#Dusty is Chucky

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

80s Villainy at its finest by Dusty Abell

#Dusty Abell #80s #Villainy #villain #antagonist #80's #action movies #science fiction horror movies #supernatural horror movies #classic horror movies #alien #child's play #chucky #the goonies #cobra kai #karate kid #friday the 13th #jason voorhees #freddy krueger #a nightmare on elm street #predator #scarface #art #illustration #artwork #painting #random

[ckret2]

I'd love to know more about Bartholomew, and how they befriended him! although it is very funny that something that wild happened entirely offscreen XD

I thought this would be short, but apparently I had more to say about Barty than I thought! So here:

Bartholomew was acquired from a crane game filled with haunted dolls that was set up at Gravity Falls' mall. I do not know why that crane game was there. It's just the kind of thing that happens in Gravity Falls. Each haunted doll is possessed by the evil ghost of a creepy Victorian child. Dipper & Mabel didn't discover this until the next night.

In life, Bartholomew was a 14-year-old necromancer who bound his spirit to a doll so he could live forever—which is why he happens to know so much about poppets and can teach the twins how they work. He's hoping they'll bind Bill to a poppet, he'll die, and he'll remain attached to the poppet, so Bartholomew will have a new haunted doll pal.

(He was not friends with the other dolls in the crane game machine. You know how it turns out wild wolves in normal packs are really friendly and cooperative with each other, and vicious alpha wolf dominance fights only happen when wolves are forced together in captivity and are stressed and defensive? Yeah. That crane game was cramped. Nobody made friends in there.)

He's spent over a century as your typical feared creepy haunted doll, shuffling between locked trunks and antique malls and dusty attics and paranormal investigators' houses that mysteriously burn down and thrift shops. His prior crimes could fuel a horror movie series fit to rival any Chucky or Annabelle you could think of.

His original ambition—as it always is when he's in a house with a boy age 12 to 17—is to murder the kid (and anyone who tries to stop him) and take over his life. We are unclear on how an immobile porcelain doll intends to pose as a living human child. I'm not sure he's ever thought through that part of the plan. He thought killing Dipper would've made a particularly sweet deal since he would've gotten a free sister out of it.

It turns out he does all this because he's desperately lonely and unloved after over a century as a creepy haunted doll, and he just wants a family and friends his own age again. Mabel quelled his murderous urges by saying he can have a bed and live in their room and be their friend as long as he doesn't kill anyone. Usually when kids find out he's alive, they run crying to the adults about the scary living doll begging to get rid of it, and the adults either don't believe them or join in trying to get rid of him. Running into a couple of kids that are totally chill with a haunted doll as long as he doesn't commit murder is a new experience for him. This is the most positive socialization he's had since he died. He's turned around real fast.

So far, Mabel and Dipper haven't told anyone else about Bartholomew. Not on purpose, they just kind of dealt with it on their own at like 3 a.m. and then never thought to bring him up to the adults. Even Bill hasn't noticed him yet. Probably in late August the kids'll end up in a conversation with the grunkles like "wait, did we really forget to mention the haunted doll we've been living with all summer??" Typically he only speaks in front of children. There's a chance Candy and Grenda have been told about him, but due to the Bill situation they haven't been over to meet Barty yet.

He was not in Gravity Falls last year and doesn't really get who Bill Cipher is. What he knows is that Bill is a cute girl who's allegedly a guy who's allegedly some kind of demon from space who can single-handedly destroy Earth. He's read War of the Worlds, he knows all about destroyers from space; but he didn't realize Martians have demons too. He just kind of accepts this all as true, but doesn't really fear Bill (except when he thinks Bill might be in a mood to smash delicate porcelain dolls).

Dipper and Mabel often catch him posed like he was doing something right before other people came in. Sometimes they come home and Barty is posed like he's been petting Waddles. They don't know if this means he's actually let Waddles see him move.

Have you ever watched The Boy? He looks and moves kind of like The Boy, although he's closer to the size of a baby doll and a bit less realistic. Creepy formally-dressed porcelain doll, only moves when nobody's in the room and/or looking at it.

His haunted doll powers include creepily turning off all the lights, writing messages on foggy windows/mirrors, causing disembodied knocking/rattling, slowly dragging the bedsheet off a sleeping child in the middle of the night, teleporting when no one's looking, slipping strange whispers into TV/radio/cassette audio, causing furniture to rearrange in strange ways during the night, and—if he gets really mad or distressed—he can briefly act as a poltergeist and make things levitate and fly around.

As a ghost possessing a doll, he's able to see other ghosts. This makes him—along with Bill, disembodied-Dipper, [redacted], [redacted], and sometimes [redacted]—one of the few members of the cast that can see the mindscape.

He secretly doesn't mind that Mabel calls him Barty Mew-Mew and is increasingly beginning to think he'd kind of like being a catboy. Mabel will be ecstatic when she finds out.

#anonymous #ask #about my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

[jimmy-johns-was-taken]

hello!! I absolutely adore your writing and I wanted to request masky/tim x reader who’s having a bad mental health day. (feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to lol <3)

Thank you so much!!!!!!!!

I didn’t know if you wanted romantic or platonic; but I took it as platonic? I had a vision for a platonic reader, I hope that’s ok :)

We All Have Bad Days

Platonic Tim / Masky x Reader

T.W. Depression, mentions of self harm, smoking, mentions of past abuse, reader had a shit life before b coming a proxy, violence

Sliding through the now open window, you carefully landed on the floor. A simple home invasion, should be a piece of cake. Slender needed some files from the mother of the family, you didn’t know what exactly they were about, but you couldn’t care. He said you could kill them if you wanted, didn’t matter if they lived as long as you weren’t caught. With the week you had, you wanted to blow off some steam.

Quietly walking through the house, you poked around and attempted to find an office. People keep files in there, right? Or maybe some kind of study. Slender hadn’t given you much information, just where the house was, who would be in it, and your objective. Finding nothing on the first floor other than the kitchen, living room, laundry, and a home gym, you started your way upstairs.

The first room on the right was an empty room, looked like a teenage boys room. Messy, posters and flags lining the walls, dirty dishes everywhere. Nobody seemed to be in the room, so you shut the door and moved on. The room across the hall was a bathroom, which you didn’t bother with. The next room on the right was exactly what you were looking for.

The office was smaller, but neat and tidy. A dark pine desk was in the corner, bookshelf above it, with a computer, notepad, pens and pencils thrown around. Three large filing cabinets sat beside it. Grinning, you opened the one closest to the desk and began looking. Slender said that you would know it when you saw it, a dirty file case that was marked “1994” in large red ink.

You guessed it was some kind of evidence of slender or another creep, it needed to be destroyed. Not finding anything in the top, you searched the rest. Coming up empty handed, you looked around the room for anything else. Opening the desk draws, through some of the books, nothing was found. Panic slowly filled you, where was it? You shot a quick text to Tim, anxiety rising as you realized that the objective wasn’t there and you couldn’t complete the mission.

You set your phone down for a moment, re-checking the desk draws. You heard the phone buzz, but a gun clocking sound made you freeze. You looked toward the door as a women stood there, a small hunting rifle pointed at you. You had a hunting knife on you, but it wouldn’t do much good against a gun. Your baseball bat was downstairs and handgun was left at the cabin. You figured you wouldn’t need it, but fate would say otherwise.

As your phone buzzed once more, the women let loose, firing at you. You swore and ducked, trying to find your bearings. She let out a cry and turned on her heels, sprinting away. You sprung up, knife in hand, and chased her down the hall, to the last room. The master bedroom was large, with a walk-in closet and large bathroom connecting to it. The women, now yelling at you in a language you weren’t familiar with, pointed the gun at you once more.

“Jeez, will you shut up?!” You yelled, lunging at her. You grabbed the gun and threw it to the side as she shot, taking your knife in the other hand and quickly slitting her throat. As you glanced around the room, a file caught your eye. Old and dusty, the number “1994” in big red in. Bingo. Curious, you opened the file.

You stopped breathing. Panic and terrible memories flooded you. It was a picture of you, standing next to your mother. This picture was taken in 1994, it was of you in a Chucky costume on Halloween. A month before your father had been caught cheating and kicked out. A month before your mother had started drinking. A month before the hell of your life started. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, you wanted to just burn the picture. Not being able to go through the rest of it, you closed it with tears in your eyes, and turned back.

You stopped by the office, grabbing your phone. Tim had texted you several times, mostly asking if you had found it and if you were ok. You replied shortly “got it.” Back downstairs you grabbed the bat you had and left the house, walking back toward the mansion. Thoughts filled your head as you walked. Who was that women? How did she have that photo? How did she know you? Why would slender send you on this mission? You began to slightly cry, you just wanted an easy mission to blow off some steam after a rough week. Not be brought back to a life of abuse and suffering.

You quickly entered the mansion, bee-lining it for Slender’s office. You opened the door, not bothering to knock, and Slender’s attention snapped to you. You laid the file on his desk, nodding to him. He grabbed it, thumbing through the inside of it. He dismissed you without another word, opening the file and looking through its contents. You lingered for a moment, tempted to ask him why he had sent you on the mission. You decided against it, walking away and back to the woods. Now, the make it to the cabin without breaking down.

When you arrived, Tim was on the porch, smoking a cigarette. He looked at you, an uncertain look in his eyes.

“Mission go ok?” He raised a brow, sensing your off attitude.

“Yeah, fine,” you brushed past him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

He watched you walk inside, something telling him that something was seriously wrong. Toby was on the couch, eyes glued to some show. Brian was put on a mission with Cody and Kate, some surveillance mission. You quickly walked to your room, Toby glancing over their shoulder to catch a quick glance. They shrugged before turning their attention back to the show as Tim walked in.

You made it to your room and let out a shaky breath. You needed a hot shower, just to calm down and breathe. Making your way to the bathroom, you started the water and took off the bloodstained shirt. Scars littered your body, most were just from missions. But, you glanced to your arms. Long marks up and down your arms, you looked away and got in the shower. Once in, you broke down, your sobs being drowned out by the running water.

You were able to pull yourself together to finish showering and get out. Putting on comfy sweat pants and a oversized sweatshirt you stole from a victim, you flipped on the bed. Tear stained cheeks, you sniffled once more. Memories and thoughts flooding your mind, you felt your breath hitch as another wave of tears hit you. You began to cry again, tears soaking the pillow below you. A knock of the door snapped you out of your sob session.

“Who is it?” You shakily asked.

“Just Tim,” his gruff voice called. How long had he been there?

You opened the door, looking anywhere but his eyes. He pushed his way past you, shutting the door behind him and sitting on the bed. Seconds that felt like hours pasted as you finally looked at him. He noticed the puffy eyes, tear marks, red cheeks, and stuffy nose almost instantly.

“You ok?”

“No.”

Tim stood and walked over, pulling you into a tight hug. You stayed like that for a long while, in his arms sobbing. For fucks sake, you hated being like this. Weak in front of others, especially Tim. Eventually, you pushed away.

“My mom,” you started, “a picture of me and my mom were in that file. Before everything went to shit? When we were still happy,” you explained. Tim knew of your past and the shit-show your mother had put you through.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s fine, it’s gone now. Slender has it, out of sight out of mind.”

“How about,” Tim started to change the subject, “we head to the store yeah? We need some new food anyway.”

You looked at him a little confused but agreed anyways. Getting up, you threw on your shoes and left, Tim yelling at Toby that you were leaving. You hoped in the passenger seat of the old pick up truck as Tim started it up. The drive to the store was long and quiet.

When you arrived, you and Tim started shopping. At first, it was quiet and to a list. However, as you passed the candy isle, Tim took a turn. He grabbed some chocolate and looked at you.

“How mad do you think Brian would be if we spent a lot of money on candy?” He smirked, a small chuckle leaving him.

“Oh, he’d be very pissed, especially if we didn’t share,” you grinned, grabbing a pack of sour gummy worms.

From that point, you and Tim had eveything you actually needed, you both started to grab junk food. Chips, candy, and eventually you hit the bakery section. Cake, brownies, cookies, and more piled up in the cart as you both laughed. Brian would be so pissed, but the look on his face would be worth it. Paying, you walked out and started loading the back of the truck.

Unexpectedly, Tim grabbed you and threw you into the cart. He pushed you across the parking lot, you screaming and laughing the entire way. Putting the cart up, he pretend to leave you there, getting in and staring up the truck. You scrambled out of the cart and to the truck, yelling at him not to leave you. Both of you laughed and started your way home. It fell silent soon after, but it was comfortable.

“So, we don’t tell Brian about half of this, ok?” Tim spoke.

“Well duh,” you rolled your eyes, smiling at all the sweets.

“We deserve them, especially after this week. That mission Tuesday? We cannot let that happen again,” he explained, letting out a long breath.

“Real,” you responded, “thank you Tim.” You smiled at him.

“Of course,” he began, “listen kiddo, we all have bad days and bad weeks. It’s normal. Us proxies tend to have worse weeks than normal people,” he chuckled slightly. “But listen, it’ll be alright, ok? I know it was shit then, and sometimes it still is shit, but that’s ok. ‘Cuz after we have a shit week, we can go blow 50$ on sweets,” Tim smiled at you and you nearly lost it again.

“Thank you Tim,” you smiled back, a warm feeling spreading over your body. Although it was fucked up, you had a family. A family of murderers who lived in the forest and served a supernatural cryptid thing, but a family nonetheless. You would never trade it for the world.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #ben drowned #eyeless jack #jane the killer #jeff the killer #nina the killer #creepypasta x reader #plantonic tim/masky #plantonic creepypasta #kinda angsty #frick #slender a bitch

[names-for-alters]

Hello one and all, alters and headmates! I am Charlie! I like to make lists! I also hoard names! Are you looking for a name? GREAT! You can send an ask and request a specific aesthetic or origin of name, or you can look at my list!

With that said…

…Cracks knuckles…

Findo Tach Tails Flicker Tracer Kat Iris Blu Brick Arlo Sammy Artie Finn Stein Aleksandr Vora Olive Luna Nyx Cyrus Qrow Orian Cello Onyx Skye Grim Opal Dawn Azure Fish Bones Poppy Bronze Eggs Sparky Specs Snickers Trout Navi Bingo Chili Bandit Stripe Busker Socks Brandy Frisky Winston Lucky Chucky Bently Judo Rusty Max Honey Indie Calypso Striker Merle Moxxie Vex Ant Bugger Bee Spider Tails Hook Indigo Amber Coco Coral Scarlet Ivory Jade Ruby Emerald Chuck Loden Copper Hamelin Neo Shepard Cinnamon Visor Macalister Soul Hack Hiccup Flynn Rider Astrid Jay Raven Robyn Bolt Dagger Viper Tracer Cornwall Flock Sapphire Crystal Ghost Mochi Trick Catra Rose Raven Flip Chani Racket Red Crimson Dragon Runt Scotch Tellie Gator Croc Crow Goat Duck Creeper Kuma Jet Jeep Draco Poppy Sombra Raine Squish Spike Blaze Ender Drake Sandy MK PJ DJ CJ MJ King Creak Shadow Clay Dusty Miles Dart Willow Antonius Husk Moth Cypher Jin Yin Yang Daisy Gray / Grey Alistair Halo Angel Cake Fennec Fox Null Lull Bastion Lucky Sun Star Cosmo Tweety Vox Nerys Sonic Bark Birch Oak Cherry Blossom Peaches Velvet Shell Coffee Valley Fang Moot Redpath Pudding X V Jr Ether Fig Trunk Joy Frogger Snowflake Snowball Snow Jumper Racket Flare Vendetta Loonie Coin Six Eleven Tropica Stelina Mojave Ink Sud Fender Zero Pollen Wysteria Page Ozias Rex Tortch Buck Nickel Stripe Lynch Tramp Wolf Pup Tank Jhariah Kharma Zenith Sparrow Prism Lemon Mune Lamb Pyke Diamond Parker Graves Fizz Nugget Melody Tink Blight Fangless Ambress Vulture Eclipse Luka Bangle Constance Constantine Sommar Babble Clank Bobble Chipper Aidan Slate Tin Twire Zephyr Silver Misty Faunus Atlas Birdie Brook Cedar Chip Coal Daisy Ember Faye Fate Fern Flint Harmony Helios Ivy Junx Kit Lyria Phoebe Piper Lady Beacon Elos Rumble Ida Cross Zed Scootie Smidge Clauger Happy Sonny Hath Soldier River Song Clawtor Videl Legen Onen Chunk Reid Pop Cobra Cash Clover Saris Volante Donna Belladonna Gale Chopper Morphias Vidia Loft Kape Levi Licker Howl Dustin Newt Creek Breezy Polaris Blight Archer Sirius Warren Dream Goon Cookie Ranger Amity Jericho Viggo Besko Asra Alice Olaf Mossfeld Issic Missy Rascal Creasy Nonya Hex Pita Miguel Manuel Rayburn Daisy Dash Lucky Becky Steele Cylo Featherstone Kingston Netherfield Reacher Saltburn Quick Rubble Dust Brimstone Humble Ado Grover Norvanos Leshy Blade Cooper Calcium

Leo

Leonardo

Lebony

Silver

Linzier

Pearl

blackberry

Tatin

Bud

Raphael

Pebble

Mina

Linda

Oolong

Daeo/Dayo/Dao

Inco

Ketlyn

Risa

Ines

Lora

Flock

Lux

Rix

Reah

Destinty

Bet

Ange

Krixa

Lalien

Gloom

Bug

Rozy

Mars

Screech

Jenny

Robert

Patrick

Pierre Rosemary

Henderson

Mayfield

Sinclair

Sullivan

Hart

Solace

Daughtler

Stoll

Gatlin

Yearwood

Amos

Graves

Rothschild

Halley

Spektor

Presley

Redd

Blackwood

Notvletti

Valerie

Milo

Marian

Lychee

Aiden

Nova

Vel

Bel

Yuri

Puro

Pluto

Ramona

Angel

Nada

Shen

Mog

Hania

Udge

Kinetic

Kikos Wathel

Dupa

Sierre

Jimor

Teddy

coc

Scara

River

Shade

Foenem

Duck

Emily

Toast

Reunna

Ichigo

Rae

Sonic

MoonL

Lennus

cabaran

Marto

Leveer

Granite

#alter names #names for alters #osdd #did #endo neutral #names #list of names #random names #good names #introjects #osddid #fictives #need names? I got names #name hoard #name requests #names for you

[fanficimagery]

The Prospect’s Girl

When the Sons of Anarchy take you for granted one too many times and then drop the ball by forgetting to call you up for lockdown, you leave. You leave Charming behind and find yourself in Santo Padre, trying to make a better life for yourself.

Words: 6.2K Author's Note: I've never seen Mayans, so please forgive my descriptions of places and what not.

Charming, California has been your home for as long as you can remember. You'd heard stories about the Sons of Anarchy growing up but were never properly introduced until after you had started working the ER at St. Thomas. The bikers were frequent visitors and though you never believed any of their stories about how they got their wounds, you looked forward to hearing what they would come up with next.

Being kind to them and chuckling over each new excuse they fed you led to friendships you never saw coming. And then soon after that you were invited to their clubhouse, became the club nurse when they needed to be patched up off the record, and found yourself integrated into the club for the next few years.

So, when you left in the middle of the night, you left with a heavy heart and with the opinion that this was what was best for you.

Santo Padre wasn't your first choice since it was so close to the border, but a friend had gotten you a job at a clinic that was in desperate need, and you had found a decent house for cheap in the little town that was the complete opposite of Charming. The new town seemed dusty and practically run down, but there were signs of life, and you were more than ready to give it a shot. So, after moving in a week before you were set to start work at the clinic, you made your house as homey as you could with what little funds you had for the meantime, and then settled in to prepare for tongue lashings you no doubt were going to receive once the Sons realized you were gone.

Only as one day turned into two and then three, you realized with an aching heart that the phone calls were never going to come.

Feeling down one afternoon, you get into your car and head to the middle of town where it's the liveliest. There's a used bookstore that you had your eye on the moment you realized it was there and figured you could look around for future reference or hopefully have the owner set a book or two aside for you.

Walking into the bookstore makes you exhale with relief and you quietly browse the bookshelves for something that piques your interest. You found books on Norse Mythology and Greek Mythology, and even found a couple of books on the Occult. You wanted everything, but knew you shouldn't buy them at just this moment. So instead, you set your pile of books aside and walked to the front of the store to talk with the owner.

The owner was a kind old man, slipping between English and Spanish as he spoke, but thankfully you had taken Spanish in high school and knew enough to understand him. No one had ever asked to have books set aside for them, but the man was more than happy to do so for you when you explained your current money situation. He got you talking a little bit about yourself- where you came from and what you did for a living- and then you were on your way when you figured you took up enough of his time.

You leave with a smile, but the moment you step foot outside and remember where you are, the weight is back on your shoulders and the sadness creeps back in. Your phone dings and when you pull it out to find a text message from Tara to see how you're settling in, the tears start to form and slip down your face.

With blurry vision, you type back that you're fine and are excited for work. You so desperately want to ask how everyone is doing and if anyone's asked for you, but you're not sure you want to know the answer. Thankfully, before you can make a fool of yourself, someone calls your name.

"YN?"

You quickly wipe your face before looking up, plastering on a smile. "Chucky? Hey!" He's standing with two men wearing Mayan kuttes, but you pay them no mind as you greet your old friend. "How've you been?"

"I-I'm good. But you don't appear to be. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." You pull back and wipe at your face again, sniffling as you smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Family worries about family."

His words make your heart ache even more and you're quick to wipe away the next tear that falls. "I haven't had family in quite some time, Chuck."

"But the Sons-"

You shake your head, smiling sadly. "It's a long story." You can't help but glance at the two Mexican men standing behind him, watching curiously. "And from the look of those two, you have somewhere to be." You nod at each of them before giving Chucky your full attention. "You still have my number, right?"

"Of course."

"Then when you're not busy, shoot me a text. We'll meet up and I'll tell you all about what led to me living here."

He smiles at you. "I can do that."

You hug him one last time before addressing the Mayan men. "Please keep an eye on this one," you gesture to Chucky. "He's the only family I have left."

"Will do, querida." The Mayan who assures you has an El Secretario patch on his kutte and the one at his side has a Prospect one. Both of them smile at you.

Then with one last look at Chucky, you make your way to your car to head back home.

You and Chucky trade texts for a few days, but you're not able to meet up until after you've already started work at the clinic. The clinic was small and, though most of your patients were kids or the elderly, you really liked it. It wasn't the hustle and bustle of an ER, but the new speed of it all felt like a breath of fresh air.

When the weekend comes, Chucky asks you to meet him at the Mayans clubhouse. You're hesitant at first because of your past connection to the Sons, but Chucky promises he's vouched for you and that you're welcomed. So when you pull up to Romero Brothers Scrap and Salvage yard, you're not surprised when Chucky meets you by the gates and directs you where to park.

When you get off in the dusty parking area, you shield your eyes from the sun as Chucky leads you into the clubhouse. The Mayans clubhouse is not at all what you were expecting- the green and white of the building throwing you off. Chucky chuckles at your expression as you walk up the wooden steps and then holds the door open for you. The inside seems a bit more updated than what the Sons clubhouse looked like and thankfully it doesn't quite smell the same. Sure there is the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, but the smell of sex is absent and you're grateful for that. You don't know how the guys openly had sex for all to see. That was one thing that never sat quite well with you.

Chucky gestures to a table and tells you to take a seat while he goes to get drinks. And as soon as you sit, you're being joined by two Mayans- one you saw the other day and another with slightly wavy hair cut above his shoulders and a slightly crooked nose.

"I was wondering when we'd see you again, querida." He grabs his chair and turns it backwards so he's straddling it. "I'm Angel. This is Coco," he says while gesturing to his friend. Both are handsome in their own ways, but the one who had actually caught your eye was the prospect currently working the bar.

"YN." You flash them a small smile, making sure to keep your attention on the men at the table with you.

"We know. Chucky couldn't shut up about you once we got him started," Coco muses.

You chuckle. "He's sweet, but he doesn't know when to shut up, does he?"

"Nah, but it makes for great entertainment." You glance up when Chucky reappears, three beers and a Dr. Pepper in hand. He hands you the soda and Angel arches an eyebrow at you. "You don't drink?"

"Only on special occasions," Chucky answers as he takes a seat at the table.

Both Mayan men look at you and you shrug. "I got super wasted at a friend's wedding reception once. It was.. bad." You chuckle as you crack open your soda and take a quick sip. "It put me off alcohol for a while and now I only drink at parties, not for the hell of it."

"Now when you say bad," Coco wonders, grinning.

"I'm talking about thinking I was locked permanently in a bathroom stall even though I locked it from the inside, rolling off my bed and then barfing from the hallway all the way to the toilet."

"They found her passed out on the bathroom floor," Chucky says. "She wiped the throw up off to the side with a towel and proceeded to lay down to sleep."

Your cheeks tint pink as the Mayan men laugh. "I can't even smell crown and coke anymore. Makes me gag."

"We're gonna have to test that theory out one of these days."

You shake your head at Angel, still grinning, but then Chucky's next words make you falter. "So what happened to make you leave Charming?" Your gaze snaps to your old friend. "I know you, YN. You're loyal. You wouldn't have left unless it was bad."

You gulp as the atmosphere suddenly turns serious and your nails nervously tap against the table. Sighing, you decide to tell him just what it was that made you open your eyes and leave. "The club had a lockdown and no one thought to tell me. Their rivals picked me up right after one of my shifts at St. Thomas and beat me for information on the club." A tear streams down your face and you bat it away with a roll of your eyes. "I gave the club so many years of my life, Chuck, and they didn't fuckin' tell me about the lockdown."

"But.. you're family! Surely Juice-"

You shake your head. "Juice and I were done by then." You huff a laugh, sipping your soda to clear your throat. "The final nail in that coffin was when one of Nero's girls came to the clubhouse waving around a positive pregnancy test."

"Shit, ma, that's fucked up," Coco says.

"Thank you!" You exclaim. "But anyway, I didn't even care about the breakup. I knew that relationship had an end date as soon as we hooked up. No, what fuckin' broke my heart was that as soon as Juice's baby momma showed up, it was like I was thrown to the bottom of the fuckin' totem pole. Besides my job at the hospital, I took care of the Sons- patching them up, cooking, washing- and they didn't think to tell me about the lockdown."

"How long were you gone for before someone noticed?" Angel asks.

"No one did." You shrug. "The damn idiots had bad intel, and after a full day of being beaten on they realized I wasn't romantically linked to a Son anymore. They let me go."

"What did Jax have to say for himself when you returned?" Chucky frowns.

"Nothing really. Gave me a pat on the head, told me to take the day off, and then called me two days later to patch up Happy."

"I know we got an alliance with the Sons now," Coco says, "but that shit's twisted. You were still family whether you were bangin' a member or not, and they dropped the ball. You should have been protected."

"Yeah, well.. what's done is done," you say.

"How'd you end up in Santo Padre?" Angel then wonders.

"Believe it or not, it was Tara- the club president's wife." You slowly grin at him. "We were better as co-workers than as club friends, and she offered to help get me out of Charming when she saw the bruises I was sporting. And when I realized my life with the club would never be the same, I accepted. So she found an opening here at a clinic and I found a house, and now here I am."

"But the club knows where you are, right?"

You shrug at Chucky. "Tara knows where I am, but no one else has called or texted. They haven't called me to patch anyone up, so I don't know what's going on in their heads."

"Well damn," Angel says. "If I were in your position, querida, I'd have left too."

"Yeah."

Some other men walk into the club, stealing Angel's and Coco's attention. Another man walks in, asking Chucky for help in the scrapyard office to which Chucky glances at you apologetically.

"Go." You wave him off, chuckling. "I live here now, Chuck. We have all the time in the world to hang out."

He beams and then scurries off after the man you had seen who wore the El Presidente patch on his kutte, and then you sigh when you see the men had left their empty bottles on the table in front of you. Rolling your eyes, because men will be men, you stand and gather up the empties before walking them over to the bar where the Prospect is wiping down some glasses.

"Hey," you call out. "Where can I dump these?" You then ask when he looks up at you.

"Oh. You shouldn't have," he says, immediately reaching over the bar to take the bottles from your hands. "I would have picked 'em up."

"It's fine. I'm used to grunt work," you muse. As he drops the bottles into the trash, you introduce yourself. "I'm YN, by the way."

"Ezekiel. Or EZ," he says. You can't help but smile when you see his, that little voice in the back of your head groaning at you because EZ had such a beautiful smile and you know you're fucked. "So how do you know Chuck?"

You open your mouth to retort and then sigh, chuckling as you take a seat on one of the barstools. "Well.."

You give EZ a quicker rundown of what you just explained to Chucky, Angel and Coco, and he shakes his head when you finish. "That's fucked up. I thought the Sons were all about protecting the women of the club?"

"They are, but apparently you don't mean shit unless you've got a crow, have the title Old Lady, are related to a Son or carrying their kid."

EZ shakes his head in disbelief before he turns around, grabbing a bottle of liquor from the counter behind them. "You need a shot."

"What? No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." When he's facing you once more, he grabs a couple of shot glasses from beneath the counter. And when he sees your expression, he chuckles. "Just one. I'm not trying to get you drunk."

You quietly groan when he flashes that smile of his once more and instantly cave. He knows he's won and quickly pours the two of you a shot. Then when you pick up your shot glass, you say, "I barely even know you and already I hate you."

EZ chuckles and picks up his own shot glass, clinking them together. "To starting over in Santo Padre. May the Mayans treat you better than the Sons ever did."

You and EZ down the shots, but you're the only one whose face scrunches up and lets out a cough. He laughs as he takes the shot glasses back and then there's a sharp whistle, followed by, "Querida! I thought you didn't drink for fun?!"

You glance over in the direction of the voice, finding Angel, Coco and a couple others staring at you. Angel's looking at you as if you've offended him and you shrug with a brief chuckle. "Have you seen that face?" You ask while pointing at EZ. "I couldn't say no!"

The men boo as Angel shakes his head in disappointment. "EZ? Really? I pegged you as someone who had better taste."

You press your lips together to keep the laughter in, cursing the blush you can feel heating up your cheeks and ears. "And on that note, I should get going." You slide off the stool, rapping your knuckles along the bar while smiling at EZ. "I'll see you around, Prospect."

"Yeah. I guess you will."

Before you know it, you find yourself spending time at the Mayan clubhouse and falling into familiar patterns. When you're not working at the clinic, you're unknowingly carving yourself a spot within the Mayan family. And Chucky- well Chucky is all too happy to have you around all the time, making yourself comfortable and slowly earning everyone's respect.

Everything was going so great that it was only a matter of time before you started second guessing your life with the MC.

Chucky had called you late one night, asking if you were available to patch up Creeper. You didn't think twice before jumping out of bed, grabbing your medical bag and rushing over to the clubhouse. No one had batted an eye at your spaghetti strap tank top and tiny sleep shorts, nor did they question your work methods as you asked what type of wound you were dealing with before snapping on a pair of gloves and getting to work. Then later on, when you were done and mentally freaking out that you were getting too comfortable with yet another MC as you stood on the porch outside, the door behind you opened and EZ stepped out.

"Hey. You alright?" The concern in his features halted your panic. "You look dead on your feet."

"M'tired."

"I can see that." EZ stepped forward then, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Come on. You're not driving. You can take my bed in the trailer."

"What? No, I-"

"Don't fight him on this, ninita." The voice had startled both you and EZ, neither of you having heard the door open as Bishop stepped out. "You did great work tonight. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you had told him. "You guys are family to Chucky and Chucky.. well he's the only family I got left. If he needs me to help you, I will."

Bishop had hummed before flashing you a faint smile. "You see, that's where you're wrong."

"Bish.."

"No, EZ. Let me finish." EZ had backed off, squeezing you tighter in anticipation for whatever his president was going to say next. "Chucky is not the only family you have left, YN. You've got us now and I promise we will not throw you to the coyotes."

Your bottom lip had trembled as you smiled at him, your heart swelling with affection as a single tear fell down your face. You had laughed as you wiped it away, turning slightly to hide your face. "I'm too goddamn sleepy to be crying."

Both men had chuckled and then EZ nudged you towards the steps. "Come on. You can sleep it off in the trailer like I suggested."

After that, you laughed more freely and let your guard down around the men. Chucky was happy to see you so happy, especially when EZ was involved, and told you that EZ was nothing like Juice if you were interested. You were and you thought maybe EZ was too, but with all the teasing from his Mayan brothers, the two of you didn't quite know how to take the next step.

As the months slowly pass, your birthday sneaks up on you. You're not one who cares for presents or parties, but you did like for it to at least be acknowledged. However, since you're in Santo Padre, you don't expect anything. So you go through your work day, an air of melancholy surrounding you that alerts your coworkers to something being wrong. Thankfully, they don't bother you after you assure them you're fine and that you're just having an off day.

On your way home from work, you get a birthday message from Tara that makes you smile before making you sad because out of everyone you left behind, she was the only person to say anything. So when you get home, you take off your shoes by the door, turn down the AC so your house will be colder, and then head straight into your bathroom to shower off the day.

Afterwards, dressed in a black tank top and a pair of joggers, you toss last night's leftover Chinese into the microwave and then pour yourself a large glass of wine. You tie your hair up in a messy bun and then take your food and drink to the couch so you can watch something mind numbing.

You end up drinking more wine after you finish off your food and then wrap yourself up in a blanket to doze on the couch. The sun is no longer in the sky when someone knocks on your door, and you startle into alertness. Then, still wrapped up in a throw blanket, you get up and answer the door.

EZ stands there, a cupcake and a single flickering candle in his hand. You slowly smile, shaking your head at him as you open the door wider. "How did you know?"

"Chucky might have mentioned something." As he steps in so you can shut the door behind him, he holds the cupcake closer to your face. "Make a wish, querida."

"Making wishes are for children, EZ."

"Just do it."

Letting out a soft sigh, you close your eyes and make a wish just to appease your friend. Then cracking open one eye, you blow out the candle. "There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Now come on. We're splitting this." On your way to the kitchen, you drop your blanket and make a beeline for the drawer where the butter knives are. EZ peels off the wrapper and sets the cupcake down so you can cut it, and then picks up his half. And then with the most heartfelt smile, he says, "Happy birthday, YN."

"Thanks, EZ." You flash him a faint smile in return.

You're not paying him any attention as you pick up your half of the cupcake, nor paying any attention to his smirk as you raise the cupcake to your mouth. Right as you're about to eat it, the bottom of your hand is pushed upward and the cupcake icing smears across your top lip and nose. "You motherfu-"

EZ laughs as you try to shove your piece of cupcake into his face, his large hands wrapping around your wrists to keep you at bay. You drop the cupcake in the struggle when EZ apologizes. "I'm sorry. I had to."

"You didn't have to do shit." You pout at him as your struggling ceases, and he continues to laugh as he loosens his grip on your wrists.

Then with one hand, EZ reaches up to wipe away some of the icing.

You don't think much about standing nearly chest to chest with him, but as his thumb swipes across your top lip, you tense. EZ freezes too and unwillingly your gaze clashes with his. You gulp at the expression on his face and your breath starts to quicken the longer you stare at one another. Then slowly but surely, it's like a flip has been switched as he raises his thumb to his mouth.

"Mmm." EZ hums with a smirk. "You taste good."

Your eyes subtly widen. "Fuck."

He chuckles at the quiet exclamation, and before you can chicken out you reach up with one hand to grasp the back of his neck. Quickly bringing his face down to your level, EZ's hand grasps onto your waist as you pull him into a kiss. He smiles against your mouth before getting with the program and letting his hands slide down to the back of your thighs so he can lift you. You hum as he sets you on the counter and then gasp as he pushes your knees apart so he can press in closer to you. His hands move to cradle your face to bring you into yet another kiss and you greedily wrap your legs around his waist.

"Tell me why.. we haven't done this sooner." He mumbles between kisses.

"Because.. we're idiots?" EZ pulls back to chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. As his thumbs brush back and forth over your cheeks and your head clears some, you reach up to grasp his wrists and pull his hands away. Your smile slowly vanishes. "What are we doing here, EZ?"

"I thought it was obvious?" He glances down to where your legs are still wrapped around him and you snort, letting your legs drop.

"Well yeah, but.." You trail off with a laugh, pushing him back a step so you can breathe a little easier. Then taking a breath to settle your nerves, you say, "I need to know what this is before I jump all in. If you abide by the what happens on the road, stays on the road rule then you need to tell me right now so I don't take whatever this is between us too seriously."

"Fuck that. I won't make his mistake, querida. If I'm with you, I'm only with you. I don't play around."

"Well that's a relief." You sigh. "Because I don't think I can share you."

"Same." EZ leans in for another quick kiss before pulling back and tugging you off the counter. "Now go change. It's Friday so we're going to the clubhouse."

"No," you whine as he starts to push you towards the living room. "I just wanna finish my wine and curl up under the blanket."

"Put on jeans. We're taking my bike."

"You're no longer my favorite Reyes brother."

"Of course I am. I don't recall seeing you flirt with Angel."

"Whatever. Just for this, I'm drinking tonight and you get to babysit my ass."

EZ laughs as he pushes you into your room, shutting the door behind you. "That's fine. We'll just sleep in the trailer so you don't fall off the back of my bike."

You continue to grumble as you switch out your joggers for a pair of skinny jeans and then throw on a purple plaid long sleeve over your tank top. The clubhouse is usually warm so you know you'll end up shedding the long sleeve not long after you get there. Then pulling on a pair of worn-in Doc Martens, you loosely braid your hair over your shoulder and keep the tie around your wrist because you'll know it'll end up back in a bun once you get a few drinks in.

When you join EZ out in your living room, you're surprised to see he has a helmet in hand. "You were so sure I'd be joining you tonight, weren't you?"

"If I recall correctly, which I do," he muses, "you once said you couldn't say no to my face."

"You and your goddamn smile," you mumble. "Give me the helmet, and lets go before I change my mind and try to seduce you into my bed."

EZ's smile falters at your words. "That.. that was a possibility?"

"Well it's not now. You're on babysitting duty, Reyes."

EZ only has himself to blame as you hunt down your phone and house keys, pocketing them before taking the helmet from his hands and walking towards your front door. He stares longingly at the hallway leading to your bedroom and you laugh while waiting for him outside. But when he's sitting on his bike and you're climbing on behind him after locking up your house and clipping on the spare helmet, he's suddenly very eager to get you to the clubhouse.

On the ride with your arms wrapped around EZ's waist, you realize how much you've missed cruising on the back of a bike. Your head falls back and you let a laugh loose towards the sky as EZ speeds up just a little bit more.

When you get to the clubhouse, it seems like a normal Friday night party. The usual hangarounds are milling around the dusty parking lot- some sitting at picnic tables and others congregating around the cage where a fight is currently taking place. You climb off the back of the bike when EZ parks, unclipping the helmet and hanging it from his handlebars. He beams at you as he removes his own, then slings an arm around your shoulders while leading you towards the porch steps.

"Don't be mad." EZ opens the door for you and you step into the clubhouse.

"Why would I-"

"SURPRISE!"

Confetti poppers explode in front of you, startling you and showering you with shimmery gold and silver pieces of paper. You gape at the gathered Mayans and hangarounds you've become acquainted with as EZ comes up behind you, sliding his arm around your shoulders again.

"What the-"

Chucky stumbles forward, dressed in his best, as he smiles at you. "Family celebrates family. Happy birthday, YN."

"Chuck-" You shake your head in disbelief, stepping forward and pulling the man into a hug. You can feel the tears coming and your face scrunches up on instinct.

"Aw, querida, don't cry!" Angel laughs.

Through your tears, you laugh as you pull out of the hug. "Shut up and get me a shot. EZ's on babysitting duty tonight."

Angel and Coco cheer in delight, the two of them eagerly rushing to the bar where a woman is currently tending to it. Bishop, Hank, Taza, Gilly, and Creeper greet you with a hug and happy birthday wishes before Angel and Coco shove a filled shot glass into your hands.

"To the birthday girl!" Angel shouts. "May she get shit faced, barf all over the place, and not remember a goddamn thing in the morning."

"To barfing all over the place!" Everyone rejoices.

You down the shot with a grimace, laughing as another woman steps forward with a birthday sash. As the men cheer while you're draped with the sash, you can't help but compare the situation here with the Mayans and previous ones with the Sons. No croweater back in Charming would be doing this, instead she'd be off to the side and glaring at you for daring to have any of the Sons' attention on you. But here with the Mayans- a majority of the women had accepted you right away without any issue, with the exception of a couple who had tested you once they realized you were going to be a regular.

"Ma, get over here!" Coco calls out. "Gilly and Angel wanna play pool. I want the birthday girl as my partner."

As you make your way towards the pool table with EZ at your side, you tie your hair up before shedding your plaid long sleeve and tying it around your waist. "Alright, gentlemen," you say as Coco hands you a pool stick, "prepare to eat shit."

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

You're three beers in when Angel and Creeper somehow end up in the cage outside. You're sitting atop the picnic table, feet planted on the bench where EZ sits between your knees, as you watch the two men throw punch after punch.

"Yeah, Creeper, kick his ass!" You shout and EZ snorts.

Angel stumbles around in the cage, eyes seeking you out. "You're a fuckin' mean drunk, querida! EZ, don't let her drink anymore."

"Oh no, pretty boy. You wanted me to drink, I'm drinking. Suck it up." You salute him with the neck of your beer bottle, giggling when Creeper swats the back of Angel's head to get him back into the fight.

EZ laughs as he glances over his shoulder at you. "That wine and beer finally catching up to you?"

"Barely." You grin while raking your nails along the back of his head. You see his eyelids flutter and you grin. "I don't plan on overdoing it. Don't worry."

After the fight, everyone finds their way back into the clubhouse with new friends from a visiting charter.

The Reyes brothers and Coco find their way to a table as YN heads off towards the bar. EZ watches as she chats up the bartender, laughing at something that's said between the two of them. He grins when he sees the bartender putting an ice pack together, no doubt for his brother who's grimacing at his bloodied knuckles. His grin then falters when a patched member from the Stockton charter moves in on YN, chatting her up.

"When are you gonna lock that down?" Coco asks. "Girl like her won't be single for much longer."

"What makes you think I haven't already?"

Angel scoffs. "You're too chicken shit to have made a move."

EZ shakes his head at his brother before all three gazes turn back to YN. Her smile seems a little forced as she continues to talk to the Stockton guy and when she catches EZ's gaze, she nods and smiles brighter than before. She says something to her companion to which he turns, frowning at EZ when he lays eyes on him. As YN walks around the guy, he decides to follow her.

"Oh shit." Coco starts to laugh.

As you make your way towards your three friends, you roll your eyes at the fact that you have a tagalong and then wink at EZ when he tries to cover his amused smile. You hand Angel the makeshift ice pack as they greet the patched member following you. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

"You spoil us, hermosa."

"Yeah, yeah. Save the flattery for the other women, Angel. I doubt your brother will tolerate it for much longer."

"Why wouldn't EZ-" You grin as you move towards a smiling EZ, standing behind him and bending down to wrap your arms loosely around his shoulder.

"The fuckin' prospect? Really?" The Stockton member huffs, shaking his head in disappointment.

Angel's eyes narrow at the guy before he looks back at you. "That doesn't mean anything. You've hung off Bish like that a couple weeks ago and he laughed before patting your hand and sending you on your way."

One of your arms straightens down EZ's chest and you rake your nails across his clothed abdomen that causes him to inhale sharply. "Sorry, 'Mano, but I don't fuck in front of an audience."

Angel's eyes slightly widen as you smirk at him.

"Ohh.. she a bold drunk," Coco muses as his gaze darts back and forth, the Stockton member walking off when he realizes he's not holding your attention.

EZ chuckles as he grasps your wrist and tugs you out from behind him. He pulls you down into his lap, sitting you sideways. "Stop teasing." And before you can say anything in return, his mouth is claiming yours in a kiss for all to see.

"Fucking finally!" Angel exclaims. You have to pull back from EZ, laughing as his brother addresses the other members. "Pay up, perras. I told you it was gonna happen today."

As Angel collects payment from many disgruntled and disappointed Mayans, you make yourself comfortable on a smug EZ's lap. "You good?" He asks, one hand running up and down your jean clad thigh.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" You ask.

"I don't know. We only just decided to give us a shot before we showed up to the clubhouse and already you had to out us just to shut up my brother."

You quickly glance back at EZ, shaking your head with a grin. "That wasn't for Angel. That was for anyone who was thinking I was available for a quick fuck in the supply closet."

"What?" His brow furrows as he tenses in his seat. "Is that what that guy-"

"It's fine." You laugh and shove his shoulder back when he leans forward in his seat as if he were about to stand. "Maria behind the bar warned him off and then I tried warning him off, but he didn't think I was being serious. Now he and everyone else does."

"Yeah..?"

"Yes." You lean forward as if to kiss him again, but stopping just shy of your lips touching. You brush your nose along his with a smile. "Now go get me another shot. I think I'm only a couple of tequila shots away from thinking I give great lap dances. According to a friend, it's quite the sight to behold."

The table in front of you jerks as Coco immediately stands, having hit his knee on the underside in his rush to get up. "On it! I'm on it. I'm bringing all the shots."

You and EZ laugh as Coco makes a beeline for Angel and then the bar, and you exhale with a shake of your head. You never thought you'd ever find yourself a part of another MC after Charming, but now- now you're grateful for their terrible treatment of you that led to you settling down in Santo Padre.

#ez reyes imagine #ez reyes x reader #mayans imagine #mayans mc imagine #ez reyes #angel reyes #coco cruz #mayans mc #mayans #ezekiel reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes x reader

[starlitmark]

Summary: Now that you and Jaehyun are on good terms, he decides to take you to meet a few of his friends. Pairing: Lee Jaehyun x fem!reader (platonic) Other Characters: Kang Hyunggu (Kino), Jung Wooseok, Adachi Yuto, Jeon Soyeon Tropes: added member au, idol au Genre: fluff Rating: PG Warnings: use of Korean honorifics, language, discussions of stress/work Word Count: 1702

Series Masterlist || prev: between us ପ next: tbd

You and Changmin had been relaxing in your room for a while now. He’s been so intent on getting you to watch Chucky for at least an hour now. Somehow the whole group of you got off for rehearsal today. You knew most of the others had plans of some sort. Chanhee and Younghoon left early this morning. Something about a day out with other trainee friends in a different company. Sangyeon still went to the company today. You didn’t understand why he would still go when this was a once-in-a-blue-moon chance to take off.

“Come on,” Changmin whines, “just the first two movies. It won’t take up your full day.”

“Changmin-” you were about to tease him before Jaehyun came in.

He throws himself on top of you both on your bed. You let out a grunt of sorts at the impact while Changmin just giggles.

“Sorry, Min, I’m stealing her.” he informs the younger.

Changmin sighs, “Leaving without me?”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease, “I’m sure we won’t be gone all day. I’ll watch only the first Chucky with you when I get back.”

You see his face light up, “You can’t be running late now, can you? Jae Hyung, get off of us!”

Jaehyun laughs and moves slowly, “There’s really no time frame for us-”

“No, no, no, you must be off!” he insists in a dramatic tone.

You usher both the boys out of the room so you can get changed and ready to go out for the day. He didn’t give you much information about where you were off to. You just hoped for the best and went with something casual. You throw on a pair of blue jeans with a white tank top, tossing a pale dusty green cardigan over it. The best option was to wear some white sneakers just in case you were walking to wherever it is you’re going. Finally, you put on a few pearly necklaces and a black cross-body purse. You’d slowly been getting better at this whole “street fashion” thing, and you’re pretty proud of the ensemble. You left your hair down but made sure to put a few hair ties in your bag just in the off chance you needed them.

The moment you step out of your bedroom, Changmin practically pushes you and Jaehyun out the door.  You hadn’t eaten much, just some cereal you managed to snag out of Jacob’s room without his knowledge. Jaehyun tries to deter the younger, but it’s useless. He keeps rambling that the sooner you leave, the sooner he can watch Chucky with you.

“Well,” Jaehyun sighs as you start your walk, “we can stop at a cafe or something if you’re terribly hungry.”

“It’s okay, Oppa. Where are we off to?”

“We’re meeting a few of my friends. I trained with them for a short while.”

“Friends?”

“Hyunggu is your age. He’s chill, I promise. You might know him better by his stage name, though.” he comments while locking up the house behind you.

“Oh, why do you say that?”

“Kino, Pentagon’s Kino. He’s a good friend of mine. He said that Yuto and Wooseok would be joining him after their recording sessions, too.” he adds as if it’s nothing at all.

“Since when have you known celebrities?” you tease, “You’re just Jaehyun Oppa.”

He grabs you and hugs you tight against his body, shaking you lightly to show his playful annoyance with your comment. You just laugh and poke at his side, effectively making him release you from his hold. The walk to Cube Entertainment isn’t horrible; you’re grateful you thought ahead and wore sneakers. As you walk, he starts to fill you in on how he knows Kino. They had gone to the same school for a while and didn’t realize until later down the road that they had both become trainees. Since then, they have formed a bond through it. Later on, he was introduced to the other members of Pentagon. Though, he remains to be closest to Kino.

Cube Entertainment’s building is massive in comparison to your small one. You’re sure if you had been signed to this company, you’d be lost on a daily basis. Jaehyun lets you know that he’s sending a text to the other to alert your arrival. Standing next to one of the entrances, Jaehyun tells you that Kino should be coming to let you inside at any moment. Just as you are going to voice your comment to Jaehyun, a young man with dusty purple-pink hair comes through the front doorway. You immediately recognize him as Kino. It’s evident they’re about to have a comeback considering that the last picture uploaded of him pictured him with black hair.

“Come on in before someone gets a picture of me.” he tells you, “My manager would have my head if I accidentally spoiled a comeback because someone saw my hair.”

Jaehyun chuckles before gesturing for you to enter before him. Kino immediately takes you up to the fifth floor, where his small studio is. He had just been given it when he began participating in writing the lyrics for the upcoming album. Although the space is small, it’s not cramped. It’s comfortable enough that you don’t feel like you’re going to be breathing down either Kino or Jaehyun’s neck at any given moment. Kino sits in his desk chair, spinning it around to save and close his projects to give you and your groupmate his undivided attention. You cautiously sit on the small couch adjacent to his desk while Jaehyun flops down in the beanbag chair in the corner of the room. If you had any hope of easing into a friendship with the already-debuted idol, that idea flies out the window when he immediately drops a giant question on you.

“So, you’re dating, right?”

You nearly choke on the air hearing the question. At first, you hope that you misheard him or the question got lost in translation. Then hearing how Jaehyun reacted, there was no doubt you heard him right.

“Hyunggu,” Jaehyun says with a warning tone.

“What, Hyung? You’ve never told me about a girl until her. Something has to be up.”

“We’re debuting together. That’s all there is to it. We’re in a group together, and we’re roommates with Changmin.”

“I’m just saying- wait, debuting together? And she’s living with you guys? What’s your company planning?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out too.” you admit, “Not that I’m complaining much. I’ll take living with stinky teenage boys over bitchy whiny girls any day.”

Hyunggu laughs loudly before pointing at the older boy in the room, “She really gets to walk all over you guys at the dorm, huh? You told me she’s the same age as me, and yet you won’t call her out for being rude.”

“I deserve it.” Jaehyun huffs.

Hyunggu doesn’t question Jaehyun further about what his comment might mean. You’re probably safe assuming that Jaehyun would rant to him about you when he still wasn’t being nice to you. The two of them begin to catch up on things, and you just sit quietly off to the side and listen to them. You don’t have much to add to the conversation at this point.

That’s when a knock sounds on the studio door. It pops open a moment later, and a girl pops her head through. She has a bright smile spread across her lips, and her chocolate brown hair flows long over her shoulder. Hyunggu lets out a playfully annoyed sigh but lets a smile grace his lips as well.

“What’s up, Soyeon?”

“Nothing, Hyunggu!” she enthuses, “I just finished my monthly evaluation and wanted to see if you had any new productions in the works.”

Hyunggu jerks his chin up, inviting the girl in. She sits down right beside you and smiles at you. You may be blinded by how bright her smile is.

“I’m Soyeon. What’s your name, miss?” she beams.

“Oh, I’m y/n.” you speak meekly, “You don’t have to worry about being formal with me. I’m assuming you’re also a 98-liner since you aren’t using honorifics with Hyunggu.”

“Mhm! Are you training here too? Wait, why is Jaehyun Oppa here too? Hyunggu, you have friends?” she rambles.

“Soyeon, chill out.” Hyunggu chuckles, “She’s still learning Korean. You’ll overwhelm her.”

“Where are you from?”

“I grew up in LA.” you explain, “I’m going to debut in a group with Jaehyun Oppa at the end of the year.”

Soyeon seems like she’s about to bombard you with about fifty more questions, but the door opens again. Two very tall young men walk in. You know their faces. How could you not when they’re known everywhere? Yuto has electric blue hair making him stand out just as much as Hyunggu does with his purple hair. Wooseok hair doesn’t stand out too boldly, having his natural black color, but his height definitely makes him stand out as always. Yuto leans over and ruffles Soyeon’s hair; she promptly smacks his hand away.

“There’s not enough fucking space in here for all of us.” Wooseok grumbles.

Yuto slaps his shoulder lightly, “Couldn’t you have waited like ten minutes before cursing in front of someone new?”

“What? She probably gets it! Being an idol is fucking stressful.”

You chuckle and scoot over a little bit to allow someone else to join you on the small couch. Soyeon moves over as well, and Yuto takes the sliver of empty space there is. Wooseok opts to throw himself down on top of Jaehyun, earning a groan of annoyance from his older friend.

You find yourself falling into a rhythm with your newly found friends. By the end of your time hanging out, you feel like you’ve known the four new people your entire life. You don’t know where this friendship will lead, but you’re so happy that Jaehyun introduced you to these people. You don’t feel as alone. You have people to talk with outside your group members and the annoying girls you used to train with. Everything is slowly starting to fall into place, and you’re beyond excited to see where life will take you next.

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2023© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @kwritersworld​ @k-vanity​

Tag List: @jaehunnyy​ @ericssmile​ @kyuqult

#the boyz fluff #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #the boyz fanfic #the boyz x reader #the boyz added member au #hyunjae fanfic #hyunjae x reader #hyunjae fluff #a sky full of stars

[goldenfreddys]

september '04, plymouth county, massachussetts: the first in a series of fatal mistakes.

The office was a stuffy, boxed-in room with big, heavy doors. Loose wires trailed across the floors, stringing here and there from dusty CRT monitors and flickering light fixtures. Jeremy rolled the chair back from the paper-strewn desk and stood up. He was fairly certain this wasn't the right place.

In the left hall, he could see a young girl quietly reciting something to herself as she walked away. He stumbled out of the office to follow her.

Though she didn’t turn to face him, she did slow for a moment to allow him to trail closer behind her. Her hair was in a tight braid, though it seemed by the various flyaways that whoever did it had only halfway figured out how to style the girl’s coily hair. He recognized this instinctually as his mother’s handiwork.

Charlotte continued reciting the same handful of letters to herself, now louder, as she led him to the dining hall.

“E. T. H. E…”

There was a metallic clunk behind the purple velvet curtain that curved out from the wall. Jeremy fixed his eyes on his sister’s back and followed closer behind her. Her pace became more urgent.

“...M. S. A. V. E....”

The stage was empty. The tables were empty. There was no sound but Charlotte, her footsteps and her letters. There was a door by the side of the stage, slightly ajar. Warm light spilled out with the sound of children laughing.

“T. H. E… M.”

She began to run. The door snapped shut.

“You can’t.” a low voice plainly stated.

Jeremy flinched awake, blearily glancing around the room until his eyes settled on the figure in front of him.

“Oh, shit.” He murmured, wiping some drool from his face with his sleeve.

The man in front of him drew back for a second, then cocked his head and leaned back in, “You’re alive?”

It was difficult to decipher if he was angry, bewildered or both. After taking a negligible gander at the man’s face, Jeremy averted his eyes to the name tag: MIKE S.

“I- I uh, I’m… Sorry?”

“You’re sorry for being alive?”

“Well, yes, but that’s- I don’t know if we should go into that one, uh, yet. I mean I’m sorry for,” Jeremy pointed at the desk, “... Falling asleep.”

“You’re not dead. Are you injured?”

“I was- was uh, I was just tired, I think. We just moved, and-and uh, unpacking and stuff. It’s been… Tiring. It uh… Won’t happen again?”

Mike let out a sharp sigh, dropping his shoulders and letting his head fall back as if he was a deflating balloon animal, “Okay, okay. Alright, sure… Right.”

Jeremy stretched, wincing as his back cracked far too audibly for someone his age. Time. He looked at his bare wrist, then started patting his pockets down for his watch- crumpled fiver in case nobody came to pick him up, wallet, keys and last night’s Taco Bell receipt.

“It’s quarter after.” Mike deadpanned.

He always thought that was the worst way to state time; quarter after, half past and such. It seemed convoluted and, worst of all, uninformative.

“Quarter after what?”

“Six o’clock, smartass. That’s AM.” Mike groaned, “Listen, kid. You work tomorrow night? I’ll come in and show you the ropes.”

Jeremy nodded, “I’ll um, go clock out.”

He wordlessly gathered his things and followed Mike out of the office. The residual adrenaline of the nightmare was beginning to taper away into a mundane, ambient sense of dread. The layout of the building was completely different than he'd expected; it was as though someone ran out of money part way through building a maze and had to turn it into a pizzeria instead. One thing he noticed in particular was the sparing use of doors, something he vaguely recalled being referred to as a “modern” design choice by the hiring manager.

Mike stopped abruptly at the end of the hall, “Nothing happened?”

“Not… Really?”

“Sounds pretty fuckin’ miraculous to me. Especially since Chucky never remembers to lock up her shit.”

Mike slowly approached the parts and service door and nudged it open with his foot. After a moment, he reached inside and flicked on the light.

From over his shoulder, Jeremy could see a few animatronics slumped on the floor, though they were evidently worse for wear.

“Everyone’s accounted for… Alright. ” Mike flicked the light off, shut the door and quickly locked it.

The two continued towards the main room, then through another few hallways and corners until they reached the staff room. Jeremy tried to focus on trivial things on the way, like his coworkers odd, almost shambling gait, and the quiet sound of a music box playing somewhere in the corner.

“Do you need a ride home?” Mike leaned against the door frame as he watched Jeremy fumble with the punch clock, “I don’t technically have to start for another hour or so.”

“It’s fine. My um- my girlfriend should be here by now.”

“Mm, run off then. I’ve got shit to do.”

#parmaverse #my writing #fnaf au

[cadkeyper]

ok, so u said u imagine fist fights w fictional characters, (honestly same lmao) which slasher or horror movie villain have u imagined beating the crap out of the most?

I’m so glad you asked.

I know for a damn fact I could absolutely smack the shit out of Chucky so bad that his patchy ass wig flies off his head.

It’s over done, I don’t care. I don’t think it CAN be overdone, because you can’t beat the shit out of this little fuck enough. Everyone and their grandma could rock his shit

“Oh but he still has the strength of a man!!” I DON’T CARE. HE IS CANONICALLY 28 INCHES TALL. HE DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH MASS ON HIS BODY TO SUMMON THE FORCE NECESSARY TO INJURE ME. I DONT CARE ABOUT VOODOO, THATS NOT HOW PHYSICS WORK. AT BEST, HE IS GONNA BRUISE ME A LITTLE.

I understand, he sometimes gets his victims through little traps. I have a working set of eyes and a good sense of my surroundings. I think I’ll be okay.

Anyway. I would take great joy in picking him up, shoving him in a blender, dumping his dusty remains on my floor and sucking them up with a vacuum, taking that vacuum bag and running him over with my heelies.

I’m telling you if I sat down on this guy, the weight of my huge ass would turn him into a paper doll.

Tiffany Valentine, please hmu I could treat u so much better 🙏

#ark answers #child’s play #chucky #horror fandom #slasher fandom #slashers #horror movies

[fanficwriter284]

So what are yall doing, cuz I'm just in my room Blasting my mix tape

“Chucky was been exploring the wonders of his height along with Slappy”

“WE CAN TOUCH CEILING FANS”

“THEY DUSTY”

“And I’m trying to play with Beau

[dame-neamhain]

𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥-𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘹 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘊𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦! - 𝘉𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘒𝘪𝘥

A make-up based on Tiffany Valentine from the Chucky series. A dusty purple shadow with a glossy black to deep pink ombre lip! Perfect for Halloween fun or a general spooky look!

XMA

The Glamour Dresser

#ffxiv mods #ffxiv mod #mod #makeup mod #makeup #halloween mod #this was part of my horror movie villians series

[littleliteraturersj]

Michael Myers & Chucky go for a joyride (Guys, I'm so fucking happy with this idea: Draft for a future chapter of my fic)

-On their way to Camp Crystal Lake from the bar they had just wrecked, Chucky and Michael head outside to its small parking lot. "Hold up," They stop and Chucky sees the dark glimmer of a beautiful Hemi 'Cuda. "You wanna know what else takes the edge off better than killin'?"

Michael gives him a studious head tilt.

Chucky dangles the keys at him with a broad grin; "I'm about to take you on a joy ride, Myers."

We cut to the vehicle winding down a dark road with the song "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac on the car's radio. With Michael at the wheel, Chucky is hollering out the window; "Heeelll yeeeaaahh!" He cranks the song up and loudly insists the other slasher to go faster with different jabs and jeers; "Come on, Mikey! Fuckin' floor it! Commee ooon, coome oonnn! My grandpa's ashes drive faster than you! Let's goo, Pumpkin Spice!" Michael instead rolls the car to a stop to stare at the doll in the passagerside.

"What're you a fuckin' pansey? Shape of Haddonfield! Boogeyman! You scared of a little speed?" When the insults don't work, Chucky sobers up a little; "I swear you'll love it. Just give it a go, huh? Don't you wanna know what it's like to feel alive again?" After a moment more of Michael's silence, Chucky slumps in his seat. "Fine, you wanna drive like a senor citizen be my guest. Forget I said anythin'."

After much prodding, Michael stares ahead at the dark road, idly tapping his foot to coax the engine into a purr. Taking note of this, Chucky slowly gets a grin; "There you go, Myers. You feel it, right? All that power? Get it revved and let's build up some spe-"

Spurred on by the purr of the engine, Michael Myers slams his foot on the gas. The Hemi surges forth and roars to life, and as they tear down the dusty road, Chucky is shouting and calling in exhilaration; "That's fuckin' it, Mikey!" With the breeze ruffling the hair of the old mask and lashing at his eyes, Michael's mouth slowly forms into that of a smirk, and then a smile. Speeding down the road does make him feel alive again.

-Later they get pulled over and murder the officer, but not before giving the cop a run for his money to Heart's "Barracuda."

Holy shit I can't wait to write this. It's going to be so beautiful. Here's the song link if you want it for the scene:

#future chapter #House of Horrors: Director's Cut #michael myers #chucky #charles lee ray #slasher buds #slashers #slasher fandom #my writing #i love this #Youtube

[marvelmaniac715]

It’s day 21 of my virtual Chucky advent calendar! Only three days left, and I can’t wait for everyone to see day 24! Today Chucky is a doll (one of the fragments created at the end of Chucky Season One) and he’s found himself being given as a present to a child on Christmas Day.

————————————————————

His orders had been to infiltrate a home and lay low. But no matter how many times he was shoved inside a box, it never got any less dark or claustrophobic. The sound of ripping paper invaded his eardrums as a sudden blast of light gave him a head-splitting migraine. 

When he’d recovered from his sensory overload, he was face to face with a beaming girl of about nine. Her curly blonde hair was styled into ringlets on either side of her head, and her crystal blue eyes shone with pure joy. A blindingly white smile reached each rosy pink cheek, and her glance towards her parents was angelically thankful.

You couldn’t blame Chucky for seeing this child as an angel at first, she looked like the picture perfect little girl. Their house was large and clearly expensive, there was a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the girl was surrounded by a mound of toys. A large fire was burning in the corner. This place felt like heaven.

But as soon as the child pulled him out of the box, he realised that this wasn’t heaven, it was hell. 

First it was the pony rides, where he was jogged up and down until he felt sick. Then the girl tried to sit on him, and all of the non-existent air left his lungs. Then she carried him up to her room by the arm, bashing him hard against the wall with each step. 

She’d gotten a new set of markers from Santa. So obviously, that meant a makeover. Chucky had never felt so degraded. A better man would reflect upon his actions and weep for his victims, vowing to wrong any possible rights. But Chucky was no better man. Instead he silently bemoaned his fate as a roughly handled plaything.

She was about to give him some ‘mascara’, but she aimed poorly. With one quick poke, his left eye was completely gone. Ugh, he could feel it rattling around inside his skull, and half of his vision was pitch black. He nearly broke then, he nearly screamed. But this child was a tyrant even before she knew he was sentient, what would she do if she found out?

The girl screeched and threw him to the floor. If he had been human, that landing would have either snapped his neck or given him a bad concussion. Instead, he just bumped his head really hard and wheezed a little, as quietly as possible. 

He was blessed with silence and peace for a few hours, then the girl and her mother came up to change into their pyjamas before going down to watch a Christmas movie. The girl had just ran out into the hallway when her mother spotted him in a heap in the corner.

“Oh, Sephy- Persephone dear, I know you’re excited to have so many new toys, and it is Christmas, but you must clean up after yourself my darling.”

The yell that the girl- Persephone apparently-sent back was flippant and bored.

“Mommy, his eye’s all messed up, I don’t wanna play with him no more.”

The woman sighed and picked him up, only to let out a little gasp when she saw his face. Quickly making up her mind, she threw open the lid of a large chest and dropped Chucky inside, discarding him with casual disdain as one would a piece of dog shit at the bottom of their shoe, shutting the lid with a loud thump.

As the family enjoyed a Christmas movie on their couch, Chucky wailed and writhed from inside the dark, dusty, cobweb infested toy box.

#chucky #chucky series #childs play #charles lee ray #christmas #horror #fanfiction

[hoghtastic]

Nicknamelist

Johannes Friends :

Creep, Weirdos, Smugs, Asskissers, bitchsquad

Johanne:

Who will not be named, leech, granny, duck, ducky, chucky, chuckhanne, chuckyrella, chuckbuck, Red, white bread, hohanne, dusty (dry) Snack, (the) shameless, (the) classless, Toast, miss selfie, copycat, elmo, casper, parasite, Joho, skankanna, Jojo, Mrs. Nanny MC Fee, succubus, Dementor, JoMi, twat, Cheese Cracker, amber heard for poors, Liar

Alex:

(The) Spineless, ( MR.) Avocado, Avocadotoast, Mr. Milland, lap dog, hypocrite, Appendix, Liar, Sucker, bitch boy, nojobboy, caricature, henpecked man, punk boy, milf hunter , Mr. Private, Fool

"amber heard for poors" 🤭🤣 Thank you for the update! 😃

#anon asks #nickname list

[casicroaks]

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 6

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1985

“It’s a fact, Tiff,” Chucky said as he patted the armrests of the chair, hopping back to his feet. “It’s just more comfortable than that ugly steel chair you like so much. You can’t argue against that.”

“But that’s an armchair, not a dining chair!” I insisted. “And besides, it doesn’t fit with the table.”

“Then we get another table!” he shouted and gestured around him. “This is a goddamn furniture store!”

“We can’t fit a bigger table!”

“We can, if we move the couch!”

“I mean, it doesn’t fit in the car!”

For a moment, Chucky stopped screaming. Still frowning furiously, he put his hands on his hips, turned to the table and walked around it, examining it and considering it thoughtfully. And, finally, he looked back at me and gestured towards it. “It does fit!”

“Really? How do you know?” I asked as I put my hands on my hips as well.

“I… I just know –it’s obvious!”

It had been nine months since we had started dating. These sorts of stupid little squabbles had become commonplace, so I didn’t worry too much. He just had to chew on his anger for a while, and after a few minutes he’d be back to his old self.

Moving had been a slow process, mostly because Chucky had to first get used to the apartment layout and to the barely-held-together chaos I lived in. He began by staying over a few nights, up until he could navigate the place without stumbling onto some forgotten coin purse, or onto a doll collector’s magazine (I had them just for the pretty pictures), or onto an old greeting card, or onto my third portable sewing kit. He didn’t like the idea of new furniture at all, in the beginning, but he finally had to agree that the cheap dining chairs were damn uncomfortable, and that the couch would get even dirtier if we kept eating there. Finally, two weeks ago he had moved in with me, and he coming along finally gave me the motivation to empty those cardboard boxes I still had lying around. Chucky didn’t have much, it seemed, besides a small suitcase of clothes, two shelves worth of books, a few sketchpads, a Garfield mug, and some records. He did have a record player, which I didn’t have, which was the best addition my apartment was needing: it was great to be able to listen to whatever music we wanted, no radio required. And, lastly, he brought along a little weed plant potted in an old Maxwell House tin, which Chucky proudly told me he had begun caring for shortly after we had started dating. I was sorta impressed at the fact that he had managed to keep something alive for so long.

Soon after he moved in, though, I brought up the subject again of wanting to paint the walls purple. I was sick and tired of that pale dusty pink, painted in rough clumsy strokes, like the skin of an old woman about to croak. Chucky agreed with me, and after discussing the rising rent prices and the general cost of living, we decided to take matters into our own hands. One stormy night we went upstairs and knocked on the door, meaning to present my new boyfriend to the landlord. He didn’t want to let us in at first, but I had been smart and brought some homemade chocolate chip cookies as a bargaining thank-you gesture for forgiving my occasional late payments. Chucky vouched for my cooking, and I think that, when he turned the charm on, it was enough for the guy to agree to offer us some coffee. After that, it was just a matter of finding the knives drawer in the kitchen while Chucky chatted the guy up, and slicing his throat from behind him when Chucky gave me the sign with a little turn of the head. And, because this was a shared one, I had kindly brought Chucky a nice big knife, too. It was much better when we worked together anyways.

Boy, we had some fun, that night. The landlord lived alone, luckily, and since it was so late and the night was so loud, what with the thunder and the heavy rain, we not only managed to make a nice red mess in the top floor’s kitchen –we also got a good loot of a bunch of suits, cassette tapes, appliances (the coffee maker in particular was quite modern, much better than the old thing I had picked out at the dollar store) and, most importantly, a fuckton of cash all sorted by apartment number in boxes in a drawer in the bedroom, the money we tenants had been paying and he had been hoarding there. After taking all the stuff back to our apartment, Chucky and I had the still-warm cookies and a smoke, and decided to leave the body there with the key in the inside of the door. No chance of passing it as a suicide, that was for sure; but we hadn’t left any evidence, and there would be no reason to believe us, two lovebirds with no financial incentive, would ever do such a thing.

 The next day we bought two big buckets of purple paint. We covered the furniture and floor with some sheets and newspaper, he lent me an old t-shirt he didn’t mind getting dirty and I helped him tie his hair, and we painted all the walls in our apartment. Admittedly, it was not the neatest work, but we were doing it together, and we listened to the dead guy’s tapes, and sang along to the songs we recognized, and had a couple smokes, and had a blast. After a few hours we were more or less done and our arms were plenty sore. We threw ourselves on top of the covered couch, his head on my lap, passing a joint from one purple-stained hand to another, and I stared at the ceiling that was still white, though now looking pale-ish lilac from the reflection of the last rays of sunlight through the window onto the freshly painted walls, and thought of the future. Maybe someday we could get a real house, instead of a tiny dingy apartment in boring old Hackensack. An honest-to-God house, with a porch and a yard, with a second floor, maybe even a nursery upstairs. A basement where we could store our own specialized knives, instead of using your everyday kitchen stuff. Perhaps an entire room for my dolls. And maybe, I though while taking a deep drag, a little greenhouse where Chucky could grow his own plants. He could use a hobby, after all… And I could have rose bushes, growing next to a white picket fence. I could have a window in front of the sink, from which to watch him come home every afternoon. And a dishwasher –my own dishwasher! Imagine that. And a proper fireplace, not the closed-up thing I used as a shelf in the living room of the apartment, but an actual fireplace around which we could snuggle during winters and talk about our day. Around which we could dance to his records. Where we could eat a wonderful homemade meal while watching a movie on TV. Where we could fall asleep, dozing off after the late-night news. I smiled, handing the joint back to him. That was the nicest daydream I had had in a while.

Now that we didn’t pay rent anymore, we could actually spend money in stuff we wanted. Once the apartment walls were looking just how I had wanted it to look for almost two years, I did the next thing I was looking forward to, and I went grocery shopping, and I got all the top-shelf stuff for once. Chucky and I had a feast that night. And, once I restyled the apartment and afforded the good stuff at the grocery store, the next thing the place was desperately needing was some new furniture to match.

So, we were at an ‘Ikea’, a new out-of-town store to buy all sorts of stuff for the home, that Molly had recommended me so we could get some furniture that wasn’t second-hand. We had seen the ad on TV and it sounded good enough to give it a try. Apparently, according to Molly, the catch was that we had to assemble the furniture ourselves, like a puzzle we would have to eventually sit on. Fair, we thought. We both liked a good challenge.

I hotwired a Dodge Caravan we found by Carver Park, since we would need something big to bring the boxes back to the apartment. We managed to avoid the rush hour and got to the store by around one in the afternoon. It was a cloudy Tuesday, and it was only us two and one middle-aged lady dragging her orthopedic shoes over the linoleum. Once we stepped in, we both glanced around in case there were any security cameras watching over us. There didn’t seem to be any. Still, we were more or less prepared to make it as hard as possible to be recognized: both of us wearing our sunglasses, me with my peach-colored hair (the red dye had been washing off, but it wasn’t ready for being fully bleached into blonde again just yet), and after some persuading Chucky had let me tie his hair in a ponytail again, so we could at least pretend to be a respectable couple simply perusing home goods.

We had hoped to simply peruse home goods, rob some chairs and be back on our way home soon. We were fools.

The place was goddamn enormous, and it was wall-to-wall covered with chairs, lamps, tables, beds, sofas, couches, desks, kitchen cabinets, bookshelves, drawers, and anything else you could fit under a roof. I was glad we had both brought our sunglasses, since after a while my eyes became pretty tired of being constantly bombarded by signs screaming incomprehensible Swedish gibberish in bright red words. There was some weird power to that place: I had worked long shifts at clubs, under flashing colorful lights and loud throbbing music, but it hadn’t stressed me half as much as that store. Maybe it was because there I could be focused on something –here, everything called my attention, everything had a million different options, to the point I had wasted easily fifteen to twenty minutes just looking at bathmats. And Chucky getting restless and annoyed didn’t help me in the least.

“We should have brought a measuring tape,” I said out loud to myself.

“We're lost, Tiff…” he groaned, rubbing his temples.

“No, we’re not,” I sighed, trying my best to keep whatever was left of my patience. “There’s these little arrows in the floor, they’re probably leading to the exit.”

“They go in circles!”

“Why on Earth would they go in circles?”

“So people stay in for longer and buy shit they don’t need!”

“You’re getting hysterical,” I said, raising my sunglasses. “Calm down—"

Big mistake. Worst thing you can say to someone to calm down, in my experience, is to tell them so.

“I am calm!” he shouted.

“Sure as hell you’re not!”

“I am!”

“Are not!”

“I am!”

“Are not!”

And so on, and so on. So much for trying to keep a low profile. I know, it was so stupid to argue about it, but I wasn’t going to let him win. Once he realized that I simply refused to back down, he huffed and puffed and just walked away, repeating I am, while I repeated are not, until he was out of sight, and then I growled and kept looking at the different pillow case swatches, after a quick pat to my bag to make sure I still had the gun. Chucky wasn’t gonna go anywhere without me. At most, he would stomp and sulk around till he calmed down, and then he’d come back, and find another thing to bitch and moan about.

 “Hey, what about meatballs for dinner tonight?” he said chipperly, appearing out of a sudden, holding a bag for me to see. I frowned.

“Hm… You really think frozen food from a furniture store’s gonna be any good?”

“You don’t know, it might be good.”

I picked the bag and examined it. “… Doesn’t look good to me.”

“You said the same about goulash,” he argued. “And now all you wanna do is go to that Polack place.”

“Well, there’s a difference between a properly cooked meal at a restaurant and a bag you fish out of a freezer.”

“Well, you’re the one who always insists on trying new things!”

I took a deep breath. I could have gone on refusing, but giving it a second thought, it had been a while since I hadn’t had meatballs, and as long as I prepared it with a good sauce, it couldn’t be that bad. “Alright, alright. If that makes fixing dinner tonight any easier…”

Chucky grinned and tossed the bag into the cart.

“Now, what color dishtowels should we get?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I like these ones,” he pointed to one with yellow stripes. “You know, simple.”

“I think these are so cute, though,” I said, showing him one with a pattern of lovely pink and red flowers. “And they’d go nicely with the purple of the walls.”

He groaned. “If you already made up your mind, then why would you even ask me?”

“Because I want you to participate in the choosing!”

“Well, I prefer the yellow stripes.”

“But yellow doesn’t go very well with purple.”

“It’s not fully yellow! Just a few stripes!”

We ended up taking five dishtowels, a side table to replace the wobbly one I had in the hall, four vases to use as glasses (their average glasses were far too small; besides, I wanted color-tinted ones but couldn’t find any in a shade I liked, and Chucky wanted, of course, yellow ones that would make anything in it look like piss), the bag of frozen meatballs, and finally the two dining chairs, what we had actually came for. It had been around five in the afternoon when we finally reached the end of the store, the checkout line just in front of the wide automatic doors. Like we had expected when we came in, it was almost completely empty: just one guy by a cash register, reading a King novel, and one security guard, half asleep while leaning against the wall. Chucky shot me a glance behind his sunglasses, sucking on his teeth. I took out the gun from my bag and handed it to him, left the shopping cart by his side, and hurried along to the security guard with a bright smile.

“Hello there! Excuse me,” I said to the man, who blinked himself back into reality and gave me a dozed off little tilt of his cap as a greeting. “I was wondering if you could help me…?” I asked as I fumbled in my bag. “I think I might have lost something…”

“Sure, miss—”

Letting out a chuckle, I wrapped my fingers around the handle. “Oh –never mind.”

I pulled out my switchblade from my bag and shoved it straight into the guard’s guts before he could even realize what was going on. He gasped and looked down in surprise. I twisted the blade and sank it deeper inside him, and he squealed, his eyes open wide, as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. I giggled, pushing upwards, blood slipping between my knuckles, before throwing my arm back and pulling the switchblade away. The guard stumbled to the side, grabbing his belly, and tripped onto the now wet linoleum floor.

“I don’t think you’re very good at your job,” I snickered as I kneeled down beside him.

He blubbered something I couldn’t quite make out. It didn’t matter, really. Grabbing the switchblade with both hands, I stabbed his gut again, a bit higher, and dragged it down, and the man finally screamed in pain. His innards gleamed under the white light of the store, juicy and throbbing and bright, bright red. I licked my lips, tensing my arms, pushing myself to sink the blade a little deeper, putting my whole weight into it, before drawing it away from his body. A thin spurt of blood splattered the side of my face, most of it dotting my sunglasses. Good thing I had brought them; otherwise, I would have really messed up my eye makeup.

The guard kept screaming, trying to grab my arms to stop me, between too confused to know what to do and too panicked to stay still. He had a pretty strong grasp, when he finally managed to grip my wrist. He was gonna bleed out anyway, though, so it was a pretty useless attempt at doing something with his last few breaths.

“You’re doing great, babe!” Chucky yelled.

I changed the hand holding the switchblade and slashed his throat. That should keep him still and quiet. But, as much fun as I was having, I had to remember this wasn’t a butcher trip. The guard yelped and groaned, and I stabbed the side of his neck, just for good measure, to finish him off. Finally, the grip on my right wrist loosened as his body laid limp, and he sputtered a couple bloody coughs before kicking the bucket. I wiped the blade against his previously-blue shirt and stood up, taking care not to slip with my heeled boots on the puddle that had stained my knees, and walked back to Chucky, holding the clerk at gunpoint.

“You okay?” he asked me, pushing a strand of sticky hair off my face with his free hand.

“Never been better,” I said with a smile, dropping the switchblade back into my bag and rubbing my wrist. “Let’s get going, hm?”

I pushed the cart through the automatic doors and onto the parking lot, where the Dodge was standing all sad and alone. Walking behind me, Chucky dragged the clerk along by his collar, pressing the muzzle of the gun against his temple to make sure he wouldn’t try anything.

“Wait… You think it’s all gonna fit?” Chucky asked me after I opened the trunk.

“Sure! We didn’t pick that much stuff…”

“Alright… Let me see.”

I turned around. “Oh –you wanna do it?”

He shrugged. “I mean, you know you’re not the best at packing, Tiff.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wasn’t that clear enough?” he scoffed. “Jesus, you’re just gonna toss it all in there without any sort of care of how it’s gonna arrive back at our place.”

“I am perfectly able to settle it all properly—”

“Oh, are you?” he asked, raising his voice. “Well, let’s see how you do it, then!”

“You know what?” I replied. “You do it, since you’re so good at it, apparently!”

The checkout guy took our little argument as his doomed chance to escape. He elbowed Chucky’s gut, ducking to dodge the stray shot, and stumbled away from us in a silly little run through the empty parking lot –but obviously he couldn’t get very far –and, even with Chucky’s pretty amateur aim, he did manage to shoot his ear off and get him to trip. Chucky and I exchanged a glance and a tired sigh, before he walked towards the whimpering idiot and dragged him back to where the car was parked.

“Is it really worth it, pal?” he asked him, now aiming straight between the eyes. “A bullet through your head for a couple chairs, a little table, some dishrags?”

“Dishtowels,” I corrected him, unloading the boxes from the shopping cart.

“Alright,” the clerk said in a stutter, raising his hands and moving back, turning paler by the second. “Alright, no need to go nuts…”

“That’s what I thought,” Chucky said, still staring right at him from behind the sunglasses. He handed me the gun back. “Don’t let him move a finger, babe.”

“Got it.”

While I kept an eye on the guy, Chucky got to unloading the boxes from the cart and stuffing them in the trunk of the car. At first there was just the sounds of him fumbling and turning them around, but after a while (and a while did pass) there were now grunts of frustration and cardboard knocking against the trunk’s door.

“Any problem, sweetface?” I asked him without looking away from the guy, who seemed to have some difficulty keeping his hands up. Maybe his arms were tired by now.

“Nah, I’m –just –peachy,” Chucky grumbled. Something fell to the ground with a loud thump! “Shit!”

I snickered. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

“Take the gun,” I said, looking over my shoulder for a second. “Let me try.”

“No, you –you keep an eye on him!”

I huffed. From the peek I had gotten of the Dodge, Chucky was setting the stuff all wrong, trying to pile up boxes horizontally that were obviously not gonna fit that way. Definitely, an example of how to pack correctly. “If you try to do it diagonally—”

“What?”

“I said, if you put the long box diagonally, then they’ll fit—”

“I know that!”

“So then do it!”

“I’m just –trying to save space for the chairs!”

“Then put them on top!”

“It’s too heavy for—” There was the noise of things being rearranged. A couple seconds passed. No noise of something hitting the ground. “… Well, let’s hope the table can hold that weight the whole trip back…”

“Be careful with the glasses,” I said, glancing back again.

“I know!”

He was putting the box of glasses just under the table. It was as if he was trying to get them to arrive home in pieces.

“Goddammit, Chucky,” I insisted, pointing at the boxes with the gun. “Let’s just put the glasses in the back seat, that way they’ll be safer.”

“I said –Tiff!”

I turned around. The clerk was running away again. What a dummy. I pulled the trigger –and the guy ran no more –and fell on his face, the top of his head blown off in a crimson cloud. The gunshot echoed throughout the parking lot. It just dawned on me I had never shot a firearm before. I smiled wide, amazed by the power that little thing had. I could see myself growing to like it.

“Hey!” Chucky called, already riding shotgun. “You coming?”

The trip back to the apartment was quite uneventful. For a while now, since we couldn’t really trust the music tastes of every single car we picked up, Chucky had been taking along a plastic bag in his coat pocket, full of tapes he had been collecting over time, so after rock-paper-scissors –the most impartial way we got to make any decisions –I got to choose the band (Van Halen), and he got to choose the album (Fair Warning). Once we got back home, though, things didn’t get any easier. It was a struggle to bring all the boxes up to the apartment, especially with Chucky’s denial to let me help him carry anything. Still, sweaty and sore, we got everything up and, after locking the door, we took a moment to catch our breaths –and we were startled by the phone ringing. He glanced at me, waiting for me to answer it, but I had a feeling I knew who it was. So I let it ring, and ring, and ring, till the answering machine beeped.

“Tiffany, I hope you’re happy with yourself,” my mother’s familiar voice came out of the loudspeaker, in a robotic, automatic tone. I let out a long deep groan. “Seven o’clock and no answer yet. Are you even there? Why are you ignoring me?”

Chucky barely stifled a laugh. I rolled my eyes, kicking my boots off and heading to the kitchen.

“Regardless of the reason, we have all been very disappointed to not have you at the funeral. Brittany was sure you would make it in time. I wasn’t, certainly, since you didn’t even call back when I dropped the news. Why would you come, anyway? It’s not like you actually give a damn about this family.”

I looked up from the telephone. What funeral? Chucky shot me an intrigued look.

“If you ever wish to pay your respects to your father, well, now you know where he’s staying for good,” She let out a deep sigh. “Consider at least apologizing. I think we’re entitled to that, your sister and I. After all, an apology can never come too late.”

There was another beeping as the machine saved the message. Standing by it, crossing my arms, I scoffed, but at least now I knew what she was talking about. It had been a while since I had been listening to any voicemails anyways. I had no idea my father had died. I wondered if it had been yesterday, or the week before. Mostly, though, I wondered what I should feel. Honestly, I felt nothing. Actually –I did feel some curiosity at the fact I did not feel anything changing. It had been my father, but I wasn’t even a bit concerned. He had been barely a presence in my life. Guess that meant I had never loved him.

“Well, shit. I guess... Sorry for your loss,” Chucky said, not very convincingly, and he lit a cigarette. “Was he, uh, sick, or something? Or just plain old?”

“I don’t know. Sick, I guess,” I barely had a memory of my mother mentioning cancer at some point in one of her hundreds of voicemails. Though it could be about one of her neighbors, or the star sign of a bridge friend. “And it’s alright, I’m not really upset about it,” I said with a quick hand gesture. “I didn’t even know he had died.”

He snickered. “Someday you’ll get an important message in that voicemail, Tiff, and you’ll have to sit through hours of automated ads.”

I chuckled along. “You get a lot of phone calls?”

He dropped the ashes on my favorite heart-shaped ashtray. “Got nobody to call me, really.”

“No parents?” I asked. “No family?”

“None,” he said, raising his chin up high. “On my own, since nineteen-sixty-five.”

Chucky was about my age. He would have been around seven, back then. Just a lonely little boy. “An accident?”

He shrugged and puffed some smoke. “Something like that.”

I leaned my head on my hand. “So where were you, then, since nineteen-sixty-five?”

He sighed and smiled at me. “We don’t talk about this sort of stuff, Tiff,” Chucky said. I plucked the cigarette from his hand. “Remember?”

“Yeah. It’s just... Since you brought up my family—”

“Your voicemail brought up your family,” he pointed out, going to the kitchen and turning on the coffee maker.

I couldn’t argue with that. Still, taking a drag, I watched him opening the purple-splattered cabinets, searching for the mugs, while I wondered what had happened in nineteen-sixty-five. I assumed he grew up with both a mom and a dad: so, the supposed accident had done away with both. Knowing Chucky, and what set him off, what could it have been? A car crash seemed unlikely but possible, if one were to judge on his non-existent driving skills. What else, then? House fire? Armed robbery? Murder-suicide?

“Dammit, Tiff, where’s the mugs?”

“If they’re not in the cabinet—”

He groaned. “You forgot about the dishes again, didn’t you?” he said, closing the cabinet door with a slam.

“You know you can wash them yourself, right?”

Chucky turned around and gave me a glare. I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to say anything else. Neither of us moved for a few seconds.

Finally, he just huffed and walked away from the steaming coffee pot. “When’s dinner?”

I laughed, despite myself. Typical of him to change the subject when it came to him doing anything around the apartment, apart from lounging around. “This reminds me, there’s something my mother used to say. Something that she was pretty dead on about.”

“Yeah?” he asked in what sounded very close to sarcasm. “What’s that?”

“‘A woman spends all day slaving over a hot stove for a man,’” I repeated –I knew it by heart, like shifting gears or gutting a fish –and took another drag. “‘Least he could do is the dishes.’ Now, ain’t that just the truth?”

Chucky laughed, as I should have expected. “If you say so… Though I don’t see you slaving all day for anything.”

“I’m a working girl!” I claimed, digging my nails in the meatballs bag and ripping it open. “I got a job!”

“To which you bailed today!” he cackled.

“To go furniture-shopping with you!” I replied. “You know that, you idiot! And besides, I didn’t bail. Molly covered for me!”

He just smiled and shook his head. I struggled with the can opener, as loud as possible, so Chucky could hear how irritated I was. It was so easy for him to say that. As far as I knew, he didn’t have a job at all. If he did, he never told me what it was. With how random his schedule could be… I had the feeling he did nothing besides slacking all day.

“I don’t see you chipping in much, honey,” I said, chopping the slippery tomatoes and waving the knife around for emphasis, sprinkling tomato juice over the dirty dishes. “So you better be thankful for me and for Cut-N-Curl’s loyal customers!”

“I am thankful!”

I grumbled, dropping the peeled sliced tomatoes in the oiled pan, waiting till the loud sizzling got lower to reply. “Well, you don’t really show it.”

Two hands grabbed my hips and held onto them, and Chucky leaned against my back. Without my heels on he was a couple inches taller than me, just tall enough to rest his chin on my shoulder.

“Don’t I?” he asked, a smirk in his voice.

Ignoring him wasn’t too hard –until he began kissing my shoulders. “You’re sweaty,” I said.

“So are you.”

“You’d better keep it in your pants if you want dinner,” I said. His hair was tickling my neck.

“I can wait.”

“I cannot,” I said, trying my best to focus on the tiny words of the recipe on the back of the bag. It said to serve them with gravy; but I didn’t have gravy, and to hell with the Swedes if they thought I would do that instead of serving them with a nice, normal tomato sauce like God intended. “We didn’t have anything for lunch. I’m hungry!”

“You can probably wait, too.”

With a sigh, I turned around to face him, placing my hands on his shoulders. “You know better than to get between me and dinner, sweetface. Besides, I am armed,” I reminded him, softly tapping the purple scrunchie I had used to tie his hair with the tip of the knife. “You better be careful.”

Chucky frowned. “You better be careful—”

“Get on with the table, so we can have somewhere to eat these meatballs,” I smiled, and sent him off back into the living room with a gentle slap to the butt.

He grumbled something under his breath, pulling the scrunchie off his hair, but he did what he was told. Well –he tried. Whoever printed the instructions had forgotten to add words to it, and just by pictures alone you really can’t build a table, no matter how easy it may seem. Chucky refused my help once again, so I stayed by the stove, stirring the sauce, amusing myself by watching him struggle with the screwdriver and the hundreds of little parts he had to keep track of among the clutter. He managed to assemble the top of it, though the legs of the table were, we had to accept, a matter for another day; in the end, I served the meatballs on a couple dishes Chucky begrudgingly washed, and we ate sitting on the floor, reading and rereading the instructions, wondering where we had gone wrong.

“It can’t be that difficult, Chucky,” I said with my mouth full. “I mean, look –here it clearly says, the legs go with these screws, so you assemble the legs and then you put in the ends of it…”

“Don’t you think I tried that?” he replied, shoving forkfuls of meat and sauce in his mouth, pointing at the illustrations on the instructions. “I did that –and it’s not right! I think what it actually means is that you have to simply nail the legs to the top, and presto, you got yourself a damn table.”

“But we don’t have any nails.”

“We can probably find some, in this mess,” he said, giving the rest of the apartment a glance. “I swear I saw a jar of nails somewhere ‘round here—”

“But they didn’t come with the box.”

“Well, then we improvise!”

We spent a couple hours, more or less, discussing how to assemble that goddamn table, and that was without even getting started on the chairs. Still, we had a good meal, and after a while we decided we had enough furniture for a day and turned on the TV and watched some old cartoons. Chucky ended up loving those Swedish meatballs –even if really what he loved was the sauce I always made.

Still, I humored him. When he asked for Swedish meatballs again the next day (and we both knew that popping over by the Ikea wouldn’t be a good idea), I tried looking up a good recipe. I asked Molly and Annie, I leafed through the meals section in the old magazines at the beauty parlor, I even ventured into a couple bookstores on the way home and browsed some cookbooks. They all sounded so flavorless and insipid, though... So, I ended up cooking my mother’s old meatball recipe, and prepared that with the same sauce and some bargain-store rice. And Chucky couldn’t tell the difference. He wolfed it all down and left the dish spotless, barely short of licking it clean.

Life went on, between workdays and dinners and killings together. It was a good life. As time passed, a routine settled with us two. From Mondays to Wednesdays, Chucky was already home when I came back from work. We went out and watched a movie, or dined out, or simply wandered around the streets of Hackensack, talking and smoking and laughing, till we found someone we could eviscerate nice and quick. He tried to convince me to go back to his old MO, picking up girls at the club and going wild in a hotel room, Jack the Ripper-style; but I’m not stupid, and I know plenty well that, besides it being a completely unsustainable way of making a killing (what with the limited number of hotels in Hackensack, and the ever-present possibility that the staff get suspicious, clock you and rat you out to the police), allowing him to go back to that method was basically a way of begging to be replaced. Not that I actually thought Chucky would really end up leaving me. I knew he wouldn’t kill me; enough time had passed for me to be sure of that. But I still had this lingering feeling that something was missing. Like there was something unsaid between us, something that we were both waiting for. It’s hard to explain. From Mondays to Wednesdays, life was all sunshine and rainbows, but sometimes, in the haze of the early morning, after my alarm woke me up and before I had my first coffee and smoke of the day, I would watch him all sprawled on my bed, sleeping soundly, and wonder what it was that felt off.

From Thursdays to Saturday, though, he just stayed for breakfast, left when I left for work, and came back home around eleven or so, sometimes even later. At first, I couldn’t say I minded much. With my motivation renewed I got back into the hang of fixing my doll collection, and it gave me plenty of time to kill. Besides, I rediscovered my love for cooking, and as I got more money to spend on groceries, I could retry those old recipes my mother had taught me. Sometimes I spent all night cooking, for Chucky to come back to the apartment in the early morning to find me struggling to stuff piles of Tupperware into our tiny fridge. We were definitely well fed, that was for sure. And even with him arriving late, we managed to find the time to go out and have fun. I just wished it didn’t pass by so quickly.

Sundays, we were completely free for each other. However, that was also the only day Molly and Annie were also free. And, apart from the idea of having Chucky all for myself, I spent most of the week looking forward to going out with them.

One Saturday afternoon, home alone and bored out of my mind, I was zapping through TV channels, and my gaze turned to the books Chucky had brought along with him when he moved in. Now I’ve never been a big reader, nor have I ever been friends with bookworms, but I didn’t need to be one to know that his literary preferences weren’t exactly common. I got off the couch and approached his bookshelf, but thought it over before kneeling down and examining them.

I told myself it was a silly thing to do. After all, curiosity killed the cat… But then again –my house, my rules. And everything I had, I shared with him. It was only right for him to share everything with me too.

“‘The Color Out Of Space’, by H. P. Lovecraft… ‘Heaven And Hell’, by Aldous Huxley… ‘Sixth and Seventh Books Of Moses’…” I read out loud, running my finger through the cracked spines. It seemed I wasn’t too far off when assuming Chucky had a badly-hidden interest in religion.

Even the newer ones were all sorta old, worn, a few with their pages loose and barely held together by rubber bands. A bunch had all sorts of junk, like ripped papers, movie tickets, greasy napkins, shoelaces and candy wrappers, used as makeshift bookmarks. Chucky could really be quite resourceful when he put his mind to it.

“‘The Homunculus’, by Kenneth Rayner Johnson… ‘The Book Of Lies’, by Alesteir Crowley… ‘Possession And Exorcism’, by Traugott K. Oesterreich…”

Some, the thinner ones, sounded a lot like the type of weird esoteric books Molly used to read during her breaks. With these sorts of names it was hard to tell which were fiction and which were not. I took one out which I was almost certain Arlene had had in her own library, a novel called ‘The Cement Garden’, and leafed through it. Chucky seemed to like to scribble on the edges of his books, apparently stuff that had nothing to do with whatever the book was about. From what I could gather, that one particular story was about these four children who lived in a dull grey house and had been abandoned by their parents; but Chucky’s notes were less about sibling dynamics and more about random ideas that had popped into his head, like issues of body disposing and decomposition chemicals. Putting the book away I wondered if someone, like a decently-competent detective, could assume Chucky’s murderous interests from a glance at his bookshelf. In TV and movies, something as personal as someone’s tastes could always be read as a possible indication of a criminal. I wasn’t so sure if that did apply to real life, though.

Apart from the books, mixed up in his shelves, there were also his many notebooks and sketchbooks. From time to time, when he got comfortable enough around me, I could see Chucky filling some empty time (meaning, when there were no news nor cartoons on TV, or simply when he said he was ‘too busy’ to help me cook) absorbed in whatever he was drawing or writing in there, all curled up with the paper just a few inches from his nose, as if he was nervous someone would pop up and peek over his shoulder. I never asked him to show me what he scrawled in there, mostly because I could assume he would not let me see. Now, with Chucky away for the day, I found myself picking one of these notebooks, running my hands over the crumpled black cardboard cover, feeling the signs of wear, the coffee stains and the dents left by hard-pressed pen sketches.

I was burning to open it and take a look. There was a chance I wouldn’t find anything much different from the rambling notes I had read on the corners of the novel, but there was also the chance of seeing something new. Something exciting. Something he hadn’t told anyone else, something he would kill me for if he knew I knew. I was so close to doing it…

But in the end, I decided I didn’t want to invade his privacy like that. And, after all, he would eventually tell me anything he needed to. Even though Chucky had moved in with me already, we were still a pretty young couple, not even a year old. I knew more about him than I had known about any of my other partners by this point in the relationship, though, and I knew that was proof of how much he trusted me.

And, besides, I also had my own privacy to take care of. Just like neither of us talked about our families to each other, we didn’t really talk about our friends or jobs either –I wasn’t even sure Chucky had a job in the first place, let alone any friends. And that was just the way it was. There was the life I had outside our apartment and outside the cover of night during our hunts, the life of Tiffany Valentine, your average New Jersey manicurist. I can’t deny there was a thrill to it, to knowing the difference between how everyone saw me and who I really was…

“… But I guess it reminds me too much of my last relationship,” I admitted to Molly and Annie, that Sunday afternoon in which we were back at the mall. Unlike Annie, Molly did understand much better the sort of style I went for, and she was really good at finding matching pieces from different stores. “And… I don’t know. I don’t think it was that thing in particular that was why we broke up, but—”

“You’re afraid that’s gonna put a wedge in this relationship,” Annie said quietly (as quietly as you could while chewing gum, that is) and nodded sympathetically. “It’s just like when I was dating Steve, y’know? When he found out I was making more money than he was –hoo boy…”

“Well, sometimes you just gotta hide some things from the other,” Molly declared, picking a pair of glittery tights from a shelf. “It’s not wrong or anything, it’s just what we do to keep ourselves sane. You can’t expect to share everything. Otherwise, if we just lived in someone else’s head twenty-four-seven—”

“Yeah, you’d go batshit crazy,” Annie chuckled.

I smiled. They were really patient with me, all things considered. They accepted there were some things I couldn’t tell them, and they didn’t really pry. Granted, they probably thought it was something like me having some side job, or some weird family history… Not what I actually did.

“I think what I’m the most afraid of is of him getting bored of me,” I said with a sigh, taking another look at the tight assortment, searching for a pattern I liked.

“Someone getting bored of you?” Annie frowned. “You, of all people?”

I laughed. “Well, it’s happened before!”

“Well then, spice things up!” Molly shrugged, now checking out the underwear section. “Bet you know how to do that.”

“It’s just that –he’s restless, you know? In the good way,” I added, and smiled a little wider. “In the best way. And I can see why someone like him would get bored of me, or want something else eventually…”

“How long have you two been together, now?” Annie asked me.

“Six months, one week and three days,” I replied.

Annie and Molly exchanged a knowing look.

“Yeah, he’s not gonna get bored of you, Tiffany.”

“Sounds like he’s in for the long haul.”

That was exactly what I wanted to head. I let out a little excited squeak. Both Molly and Annie had a lot more casual dating experience than I had, and hearing them saying such a thing with such confidence really helped to ease my worries. After that, I could focus much better on helping Annie find something to wear to her sister’s birthday party.

“… You know, I’m digging this real voice of yours,” Molly said with a smile and a nod. I had been using my actual voice around Chucky ever since we first met, but it had taken me a bit longer to get used to using it constantly around the Cut-N-Curl staff. “It’s, like, a Melanie Griffith thing, you know?”

“Really? The blonde from ‘Fear City’?” I said brightly. She was super pretty, the type of pretty guys killed for. “So far people’ve only said I sound like a cartoon… A flesh-and-bone woman’s voice a nice change for once.”

Molly laughed, and Annie laughed along. It had been so long since I had friends laughing at something I said, not at me. I grinned. They really were my friends. We had been coworkers for a long while now, but only recently did I feel like they were actually people I felt close to enough to consider them friends.

They noticed the shift in the relationship, too: now they once again invited me to go out dancing, or out for drinks, or to come along shopping, and I was feeling good enough to accept their invitations. And, once I did, I wondered why I ever refused on the first place. I was so used to see clubs just as places to work thankless jobs in, or to be where I waited for someone to pick me up and have a one-night-stand, that I had almost forgotten that you could actually have a good time in them! Molly in particular knew places where the drinks were good and cheap and the music was top-notch. I was the only one of us three with a steady partner, but being a wingwoman was pretty fun in and of itself. With my experience I could quickly tell which guys that caught my friends’ eyes were sleazeballs, which were most likely to slip something in your drink, and which were just looking to cheat on their wives. From time to time I thought of Connie, poor Connie, and the dipshit she was tied to, Kenny the cheating asshole, and wondered why good women ended up with such awful fellas. Best I could do for my new friends was watch out for them.

“Are we ever gonna meet him, though?” Annie asked, slinging the heavy shopping bags over her shoulder.

The mere idea of my friends coming face to face with my boyfriend got a chuckle out of me. “Oh, I don’t know if you’d like him.”

“Why, is he that ugly?”

Molly let out a loud laugh, and Annie snickered along. I simply smiled. I knew Chucky wasn’t the sort of guy they would go after, but I didn’t care. To me, he was beautiful, and that was all I needed.

“I wouldn’t change Chucky for the world,” I declared. “I’m just saying that you two may not… Well, you may not appreciate his sense of humor.”

They frowned. “What’d you mean?”

“He likes to tease, mostly.”

“Huh… Does he like to tease you, most of all?”

I laughed. “He sure does.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Annie asked.

“It depends… I mean, I tease him back more often than not,” I said. It really wasn’t a big deal. It was just one way we showed the other we were in a good mood. It was our way of understanding the other. “But… Yeah, I guess it can get pretty damn annoying sometimes. When he’s in a bad mood, some teasing can end up in a full-blown fight.”

“Does he know how to deescalate?” Molly asked.

Now it was my turn to frown. “How to what now?”

“Yeah, you know, when you argue and stuff… Can he admit when he’s wrong?” The mere question made me laugh louder than ever. Hell would freeze before Chucky admitted he was wrong about something. “How do you solve your arguments, then?”

“Well… Usually, when we fight, we either end up forgetting about it, ignoring it, or changing the subject,” I said. Both of us were pretty stubborn. And neither one of us would budge an inch. “Sometimes one of us does end up being right –me, usually –and the other just tries to downplay it. He’s just that proud.”

“That sounds so annoying…”

“Doesn’t that drive you mad?”

I let out a deep sigh. I had to be honest. I loved the bastard. But Chucky could really get in my nerves. He knew that he could get an easy rise out of me with his teasing, and it seemed to entertain him a lot. Granted, I also liked to annoy him… But I was definitely not half as good at it as he was at bothering me.

“So, if he isn’t even good-looking, and he drives you mad… Why do you even stay?”

The question had me thinking for a minute. I couldn’t exactly tell them about the killing, obviously. What else was there? His sense of humor, when I wasn’t the target of it? The way we had so much in common, the music we liked, the movies we watched? How he felt like the closest thing to home I’ve had in ages?

“… Well, he’s really good with his tongue.”

Annie covered her face with her hands. “Ew, Tiffany!”

“It’s true!”

Molly burst out laughing.

“Oh –just the day before yesterday, you know, I realized was down with the monthly curse, and I was kinda nervous because I was… Well, you know how it is,” I giggled. “And, apparently, he had never done the deed with someone while on the rag… And he was curious. Very curious. Particularly, to know what it could taste like.”

Molly and Annie gawked at me in disbelief.

“So, like I said,” I shrugged, grinning at the memory. “He’s really good with his tongue.”

“Jesus, Tiffany!”

“That’s way too much information!”

Still grinning, I could almost feel a familiar blush creeping up to my cheeks. I could almost hear his gasping for breath, hear the smile in his voice when, licking his sticky reddened lips, he groaned 'god, that’s good' from between my legs. “He’s just a hungry boy—”

“That’s more than enough, thank you,” Annie said, turning bright red.

“Also, he has these really nice, long fingers that he—”

“Alright! Should we go in here next?”

And the week passed me by, between killings and nail polishing, and it was Sunday again. I spent the morning smoking with him and exchanging ideas of where to try to go hunting next, on a map of the city he kept in his never-ending coat pockets. Chucky kept insisting to stay in the general Hackensack area, where he felt comfortable, while I had to explain to him, over and over, that unless he wanted to get caught and spend the rest of his days rotting in jail, we needed to find other ways and places to have fun with our little pastime.

We didn’t get to an agreement. Most we could do was for him to agree that we wouldn’t be able to keep our carnage going through Hackensack without eventually slipping or putting our identities at risk, and for me to admit that moving somewhere else would bring a whole new set of problems we might not be prepared to deal with. None of us liked to discuss this, but it was necessary. As quickly as we could lose our temper, we both wanted to keep this going. And to do that, we both needed to stay alive and out of the slammer.

And, after that conversation, I was due to go out with Annie to the movies. She wanted to watch that Madonna flick that had come out, and I hadn’t gone with Annie to the cinema yet. I asked Chucky if he wanted to come along –out of sheer courtesy, since honestly, I was assuming the cinema would be packed and there would be no more tickets left for him to join in –but he just chuckled and said he would come next time. So, I left him home.

Before I met up with Annie, I finally allowed to ask myself what on Earth Chucky did while I was away.

“The movie was pretty boring, really,” I said with a sigh when I came back, as I locked the door. “Not enough romance, not enough drama, and certainly not enough Madonna to make the admission price worth it.”

“Well, ain’t that a shame,” he said, sprawled over the couch with a sketchbook resting on his chest, fidgeting with a pencil. “Hey, Tiff?”

“Yeah?”

“I read on the newspaper that there’s a drive-in by Schlegel Lake, past the Cedar Park cemetery,” Chucky said, trying very hard to sound casual. “They’re showing House Of Wax tonight.”

“Oh –the Vincent Price one!” I said excitedly. He smiled and nodded. “The one with him and Carolyn Jones!”

“Yeah, that one. So—”

“You say I make today a double feature?” I smiled, plopping by his side on the couch and playing with his hair. “Aw, were you too bored without me?”

He scoffed, but I knew he had been so. “I’m saying because I haven’t seen that one yet.”

“Oh, you’ll love it!” I said, going back to the subject. “It’s, you know, old, so no guts are gonna be spilled –but you can fill in the blanks with your imagination…”

“So, we’re going?”

I grinned wide. He grinned back. “Let’s see what we can find.”

It was eight o’clock when we got out of the apartment, and the showing was at a quarter past nine. Plenty of time to find a good ride, stop by some store on our way and get a few snacks. Wandering around a parking lot near a hotel I spotted a gorgeous black Pontiac 6000, spanking new, shiny and sleek. Chucky graciously smashed the side window for me and deactivated the alarm before it got too loud, and in a matter of seconds the engine was revving, my hands were gripping the steering wheel, and we were out into the open road.

“You know about those cross-country trips some couples do, Chucky?” I asked him, adjusting the rearview mirror.

“I’ve heard of those,” he said while fumbling in his coat pocket. “Now don’t miss the next exit, coming up in a while… Otherwise we’ll have to turn all the way around,” he continued, unfolding another map and searching where we were in it.

I gave it a quick glance and laughed. “Darling, I know where we’re going… We don’t need the map.”

He turned to me with a frown. “You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Alright, then. Don’t get us lost,” he said, and lit a cigarette, though he kept the map open on his lap.

“As I was saying,” I said, turning a sharp left, and he hit his head against the doorframe and groaned. As always, Chucky refused to wear a seatbelt. He’d regret it someday. “I was thinking, wouldn’t it be nice to go somewhere else, sometime? Travel around, see the world… Go to California, where that big Hollywood sign is… And I’ve always wanted to visit Niagara Falls, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess it could be fun,” he shrugged, squinting to read the words on the map. “Though I’m more of a set-your-roots type of guy…”

“Sure you are,” I chuckled and, after a while, I sighed. “Anyways… It doesn’t hurt to dream.”

He groaned. “Shit—”

“What?”

“I think I bumped my head real hard.”

I laughed again. He grabbed his head, and let out a little chuckle, too.

Right then we passed by a gas station-drugstore combination. Chucky looked out the window, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Wait up—”

I stepped on the brakes, barely stifling a snicker when he hit his head again against the top of the roof. “I told you, you gotta buckle up, hun—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he grumbled and opened his door. “I’m gonna get some snacks. Salt and vinegar?”

I nodded, drumming my nails on the steering wheel. We went out to the movies quite often, but this was the first time we went to a drive-in. That little novelty was enough to get me pretty excited. “Oh, and also cherry Pop-Rocks. And another pack of cigarettes.”

“Got it,” he said, putting on his sunglasses. He got out the car and, flicking the butt of the cigarette he had just finished, he walked to the convenience store.

“And if you’re gonna get beer, get it from the fridge!” I yelled out the window.

He turned around, gave me a thumbs up, and went in through the automatic doors.

I knew he would take some time and pick other stuff too, so I just sat back and retouched my makeup in the rearview mirror. Just in case, I checked how we were doing gas-wise. We wouldn’t have any problems going back to the apartment, but I figured that we might keep the car a little longer, giving how it was brand new and so comfortable. Maybe not now, but eventually Chucky would think about what I had said about travelling, and this kind of ride was just the best we could hope for.

Maybe just in another color, I thought, choosing a music tape from the plastic bag. A woman and her two kids were on a nearby car, waiting for a gas attendant. She shot me a tired smile, clearly fed up with her children. I smiled back at her. Shit, he was taking a lifetime to pick up the snacks. I got out of the car, glanced at Chucky wandering the aisles through the glass walls of the convenience store, already carrying the salt and vinegar chips, the Pop-Rocks and some SweeTarts and black licorice that he liked to stack up on; leaned against the driver’s door and got to filing my nails, since they were becoming a bit too long and not sharp enough for my taste.

A few more minutes passed. I huffed and looked up at the convenience store. I saw Chucky take out a couple crumpled bills from his pocket and drop them on the counter, meaning he was about to come out so we could finally get going to the drive-in, hopefully before the showing began. He was about to leave when the clerk said something. Chucky turned around and, with a shit-eating grin, replied with something probably not very pleasant, and flashed the edge of the knife he was carrying in his coat pocket. I smiled to myself, looking back down at my nails.

I almost broke one when a gunshot pierced through the glass door and shattered it to pieces. The store clerk had a rifle in his hands, gripping the weapon as if hanging on for dear life. Suddenly I felt my heart in my throat. For a second I held my breath, expecting a red puddle soaking the broken glass… But I managed to breathe again when I saw Chucky crawling on the floor, slinking back to the counter of the store without the clerk noticing. He stabbed him in the back, shoving him to the floor and going to town with him, stabbing him over and over until the teen’s white shirt became completely soaked with blood. I was growing restless –he was taking far too long. Chucky took a moment to pull himself together, give the body of the kid a kick, lit a new cigarette and peered over the counter to the open cash register… And there appeared to be a sound that I couldn’t hear, something that made him jump. And, now panicking, Chucky picked up the rifle before the half-dead clerk could drag himself to it, pushed the muzzle against the guy’s back, and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered upwards all over his face, like a geyser. I would have expected the gunshot to have sounded much more muffled that way –but it was barely any lower than the previous one.

It all happened so quickly. Only when he looked up back at me, eyes open wide, and heard the gasps and screams of the handful of people at the gas station, it dawned on me just in how much trouble we were.

“That son of a bitch,” I muttered, tossing the file in through the window. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!? Putting on a show!?”

“Start the car!” he screamed back.

“Tell me at least you got the Pop-Rocks—!”

“Start the fucking car!”

Just as he yelled this, we were startled by the sound of police sirens. They were coming at a distance, undoubtedly called by the gunshots. In the hurry he dropped the SweeTarts and the Pop-Rocks.

“There was an alarm in there,” Chucky said, hopping into the shotgun seat and slamming his door shut. “A fucking alarm! Now convenience stores have alarms!? How was I supposed to know—!?”

“Stop moaning over nothing—”

“C’mon, we gotta go!”

“D’you get the beers?” I asked him, closing my door and starting the engine.

“Yeah—!”

“From the fridge?”

“Goddammit, woman –step on it!”

I dug my heel and the wheels screeched as we zoomed away. I wanted to look at him and check that he was alright –but I was too pissed –and way too worried about the patrols blaring behind us.

“You fucking idiot –did it occur to you that you might’ve left any witnesses back at that little display you made?” I told him, just short of a yell. “Witnesses that could identify you?”

“I checked for cameras first thing when I came in, and there were none,” he replied. “Same with customers, I was the only one there.”

I thought of the woman with the two kids. I hadn’t my sunglasses on. If we were caught, she might very well identify me. “Well, isn’t that’s just fantastic.”

“I’m not fucking braindead—”

“Yeah, sure.”

There was the exit we had to take to the drive-in, but I knew that, even if the movie had already started, we couldn’t get there just yet. Chucky opened the glovebox and stuffed in the bills he had grabbed out of the cash register at the convenience store. Judging by the low numbers and how quick he was done, it was clearly not much.

“God, what a fucking idiot!” he yelled, kicking the glovebox shut. “Putting your life on the line for goddamn chump change!?”

“Maybe that was his livelihood…”

“Don’t give me that shit, Tiff, you know it wasn’t,” he said, holding onto the roof of the car while I swerved. “Y’know, if you’re a store clerk, you got one job. Sell people stuff. If someone shows up with a weapon –you don’t do shit! It’s not your place, it’s not your job… Why the fuck would you try to pull some stupid shit like that? Just to get your brains blown off!?”

“Why so fixated on that one little kill?” I asked him, growing annoyed. “Are you feeling guilty, or anything?”

“Of course I’m not,” Chucky frowned as he pushed his hair out of his face, all sticky with blood. “I just –the fucking balls of that kid! At my store I would never—!”

“Your store?”

I finally turned to stare at him. Chucky shut up out of a sudden. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“… Keep your eyes on the road, Tiff,” he said coldly.

“Your store, Chucky?” I insisted. He kept silent. “You own a store?”

“No, I…” He let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “… Ah, goddammit –I’m… I’m a clerk at a convenience store.”

“You’re a clerk?” I repeated, smiling wide, and laughed.

“Shut up!” he yelled, kicking my leg. I kept laughing. “I swear, stop laughing—!”

“I’m –I’m not laughing at you—!”

“Oh, really!”

“It’s just that… Shit, Chucky, you could have told me so before!” I said. “I thought you were just a slacker… But we’re the same, really. I’m a manicurist, you’re a clerk—”

He sighed and nodded. “We both make minimum wage—”

“I’m glad to know that now, honey,” I said, giving him a brief smile. “But why didn’t you just tell me, instead of trying to keep up this silly act?”

“I… I don’t know, I thought it was stupid…” he muttered. “Like, Tiff, what do you actually expect of a goddamn convenience store clerk? They’re not exactly known to be the sharpest or most respectable of individuals…”

“Well,” I said. “That’s how you keep me guessing.”

He chuckled. The nice revelation was cut short by the ever-louder racket of the police sirens, and some gibberish a cop yelled through a megaphone.

“Fuck—”

“Didn’t you bring your gun?” I asked, even though, realistically, I wasn’t sure he could do much with it in that situation.

“How the hell could I know we would end up like this!?”

 “Alright, then,” I huffed. “Guess I gotta do everything here!”

I swerved again, this time to dodge the police cars that were already closing by. I finally got a good look at them through the mirror: only two, fortunately, though it was still two more than what I would have liked.

“Start the music.”

“What?”

I couldn’t think with those sirens ringing in my ears. “I put a tape in there –start the music!”

Chucky finally did as he was told and turned on the player. A loud guitar riff cut through the noise –and I grabbed tighter onto the steering wheel –pushing my shoulders back –letting out a deep shaky breath. The drumming, like an echo of the humming of the engine, grounded me on my seat, in my body –as I pressed down, tensing up, focusing fully on what I had to do.

“Buckle up, sweetface,” I said.

The patrol cars zoomed past us –one of them smashing the rearview mirror on Chucky’s side –and I went backwards on the road, turning around once more, giving the Pontiac a quick spin before heading forward again. Blue and red blazed on the bumper. My hands were cold and clammy. I dashed away, accelerating as much as the Pontiac could give, dodging the other cars going on the opposite direction. I tapped my nail quick to the drumming, needing some outlet to release some of the pent-up energy I was gathering before—

A semi-truck boomed and flashed bright white –I grit my teeth –and let a second more pass –before finally turning left –knowing the truck would turn right –just in time for the patrol car behind me to have no time to react –and crash directly onto the cargo.

“Shit!”

“Put on your seatbelt!” I yelled.

I got off the road –onto the grass –on a bumpy ride away from the bright lights, feeling the music louder, the machine vibrating and rattling my teeth –and shifted gears.

“Did we lose them?”

“There’s—”

He didn’t need to finish that thought. I could hear the sirens underneath the guitar solo, and soon I saw the red glow in my reflection on the rearview mirror. Fine. If they wanted to dance, then we would dance.

“Late at night, all systems go, you’ve come to see the show…” I mouthed along, nodding my head along. Once I turned around, I could start our way back to the drugstore-gas station combination.

The Pontiac was a beauty, that had to be said. Quick response, quick shift, good sound… And as fast as the patrols could go, I could always go faster. There was a long line of crashed cars and blinking lights along the road, once I got back on it. I took one of the exits knowing the patrol car would come along –and I skid at just the right time –another attempt at getting the cop to crash against some other poor sucker –but they had wised up –and they managed to turn quick enough to just get a little paint scratch –and they were soon speeding behind me again.

“They just don’t give up—”

Chucky then moved back suddenly –I turned to look at him for a second –but he turned around to face the windshield soon enough.

“We got another—”

“Shit.”

I pumped the brakes just as I turned the wheel –and one of the patrol cars barely missed us –going straight past us –and crashing headfirst against a civilian car of someone that had been smart enough to stop and leave –and the patrol driver who clearly wasn’t following the safety measures was sent flying through the windshield in a rain of shattered glass –crashing against the road –smashing his head wide open.

“Holy shit—!”

One left. Just one, and if I managed to get him to give me chase back to the gas station…

“Alright –I’m putting my seatbelt on—”

My heart was beating like crazy in my throat –in my head –and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning wide, gritting my teeth, knowing I had fucked up two whole cop cars –by myself –and that just as I did it before, I could do it again—

“Hold on tight—”

I accelerated –speeding faster than before, fast enough that I could get some real headway between me and the on-edge driver of the last remaining cop car –and I swerved –and I stared down at the cop car that had stopped just beside the busted and fucked up body of the dead officer. I revved the engine, loud enough to be heard over the guitar shredding. I stretched my neck, feeling taut as an arrow’s bow, ready to shoot, ready, ready –and the cop’s lights were faint now, as if the cop himself knew what was coming to him –though it might have been that it just looked less bright when beside the almost radioactive glow of the white and red lights of the gas station –whatever the case…

I revved again, staring down at the car on the other side of the road. The moment of stillness did little to bring me down. It was a particular type of high I hadn’t had in a long time –different from bloodlust –not that different –but different enough.

“Here we go!”

The cop car finally started –I grit my teeth –and started too –going full steam ahead towards them –as fast as the machine could –daring them to swerve –because I was not stopping –I was not stopping –and I wasn’t afraid to—

“Tiff—!”

The cop car swerved –like I knew they would –to the right –like I knew they would –and just by where they turned –and by how fast they were going –almost as fast as I was –they lost control –the car turned on its side –and slipped over the curb –over the bump –and right onto the gas station –and I could swear I heard a scream—

There was a big, loud, glorious explosion as the cop car slammed against the station, a burst of orange and yellow light, a wave of heat and noise. I stopped the car for a moment, just enough to take it all in, before realizing that I had braked just beside the little battered bags SweeTarts and Pop-Rocks. I opened the car door, picked them up, and drove away, taking the next exit to the drive-in.

“Jesus –fucking –Christ!” Chucky finally stammered, trembling with excitement, and let out a shaky laugh.

I laughed along, feeling my hands shaking too, as I led the car gently through the drive-in entrance, through the dark and quiet crowd, and parked in the first empty spot I could find. I felt as if I was burning alive, as if I had been the poor schmuck blown to pieces at the gas station. I could feel the heat coming off me, like a vibration, like radiation. It was like fury, like when I couldn’t hold back my anger anymore –but it wasn’t anger –it was something else –it was like back at the hotel room when we had first met –it was something else entirely. I stared at my hands, pale from gripping the steering wheel, and then at Chucky’s, stained red.

The movie had already started. We had arrived pretty late: the museum was on fire and the wax figures were melting, their paintjobs slipping off like masks, their eyes popping off their sockets, their skins liquefying and coming apart. Only then I finally turned to look at Chucky. He had taken his sunglasses off, and his big blue eyes were open wide, glassy and reflecting the glow of the drive-in screen. The rest of his face, unshielded by the glasses, was completely drenched in the blood of that kid he had killed with a rifle to the back. When his lips parted to take in a sharp breath, a thin drop of it refused to open up, like the first silky string in a spiderweb.

I kissed him before I could even think about it. He chuckled in surprise once I moved away, now with blood on his teeth like lipstick stains, and put his hand on my nape. His eyes went over my face, as if he couldn’t believe I was sitting right by him.

“Shit, Tiff, that was…” It sounded like he had something stuck in his throat. “That was…”

“Speechless? That’s a first,” I teased him, leaning forward, wanting to kiss him again.

He scoffed, but stroked my neck, and I felt the thick, wet, warm blood he smudged on my skin. I quivered. My heart was beating like mad.

With the biggest grin on his face, Chucky turned back to the screen, pushing his hair back off his face, and sighed. I kept my eyes fixed on him, on how his black hair was slick with blood now, just exactly like when we first met, when he kissed me for the first time –and I felt lightning in the tip of my fingers, a shiver up my spine, a shudder going from my toenails to the last hair on my head.

“Chucky…”

He looked back to glance at me, his eyes still shining, his chest still moving up and down, still breathless and thrilled after the chase. I smiled at him, moving closer, my knees sinking on the Pontiac seat, reaching his shoulder with one hand, the other slinking under his shirt.

“Kiss me.”

It took him a moment to focus on me fully. When he did, he smirked and leaned forward and kissed me –a nice, deep kiss –and I pulled him closer, the closest I could, opening my mouth and tasting his lips, the blood spreading to my face as he pressed his forehead against mine –as he cupped my face –as he leaned forward further –his arms wrapped around me and me kissing his neck, him gasping and holding onto my back –I could hear the crackling of the hellish fire on the movie screen –and if I closed my eyes and focused on his fingers undoing me, pressing tight and squeezing and pushing, I could feel the rising warmth on my cheeks and my chest and my thighs, the warmth of his own body, his hands slithering under my skirt as I leaned back and straddled his hips and opened my mouth wider and moaned, as everything was dark and black and endless, everything except his eyes and the red light of the blazing fire.

#childs play #chucky series #fanfiction

[greensparty]

Remembering Bill Butler and Vivian Timble

Here is my combined remembrance to two entertainers we lost this week:

Remembering Bill Butler 1921-2023

Cinematographer Bill Butler has died at 101 (not a typo). He was nominated for an Oscar for Best Cinematography on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which was shared with Haskell Wexler. He was Director of Photography and in the camera dept. on numerous films, but the highlights include Jaws (my favorite of his films), Grease, Rocky II - IV, Stripes, Biloxi Blues, Child's Play (easily the best Chucky movie), and Hot Shots!. 

one of the many iconic shots in Jaws Butler photographed

The link above is the obit from Variety.

Remembering Vivian Trimble 1963-2023

Musician Vivian Trimble has died at 59. She was the keyboardist for Luscious Jackson from 1991 to 1998. 

The NYC group was a big part of the Alternative Nation in the mid 90s. I first became aware of them with their song “Citysong”, which was on MTV and they performed on SNL. In June 1995, I saw Luscious Jackson open for R.E.M. at Great Woods (Mansfield, MA) and they had some good songs, but I got the sense they would play better in a club. In the following years they had some appearances on movies soundtracks including Clueless and Good Will Hunting. They also had some hits like “Naked Eye”, one of my favorites of 1997. In addition to Luscious Jackson, Trimble and bandmate Jill Cunniff had their side project Kostars. After Trimble left Luscious Jackson, she formed the short-lived Dusty Trails with Josephine Wiggs of The Breeders. 

Trimble (left) and Luscious Jackson in 1995

The link above is the obit from Rolling Stone with music videos embedded.

#rip #bill butler #cinematography #one flew over the cuckoo's nest #jaws #grease #rocky movies #stripes #biloxi blues #child's play #hot shots! #film geek #vivian trimble #luscious jackson #clueless #good will hunting #kostars #dusty tails #josephine wiggs #the breeders #music nerd

[hooniaddict]

Finished Dusty & Cherry. I was gonna add text but procreate was being weird and would freeze whenever I tried to add text, so no text.

#artist #digital art #artist on tumblr #digital drawing #slasher community #chucky the killer doll #leatherface #slashers #Dusty is Chucky #Cherry is Leatherface #I wanna work on other stuff #so be prepared for Halloween art #in the middle of November #hell yeah #skullydraws