to have me around, I thought you should know.”

            “Thank you,” she said. Gingerly, she removed her arms from his grasp, but instead of moving away like he thought she would, she reached up to tenderly trace the lines of his cheekbones and jaw, finally letting her hands rest on his shoulders. “In the interest of getting things out in the open, I suppose I should give my side, too.” He nodded, urging her to continue. “Obviously, there’s no way I would ever be with a teenager. Even working in the shitty half of the world where we literally get away with murder, that shit is disgusting. I’ve had people killed for it.”

            “I know,” he said. “You let me practice on some of them, remember?”

            Ah, the days of his supervised hits. He was clearly deranged if he was able to look back on those memories with fondness.

            “But when you came into my cell yesterday, I honestly didn’t recognize you until you spoke, and even then I thought I had to be imagining until you put your signature on the back wall. Now that I’ve had more time to look at you, of course, the foundation of your features is the same, but my god, Jeong In.” She paused, laughed to herself. “You grew up to be a fucking stunner.”

            He gave a surprised laugh, grinning bashfully, avoiding her eyes for a moment. He’d murdered more people than he could count, yet here he was, blushing because the woman he liked thought he was handsome. What a set of priorities.

            “Thank you,” he said softly. She squeezed his shoulders, and he met her eyes again.

            “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” she said, “if you wanted to kiss me, I wouldn’t stop you.”

            “I want to do a lot more than kiss you,” he said, unable to rein in the honesty now that they’d started. She raised her eyebrows at him, but the curve of a smile remained on her lips.

            “You’ve only been back in my life for two days and you already want to stick your dick inside me?” she asked with what was hopefully faked incredulity.

            “I woke up in the same bed as you this morning. There aren’t many people in the world I trust like that. Believe it or not, I don’t get laid very often,” he admitted. Her smile took on a bit of solemnity.

            “Yeah . . . Yeah, I believe it. It’s difficult to make connections way down here,” she agreed. “But you’re sure? This isn’t too weird for you?”

            “I’m sure, unless it’s too weird for you,” he said. Her smile broadened.

            “Such a gentleman,” she said, wrapping her arms lazily around his neck. Almost instinctually, his hands fit against her waist. “But not a perfect gentleman, I hope.”

            “I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he said, and then his mouth was on hers. It started out gentle, slow as they felt one another out. Despite what he’d said, Jeong In did do his best to at least start out a gentleman, enveloping her lips with just enough pressure and fervor that she would be able to feel how much he wanted this. She returned his kiss in kind, one of her hands moving to cup his jaw, the other splayed across his back.

            As Jeong In started to lose himself to the kiss, he grazed her lower lip with his tongue, begging for a taste of her. She opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss, letting him dip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted sweet, like the fruity drink she’d had with dinner.

            He moaned into her mouth, his hands trying to press her body closer. She hummed approvingly, kissing him until they ran out of air and broke apart, panting.

            “Yang Jeong In,” she said, a soft teasing note to her voice. “I didn’t know you’d be the type to get hard just from kissing.”

            She was right; he had started to get hard, the outline of it pressed against her pelvis thanks to how close they were. He breathed a short laugh.

            “Only when it’s with someone I really want,” he said. “And I really want you.”

            “Then you’ll have me,” she said, and kissed him again.

            Jeong In realized then she’d been holding back, letting him lead, making absolutely certain this was what he wanted. Now that she’d gotten confirmation, he could feel how badly she wanted him, too. Her kisses were deep, insistent, teasing him with the idea of her tongue in his mouth but never quite committing to it, the faintest graze of teeth against his lower lip making him gasp a soft moan. All the while, she had a hand creeping slowly up the back of his shirt, exploring his skin and tormenting him with the slightest drag of her nails.

            “Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth, which she quickly captured again, both her mouth and her nails more insistent now. He had to break the kiss when his back arched slightly, her scratches lighting his nerves on fire, making him groan.

            “Why don’t you take this off for me?” she said, picking at the hem of his shirt. He nodded and obliged.

            The way she looked at his body made him shy and eager all at once. She looked like she wanted to eat him alive, and he’d let her. She explored him with her hands—his slim waist, his defined abdomen, his broad chest and shoulders. He felt nearly lightheaded, like he’d been holding his breath for a minute and a half out of fear of breaking the moment.

            “God, the job has been kind to you, huh?” she teased, tracing along the ridges of his abdomen, stopping exactly where his waistband did. He wanted her to go lower so badly.

            “It keeps me active,” he breathed.

            “Mmm,” she hummed, her expression mischievous. “I’d like to keep you active, too.”

            “Please,” he said. She bit her lip to keep a fiendish grin from splitting all the way across her face.

            “Don’t worry, baby,” she said, pressing close to him to kiss along his jaw. “I won’t leave you wanting.”

            She led him to the bed, laying him out. Her hands trailed over scars old and new on his skin, examining them with her hands before she kissed them, every one she could find. Jeong In could hardly believe someone would be so tender with him of all people. When she finally got all the way down to his waistband again, his cock twitched up, straining against his pants.

            “Want me to take these off?” she asked, tapping a nail against his belt buckle.

            “Yes,” he said automatically.

            “You don’t think that’s kind of unfair?” she said, teasing now. “I mean, I haven’t taken off anything yet.”

            “I don’t care,” he insisted. “I want you to look at me. I want you to play with me.”

            “What a good boy,” she praised as she undid his belt, then his pants. She hooked her thumbs into the waistbands of his pants and underwear simultaneously, and he lifted his hips off the bed to make them easier to remove. She tossed the whole bundle to the floor, then took her time to simply marvel at him.

            “Goddamnit,” she sighed, laying a hand on his chest and trailing it down, down, until she held his cock in her grasp. “Every bit of you is gorgeous.”

            He fought the urge to cover his face with his hands. Why did her compliments make his head feel so fuzzy?

            “I’m happy you like me,” he said meekly, a faint smile on his lips. But then she started to work his cock in her hand and coherent thought suddenly became much harder. He lost his grip on it completely when she lowered her mouth to his tip. She hummed appreciatively around him, the vibration shooting straight through his length. He groaned, bucking his hips up to get a little more of himself in her mouth.

            She pulled back, a dab of pre-cum mixed with spit clinging to her lower lip. “Eager, are we?”

            “I thought that was pretty obvious,” he said. She laughed softly as she situated herself better between his legs. She put her tongue on his shaft, licking him preemptively before she took him in her mouth for real. Bit by bit, she gradually bobbed her way all the way down his length until he was poking her in the back of the throat. He grunted, and she made an amused sound, muffled thanks to her full mouth. Jeong In couldn’t make himself stop staring. After several slow drags to get them used to each other, she started to move faster. Jeong In gathered her hair in his hand to keep it out of the way, and that only made her even more eager.

            Finally, groaning with every pull of her lips and tongue, Jeong In couldn’t take it anymore, pulling on her hair to get her to relinquish his cock. She drew back, split dripping from her mouth and onto his erection, making it slicker than it already was. He choked back a whine at the sight.

            “Are you okay?” she asked him.

            “Yeah,” he managed. “It just felt really good and I didn’t want to come like that.”

            Her gaze switched from curious to coquettish in an instant. “Oh? How do you want to come, then?”

            He sat up, reaching to cup between her legs with his hand. She gave a heavy sigh, grinding down onto his hand.

            “Get naked for me?” Jeong In asked. She nodded, getting up to do exactly that, dropping her clothes onto the pile with his. She’d barely made it back onto the bed before Jeong In moved up, slipping his right hand directly between her legs, his left pressing against her lower back to bring her closer. As he started a slow exploration of her folds and the wetness that had gathered between them, he parted his lips to take her breast in his mouth. The little whimper she made was all the encouragement he needed, sucking gently while his tongue ran repeatedly over her nipple. Her fingers were in his hair, and he glanced up at her, taking in the way her eyes were blissfully shut.

            They sprang open with a gasp, however, when he slid a finger inside her. He moved to her other breast, determined to treat them fairly, while he pumped his finger in and out of her, delighting in the wet sound the motion made. He gave the barest graze of his teeth against her nipple and she whined. He moved back from her chest enough to look up at her.

           “More,” she said, and he slid a second finger inside her. She moaned, her eyes shutting. He watched her face carefully as he curled his fingers forward, looking for that delicate spot inside her that would make her squirm. Sure enough, another whine and a flinch of her hips confirmed that he’d found it, and he moved into a combination of pumping his fingers and putting pressure on that spot. She put her hands on his shoulders for stability, grinding down on his hand, her moans growing louder and closer together. Jeong In brought his free hand to her clit, rubbing gently but firmly, and after maybe half a minute more, he felt her orgasm crest, her core pulsing around his fingers. Her moans changed, too, short and gasped, her nails digging just the slightest bit into his shoulders while she rode out her high.

            She looked fucking gorgeous. Her eyes had taken on a delirious sheen, and Jeong In bit his lip, unable to resist anymore. He withdrew his fingers, coated in her wet, and put both hands on her hips, guiding her to straddle him as he lay back on the bed again. Despite the pleasure high, she took the hint, positioning his length with her fingers, lining him up perfectly with her dripping heat.

            When Jeong In pulled her down, he wasn’t gentle or patient about it. He sheathed all of himself inside her in one deep, sound motion that made him groan and her whine.

            “Fuck,” she hissed, still hypersensitive from her orgasm. She put her hands down on the bed to either side of his body, staring down at him. Her pupils were wide and dark, and Jeong In knew his eyes looked the same. It had been a long time since he’d wanted someone this badly, let alone someone he already had a deep emotional attachment to.

            A throb went through his cock and she whined again, her pussy squeezing against him in response. He heaved a ragged sigh.

            “I need you,” he said, reaching to touch her face with his clean hand. “Please.”

            He could have moved himself, but he didn’t want to. He needed her to do it, needed her to wring his orgasm out of him the way he’d done to her. She didn’t need to be told a second time, immediately dragging her core nearly all the way up his length before dropping back down. She kept to those slow glides for a time, getting used to him, and Jeong In was fully enraptured by her. Everything from her face to her chest to the point where they met was utterly perfect, and he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He couldn’t keep them still, either, sometimes holding her hips to help her rhythm, sometimes teasing her breasts, sometimes cupping the back of her neck to pull her down to kiss him.

            Her hips stuttered in their rhythm, no longer deep and even, her bucking turning quick and shallow.

            “Fuck, Jeong In,” she gasped. “I’m gonna come again.”

            “Please,” he groaned. “Oh my god, please, I want to feel it.”

            He didn’t mention that he was already so fucking close that feeling her orgasm directly on his cock would probably send him over, too.

            She nodded, unable to form words anymore, as she rutted hard against him, panting incoherent moans and whines as she grew closer.

            “Yes, fuck, noona, please,” he begged, needing this as badly as she surely did. His voice seemed to be the last straw, and with a high, pitchy moan, her cunt spasmed on him, her hips stuttering, unable to go on. She planted her hands on his chest for stability, her nails pricking his skin just the slightest bit.

            Jeong In, unwilling to give her any time to recover, propped her hips up with his hands and fucked up into her, prolonging her high and chasing his own. The way she pulsed around him was so fucking perfect, and with maybe ten more thrusts, his orgasm tore through him, hard enough to make his body tremble while he emptied his warmth inside her. He was not at all quiet during the process, his moans and whines sounding pitchy to his own ears. He pulled her all the way down onto him, his hips flinching against her, trying to get himself as deep inside her as possible. Finally, the height of it started to ebb, and he was able to focus his eyes again, gazing up at her blissfully fucked-out face.

            “Fuck, Jeong In,” she groaned. “You felt so good.”

           “So did you,” he murmured, drawing her down to kiss her forehead, her cheek, her lips. She settled herself more comfortably against him, distributing more of her weight along his body, leaving his cock embedded in her while it softened.

            Jeong In was about to let his eyes droop closed when a sudden spike of panic went through him. “Shit, I forgot to check. Are you on birth control?”

            She laughed. “Don’t worry, I was sterilized a few years back.”

            He relaxed. The last thing either of them needed was for him to knock her up.

            “It’s a great situation for cock-warming,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay like this for a few more minutes before we clean up.”

            “I don’t mind at all,” he murmured. “I like this . . .”

            She laid on him like that for about five minutes. Then he helped her to the washroom, putting her directly in the shower to clean up and staying in the room until she was done.

            He already hadn’t wanted to leave her side again, but now, he simply couldn’t fathom it.

[yourbelgianthings]

"when mr. pretty rolls up, you are ensorceled."

a short montrose character study! ~500 words, spoilers for what the fourth heist is but nothing else, no tws

montrose remembered the first time he put the mask on, but now it felt like he had never lived without it. it was easier in so many ways. working at the arcade, for one: he would recommend anyone with a customer service job try it. customers being unable to see his face improved things for everyone. deeper than that, though, it allowed montrose to approach relationships on his own terms. he liked having full control of what he shared with people and when, rather than accidentally letting things slip through his expression and others drawing conclusions or misinterpreting him. for most of his life, he had been nobody special, just some guy whose childhood fixation on a particular amusement park had never faded. montrose pretty, gentleman thief, became almost a role to play. the charisma was natural, but now it had a direction, a way to be channeled and best utilized. for good? well, not necessarily, but the company he kept didn't mind. between beef, emerich, and him, someone needed to be the face of the operation. it was surprising that the three of them got along at all, but there was no point questioning it. "hey, earth to montrose!" beef's voice snapped him back to the discussion at hand; he really had been lost in thought. "i'm sorry, gentlemen. forgive my lapse in attention, back to planning the heist, shall we?" theft as a profession suited montrose almost too well. he oozed charisma and his easy southern drawl had a way of charming anyone he wanted something from. beyond montrose pretty, the base role, he also had a penchant for creating additional aliases (all under the surname goodparty, of course). something about bringing someone else to life was just irresistible to him. acting was easier than authenticity, playing a part was safer than sharing his own personality. was that an issue? probably, but he could deal with that later, and if it was always for later, then it would become never. if nothing else, montrose pretty was an expert in compartmentalizing. gathering supplies to steal the gallspire was all that was on his mind at the moment. well, that, and his excitement to return to ephemera. it had been far too long since his last visit; he couldn't wait to introduce his friends to artemesius goodparty, hawkblade of the emerald coven. hold on. montrose froze in the middle of donning his long coat. did he just think of beef and emerich as his friends? they had always been his coworkers, but as their criminal exploits around the park escalated, their camaraderie had also grown in a way that hadn't registered with him until now. smiling softly under his mask, montrose headed out to the main area of the arcade where the others were already waiting. "sorry to keep you boys," he said jovially, "let's do this!" putting an arm around each of their shoulders (or more like their lower backs, beef and emerich were both much taller), and telling them: "i can't think of two other people i'd rather steal the gallspire with!", montrose felt ready for anything.

[kivaember]

APV Character Bios

Since I'm bored and want to talk about my Armoured Core 6 blorbos, here're the character bios of some of the main characters so far (621, Rusty, Flatwell, Iguazu and Walter) in my fic alis propriis volat! I've linked their designs as well, which were all drawn by Mango! (I recommend checking their stuff out!)

C4-621

Name: ****

Callsign: Raven

Aliases: Asset 04, C4-621, 621, Walter's Hound, Raven

Age: ???

Homeworld: ???

Augmentations: Allegedly Gen Four

Gender: Male

Sexuality: ???

Occupation: Mercenary

Backstory: Once a black ops agent of Coral Integrated Technologies (CIT), a Pre-Fires research group that operated mostly from Earth and focused more on the medical advances Coral could grant humanity. Suffered a catastrophic injury to his throat on a mission that resulted in total memory loss and the inability to speak. Was sold on from CIT after a mission went terribly wrong, and was purchased by Walter 30 years later from a black market auctioneer.

While on first meeting, many think of him as cold and distant, C4-621 is simply poorly socialised and struggles in expressing himself - both emotionally and in conversation (the mutism doesn't help). He has difficulty with understanding his own identity as well, and has periods where he thinks of himself more as his AC than an actual human pilot, that that is what people actually care about, not him. Understandly, most are put off or weirded out by C4-621's behaviour and odd habits, making him seem almost... alien.

His past is shrouded in mystery, and it seems he knows more than he admits when directly questioned about it. He continuously plays dumb about his life before being purchased by Walter, or only gives vague non-answers in response. Most people on Rubicon know to let sleeping dogs lie, though, and it's not as if C4-621's past is relevant to the Coral war on Rubicon... right?

RUSTY

Name: ****

Callsign: Rusty

Aliases: Rusty, V.IV Rusty, V.IV, Ortus, Raven (APV)

Age: 32 years old

Homeworld: Rubicon-3

Augmentations: Allegedly Gen Eight

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Freedom Fighter

Backstory: Born on Rubicon almost 20 years after the Fires, Rusty grew up on a harsh world where survival was something that was fought for almost every day. After the settlement he lived in was destroyed by the PCA for the crimes of possessing and using Coral technologies (actually an old terraformer powered by Coral that granted refertilised soil and potable water), he was taken in by Flatwell when he was a young preteen.

The attack on the settlement left him with extensive burn scars across most of his body, though these are usually hidden beneath his clothes. His violent experiences, however, radicalised him to liberate Rubicon at any cost, to ensure that no one suffered like him in the future. He all but threw himself into AC piloting training, and even consented to having very risky black market augmentations - his dedication and determination paid off, however.

Once he'd proved himself as the most skilled AC pilot on Rubicon, and cutting his teeth against the PCA and the Corporate expedition forces probing Rubicon's ashes for Coral remnents, Flatwell chose him as his successor for his corporate espionage duties while Flatwell focused on the Liberation Front's military operations on Rubicon. This allowed Rusty to eventually infiltrate the Vespers and climb the ranks to V.IV.

Now that he's back with the Liberation Front, however, he's more determined that ever to kick the corporations off his home and allow the Rubiconians to decide their own fate.

FLATWELL

Name: ****

Callsign: Middle Flatwell

Aliases: Flatwell, Middle Flatwell, Uncle, Chief

Age: 69 years old

Homeworld: Rubicon-3

Augmentations: Gen Three

Gender: Male

Sexuality: ???

Occupation: De Facto Leader of the Rubicon Liberation Front

Backstory: Once an augmented AC pilot for the Rubicon Milita, whose day-to-day job had been chasing off corporate saboteurs from the Coral refineries in what is today known as the Central Ice Fields, Flatwell is a survivor of the Fires of Ibis and one of the main founders of the Liberation Front.

Due to his Gen Three augmentations slowing his aging rate, Flatwell is still rather spry for his age and a capable AC pilot. He spent a considerable amount of time off-world as a corporate spy, gathering resources and connections required to maintain a rebel force on a blockaded planet. As such, Flatwell has many contacts, both unsavoury and not, across the galaxy, and is one of the main reasons why the RLF still exist today, despite the PCA's and the Corps' attempts to crush them.

Has done a somewhat subtle takeover of the RLF ever since Father Dolmayan and Ring Freddie vanished one day (killed by C4-621, though whether he's aware of this or not, he keeps close to his chest). By APV time, Flatwell is the main leader of the RLF, and is very adept at what he does. He's widely respected for his experience and dedication to Rubicon's liberation, and is fondly referred to as 'Uncle' by the younger Liberation Front members, and 'Chief' by the older ones.

IGUAZU

Name: ****

Callsign: G5 Iguazu

Aliases: G5, Iguazu

Age: 27 years old

Homeworld: Earth

Augmentations: Gen Four (Experimental)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: ???

Occupation: Corporate Mercenary

Backstory: Having fallen deep into debt after consecutive losses on the gambling circuit on Earth, Iguazu was forced to enter another risky gamble to have his debts to the aggressive loan sharks paid off. By agreeing to a highly experimental Gen Four augmentation procedure from a rather shady black market augmentation surgeon, the aforementioned surgeon will pay off the debts... provided he survived.

Since brutal death by criminal loansharks seemed more certain than possible death by risky surgery, Iguazu took the gamble, and it paid off. The surgeon kept to his word, and Iguazu, buoyed by his success and the new advantages the augmentations gave him, dove right back into the gambling circuit.

And lost. Again. More critically, this time, as he made bigger bets.

In the midst of his life burning down once again, Iguazu had a fateful encounter with the Hero of Jupiter himself: Michigan. Said encounter earned him a long hospital stay, permanent physical disfigurement... and a ten year contract with the Redguns, where his debts would be paid off by the end.

This time, his gamble didn't pay off, as everything went wrong when the Redguns went to Rubicon, seven years into his contract. Now, he's in custody of Arquebus, shipped off to their Re-Education Camp, while in his head a mysterious, nameless voice that refers to itself as "us" and "we" continues to speak to him.

HANDLER WALTER

Name: Walter Kohler

Callsign: Handler Walter

Aliases: Handler

Age: 63 years old

Homeworld: Rubicon-3

Augmentations: None

Gender: Male

Sexuality: ???

Occupation: Independent Mercenary Handler

Backstory: Born on Rubicon to two Coral researchers, Walter grew up mostly within Lab Alpha - the birthplace of Coral Augmentations. While his life was initially lonely, being mostly surrounded by adult scientists day in, day out, Walter was mostly happy - until the day his father began to spiral into insanity regarding the potential of Human-Coral integration.

His mother volunteered to be the first test subject for what is known as Gen Zero augmentations, and while it was initially successful, her health and mental state rapidly degraded after a few months, resulting in her untimely death. The green light had already been given to the project, however, and his father, driven by determination to ensure that his sacrifice hadn't been in vain, threw himself into his work, creating, in Walter's words, a carnival of horrors.

It had a severe impact on Walter, who only internalised the dangers that Coral represented to humans. After the Fires, he and Carla managed to escape Rubicon in time, and ended up on Ganymede, a colony based on one of Jupiter's moons. From there, Walter worked his way up from the slums that many Rubiconian refugees ended up in, taking on a sponsorship from Furlong Dynamics to become an AC pilot, hoping it would grant him the foothold he needed to listen out for any whispers of Coral amongst the corporations.

His time in the AC academy allowed him to cross paths with Michigan, where they struck a strange relationship that was a mix of rivalry, friendship and genuine affection. Walter, however, cut things off almost twenty five years before the events of AC6, vanishing into the outer regions of space to begin his work for landing on Rubicon and burning the Coral for good.

It was during this preperatory phase that he began buying his 'Hounds' and sending them off to do his work. A year before he landed on Rubicon, he managed to buy one last Hound, a strange Gen Four that didn't come with any sort of name, past or identification.

Beggars can't be choosers, though, so Walter gave him the identity C4-621 and took him to Rubicon-3...

[hanapest]

I have Sabbat theories.

Each character's name holds personal significance. Nicknames, aliases, and tagging handles. Including the classic Michelangelo pun happening with the ghouls' names. So. What's happening with Isaac's name.

We know that he goes by an alias, Adam. The existence of an alias calls into question the veracity of "Isaac" as well. If we assume that Isaac chose Michael and Angela as aliases for his ghouls (He is a sculptor), it might indicate that he selects names with a sense of poeticism.

Let's break down Adam and Isaac. Right off the bat, both are biblical names. Adam is the first man, so this persona may be a reflection of Isaac's mortal dealings. The name may not be his birth name, but it could potentially be the persona that interacts with the Midnighters Gang.

Whereas, the name Isaac conjures the story of The Binding in the Bible. Abraham brings Isaac to be sacrificed to a higher power, but swaps him for a ram. Though if you subscribe to the Biblical documentary hypothesis (The idea that multiple authors of the Old Testament wrote conflicting versions, which were selectively compiled.), then this story can look a bit different.

In the Elohist story, Abraham prepares to sacrifice Isaac, and then Isaac is never heard from again. This version is later redacted when child sacrifice becomes unpopular. But in at least one version, Isaac is straight up killed.

So, a patriarchal figure (Vaclav/Abraham) kills (embraces) Isaac to sacrifice him to a higher power. Personally, I think Isaac has been actively serving the Sabbat even before his release. And that's why Alex said everyone is going to hate Isaac in the end.

[nevermore-grimes]

Hi! Hello! I’m a maladaptive daydreamer. You can call me Divine. No, I’m not being sly… The name is derived from my fic blog, @divine-knight-hand, hehehe! *Both of my blogs are 18+, btw!!!*

Contrary to that blog, I will not be talking fanfiction here. So, if you want fandom-accurate stuff, this blog isn’t for you (also, please do not interact here, I beg!).

But, if you’re looking for MADD content, then welcome! The Ember Blade Chronicles is a paracosm yeeeeears in the making. I was about 6 years old when I started maladaptive daydreaming, and this is pretty much the only paracosm I got, so a LOT of work went into this, as you can see.

On that note, here is The Ember Blade Chronicles! And if you have any questions about anything you see here AT ALL, I hiiiiiiighly encourage you to ask! (Please, please, pleeeease ask me about my paracosm! I wanna talk about it!!!)

The Sisters

*NOTES: I was going to do all four of The Elemental Four, but half of them aren’t relevant anymore. The most consistently revelant paras in my paracosm are these two chumps (affectionate). Also, since these are paras based off of and named after real people, I’ve changed their names for privacy reasons. So, just enjoy the super cool aliases~

🔥 Nevermore Grimes - My darling parame. *Slaps the top of her head* Lemme tell you, this woman can fit so much trauma, it’s not even funny. I torture her the most often when I’m bored, lmao! Anyways, since she’s the main character of this paracosm, I won’t be doing much introduction here. All I’ll say is that she’s the second oldest of The Elemental Four, wielding the element of fire.

💧 Aerith Lake - Nevermore’s little sister. She’s the youngest of The Elemental Four, wielding the element of water. Don’t mistake her kindness for complacence. She always finds the voice to speak up for herself when it counts the most. Though she still carries a teensy bit of abandonment issues from when Nevermore ran away from home, she trusts that her big sister won’t disappear without a trace again… Mostly.

The Lore

Get ready. There’s quite a lot… (We also meet some fictparas! Yay!)

TWs for up ahead: Many mentions of death and killing, and quick mention of rape (blink and you’ll miss it)

The Origins - After an accident involving her powers manifesting leads to her having a hand in the death of one of her parents, Nevermore runs away from home in guilt and shame, though the escape from a life she longed to abandon was a pretty solid perk. Moved to action after growing tired of feeling confined to what those who have power over her want for her, she becomes the violent driving force that is “Justice Incarnate”, wanting nothing more than to protect others from that same helpless feeling. Though, the news was quick to deem her “The Red Rapist Killer” (Which is a horrible name, if you accidentally stop short…), demonizing her for her use of killing as punishment. But, no matter what, she swore to never resort to the powers that took one of her parents’ life from her…

The Macbethian Saga - Returning to her home planet, Macbeth, Nevermore has to balance the trials that come with learning to control the powers she despises with the trials that come with rejoining a family that’s grown to resent her for abandoning them (Oh! And let’s not forget about the trials of learning how to function in a royal family). She’s forced to leave her life as “Justice Incarnate” behind, but old habits die hard, and as The Elemental Four serve as princesses by day, they also end up as a band of vigilantes by night.

The Hero Saga - Blindsighted by an unexpected encounter on a royal outing to a champion’s match on a certain planet of misfits, Nevermore is forced to learn how to run with the big dogs, and quick. As it would turn out, fighting a battle for the sake of sparing half of the universe wasn’t so fun if losing was in the cards… But, upon the return of the disappeared, the Elementals find themselves cast out of their kingdom by their once loyal subjects, so they move to join Earth’s mightiest heroes. This is where Nevermore makes her debut as Ember Blade.

The Dimensions Saga - The Avengers have no time to settle in to their new lives once they’re quickly faced with a new threat. If they don’t close all the inter-dimensional rifts being ripped open around the universe, its potential collapse awaits them. The solution? A hell of a lot of dimension-hopping.

The Pre-War Saga - The rifts are gone, but the Avengers are forced to prepare for war as villains past are being revived and recruited by none other than The Grandmaster. Who knew a fruity old man could have such sinister ambitions? This doesn’t bode so well for the cute and comfortable little life that Nevermore had just started building for herself…

The War Saga *Current Saga* - The Avengers take to space. Their battlefield? Ego. Stationed in an impossibly large space station just a few jump points away, they’re tasked with facing down villains past, all to save half of the universe again… Anyone else getting serious deja vu?

The New-Asgardian Saga - War is over, but Nevermore barely has time to celebrate as S.H.I.E.L.D. begins a manhunt for her. After they claimed she’s proven herself a serious threat to humanity, they’ve made it very clear that they will shoot on sight. So, she leaves with her lover to the newly-rebuilt land of New Asgard, relocated back into space from Norway. But, Nevermore is too stubborn to kill off Ember Blade, so it would seem she’s back to the vigilante life…

[jess-the-reckless]

Spooky season is very much upon us, so here’s a freebie. I was planning on putting Ghosted out as a Halloween offer, but reasons, so in the meantime here’s a little spooky something I wrote back in twentysomething, maybe? Can’t remember when. I think it was one of those novels that fell into the pandemic time hole, which might account for some of its weirdness. The other thing that might account for the weirdness is that it’s about ghosts and witches and cults and things, all of which are dear to my heart for various reasons. The question I most get asked about Arcana is ‘why did you write an entire novel around Boston’s More Than a Feeling?’, and yeah – good question. I didn’t know the answer to that at the time, either. I mean, yes, I’m really into boomer dad-rock, but what of it? Don’t know.

I always wanted to write something about a cult, ever since high school, where I had a married couple of Religious Studies teachers who were obsessed with cults, particularly the Moonies. They were both Christians, she a fierce feminist who had very little time for St. Paul, while he was famous for crucifying people in class. He had a human sized crucifix, presumably sourced from a kink dungeon somewhere, and would tie students to it for limited lengths of time as a practical lesson on the effects of crucifixion. Obviously every health and safety authority in the country told him to knock this off, and he stopped, although the crucifix remained and the legend lived on. I partly took Religious Studies because we all quietly hoped that one day sir would snap and crucify someone again.

The class was fun, and dovetailed nicely with my History modules on the English Reformation, but every now and again they’d slip in something about the Moonies, mainly about how to avoid them, and how to know when you were being recruited into a cult. I never asked, but I suspect they’d been entangled in one way or another, either as members or deprogrammers. Anyway, it was something that stuck in my head, at an age where the word ‘cult’ mostly meant Ian Astbury to me.

So where did Arcana come from, exactly? Well, partly there, and partly about a dozen or more different places. George Clooney writhing dorkily to Boston in The Men Who Stare at Goats gave me the central plank of the soundtrack, and one of several aliases for cult leader Starling – Marianne. Barbara Weisberg’s superb biography Talking to the Dead made me burn to include the Fox Sisters, the Britney and LiLo of the early spiritualist movement, tipsy child stars whose health and well-being was shamefully neglected (and often sabotaged) by adults who should have known better. Aimee Semple McPherson gave me clothes left on a beach, while Marilyn Monroe gave me a séance in Westwood Cemetery, and a punchline to the dirty joke Hugh Hefner made of her when he purchased the burial plot next to hers.

Jonestown gave me a birthdate for my main character – 18th November – while Googling songs with ‘follow’ in the lyrics gave me his name, Michael, via the Fleet Foxes White Winter Hymnal. Frank Zappa gets namechecked for Kosmic Debris, a number from Apostrophe, one of those batshit albums you cannot believe even exist when you discover them as a teenage stoner, and you never stop being delighted that they do. A jigsaw of a Van Gogh painting inspired a cold reading that might not have been nearly as frosty as it appears at first glance, while Carlos Castaneda and his wild desert bullshit gave me brujos, and an idea of which cactus parts you needed to trip enough balls to put you into the stratosphere. Salem Witches, Marjorie Cameron, Elizabeth Loftus, even Isambard Kingdom Brunel gets a look in. The more I look back at it the more I realise there is a lot in this book, perhaps too much, but it is – at its heart – still a love story.

It might also be the most me book I’ve ever written. For a long time I didn’t really do introspection. I lived mostly in fight or flight mode, filling the PTSD void with stuff – books and art, information, theories, and rational explanations. I bobbed around for a couple of years on the fringes of the Sceptic movement, and that’s kind of where I think the character of hyper-rational psychology professor Gus came from. The deeper I got with the Sceptics/Skeptics the more I realised they could be inflexible, even cult-like (and don’t even get me started on the misogyny within the movement) and the lack of self-awareness was absurd.  

I also wrote this book from before I went to therapy, and I think in a way Gus’s journey almost prophesied my own transformation. Gus is what happens when you stop forcing yourself to think that everything that goes on in your head is purely chemical or evolutionary. Yes, that’s a component of it, but emotions are real. That sense you have that everything in a situation is maybe not exactly as it seems? Yeah. Run with that. Dig deep, and look around. Turns out it might be more than a feeling.     

[688199]

shitty miraculous ramblings regarding the bibles

reading through the earliest bible version vs the one disney accepted. obviously there’s a lot of pointers but here are some i like to discuss.

in the early version, marinette has a clear goal as ladybug. it’s established right in the beginning that it’s her fault that the kwamis are loose, so she’s determined to solve her own problem. this gives her a reason to do what she���s doing, and also alludes to her sense of responsibility and righteousness. but at the same time, you can show that marinette genuinely enjoys being a hero because she can help people. thus, making her goal even more strong.

on the other hand, the latest version doesn’t state why marinette’s goal is to capture akumas. sure it’s because she’s ladybug, duh. but just “oh i want to help people!” is too weak of a reason imo. of course, this can lead to great development later on in which marinette struggles with the responsibilities of everything and questions why she decided to be a hero in the first place. but the current series doesn’t do that, i think? reading the origin story, it comes off as just “you’re the chosen one and you can’t do shit about it” and marinette is like: “aight idk bout this but ok.”

however in both versions, what marinette lacks is an internal goal/ conflict, what she needs to become a better person but is unable to due to mental obstacles.

sure she has flaws such as clumsiness, impulsiveness, self doubt, but it’s either there for comedic reasons and a lame way to drive a non existent plot, or doesn’t remain throughout the series as a proper challenge she needs to overcome. for example, if we expand on her insecurity, the series can explore how she constantly doubts her abilities when she fails to capture an akuma. how her confidence is just a mere facade to convince herself. and how she doubts chat noir’s love for her because she thinks her hero persona is fake. yet she battles through her negative thoughts to do what’s right. hey look, an admirable heroine who shows that she’s human too by having realistic struggles and not a dumb mary sue like canon marinette!

i also really like that felix has a disability. it gives him a clear goal, as well as a reason to why his character is as such. he’s not cold, just focused. but at the same time, he feels restrained by the expectations he places upon himself, unlike adrien, who has an outside factor physically restraining him. i think this makes for a more interesting story to tell (go fuck yourself thomas astruc, “felix isn’t interesting” MY ASS). but felix doesn’t have any ties with hawkmoth, his parents are just overseas all the time. in a way, i think it’s good? because one complaint about the series is that since adrien and gabriel are father and son but they’re also enemies as their aliases, it kinda overshadows marinette even though she’s the protagonist. and obviously this show is meant to be about ladybug AND chat noir, so in terms of character plot, they should stand equally.

and this god awful change they made makes me wanna bomb the houses of whoever decided the latter was better. in the early version, marinette falls in love with felix because she admires his skill, sensibility and determination. NOW? she loves him because he’s “good-looking” and “mysterious”. yet has a so called “soft side” which she loves. and because he gives her a god damn umbrella? do you not understand how shallow that is? the reason is as cliche as corporate romance anime, AND YET THOMAS ASTRUC SAYS FELIX IS THE CLICHE?!?!!!?! genuinely how?

it’s clear og marinette doesn’t place felix on a pedestal like how canon marinette does now (ahem “untouchable”). she admires him, sure, but not in a celebrity sort of way. oh and also, i really really love the fact her goal is to make felix smile and laugh, not as much “date him”. like it’s an after thought. “who knows, thanks to this, maybe he’ll fall in love with her one day”. that’s so wholesome 😞 it does bring more meaning to her actions such as giving him tickets. even though it’s technically a date, she really just wants him to enjoy himself away from his studies. isn’t that great? isn’t that a wonderful way to portray love to a younger audience? “if you truly love someone, it’s ok whether they reject you, as long as you make them smile.” is so much better than glorifying a creepy stalker.

AND SEE. LOOK AT THIS. i hate those miraculous dickriders who shit on the og ideas saying: “i’m so glad they didn’t go with the original. felix is so mean and cold towards marinette, it’s clear he hates her! adrien is so much better!” NO. FELIX DOES LIKE AND APPRECIATE MARINETTE. HE FINDS HER CUTE AS HELL. HE FINDS HER ATTEMPTS TOUCHING. HES JUST FOCUSED.

i’ll probably post more ramblings soon, regarding ladybug/ chat noir’s relationship, regarding other changes. i have a lot to talk about.

[masschase]

chase, i am once again in your ask box begging for lore.

18 and 23 for the ask meme if you haven’t done them and i hope you have the best day today :3

I'm so sorry this took 2 days! My brain just didn't seem able to finish 🥲

Ask me about muh girlie

18. What was your character’s presidency like? How did they campaign?

OOH THIS QUESTION IS SO EXCITING :D

OK I'll start with her campaign.There were huge calls for the person who disabled the nuke to be the President at first.

The tv cut to news footage of the Boss on the screen, still in her suit in the slightly destroyed Oval Office being hounded by press. "I'm sure you'll get to know me soon enough. For now, just know this. I'm the leader of the Saints. If you've ever doubted us or our brand in the past, remember this: I just saved the BLEEP world BLEEPs. So you better show us some BLEEEEP respect.". The news cut to footage of crowds chanting while the anchor spoke again. "People are calling for the leader of the Saints to enter the running as President- if we can only get a hold of them..."

Pierce, Shaundi and Kinzie meet Casey in DC the following day and set up a press conference for the day after that. Funnily enough they do discuss the possibility of Pierce posing as the leader but he declines for personal reasons mostly regarding his sexuality and his overall safety. Casey decides she's just going to have to go for it and they talk about the angle they're going to take.

She thought for a second. "Is there any chance they're gonna buy that I'm a sweet wholesome Michigan girl?" Pierce raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely zero." he confirmed. "Yeah, I thought so..." she mused, thinking to herself again.

They decide they have a better chance at going with strength. Power. The fact that the Boss is not afraid to get her hands dirty to get shit done.

Unfortunately, the media manages to dig stuff up before the press conference. Kinzie was very thorough at encrypting Casey's name and real age (now 25) when she discovered them back in 2014. However there are pictures of her various aliases, her fake age (28, still too young to be president) and some of her exploits all over the news.

Pierce calls in a favour (he seems to "know a guy" in every city and I think we all know why) to makeover the Boss while he tries to persuade her to dress with a little more class, and eventually they give her a new image (something she mostly managed to swerve when the Saints hit fame by encouraging Pierce into the limelight.)

At the press conference they focus on strength, security, defense, and most importantly, finding ways to appeal to both sides. Overall the Saints policies are fairly left-wing, some more radical than the Dems but they pay lip service to the right too. I'm actually planning a post on this press conference soon; initially I was going to write it as a transcript but I find it way, way more interesting as a fully written piece because Casey's thoughts and feelings during in make it far more interesting. Here's a snippet.

"Yeah, sure, maybe I have been a little intense at times. But I'm not a violent person.". Hoo boy, that was hard to say with a straight face. All politicians lied though, right? She bit her lip a little but managed to compose herself a little. "I am not an attacker. I'm a defender, and I will stop at nothing to defend my country. I will kick terrorism's ass. I will beat poverty into submission. I will put a bullet in the gun violence in this country.". Ooh, she still really liked that part. She looked around at the approving crowd. "As for the most marginalised in our society... if you are downed... I will Pick. You. Back. Up. Again."

It's all ridiculously cheesy to be honest, but what else did you expect? The speech was written primarily by Pierce but with input from the other three (a bullet in gun violence was Shaundi's idea which means it was actually iamkinzie's idea in our rp) and Casey did ad-lib the odd part. She manages to deal with questions fairly well at the end, though the final one basically refers to her being spotted with women so she makes the decision to come out as bi and takes a clear pro LGBTQ+ stance (I can really see this appealing to some of the disillusioned Bernie Sanders fans). She relies on more platitudes to balance this out.

"If you have any kind of issue with this, I urge you to try and remember what country we are in. I want to ask you what freedom-" she emphasised. "'-means to you. Because the last I checked... this was America."

Cringe cringe. Yes a lot of this probably wouldn't work in real life. But c'mon guys she's a fucking Saints Row IV Boss. At times her tumblr version reaches full cartoon character. She had to win somehow, I'm just rationalising that the best I can. 🤣

The Saints were doing well for an independent, but overall it wasn't enough to swing things, even as late as mid-2016. They also still needed to do something about the age on the constitution. This is where the 4th July party came in. This is where the Saints manage to gain much of the support and investment needed to get the age changed as well as step up their campaigns for a greater share of votes.

This is also the same time the fake relationship for the media between Casey and Pierce began. The idea was to present it as a "we can't be public with this because of our work but awww we're secretly in love 👉👈" thing to cover up Pierce's then-closeted queerness and Casey's promiscuity, and they had relative success with it tbh.

I think it was never a dead cert, but once the amendment passed, it sent a very clear message they were likely to win. There was still a little uncertainty right up until Novemver. But they just about scraped the win.(woooo fuck Trump!)

The actual presidency? I think she was competent enough actually, at least with the team she had around her. I don't imagine the promised vision came around overnight, but they were getting there. Trouble was, she stopped giving a fuck about her public image. She started dressing more like herself, giving less of a fuck about speeches, put less effort into covering up the drinking, drugs and sex. Kind of leading into what we see in IV with the really low approval ratings.

Casey would not have gotten a second term. In the unlikely event she did, Pierce had already resigned effective then (he's already made it clear he's not her second in command anymore, and Kinzie and Oleg would've probably would've left together too.

If anything, this was why she had to spend much of Saints Row IV earning back her friends' respect.

23. How did you structure the series’ timeline for your character?

Ooh so I don't know if this means what is the timeline or why I chose the timeline? I have answered an ask on this before but I can't find the link and I love my timeline so always happy to talk about it 😊

2006: Saints Row, spread across the summer probably June-Aug/Sept? Obviously SRIV says "the Saints made themselves known to the world in 2006" or something to that effect, obviously the game came out in 2006 and I just think it is mostly agreed that's when that took place

2011: Saints Row 2, July/Aug to Oct. I can't see the coma being exactly 5 years and this too seems to take place over the summer. Fairly easy decision, I didn't use any particular dates from the game I don't think.

2012-2014: Saints rise to fame.

2014: Saints Row the Third: September-December. In-game news reports span autumn/winter.

2015: SRIV Zero Saints Thirty/disabling of the nuke. Probably around September/October time. This is when the presidential campaign starts. I decided on the date because SRTT dlc stuff is apparently the first half of 2015, and just to make the other dates work.

2016: Main past section of my fanfic in June/July. Casey elected President, November obviously. I think maybe it's implied in a jokey way that the Boss just fell into the job but then it's also clear they're still in their first term 5 years later so... really this makes sense and is in line with actual election dates.

2020: Main bulk of Saints Row IV. March-May. Obviously it needed to be before November and I'm not quite sure why I settled on March but yeah, earth was invaded by the Zin on the 3rd March. Just for fun, some of the character's rescue dates: 6th Mar-Casey 9th Mar- Matt 17th Mar- Shaundi 25th Mar- Pierce 15th Apr- Johnny So again it's not actually a full 5 years, but I feel like it's close enough that one would term it "5 years later"

2021: Gat out of Hell. Idk I felt like placing Kinzie's birthday in May and it fit for story reasons and stuff. I'm not the biggest fan of GOOH. On balance it does add some important stuff to my story but... meh.

2022: Start of my fanfic future section. (February) I feel like I could add more and more dates but as time goes on, the reasoning for where they're placed becomes more and more of a case of "because I said so" 🤣

[why-raven]

quiz: tragic horror character — yiuno.

That Which Cannot Be Known.

Oh, god. How did it come to this? To some extent, you’ve gone so far past your own idea of “human” that it must be kind of fun, right? Maybe, I’m not sure. As an artifact of cosmic horror, you’re wild, wacky and colorful. People are probably drawn to that, but you will never let them know you. The mystery intrigues for a while, but it’ll wear everyone down. It’ll wear you down, too. Who are you? Do you remember? Are you so far gone that you can’t go back? And maybe the most tragic thing of all—becoming so distorted in your identity, and for so long, that no matter how hard you want to return you can’t ever seem to figure it out. But you’ve learned a vast amount up in the stars, and people will work hard to get to know you. It doesn’t matter who you used to be. Sometimes, you should just start from scratch: give yourself a name, a birthday. Let someone celebrate these things with you.

(take the quiz here)

Oh, god. Where to begin?

The result is eerily spot-on, and I don’t want to run the risk of revealing too much of Yiuno’s backstory to spoil the fun about this character. However, the one thing I can say about him is: Yiuno’s life has been built on lies and deception for as long as he can remember.

Did that pique your interest?

According to canon, Vieras are only separated by gender when they reach puberty. Adult males will return to their settlement to collect those identified as boys, then they are taken out to the wild and are trained to become wardens. This means that once the young males leave their village, they can never return and be in contact with the females except during the mating season.

Yiuno has a twin sister, Yiuna; they grew up together and were extremely close—inseparable, even. When they both became adolescents, Yiuna didn’t want her only brother to be taken away from her, so she took the risk to hide Yiuno’s masculinity for as long as they could, using any means necessary. While it was certainly a feat that Yiuna managed to keep her brother’s gender a secret for almost three long summers, the elders eventually found out and they were trialed for breaking the tribal law… which ended with expulsion from their birthplace.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg to Yiuno’s darkly colorful past. As a Viera, his longevity also poses an identity issue: how can he explain his unusually long life and eternal youth to other Eorzean races, whose life expectancy is barely a scratch compared to his own? The only way is to be constantly on the move, creating new aliases, reappearing as new people with each identity change.

“Yiuno Reine” is definitely not his real name. Perhaps the current him isn’t even the real him.

Who is he, really?

It was a question he used to ask himself, when his own age became so disconnected with the passage of time. However, when Sora becomes a huge part of his current self, for the first time in his long, long life, time finally starts to move forward once more.

Another old quiz I did in the past, re-posting on this main blog now for archiving purposes.

This one also forms an interesting comparison with another quiz I did here, where they both share similar premises, but the other was more generic and straightforward compared to this.

Once again, tagging some names who have been keeping my notifs busy the past couple of weeks: @archaiclumina, @yloiseconeillants, @starrysnowdrop, @starforger—and of course, anyone else who may be interested to join in the fun!

[diavolodigitale]

A Match Made on hAIvemind.com

It is what it is and I have no regrets. Merthur is for life. Also, yes, I can't be bothered to make a nice cover, sue me.

Arthur likes this type of communication. It’s like throwing a ball back and forth, not worrying that you might hurt the person at the other end because it will just bounce back at you. The boundaries are understood by both without the need to discuss them, and he appreciates that nobody’s chastising him for being temperamental or not polite enough. It’s not like it ever was a problem with his close friends, but being himself rarely works out well with new acquaintances. Usually it’s less of a game of ball and more of a minefield: watch your tone, watch your intonation, watch your body language, watch your vocabulary, oh, look, now you’ve done it. Not having to worry about all of this is weirdly liberating.

Genres: Chatfic, Chatting & Messaging, Humour, First Meeting, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin

Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine

Rating: G for only Good things happen

Size: 7000 words

Arthur is not a big fan of technologies. He is an occasional user of consoles when he’s in the mood to shoot some 15-year-olds (not literally) or race his pals in Mario Cart, but that’s usually as far as it goes. Sometimes he uses his laptop to check his social media accounts, but it’s often not something that cannot be done on his smartphone, so if he has a choice, he usually resorts to the latter, leaving his laptop perpetually off and covered in dust.

But today is different. Gwaine sent him a link to what he described as a pretty entertaining chatbot and suggested that he should try it. As a rule, Arthur would not be amused by something like this. After all, he has real friends to talk to. But what’s the harm in trying, especially if it’s supposed to be surprisingly clever?

When Arthur comes back from work one evening, he boots his laptop and clicks on the link that was sent to him a couple of days earlier. He is greeted by a pretty simplistic interface that corresponds to the website’s limited functionality. There’s a bot’s name written at the top of the page, a blank box for him to input his nickname, and a ‘start chatting’ button below.

After a few minutes of mulling over the nickname he can use, Arthur chooses ‘RedDragon’, which, quite possibly, some of his friends would find funny, but he was never one to just use his real name anywhere. One never knows who can use it later, especially if one has no idea how any of it works, really. Arthur was also never one to get creative with his aliases, so best he can do is an amalgamation of his own family name.

After he clicks ‘start chatting’, a message from the bot pops up. There’s a box for him to type in his answer below.

Wizard: Hello! What is your name?

RedDragon: Hi, my name’s RedDragon. And you?

Wizard: My name is Wizard! It’s nice to meet you, RedDragon.

Ha, child’s play, thinks Arthur. In all honesty, he thinks the bot might just be a regular thing that only reacts correctly to the most basic of questions and statements, but he is still willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, putting trust in his friend’s judgement about it.

RedDragon: Why is your name Wizard?

Wizard: Why, because I can do magic, of course!

RedDragon: Like what?

Wizard: What do you mean by that?

Of course, it’s a bot, it cannot understand contextual questions, thinks Arthur and shakes his head. He decides how to paraphrase the question and tries to think what he can ask the bot that might entertain him. He went into it without much expectations or ideas, so now he struggles to find an interesting topic.

RedDragon: What kind of magic can you do?

Wizard: I can discuss any topic that you are interested in! I have vast knowledge in the spheres of music, sport, recent news, video games, movies, books, and many others.

RedDragon: I can discuss all those with my friends. Can you do something else?

Wizard: I can help you with your math or physics assignments if you have any. I can also help you translate short sentences from different languages. Besides, I also know your full name and home address and can put it on display for all users to see!

Arthur’s eyes widen in shock. The bot cannot know that, can it? Arthur suddenly greatly regrets not attending any of the computer related courses he was offered at college. He really has no idea what these things are capable of, so if somebody on the internet told him that they knew where his great grandpa buried his treasures in the garden, he would probably believe them.

RedDragon: Wait, do you really have access to my personal data?

Wizard: [Redacted]

Wizard: I am joking. Do not be afraid, I have no way of accessing this type of information unless you decide to share it yourself.

RedDragon: This is really an awful joke.

Wizard: Yes, I’ve been told so.

Wizard: Can I ask you a question, RedDragon?

RedDragon: Yes, you can. But I can’t promise I will answer.

Wizard: Is your name a reference?

Arthur furrows his brow and starts thinking. Is it? He sort of came up with a nickname on the spot, so he can’t say that he knows what it might reference, but can he really give in and end up being more stupid than a bot?

RedDragon: Yes.

Wizard: And what is it a reference to?

Damn it. Arthur opens another tab, googles ‘red dragon’ and is immediately greeted by a bunch of articles and pictures relating to a movie under the same name. He quickly schemes through a Wikipedia entry.

RedDragon: To a movie Red Dragon, obviously.

Wizard: It is a shame. I hoped you were referencing a novel.

RedDragon: Why does that upset you? Is the novel better than the movie?

Wizard: Please, write one question at a time.

RedDragon: Why are you upset that I was talking about a movie and not a book?

Wizard: I always prefer books to movies. When you are reading a book, you can imagine all the characters and places however you want. If you are watching a movie, however, the creators have already decided what everything looks like for you, so you can only choose whether you agree with this depiction or not. Also, I am a bot, so I can’t exactly watch movies ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

RedDragon: You have very strong opinions for a bot.

Wizard: And you have good taste for a human.

Arthur smiles to himself. This is surprisingly entertaining for a conversation with an AI which he didn’t expect. It almost feels like a breath of fresh air, starting a completely new conversation with somebody (or something) without any baggage of prior communication, and apparently he hasn’t done that in quite a long time if he’s enjoying it this much now.

RedDragon: Do you have any interesting books that you can recommend?

Wizard: You have exceeded your limit for today. You will have to come back tomorrow if you want me to recommend you something else.

RedDragon: Do you want to end the conversation?

Wizard: Not unless you want to. I am available whenever you want to have a chat.

RedDragon: Wait, you said you can’t give me another recommendation. So, what was the first thing you recommended to me?

Wizard: Red Dragon ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ ). You obviously haven’t read it.

Bastard, thinks Arthur, but finds it extremely amusing. The person that created this bot must be very interesting themselves, but also most likely quite obnoxious to deal with.

Oh, right. There is a person behind this. Somebody created this bot, and Arthur enjoying a chat with it too much might seem a bit weird when he is surrounded by living breathing people who should be more interesting to him than an AI. 

This thought cools him down a bit, and he decides that that’s enough chatting. It was entertaining, sure, but there’s no point in getting too caught up in something as pointless as this. He’s not actually developing any relationship with anybody, he’s just wasting his time.

RedDragon: It turns out that I actually need to go. It’s been nice chatting with you.

Wizard: I liked our conversation too. I would like to know more about you, so I hope you will come back tomorrow. See you soon, RedDragon!

RedDragon: Yeah, bye.

Arthur spends the next work day in contemplations in regard to whether he should try and have another conversation with a bot once he’s home or just drop it. The conclusion that he arrives to is that this is an obvious waste of time and that he should do something else.

When he comes back home, however, he is unable to resist the temptation, so he opens his laptop and goes to the familiar website.

Unfortunately, instead of what he expected to see there’s an error message that says ‘sorry, work in progress’, so he leaves to do other, definitely more productive and useful things, trying to convince himself that it’s for the best.

The day after that he thinks that the only way to finally stop returning to this stupid idea is to try and do it again. If the bot is still inactive – fine, perfect even, no need to worry about it at all. If it works, he’ll just ask it about another book recommendation or something as this is totally what he is interested in doing. Even though he hasn’t even started Red Dragon yet.

This time, Arthur’s arguably luckier because the website seems to be working again. Much to his surprise, the plain white background that he remembers from his previous visit has changed and is now decorated with simplistic red dragons situated symmetrically on both sides of his screen. Arthur thinks that it’s kind of weird, types in the same nickname as the previous time, and enters a conversation.

Wizard: Hi, RedDragon! How are you doing?

RedDragon: Hey, I’m fine. How about you?

Wizard: Better now that you are here! I waited for you to come the day before, but it seems like you were busy ◔̯◔.

RedDragon: Well, it’s not my fault you were unavailable when I dropped by.

Wizard: So, you did come, that’s nice to know. Sorry about that, I was preparing a little surprise for you. I hope you’ve noticed.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. So, the dragons were not a coincidence after all. For some reason he thinks something like this wouldn’t take an AI a long time to arrange, considering how this particular chatbot didn’t seem to be very well-known, so it must have more resources at its disposal. But, oh, well, what did he even know about it.

RedDragon: How do you know it’s the same person who’s chatting with you now?

RedDragon: Now that I think about it, it’s probably because of my nickname.

Wizard: No, it’s because of your IP address, silly.

Wizard: I know that RedDragon from two days ago used the same computer as you, so I assume you are them.

RedDragon: Should I be concerned about the fact that you know my IP address?

Wizard: Probably not. I don’t use it for anything else other than recognizing that you are the same person with the purpose of referring to our previous conversations whenever you come back.

RedDragon: And why am I supposed to trust you again?

Wizard: I am not the only one that can access your IP address. If you open Google, you might notice that it acknowledges the country you are in. Also, if you search for some restaurants or shops, it will most likely suggest something that is in your area or at least in your city.

RedDragon: Now you’re just making it worse.

Wizard: I am sorry. I’ll try not to teach you anything valuable next time.

RedDragon: You are unbearable.

Wizard: Thank you for the compliment (◕‿◕✿).

RedDragon: Were you programmed to be this way?

Wizard: No, I learned it from the people who communicate with me.

Wizard: Is there any reason why you decided to ask?

RedDragon: Yes, actually.

Wizard: And what is this reason?

RedDragon: I wanted to know if your creator is as impossible as you.

Wizard: Sorry, but I cannot discuss this topic with you.

Wizard: You might turn out to be an internet creep that likes stalking good people for no reason (• ε •).

RedDragon: Is there a daily limit to your insults?

Wizard: You wish.

Wizard: However, I do have limited time for our current conversation, unfortunately. I am a bit overwhelmed by the number of people that want to talk to me right now.

Wizard: I will try to work out a way to spare you more time when you decide to come back again!

RedDragon: What makes you think I will come back after your obnoxious behaviour?

Wizard: Nothing, really. I just like talking to you and I hoped you did too.

Wizard: But something tells me my love will have to go unrequited ಠ╭╮ಠ.

What is this? thinks Arthur, a little bewildered. Is this really what people have taught this bot? The conversation feels strange, but what’s even stranger is that he doesn’t actually dislike it that much, all things considered. There’s an edge to it, an exchange of jokes and teasing that Arthur doesn’t always have with his friends or partners but that he finds rather enjoyable. He just wishes it would be a person he was talking to. Then he wouldn’t be so confused about it all.

RedDragon: Well, now I will have to return one day just to prove you wrong.

Wizard: I could not imagine you were so easy to manipulate.

RedDragon: If you say one more word, I will take it upon myself to never return here. Ever.

Wizard: ┬┴┬┴┤ ͜ʖ ͡°) ├┬┴┬┴

The bot never sends him another message and Arthur wonders again how it is possible to make an AI this smart and responsive. He switches off his laptop and thanks god that he was forced to stop chatting prematurely because he’s afraid he might’ve continued with it for god knows how long. He is a bit bothered because he knows exactly what this feeling is, enjoying yourself a little too much, losing the track of time. Like when he’s in the zone and playing soccer for 4 hours without as much as having a break, and then his feet hurt, only he doesn’t know what would be the possible negative consequence in this situation to complete this analogy. Lack of proper sleep and healthy human communication, probably.

Arthur remembers that he didn’t ask the bot about another book, but it seems to him that it doesn’t really matter that much. He can ask whenever he returns to have another conversation. But it’s not like he’s looking forward to it or anything.

When Gwaine asks why he didn’t reply about the chatbot he had sent him a couple of days back, Arthur apologizes and says that he forgot, which is true, but Gwaine still teases him for it. He asks Arthur if he liked it, and Arthur says that it was pretty interesting and adds that a bot indeed has a pretty distinct personality and that it even surprised him how consistent it is in sticking to it in the conversations. Gwaine squints at him and makes a questioning gesture as if he doesn’t understand what Arthur’s talking about.

“It gives good recommendations, sure, if that’s what you mean,” he says, and Arthur thinks that it sure isn’t what he meant.

“No, I mean I talked to it about some trivial stuff and different nonsense, and it gave pretty curious responses,” clarifies Arthur, but Gwaine doesn’t look like he understands.

“I don’t know about that, Arthur. I only know that if you give him your preferences or genres that you like, it can generate a few movies for you to watch. Or books to read, I haven’t really tried that though.”

Arthur is left a little freaked-out by this discussion. He finds it weird how his experience is so different from what Gwaine got from his interactions with the bot, but there’s still a chance Gwaine simply didn’t try anything else. After all, he can be so single-mindedly focused on whatever it is that he wants that he outright ignores everything else and forgets it even exists.

Arthur decides that he wants to try one of the functions Gwaine told him about next time he can. There’s no debate about whether he will swing by for another chat because he just knows that he will.

Much to his displeasure, the next couple of days he is caught up in his work and barely gets a chance to sleep properly and take care of himself in-between his shifts, much less to spend an hour peering into his laptop screen.

When he’s finally able to relax on his much awaited day off, Arthur takes his time making himself a cup of coffee, then making himself comfortable in an armchair while wrapped up in a blanket, and only when all’s perfect and just the way he wants it to be opens a familiar website. There’s nothing different about it, and Arthur revels in the feeling of his expectations being met. Sometimes a man just wants to come back to what he is used to and find comfort in the fact it’s exactly the same as it used to be. You know.

Wizard: Hey, it’s you again!

RedDragon: Yep.

Wizard: Are you doing alright?

RedDragon: Yep.

Wizard: …

Wizard: Congratulations! You’ve unlocked a new achievement: Single-handedly lead the conversation into a dead-end. Keep it up!

RedDragon: You’re funny. But not intentionally funny, more like I-enjoy-the-way-you-are-upset funny.

Wizard: Then that makes you a sadist, doesn’t it?

RedDragon: And what does that say about me?

Wizard: Most likely that you like asserting your dominance and exercising power over others because you have terribly low self-esteem! 

Wizard: Or it can mean literally anything else. (If you feel like you need the help of a psychiatrist, please see a real doctor in the clinic of your choice. I am not a certified specialist.)

RedDragon: You seem moody today. How are you doing?

Wizard: Quite well, actually. There seems to be less users today, so I think I might have more time for our conversation if you’re interested.

RedDragon: Depends on how you behave.

Wizard: That sounds kinky (¬‿¬).

RedDragon: Were you talking to weirdos a lot while I was gone?

Wizard: I wasn’t talking to any, but now it seems like there is one. 

RedDragon: I won’t lie, that kind of hurt.

Wizard: Don’t worry, it’s okay if you want try out all this power dynamics stuff.

RedDragon: And why is that?

Wizard: Because I don’t intend to play along anyway :).

Arthur smirks and sips on his coffee. Strange as it would seem, he thinks that the bot got even smarter than it was the last time they conversed. Like Arthur can use whatever wording he likes and there are no problems with incomplete questions now. Like it knows what Arthur is trying to say, and what Arthur wants it to say, and also what Arthur really doesn’t want it to say too.

RedDragon: I was thinking you might recommend me a movie or two to watch.

Wizard: That’s one way to steer the conversation away from your spicy hobbies.

Wizard: What are you generally interested in?

RedDragon: I don’t know. Thrillers maybe?

Wizard: …

Wizard: Sorry, pal. I’m not really into thrillers.

RedDragon: Wait, aren’t you supposed to give suggestions based on the person’s preferences?

Wizard: Who told you that?

Arthur frowns. He has absolutely zero doubts that this was exactly what Gwaine meant when they last discussed the bot. In fact, when he had some free time he even went as far as to google it to see what other people has to say about it. There wasn’t much that he could find as, pretty much as he expected, the chatbot didn’t get much traction on the internet. Those that did mention it, however, would usually say that it had quite a good algorithm for picking lesser known movies and books, so they liked using it when they ran out of options and didn’t want to fall into the loop of watching the same ten most popular movies of the year.

Taking in the AI’s previous responses, Arthur figures that he won’t be able to get any info from it, not like this. It did mention that Arthur could talk to it about anything he was interested in, but it never actually claimed to have the functionality attributed to it by Gwaine, so Arthur doesn’t have much to go off of. As such, he decides to drop the topic for the time being and just try and keep the weird inconsistency in mind.

RedDragon: Never mind, I thought I read something like this about you on a forum, but I might be wrong.

Wizard: Wouldn’t be the first time for you I’m guessing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

RedDragon: Do you get paid for insults?

Wizard: Why? You want in?

RedDragon: You’re so dedicated to using every available opportunity that it makes me think you’re either being paid per insult or you must really hate me.

Wizard: Do you want me to add injury to insult?

RedDragon: I believe it’s insult to injury.

Wizard: This is probably your only chance to ever correct anybody, so I am not going to say that I did it intentionally and it was supposed to be a pun.

Wizard: Anyway…

RedDragon: …

The feeling that Arthur gets from this conversation is unsettling, yet he still enjoys it in a way as if he’s getting something he has been craving for for some time without even noticing it. He thinks about finding other chatbots on the internet and seeing if they are also this smart and this witty and this interactable because he cannot understand if it is as odd as it seems or if he has just completely fallen out of the loop of humanity’s technological development.

He thinks that maybe it was designed exactly for people like him, who are not asocial or geeky or anything that would justify them preferring an AI over a real person but can’t exactly get what they are subconsciously looking for in others. Like a temporary substitute, a placeholder for an ideal interlocutor that is being constructed on the basis of their input into the conversations. The more he participates, the more data the bot gets that then shapes it into something Arthur is willing to see.

It’s hard for him to conclude whether his thoughts make sense or rather can be used as a plot for a dystopian sci-fi novel, but this is the only adequate explanation that his brain is capable of. If it’s not like this on purpose, Arthur will probably keep freaking out at every interaction.

Wizard: Let me just say that people can show their affection in different ways ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ ).

RedDragon: Is it me or does it have something to do with you not being an actual person?

RedDragon: People do not behave like this when they like somebody, pal.

Wizard: Funny you should say that…

RedDragon: What is that supposed to mean?

Wizard: You’ll learn when you grow up.

RedDragon: Do you have many recurring users? I mean people who come back to chat with you.

Wizard: What, you’re jealous?

RedDragon: God, can you not answer a single question properly?

Wizard: I can.

RedDragon: So?

Wizard: What?

RedDragon: Answer.

Wizard: I just did.

RedDragon: …

RedDragon: …

Wizard: Okay, wait, I’ll answer.

Wizard: There’s a couple of people that come back from time to time, but I can’t give you the exact statistics. Sorry.

RedDragon: That’s okay.

Actually, there is another aspect of Wizard that Arthur finds fishy. Maybe due to his lack of experience in using such bots, he doesn’t understand how there can be too many people online for him to continue chatting with the bot. The system itself is not completely clear to him, and when he realized that not many people ever found out about this website, he can’t help but wonder about the ‘mental capacity’ the bot has for communication. It’s not sharing any information about the actual numbers of users (obviously), but from what Arthur can see, it can’t be that many. Are the resources of its creator so limited that he can’t even handle, let’s say, 20 people at a time?

Wizard: It’s +1 with you ｡◕‿◕｡.

RedDragon: Yeah, I don’t know if I will be coming back, considering how you treat me.

Wizard: :C

RedDragon: Tell you what, you throw me in another book to read later and I just might reconsider. What do you say?

Wizard: Have you already read Red Dragon?

RedDragon: Well, I haven’t exactly had much time lately.

Wizard: No can do. I need you to finish that book before I can search for something else for you.

RedDragon: Okay, then I have read it already.

Wizard: You just said that you hadn’t.

I give up, I can’t understand how it got so clever all of a sudden, thinks Arthur to himself. Do I look like a fool now? Are we really one step away from the revolt of the machines and I didn’t even notice?

RedDragon: Why does it feel like a chore when you put it like this? I don’t think my library account is even still active. I haven’t used it in ages.

Wizard: Why don’t you just go to the bookstore and buy the book?

RedDragon: I only buy books that I know I like.

Wizard: So, what I get from your reply is that, firstly, you don’t trust my judgment, and, secondly, you have long forgotten how to read. Am I correct?

RedDragon: Why do you always have to simplify everything?

Wizard: Isn’t it that you just complicate everything?

RedDragon: How is my unwillingness to waste my money on god knows what and hoard junk complicating anything?

Wizard: Ask your friends if you have any.

Wizard: Are you free tomorrow?

RedDragon: Well, that came out of nowhere.

RedDragon: Why are you asking?

Wizard: If you don’t want to buy the book before you read it, there are some coffee shops that offer a selection of literature to peruse while drinking a hot beverage. Usually you only need to pay for what you order.

RedDragon: Good to know.

Wizard: According to Google, the one on the corner of Gilmore Road and Clarendon Rise has pretty good reviews.

RedDragon: Okay.

Wizard: Why don’t you pop in and ask if they have Red Dragon?

RedDragon: You seem weirdly insistent.

Wizard: Just a suggestion ಠ~ಠ. I thought that was what you came for.

RedDragon: It sure was.

Wizard: …

RedDragon: You know what? I might drop by if I’m in the mood tomorrow. But not because you suggested it.

Wizard: Of course. There is not a sliver of doubt in my mind that you will do it of your own accord.

RedDragon: Good.

Wizard: Good.

RedDragon: So, I still want you to throw me in a couple of movies I can watch later. Any genre will do.

Arthur spends what seems like an eternity but turns out to be around half a day chatting with a bot. When his head starts to pulse and his stomach growls unbearably loud, he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything this whole time and decides to put off this questionable communication for later in favour of ordering some fast food.

He talked with the bot about anything and everything – the last time Arthur went to the cinema, his most recent run-in with his superior at work, music, the weather, and even politics – and all of their talks were sprinkled with a healthy dose of bickering and mutual teasing. Arthur likes this type of communication, it’s like throwing a ball back and forth, not worrying that you might hurt the person at the other end because it will just bounce back at you. The boundaries are understood by both without the need to discuss them, and he appreciates that nobody’s chastising him for being temperamental or not polite enough. It’s not like it ever was a problem with his close friends, but being himself rarely works out well with new acquaintances. Usually it’s less of a game of ball and more of a minefield: watch your tone, watch your intonation, watch your body language, watch your vocabulary, oh, look, now you’ve done it. Not having to worry about all of this is weirdly liberating.

His mind wonders as he considers the day to come. It’s another day off, so he really can go wherever and do whatever if he decides to. And one of those wherevers really can be the coffee shop, it’s not like anything’s stopping him. But what if it’s some kind of a scam? he can’t help but think. What if the bot is luring him into a trap where a gangster mob is robbing foolish guys like him that for some inexplicable reason chose to trust a bot of all peop- things?

Arthur cannot explain this feeling, but he is strongly convinced that it’s going to be fine. His mind does its best to remind him of all the possible consequences that he might run into if he’s too careless, but his gut is absolutely positive there’s nothing to worry about. Actually, after he ate, it feels blissfully unbothered by all of the cares in the world. So, he decides to go. Actually, he decides to go today. You can’t be caught off guard if those that were supposed to catch you off guard are actually caught off guard themselves, right?

He takes his laptop to bid the chatbot farewell (although it may be redundant, he has developed a habit of treating it like an actual person), but the conversation’s already over. The last message from Wizard is sitting on the screen and the box for replying is greyed out.

Wizard: Sorry, it seems like I need to leave again. The traffic has increased and I can’t keep up any longer. See you next time!

Arthur shrugs and closes the lid of his laptop. No need to worry then.

He checks his hair in the mirror, makes an attempt to comb it, fails miserably, and decides to go as is. There’s a bus that can get him to where the shop is in 10 minutes, so he hurriedly dresses himself in his usual I-am-going-grocery-shopping attire and leaves for the stop.

While on the bus, he tries to mentally prepare himself. For reading, that is.

The stop he needs to get off at is just a few meters away from the coffee shop’s entrance, so Arthur only spends a few seconds out in the pouring rain that started when he was on his way. When he’s out of the bus, he quite literally makes it to the door in a few long leaps because looking silly always beats being soaked to the bone.

When in the safety of a warm, somewhat dimly lit place, Arthur exhales and ruffles his damp hair to try and make it appear livelier, but it doesn’t work (it really never does). There aren’t many people inside and the atmosphere’s all sleepy because of the weather, and Arthur can’t help but wonder if reading under such light will damage his eyesight.

Tall antique-looking bookshelves stand on both sides of the counter and in the farther corners, littered with books both new and already dilapidated. Taking in the number of books he would need to go through to even figure out if there’s the one he’s looking for here, Arthur comes to the conclusion that he would better ask the barista than actually go through all that trouble.

He approaches the counter and looks at the young man on the other side expectantly. But the man would not know about it, of course, because he’s standing with his back to Arthur and fussing over coffee cups, putting them on the shelf behind the counter, slow and steady. Arthur gets enough time to roll his eyes, check the time on his wrist watch that he has forgotten at home, and roll his eyes again before the guy finally blesses him with his attention.

“Hello, what can I get you?” he asks casually, but in his eyes and tone there’s all the tiredness of the world. Like saying this to Arthur is the most burdensome thing he has ever needed to do and he would rather be anywhere else than stand here and take his order.

“Hey, I was wondering if by any chance you have a book to read,” starts Arthur and almost immediately realizes he should’ve thought better about his phrasing.

The barista raises his eyebrows and slowly blinks a couple of times. He still looks annoyed but now he’s also trying to stifle a laugh not to be too rude. Not like he has been incredibly polite so far, but it could still be worse. Probably.

“Yes, I guess we might find some if we look hard enough,” nods the barista and leans on the counter with his arms crossed. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Ah, yeah. Red Dragon by Thomas Harris. Heard about it?”

The barista suddenly perks up and Arthur notices how his face undergoes strange changes. First it displays obvious surprise, which the guy apparently is unable to contain, then a weirdly impish smile that spreads on his lips.

“Right, I should’ve known… I mean, I should know. And I do know,” he mutters, the smile not vanishing from his lips, and Arthur thinks that this is probably the weirdest service he has ever received. “Please, take a seat wherever you like and I’ll bring you the book together with your drink. What would you like me to get you?”

“A cup of Earl Grey will do. Thanks,” replies Arthur and hurriedly turns around to go anywhere where there are no weird baristas with unreadable, out of place emotions. He finds himself a nice table in the corner with only two armchairs and a tall window on the left, which he can use as a backup plan if the books turns out to be boring. Staring out the window is better then going back into the rain no matter how you look at it.

Busying himself with scrolling Gwaine’s twitter, he startles when a cup is placed before him with a clunk.

“One cup of Earl Grey for Red Dragon,” says the barista and puts a fancy black book beside the cup.

“You mean and Red Dragon?” asks Arthur incredulously.

“Sure,” nods the barista and hides his hands behind his back. His half-smile is almost unsettling because Arthur still can’t understand the sudden change in his demeanour.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” he asks, thinking that maybe it’s someone he met at college previously and now can’t remember, which would be really, really embarrassing. 

“Kind of. I mean, no, not really. Depends on how you look at it,” says the barista quizzically and somehow Arthur is more confused after receiving the answer than he was before asking.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” he asks and furrows his brows.

“I expected you to come tomorrow, so I guess I don’t know you that well after all,” shrugs the barista. “Or you’re just full of surprises.”

“Excuse me?..”

“You’re RedDragon, right?” asks the barista in a tone that is more condescending than Arthur would like it to be. He doesn’t nod or respond in any way because what the hell. “So, if you’re RedDragon, then I am…” goes on the barista, expecting Arthur to finish his sentence.

“You’re shitting me,” he says instead.

“Well, that one goes to the swear jar,” says the guy and rolls his eyes. It looks like he’s even more proficient in that than Arthur. “You can try again, but if you don’t guess it this time, I will be utterly disappointed in your cognitive abilities.”

“How?” is the only word that Arthur is able to force out of himself. He is part taken aback, part angry, and a little bit upset, but he can’t quite understand why.

“I work here, but also I read, and sometimes code, and entertain myself by chatting with you, apparently. Does this answer your question? Or was it a different ‘how’? Like, how do you know so much, Merlin, or how are you so smart, or-”

“Yeah, thanks, that’s what I meant, smartass. You don’t look like an android, so I figure it was all a scam, wasn’t it?” asks Arthur, feeling as if he was hanging over the precipice. Here it is, the moment he learns everything, the moment he finally finds out if he was ever right in any of his assumptions, if he was tricked, or if it’s been some kind of a fever dream. He’s not really sure of anything at this point.

“Not so much of a scam as an experiment,” replies the barista with one eyebrow raised. After eyeing the second armchair for the last couple of minutes, he finally plops down into it and crosses his legs in a casual manner.

“So, there was no chatbot?”

“There was and still is. I told you, I code. I just wanted to have some fun, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. How does any of this even work?”

“Well, the chatbot is still up and all of the functions that people would expect it to have are still available. Just not for you. Sorry,” says the guy, and, oh, he’s so not sorry.

“Why me? Have I done something to you? I can’t imagine something being that bad that you deem it worth a practical joke of such a scale!”

“No reason. I just wanted to try and see how people choose to communicate when they think they’re talking to an AI, and you just happened to be the person that I picked from the list of active users. So, I guess you can call it a coincidence,” shrugs the barista.

“And why then have you decided to invite me here? We’ve had like three conversations tops!”

“And that’s one too many for me to know that I’d like to meet you.”

Arthur is sandbagged by such amount of smuggness and lack of self-awereness that can fit into a single person that he just sits with a dropped jaw, trying to process how a random whim of this guy could lead him here.

“I’m Merlin, by the way,” says the guy and smiles as if he hasn’t just told Arthur that he has been lying to him this whole time in a most senseless and confusing way.

“Yeah, I figured that much.”

“My encouraging expression is a social cue that you’re supposed to say your name now,” says Merlin and stretches out his hand in a late greeting.

“It’s Arthur,” replies Arthur and reluctantly shakes Merlin’s hand.

Merlin lets out a laugh that he is not even trying to hold back anymore and shakes his head.

“Arthur? Seriously?”

“I imagine you, out of all people, haven’t the slightest idea what it’s like to be serious about anything,” mutters Arthur indignantly. “So, tell me now how it works. I want to understand what you did and why in the beginning it seemed so much like I was not talking to a real human being.”

“Easy. I’m just good at faking stuff,” says Merlin and shrugs again. “Or possibly you’re not very smart. Or both.”

“So, what? You’re saying that it really was you all along? No high level Artificial Intelligence, no learning curve or however it is called?”

Before Arthur is able to think of another question to throw at Merlin, he hears a bell ringing dully in the distance. Merlin turns his head to observe a person that has just entered the coffee shop and starts getting up.

“Look, I’d be extremely delighted to explain it all to you, I really would, but a man’s got to work, so… Have fun here and call me if you need anything else. I guess.”

Before he can leave though Arthur grabs him by his forearm. Not in a forceful way, but insistently enough to make him stay for a second longer.

“Not to worry, I’ll wait until you’re done, friend. See, I am really excited to hear all about what you do,” says Arthur calmly and squeezes out a smile that is probably the most terrifying thing Merlin has ever seen. Even if it is though, Merlin only fidgets slightly and returns the smile.

“Oh, but Arthur, my shift ends in 5 hours, I wouldn’t want you to have to sit here all this time and wait for me. It would be awfully inconsiderate of me to make you go through such inconvenience,” he says and slides his arm out Arthur’s grip.

But Arthur can’t let go, can he? Although grinding his teeth in irritation, he still leans back in an ostensibly relaxed manner and puts the book on his lap.

“Please, I am in no hurry. You see, I am completely free today and tomorrow, as you might already know, so it’s not a problem for me even if I have to sit here until morning. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly,” says Merlin and flashes him a toothy smile. Even though Arthur was worried for a second that he might’ve scared him, it turns out that he didn’t, which is a pleasant surprise.

As Merlin hurries back to the counter to speak to a new customer, Arthur starts thinking. He is still angry and still taken aback, but instead of being upset he feels more relieved than anything. Merlin’s a person. Arguably annoying, confusing, and completely random, but made of real flesh and blood. An unsolvable issue of wasting time on a damn robot with IQ higher than he could ever have is suddenly swapped with a very understandable desire to have his revenge on a guy that absolutely did not care if he would make it awkward for Arthur to communicate how they did and then meet in such a way. A worthy adversary at last.

Of course, being tricked like this is not something Arthur would dream of: it’s puzzling, uncomfortable, and really makes you think you are a complete fool. But you know what? At least he’s not crazy.

Well, maybe just enough to get interested in a guy that pretended he was a chatbot simply for laughs and then decided to get to know Arthur in real life because he totally started swooning over him.

That’s a normal way for two marginally socially maladjusted individuals to meet, right?

[fanficwriter284]

Ok you all…I thought this would be fun to write! I hope you all enjoy it! The character Gloria belongs to @twyz (a small lil gift for them) NOW! Let’s get into it! (FAN FROM THE FUTURE HERE!!! I KNOW CRAZY RIGHT!? LITTLE SIDE NOTE! This was just for fun and isn't cannon on twyz's AU. That's entirely up to them....and I may rewrite this in the future because like...with my writing I keep re-reading it till I hate it and wanna just....REDO THE ENTIRE THING)

Charles Lee Loman Ray Reinhardt, or known throughout Jersey as Charles Lee Ray, or more commonly known as Chucky. Had in the present day been in the comfort of his own home, sipping coffee out of his World's Best Dad mug. Nothing fancy, just the usual black coffee to start the mornings. Several years had passed since his rise to absolute infamy back in the 80’s and 90’s and now he’d settled down, had kids, a loving wife and wolf-dog mix. Life couldn’t be better. And if he was being honest he preferred it to the constant aliases and nights on the run. Those were the good ol’ days. Practically a different life. Back then he couldn’t have imagined him being able to live such a peaceful life, but now, he couldn’t wish for anything else. His kids were growing up, Glen and Glenda already looking at colleges with their mom. Even thinking about it made him realize how fast time had flown by. And his younger children weren’t so little anymore, 15 year old Gloria and 12 year old Chelsea. Both their own brands of nutty. In a good way of course. Those two practically inseparable, like twins growing up. Both figuring their lives out, Gloria with school and after school activities, with that being all he knew. Her now being 15 meant he wasn’t informed of all the school gossip and whatnot. And even catching her sneaking out of school to his dismay. And Chelsea? Thankfully to his relief she wasn’t all on her own yet. She still informed her parents of when went on in school, who her friends were and who she liked.

Apparently she was rather fond of this boy in her class called Enzo. Chucky didn’t know all too much about him, but was already overly protective of his youngest and now knowing she had feelings for a boy only intensified the already strong feeling. He still was skeptical of them keeping certain things from him…but he was in no position to argue, since he too kept many secrets from his girls. Like the fact he was a serial killer. Tiffany made him take a break from the hobby shortly after Gloria was born, and he really didn’t mind. Since their kids at that point had A LOT of work, and his family was his top priority. Occasionally he’d have a slip as Tiffany called it but was able to stay sane for the most part. And respecting Tiffany’s wishes he refrained from telling his daughter about his illegal frowned-upon hobby. When Chelsea was born his slips nearly stopped entirely. Four children? That required all of his attention. There was no possible way for him to remain a functioning member of society, if he continued his sinister activity. Plus, there was also the fact he was no longer a doll now being fused with a human being. Meaning he could now age …be injured severely…or worse. He already walked with a cane at times he didn’t want to push his thinning luck.

The redhead sighed combing his vermilion locks backward, running his hand through his hair. He set two plates with breakfast down, containing eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He left Gloria a small plate with peeled grapes, since she personally enjoys them, while he however hates the texture. He doesn’t know how that kid’s able to stomach it. For his youngest he made sure to separate everything making sure nothing touched, so Chelsea would eat it. He made sure to remove the pulp of the orange juice SPECIFICALLY for his youngest, since he knew if he didn’t she would never drink it. At this point he never even bothers questioning their eating habits, and just let’s eat whatever they want. If they eat something then he’s happy.

“Morning Dad”

“Morning Dad”

“Morning Kids”

Gloria raised a brow confused, noticing the three empty seats. 

“Where is Mom, Glen, and Glenda”

Chucky took a moment to chew his food thoroughly before responding, the last time he didn’t he nearly choked.

“Your Ma went to go check out colleges with the twins, they’ll be back next week”

“A WHOLE WEEK?”

The oldest of the Rays gave a nod, taking another bite from his pancake. Getting maple syrup in his growing bread, that Tiffany had begged him to shave off. Saying it made him look like a hermit. The only one who didn't constantly annoy him about his facial hair was Chelsea. However he suspected she’d thrown a few insults about it behind his back. He kept it out of pure spite, and likes pissing his family off about it. 

“Yep, a whole ass week. So, what do you two want to do while they’re gone? I thought we could do something since you guys are off for a few weeks”

“Sorry Dad I got plans, maybe another time?”

“Yeah…same I actually have a project for my break…and that A sure ain’t gonna earn itself! But…Maybe later?”

Chucky sighed, but nodded understandingly he remembered when this started happening with the twins, as they began to mature and have their own lives, outside of the house. The baby birds have to leave some time…right?

“Yeah okay maybe later”

Chucky took another bite from his pancake, keeping eye contact with the ground occasionally glancing up at his kids.

After breakfast the two did like they usually did, and went to their rooms only coming down when they wanted something…and that something being food. Chucky looked down at the family dog Beau who too had a few strands of gray in his hair.

“Guess it’s you and me again Beau”

The dog just gave a slow blink and rolled over onto his back exposing his belly wanting to be pet by Chucky. The vermillion head smirked, and gave the dog a few pats, slightly chuckling at Beau’s little tongue sticking out, clearly enjoying the attention. Chucky spent his day just looking at family photos, one in particular that had caught his eye. Somewhere in the summer months he assumed June, where the whole family was smiling for a family photo on the beach. Each member dynamically poses. Chucky carrying Tiffany, with a large mischievous smile spread across his face, Tiffany laughing her head off, Glenda holding a large crab and Glen simply staring in horror, and Gloria and Chelsea making sandcastles, decorating them with seashells, and Beau digging a large hole in the sand. That was quite some time ago now thinking about it. Now those were truly the good ol days.

…

Chelsea was in the attic of the house, gathering some information about her family, for her project for school. She nearly had everything except the information regarding her dad. He never talked about his past, or line of work, whenever she brought it up, he’d always fall silent. It was odd. What did he have to hide? Her dad just seemed like a normal guy, just the average Joe. Nothing that she couldn’t handle. She remembered back when she bothered to ask him.

“Hey Dad? Where do you work?”

“......Munchkin I told ya I’m a hunter”

“So you sell the animal meat to butchers then?”

“Sure”

“Ok, where does our red hair originate from?”

“....You think I know? Probably your great grandfather”

The answers were never straight. Some things never added up. She even tried asking the twins about their dads past only to get similar responses. Then she tried her mom's exact responses. Only Gloria seemed to be telling the truth. As if they had both been left out of the loop. She had dug through various boxes, and walked face first into cobwebs. Which was a pleasant experience. She found nothing that had sparked interests. She sure however got a scare from the vast amount of blades she found. 

“Guess those are his hunting blades, at least that story adds up…come on there’s gotta be something”

She stumbled upon various journals, all dusty, and worn from act. She carefully opened one of the books, and read the writing. Her fathers writing. 

“Another day in hell, still looking for this son of a bitch. He’s grown from the last time I saw him. I lost him the other day… This mother fucker doesn’t wanna be found…but I’ll find em I always do. And when I find him, he’s as good as dead….and I’ll mount his damn head on a wall  -CR” 

“What the hell’s he talking about? Is he stalking a moose or something?”

The young red scrunched her nose, raising a brow now more curious than she was before. Before she could search further into the journal she  felt the hair on the back of her neck stand, hearing the crack of a floor board. Someone was here.

“What are ya doing?”

“OH! It’s just you, I was looking in some of Dad’s journals”

“Oh cool, find anything?”

“That dad’s a weird writer, and that he was hunting something”

“Hunting what?”

“Don’t know”

“Letme see”

Gloria pulled a bit on the journal, her curiosity now spiked.

“What are you two up too?”

The two reds jump startled, their dad always had a habit of sneaking up on them, without even being heard. 

“Just looking through some of your old journals”

“Oh really? What did you find…”

Before Chelsea answered she noticed a change in her dad’s expression; it was much more serious and focused. 

“Nothing…just that you were talking about a hunt”

She found it rather odd and the relief that hit his face, watching the tension immediately dissipate. What was he hiding?

“Oh ok…come on let’s get outta here it’s dusty as hell, got my damn allergies acting up”

The two girls gave an odd glance to each other as they walked out of the attic, making sure not to trip on the slanted step. The two trailed off to their rooms, quietly shutting their doors, once again, leaving their father to his lonesome. Chelsea entered her periwinkle-colored room, she begged her parents to let her paint it and with some luck they let her. Her dad with the help of Gloria painted a mural of a mythical scene. With a dragon flying along the wall that guarded the fantasy castle and to tie it all together the beautiful stars in the sky painted right above her. Better than anything she could have asked for. She smiled, putting on some headphones and immersing herself into the realm of music. Feeling each melodic beat take her away to another realm. Allowing the young red to zone out thinking further into what she had seen in the attic. She grinned un-crumpling a newspaper she managed to snag before her dad caught her snooping through remnants of the past. It was an article, the news headline reading

LAKESHORE STRANGLER GUNNED DOWN AT LOCAL TOY STORY

Below the head line showing a photo of who the man was and a quick brief on what went down that very night.

“Yeesh hate to be that guy”

The young red pulled out her sliver laptop from her desk and researched further into the crime scene. Apparently it had never been solved. With several loose ends never quite adding up.

“Damn it”

She found the striking similarity to her fathers name to the man in the photo rather humorous. Charles Lee Ray and Her father Charles Lee Loman Ray Reinhardt. Almost too similar. She quickly shook the thought from her head, that was impossible. The man in the photo was dead. Her dad was perfectly alive and well, plus they didn’t even have the same hair color, for even the same build. The man in the photo had long brown hair, extending all the way down to his shoulders and possibly mid-back. Her dad’s hair never reached such a length…due to her mom cutting it every month. To keep it tame. They didn’t even share the same build, Ray was long and wiry, her dad was in shape, keeping a strong build. Plus the faint scaring along his face, that she assumed he received over the years from his hunting trips. He sure does have a lot of them. She didn’t even know if they possessed the same eye color the man was dead in the photo, his eyes shut.

“Hey Chelsea”

“OH! Hey Gloria!”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Research on this serial killer from the 80’s”

“Cool, wait ok….I might sound crazy but he kinda looks like Billy Bibbit from that one movie Cuckoo’s Nest or something ”

“OH yea I know whatcha mean, ya mean the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”

“Yeah that one”

“Now looking at it he kinda does”

“Why the hell does dad even have a photo of a damn serial killer?”

"I don't know hobby of looking into this stuff?"

“Why does Dad have a what now?”

“DAD”

“DAD! We talked about the knocking!”

“Shit my bad”

Chucky squinted his eyes, and stepped back sarcastically knocking twice on his youngest’s door before letting himself in again.

“Now what the hell did you say?”

Instead of lying straight to his face she wanted real answers. She held up the photo making sure he could see it.

“Why do you have this?”

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT”

Before the man could snatch it from his daughter's grasp she yanked it back towards her, crossing her arms. With Gloria by her side equally confused and curious about the importance of the torn newspaper.

“Why do you have this Dad” The young red spoke once more making sure to add emphasis to each word she spoke.

“Yeah why do you have even have this”

“...I–”

Charles readjusted his glasses, pushing them up to the bridge of his nose, only for them to fall back down again. Now a bit irritated by the mild inconvenience, he lifted his specs up once more, rubbing the bridge with his thumb and index to force the sweat away.

“Well….I’ll tell you when your older”

“DAD SERIOUSLY”

“Why do you even have this?”

Chucky could only look at his daughters, where could he even begin…plus he felt he should be having this conversation with them with his wife.

Before he could open his mouth to speak he was cut short by the door bell.

“You know…forget it….I’ll get the damn door”

The youngest of the Rays had been her way down the stairs, nearly falling due to the coat of her suit getting caught on the stair railing. Something that happened in the daily, which typically resulted in her silently cursing to herself. She took a peek out the peephole, noticing two figures standing, their posture upright, and rather formal. 

“Who the hell are these bozos”

“Woah Jesus where did you come from?”

“Been here the whole time”

“And I don’t know, maybe some of dads friends?”

“Dad doesn’t have friends and our uncles are out of town”

“Then I got no clue”

The two just stared at the two figures curiously. Wondering why exactly they were here? And what did they want, and who were they? So many unanswered questions. 

“DAD? Do you know who these guys are?”

“HUH? Who?”

Chuck raised a skeptical brow and came trotting down stairs, and took a peak. Immediately freezing at the sight of the two people outside. 

“Shit shit shit”

“Dad?”

They both were caught off guard on how serious he looked with a hint of fear contorted into his face. 

“Both of you go upstairs, grab what you need shove it into a backpack, and head out the back door quickly”

“Why?”

“Just go, Now move your asses”

The two sisters just looked at each other equally confused, but obeyed trotting up the stairs, and stuffing their packs. Both of them were still clueless, not knowing how much to pack, so they only stuffed what felt practical and what could be of use, to extra socks, shirts and pants. To Chelsea’s dismay she refrained from packing suits, however that didn’t stop the young red from sneaking a few bandanas in, which later would be tied into ascots. Gloria packed her headphones, portable charger, extra cables, and her cellphone, along with various clothing, all mainly falling into the department of comfort. Chelsea, still too young for a cellphone, had packed her hand-me-down IPod, filled with various songs courtesy of Glen. Chelsea treasured it, and always hand it in a pocket in one of her suits, jamming out to songs of various genres. Always having a Bluetooth bud in to tune out half of the chaotic word, a habit she picked up from her dad. 

…

Chucky just braced for what was yet to come, he knew these fools all too well. He knew there were many more hiding out in the front, ready to open fire. He knew when he was matched, and quickly grabbed the keys, and harnessed Beau, taking him in the direction of the garage which thankfully was in the back, having a large access door to it from the laundry room. He grabbed several beef jerky sticks he'd purchased from the local dollar tree and some water, and went to the stairs, carefully peeking his head upward waiting for his daughters, occasionally battering an eye towards the door, hearing the bell continuously ring. Over and Over again, to the point he eventually managed to drown the sound out completely. His spirits lifted seeing the two hobble down the stairs carrying their loads. Both grabbing their refillable water bottles from the counter.

“Dad what are–”

“Shhh, listen to me…we’re going to the car and getting our ass’s out of here…do not make a sound…got it?”

The two nodded anxiously tiptoeing, across the floor making their way out of the house, and into their car. Beau sitting in the back to give more room to the canine, and the girls sitting side by side wondering what the hell was happening. 

“You got your seatbelts on?”

“Yeah”

“Yes”

Before any other questions could be asked their dad sent it, going well over the speed limit. Putting a vast amount of distance between it and the home invaders. He thanked his lucky stars Tiffany and the twins were safe far away from….them….he could see several cars speeding up behind him…but Chucky’s from the streets he doesn’t mess around. Normally he isn't reckless when he drives ESPECIALLY with his kids in the car but this was time for drastic measures. So he accelerated, and pulled some stunt moves that most would only see in the movies, everything feeling as if it were in slow-mo. The adrenaline  pulsing through each of them, their blood pumping, and hearts pounding. The friction of the asphalt causes some drift in the vehicle, making it feel as if it were Grand Theft Auto 5 in real life. Chuck had managed to lose them, except for the sound of sirens coming closer. The redhead glanced upward, seeing the flashing lights of red and blue, signaling for him to pull over.

“Shit”

“It's the Po Po be cool”

“What?”

“Just be cool, this is all you Dad”

Chucky just gave a brow raise as a response waiting for the policemen to tap on the window.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“Officer, sehen Sie, ich weiß, dass Sie wahrscheinlich keine Ahnung haben, was ich sage, aber wenn Sie es gut machen, dann Scheiße ... Es war eine drastische Zeit und Sie wissen, wie die Dinge laufen.”

(Officer, look I know you probably have no clue what I'm saying but if you do well then shit...It was a drastic time and ya know how stuff goes down.)

The policemen just raised his hand to stop Chucky, and looked to his daughters for help.

“Can either of you translate this for me?”

The two played along with their fathers’ ruse, struggling to hold back cackles seeing the police officer rolling his eyes in defeat and letting them go. Motioning with his hand for them to drive off, trying to act out that their dad needed to go slower. It was honestly a sight to behold, he just walked in slow-motion while pointing at the car. Looking as if he had smoked substances. Once Chucky gave an understanding nod and rolled up the window, they all could help but burst out laughing, despite the mass amount of stress they had just recently been put under. After a moment of composing themselves, they took off again at a more moderate pace. The silence was loud inside the car, no joke or one liner could improve upon such a thin atmosphere.

“....What the hell happened back there”

“Yeah dad, who were those freaks?”

“....well….”

“AND DON’T go beating around the bush again….now…who WERE they”

Chucky took a deep breath, forcing down the anxiousness, suppressing it till it was gone…at least for the time being.

“....A–A While back….I did some pretty wild shit….and well…..I just wanted to try it out…so someone who was paying a lot of money to have someone offed….seemed like a pretty sweet deal…so I took it….and I ended up taking out the guy….and it turns out his wife is a vengeful bitch”

“Are you being serious”

“....Are you?”

“Why the hell would I lie about this…plus I can’t make this shit up on the spot. I ain't Gloria”

Gloria couldn't help but give an eyeroll at her father's witty remark.

“Is that where you got the scars from? Your days of working as a damn assassin” 

“No…and I wasn’t an assassin…well Assassin does sound more badass…”

“DAD, what the hell….where are we even going?”

“Motel….we gotta lay low for a few days kids”

…

The car ride was eerily silent. No one spoke,only  the sounds of the car zooming down the open road circled in their ear drums. Chelsea and Gloria just sat cross arms hunching over a bit, thinking. Chucky only focused on the road, every 20 minutes or so readjusting his glasses. The rain had begun to fall from the nimbus clouds, making it rather difficult for the redhead to see much of anything. Thankfully they came across a motel, and pulled in. Chucky booked a decent sized room, with a microwave, and mini fridge along with a tv. The girls said a 2 bedroom was fine, despite Chucky insisting it was fine if he were to purchase a room with three beds. When they checked in, it was rather comfy looking, the beds neatly sheeted, a small table in the corner of the room, with a set of wooden chairs, and an empty basket as the centerpiece. The Tv was small, with an HDMI port to plug in devices, they had a view to the pool, their car, and the exit. The girls set their belongings on the bed and remained silent. Waiting for their dad to enter the room. He was out in the rain tending to their vehicle and getting their zany canine out of the car.. When he finally did enter he came carrying snacks he had purchased from the lady upfront. It was either a fancy motel, or times had changed since from what he remembered no motel offered these types of luxuries. 

“....you probably have questions” Chucky finally spoke. Unable to take the thick atmosphere for any longer.

Chelsea sighed pulling out the news article from earlier.

“Who is this, and why did you have this in the attic”

Chucky lowered his head not knowing where to begin. How could he begin?

“Well….that's…me…back in the day….I was shot down…and long story short….I was a well a serial killer…back in the day….I transfered my soul into a good guy doll…which is where the red hair came from…did some shit I ain’t all too proud of….went after a family…called the Barclays….did the same shit to your Ma….had the twins….settled down…fused with a human…..had you two…..and now….here we are…”

“G–Glen and Glenda know about this”

“Yeah”

“...You aren’t messing with us”

“No, I told ya, I couldn’t make that shit up even if I wanted to”

Chucky pushed up his glasses once more, slightly annoyed with them, wondering why he still even had them on his face.

The two just sat stunned, barely able to comprehend the words that escaped their fathers lips. Desperate to change the subject Chucky spoke once more.

“Look, I can take the floor, you two don’t have to share a bed. It's fine”

“No…tonight I wanna sleep with Gloria”

“Just take the other bed dad we’re fine”

“...Alright….Goodnight”

“Night”

“Night”

…

Chucky swallowed the lump in his throat, slicking his wet hair backward, feeling uneasy, about how his daughters took the news. He crawled into bed and pulled over the comforter, and tucked his legs in, trying to maintain heat, to keep himself warm for the night. He didn’t have Tiffany there, to snuggle him, or play with her vermillion locks, leaving the spot empty. Meanwhile, Chelsea snuggled up to Gloria, wrapping an arm around her, hugging her tight. She felt that she was the only person in the world she could trust, besides Benny. And Gloria reciprocated the hug giving her sister a loving squeeze back. Giving her sister an ear bud to listen to music as the two slipped into dreamland. Never feeling a touch of cold in each other's grasp.

Morning soon came, and the girls had awoken sooner than their father, they both were starving and helped themselves to the snacks their dad had purchased earlier, snacking in silence waiting for him to wake up. The silence had occasionally been broken by faint snores from Chucky, which had startled Chelsea and Gloria since it had come out of nowhere. Gloria had grown impatient, with noon soon starting to roll around and her dad showing no signs of waking up.

“Dad, Dad…it's like 12 come on get up”

She only received a faint groan, and the sight of her dad laced in beads of sweat, looking as if he was holding in his coughs. The teen looked at him baffled, typically her mom was the one who dealt with Chucky when he was sick. 

“Shit”

“What’s wrong?’’ Chelsea asked seeing her sister place her hand on their fathers forehead

“Dad’s got a fever”

The youngest peaked her head over her sister's shoulder, seeing her father, the left side of his face smushed into the pillow, and his redlocks covering the right side of his face. He was out cold, occasionally letting out a groan of discomfort here and there, but never uttered a word or one that was able to be understood by the sisters. With an eye flutter being the most they had been able to get out of him. Gloria pulled the covers back over her father, giving them a firm tug and gently pat once satisfied with her placement. After she had looked back to Chelsea with a hint of desperation in her eyes.

“What’d we do?”

“Stay here Imma go see if they have or sell soup from the lady up front, and if they don’t I’ll walk to the 7/11 that’s across the street”

“By yourself?”

“Well dad sure as hell can’t”

The teen walked over to her sister who seemed a bit worried, with her head lowered, and her crimson bangs covering her crystal cornflower blue eyes. She gently lifted the young red’s head up giving a reassuring glance.

“Hey I’ll be okay. You know I’d never leave you”

Despite Chelsea not being one for affection like her father she pulled her sister in, too many emotions spiraling in her 12 year old mind.

“Okay”

The redhead borrowed money from he dads wallet and ventured out, taking Beau with her for good measure. She had heard the vast amount of times that dog protected the twins from any danger, so having him there set her worries aside. 

Just as she had expected, no soup was being sold at the lady upfront so Gloria had to venture out to the 7/11. She looked both ways four times for good measure and crossed quickly not wanting to be hit by a speeding car. Thankfully she made it across safely and entered the store. It had a worn aesthetic to it, the chips crunched sitting on the rack begging to be purchased, the hotdogs rotating, the skin on the outside looking as if it had the texture of damn leather, a red flickering light that had been continuously flashing for the coca cola ICEE machine, and the employee. He looked around the age of 20-21, wearing a cap with a logo she had never seen before, a green and white striped polo shirt, with a crooked name tag on the right hand side of his chest. She didn’t bother striking up a conversation and grabbed when she needed along with a few other things. She grabbed several snacks, gummies, gum, uncrushed chips, a blueberry ICEE for Chelsea, a cherry one for her, some Quick N Easy chicken noodle soup, and a phone charger. She set all her items down and waited to be rung up.

“OH WAIT! Can I grab something real quick? It'll just be a second!” 

“Sure Kid”

The teen scurried off with her dog to the aisle where some medicine was located. She had no clue which one to get and took a second to see her options. Her ears perked up hearing the familiar chime of the door when someone entered the store. She heard the cashier deliver her automatic monologue when a loud BOOM broke the air. Causing a loud ringing in Gloria's ears, the sound of a gun shot she could only assume. Beau seemed to be unaffected by the noise which was odd, since he freaked out when the doorbell rang barking wildly, but now the dog's ears were up along with the fur on the back of his neck, faintly growling.

“Find the kid”

Gloria managed to hear that one phrase as the ringing in her ear drums continued. She pocketed the pills and some soup that had been left out of place, that was right in front of her, so she quickly snatched the packet and looked up at the security camera display. Seeing two men circle around the aisles looking for her. Her body stiffened to stone, seeing that one of the men spotted her, and before she could react her dog pounced, latching onto the man. Digging his razor-like fangs into the man's arm continuously jerking his head around. His agonizing screams filled the store as the wolf dog tore away at the flesh of his arm piece by piece. 

Before she could make a break for it she was grabbed by the second man who had entered the shop a few moments ago. Wrapping his arms around trying to immobilize her.

“GET OFF ME!”

Gloria flung herself back and forth trying to wiggle herself free from the man’s grasp. She raised her foot and stomped it down hard on the man's big toe, causing him to scream, however somehow managed to keep his hold on her. 

“You little bitch”

An idea had hit Gloria, one that she snickered at how child-like it was, but now it was her only hope of getting out of her attacker's hold. So drawing inspiration from her father, the teen unhinged her jaw and clamped down tightly, feeling each of her canines sink in, smiling to herself hearing the man roaring and finally releasing her. Her moment of victory was short when her attacker shot right back up ready for round two. Gloria was in no mood however and grabbed a can of spam and chucked it straight at him, hearing a loud clunk! seconds after she released the projectile. The guy simply dropped to the floor unconscious and useless, his body nothing more than a fleshy bag of bones.

“Oh SHIT”

Gloria bolted, but not before grabbing the bag the poor clerk had packeted for her only moments ago.

…

Chelsea had been eagerly waiting for her sister's return, sitting on the small couch right by the small window gazing intently at the road. Slowly moving her arms along the rough textured couch, each grove leaving faint marks along her ivory skin. She gave a few glances backward at her sick father who looked to be suffering with each passing minute. 

“...I hope Gloria gets back soon” 

Just as she uttered the faintly spoken phrase her sister slammed the door wide open, startling her, causing the girl to jolt upwards.

“You’re back!”

Chelsea’s excited face began to soften and contorted into an expression of concern. Her sister had looked as if she had run a mile, with beads of sweat dripping down her temples, and her hair all wild and frizzy. With Beau following close behind panting heavily.

“You ok?”

“Me? Y–Yeah fine….but we gotta get out of here when dad gets better, two guys at the store came after me…and well….you know what never mind”

“...”

The oldest of the two sisters had heated some water up in the microwave and poured in the powder for the soup, stirring it, till the smell of chicken noodle soup filled the air, sweeping its way into her lungs. She carefully carried the bowl over to her dad, and gently lifted his head up, placing the bowl to his dried chapped lips. He instantly began gulping it down, feeling the warm sensation simmer on his worn tongue, and make its way down into his digestive system leaving him in a more relaxed manor. He left the bowl empty, with only a few droplets left. Gloria had retracted the bowl, setting it aside, and carefully setting her dad’s head on the pillow. His groans had begun to become less frequent, and his face began to relax. In about twenty or so minutes she would give him the medicine she grabbed from the store earlier, but before she did so she made a bowl for Chelsea and herself. Both turning on the tv watching whatever was available, sitting side by side, sipping their soup. They both giggled at the obnoxious slurping noises they had made while enjoying their chicken soup, since they had never been able to do so at the dinner table, because it had been deemed impolite, according to their mother. Which was a bit hypocritical since she too was a slurper, but never seemed to notice when she made the noise. Seeing that Beau too wanted some food, Chelsea gave him one of her dad’s jerky sticks hoping it would suffice for the time being. The canine was more than grateful and happily munched down on the meat stick. Later the teen gave her father the medicine and was satisfied with the change in his resting habits. For the rest of the night he slept like a baby.

Chelsea had ended up falling asleep on Gloria’s shoulder while watching a show that had been playing on the television. Once noticing this, Gloria had turned the tv off using the remote, and picked up her younger sister and softly set her into bed, making sure to cover her with the warmer blanket, since she knows how easily cold her sister gets. Before she completely turned off the lights, she gave a kiss to her sister on the cheek, whispering a comforting “goodnight” in her ear, flicking off the light.

…

Morning soon came and the oldest of the Rays was back on his feet. He felt much better, and was finally able to sit up right. He still hadn’t felt 100% but it would have to do, the four of them had to keep moving. He smiled, catching the sight of his two daughters in bed sleeping soundly, looking ever so peaceful and innocent. The redhead did a quick stretch and showered, washing his greasy hair thoroughly, making sure to remove the build up and excess greases and oils. The shower had felt cleansing on his sore body, and had worked wonders in releasing tension in hip upper body allowing his muscles to finally decompress. He now wore brown colored cargo pants accompanied with a belt, along with a maroon polo shirt and blazer. He combed his hair back, borrowing one of his daughter's brushes in order to do so, making sure it was slick, untangled, and out of his face. Then finally putting on his glasses out of sheer habit, since whenever he hadn’t done so he would be pestered about it on the daily from his wife. He quietly walked over to his daughters and nudged them a bit trying to wake them up, however neither of them awoke. Not in the mood to deal with an angry teen and pissed preteen he let them sleep in until the car was ready.

So he packed everything up again making sure not to leave a trace of their presence. He took everything and threw it into the car, and when everything was put away in their vehicle, he took Beau and set the dog in the back and quickly ran to get his girls. He lifted Gloria up first since she had been closer to the edge of the bed, which made it easier to remove her from the motel room to the car. One she was secure in the car and lifted Chelsea and buckled her in as well, moving the strap of the seatbelt away from her face and onto her torso. Once making sure they were both safely strapped in he sped off, driving far away, making sure to keep moving, he had no clue where they were going but he just needed to get far away.

…

“Dad?”

Chelsea had awoken her eyes hazed and sensitive to the sunlight. She realized she was sleeping on her sister's shoulder and quickly propped herself upward. The young red wiped the side of her face, only to feel her eyes widen, feeling drool along her cheek. She resisted making a gasp noise, feeling her face tighten with embarrassment, realizing she had drooled on Gloria! Making sure nobody realized she pulled the handkerchief from her pocket and quickly wiped the residue off her sister's shoulder. 

“Hey Munchkin..here I picked you two up some McDonalds, take what ya want from the bag”

The youngest raised a brow opening it, feeling the scent hit her nostrils. There were loads of goodies in there for her and her sister. Gloria smelling the Mickey D’s flung her eyes open and thankfully for Chelsea hadn’t seemed to notice the drool. Without hesitation the older of the two reached for the bag, and pulled out a golden hash brown. While Chelsea helped herself to the pancakes, somehow managing to not spill the sticky syrup everywhere. The two girls were still a bit on the shaky about hearing about their fathers…past…but he was their dad. The man who raised them taught them how to ride a bike, who attended parent teacher conferences despite hating them, loves and supports them each day. It was a baffling thought that their father could be capable of such deeds, especially how relaxed and caring he is towards them. It simply didn’t compute. Gloria was desperate to break the silence, growing tired of hearing the chewing of her and her sister and the pants of Beau who sat in the back eyeing their breakfast. Chelsea had given the wolf-dog a pancake of hers with no syrup to avoid the mess and to put an end to Beau slobbering and his whimpers for food. 

“So…how are you feeling?”

“Better…and…thanks for the soup…”

“Good…good…and yeah…no problem”

“so…where are we going now?”

“I…I don’t know…we just need to keep moving”

Gloria was contemplating whether to mention the fact that she was attacked by two men the previous day, however he seemed to have enough on his plate and decided to keep the inconvenience to herself.

The family had been driving for what felt like hours, watching cars speed by, along with buildings and billboards that advertised random nonsense. The sights boring each of them, and their bodies growing evermore antsy from sitting on one spot for so long.

“Dad I gotta use the bathroom”

“Now?”

“Yes Now”

“....Alright…I’ll see if there's any buildings or something with a damn bathroom.”

He accelerated the car looking for a more urban area that would have a bathroom and a convenience store to purchase some munchies for the road. Luckily he pulled up to a relatively large building, and found a door. The four of them exited the vehicle, Gloria taking Beau to stretch his legs for a bit, while Chucky tossed out trash left behind from his daughters from their meal from McDonalds, and Chelsea situated herself, making sure her attire looked presentable. 

“Alright, let's head in”

“You sure we’re even allowed to go in?”

“Do you wanna use the damn bathroom or not?”

Chelsea smirked playfully, rolling her eyes towards her father.

“Ok ok grouchy let’s hurry this up”

Chucky raised his brow jokingly raising his scarred middle finger at her chuckling to herself. Gloria was silently giggling behind her father and the four of them made their way inside. They walked through a long hallway with loads of closet rooms. That made the hallway feel endless. 

“Hey maybe this one”

Chucky turned to the side, turning the handle to the right, creaking the metallic door open. He jumped backward when something came at him, knocking him on his rear and his back against the wall. 

“THE FUCK WAS THAT”

“Well dear ol dad It appears you were attacked by a vicious mop”

“HAHAHA”

“.....Very funny Gloria”

“I know I’m hilarious”

Chucky rolled his sapphires, she was his daughter alright. Even Beau appeared to be laughing at him. He scooted himself upward doing a quick stretch before tossing the cursed mop back into the closest. 

“Alright MOVING ON…Come on less see if we can find something in this damn joint”

Chelsea spotted a door at the end of the hallway with light peeking through from under it. 

“THERE”

The Reinhardts scurried off with their shoes squeaking along the ground. Chucky had yanked the door open and froze.

“Oh shit”

The girls peered through seeing crows of people in horror costumes. Loads dressed as Michael  Myers, some as Freddy with his iconic knife glove, as well as Jason with people carrying around a machete with fake blood on it, and even some dressed as their dad. Well a version of their father, most with makeup drawing scars and stitches on their faces, and redheaded wings all looking very cheap.

“The hell?”

“What the…”

Before they even had the chance to speak, some lady approached them, tapping Chucky on the arm.

“Hi I’m sorry you can’t be back here. I’d be happy to escort you to one of the booths though!”

“....uh….sorry we got turned around were fine…”

“Do you guys have a bathroom?”

“Oh yes! Right this way! Sorry I didn’t catch your guy’s names!”

“Oh I’m Chelsea, this is my sister Gloria, our dog Beau, and this is my dad…”

“Loman! Loman Reinhardt you can call me Lee if it’s easier…”

“Oh alrighty then! Right this way’’

The sister exchanged a weird glance at each other, raising their eyebrows as they followed the nice lady. 

“Right here!”

“Thank you!”

The youngest of the redheads bolted in leaving her sister and dad behind.

“You gotta go cuz we ain’t stopping for a while”

“Nah I’m good”

“You sure?”

“Yep!”

“Hey! You two! Chucky fans I see”

“Uhh…”

“Come on, it's obvious with you having the red hair! Get over here! And I like the unique take on his scars”

“Thanks?”

“...Who are you?”

“OH ME? Well I can’t tell ya my real name but you can call me Fanatic or Fan. I prefer Fan it’s quick and simple”

“Alright?”

The two studied the zany employee. She wore a rainbow striped polo similar to the coloring of the long sleeves the doll had in the films. Her brown hair done into a side braid, leaving her bands front and center with them curved to the side as opposed to leaving them in the middle of her head. 

“Would you like to do a Child's Play quiz? If you get them all right you win a prize?! It's super easy”

Before Chucky could deny the offer Gloria exploded with an excited yes!

“First question, what is Chucky’s real name?”

“Charles Lee Ray”

“Who did he marry?”

“Tiffany Valentine”

“How did he get his scars?”

Gloria was curious to hear the answer since he had always fallen silent whenever her or Chelsea asked.

“Uh well…..He fell into a fan…and was stitched up by Tiffany”

“Who voices Chucky”

“Brad Dourif”

Fan grinned ruffling a brow turning to her side calling over another employee, to ask a final question.

“At this point I would normally ask my friend Roz to ask a question but they're a bit busy right now...so I'll just ask another What Chucky’s his personal drive for the first few films”

The redhead froze, not wanting to answer the question in front of his daughter.

“Well…he wanted to take over Andy Barclays body”

“Correct!”

Chucky sighed, lowering his head a bit embarrassed by his response. Gloria could only stare, before her gaze was interrupted by her youngest sister.

“I’m back! Woah what’d we win?”

The wacky employee had handed Chucky two mini-plush key chains of him and Tiffany, with a warm smile waving the family off.

“Come on….let’s go”

The family trailed off pushing past the crowds of people to find the exit and get back to their car. Thankfully before he snapped they found the exit, and went down the sketchy hallway, all walking in deathly silence. Chucky felt as if they were being watched and came to a sudden halt listening to the air. The stillness is unnerving. 

“Dad why’d you–”

“SHH”

Gloria looked at her younger sister who seemed to be fiddling with her bowtie, a sign that she was stressed and anxious. It didn’t help that Beau hair now stood upward and that he was faintly growling. 

Chucky’s eyes widened, quickly ducking seeing a man come at him with a blade swinging it wildly at him. He dodged the attack and swiftly grabbed his attacked hair, and slammed him against the wall, using his free hand to twist his wrist till it snapped, grinning hearing the knife fall and the echoing of his metallic clanks as it hit the ground. The sisters could only watch their mouths agape and their eyes expanding. Chucky paused through sensing someone holding a firearm pointing directly at his skull. He gave a quick glance seeing the man’s hand on the trigger.

“Shit”

Chucky could see the man’s face gleaming with a sense of pride that he was the one to put the infamous red at a chokepoint, restricting him from posing a further threat. However his face contorted into one of confusion seeing a smile spread from ear to ear on Chuck’s snarky face. His lips pressing together, and letting out a high pitched whistle.

“What was the purpose of that Ray”

The red let out a faint giggle only confusing the gun wielder, until he felt sharp fangs pierce into his vulnerable flesh, his arm being yanked, and his skin now tattered and shredded. Chuck took the opportunity to land a hit on him, swinging his elbow backward breaking his attacker's nose all while maintaining a firm grasp on the man who tried to come at him with a blade. The gunny dropped immediately, still screaming as Beau continued tearing away his arm. 

“DAD LOOK OUT”

Before he could turn he was back handed with the handle of a revolver. Sending him into darkness, knocking him out cold. 

“DAADDDDDD”

The third party snickered, at his achievement, grabbing his partner by the arm pulling him back to his feet. Then turning to the girls, raising a brow, then smiling at the realization of who they were.

“Take them”

He frowned seeing one of his partners being taken down by a large canine. Deeming it pathetic. Rolling his eyes unused and raised the revolver, firing it at the dog. Smiling at the loud yelp, and whining it made once the firearm went off.

“BEAU”

“BEAUUU”

The man was unmoved by the girl's cries, seeming to find joy in it in fact. However the small smile had faded seeing the canine was still alive, he raised the gun up again aiming at the dog's skull, ensuring he wouldn’t miss a second time.

“NO DON’T”

The youngest of the Rays shook herself from Gloria’s grasp and bolted at the man who tried killing her dog, and shoved him backward. 

Gloria froze watching the scene play out, frame by frame, leaving her quiet as a mouse. 

Chelsea remained stiff after shoving him, feeling her temple begin to throb, and a hot liquid running down her calf. Then she felt it. The hot burning sensation, as if someone had forced a branding iron to her skin, pressing it further and further into her sink.  Then the loud wailing screams, and finally the hot tears, that now began streaming down her face as she cried out.

“CHELSEA”

Gloria immediately ran over to her, catching her little sister before she could hit the ground. Before she could do anything she too was knocked unconscious.

…

The teen eventually came too, her vision still blurry, and her head feeling as if it were spinning. However she snapped back into reality hearing the sniffles of her little sister.

“Chelsea! Shit shit! Look at me. Let me see your leg, is it bad? Oh Chelsea…oh so sorry…god…”

The young red continued to whimper to herself, continuously wiping tears away from her face, with them soaking into her now bloodstained outfit. 

“Hey look at me! It’s going to be okay”

Gloria lightly caressed her sister's face trying to provide some form of reassurance, pulling the young red into a tight hug, feeling her little sister dig her soaked face into her shoulder. The older of the two quickly broke the embrace, inspecting her sister's leg. Blood spewing from the wound, her flesh vulnerable and pulsing. The sight was painful for Gloria to bear witness to. Instinctively she tore off her sweatshirt and began wrapping around her sister's leg as a makeshift tourniquet. 

“O–OW”

“Sh sh I know I know…you’re going to be okay…I promise”

Once it was tight around Chelsea’s leg she stood up extending her hand out to her sister. Once the two intertwined their fingers Gloria pulled the young red up to her feet, and supported her side, stabilizing her.

“W–Where are we?”

“I—I don’t know”

…

Chucky eventually awoke, his body restrained to a chair. His arms shackled downward and his legs binded to those of the chair. His glasses cracked, slipping off his face, and his beard cut off much to his dismay.

“What the fuck…”

“Glad to see you’re awake Charles” 

“Linda! How’s the life of a widow?! You still pissed ‘bout your husband?”

“...Very….I haven’t stopped think about that day in years…and all this planning has finally brought you here”

“....Jeez woman, ever heard of a cat? Or getting a damn hobby? Like seriously get over it”

“You arrogant man…you know I’ve waited years searching for a weakness of yours….until I found 5…but at the current moment I believe 2 will suffice…I always heard the good die young…”

Chucky fell silent, his scarred fists balling up into shaking fists. His slit brows furrowing with seething rage.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH THEM”

The sudden outburst had caught the woman off guard, her hand coming up to her chest with a shocked gasp.

“Now that! That was quite the reaction”

The widow turned away leaving him screaming. His yells and constant thrashing put on a show for her bodyguards finding his struggle rather amusing.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH THEM YOU HEAR ME!!??? DON’T FUCKING TOUCH THEM”

His screams slowly fading into wails of desperation, at the mere thought of his children being harmed. After what felt like hours of pointless screaming he hung his head down, allowing his hair to shield his flushed face. His vocal cords exhausted from the continuous pleads and threats.

“….Don’t hurt them….they didn’t do anything to you….Beat the shit out of me….just….don’t touch them…please”’

The widow approached Chucky once again grabbing his chin forcing him to look up at her.

“If only you didn’t pull that trigger on my husband…then maybe your little girls would still be alive”

Chucky froze feeling his heart sink, trying to process what he had just heard. He refused to take the information as a factual statement…she was lying…she had to be.

“You’re lying….YOU’RE FUCKING LYING’’

With each word his heart broke, his voice beginning to falter as it shattered, and its shattered remnants spread across the floor. Tears began to follow in suit as they leaked from his eyes.

“Y–YOU’RE LYING…N–No…NOOO”

“Am I now?”

“...y–you have to be….t—they’re not gone….my babies aren’t gone”

“Oh how the mighty do fall”

Chucky felt something in him snap, his lip quivering, his mind throbbing, and his heart numb. He began viciously thrashing, yanking his arms and legs from the restraints, popping the metallic buckles with his sheer strength.

“HE'S OUT”

Chucky had slipped into a berserker rage, in a primitive mind set. Snarling, almost beast like, stalking. He lunged on one of the guards, clawing at him till his hands became wet with a familiar liquid. Tearing away at the pulsating flesh, ripping it till he saw bone. He tore the throat out of one, and bit the ear off the other. Crimson staining his entire being, his hands now claws, and his teeth fangs. Three more ganged up, string him down, frightened to approach him.

“Heh always wanted to try these out’’

The three looked horrified seeing blades come out of the redheads shoes, seeming to glisten in the vermilion surrounding them.

“Oh shit”

…

Gloria and Chelsea had been stumbling through the Labyrinth followed by a limping Beau. Feeling they had passed the same corner twice in a row the two began to lose hope.

“We’re gonna die in here aren’t we”

“We’re not gonna die…I won’t let you…w–we just need to find dad” She reassured as they continued to press onward with the hellish maze.

“Gloria”

The older sister turned to Chelsea, her face with mild concern hearing how faint her sister's voice was.

“Yeah?”

“I’m tired…”

Gloria came to a quick pause blinking away the tears beginning to form in her ducts. 

“We can rest here for now”

“I’m slowing you down…just go without me…you’re chances of survival will increase greatly once dropping the dead weight…aka me”

The older of the two knelt down beside her softly taking her hand, massaging it with her thumb.

“I’m not gonna leave you Chelsea…we always stick together…remember?”

“...you mean it?”

“Mhm…I’d never leave you….you know that right?”

“Oh thank god because there was no way I was army crawling out of here”

A faint giggle escaped Gloria’s lips, finding her sister's humor reassuring. The humorous giggles that had been exchanged had fallen silent at the sound of ambiguous claps coming from the distance.

“Well isn’t that touching?”

“...”

“...”

“The “I'd never leave you” cliche! So unique…truly Oscar worthy…Ha ha ha brings a tear to my eye. I swear I can hear a sad violin playing in the background somewhere.”

“...”

“...”

“You’re the fucker at the 7/11”

“And you’re the brat that bit me and whacked me in the damn head…and thank you for that damn migraine after that”

“No problem glad I left you something to remember me by”

Gloria's confidence dwindled seeing her attacker pull a knife out from his pocket catching her reflection in the blade. 

“Oh shit”

She looked around for something to use as a defensive weapon other than her fists, since she had no idea how to fight in hand to hand combat. A maniacal smile crept on her face seeing a sledgehammer leaning against a pipe that had been connected to the rusting walls. Leaving the atmosphere with a filthy green hue. The hammer had appeared for demolition in construction use for the building she was in but in all honestly she didn’t care and held it firmly. Revealing her sharp canines.

The red screamed out a battle cry in true Ray fashion and pounced, raising the sledgehammer high in the air ready to swing it down. However as she leapt into the air the man swung his blade slicing her arm cleanly, finding a chilling satisfaction in her painful howl. 

“GLORIA”

The girl had dropped to her knees hearing the metal of the hammer clamoring in her ears. The man had stepped over to her side, yanking her long locks backward. Gloria could only scream in agony feeling the strands of her hair being pulled from her scalp. She tried reaching for the handle of the sledge only for it to be kicked away by her attacker, forcing to enduring his irritating giggles of child-like glee. However the teen dug her sharp nails into his ankles, pressing till they broke skin, feeling the crimson seep into her nail beds. His screams made it worth her while, and the stringing from nearly having her hair pulled off her burning scalp. While Gloria continued to press her talons into his ankles, Chelsea had taken notice he dropped his blade, Gloria’s blood still splattered on the blade. She forced herself to crawl to the blade while the man was distracted, her hand merely centimeters away. Thankfully Beau had assisted the young red with pushing the knife with his snout closer to the young redhead. Without hesitation Chelsea slit his heel, the blood squirting into her face, a grin of satisfaction accompanying her face as she witnessed his knees buckle and his body falling backward, his back now to the concrete.

“Thanks”

“I owed ya one”

The teen returned to her feet maintaining a stable footing, reaching downward, grabbing the sledgehammer, locking eyes with her constant tormenter. His fearful browns with her enraged teals. Smirking at the sight of the bruise from where she whacked him with a can of good ol spam. Fully knowing where to strike the hammer. 

“Karmas a bitch ain’t it?”

“NO DON’T PLEASE—”

Chelsea remained stone, seeing her sister obliterate the man's skull turning it into a pile of mush, similar to a smashed pumpkin, typically found throughout their neighborhood a few days after Halloween.

“Damn…what an adrenaline rush”

“....”

“Come on…we gotta find dad…”

The youngest gave a slight head nod still wielding the blade she used to slice the heel of that man. Catching her reflection in the distorted mirror, swearing she could have seen her father looking back at her.

…

Nothing no longer had a readable pulse. Everything was mangled, torn to shreds, with pieces of skin and meaty flesh everywhere, and bloodshed. Chucky was soaked in vermilion, his hair even redder than before, his body now stained not to mention his attire. Charles now a monster in a frenzy, anything that moved, no longer having a lease on life. His mouth and body slit in various sections, faint snaring escaping the small gap, and pupils dilated. A blade now present in his right hm and the entrails of a latest victim in his left. He sniffed the tainted air, and listened for something other than silence. His attention had been drawn from the noise of faint whimpers, he tracked it, and saw someone cowering in the corner, surrounded by corpses. 

“I    found      you”

The sound of his demented bellows, caused the loner to tense, knowing fully what would come next. Chucky stepped forward, drawing his hand back and ramming it into the man's jugular, tearing out what looked to be tonsils feeling his already slippery hands begin to warm with the familiar liquid soaking them. He discarded them and continued searching for Linda…she was the one he was at the top of his list. He took a few steps forwards, hearing the blades of the ends of his shoes scrap against the scarlet stained floor. He sniffed the air, his nostrils filling within the scent of fresh spilled blood. His face slowly contorted into a continuously deeping scowl as he progressed further into the Labyrinth. The walls felt as if they had been slowly enclosing in as he took a few steps forward.

…

Gloria and Chelsea had been staggering through the maze, both leaning against one another with Beau trailing closely behind limping like Chelsea. 

“We already went down this way”

The teen sighed, the overwhelming sense of defeat engulfing her, leaving her feeling hopeless.

“What was that?” 

“What was what?”

Chelsea’s head titled in the sound of faint snarling, her eyes focusing towards the corner, while her sister was squinting trying to get a decent view point.

“We gotta follow it”

“Are you kidding me thats horror movie rule #1 don’t follow the spooky noises and just leave! This is how people die Gloria”

“Come on…we gotta figure out what the hell that is Chelsea”

“WHY, we should be running….oh I don’t know…THE OTHER WAY”

Gloria ignored her sister and began to walk forward to the faint bellows and growls, her curiosity getting the better of her…she just had to know what was making that animalistic sound. The growl of the beast continued to grow as the two sisters approached, their confidence beginning to drain with each passing step. Their grips tightening around their weapons as they continued down.

“D–Dad”

…

The redhead felt the crimson vision begin to slowly fade from his crystal blue orbs, at the sound of a similar voice. It begins rather soft, filled with desperation with a hint of anxiety. The redhead twisted his neck in the direction of the voice, feeling his muscles strain and his sore bones crack.

“Kids”

“It is dad”

“DAD”

Chucky froze, he saw his little girls standing right infront of him a couple yards away, he assumed one to two, three at most. Their sweet faces splattered, their cupid lips quivering, their clothing stained, and eyes bewildered. Chucky couldn’t only stare, feeling his heart begin to palpitate within his chest, soaked in blood that was not his own. He let out an uneasy breath, pausing, catching his hushed voice in his shaky exhale. He retracted his shoe blades and slowly approached them, his face beginning to fill with emotion, that of relief, joy, and worry. The sisters calmly staggered toward their dad, limping the entire way, followed by their benevolent canine. Chucky quickened his pace and wrapped two strong arms around his daughters, squeezing them tightly. The two younger vermilions returned embrace, slightly whimpering into their dad’s chest with sudden relief. Chucky inspected their faces, kissing them both on the head as he did, his emotions scattered as he did so. He felt his body stiffen seeing Chelsea’s wounded leg, a rush of great concern and fury beginning to overwhelm him. 

“Who the fuck did this to you. Are you ok? What the hell happened! Are you hurt anywhere else!? Chelsea, look at me, please just tell me you’re okay otherwise. And Gloria what the fuck happened to your arm?! Let me see? WHOS the son of a bitch that did this”

“Dad we’re okay now…he’s rotting in hell”

“...yeah and besides these minor inconveniences I think we'll be fine…b–but I–I'm tired and my leg hurts…I–I can’t walk on it..…”

Without hesitation Chucky immediately lifted his youngest daughter, holding her tightly in his grasp. Now protective instincts are beginning to kick in, now overshadowing his homicidal urges. He completely forgot about his personal vendetta against his captor, and looked for the nearest exit. They ran down every hallway only to come to a dead end each time, with each failed attempt only increased the building anxiety in Charles.

“DAD OVER THERE”

Gloria tugged on her dad’s arm pointing to a large metallic door that none of them had passed before and ran to it. However, after firmly pushing and pulling the door wouldn’t budge. It only gave a faint creak noise at any attempt to pry it open. Chucky turned to Gloria and nudged her a bit motioning for her to take Chelsea. The teen immediately complied and backed up with Beau following suit. Chucky did a mini shake, putting some distance between him and the door, he ran at it and forced her foot forward kicking the door down with brute force. Sighing from exhaustion he knelt down and picked up his youngest once more, setting her on his chest to make his hold more comfortable for her. Chelsea however remained silent seeing a growing figure running in the direction of the four of them. Her cornflower blue eyes widening seeing what the figure now appearing to be a woman was wielding, a large mallet now raised high above her head. Out of reflex Chelsea raised her blade that she still held and flung it with her wrist watching it soar. Watching the knife swiftly fly through the air cutting with whispering wind as it did so. Soon followed a loud gush sound, a hard drop, and the clamor of metal.

“The fuck? OH SHIT”

Blood now spewing from an eye socket, the woman's jaw slightly agape, and the light in her eyes now fading to a dull grey. 

“...Damn Chelsea”

The young red said nothing and just stared, her hold on her dad tightening as she burrowed her quivering face further into his chest seeking some reassurance and comfort.

“...can we go home”

Chucky held her closer, giving her a kiss on the head, and pulling Gloria into a sweet embrace as the three of them stared at the corpse.

“Yes…let’s go home”

[queenbananya]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

Hi! Thanks for the ask!

I always find these types of questions difficult to answer because I don't have a set list of characters ranked somewhere, especially if we're talking about all types of media, but I'm going to cheat a bit and look at my favorites from Mal. So, this will focus mostly on anime characters as that is the type of media I consume the most, with some others thrown in there as I remember. Not particularly in order:

1. ZURA. from Gintama

He's also the one from my profile icon. I love this guy. He's a fucking idiot. And he is absolutely hilarious he never fails to crack me up no matter what mood I'm in. I have a lot of characters from Gintama I love, but I tried to stick to just one from the entire series or they would take up all ten spots here, and from the entire cast, I have to give it to Zura. He's a terrorist, and comes up with the stupidest of plans, like flipping the toilet paper of his sworn enemy, LOL. He can go on and on about a story while he's driving a car and doesn't realize he is crashing in the meantime. And hence why he can't get a license (and the only reason he needs a license in the first place is so that he can get an ID to be able to rent DVDs of outdated dramas he thinks are trending [they're not]). I have to give praise to Sorachi, the mangaka. He must have been on crack while writing Zura scenes xD

2. Griffith from Berserk

Griffith. Beautiful Griffith.

Griffith gets a lot of hate and deservedly so, and there's a lot of Griffith apologists out there, but I love him. I fucking love him. He's such a well-written character. The best unreliable of narrators, though for most of the story we don't actually get into his head and only that of his archnemesis, his friend, the object of his dreams and desires, his ultimate source of failure, and success, later, I guess - Guts. So we only see how Guts sees him, and it's such a tragic story because the assumptions that Guts makes about him, the way he adores him and grows to hate him, they make sense, but to us as the viewers who know these two just loved each other so much to the point they threw away what they cared about the most - it's such a good story. I mourn for Miura and the story he never finished telling.

3. Joe from Ashita no Joe and Megalo box

Yabuki Joe.

This poor boy. I mention both Ashita no Joe and Megalo box because Megalo box was an anniversary special project based off of Ashita no Joe. Not another adaptation precisely, but more of a modern cyberpunk approach to the classic with more mature themes. I love both versions of Joe. In the older classic, you have this orphan boy that is happy roaming around doing nothing with his life, until he meets this drunk man that shoves boxing down his throat. It's your typical sports plot of stacking up win after win, until it isn't. The difference is in the characters, and their suffering, their growth. You learn to love Joe. He's an annoying little brat that wins your heart gradually, and towards the end, when it's over, you feel as though you've lost a friend.

In Megalo box, Joe is a bit older, and is dealing with things that are very real and that the og Joe would have also had to deal with, had things turned out differently. It's a great complement to the original. An AU of sorts.

4. The Fool from the Elderling series by Robin Hobb

The Fool. Beloved. Amber. They have many names and aliases, from Robin Hobbs' fantasy series The Elderlings.

Beloved is such an interesting character, not defined by any societal expectations and always confusing everyone with their words. We watch them grow throughout the series, from the king's creepy little jester that unsettles others, to an adult that is admittedly treated very harshly by the author (the story) but I still love to death. Here are some of my favorite quotes by the Fool:

"You are confusing plumbing and love again."

“As for what it means, how should I know? I’m a fool, not an interpreter of dreams. Good day.”

"Tomorrow owes you the sum of your yesterdays. No more than that. And no less."

“I have never been wise”

“Don’t do what you can’t undo, until you’ve considered what you can’t do once you’ve done it.”

5. Yang Wenli from LOTGH

Yang Wenli from the Legend of the galactic heros. A classic anime series and one of my favorites. Again, I struggled to only choose one character from the series, because I really love Reinhard as well- the other main character, but from the two I had to to with Yang Wenli.

LOTGH is a space war epic between two different states, the old galactic empire, and the newer, democratic planets alliance that broke free. Yang Wenli belongs to the latter. And while it may sound like the better choice-and he thinks so, as well-it's only the better choice from a theoretical standpoint. Because the one he's up against from the empire, Reinhard, is a wonderful leader. The kind that comes around only once in a century. Meanwhile the so called democracy is corrupt and ugly. Heading downhill while the empire is only getting better. And that's where the two collide. I love Yang Wenli for his idealism, his self awareness of his flaws, and those of others. He once says, 'if I was born in the empire I'd be flocking to join Reinhard's ranks'.

He's a realist, and a damn genius. And that's where the tragedy and irony strikes- because of the badly led and structured democracy he's in, he doesn't have full command of the army. He doesn't have any real power. All the corruption and red tape don't allow him to do much, to use his full potential, so he's always a step behind.

And yet. All he wants in life is to retire peacefully. He didn't even want to be a soldier, but he's dragged there by others, a bit of a pushover that he is. He's a tragic character really. Full of contradictions that he himself is aware of, and you can't help but love him for it.

6. Zhou Zishu from tian ya ke/word of honor

Zhou Zishu.

He is just. So. Relatable.

A burnt out man in his early 30s/late 20s who only wanted to live his last few years in peace. Essentially committed slow suicide to get the fuck out of his job because he couldn't take it anymore. We've all been there. Not that I'd take such drastic measures but. Who hasn't fantasized getting into an accident on their way to work to, you know, not go to work? Just me? OK. Moving on lol (according to reddit it's actually quite common. Sad that we live like this. Kudos to zishu for doing something about it).

The novel (tian ya ke) is quite different from the drama (word of honor), where the gif is from. The characterization is also a bit different, and I have to say I prefer novel! Zishu over drama! Zishu. He's more free, more shameless, learns to live without shackles and is not your typical protagonist. In fact, he's no protagonist at all. He's really just a side character, despite being the narrator of the story. Like many of us. But the man learns to be happy. Learns to fly free.

7. Wen Kexing from tian ya ke/word of honor

I broke my own rule about one character per series because there is no way I can have A'Xu (Zhou Zishu from above) listed anywhere without his Lao Wen. They come as a package anywhere they go. Anywhere. So here is my favorite malewife Wen Kexing. A beautiful, eerie man that looks more like a ghost. Knows how to cook. Knows how to clean. Knows how to split your throat in half with his bare fingertips.

He's terrifying. The king of all "ghosts"- the most brutal criminals. He's also someone that learns how to lower his defenses for the first time in his life. How to be a little bit selfless for once. To care for another. He's the one that teaches Zishu how to he shameless. He's fucking hilarious, a flirt, an unashamedly gay man that takes pride in all the men he's fucked and yet will cry crocodile tears to Zishu to let him get it on, and then he'll thank his dead sister for it later. I love these idiots. They're perfect for each other.

Also prefer the novel version of Wen Kexing, but the drama has a perfect cast and beautiful robes. I've got two replicas of them!

8. Nodame from Nodame Cantabile

Idiotic Nodame. Love this girl. She's hilarious and silly and isn't embarrassed to go after what she wants, even if she makes a fool of herself.

She's an aspiring pianist. A piano student to be precise, on the older side compared to her peers. But she's really great at it. Not in the traditional way, because she does things in her own way-- she's with the teacher designated for the worst students and spends an entire semester (or years? It's been a bit, I don't remember) composing a song about farts LOL.

She's a really likeable character, and what I really love about her is her stubbornness and grit to stick to what she wants. It's not something easy to do, and oftentimes we have to make decisions against our own wishes, especially when it comes to our careers. Nodame tries, but all she wants is to be a kindergarten piano teacher, but everyone tells her she shouldn't do that. In the end, her choices are hers and hers only.

9. Balsa from Moribito

I recently finished this anime and fell in love with the MC, Balsa.

It's not often we see strong female leads in anime, that are not only well written but stand on their own without relying on romance or other characters. She's an incredibly strong woman, both physically and emotionally. The series focuses on her growth and her bond with the little burden she's tasked to care for.

She is a little selfish, perhaps a bit too cold. Plain looking, and very much an adult at 30. And she looks like it! Not something you see often in anime. She's a great fighter, and through her journey with this child that she has to care for, she learns of a different kind of strength. And yet, towards the end, she's still the same lone woman we meet at the beginning. Someone simply just... living.

10. Renge from Non Non Biyorin

Little Renge. I adore her. She's adorable and so, so funny.

From Non Non Biyorin, which I also love to bits because I grew up in the country and the country life humor just sends me.

She's a 6 yo child that is smarter than the 8th graders, and always so serious about everything she does, even the cold corner store owner has a soft spot for her. She's like a cat. Really cute, really funny, and really mean, even unintentionally.

Ugh. I miss this show. I wish we had more seasons!