#also cut up an old pair of uniform pants and stuck some pins in there. cuz fuck my old school

[alex-just-vibing]

my mom: hmm where'd all my safety pins go

me (decided like an hour ago that i really really wanted to get into alt/punk fashion and diy):

#my stuff #stuck some in my ears #honest to god i have no idea how my piercings didnt close up by now i got my ears pierced at claires when i was like seven and rarely wear #earrings but somehow they still. are open #also cut up an old pair of uniform pants and stuck some pins in there. cuz fuck my old school #... without asking her so i hope she wont get too pissed at me about that 😅 #put some on my jacket too B) #i think punk fashion is so cool and i am doing. what i can over here without a job or means of independent transportation

[datninjalyfe]

Stay, Part 1: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Training Time

Tap…. tap…. tap.  Katsuki hit the back of his pen against the desk.  He was mostly done with the exam Ectoplasm gave at the beginning of class, but decided to take a bit of a break and breathe for a moment.  He wasn’t too worried.  The exam was mostly like the class work they had done for the past couple of weeks, so he reviewed over his notes to study for the past few days.  He was also number 2 in the class, only barely behind Momo Yaoyorozu.  Nothing was worse than chasing after someone, but if he had to be behind someone, he definitely wanted it to be behind the girl with the nice ass so he at least had something to look at.  He laughed a little at that, but was suddenly startled by the squeaking pencil of someone nearby.  

Izuku was next to him, pressing his pencil hard against his paper, furiously writing on the exam.  It felt as if someone was grating Katsuki’s ears like they were made of cheese.  He glared over at Izuku, whose head buried in his exam, muttering to himself something that was inaudible.  Katsuki went back to his exam, trying to ignore the sounds coming from next to him.  Katsuki finished his last question and walked to the front to turn in his paper.  He walked past other students, who were diligently working against the clock.  

“You two finished?” Ectoplasm asked.  Katsuki turned to see Izuku next to him, also holding onto his test.  They both nodded.  “Good, pass them here.”  His voice was so deep it gave Katsuki the chills.  Katsuki handed over his paper.  At least when he sat down, he wouldn’t have to listen to Izuku’s pencil.

Katsuki started to turn around when he heard Izuku say, “Sir—?” Ectoplasm shifted his gaze over to him.  “Could I go to a training room?  There’s something I still need to work on and I want to get it right before the practical this afternoon.”  

“Yes.” Ectoplasm said, a man a few words.  “You should go too, Bakugou.”  

Katsuki glared at him and growled, “I don’t need to train.  I’m ready for this afternoon.”

“You two are the first ones done and I don’t want you distracting the other students.  You can practice together.”

Katsuki thought about it for a few seconds.  He wanted to train, just not with this nerd. “Fine.” He eventually said through his teeth.  Izuku nodded his head with a slight Mhm sound. Katsuki grunted, but started walking out to the training room.  It wasn’t too far from the building they were in now, but it was definitely a few minutes away.  “That’s the problem.” This walk.

“Huh?” Izuku said.  

God, could he never get a moment of peace away from him?  They lived together in same dorms, went to school together, in the same classes together. Christ, they fucking grew up together. He could never just get Izuku to leave him alone.  “Shut the fuck up, nerd, I didn’t say anything.”

“What’s the problem, Kacchan?” he asked, ignoring him. He had clearly heard what Katsuki said a few moments ago.  It made Katsuki’s blood start to boil.  

Katsuki stopped and tried to push it out of his mind, but it spilled out of his mouth, “You are, nerd.  I can never get rid of you.”

“Do…do you want me to go, Kacchan?  I can wait for someone else to be available—,”

“You started this.  Besides, you heard what ‘Ultra-plasmic’ or whatever-his-name-is said.  You need the practice and I need a human target.”

Izuku smiled a little. “Yeah, well, I didn’t plan for him to put us toge—a human target?”

“Shut up, Deku.” Katsuki growled.

They were quiet for a moment and just as Katsuki thought Izuku had actually listened to him, Izuku said, “How do you think you did on the test?”

“Jesus, you never stop talking.” Katsuki glanced at him.  His freckles became increasingly darker when his cheeks were pink.  Katsuki rolled his eyes.  “But I think I did fine.  Just reviewed my notes to study.”

“It was certainly easier than I thought. Ectoplasm’s exams aren’t normally that easy, so I thought maybe it was a trick, but I think that the answer to question 3—,”

He’s rambling now. Katsuki tried to tune him out as he continued to talk about one of the questions.  Katsuki was not going to tell him he found that question a little challenging as well, but there was a little trick that Ectoplasm had taught them and Katsuki was sure to write it down.  

“I used the technique he taught us earlier in the week where you have to—,”

“I REMEMBER!” Katsuki snapped, turning towards him.  He felt his shoulders at his ears.  He tried so hard to relax, especially when Izuku was around, but he made it so hard.

They had reached the building and Katsuki thought about blasting the door forward before Izuku jumped forward, grabbing the door. “Tch,” Katsuki snapped and stomped his way past Deku, trying not to look at him, but caught a glimpse.  The bastard was smiling.  Fucking smiling.  Why is he so fuckin’ happy all the fucking time?

They walked to the locker room to change out of their formal uniform into their blue, P.E. uniforms, but Izuku just said, uneasily, “I’m going to go to the bathroom to change.”  Katsuki watched him nervously laugh and walk away slowly.  He took off his school uniform, pulling the tie off first and unbuttoning his shirt.  He thought for a moment if he should be completely shirtless for the fight, but thought against it.  He wanted to be as sweaty as possible for his fight against Izuku.  He took his pants off and the door to the locker room burst back open, startling Katsuki for a moment.  It was just Izuku, who was already done changing.  Fuck, he’s fast.  The clothes were tight against Izuku’s body and didn’t leave much to the imagination.  Katsuki made a sort of grunting sound and finished putting on his clothes as well, which loosely hung from his body.  

“Good, you’re ready!” Izuku said and jumped up, walking directly next to Katsuki.

“Walk behind me, you idiot!” Katsuki said and Izuku chuckled and took a good step back.  The fuck is he laughing at?  

They walked into a training room and unsurprisingly, it was being used, but not by students.  Mr. Aizawa, their former homeroom teacher and Eri were practicing using Eri’s quirk.  Her horn was slightly bigger than usual and she was concentrating incredibly hard on a large apple tree with Aizawa watching her closely.  She was more proficient at using it as the apples upon the tree shrunk in size.  

“Eri!” Izuku said.  She turned her gaze, noticing the boys in the doorway.  She was shocked to see them both, but Aizawa’s hair went up, his gazed fixed on Eri and her quirk suddenly stopped.  The apples were no longer apples, but instead had been shrunk and flowers took the place of them.  It almost looked like a totally different tree.  The apples were in a new, but old stage of life—their blossoming stage.  

“Deku?” she said, squinting over at the doorway, making sure it was him.  “Deku!”

“Wow!  Looks like you’re really getting a handle on your quirk, huh?” Deku asked, running over to her.  Katsuki didn’t run the way Deku did, but instead just walked over to the tree and pulled off a small apple that hadn’t quite been rewound all the way.  Eri nodded, her horn starting to shrink thanks to Aizawa.  

“We reserved this room until 2 today—,” Mr. Aizawa started to say, but Eri interrupted.

“Excuse me, Mr. Eraser?” she bowed her head in respect. “I would like to take a break and maybe watch Deku?”  She was so sweet, even Katsuki couldn’t deny it.  She didn’t make eye contact with the teacher, but Mr. Aizawa closed his eyes for a moment, his hair falling on against shoulders. and reached into his pocket for his eye drops.

“I’ll give you a break.  You watch the boys.” Mr. Aizawa used the eye drops and blinked a few times.  He then held his hand out and Eri took it.  He then turned his gaze to the boys.  “Do you need any input?”

“Actually, yeah, that’d be—,” Izuku started, but Katsuki glared at him.  If he could slice Izuku in two with his eyes, he would’ve, but Izuku must’ve seen him because he shifted to, “No, we should be fine.”  

“Sure thing.” He knelt down to Eri, who finally looked up at him.  He pulled his hair back into a bun and told her, “Sit over there, I’ll be right back.” Aizawa pointed to chairs behind some glass.  “You can watch them through there, Eri.  Maybe you can learn something from these two.  Though probably not.” He turned and looked directly at Katsuki.  “Be careful.”

“Tch.” Katsuki didn’t need anything from Aizawa. He had left them to Ectoplasm to help train Eri.  And while that was admirable, Katsuki couldn’t help but think that Aizawa was a better teacher than Ectoplasm.  He learned so much in his first year, but now in his second, he was stuck with someone who didn’t have the first clue how he learned.  Katsuki wasn’t like the others.  He’d grown up since Eri’s age of people telling him that his quirk was so special and that he was special.  Aizawa had a way of always letting Katsuki train how he wanted and that’s how he learned.  By doing, not by listening.  And Ectoplasm was too busy helping the mediocre students try to catch up to him.

Catch up to him and fucking Deku.  

He watched Izuku take off his jacket to reveal a perfectly carved abdomen—a skinny six pack, but Katsuki quickly looked away as Izuku pulled his pants up, but not before he caught a glimpse of Izuku’s lower abs that cut into a prominent v-shape.  He shook his head.  That was a sight.  He tried to shake it out of his head, but then Izuku turned around and threw his jacket to the side of the room.  His shoulders were getting bigger and more muscular, but not as big as Katsuki’s, who took off his jacket as well, but he wasn’t completely shirtless. The tank top was tight against his chest, but he didn’t mind that.  He’d never admit it, but it was like getting a constant hug.

Izuku stretched for the fight.  For this afternoon, students would be pinned against each other to learn how to better use their quirks. It was like the sports festival, but each student had worked on one special move and that was the only thing they could use against each other. They already had their pairings—Izuku being paired against Sero and him being paired against Mina Ashido.  He had a solid plan to beat her.  In truth, he didn’t think she was going to be all that difficult to beat, but he had to watch it against her acid.  She could throw it at a distance or use it as a hose between her fingers.  His special move was one he perfected, especially if he could use his equipment. This match was pointless because Izuku is not the same opponent.  Izuku and Mina’s fighting styles were completely different, but it would at least let Katsuki blow off some steam.  

Izuku got in a ready stance.  His fists up and close to his chin, his legs shoulder width apart, one foot behind.  Izuku had figured him out, that’s for sure.  Katsuki could almost see Izuku thinking, but before he could come up with a stupid plan, Katsuki lunged forward.  He felt the heat run down his arms from his chest into his hands.  He had his hands in his pockets on the walk over to build sweat and in combination with the heat powering through his arms, he felt the sweat in his hands spark for a moment and he immediately blew a large explosion in Izuku’s face.  

“Die!” Katsuki yelled.  Smoke filled the room, but cleared quickly and Katsuki noticed Deku wasn’t standing where he’d thrown the explosion.  What?  Where’d he go?  

“Smash!” the sound came from behind Katsuki, echoed in his ears but he reacted too late.  Izuku’s shoes kicked him square in the jaw and sent Katsuki flying.  The kick hurt, but it wasn’t the initial attack that Katsuki had to prepare for.  It was the gust of powerful wind that came after.  The force was like a storm.  Katsuki used his quirk to propel himself forward, toward the wind with minimal effort to keep himself from flying through the wall.  Izuku was lifted slightly off the ground, but struggled to keep his balance.  He still hasn’t learned to float yet?  All Might had told Izuku to try and learn his master’s quirk.  It seemed Izuku was trying not to fall forward.  

“Still struggling, Deku?  Can’t say I won’t like taking advantage of that!” Katsuki asked, walking towards him, the heat running from his chest to his arms in waves.  His hands were suddenly engulfed and sent shocks of sparks into Katsuki’s hand. “Funny.  I thought this was going to be difficult.  Or at least harder than Ashido.”  Katsuki propelled himself forward with his quirk and just before landing pushed another explosion at Izuku.  “I won’t miss this time!”  He was right and Izuku was flown across the room, his body hitting the glass.  Eri flinched, but it didn’t break.  There wasn’t even so much as a crack.  

“Come on, Deku!” Eri shouted.  Deku looked up at her and smiled.  

Why?  Why was he so happy all. the. time?  Katsuki’s anger built when he saw that smile.  Deku was good in close quarters combat.  All Katsuki had to do was keep his distance, but all the sudden, a black, jet like stream flowed from Deku’s body.  It curled around Katsuki’s arms and held them by his torso.  The more he struggled, the tighter it got.  Dammit!  All Might wasn’t kidding.  Fuck, black whip is strong!  Deku pulled Katsuki towards him and yelled a loud, “SMASH!” before his foot kicked Katsuki in the stomach.  Katsuki heard a crunch from his ribs before his back hit the wall and then he was on the floor.  Fuck! Deku was coming at him faster than before, his feet touching the wall before stomping Katsuki into the ground. He laid his body flat and used another explosion to push Deku into the ceiling.  Katsuki grabbed him and pulled him up over his head.  His back slapped into the ground.  Katsuki was standing above Deku, but felt Deku’s legs sweep out from underneath of him, sending him to the ground and their situation quickly reversed: Deku now stood above Katsuki, but Katsuki grabbed the back of Deku’s neck.  If Deku was going to send him flying, he was flying too.  They were so close, Katsuki could feel Deku’s hot breath against his face. He looked into Deku’s emerald green eyes and for a moment, Katsuki was stopped.  They held the gaze for only a moment and Deku leaned forward slightly, their foreheads together.  Katsuki, thankful for the moment’s peace, held up his right hand.  One more blast outta do it.  He yelled out one last battle cry, but as quickly as the heat ran down his arm, it left.  

“Enough.” It was Mr. Aizawa.  His eyes were bright red and his hair stood stiff.  He was holding the binding cloth that wrapped around his neck. “You two are done.”

“What?!” Katsuki said.  “That wasn’t even five minutes!”  

“You’re right.  It was two hours.” Aizawa said.  

The boys exchanged looks.  The smoke started to clear the room and on the other side of the glass sat not just Eri, but almost the entire class of 2-A.  

“Mr. Eraserhead.” The soft voice of Eri almost instantly calmed Katsuki.  “I can heal them. I’ve been practicing really hard!”

In truth, Katsuki was surprised to see Mr. Aizawa shake his head.  “Not this time.  Their injuries aren’t that bad that they need a full rewind.  They are mostly tired.”

“I broke a rib!” Katsuki yelled at Aizawa and Eri looked up at the teacher with hopeful eyes, but again, the teacher shook his head.  

“Nothing the nurse can’t fix.  Head there now boys.” Aizawa said.  “Without fighting.”

Katsuki watched the teacher’s hair fall and the heat of his quirk return to his body.  It felt so unnatural, to not have a quirk.  Probably how this loser felt all growing up.  They both nodded and the class watched them in shock as they headed out.  Had they really fought for two whole hours?  Katsuki could swear it only felt like maybe a few minutes at most. He looked at Deku.  He was bleeding pretty badly and was panting hard. His curly green hair was wet and sticking to the side of his head as sweat dripped down his forehead and the side of his cheeks.  

“That was fun, Kacchan—ow!” Izuku said, putting on his jacket, but flinched slightly.  “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”  He started to mutter.  Katsuki looked over at him once more.  “We should do that again!”  

“Whatever, nerd.” Katsuki smirked and they headed over to the infirmary.

(next)

#bakudeku #katsudeku #izukatsu #dekukaccan #myfic #stay

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Door to Apartment 303

The deep crimson door loomed in the middle of the hallway. The door had a small peephole at eye level. Right above the peephole hung the number 303, fixed there in form of numerals embossed into a small polished brass plate. The doorknob also had the same color and luster, reflecting the soft illumination from the overhead lights in the hallway just outside this door.

Two figures emerged from an elevator, and the sounds of their steps were softened by the old carpet underfoot. The wall-to-wall carpeting’s colors and patterns consisted of dark brown diamond shapes and a desaturated orange mesh that made it look like it had been manufactured in the early 1980s.

They approached door number 303, and the man in the black suit and blue tie pointed at it. Probably in his late forties or early fifties, he looked like he had been going bald early on in his life, with only half a ring of graying hair left around the crown of his head. This fellow looked like a used car salesman, and he smelled of cheap aftershave. His name was Jim Whitehurst. Jim was the landlord of Summerville Heights.

“This is the one,” he said after clearing his throat.

The other figure was Eva Wolczek. A woman in her early twenties with an air of confidence, sporting short, pixie-cut black hair, wearing sturdy boots, a dark blue overall, and a white jacket with the simplistic logo ‘Goldie-Locks’ decorating its back. She had a flat nose and her fingernails were cut very short. She smelled of metal shavings.

“Okay, then,” she responded with an optimistic undertone and nodded. With that announcement, she stood in front of the apartment door and pulled a small black pouch from a pocket inside her jacket.

Jim crossed his arms and looked around in the hallway. His every movement radiated an air of impatience. Eva calmly opened up the Velcro latch of her pouch and knelt down. She placed the pouch on the floor while taking out two fine tools: assorted lockpicks.

“Old tumbler pin lock. Shouldn’t take long,” she muttered. “So, everything alright with the tenant, sir?”

Jim turned to her and sighed. He hooked his thumbs into his pockets before he spoke. Eva paid him no direct attention. She was focused on testing the lock with her instruments.

“That’s what we’re here to find out. Frankly, worst case scenario? The tenant might be deceased. Been over a week since any of the neighbours seen or heard anything from ‘im, and the rent’s overdue.”

“Woof. Sorry to hear that. Not gonna lie, I was always wondering if this line o’ work would get me to see, y'know. A dead body, sooner or later,” she chatted idly while twisting one of the two picks and then switching them for another one that she used like a tiny saw, going in and out of the keyhole.

Using a brown handkerchief from his pant pocket, Jim wiped his brow where sweat was forming tiny little beads, and he smiled nervously.

“Let’s hope it ain’t that bad,” he said.

Only seconds later, Eva reached for the knob and something clicked. The door opened an inch.

“Hah! Lucky.”

She grabbed the tools and her lockpick pouch and stood up, stepping back to make way for her client. He swallowed thin air and looked at the ajar door, observing the pale blue daylight pouring out from the crack. A breeze of cool but stale air poured out, paired with a distinct smell of burnt toast and coffee. Eva put her tools back into the pouch and pocketed that in her jacket again. As the moment dragged on, she looked from the door to Jim and back and forth.

“Do you want me to wait here, or, sh—”

“If you don’t mind, could you stick around? Or better yet, come inside with me. Who knows, maybe one of the doors inside also needs your, uh, expertise,” Jim said, snapping out of his state of inaction and interrupting her. He looked tense, and Eva tried not to stare at his shiny forehead. She failed.

“Yeah, sure. Uh, after you,” she said, using a sweeping gesture to invite him to enter first.

Jim chuckled nervously and mumbled, “Oh, yes.” He pushed the door with his fingertips, and it creaked as it slowly glided open, revealing the inside of apartment 303 to the two people.

Jim entered. He looked like he was feeling light-headed, almost floating in as he walked, as if in a haze. Eva hesitated a few heartbeats long and then followed him, curiously looking around. There were no pictures, no posters, no portraits. Just a dark beige wallpaper everywhere. There was a thin layer of dust on the furniture inside. Everything looked spartan. A small walk-in closet for coats and shoes was built into the wall right next to the front door. A short hallway a few steps long led into a small living room. A second hallway connected the living room to the other rooms of the apartment.

“Mr. Merritts,” Jim suddenly called out loud, startling Eva. He had been peering into another room as he did so, and disappeared in there. Eva stood in the living room, now fully curious. An empty plate with crumbs on it sat on a small wooden coffee table, a butter knife soiled with greasy stains on the blade leaned against the used dish, and next to them stood an old-looking empty mug that said 'BEST DAD’ in bright alternating colors. Rings of coffee stains suggested that this Merritts guy was not a fan of using coasters, she thought.

That door—that bright crimson door to apartment 303—slammed shut. Eva swiveled the moment she heard the loud bang. It was followed by the clicking sound of a lock engaging. Jim showed back up in the second hallway and looked at her with his brows furrowed.

“That the wind,” he said—his words ended up ringing somewhere in between a question and a statement, followed by a nervous laugh. The sound of it was too short and high-pitched to sound genuine. He even looked scared. Eva looked around and did not see any open windows, then just shrugged at him. They both returned to the entry hall leading up to the apartment’s front door.

Jim grabbed the doorknob and twisted. The door would not open.

“The hell?”

He twisted the doorknob again and now even shook it. He was clearly getting frantic.

“May I?” Eva asked. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed past him, and Jim stepped out of the way, looking back to the living room. Eva tried to open the door as well. The doorknob would not even really turn when she tried. Jammed, or something.

She bit her lip and looked at Jim.

“I can open this again, no sweat,” she said, though she was saying it to herself, first and foremost.

“Mr. Merritts was a locksmith, believe it or not. Maybe he made some sorta mechanism for his door to automatically shut and lock,” Jim rambled.

Eva looked the door up and down. The sound of Velcro being ripped open was what broke the awkward silence. Eva shook her head and made herself busy getting out the saw-like lockpick she had used before.

“Huh, never heard of him,” she said, beginning to try her luck with the lock again. “I don’t see no special mechanisms on this door here, either.”

Jingling.

It sounded like someone holding out a key ring with tons of keys on it, shaking it. The jingling resounded one more time. The first time they had heard it, it was already enough to freeze both Eva and Jim solid. Both slowly craned their necks. Looking over their shoulders, they only saw the empty living room: two cheap-looking couches, a coffee table, a small chromed metal stand with a flat-screen television on it, a brown set of shelves with very few books on them, and plenty of negative space only broken up by a signed baseball. Nobody there.

Jim walked deeper into the apartment, peering around the corner into the hallway that led to the kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms. Eva opened her mouth to say something, but then furrowed her brows and focused her attention on picking the lock once more.

Without seeing him, she heard Jim round the corner and vanish into one of the rooms. The blasted lock would not yield, and she tried twisting the doorknob once more. It refused to budge. She dropped the rake pick when she heard the jingling again. It was louder this time, more intense.

“Mr. Whitehurst?”

Blindly pawing to grab her pick off the carpeted floor while she looked behind her at the living room, she heard nothing else but her own breathing. She finally grabbed the pick and stood up with her lockpick in one hand, the black pouch for her tools in the other.

Eva slowly walked from the entrance into the living room and looked down the hall. The doors to the other rooms were all open. She approached them, one by one, looking inside each of them.

Kitchen. Small green table with a smartphone lying on its surface. Stack of dishes in the sink. So many bills and letters stuck to the fridge with magnets that it looked awfully cluttered. Nobody.

Bathroom. The toilet seat was covered in baby-blue plush, uniform with a bath mat and matching towels hanging next to a claustrophobia-inducing shower booth. Not a soul.

Bedroom. Well, rather, office of some sorts. Desk, laptop, some cabinets. Old leather couch with sweat-stains on it jammed into the corner. Nobody here, either. Eva spotted a brown handkerchief crumpled up on the floor here and would have bet that she had seen Jim holding it earlier.

She asked into the room devoid of people before turning around, “Mr. Whitehurst?”

Other bedroom. The door was ajar. Eva pushed it open and went inside. The bed hadn’t been made, the sheets were a mess. Something very strange here: an unplugged digital alarm clock was hanging by its power cord from the ceiling fan, someone had knotted the electric cable of it around one of the fan’s blades. There was no sign of Jim anywhere. Metal frame of a fire escape just outside, but the windows leading to it were firmly shut. Then the jingling, again.

Eva poked her head back outside the room, looking down the hallway again—scared now. She returned to the living room with fast paces, too afraid to run or even to look back. She wondered if she was hearing more than her own footsteps, but it had to have been her imagination. This apartment was too damn small to hide two other people like this.

“Uh, Mr. Whitehurst, I’m leaving now,” she said with a shaky voice.

She got back to trying to pick the lock again but no such luck. Her hand motions were clearly hastier, and she swore out loud a few times. Then she heard the jingling of metal again, but it was much closer. Right next to her, in fact. The sound had come from the small closet next to the entrance, where she was standing. Eva flinched when the jingling resounded yet again. As if struck by lightning, she dropped the objects in her hand and bolted off.

Running down the hallway past the other rooms, she fled back into the bedroom. She rushed towards the window, trying to get it open to get out to the fire escape, but the window was stuck. Eva looked behind her while she struggled to pull the window open, and the jingling erupted behind her, just outside the room’s door.

She shrieked.

Then things went silent in apartment 303. The place was empty. There was nobody in any of the rooms. Eva’s lockpicks were lying around, abandoned on the carpeted floor by the front door. Eerie silence blanketed the empty home.

There were muffled voices just outside the door. Then someone knocked with significant vigor; the door shook from the sheer force of it. Visible through the peephole, two police officers in uniform were standing right in front of the door to apartment 303.

Two minutes passed. Click-clack. The doorknob turned, the crimson door opened, the policemen entered. They looked around with discerning, inquisitive eyes. One of Eva’s metal lockpicks bent under the weight of one of them accidentally stepping on it. That man stepped aside and looked at the objects on the ground while the other followed his gaze. They wordlessly exchanged a glance at each other and then looked at the living room.

One of them then asked out loud, “Anybody home?”

The other frowned at him and shook his head, then pushed open the closet and pulled the light switch hanging from the ceiling in there. Just enough jackets for two different seasons, two pairs of sneakers, one pair of dress shoes, an umbrella leaning against the wall in a corner, a very dusty Chicago Cubs baseball cap sitting by itself on a shelf overhead. After having satisfied his curiosity by noting the blandness of its interior, he switched the light back off and joined his colleague in the living room.

“How long did you say—”

“Three days. Mrs. Whitehurst said that wasn’t normal,” the other replied, cutting him off. He then looked down the hallway, past the open doors, and asked into the void, “Mr. Merritt?” Then after a pause, “Mr. Whitehurst?” He cautiously walked down the hall, and his right hand rested on his holstered firearm. “Miss Wolczek?”

They started exploring the other rooms of apartment 303 when the door slammed shut.

Then the jingling started.

—Submitted by Wratts

#spoospasu #spookyspaghettisundae #horror #short story #writing #my writing #literature #spooky #fiction #submission #apartment 303 #the door #jingling #missing person #locksmith #lockpick #apartment #red door #strange places #disappearances #locked in #no escape #living space #hallways #phenomena #unnatural

[irishais]

fic: malfunction; xu/quistis

A little one-shot for @ideakureima. 

“Dammit!”

She hears the fabric tear, mortifyingly loud to her ears, and when Quistis reaches back, she feels the six-inch long tear in the skirt, and turns absolutely scarlet.

The chair is the offender, the old wrought-iron ones the cafe uses for their outdoor patio. She’s stood up too quickly. She has an important meeting and now she’ll have to show up to it out of uniform or worse, with the thing stapled together, because it’s not like Quistis has any free time to take it to the wardrobe department today.

Xu looks concerned, the kind of concern that implies, did you get shot? Quistis supposes that is what it must look like, frantically patting her own ass, but she sincerely hopes that if someone were to shoot her, they would have slightly better aim.

“Tore my skirt,” she sighs, slipping off her jacket to tie it around her waist. The grey tank she wears underneath it is unassuming enough, still part of the uniform. God. This isn’t happening, today of all days. “And my spare uniform is at the cleaners.”

“Borrow one of mine.”

Xu’s offer is in earnest, but Quistis side-eyes her anyway.

“You’re so much smaller than I am, Xu, it’ll be like a belt on me--”

“Better than having your underwear on display, at least.” Xu slips her arm through Quistis’ as they step away from the cafe, leaving behind the remains of lunch and a generous tip tucked into the check wallet. “And at the very least, if it doesn’t fit, I still have a pair of your pants in my closet.”

Xu’s off-campus relocation is still startling to Quistis-- strange, not being able to sneak down the hall in the middle of the night. SeeDs may not have curfews, but it’s still awkward slipping past faculty and trying to think of a plausible reason to be heading for the garage close to midnight, in pursuit of a booty call.

Just the thought makes her blush, and Quistis shoves her sunglasses down from where they sit perched on her forehead, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“I guess it’s better than nothing.  Thanks.”

Xu shrugs, pulls her in a left turn at the next street, and they head down one of the winding paths toward the small neighborhood that’s set practically on the water. Her house is old, sea-worn, spacious. Xu has made it feel like home better than she ever did her dorm, and as they walk in, Quistis breathes a sigh of relief, unknotting the sleeves of her jacket before the whole thing can become too rumpled to be presentable, setting it on the back of a kitchen chair to hang and smooth out the creases.

“How bad is it?” she asks, turning around so Xu can look. There’s a longish pause. Quistis has to physically force herself not to roll her eyes. She loves her, really, but Xu’s libido is exhausting sometimes. “Xu?”

“I mean... I wouldn’t be complaining if you walked around like that, but yeah, it’s not good.”

“Great.” She reaches for the zipper, and steps out of it, leaving it on the table so she won’t forget to take it with her when she heads back up to Garden. The bedroom is down the hall; with it, Xu’s closet, stuffed with clothes. Maybe she can find something that will work.

It doesn’t surprise her, when Xu corners her while she’s rifling through the selection of skirts, arms slipping around her waist. Lunch dates inevitably end up back here, but usually, her schedule is less demanding.

“I have to be back at Garden in an hour,” she protests, but not very hard. Not when Xu’s mouth is finding that specific path along her throat. “And you have to keep your hands out of my hair-- it took me forever to get it up like this this morning...”

“I promise,” Xu murmurs against her skin, pulling at her uniform tie. “I can behave.”

Her own hands leave the clothes and roam across the ones Xu is wearing, a sleek cut suit, jacket already discarded elsewhere, blouse silk under Quistis’ touch.

“I don’t believe you... ah--”

By some miracle, she makes it to her meeting on time, wearing Xu’s spare uniform skirt and a borrowed pair of tights that make it seem less completely inappropriate than it is. It comes to her mid-thigh, for crying out loud.

When she gets back to her dorm, a garment bag is lying on her bed with a brand new skirt inside, freshly pressed. Xu has also included half a dozen bobby pins she’d pulled from Quistis’ hair, stuck in a little plastic bag at the bottom. A note is folded inside: thought you’d want these back. xoxo.

#xustis #fic tag; #ffviii #xu/quistis #ideakureima #the need for gay is strong