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nicascurls · 1 year

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Strangeness and Charm - Part Two

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Season 1 AU where Andy and Kyle arrive at Charles Lee Ray’s old house before Tiffany leaves with Junior and Nica and ultimately save them. Set in 2017, two weeks after Cult since that's when the show was originally mentioned to be set and in my opinion, makes the most sense.

Notes: I really enjoyed writing this part, exploring Devon's character a bit as well as his friendship with Junior. I feel like it was so neglected in the show, for people that had been friends since they were little kids they barely interacted.

Tags: @streets-in-paradise @losersclubisms @silvershewolf247 @cornerofhell

About 15 minutes had passed before they considered themselves out of the woods. At this point, Kyle had hung up the phone with the decision that she would pick up Jake and Lexy before meeting the boys and Nica at the Wheeler's house.

Devon was spending the majority of the journey nervously glancing in the rear view mirror, looking between Junior and the unconscious woman that had captured him.

He felt lost, before he had always felt fairly confident when it came to his understanding. With all of his criminal knowledge from doing his podcast, he at least felt that he could understand what was going on to an extent. But now he was looking at his childhood friend who's now killed his own father and had been tasked with killing him not an hour before, and a woman accused of butchering her whole family and possessed by the same serial killer behind all of this.

He didn't blame Nica in the slightest, he had read enough about her case recently for his podcast and now knowing everything he does about Chucky… Well, if he felt lost he can't imagine the confusion Nica must have felt when she came to the surface.

"Devon?" The sound of his name broke through his thoughts and he turned to Andy.

"Yeah?"

"Are you feeling OK?"

"Yeah, fine. Just thinking"

"Junior, what about you"

"I'm alright, Nica's still out. I think she will be for a while, Tiffany injected her with something."

"Of course she did." Andy mumbled bitterly. As if whatever shit she had been given by Dr Foley for 4 and a half years wasn't enough. At this point, he couldn't blame Nica if she had killed him herself. "Do either of you have any idea what it was?"

Both boys shook their heads in response before Devon spoke up, "It was strong though, whatever it was. She was out instantly."

"Should I check her pulse or something?" Junior offered.

"Uh, yeah. That's a good idea, just be careful. We don't know if it will be her or Chucky when she does wake up." Andy warned as they pulled up to the Wheeler's.

The two boys entered the house first, still keeping a distance from the other but not willing to let the other out of their sight. Junior wasn't necessarily afraid, he knew Devon wouldn't hurt someone unless it was the only option but he knew after the events of today that he'd probably lost all trust.

"So, um." Devon started, trying desperately to break the silence somehow.

"My dad’s not here if that's what you're worried about. Chucky got rid of him."

"Ah, okay." He let another beat of silence pass before asking the question that had been burning in his mind since seeing him in that house. "Why did you do it? I mean, what did Chucky say-"

"It wasn't what Chucky said! My dad, he called my mom a quitter. Said that was why she killed herself."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know things were that bad with him. Why didn't you say something?"

"When Devon? You, Jake, Lexy. You all just went off and didn't tell me about any of this shit! When was I supposed to say something?"

"I know," Devon started quietly, "for the record, I wanted to tell you but, but then anyone who found out about him just got killed and I guess we thought it was safer for you not to know. I know that's not a good enough reason but I seriously am sorry and I know Jake and Lexy are too."

"Thanks. I probably owe you more of an apology, I mean you had lost your mom as well and I was an asshole."

"It's okay, but Junior. I think you need to know that Jake was right, it wasn't a suicide. Chucky killed your mom." Devon watched as Junior began to ball his fists and then quickly added, "but we're gonna get him, okay? We all will and we'll make him pay."

Junior calmed a little at that.

"Yeah," he responded through gritted teeth, "We will"

"But without hurting Nica, deal?" Junior took another deep breath, "Yeah, deal."

With that the boys turned to see Andy entering the house with Nica before heading towards the couch in the living room.

"Wait, there's a sofa bed in my dad's study. She'll be more comfortable there. I mean, she hit the floor pretty hard when Tiffany slapped her." Junior explained, leading the way.

The study was just like every other room in the house, hopelessly neat. Not a single thing out of place whilst simultaneously being littered with Logan's trophies. The boys moved to open up the sofa bed at the back of the room before Junior realised that some of the trophies were in the way.

"Oh for fuck sake." Junior mumbled under his breath before whacking them out of his way with all the force he could muster.

"Jesus kid!" Andy cried as he ducked out of the way of a flying trophy with Nica.

"What?!" He responded returning to help Devon finish the sofa bed before looking up. "Ah right, sorry."

"Here, it's done" Devon intervenes as the boys clear a path for Andy. He made his way past the boys as he gently placed Nica down, hesitating a second before removing the cargo boots he assumed Chucky chose for her.

"I'll go and get some more blankets," Junior announced as he left the room whilst Devon crouched down and began to pick up the now broken trophies from the floor.

"Hey, Devon."

"Yeah?"

"Do you know if that is from where she fell?" Andy asks as Devon walks around to look at the large bruise Andy is pointing to on the left side of Nica's head.

"Uh no. I don't think so. I'm pretty sure she had it when I found her." Andy turned to look at him with an intrigued expression.

"How did you end up at that house?"

"I went to investigate, I knew it was Charles Lee Ray's old house so I guess I thought there would be some answers there and then I heard Nica."

"Huh?"

"Yeah she was tied to a chair, I'm guessing by Tiffany but it turned out it was Chucky pretending to be her so once Chucky was untied he knocked me out."

"Shit, okay. So we've gotta be really cautious" Andy responds, before Junior bursts back into the room balancing an armful of blankets. "Hey I wasn't sure how many so I just got all of them."

"I'm pretty sure she only needed one, Junior. It's Hakensack, not Antarctica."

Andy let out a small chuckle at the boys' antics, keeping one eye on Nica's sleeping form for any signs of movement. He knew there had to be something he could do, if she's still in there as well as Chucky there had to be a way to get him out again and he was determined to find it.

"Wait. You're not gonna shoot her are you?!" Devon panicked, as both boys watched Andy reload the gun in his hand.

"No!" With that question, a wave of guilt washed over Andy as he remembered what happened a few weeks before. He had tried to tell himself that it hadn't mattered, that little would have changed if that shot had hit her. Well Chucky. Nica was gone, dead. That's what he believed, he had been too late and one of the only people in the world who would understand what he had experienced, the woman he had spent 4 and a half years trying to help, was gone. But that wasn't true, and as much as he wanted that fact to help, make him feel less alone and it did. He still could not get rid of the horrible feeling of guilt that was eating away at him, knowing he took a shot that would have killed her.

"It's just a precaution," he explained "to keep Chucky under control if it is him when she wakes up. If nothing else it should make him hesitate long enough for us to get the upper hand."

With that the sound of the door opening made its way through the house, followed by the sound of Kyle calling for Andy.

The boys quickly got up and ran to meet Lexy and Jake. Andy remained sat, listening to the tearful reunions, he couldn't risk leaving Nica knowing that it could be Chucky in control.

"How's she doing?" Kyle asks and Andy turns to see her in the doorway, the four teens behind her.

"Alright, we've gotta be cautious though, apparently Chucky does a pretty good job at pretending to be her so the main giveaway will be if she moves her legs."

"Wait, that's Nica?" Lexy questioned.

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know, I guess I thought she was gonna be old."

"Lexy!" Junior responded.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Anyway, we brought food with us, we figured everyone would be pretty hungry"

"Yeah we weren't sure what pizzas everyone liked so we got quite a few." Jake chimed in.

The group ended up camping out in the study eating their fill of pizza, something that Junior absolutely loved, as the sun began to rise. The kids were now absorbed in their own conversation, catching each other up and forming what they considered to be a foolproof plan whilst simultaneously keeping an eye on Nica.

Meanwhile, both Andy and Kyle had been dozing off for a few hours, the days of pursuit finally catching up to them. It was approaching 8am and sunlight was streaming through the window behind the foster siblings when the kids heard a soft whimper come from the sofa bed. Devon quickly moved over to the adults, "Andy, Kyle! It looks like Nica is waking up."

#chucky #chucky 2021 #child's play #chucky syfy #andy barclay #nica pierce #kyle simpson #junior wheeler #devon evans #jake wheeler #lexy cross #tiffany valentine #charles lee ray #chucky fanfiction #Strangeness and Charm

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rattyshipss · 8 months

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Agggtm/Chucky crossover, Stanley Forbes x reader (Romantic) Pip, Ravi, Connor, and Cara, (Platonic) And Trevor Cain x no one because fuck him

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"So we're going to Incarnate Lord"

"Pip all I said was I found someone there who went to school with the guy, we don't even know if he's a suspect y- ok I guess we're going, of course we're going" Ravi said watching as Pip marched out the front door before following behind her, Cara and Connor not far behind.

"You know this is a long ass drive right? Incarnate Lord is like forever away" Cara said, already fidgeting with Pip's car stereo prepared to be the dj for the ride. "I have a car" Pip said situated in the driver's seat waiting as Ravi and Connor to get in behind them. "Oh yeah we know how well that went last time" Connor said shrinking away as Pip glared at him through the car mirror.

Arriving at Incarnate Lord, after Connor's many bathroom breaks resulting in Cara snack breaks while Ravi kept Pip company in the car with jokes that make Pip think she should've just gone alone. They walked through the wide threshold of the building, getting held up by nuns and almost getting kicked out with Ravi's ill timed nun pun before Pip took over, using her "Sarge charm" to explain the reason for their visit.

"Ah Pippa!" A man in a dark suit and dark rimmed glasses stopped infront of them and introduced himself as father Bryce. "I heard you were looking for me, I'm the headmaster of this glorious academy, I hope you've been welcomed by my sisters hospitality" he gave a warm but tight smile.

"Holy shit a real life priest..." Cara whisper yelled as Connor nudged her side in protest but ended up uncontrollably giggling himself. Pip sighed refocusing her gaze on father Bryce. "Y-yes we had some information we would like to discuss with you if you have a bit of time? It's important"

Father Bryce eyed the teens before straightening his glasses. "Well I do have a class soon but I'm sure sister Ruth can cover my class for something important" "Thank you" Pip smiled nodding towards sister Catherine before the group made their way to follow father Bryce to what Pip assumed must be his office.

_________________________________________

After an, interesting, conversation with father Bryce, he showed the group out back into the main corridor, Pip in her eagerness being the first one in and out of the office as Cara smiled apologetically to father Bryce, stopped, her eyes catching a familiar face.

(Y/n) (Y/ln), Stanley Forbes girlfriend.

They had met briefly before, running into eachother at Stanley's work place at the local paper when she'd brought him lunch or just visited. She knew about Pip and Stanley's history so Pip was always cautious around her, but she was always polite during their interactions, even going as far as telling her about their family dog who was also named Pip, they didn't seem to have the same tension her and Stanley did. Pip didn't have time to even prepare for potential awkward casualties as she was called over. "Pip!" She looked over to see (y/n) smiling over at her and waving. At least she was smiling, that's a good sign right?

"Hello (y/n)" Pip returned the smile walking over to join her. "What are you doing here Pip?" She said looking at her with big eyes, Pip could see why Stanley was drawn to her. "Were solving a murder!" Connor yelled out as him and the rest of the group showed up behind Pip who was now shushing them. "Oh I should've known" (Y/n) giggled at the group of Fairview high students nodding in their direction.

"What about you (Y/n)? Seems like a weird hang out spot" Cara said leaning her chin on Pip's shoulder. "Ah, I'm waiting for Stanley, he had to stop here to get some info for his next issue in the paper, got me coffee to make it worth it though" she said pointing to the to go coffee cup in her hand, most likely from the same coffeeshop Cara worked at and would've ran into them sooner if it wasn't her day off. "AWWWWW" Cara smiled scrunching up her nose with a small smile, chin pressing into Pip's shoulder.

Stanley came into view behind her and Pip and him immediately caught eachothers eye, sharing what could only be described as a half smile. "Hey?" Stanley smiled a bit wider looking over at (Y/n) as he wrapped a free arm around her, his other arm holding some presumably work papers, and kissing her briefly in greeting. "Hey Stanley!" They'd known eachother for long enough, I mean they were dating for god sakes, but she still liked to call him by his full name, Stanley, she said it suits him perfectly. And he could see Cara mouthing "Stanleyyy" in a mock swoon to Ravi. "Pip" Stanley nodded towards the brunette, "What are you doing here?"

"Just business, like I heard you are aswell" Stanley gave (Y/n) a quick wide eyed joking look. "Well your business usually gets you in trouble" causing an awkward shuffle of feet and quiet half laughs from everybody.

Before Pip and Stanley could get lost in the uncomfortable back and forth again, Pip noticed (Y/n)'s eyes trailing off across the room, the little idiosyncrasies she's come to pick up easily. Cara followed Pip's gaze, curious as to what her detective-esk friend noticed. Her eyes landed on a tall blonde haired boy in a uniform, god they had uniforms here?

"Oh god" "Are you allowed to say that near a church?" Ravi tried to lower the simmering discomfort.

"You know him?" Pip nodded towards the boy. "Knock off Draco Malfoy, unfortunately" she replied with a look of disgust on her face Pip was trying to decipher. Before she could explain further the blonde boy caught (Y/n)'s eyes and started to walk over, with a look on his face that made that gnawing feeling in Pips stomach return, the one she always got when something bad was coming.

"(Y/n)!"

Fuck

"I haven't seen you since you got me locked up in this place" Pip started eyeing the both of them harder. "Well I didn't figure you'd be in the mood for visiters Trevor" (Y/n) replied, Pip instantly picking up his name, Trevor. Stanley watched the tight uncomfortable smile spread across his girlfriend's face, even if the tension wasn't as obvious as it is now he'd still be able to tell, he could always tell. "And who's this?" Trevor turned to Pip. Before she either of them could reply Travor continued "Wait aren't you that girl that caused all that chaos last year with that case? All that hurt, all that pain? Those poor families" Trevor put a feighned hand on his heart turning back to (Y/n).

"You mean solve a case?" Pip said now staring fully at Trevor who just scoffed in return. Ravi, the awkward peace maker he is, tried to de esculate. "(Y/n)! You know Trevor?"

(Y/n) was immediately on guard at Trevor involving Pip, she's practically still a child. She straightened up and that smile so big it had to be physically uncomfortable returned and she turned into a completely different person than Pip had run into just a few moments before. "Yeah! We go back a bit, hey did you know he was born with only one testicle?" She said looking towards Stanley afterwards. "Maybe you can include that in the next paper" Cara hid her laugh behind Pip.

"You said you'd never tell"

"Oops"

Trevor looked from (Y/n) to Stanley then back to Pip. "Look, whatever you're here to do, if you wanna succeed in a place like this, you have to put your faith in a higher power" "Thanks, but no thanks" (Y/n) replied for Pip. "We're not really in the market for-" "I'm your higher power" Trevor shot his gaze over to (Y/n). "And if you don't learn that quickly I'll make this place a living hell for you too" (Y/n) avoided the confused and concerned looks from the rest of the group. "Don't do this"

"I own you now, you think this place is bad you fuck up I'll show you how much worse it can get" Stanley was about to cut in before he was cut off by his girlfriend. "No Trevor I don't know where you can get condoms!" The whole group looked towards her confused before hearing a voice yell behind them, looking over and seeing a nun marching over to them. "Trevor Cain!"

"Nice try, but if it makes you feel any better, my situation here couldn't possibly get worse"

Everything was silent afterwards as the nun dragged him away, an uncomfortable but finally calm silence, until Cara broke it "GOD I LOVE THAT BITCH, Stanley, Stan the man your girlfriend's great and if I were her age I'd date her, I fucking love her" Stanley slowly raised his folded hand in reply to Cara holding hers up to his for a fist bump and hesitantly returned the gesture before turning and walking towards the exit, sure to talk over everything that just happened in the car.

Pip and the others leaving a gap between the pair but not far behind, moving past a delivery worker entering with a rectangular donation package.

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QOTNEJGNWMFMAG THIS FIC IS MY BABY😭👉👈💖 If you took the time to read this thank you it really means a lot🥺💖 Rewrite of one of my favorite scenes from Chucky including my other favs Stanley and the others from Agggtm👀💖 Reblogs and comments appreciated but not required!💖

#agggtm #stanley forbes #a good girls guide to murder #chucky #f/o #self ship #self shipping #s/i #self ship community #self shipping community #romantic f/o #platonic f/o

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ariel-gremlinzkeep · 1 year

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notmuchtoconceal · 6 months

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My name is John Jacob Janus Kaminsky. I am knocking on the door of a home I have never known, for no family of mine has ever lived here.

I am knocking on the door in the dead of night, waiting for an answer I know will never come and expecting the world regardless. I am alive and this life is my life and with each morning I vow to make the beast of tomorrow, making the least of what passed for yesterday.

The door swings open.

By the flutter of my heart, I am taken by arrest.

Throwing back, so too does that what frames the porthole in the dark.

The doorframe which is not a mirror but the door on which I am knocking. The door from which I had knocked, it having swung open, and I being confined by no chamber, but he within -- left alone to ferment in the dark, stood symmetrical in station and profile.

He was tall and broad and more handsome by the day for his heart was unburdened and what forces played over his eyes, his imperceptible eyes I hardly recognized, though I saw them every morning in the glass.

It wasn't me. I was simply what was staring back, and he was more familiar than I could ever be, being so much more familiar to me.

I wasn't moving away. He wasn't moving in, being the first to move.

Don't go, he said with the words "Who are you?"

"My name is Jon Jakob Janusz Kaminski. I would thank you next time not to skip the previews. I was the voice they used to put in the trailers!"

He stared at me, seeing me outside the door which was not this door, but the porch of the home at which I lived. It only occurred to me now, the reality of my intrusion -- not only on this night, but the unreality of what myself must have been to him -- how strange it would have seemed to me, were it to be me to have met him on the step of my door.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked.

"You're outside," he said.

"Would you like to change places?"

"No. This is my house. You stay outside outside til I invite you in."

"May I come in?"

It only now occurred to him how rude it must have been, that I had introduced myself and he had not yet done likewise, though also -- supposing I cut him off with a social faux pas, saying what I'm sure will be the first of many things to make little sense if they were observed -- as if by a neutral audience which was not likewise agreed upon by the two of us, and therefore had no means for comparison; was therefore doomed to seldom overlap, each of us performing some distillation of proper etiquette for an imagined auditor, the least of which was the other.

"Please forgive me, mysterious and handsome stranger! The uncanniness with which it is the most fantastical unveracity that I may look upon you without swooning (which I'm now realizing is a perfectly adequate and natural response for stiff-lipped, hyper-rational, upper class Victorian gentlemen faced with confabulating circumstances) has unsettled me as such that I have forgotten my manners! I always thought the word swoon was girlie. I had thought everyone who ever swooned was but a ladyboy who couldn't handle the existence of monsters, yet here I am! Tempted to swoon merely looking upon you, and yet perhaps I am not mistaken? Is this not itself proof you are a monster?"

"Me, monster? Buddy, you're the one who lives at monster house!"

"Pardon me, friend. If monster house this be, its admittance you surely do not seek. Kindly turn and leave, having never darkened my life with your disturbing and impossible presence, strange shade of iniquity."

Our eyes met. The corners of his lips tugged defiantly, predictably.

As did mine.

"It is so hot that you can say this shit to me. I know you don't mean a word of it since you already invited me in. Introduce yourself so your brain keeps working and the flow of interaction may continue uninterrupted."

"I am J. Jonah Janice Kaminsky. I am not an animal, I am a machine. I am not a machine, I am a man. "

"A likely story. But it isn't the whole story, is it Chucky?"

He paused, slapped his forehead in a burst of exasperation.

"The shit you fucking say to people and expect them to respond to. Holy fuck. Nobody knows what that means. Nobody could parse out the nuances of that. The only fucking reason I know what you mean when you say that is we are evidently insane in the same fucking way."

I took a step back. I was moving my hips and my hands.

"Yes, that was it. This is the thing about us which is the same!"

"May I come outside?"

"You may, but you will?"

"That's not a question, I already have."

"Hey, plot twist."

His shoulders brushed me. His body was warm.

"What's over there?"

"I dunno. Do you think the world might dissolve if we try to move past the scenery? Sometimes I look at the city and the graphics are amazing."

"It think it'll just repeat. I think we'll walk down that street, then wind up back here once we turn the corner."

"There is a field."

"There is a street."

"Would you like to come in?"

"I thought you already asked."

The room was dark. Through one window crept the streetlamp. Through the other the pale beam of the waxing moon,

"Would you like a coffle? Tea? Coke Zero? I can piss in your mouth?"

"Foot rub'd be nice."

"Nice shoes, bro."

"Nice dick, man."

"You are seated in the den of J. J. Kaminsky. Poet. Playboy. Homeowner. "

"You are hearty and well-stocked. In body, mind and spirit."

"There's a shitload of stolen candles I already used in that end table. See if you can find any jackets with all the matchbooks written out."

The shimmer whorled around me black in the aquarium glass.

"I have to say, friend. While it is still too dark for me to take in, let alone admire and compliment the beauty of your decor, let me first say that you yourself are exceedingly handsome and well put-together in a subtle and understated way which is casual and decisive. Your red cap is fetching, as is the length, thickness, and metallurgical composition of your chains. Your shades of grey, in your snug and trim and clingy hood, and your shimmering nylon sweats, silky and smooth -- your socks and your armpits likewise are exquisitely scented, mulchy as a distillation of vetiver, a woodsiness near fungral for how damp and bucken with hearty fat."

His pause... Was too natural to be calculated.

"Thanks, bud. I"m well aware that our styles are nearly identical and you flatter yourself as you flatter me, yet nevertheless I can simply find no fault with your statements, and that our intense similarities in style induces in me something like a nervous and radical tension to rapidly diversify I feel is well-contained, for truthfully -- I feel moved into a death-like stillness gazing upon you, for you are simply... "

"I think..."

"... I know what you mean."

He stared at me, and I stared at him. I likewise felt a desperate need to distinguish myself in some way, and a contrary and opposite yet equally powerful need not to compromise myself needlessly, for he was simply content and I was simply content and yet -- as we looked upon one another in our mutual anxiety, the stolidity of our gaze, of our frame, the strength of our posture began to crumble and cord. I had felt knots strike me in places -- points of tension I seldom knew now breaking me -- as I steered myself against my volition in some arbitrary opposition in spite of myself, seeing him strangely and likewise pulled farther in twain.

"I, uh..."

"Yeah..."

Our mutual distortion sickened us. Where moments prior our near identical shape and countenance had been a source of alien alleviation, now every point of similarity seemed so wretched a mockery for what was sharpest and most apparent was each point which distinguished us -- and vulgar it was, for it marred what moments before had been a state of perfection, and was now still continuously contracting -- likewise in mutual and cyclical awareness that we were embroiled in a state of simultaneous and inescapable corrosion -- simply for we had attained awareness of one another and so robbed ourselves of limitation.

"What are you gonna --"

You cut him off, for your expression was more urgent.

"Your overall suboptimal status, I have to say -- is quite charming. Not in a way which is childish or crude or rubelike (I say these things solely so you know I do not mean them!) but with a firm absoluteness which is the elegance of the always understated and gentlemanly male who needs not the ferocity of an ideological monopoly to keep up the ruse of love!"

His pause... Was too long to be rehearsed.

"You too, bro? You think I look and act like you're fuckin dad?"

It was shocking. This thing he would naturally and inevitably think!

"What? Why would I think that? My father is an imbecile and a monster."

"Thanks, bud. You've made that clear already with your immediately prior sentence, as well as that crack earlier about monster house -- Monster House? Was that a Dreamworks? Why is that still deep in your unconscious? Does a porch with shark teeth simply recall the animistic imagery of all things fanged by icicles in childhood winters?"

"While your evidence is strong, I know that was the polar opposite of my intention, and your lengthy and detailed diatribe about the the obscure echoes unstirred by trailers glimpsed in movie theaters (some of which I narrated) while fascinating in its own right, simply reveals the depth of your insecurity and capacity to participate in projections. I mean, you know what you are, buddy. I don't gotta rub it in your face . Big dog boy dudes like you who desperately want to lick my face with your eerie canid witch teeth, you know -- they like fuckin headpats and to be the best boy and to run around and jump in daddy's lap. Aren't you getting a boner right now, just by hearing me describe this? I sure as fuck still am!"

"Yeah, bro. It really makes my dick fuckin stiff, all these casually condescending attitudes you just carry fuckin around and don't take any responsibility for. Yeah, dude. The only fuckin person on planet earth you've managed to convince you're not a condescending prick is yourself cause you're the only one who buys into your own bullshit. If you think I'm your fuckin carbon-copy (but also I'm an idiot like you're father, who your nothing like except, oh wait!) you should get a boner while you slip cash from your wallet into your wallet. Hey, wow. I just thought of that! If I made you take out your wallet and I took out my wallet, we could compare identification to check the veracity of all these circumstances and give a definite, credible timeframe and location to these events, and while we're at it, hey -- we could glimpse strange and eerie details in the details of each other's portraiture, and hey -- what if one or both of us is making derp face or something cause those things only expire like every five years and you gotta show em to law enforcement and bankers and like -- what if you just made the derpiest face while taking an ID photo, then sat there in severe stoic contemplation anytime you had to show it to somebody in some sort of official capacity? That'd be a riot."

" . . . "

"I'm reading your mind. You don't have your wallet on you (predictable) and you're so goddamn in love with me because I'm so helpful and full of good ideas and possess deep intuitive structural awareness which lends morasses of deceit and falsity to the illusion of mundanity and reality. The best thing to do when you're lying to somebody, to really, really make it fucking convincing is to come up with a lie so close to the truth, it's almost invisible. You can swathe the surface events of the situation in such a fog of business-as-usual, nobody'll ever fuckin think to look there -- and anybody who does'll get accused of being nosy or some kind of dangerous renegade, cause you're rightfully aware -- normal fuckin people are the worst. Their need to be corralled festers their resentment and their mediocrity, but you give em a chance to be free, hey -- see how they fuckin act. You can say it all you want. They need to use their freedom productively, but here's the trick, bud -- they don't want freedom to be themselves, nuh-uh. They want you to be the better person so they have a better person to occupy. It's always, now and forever, always about them. They will never love you or care for you. They crave your power for they want power. Any, not yours. They could only ever see all you've constructed as a temple for themselves. They want freedom from themselves. They want a great man of history, some self-deified living God, to come in, destroy their way of life and take them over. Oh Your God. The only way Christ Who Is Caesar conquered the pagans was by saying he was the best! Pagans always want the best! They are so stupidly easy to brainwash and corral with carrots and sticks! Dog boy only understands operant conditions! Dog boy wants to be the big winner! Dog boy wants to take home the crown! They want a better person to be. You need to stop listening to fucking weaklings who've given up cause others gave em an excuse to. It really is as fuckin simple as it looks sometimes, bro. It's your feelings are right and you're being lied to. You're being lied to. You're constantly being lied to. Almost everything you hear is a lie. Wrapping yourself up in tight-af second-order rational conscious rope bondage does not change that. The world ain't always like a paradigm shift or a magnifyin lens, fucker. Sometimes makin shit smaller just makes it smaller, not paradoxically bigger. There are different rules in different situations, much like matter itself inverts at the margins. Am I being clear? Am I going too many places at once? Do you need it in a straight line, reduced to three points, bulleted? Maybe our little state ID thing can channel Patrick Bateman's famous and much celebrated business card mania -- you know. Bridge that gap between the casual barbarity of human mediocrity and the great men of history with these wall street betas who have no business and zeroer personality dry-humpin each other in a scene which is so spectacular precisely because Christian Bale's charismatic deadpan elevates the simping to unimagined heights. It's the performance which is noble, not the subject. That scene barely registers in the book, in part cause it's so much fuckin longer and there are so many way funnier scenes, most of which would be prohibitive in film. You know. You're a monologue guy yourself. You're aware of how Merry Huron's impeccable direction -- the score, cinematography, editing -- all of this renders an otherwise blase subject which is the height of bathos into the object of operatic heroism."

" . . . "

"Are you more angry that I said all of this out loud before you could, or that you're aware I probably said it better than you ever would?"

"Why would I be angry?"

"You look angry."

"First off -- Josh, the Cousin I am Within Give me the Strength to Stick Big Blocky Books on It All-- you said so many fucking things so fast, I need some time to process them. First off (here we go) just going back through my thoughts (backwards in my mind, not upward on the page) you opened with the claim of telepathy, which I was then reflexively skeptical of, so I approached all your following speech in that context, and (as I was still listening) was convinced as to its veracity by the tumult of echoes arising eerily out of nothing (which in turn spurned its own emotional reaction which I'm still processing) which made me then take more seriously the other things you were saying (while I already had about seven or eight tabs open) and then ... Oh, fuck me. Gimme a sec. I don't want you to prompt me. Um, and then you said..."

"You were in love with me, it's okay. I said it."

"Yeah, you said that, and then uh... All I can think about is how there is so much fucking material in American Psycho, Mary Harron's film version feels like a series of vignettes finely arranged -- a light brunch with wine, as opposed to the multi-day feast of its literary source, retaining the placid sanity of the business world but it seems for one frenzied eruption in the final minutes, where an ATM begs for pussy meat and shoot-outs with the police stir hallucinatory confessions to answering machine men who laugh and do not wish to think. Certainly, the full text of American Psycho has potentially vaster operatic potentials which've yet to be mined; the theatrical and ritual applications of which are almost unthinkable -- the lone man against the material."

"The prison of his own making."

"It lends itself so well to gay bondage porn."

(Who is talking right now?)

"Earlier I was really, really... thinking about throwing myself at you and burying myself in your arms and tasting your beard, but now I suspect ... I didn't, and rightfully so, for you were lying to me the entire time..."

"Of course you wouldn't be mad that I would effortlessly drop bombs like that in conversation. I'm demonstrating with my lived reality the lack of pretention inherent in film criticism, for this isn't simply a specialty skill. Our cinematic works compose our cultural vocabulary, and knowing how to view, processes and unpack visual and storytelling details is no different from translating one language into another. You'd have to be a real fuckin stupid-ass to think a Frenchman who was French and who could only speak French was somehow being "pretentious" by not knowing how to speak your mongrel degenerative colonialist dog language designed to make you stupider. Aw, man. Bro, not once. Not once in the history of human civilization have an oppressed people ever been given suboptimal tech and cultural modes to give them an irrational, needy, identity-based fear to cling to mediocre values!"

"People act like it's ... some sort of insane parlor trick to know how to talk about a movie. They think it's showing off to read a book."

"Bro, people are way too busy spending all their time and money on families they don't want and can't support to think about how propaganda is ruining their lives. Honestly, man. You're being inconsiderate by not already being their noble patrician billionaire daddy they can give up and rely on cause they finally feel seen and wanted. Like, bro. Think about this. Do you really think these people are worth saving when they only know how to be exploited? What if the proper attitude to take towards the working class is the same attitude PETA takes against Pets, which is also the same attitude taken by Our One True God, the Vengeful Mesopotamian Storm Deity, Enlil, against all these mongrel-hybridized bastards you desperately wanna stick your dick in."

"Absolutely everybody thinks about genocide. Talk to a man on the street, see the yearning for a mass baptism in a tide of blood. Why wouldn't I think all left-leaning management are lying, do-nothing bastards who manufacture realities with just as much falsity as management which leans to the write, but softer? It's what they are. Anyone who thinks otherwise is deluded, all in the same ways most people allow themselves to willingly be deluded, as was I -- thinking we were fundamentally better, when we were simply fundamentally different. Feeling persecuted and beaten down and losing ourselves by needing to be "better"."

"You give up everything you are just to be near them. It's sick. What they take from you and could never give back. It's better to keep people wanting you if all they want is to be wanted. Why would you want someone who only wants to be wanted? The urge to be wanted ought serve only the need to satiate another's want."

"When I want nothing, I could want only freely."

"I want everything, and I say only shades of... not today, not tomorrow."

"Not ever."

"What I want is you, bro."

(What I want is for you to know.)

"Every time I point out you might be lying, you seduce me."

"Wow, third time's the charm! Record time, bud!"

"The dating life's a blooper real."

"Don't plaster it over the credits. Stick it in the special features."

"Will you give our wedding video a boxset?"

"I've been feeling very Showgirls lately."

"You mean Bridesmaids."

His eyes clank like an executive toy. Abrupt.

"Right, those are different movies. Those are two different weirdly violent genre-busting chick flicks with one word compound titles both of which feature a synonym for virginal young lady bout to get deflowered."

"In terms of subject and tone, they're quite different."

"In terms of the ways I've already described, they're similar."

"One seldom knows the contents of a file before they open it, they tend simply to go off the name, that being what a name is for. To indicate."

"If I named something with an attempt to obscure its inner substance, what level of deception would that be, if we are assuming the purpose of a name is to describe, which -- why wouldn't it be, as this is the function of all language? When you name something, you are describing it. This is how pet names, nick names, well as the fuckin Bible all work, bro."

"If you were doing it with a deliberate irony you'd intended to be read, that would be the establishment of wit. Yet, the problem arises -- one needs to be aware that their audience shares either certain values or expectations (is aware of certain nuances, let's say) for the irony to be read, otherwise it may be confused for confusing or obscure."

"Naming a big man Tiny always reads. Everyone can feel size. Now a racist joke, on the other hand --"

"If you are a [White, probably white] man mocking racism, how much do you simply reveal of your own racism by being able to recognize it?"

"If you know what being racist is at all, you're racist!"

"Therefore all [Insert Racial Minority Here] are Racist."

"Therefore all [Insert Racial Minority Here] are the Most Racist!"

"Yet, that's absurd. To know and to recognize something isn't itself to condone it, as such a view could only come about in one who was totally an automaton with a lyrically-excised capacity to reason."

"It's like when you hear an Evangelical preacher talk about demons and you wonder if -- in our rational, scientific materialist world where nobody knows about the fallen celestial powers except whackjobs and drug addicts and rednecks -- if these clearly disturbed individuals holding sway over a captive congregation are simply using the Oylea Joshua Christos as a Font and an Opening to Spew Back A Corrupting Influence into Our Water Supply Like So Much Pipe In So Many Southside Leads."

His astuteness was wordless.

"Not once has anyone successfully Christianized the Irish."

"Likely, what's going on is that some [White, probably white] men exploit the opportunity for good-faith burlesque and its cathartic opportunities to vent in profound and hilarious ways and just spout their racist attitudes "ironically" (a flat and artless reduction of the subtle and overt juxtapositions which make for the sophistication of real irony) thus rigging the game against the powers of light, by casting a dim shade of fear and doubt over every earnest imploring for truth and reason."

It was unthinkable, all the things he could make you think.

"If a young man with no prior theatrical or analytical training were to see these distortions at an impressionable age, see their apparent effect -- their reaction -- have no knowledge of those outside of his small pond, their immediate doubts and anxieties, yet nevertheless -- being otherwise trained to regard them with expertise and authority, may overinflate the worth of their attitudes, their truth more definitely smeared.."

He leaned in close. He was so sexy when he was haranguing.

"One big lie. A thousand and one false conclusions."

"It's the American way."

(Bombs falling from the sky again!)

"You could never save them all. Only the ones who want to know..."

"... are fit to live."

"The urge to survive, a fleeing --"

"-- the desperate urge to persevere."

"In knowledge there is death, as in ignorance there is life."

"Running far, I always find you again."

"I wanted... to kiss you..."

"Do it."

"You're a liar, and a thief."

"Sit and drink..."

(Deutschland is on the --)

Penny for you

(Rhine Again!)

r dreadful thoughts.

. . .

When you stumbled back, there was a [cachunk].

You felt it in your legs. The tremor in your bones and nerves.

You didn't read it on a screen.

"What? What is this?"

You stared down. In the light of the moon, fuller than it was the day this night began, the mahogany handle of the icepick bled into the surrounding darkness. The gleam shone stainless in the moon, blooming beneath the weave and lace, the pleating of her gown, the reds of her heart. Snowy as the poppy fields you yearned to skip across.

"That's, uh... That's your sister."

"What's my sister doing at your house?"

"That's a very good question. Why don't you ask her?"

"I'm asking you. She seems -- if you do not mind my being so blunt -- a bit indisposed at the moment."

"She seems a bit... indisposed at all moments?"

"Hardly a recent happening, you'll lead me to believe!"

He looks away. To what you presume is a camera in the wall.

"Hey look, we're finally where you wanted us to be four hours ago!"

"Four hours and three nights."

Not sure if that was you or the mic.

"It's amazing that you can write for this long after you take a break! I think it's a lot easier to get me to be your willing slave when you feed me, water me, take me out for walks, and let me get a full night's sleep!"

(You're positive this was you this time.)

"It's amazing that you can talk at me all that time to hide the fact there was a body on the floor all along. Okay. Back to the diegetic realism which you seem to favor, not-at-all hypothetical person in some purgatory realm of my own making. (Purgatory! Before I wholesale adopted other people's guilt complexes, I always wondered why everything was purgatory. Purgatory! Purgatory! Purgatory! That's every urban legend, every crack analysis, everything which leads one to believe all which is not adopted as orthodox is not heretical, but simply arbitrary. It's exactly what I thought it would be, but feeling it's a whole nother level of different. I guess we all (secretly and all times) know exactly what we're getting into and we just do it to feel what others feel, so the whole of humanity remains not a tantalizing enigma, but a tedium. That way I can get back to my work. Not my work which is personal, no. That would be arrogant. The very height of it. To work for oneself. To not know slavery. To yearn for freedom. Best to work for someone else your entire life for a pittance, reminding yourself that people are hateful and not worth knowing, so you never feel tempted to suspect you're missing out.) -- Why did you invite me in? If you were hiding a dead body (my sister's allegedly -- do I even have a sister? What was I doing before I came here? Where am I going, and what am I after? I know this isn't my house, and you aren't me, and yet -- you look exactly like me, and I don't know where I am. You seem the sole point of stability in a chaotic, inverted and meaningless world and yet somehow I distrust and fear you more than anything, despite your seeming constant availability and honesty. You're not lying to me about the lies, unless you're doing so to obscure some far vaster lie, beyond even your understanding? Love opens oneself to vastness, and yet to contemplate love in its complexity is to become so meager, how could one ever possibly hope to strive for it? Best not to think about love. Think about love as little as possible. Just let love happen, and when it happens, try not to fuck it up!) -- why did you invite me in? With this dead body on the floor? How long did you think I would sit here, not stumbling and groping in the dark, but spellbound by you, seemingly for an eternity, while I stood and did nothing and followed a riptide downward, for all around me (invisibly) were the corpses of my loved ones lying prone and hopeless? If I turn on the light, which I still have not found, will I behold simply a blanket of corpses? Floor to ceiling, the lacquered dead shall assail me, twisting and entwined, in the false petrified embraces of your arbitrary and yet sublimely transcendent schema, for a man who has allowed himself to be made material is consenting to the lime of transformation, decay and display."

He pauses. Not to take it in, merely to highlight how he does not.

"Oh, I thought I'd have gotten you into the bedroom much sooner. I don't know, bro. You talk way to fuckin much. I can just tell you talk too fuckin much, so I try to untalk ya by outtalkin ya, but you're so goddamn stubborn and suspicious and seized by such a categorical mania, you don't just give in like a normal person and consent to be brainwashed by surrendering after the opening salvo, no. You talk back. You chose to participate. You haven't gotten the subtle messaging that participation as an equal is discouraged. The only way our sham democracy can work is by people knowing they have opportunities, but feeling like they can't. When you don't allow yourself to feel, you don't allow yourself to feel bad in the ways which control everyone around you. Bad boy."

"It's so alarming and yet so affirming to think--"

"LIMITED TIME OFFER. GO FAST. GO FAST. GONNA MISS OUT. OPPORTUNITY NOW. ONCE IN A LIFETIME. GONNA CHANGE EVERYTHING. STICK FIGURES DANCIN. HYUK-HYUK-HYUK."

"Beep-boop-boop-bop. Time for cogent answer recognized. You are not serving my immediate use-value needs. You are not a useful node for obedience and control. Running shame protocols. Next time give up easier. Moving onto easier target to brainwash and convert."

"Oh my God. Imagine being someone over the age of 14 who thinks in terms of being the main character. Who's a cute little boy who's finally learning to see themselves as their own priority, extrapolating their awareness outward. D'awww. Hey. Good for you, bud. Good for you for finally learning you don't need to serve someone else's needs, you can make your own. The absolute level of juvenile self-absorption -- coming from a man in his 40's --- I mean, come on. You're giving away that your only familiarity with storytelling structure are the basics. That Chosen One Shit. Really think about it. Really think about this, dude. Stories for adults (even stories for children for that matter) can have multiple main characters! I think anybody with a functioning brain (not you or the your own stupidity you see in other people) can figure out that truth arises somewhere between any one perspective, and like -- lemme see. Aside from how works of emotional complexity retain the same fundamentals in storytelling but minutely-refined through the endless variances of time and circumstance (they ultimately being but echoes, theories and elaborations upon our psychic reality), learning how to construct a character doesn't only reveal the nature of the self, it reveals the nature of other people. By crafting a character of a different sex, ethnicity, social class, what fucking ever, you both go outside yourself and inside yourself. It's empathy and it's narcissism because we are at all times ourselves and in coordination with other people. Durr. Fucking loser.

'Drench me in the sweat of your bench and call me yours!"

"If I wanted to pull the exact opposite shit, I would check this -- Think about fucking weirdo nerds who only "worldbuild" because they need an imaginary framework to string their knowledge of disparate historical and scientific subjects together into a fantastic register which is a vessel for their learning. Why else would they do it? Why else would they do such drastically unsexy, radically unfuckable things if not to learn and have fun? Is having fun and learning sexy? Is learning and sexy power? Oh my God. Is that what is it? Do we only get good at things to have power? Is competency power? Should I feel bad for being good at anything? Why should I ever have any sympathy whatsoever for the nerds I wedgie when all they are're weird lil hobgoblins who jack off over D20s pretending to be God? Why does anything feel good? Why does anybody long to discover or know or care? Let's sit here and really think about the fundamental reasons for why we do what we do, instead of just doing the things we have and want to do? Let's all sit here and Judge Ourselves for That Great Imaginary Audience Who is Either God or Your Peer Group or Your Absent Mother and Father and just announce to the ether that we're doing the right thing and deserve to be loved instead of just ... I dunno. Doing what makes us happy with the people who make us happy!"

He didn't pause. He was you.

"It's better to know the self in isolation than to know a fake world in mutual isolation, reminding one always there is no joke to be in on."

"Kids are a treasure. If you don't want em, you ain't ready to receive."

"Don't open before you're ready for business."

"Don't invest til you have the means to trust!"

"The more mistakes, the more reason they can find to control you."

"The more control they have, the more they can hide their mistakes!"

You didn't have to look. It was never fully out of mind.

"The dead body on the floor, you know -- you're not getting out of it."

"I had you going! You forgot it was there!"

"So what else have you lied to be about? Do you even really look like me, or are you a gray of a Faye or a djinn or a Wynn?"

"You callin me glamorous?"

"A regular puss, you have your tendrils in every opening."

"Kitty got claws, but the pussy got feelers!"

It was so stupid. How opportune he always was.

"I want to kiss you, but you're a murderer harboring a corpse you haven't disposed of, and you've already told me multiple times that everything you say is a lie, so I have no reason to believe anything I say."

"Murderer? Why you think I murdered her?"

"This is your home."

"I could have come home and found her this way!"

"You were hiding the body."

"You knocked unexpectedly, and uh... hello, corpse! I mean, hey! Look what happened! You immediately suspected I was the killer! Why wouldn't you? Do you I think I wouldn't suspect that, and then my presumed guilt would make me panicky? We've already established how freakishly cruel and judgmental you are, with your rampant unaddressed entitlements and condescending attitudes. I am not telling you anything which doesn't sound reasonable and which you already expected might be true, since other people look at you and think that you're repulsive."

Right. He was doing that thing where everything he said made sense if you were talking to someone who wasn't you, and didn't know all the things you know. He never had any idea who he was talking to.

"Okay, self-confessed liar who I suppose may have been lying about that. Why not. Do explain as how to the corpse of my sister I have no memory of found its way into your home, seemingly without your knowledge, or am I presuming? Perhaps you simply leapt to the presumption of total ignorance to test me, and you know well how she died, but aha -- did you also expect me to distinguish this theoretical from your later elaboration, or did you suspect -- like most -- that I would take the example of the excuse as reflective of the immediate experience of your life?"

"You, uh..."

"You can't. You're a liar. Would you like to come outside where I can see you be the vision of some foreign satellite which gives only luminance?"

"Don't call me a liar, you know if you say it, I'll do it."

"You always me tell me the truth."

"I love you and I hate you and I wish you were dead I wanna be you."

"Eat me."

"I can't."

"Why not."

"That's repulsive and horrible and contradicts my every learned value and natural instinct."

"Then why did you suggest it?"

"I don't know... it feels really, really good?"

Your eyes wandered over. You didn't want them off him. The woven stockings of her legs slithered in the black arabesque.

"Is that why you murderered her?"

"Do you really think I murderered her?"

"I suspect if you hadn't, you would have said so by now."

"You didn't murder her."

"I didn't murder her."

"No, you didn't."

"Did you?"

"I didn't."

"Why didn't you say that earlier?"

"I, uh..."

"Could you not say it until I could?"

"Well, uh..."

"What if I said 'I absolutely can self-terminate?' I didn't say it, but let's say I did. Since I didn't say it, if you can picture it, you only imagined I did and if you only imagined I did, it was your own latent wishing arising wholly out of your secret desire, which you manufactured from scraps and other sparse vestments which you've woven to a comforter."

". . . "

". . ."

" ... why would you do this to me?"

"Why have you done any of the things you've done?"

" . . . "

"Is that all?"

"No, I uh..."

You had been staring at him. You'd forgotten he was you.

"Why?"

"Why, uh --"

"Why not?"

". . . "

"This is your house?"

"You're certain."

"A foot-rub'd be nice."

"Was I... getting you a drink?"

"To invite me into the bedroom?"

"Would you like a glass of water?"

"I'd like you to tell me about the body on the floor."

". . ."

" ! . . . ? "

"Body on the floor?"

"Is this really you? What reason would you have to be ashamed of murdering my bitch sister? Certainty one or both of you wanted it."

"I didn't think you'd understand..."

"How is that likely?"

"Things which needn't be spoken oughtn't be said aloud."

"Would you like to innuendo the secrets of the corpse to me?"

"Things like that sound like they can be arranged?"

"What was she like? This sister of mine you confess to know nothing about, or did I only presume that once more by the example you'd earlier given suggesting not only her death, but her identity was a mystery? Yet why would I think this, you knowing she's my sister, while I do not? Why would I project my lack of familiarity with her onto you? You must have known her, she being in your home, unless-- would you like to now claim her death was self-defense, or am I leading you by being generous?"

"No, I can work with that. She attacked me."

"You got her with her own ice pick. She thought you were cold, but you'd made her hot -- and dampened, her seawalls gave way to shatter!"

"Why was she attacking you? Did you instigate, or were you invading? Is this her house? Why do I suddenly feel as though this is her house? Who are you again, and what are you doing here? Why do you look so familiar, and did you look familiar to her? Did you say she knew who you were?"

"If I didn't know her, I don't suppose she knew me."

"Maybe she could know you very well despite her not knowing you."

"Maybe her knowing me very well is why you didn't know you?"

"Are you saying I murdered her because she wanted me more than you, or did I reverse that in my head, I'm not sure? Wait, no. I definitely didn't and it was absolutely you, though in which way I'm absolutely unsure!"

"No, these --"

"The only mindgames I like to play are Jenga and Twister. You may think they're not mindgames, they're simply ones of cause and effect and applied pressure and this is absolutely so -- both are opportune avenues for exploitation and domination through subtle installation."

"You like things collapsing into piles! You're a good lil dynamiter!"

"I'm King of the Anarchists! I look so cute in my scarf mask and my molotovs and my 19th robber baron-century hot-air balloon chase!"

"Bro, I'm parched. Kindly lead me into the kitchen and let me watch you pour me a drink from an unsealed source into a glass I have freshly washed myself so I can be absolutely certain it remains unspiked."

"I'm helping you cause you wanna help yourself! Don't you ever fuckin forget that, bro! People who don't themselves, I fuck hard!"

[That thing which was stated to occur

occurs raptly in the feign'd on-time,

complicated only by elaborations

well-suited within their bounds

that every struggle becomes a dance

tension pluck'd to a harpsichord ping

as each flyboy writhes tautly knot

the h(a)unted yelping in surrender.]

You sat there, seated in his armchair. With your Zero and your coffee.

One laced with lime, the other with nutmeg and cinnamon.

"Lemons, I like lemons! You only have lime, and yet both are citrus, how does the substitution change the measure? From lemon one makes lemonade, and this is the alchemical gold which is one with the shower! The lime is alike with brick and mortar, it seems not to change shape, but simply cement and what is it I'm sealing, searching for a cask as you lead me farther down, farther down, to the doom you have expertly deigned for me yourself-approved, in the empty cell of some lone wall."

"Why do you wanna go in the box so bad? Are you the real vampyre? If you only wanna fuck dead things, maybe that's why you're here, talking to me about that corpse on the floor that I don't wanna talk about for the reasons I have just stated, namely how badly you wanna fuck it and how rightfully uncomfortable that would make me: a sane man and a homeowner with a stable and satisfying dayjob and lots of good and easy hypnotizable normie friends I can feed on with my acts of generosity and good cheer as they fall in love with the imaginary perfect man in their heads they project onto me, as I dispassionately know all secrets of the universe as they bare themselves splendidly and nakedly before me?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that I know everything you say is a lie and you're love in me and only want to control me -- that I am absolutely certain alone of these three things -- makes you rather than a source of dismay, one of paradoxical and persisting comfort."

"To you my brother, I say thus: all lies reveal the truth, and all love is love for oneself, as control is an extension of but these two things alone."

"That your axioms are so strident, I yearn only to contradict them."

"You may do so. Reveal their falsity to the best of your ability."

"You have linked them as such that to disprove the whole is to disprove the entire triune at once."

"If you shatter one, would the whole chain not crumble at once?"

"No... no ... you say all lies reveal the truth, and they must, for to catch a lie is to lead one closer to the truth, unless it leads one only to another lie... yet one could not be sure if this was so, until one had gotten closer to the truth and seen how further they'd been, thus now certain they've drawn closer... Yet, in the context of the statement this is complicated by the following: namely that all love is love of the self. This too seems difficult to contradict at once, for if one were to love a stranger, one wouldn't be sure if one would be attracted to the difference, the sameness or how the two interacted? The foreign may only be known in the context of the familiar, but then it is no longer so. It may only be reflected upon, in a context which no longer is. Since the interaction is relevant, one cannot be sure if the attraction is rooted in sameness or difference until one has clarified ... the source of the love, for you chain both together to control, and one cannot know control until one has been freed from it, complicating all prior associations. It's more that to disprove the third, one has to disprove the first and the second simultaneously, to collapse the third, otherwise all three remain supported for the stresses of their contradictions seem to feed back into one another and disperse."

"Well, you know ... that's all well and good for a first impression, but surely there's a lotta shit you just haven't had the time to think of yet!"

"And that "two things alone" bit."

(Wow-ow--ow-woW)

"...It's to say with certainty that control could only ever arise out of lies reveiling the truth and love being the love of the self. If I could simply find a form of control which was honest and selfless ..."

"Hey, good luck with that!"

"To phrase it in such a way makes it seem inevitable, and yet was the statement not produced to make it inevitable?"

"If conclusions are drawn, they are always representations."

"Everything right is a theory."

"Everything right is what's agreed upon."

"Why do people agree?"

"Simply stern and severe rational consideration of the facts, maim."

"You're right, I may one day disprove it, but it doesn't seem as though I can do so now, for despite the refreshments I weary of talking."

He skips hoppily up to leer at the camera in the wall.

"Holy fuck! That took ten hours! We've been at this shit ten hours! Finally! Finally I can get his dick hard! He's finally fired out enough to fuck!"

"Why would we fuck? You're a murderer? What's to stop you from ice picking me then spouting a bunch of nonsense at the next hunky young plainclothes detective who comes to the door looking exactly like me and looking at you, and wondering, wondering, wondering when?"

"That was never proven!"

"The murderer or the hunky detective?"

"One of those things hasn't happened yet!"

"So you admit you're the murderer?"

"I admit there's a murderer! The murderer happened!"

"So it was definitely murder, then? She didn't commit suicide or trip and stumble and fall on the ice-prick then roll over?"

"Yes. Yes, there definitely is and always was a murderer on the loose!"

"We're both in danger?"

" ... y-Yes."

"What if I'm the hunky detective and the murder hasn't happened?"

"What if -- since I'm you -- she tried to murder me and I killed her in self-defense? What would you do or believe then?"

"If you killed her in self-defense, there would be no murderer. You'd be guiltless in the eyes of the law, and she -- never killing you -- would not be a murderer. Therefore the murderer... would not have happened."

"Then if she were to murder you in self-defense, that'd have to happen later still too, right?"

"No. She's already dead, why would she defend herself against me?"

"What if she rises from the grave and tries to consume your flesh?"

"Furthermore, you can't murder in self-defense."

"I can't, but she can?"

"Did you do something to her body which will cause it sometime to reanimate? Is she under some enchantment, the vessel for some entity? Is she stricken by a fossilized alien parasite or pricked by some viral -based bio-organic weapon? Is she in a state of self-induced trance from which you hope her awakening will startle me into a fit of unexamined and explosive fear? Do the vagueness of these circumstances -- my evident lack of short and long-term memory withstanding -- make the sudden intrusion of genre elements not only palpable, but vital for a genre element lends both dramatic and psychological familiarity, we understanding monsters in all their forms to be metaphorical, even if only illustrative of man against his imagined other?"

"If she got up, that would certainly be shocking -- both to you, and as far as you can tell, also certainly to me as well!"

"Oh, look. You don't want to fuck at all. You wanna go another five or six hours and make this a lengthy dissertation on the nature of genre!"

"Oh God, please no! I can't stand another second of cogent academic consensus! I am neither bored nor falling apart, but simply -- void, and empty of any happenstance, any need which is unnecessary, or any squanderings which would result in squalor, I am simply... now?0 I dunno -- I think I was not before, and now I do not understand!"

"Would you like to go outside?"

"Oh God, please! Please get me the fuck out of here!"

"Fleeing the scene of the crime. That won't look good."

"They know where I live, unless this is her house, at which case, they don't know what you know, and anyway -- good luck explaining!"

"Explaining what?"

"The dead body we're fleeing from."

"I'll simply tell them I asked you and you told me nothing."

"If they ask me, I'll tell em you told me everything."

"Well, that'll be their problem then."

"Good fuckin luck, am I right!"

"More than anything I need fresh air."

"You think we'll ever come back?"

"Right now, it seems only a matter of time."

"Whose to say if the same will be true later?"

"Time will tell."

"I eat time for breakfast."

"Tribulation in tails, satisfaction in snails, tongues won hands-over-feet -- the rumbly in your tumbly whispers utmostly the inevitable!"

The door swings opens.

You're coming and going, receiving and parting.

The crisp bright night awaits, beckoning endless probability through the clustered & creeping axons of its bare, entwining branches.

"Trust in your healthy gut!"

"Buy me a kombucha."

"I am not paying for bacteria, go lick a fuckin rock!"

"You wanna lick my face?"

"Like a fuckin dog, boyo!"

"I feel this needs some concretizing tragedy."

"I feel all concretes are known, and all I know is tragic."

"That'll do, pyg."

"Oink oink! Porkchop's a pup and I'm a goddamn golem!"

#brodude #hey brother #fucker #that was fun

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mewatchingstuff · 2 years

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Some random initial thoughts about episodes 4 and 5 of PLL OS:

Minnie "Mouse"

- I immediately assumed she would be pulling a 'Hard Candy' with the dude, but apparently she's running some type of therapy scenario for people who have missing children?

- The general agreed upon theory on Mouse backstory is that she went missing for awhile and these new episodes keep going in that direction.

Tabby

- it feels like Tabby is starting to release her anger more and that's pretty enjoyable to see. I wanted her to full on beat the shit out of Greg and/or Tyler, but breaking Tyler's nose was good too.

- The Wes and Chip stuff. I don't know what the deal is for Wes other than him wanting to be involved with Tabby. Like what's his overall point in the show? Tabby already has trauma and tells Wes off, so what's his purpose for still being alive on the show? Idk. Chip, I really feel like he's the one who assaulted Tabby. He gives off the same vibe as Beaver from Veronica Mars.

-Tabby and her many movie references but the Chucky quote/mention while Imogen was having her emotional breakdown about her and mom and everything just took the cake. LOL! Tabby got to chill way out with the references.

Marjorie/Noa's Mom

- I hope actually does dispose of her. Not just for being a jumpy, blame passing bitch in the past but for being one in the present as well. The fuck is wrong with her? She jumped with the quickness to say the pills the Sheriff found weren't hers. Marjorie is so quick to allow Noa to take additional blame if it means she doesn't get caught. I can't even be mad that A made Noa snitch. Marjorie deserved it.

Imogen

- I like that she's still investigating because some of the other girls kinda forgot or just wanted to put A behind them because they went two weeks with no new messages from him. Completely nuts for them to consider it as an option to forget about it. Also for Imogen this is the only way she can process her mom's death and her own unsure future.

-I know she has a lot going on but I'm surprised she didn't question why one of her moms former school mates denied having any knowledge of Angela or the og 5, but snitched to Sidney about the investigation later. Like that should have been a major red flag for her. But at least she found one source willing to help.

- so Imogen most likely did get assaulted and became pregnant because of it. Apparently it happened the same night as Tabby's assault. That's fucking rough

- I don't think the girls thought out the whole "Imogen can take over th house payments!" plan. I know they didn't think it out. No way that one Halloween party in their small ass town will allow Imogen to make monthly mortgage payments.

- okay, so it's very telling that A doesn't break locks to get into the house but instead uses the keys. Very telling. Telling what? No clue.

-So going back to one of my previous posts, it does appear A is a renegade killer based on his last victim. He's not sticking to a planned target or group of targets. But his killings aren't random either.

Faran

- I'm nervous about her plot because they got her looking crazy for this Karen = Kelly stuff. But I do like how the writers predicted that is the direction the fanbase would go with the twins. It's a total red herring.

-How many times is she going to be knocked out of this damn ballet? She lost the Odille part twice already! Girl, just go to Pittsburgh with your mom and get into a good dance school.

- More Tabby/Faran scenes are needed. I very much enjoyed their interactions. Faran's taunt to Kyle and Greg after Tabby punched Kyle was hilarious. I love her so much.

Kelly

- The Kelly stuff is all 'Single, White Female' about Karen. She wants to take her place and A's involvement gave her the opportunity.

- This finally proves, for me, that Kelly and A aren't working together. Kelly doesn't seem responsible for Karen's death. It's clear that she is willing to take Karen's place as the main twin now.

#pll original sin #pll original sin spoilers

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fanficwriter284 · 2 years

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Memory Blank

Author's Note: Ok So, I had a dream where I fell down the stairs and lost my memory. So I thought why not make it into a Chucky Fanfic! Enjoy!

It was a normal summer morning, the cool breeze was blowing and The Rays were watching TV downstairs. They had been watching whatever was on since they really had nothing to do that day.

"Ima be right back, I'm gonna go get some blankets, I'm freezing my ass off."

"K dad, can u get me one too?" Glenda asked.

"Hm? Yeah sure."

Chucky made his way upstairs and grabbed his favorite soft and cozy brown blanket and grabbed Glenda her iconic bright pink one. He dropped them over his shoulders and quickly made his way downstairs. He must have not been paying attention to where he was stepping cause he stepped on the part of the blanket and fell down the flight of stairs! He landed on his back hitting his head with a hard thud.

"OH MY GOD! CHUCKY!"

"DAD!"

Chucky was knocked out cold on the floor.

"CHUCKY! CHUCKY! OMG PLEASE WAKE UP! CHARLES! COME ON PLEASE!" Tiffany pleaded as the twins stood there horrified.

"Dad! Please wake up! DAD!"

"DADDY PLEASE GET UP!"

They moved him onto the couch and prayed he woke up.

"Gahh! Ahh, My head." Chucky said with his hand on his cranium.

"OH CHUCKY! I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE OK!" Tiffany yelled while grasping him for dear life.

"DAD!"

"DADDY"

"Errm, Um. Thanks? But? Who are you? And who's Chucky?"

Tiffany just looked at him. His face was deprived of emotion and his bright blue expressive eyes were now blank.

"You-You really don't remember?"

"Um. No. AND WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE FOR THAT MATTER?"

"We're your family. It's me, Tiffany......You're wife" Tiffany said with tears in her eyes.

"Um. Sorry but I don't recall meeting you."

"We're your kids. Glen and Glenda."

"Yeah! And you're Chucky! Charles Lee Ray!"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

30 Minutes Later

"So let me get this straight. I'm Charles Lee Ray, but I go by Chucky. And you are my wife Tiffany, and these are our kids Glen and Glenda?"

"Yes, remember anything yet?"

He just shook his head, and Tiffany just replied with a disappointed sigh.

"Mom, it says here that amnesia can last up to one week and in worst cases..............P-p-p- Permanent."

"PERMANENT! BUT THAT'S LIKE FOREVER!"

They all looked at Chucky with concern in their eyes.

A FEW DAYS LATER

I had been weird living with this memoryless Chucky. He was there but he really wasn't. All their interactions had been brief and awkward. It was like talking to a stranger. Tiffany and the twins went grocery shopping and left Chucky in the house Alone. He walked around and looked at photos of the four of them. They seemed happy. He saw His and Tiffany's wedding photos and the kid's birthday photos. It seemed like a perfect life, a happy life. He got frustrated with himself, and for not being able to remember anything. Then in the corner of his eye, he saw something shine. He turned to face the object and somehow caught his attention. It was a knife. It has HIS knife. He traced it. "Hm..." Then he caught his reflection in it, startling him, causing him to cut himself. "AH, SHIT! MOTHER---"

Then suddenly everything clicked, everything made sense. He knew who he was, where he was, everything in his life, and what he has done. "I-I-I remember. This house, This Life" He glanced over to some family photos "My Family"

AN HOUR LATER

Chucky heard the front door open and shut. He was excited to see his family and tell them what happened to him that afternoon. He saw Tiffany and the kids and actually knew who they were this time around. "Hey, so I got you some Pork Rinds. They were one of your favorite snacks and uh----" He cut her off with a kiss not wanting to wait for a second more. He hugged her "Love ya Tiff" Their fingers interlocked, and the bags in her hands slipped off and fell to the floor. Good thing Glen was carrying the eggs.

"C-Chucky? Is it you?"

"Course it's me who else?" He joked with a chuckle

"I'm so glad you're back. It felt so wrong and empty without you."

"Happy to be back! And what were you saying about those Pork Rinds?"

"DAD YOU'RE BACK!"

"We missed you!"

"YEAH! DON'T EVER FALL DOWN THE STAIRS AGAIN!"

"I won't I promise. And I missed you too." He said while hugging them both. Then Tiffany joined and they all stood there hugging each other. Happy in one another's company.

#chuckyxtiffany #chucky x tiffany #chucky #childs play #tiffany valentine #charles lee ray #glen and glenda #raysforever #chiffany

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marvelmaniac715 · 2 years

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So this came out of my desire to see Adult Chucky interacting with Child Chucky. I decided that the best way to do that was by adding in a detail to the plot that when Chucky splits his soul (not a transfer, but a split, like when he splits into Nica or the other dolls) he astral projects into his mind and meets younger versions of himself. I don’t know, just thought it would be fun.

————————————————————

The split process was agony. Chucky felt every molecule of his body ripping in half and shooting into the body of Nica Pierce. For a moment he regretted doing it because it was so painful, only for a moment though.

Without warning, he suddenly found himself thrust into an endless black void. When he walked, every footstep echoed loudly. He was alone, or so it seemed. In the distance, he could hear a child crying.

He would have ignored it, but it was really annoying, and he had no idea why there was a child in this empty void. Could it be Glen? No, Glen had a British accent for some reason, and his cries sounded different. These cries were from an American child.

When Chucky finally found the source of the noise, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His six or seven year old self, crying his eyes out in his little checked pyjamas. This was pretty much the only time in his life where his hair was straight. He couldn’t stand the wailing, so he decided to speak to him.

“Ay, kid, the fuck’s the matter with ya?”

This stopped the crying. Little Chucky (as the doll was now referring to him) looked up in shock and surprise to see a doll talking to him. He sniffled a bit, but finally responded.

“I-I killed my M-mommy! I didn’t mean to but a bad man just k-killed Daddy and I was so scared. The knife was to hurt the bad man, but Mommy hugged me real tight and I panicked! I’m not a bad boy Mister Doll, I’m a good boy! Mommy always said so but now she’s-‘

He cut himself off with more sobbing. It was weird for Adult Chucky to see his origin story told from the perspective of a wimpy little brat. He’d tried to destroy that part of himself as soon as he entered the Boy’s Home. In fact, his therapist Doctor Mixter had encouraged it, saying that he’d only hurt himself more if he allowed himself to be so… soft.

This Little Chucky must have come from just a few seconds after he’d killed his idiot mother. Because for a few seconds after he’d realised what he’d done, he had cried. But looking back, that was so pathetic, the great Charles Lee Ray reduced to tears over a simple stabbing.

By the time the guy who’d bumped off Daddy Dearest had ambled up the stairs to give Baby Charles his first lesson in murder, he’d steeled his resolve and decided to put on a brave face. He hadn’t taken it off ever since.

In a way, that first kill was a mercy kill. That guy was gonna kill her as soon as he got upstairs, and it wouldn’t be a quick stab to the stomach (a nice, quick death) it would have been repeated stabbings and possibly worse. Even he knew that violating a person in that way was wrong. He wasn’t a monster.

The entire time that Adult Chucky had been exploring his past, Little Chucky had been howling beside him. It was extremely… irritating. He’d never been able to stand kids crying. It made him feel like a terrible person, and the last thing he wanted to do was examine his morals whilst he was on the hunt. He had to shut this kid up, but he was shit at offering comfort. Oh well, he’d try anyway.

“Look, kid, you did that in self defence. Nobody could blame ya. I mean, I did the same. Your life isn’t gonna be the same from now on, bud, you’re gonna have a lot of trouble fitting in, and you’ll constantly move from place to place. When you’re thirty eight you’ll have a really bad accident that will dramatically alter your life forever. But after that, you’ll get married to a… semi-stable chick that you met when you were in your early twenties and have… a kid. It’s not clear whether it’s a boy or girl, but they’re pretty sweet I guess, even if your sort of daughter is a little bit too much like you… Anyway, you feel awful now, but you’ve just done an amazing thing for your future. So put on a brave face, march outta that wardrobe and give ‘em all hell, kid.”

Little Chucky stopped sniffling, wiped his eyes and smiled a little. He still didn’t understand why a doll was talking to him, but he was ready to face the world, no matter what it threw at him.

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

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spookiekewchie · 3 years

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spookie coochie👻

—got a spooky twat, for your appetite...

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: Syd (London) x woc!reader

Summary: The one where things get a little crazy between you and Syd.

Word Count: 2.3k+

Warnings: general language warnings, drugs, murder, use of a ghostface mask, unprotected sex (use protection yall), high sex, girl on top, slapping, scratching, knife play, choking, squirting

A/N: DAY TWENTY ONE OF KINKTOBER! It's literally inspired by the song Spookie Coochie by DOECHII. Special thanks to @olyvoyl for telling me to write this for Syd. The divider is by @firefly-graphics

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. Reblogs are always welcome, and let me know that you enjoy my fics.

There’s loud music playing, drugs and drinking in abundance, you laugh as you walk past someone dressed as the wicked witch of the west who’s making out with the Bride of Chucky. A loud pounding on the front door pulls you away from the mind boggling sigh. Opening it has your smile dropping instantly. “Oh let me guess, Tweedledee and Tweedledum?” You say when you see who’s standing on the other side. The two men roll their eyes, clearly unamused.

“Ha ha, look you know what we’re here for, don’t waste our time.” The shorter haired one says, stepping forward to start barging his way in. You shake your head, and try to close the door only for his booted foot to stop you.

“You heard what I said last time you sad sacks showed up without my fucking money. I’m not giving you bums shit until you pay me for the last time.” You snap at the two junkies that are barging into your little costume party. They’re Syd’s friends and you’ve told him more than once not to invite them around anymore until they paid you what they owed you. The two men chuckle to themselves, looking you over as if you’re all talk and no threat. That just pisses you off even more, and you yank the Ghostface mask up to your hairline so that they can see your harsh glare. That just makes them look at you like you’re a piece of meat, and you huff. You know what you look like, knee high boots, short skirt, fishnets, a black corset that has your cleavage on full display. It’s sexy Ghostface, and right now you don’t look like much of a killer.

“Yeah we heard you, but I think we all know that we can take whatever we want from you sugar.” The stocky well built one speaks, Brock you think his name is and you grip the hunting knife in your hand tighter. You may not look like much of a threat right now, but the knife in your hands is very real and you’re just itching to slit a throat right now.

“Brock, get out. I’m not dealing to you or Scarface here.” You snap, and the one you remember is named Rollins bristles at the mocking nickname. You barely get a chance to bask in your cheap shot when Brock slams you against a wall and the party that’s going on comes to an abrupt halt. You can see a couple of your guys gearing up to intervene and you wave them off while keeping your dark gaze on Brock and his glowering friend.

“That was rude, now how about you stop being a stingy bitch and give me and my buddy here what we came from. We know you have some on you, where is it?” He demands, groping at you as he searches for a baggie of something, anything. Brock doesn’t care, he’s just chasing a high and you know he’s unfocused and desperate. It’s something you can use to your advantage.

You simper up at the man, batting your lashes and running your free hand down his chest. “You’re right, I’m being rude. Come with me to the bedroom and I’ll make it up to you.” You look over at Rollins who’s still looking grim, but you can see the flash of interest in his eyes. “Both of you.” You add, licking your lips and just like you have both men on the hook.

Brock lets out a laugh, releasing your throat and giving you a slap on the ass as you begin to walk away. “Syd know his girl is such an easy whore?” Rollins grunts out, and you set your jaw in an effort to keep yourself from snapping at the two of them. You’ve got plans for them, and while murder may be the nuclear option, it’s the quickest way to get your point across.

“What Syd doesn’t know won’t him.” You reply, smirking to yourself as they let you lead them to the privacy of your bedroom and as soon as the door closes behind you, you slit Rollins' throat first, turning around so quickly that neither him or Brock register the movement until it’s too late. He crumples to the ground, clutching his neck as if he can stop the blood. Brock curses at you, lunging in your direction only to feel the hunting knife sink into his chest.

“Crazy bitch…” Are his last words, and you yank the knife out of his chest with a grunt. He’s right, you are a crazy bitch and he should have known better than to try and fuck with you. You’re about to call your guys into the room to move the bodies into the bathroom when you hear the sound of someone’s panicked breathing. You spin around on your heels, coming face to face with a shocked and freaking out Syd. Precious Syd, your favorite customer, your favorite lay, and you really don’t want to have to kill him too if he can’t keep his shit together. You have to think fast, and the only thing you can think to do is drop the bloody knife onto the bed so he doesn’t freak out even more when you start walking his way. “My friends!” He shouts, sounding frantic. “You killed my fucking friends! What the fuck!”

“Your friends owed me money, and they attacked me. They got what they deserved.” You tell him with a tired sigh. Syd words his mouth like he wants to say something else, but nothing comes out. You mutter to yourself in frustration, you can’t even enjoy the adrenaline rush that getting rid of Rollins and Brock gives you.

Looking over at Syd, you can tell he doesn’t know what to do, he knows Brock and Rollins are bad news, and he can only assume that they deserved it but actually seeing you kill two men, two men who he called friends, with no remorse or hesitation has him about to go into a tailspin. “Syd, baby. Calm down, you’re gonna hyperventilate if you keep that up.” You tell him, and he shakes his head like he’s trying to get the image of the two dead bodies out of his head. You reach into your cleavage, and pull out a baggie of white powder, and shake it in front of Syd’s face. That gets his attention, and you smile sweetly at him, opening the baggie and pouring out a messy line against the swell of your cleavage. His eyes follow your movements, and you see him take half a step before hesitating. “It’s okay, baby. You need this, it’ll help you calm down.”

Syd nods at your urging, closing the distance and bending down to snort at the line of coke on your breast. You watch as the effects take over, the euphoria makes him relax and he encourages you to take a bump yourself and while you normally don’t bother with the coke you decide you can indulge just this once. You scoop out a small amount with your nail, bringing it up to your nose and inhaling it with a groan. Closing the baggie you slip it back in your corset and reach for Syd, pulling him in for a kiss as the effects start to take you over as well. “Fuck, Syd. You’re a bad influence on me.” You tease, smiling when you hear him laugh. Thank god for drugs, you think. You turn yourselves so his back is to the bed, and the bodies of Brock and Rollins are out of his line of sight, then you push him down and fumble with his belt and jeans until you can pull them and his boxers down in one pull. You climb on top of him, throwing a leg over his hips to straddle him. You drag yourself over his length, feeling him growing harder against your sex as your slick starts to coat him.

“Shit, c’mon don’t tease me.” He whines, head pressing back against the bed, eyes squeezed shut. You throw your head back with a giggle before reaching up to pull the Ghostface back down with one hand, while you grip him and line him up with your entrance with the other. You lower yourself, letting the blunt head of his cock push into your entrance. You hiss at the initial stretch, hips squirming as your body adjusts to him. When it does, you sink down on him cursing at how full he leaves you feeling. Syd opens his eyes then, looking up to see you with the Ghostface mask on and he gasps in shock, moaning a second later when he feels you rolling your hips against him. “Oh fuck—shitshitshit…” You can seem him losing it, no doubt the sight of the mask of a killer from a slasher flick is fucking with his high mind. It’s a little mean but you can’t help but fuck with him a bit more.

“What’s your favorite scary movie, Syd?” You ask, dropping your voice an octave as you rock yourself up to the tip of his cock just to drop your hips and take him deep. Syd stutters, clearly stuck between pleasure, confusion, and fear when he sees you leaning forward to grab the bloody knife from the bed. You cut through the fabric of his shirt, shredding it in two to expose the man’s bare chest. The tip of the hunting knife teases against his skin, and Syd goes still when you begin to drag it slowly up his body. Syd’s so far gone that he doesn’t even realize he’s moaning, or the fact that when you press the knife to his throat that it makes his cock twitch. He doesn’t even care right now that the knife still has the blood of two other men on it, all he cares about is how good it feels to have you riding him while your tight walls squeeze around him.

Sex with Syd is always good, but right now you feel like you’re floating, like you’ve got fire in your veins and its just heightening every sensation until it has your head spinning. There’s also the adrenaline rush from earlier that makes you feel like you’re vibrating and it makes you want to chase another rush of euphoria.

You pull the baggie from your cleavage again, watching as Syd disregards the knife and presses harder against his throat. You laugh, pulling it away so you can pour out another line for him to snort off of your breasts. He groans and falls back against the bed, letting you pour out a line for yourself against his collarbone. “Shit babe, you feel sooooo good.” You moan, dragging the edge of the knife up your thigh as you circle your hips. You’re so wet that you’re dripping and you can hear the wet schlick schlick schlick of your cunt around his cock every time you lift and drop your hips to fuck yourself on him. Syd’s hands frame your hips, and you reach out to leave a slap against his cheek that makes him moan and thrust his hips up into you just as you bring your hips back down. “Fuck...you like that?” You give him another slap and he reacts the same way, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

“Fuck, that’s it. Use me, make yourself cum all over me.” He pleads, fingers digging into your hips as he rocks his hips up to meet you each time you drop onto him. You’re so loud, crying out and moaning for him that if it wasn’t for the loud music blasting just outside the bedroom door you’re sure all your guests would be able to hear you right now. You drop the knife, hands bracing against Syd’s chest and dragging down to leave red streaks in their wake. He bucks into you harder, almost knocking you off balance if it weren’t for his tight grip keeping you there. You can feel the pressure building, every time you drop down on him the coil tightens more and more until it finally snaps and you’re cumming hard and grinding yourself against his cock. Syd moves a hand from your hips to slide under the cowl of the Ghostface mask so that he can wrap it around your throat and squeeze. You feel him holding you in place, his hips snapping up to hammer his cock into your fluttering cunt.

“Fuckfuckfuck...Syd! Don’t stop!” You can feel yourself being pushed to another climax, and Syd doesn’t let up until he has you squirting for him when you do cum again. Your nails rake over his chest, and you know he’ll be wearing your marks for a few days with how deep your nails have sunk into him. “Cum for me, baby.” You demand with a breathy moan, voice tight from how he’s squeezing his hand around your throat. Syd cums a second later, the sound of you begging for his cum being the thing to send him over. For a second you wish you had your phone on you to capture his pretty mouth hanging open as he feels his orgasm wash over him. His spend coats your walls, and he gives you a couple thrusts after the fact to make sure he fucks it deep into you before he pulls out and lets you roll to the side and lay next to him.

You breathe heavily, reaching up to rip the mask off and toss it aside with a laugh. Syd pants next to you, chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling in a stupor. You know he’ll be coming down soon, and you’ll have to deal with the inevitable fuss he’s going to make about his very annoying and very dead friends. Until then you’re more than happy to bask in the afterglow.

#syd x woc!reader #syd x black!reader #syd x reader #syd x you #syd x woc #syd london reader #syd reader #syd london fanfiction #syd fanfiction #syd london fic #syd fic #syd london fanfic #syd fanfic #woc!reader #black!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #kinktober 2021 #trilla writes

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Company and Conversation

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by Anonymous: What about a Juice x TellerFemReader where Chuck picks up on her feelings for Juice, and helps her to admit her feelings to Juice?

Warnings: language, Juice being an oblivious lil cutie

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I know the request specified that the reader be a Teller but as I started writing, that bit didn’t really seem super integral to the plot so I just left it as F!Reader. Hope that’s alright! Enjoy some Chucky! xo

SOA Taglist: @garbinge @masterlistforimagines @adela-topaz-caelon @mijop @chibsytelford @xladymacbethx @i-just-read-stuff @kkim120 @everyhowlmarksthedead @toni9 @unicornucopia-fuckers @mayans-sauce @shadow-of-wonder @punkgoddess-98 @paintballkid711 @black-repunzel99 @jitterbugs927 @mrsstevenbuchananstark (If you want to be added to the list please let me know!)

You knew that sooner or later you were going to run out of bullshit things to ask for help with on your car. About ninety percent of the problems that you brought up to Juice, you knew what was wrong and how to fix it. However, it was one of the only ways that it ever got the two of you any kind of alone time to talk, even if it was just him asking you about what was wrong with the car and walking you through how to fix it. You could listen to him talk about pretty much anything.

“Thanks again, Juice,” you said as he shut the hood of your car, “I owe you one.”

He shook his head, a content little smile on his face, “You don’t owe me anything. But unfortunately, I think I’ve run out of free favors, so you do owe T-M a couple bucks for the part,” he laughed.

You chuckled, “Yea, yea of course.”

He nodded towards the office, “If you wanna go square up with Chucky I can get this all finished up for you.”

You nod, “Sure, thank you.”

You looked back over your shoulder as you walked over to the office to see Juice hopping into the driver’s seat. You hated that the sight of that instantly made a wave of warmth wash over you, your face heating up as you tried not to think about it too much.

“Hey, Chucky,” you smiled at him as you walked through the door.

He looked up at you from the desk, the same genuine smile on his face that he always greeted you with, “How can I help you today, Y/N?”

“Just gotta square up some repair payments?”

He tilted his head slightly, “Something else go wrong with your car?”

You shrugged, getting the gut feeling that Chucky was on the pulse of things around the compound, “Nothing serious. Juice fixed it pretty quick.”

“He must know your car really well by now,” he wasn’t looking at you as he pulled the paperwork together, but you knew the connotation of the comment.

“Well, nice to have someone around here who does,” you chuckled as you fussed with the bottom hem of your shirt.

He motioned for you to sit down across from him so you could go through the paperwork with him. It was a fast interaction, pretty straight-forward like things usually were with Chucky. You were signing the bottom of the paper as he ran your card. You could feel him looking at you but you didn’t comment on it.

“I’m sure he’d let you talk to him without having an excuse,” he said as he handed your card back to you.

“Hm?” you fumbled with your wallet as you heard what he said.

He nodded towards the parking lot, “I think Juan Carlos is just happy for the company and the conversation.”

“Yea,” you nodded slowly as you watched Juice scamper around the T-M lot, “maybe.”

You finished squaring everything up with Chucky and headed back out towards your car. Juice was leaning back against the door, keys dangling from his fingers as he texted on his phone. You walked up slowly, wanting to really take in the sight of him before snapping him out of whatever world he was in inside his head.

He heard your footsteps and looked up, a smile instantly coming across his face, “All set?”

You nodded, “All set.”

He pressed the keys into your hand, “Hopefully you’ll be set for a while,” he paused, smiling, “Not that I don’t love seeing you.”

You felt your face getting hot as you let out a nervous laugh, “Pretty sure you’ve restored almost the whole thing for me at this point.”

He laughed, nodding, “Pretty close.”

You twirled the keys around your finger nervously, “Thank you, Juice,” you fought the urge to step in and hug him.

Your hesitation must’ve been more apparent on your face that you thought because you saw the way that his expression shifted for a moment, “Anytime.”

You gave one last smile and nod before hopping into the driver’s seat. You turned the key in the ignition, taking a deep breath to get your thoughts in order as you did so. As you pulled out of the lot, you glanced into your rearview mirror and saw Juice still standing in the lot, watching you drive off with a smile on his face. You tried to subdue the smile that was fighting its way onto your face. Shaking your head, you focused your thoughts on the road.

“You know,” Chucky popped up, seemingly out of nowhere beside Juice.

He jumped back slightly, not having heard the man walk up, “Jesus Christ, Chucky,” he ran his hand over his mohawk, “Scared the shit out of me.”

“It’s good to stay aware of your surroundings, you know.”

Juice raised his eyebrows a little, chuckling, “Noted. What’s up?”

Chucky’s eyes lit up as he got back towards the reason he had come over to Juice in the first place, “You know, she’s here an awful lot.”

“Yea,” he agreed, blissfully unaware of where Chucky was directing the conversation, “Shit run of luck with that car of hers. Seems like its one thing after another.”

He looked over at Juice, trying to gauge whether or not he was purposely not seeing what Chucky had so clearly been seeing, or if he was really that unobservant, “That’s a considerable amount of bad luck in a short amount of time, isn’t it?”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “I guess so?”

Chucky let out a short sigh as he shook his head, “Awareness, Juan Carlos,” he turned and started walking back towards the office, “Work on your awareness.”

Juice watched him as he walked away, confusion still etched into his features as he whispered to himself, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A few days later you found yourself sitting in your car in the T-M lot once again. This time, you had no cover story for being there, no mystery ailment for your car. It was just you, and your little drink tray that had a coffee for you, one for Juice, and a tea for Chucky. You nervously drummed your fingers on the steering wheel as you tried to muster up the courage to get out.

Taking one last deep breath, you cut the ignition, tucking your keys in your pocket before hopping out of the car and grabbing your drinks. You glanced over at the garage and saw that there were a couple mechanics around but none of them were from the MC. You scanned over the line of bikes and tried not to get discouraged as you walked over to the office.

You gently knocked on the door as you walked in, causing Chucky to look up from the paperwork spread out across the desk in front of him. When he saw it was you, a smile crossed his features.

“Y/N, you’re back,” he set his pen down, “Something I can help you with?”

You shook your head, “No, no. I just,” you took his cup out of the drink tray, “I brought you this.”

His eyes lit up, enamored by the gesture, “Really?”

You laughed, nodding, “Yea.”

He motioned towards the chair on the other side of the desk and you gladly took a seat. There were a million thoughts and questions resting on the tip of your tongue, but you kept them to yourself as you listened to Chucky talk. A lot of the time you couldn’t help but to think that out of everyone at the compound, no one enjoyed having a bit of company more than he did.

“Can I take a guess at who the third cup is for?” he asked, completely abandoning the previous topic.

It caught you a little off-guard as you sipped on your coffee, but you instantly felt the heat rising in your face, “I feel like you don’t need to call it a guess, Chucky.”

“He’s in the clubhouse if you want me to go get—”

“No!” you cut him off, immediately trying to regain your composure, “Sorry. Sorry. But, no, you don’t have to do that. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“A kind gesture is a very big deal.”

You chuckled quietly, “Right.”

“Is there a message being passed along with that coffee?” he lifted his cup to his lips, an intrigued look on his face.

You smiled, “Sometimes coffee is just coffee, Chucky. Just like tea,” you gestured towards his cup, “is just tea.”

“But there’s no reason for my tea to be anything more than tea.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, Juice came bounding into the office, “Hey, Chucky, you ever get those order forms for—” he stopped when he saw you lounged on the other side of the desk, “Oh, hey,” he smiled, “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” you shook your head, “I was just—”

“I was just stepping out,” Chucky rose from his seat, making sure to grab his tea as he did, “I can go get those forms for you. Keep Miss Y/N company,” he walked past him, whispering very quietly under his breath, “Awareness, Juan Carlos.”

Juice chuckled, still not sure what Chucky was talking about as he stepped beyond the threshold of the office. He walked over to the desk, leaning back against it. You smiled, trying not to get distracted by the fact that he was only a few inches away from you. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to speak.

“That’s for you, by the way,” you nodded towards the coffee cup.

“For me?” he looked pleased but confused.

“Yea,” you chuckled, “a little thank you for always fixing up my car.”

He laughed as he took the cup, drumming his fingers on the sides of it, “You really don’t have to thank me. Honestly, I just feel bad that you always have so much stuff going wrong.”

You let out a quiet laugh, “Yea. Um. About that.”

He raised his eyebrows as he sipped on his coffee, expecting you to say that something else had gone wrong. You took a breath to steady your nerves, trying to soak up the last few moments before you said something that you weren’t going to be able to take back.

“Most of the stuff that I brought it here for, I could’ve fixed myself.”

He tilted his head slightly, “What?”

“I just, um,” you hated that it was so difficult to say something so simple, “I just liked having an excuse to see you, to talk to you. I didn’t…I didn’t really know how else to do that.” It was evident on his face that he was trying to process everything that you were saying to him. you fussed with the lid of your cup, “I was told that maybe I should just be a little more direct about it.”

“Oh?” his smile was soft.

You laughed, “Yea. I’ve been made aware of a few things on my last couple of trips here.”

“You know,” he chuckled softly, “funny you should say that. Chucky was just telling me the other day that I’ve gotta be more aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“Everything, I guess?” he shrugged with a laugh, “Never really clarified.”

“I, uh,” your face heated up, “that might’ve had something to do with me. And my, um, car issues,” you threw air-quotes around the words.

“Oh yea?”

“Oh yea,” you laughed, nodding, “I…I really like you, Juice.”

His eyes widened, along with his smile, “Really?”

“Yea, really,” you chuckled, “What did you think this was—” you shook your head, “Never mind. Anyway. I like you. And, if you’re up for it, I’d really like to go grab a drink with you sometime. The coffee doesn’t count,” you smirked.

He laughed, “I’d like that.”

“Yea? Okay, great. Any chance I could get your number, then?” you pulled your phone out of your pocket.

He gladly took it from you and plugged his number in. There was a giddy smile on his face and it was impossible not to mirror his expression. He handed the phone back to you and you smiled as you looked over the number.

“Great,” you nodded as you tucked the phone back into your pocket, “I’ll give you a call soon, then.”

He beamed, “Looking forward to it.”

There was a beat of silence and you looked over at the door, gasping slightly when you saw that Chucky was leaning against the doorframe. Juice whipped his head to look as well, having the same reaction as you. He shook his head, not able to understand how he was still surprised when Chucky popped up places.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked.

He smiled knowingly, “Just the right amount of time.”

#soa #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos #juan carlos ortiz #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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rainbowdelicsunshine · 3 years

Note

predictions for the season finale?

A gigantic Chucky army will start taking over the whole town, starting with a massacre at the Frankenstein showing and killing/possessing/recruiting from there, thus creating a kill-haven called ChuckyTown and from there he'll start to "expand" his cult and try to take over the world in his own lil fucked up way. I mean Chucky is a giant egomaniac how could he NOT want an entire town of his own and take over the world?

Andy will sadly die and this will show the end of his arch as a character and tie his story's loose ends, but he's gonna die in the most badass, epic way possible, a final boy like him deserves the best death in the series dont @ me!

Kyle will take Andy's place as the supreme possessed doll killer and she'll be a mother figure to the Team Kill Chucky kids (I mean who doesn't love the idea of Mother Figure!Kyle)

Sadly for Junior he is to the point of no return from the minute he killed his father, I expect Junior to be completely on Chucky's side even if he discovers the truth behind his mom's death, he's not gonna give a shit at that point cuz, well, he has Chucky now and he's been the best thing that happened to him in Junior's life since Jake moved in

There will be both a face off between Jake and Junior and Jake and Chucky, two very badass fights

This is gonna be weird, but I want Chucky to win this time around in some way or another, thus kicking off the second season that way, maybe even moving on to a new group of kids Chucky wants to fuck with. I think it would be a awesome subversion for the villain to win since it would continue with what Cult's ending did

I'm not sure who'll die this time everyone's pretty much free reign and no mercy will be spared, though I have a feeling Jake and Devon will def make it to be survivors at the end

I want there to be a parallel of the scene where Chucky's dad Peter died with Doll!Chucky walking in on Nica!Chucky (or even Nica somehow taking an opportunity to take down Tiff) killing Tiffany in the same way the intruder killed Peter and I just want Chucky to go absolutely APESHIT on Nica/Nica!Chucky

CHUCKY CLONE INTERACTIONS PLS AND HAVE THEM BE FUNNY TOO

Maybe more stuff with Chucky and sexuality n gender stuff? It would be very lovely

MORE LOOKS INTO CHUCKY'S PSYCHE/MIND, MAYBE EVEN A PSYCHEDELIC DREAM SQUENCE???

CHUCKY ANGST WE NEED THAT!!

And more singing Chucky too!

Also I WANT GLEN AND GLENDA TO SHOW UP SOMEHOW

I really hope these are interesting to you guys, it may not be what everyone else would want, but eh, I have my desires too!

Anyways, please read and enjoy friends, and tell me your thoughts on them!!

#🌈 fozz's posts #🌈 fozz chit chats #chucky #chucky series spoilers #answered ask

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jeonsblackgf-writes · 3 years

Text

LIES WITHIN YOUR WORDS || 2 ||

summary: Sierra left, but she didn’t quite leave😂 (you’ll see)

pairing: basically miguel galindo x black!OC

genre: errrr pettiness? fluff, maybe angst

word count:

AN: DO NOT WORRY! I AM CURRENTLY WRITING A FIC WITH FLUFF WITH ANGEL THEN EZ😂

____________________________________________🖊

"I just don't understand why I have to go back there." Sierra huffed, not wanting to move since she was very much pregnant as hell. She didn't want to leave the comfort of her couch but Miguel was more at ease knowing she was with him at all times with her being so close to her due date. He didn't want anything to happen to her, but he understood where his wife was coming from when she said that she didn't want to go back to the clubhouse after what happened to her 4 years ago. The only two people she's kept up with was Letty and Chucky. They've visited her a few times, they came to the wedding, the baby shower, almost everything. They were the only two people she trusted when it came to the Mayans.

"Mi reina, I completely understand why you don't want to go back, but I can assure you that nothing will happen to you because while I conduct business with Bishop, Nestor will be by your side just as he has been all these years. You have nothing to worry about, just trust me." He reassured her. She sighed and nodded her head as he gave her a triumphant smile. "Besides, it'd be nice to see you be petty every once in a while."

"I'm not liable for anything that happens while you're in the Templo. You know how my mouth gets when I get riled up" She grumbled, slowly sitting up from the couch to slip on her slides. Miguel gave her a kiss on the cheek, and let her have her alone time until it was time to work again. He absolutely knew how much of a hard ass she can get when she gets mad, he's been on the other side of that on several occasions.

Sierra was 100% sure that Miguel was bringing her out of spite because he liked to brag and that's just the type of man he was. He took pride in the fact that he finally found love after Emily since he found out Cristobal wasn't his. He was heartbroken, yeah, but Sierra was there for him when nobody else was, and she was there for him when she told him about the deal that EZ had made with the feds. Of course, she felt like a bad friend, but there was so much betrayal being thrown around inside the Mayans, she didn't care anymore. Now here she is, 4 years later, married and pregnant by the one man that Angel and EZ had hated more than anything.

She had came to peace with herself and what happened to her a long ass time ago. She didn't want to harbour any hate for a man that didn't even deserve her time of the day. She stopped posting on social media because for some reason it had always encouraged him to call her, even while she was engaged to Miguel. She had also known, that Miguel was a completely different breed when it came to loyalty, it was like taking care of her needs was always his first priority and she used to feel so overwhelmed with how much love she had been receiving, but she had gotten used to it.

"It's time to go mi corazon," Miguel announced, walking back into the living room with Nestor behind him. She gave the two men a confused look as she watched Miguel carry a bag. He gave her a smile and handed it to her. She smiled as she looked inside the bag to see that it was filled with all her favourite snacks and drinks since he knew she liked to eat throughout the day. Not wanting to waste any time, she pulled out a bag of hot cheetos and ripped the bag open before popping a handful in her mouth.

Miguel grabbed her free hand and lead her to the car where the driver was waiting. He opened the door for her, placing a hand on her back as she got in. After she got comfortable, he closed the door and walked to the other side before settling himself beside her. Out of instinct, Sierra crossed her legs over her husbands, and scooted closer to him. He smiled and began to rub her thighs as the car started to move, Nestor sitting in the front. Miguel rolled up the partition from his side of the car, and began rubbing her thighs higher and higher, making her look at him suspiciously.

"The same shit your doing now is the reason why I'm pregnant." She grumbled, trying to push his hand away from he only grabbed it and laced it with his other hand as he slowly pulled her panties off with one hand and began to rub her clit slowly in small circles. She sighed and leaned her head back as she tried not to make too much noise because the car definitely wasn't sound proof.

"You know I can never get enough of you querida, no matter how pregnant you are." He mumbled, leaning over to place small kisses on her neck and chest. Sierra sighed in content and leaned back on the seat with her sundress hiked up to her belly, making Miguel smile. Maybe a small quickie wouldn't hurt.

"Miguel just hurry up because you got me horny knowing how sensitive my hormones are." She complained, trying to unbuckle his slack but he slapped her hand away, and held her legs up by the back of her knees.

"Relax honey, it'll be a while before we get there anyway." He stated before eating his wife out like it was her last meal, not giving her a chance to respond properly since she was too busy trying not to moan as she ran her hands through his hair.

Miguel moaned as he felt her drip onto his tongue before pushing her dress up past her. breast so he could have something soft to hold onto. Lately, he had been having sex with her and eating her out more than usual. She tasted sweeter and her pushy was always extremely wet during sex. He let go of her trembling legs, and snuggly placed them on his shoulder so that she would be more comfortable.

He circled his lips around her clit before sucking harshly, receiving a loud moan from her. "Holy fuck! Shit..."

Sierra looked down to her husband over her belly to see him already staring at her with wide eyes as he used both hands to spread her pushy lips as he stiffened his tongue and proceeded tongue fuck her deeper, making her thud down onto the seat and let out another sob as she felt herself coming closer and closer to cumming.

Her mouth fell into a silent scream as she felt her orgasm crash down upon her. Miguel did his best to keep her still as he watched her essence spurt out of her, watching as her legs continued to shake from the huge orgasm. Miguel glanced outside of the moving car for a split second before rushing to pull his slacks down.

"We'll be there in 5, so lets make this quick mi reina," He mumbled, kissing his wife on the lips before leaning back up to thrust into her. Sierra gasped and grabbed her husbands hand as he quickly plowed into her as he tried to get her to finish as she chased his own climax. Miguel tried his best not to moan loud because he knew Nestor would give him shit so he stuck with deep breaths and small grunts. Sierra bit onto her lip as she watched her husband thrust harshly into her.

"You gonna let them know who you belong to amor?" Miguel asked, moving his hand to rub his wife's clit as she came around him. She sporadically and rapidly nodded her head as she tried to push him away but he grabbed both her hands and placed them above her her as he continued his consistent thrusting, now getting to his orgasm as he gave her one more thrust, spilling himself inside her. (I promise I write better smut than this lol.)

"Miguel, we're here." Nestor called from the front. Miguel could hear the sound of the front seat opening before he and Sierra put their clothes on. She straightened herself out, fixing her hair while Miguel pulled up his slacks and buckled his pants back.

It had just dawned on her about what she was about to walk into. Sierra sighed, not wanting to see anyone's face again, not after what happened but she knew she really had no choice seeing as she willingly got into the car with her husband.

Miguel noticed her distress, and comforted his wife, "Hey, if you don't want to come in it's your decision."

Sierra smiled at him and shook her head, "No, I want to. Let's go."

The couple made it out of the car, checking their surrounds before a loud voice caught her attention. Miguel whispered to Nestor about keeping a watch on her, the man nodding his head.

"SIERRA! GIRL HEY!" Letty ran up to the pregnant woman and engulfed her in a huge hug, being mindful of her belly. Miguel smiled at the interaction and stated that he was going inside for his meeting with Bishop, to which Sierra smiled and nodded her head before kissing his lips as a temporary goodbye.

"You're glowing! Miguel really got you out here living your best life." She complimented, looking at her friend. Sierra laughed and rubbed her belly out of instinct.

"Girl, he is but don't tell him I said that shit. His ego already big as hell." She joked, earning a laugh from the younger girl in front of her.

"You wanna head inside?" Letty asked after a small moment of silence. Sierra hesitantly smiled and nodded her head. Letty noticed the hesitance.

"If it makes you feel any better, Angel's been a shit show ever since you left. Adelita was pregnant and he thought it was his but turns out it wasn't. So karma's a bitch I guess." Letty explained as the two of them walked to the doors of the clubhouse. Sierra gave a small hum at the new information. She had always told Angel that Adelita was suspect but he clearly was too deep in her pussy to see that until it was too late.

"I'm married to a good ass man and we got a kid on the way, I could really care less." She stated, walking past Letty to get inside with Nestor following closely behind since she was burning up. It was like a record scratch from those dramatically funny ass movies and suddenly all eyes were on her while some where on her belly.

Of course they were doing the same banter just like the time Angel got caught only his little Adelita wasn't here. Such a shame. She turned to Nestor with a smile on her face.

"Could you get me something to drink?" She asked quietly. Nestor gave her a friendly smile and walked to the bar to ask for some water, returning it back to Sierra as she thanked him and took a big gulp from him. She tried her hardest to ignore the stares but it was getting irritating at this point.

"Are yall gone keep staring or is somebody gone speak?" She asked loudly, scanning the room, and of course the first one to walk up was Angel. Looking past him, Sierra locked eyes with a girl with shoulder length hair, making her squint her eyes at her before the girl broke contact with her and turned around.

"Who knocked you up?" He asked, pointing to her belly before glancing at Nestor who was standing behind him. She smiled at him.

"Not your hoe ass, that's for sure." She replied, pretending to pick at her nails as if she were bored with the conversation already.

"Mi reina seriously, did you let Miguel knock you up?" Angel asked, hoping to hear a no, but from the smile on her face he knew it was the opposite. Sad to say, he had thought about coming to see her all the way up until this point, but she clearly was busy with someone else.

"I'll tell you this. I married the same man who got his heart broken by the bitch your brother constantly fucked. Crazy how their baby wasn't his but EZ's isn't it? Kinda pathetic if you ask me, taking Miguel's sloppy seconds...so weird." She spoke, every ounce of venom on her voice. She had time to be petty today.

"Did you come here to insult us? If you did you can fucking lea--"

"How's Adelita? Y'know with you cheating on me with her and all one would've thought that you guys would be a big happy family with her being pregnant. Oh wait, they poor baby isn't even yours. So not only did you cheat, you allowed a hoe to run game on you. Crazy." She chuckled, shaking her head at him. Angel knew he should say something, but how could he when everything she's saying is true. As far as Nestor, the only thing he could really do was try not to laugh, since he was told not to start anything unless he felt like someone was physically trying to attack his boss's wife and unborn child.

"Seriously Sierra, we get that we fucked you over but chill out." Gilly spoke from the other side of the room. Sierra looked at him and sighed.

"Gilly, if you knew how much dirt I had on you and every person in this room you would shut the fuck up and keep stuffing your fat ass face." Sierra ranted. Where the fuck is Miguel?

"Uhm excuse me but who are you? Angel why are you letting her walk all over you?" One of Vickey's girls asked, standing up to get beside Angel.

"You do know I can put a price on your head and get you knocked off right? Matter fact lemme just..." She trailed off, pulling out her phone to text Miguel but Nestor grabbed the phone from her hand before she could. One phone call and the entire building will be burned to the damn ground with everyone in it.

"He just saved your life. Next time you wanna try somebody, try a bitch that ain't me." She hissed, standing up just in time to see her husband walking out of the templo with Bishop, who could clearly feel the tension in the room. Miguel smiled and walked over to his wife as she welcomed him with a hug.

"She wasn't too much trouble was she?" Miguel asked Nestor, who handed her back her phone.

"Other than the fact that she just tried to get one of Vickey's girls dead, no, she's been an angel as always." Nestor laughed, stepping back from the two of them.

"Why the fuck did you marry her into this shit? You're too dangerous for her." Angel fussed, scowling at Miguel who turned around with an amused look on his face.

"Angel seriously shut the fuck up. You just don't like the fact that I'm married to the one man everybody in this bitch is afraid of because if he's too dangerous for me then you were as well and yet I STAYED with you and you see where that got me. It took you five years to propose to me while it took him one and a half, and we got married 6 moths later. Like my momma always said, a man knows when he ready to settle down, and you weren't ready and that's okay, but don't try to talk about what the fuck I got going on when you clearly got homegirl in the back over there scared to even say shit with her weak ass but I'm not surprised, you always had to fuck weak bitches because you could never handle a real ass bitch like me. Have a nice life dickface." She ranted, grabbing her husband's hand who was shocked at the confrontation. Any other time Miguel would be the first to speak on something like that but hearing his wife do it for him just made his heart swell with pride.

"You handled that better than I would have baby, I'm proud of you." He told her as the two of them got into the car. Sierra smiled and leaned into her husbands side as he pulled her closer and kissed her head.

"Okay now take me home and give me bath." She demanded, causing the other man to throw his head back in laughter.

#angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes #miguel galindo #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo x you #angel reyes x reader

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