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castle-dominion · 9 months

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castle 6x10 the good the bad & the baby

the baby lotto episode liveblog

heheheh I actually missed this one on my family watch & we had to go back afterwards to watch it.

I'm so stoked.

Loooove a good bit of christianity. The aesthetics, the folk-catholic, the goth/emo, the religious trauma, I love it sm. *dies immediately after handing a baby to the priest*

Very Castle of him. But he's right leftovers are important. Oh yeah, Pi. (Ooh audio commentary... which I've seen) lol mom Oh her dad is joining them! ... Costume? (take it in the context of the times Dom, period typical homophobia tagged on ao3 as 2007, it's ok, well it is not ok but it's fine it's fine you don't need to do anything, just be quiet, it's fine, everyone in 2023 knows that this is racist it's fine just keep watching)

Should I clip this? KB: Uh … you guys – you guys dress up for Thanksgiving? RC: (pause) Doesn’t everybody? KB: (low) No, I think that’s pretty special to you. (to CASTLE) Um … so, is there anything else I need to know about you before we get married? RC: So many, many things.

lol beckett & becket

RC: When we do this, let’s not do the dead body in the middle of the aisle.

6.30 mass? that's early af. "at the buttcrack of dawn" said my lil bro

JE: a little something something. LP *turns around with a smile & a baby* RC: A BABY!!!!? LP: A boy. I’m guessing he’s about three months. (lol no.) And he’s hungry because he keeps going after the girls. RC: Oh, who can blame him? Hi, buddy. What’s your name, little man?

rysposito arguing over lottery lol (yk what? I'll quote.) JE: his name is Cameron Ducane, 30, lived in the Bronx. There’s no baby pictures in his wallet, he’s got a commercial driver’s license, probably drives for a living. He’s got a car wash coupon– (he scoffs) – and like Ryan, spent his hard earned money on a lottery ticket. KR: (sighs) That is the Five State Magic Ball Jackpot. At $247 million you’re crazy not buying a ticket. JE: Yeah, one or two. Not fifty. KR: I’m just increasing my odds of winning. JE: You’re increasing your odds of being broke. KR: Listen, do you have any idea what it costs raising a child in New York City? JE: (shrugs) I don’t know how much it costs. I mean - KR: Of course you don’t, ‘cause you don’t - JE: I’m – RC: Guys! How about we don’t fight in front of the baby? Beckett smiles and rolls her eyes all at once.

He does call himself ruggedly handsome more than once lol. Castle is also such a dad! He sees a baby & immediately he goes from "12-year-old humour" & "15 year old who thinks he can seduce his teacher" to "DAD MODE ENABLED. OBJECTIVES: PROTECT CHILD, CLICK TONGS, MAKE JOKES."

What's his name? Julian? Love how Castle just steals him(*shrugs at beckett*) & gets ice cream. I am so glad that in the bonus features of at least one of the seasons we got to meet the "cast behind the cast" clipping

Yes he does drive for a living THAT IS A HORRIBLE SHIFT IMO. I used to work 11-19 but it was always that not 23-6...

Maybe he was thinking abt having a baby & put locks on the doors for that

I loooove this scene. They just filmed it in a car elevator. soo goood. (no-show or call in sick or smth?) (roman is very... artiulate if you know what I'm thinking about. Which you do. Why would you read my liveblog without having seen the show? unless you're reading my liveblog WHILE watching the ep but who would be doing that? I am not that popular.) Love the whistle

Ok so Roman the car service owner said that since Werid Prison Dude showed up, Cameron had been staying out all not, not coming in for his 3.00 lunch break.

That's an awesome tattoo but also it sounds like literally every tattoo. apparently this individual messed up their lines, it was supposed to be "howling at THE moon" but he said "It was pretty spectacular. It was a wolf, teeth bared, howling at a moon." & they kept it bc it was awesome beckt it is NOT specific. LOVE the outfits for ryckett, but I liked beckett's outdoor outfit better than her indoor one. Oh & esposito has bisexual clothes on (even tho it's supposed to be a classic case of dark haired gay x light haired bisexual)

If speeding tickets are on your criminal record then these detectives should get A Lot more "no record except for speeding tickets" rather than "no record"

KR: A guy takes off for work at 10PM and never arrives. And then at 6:45 the next morning he shows up shot to death at a church, holding someone else’s baby. What the hell happened in those 8 hours? That's the point of the episode babe

BECKETT shakes her head. The elevators dings and they turn to see CASTLE walking in, the baby in this arms. A UNIFORM (Julian?) follows him, his hands FULL of baby stuff. CASTLE waves. KB: Hey. So … that’s a couple of things? (ryan's big smile when castle comes in) RC: Yeah. I just grabbed the essentials. You know, diapers, a carrier, wipes, blankies, bottles, formula. Didn’t want little Cosmo going hungry. (Older brother's horror game player: B'by!! Baby! ... The ba,bey!) uwu castle dressed him up like a turkey! KB: I’m suddenly getting a clear and frightening visual as to what my future will look like. so she is planning on having kids.

KR: Hey, Castle. …um, mind if I hold him? It’ll be good experience for me. RC: Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Ready? KR: Yeah He passes RYAN the baby. As soon as the baby leaves CASTLE’S arms, he starts to fuss. (because the film team had quadruplets & each baby had a different specialty. This baby hated being on their back so they would start crying. Coincidentally, Seamus Dever was holding them so the camera could see them which just so happened to be a position that the baby hated so they started to cry as soon as he held them.) RC: Hold his head, there. KR: I know. RC: Hold him up under his – KR: I know. The baby keeps fussing. KR: Um… he’s crying. What am I doing wrong? RC: Just try to remain calm. They can sense fear. (like bees, dogs, & bread dough) KR: This is not at all like the practice doll. The baby continues to cry and CASTLE makes a face. Finally RYAN breaks and hands him back to CASTLE. KR: I thought I was ready. Clearly I am not. (aside) Oh God, I’m not ready. Poor man XD, but also NOBODY is ready for a baby. (clipping)

I'm the baby whisperer!!!

RC: Want to hold him? Her smile falls. KB: Uh, no. I’d rather figure out where he came from. RC: Well, when a man – (Sex? I’ll explain how that works later.) KB: Stop. Stop. I know where babies come from, Castle. Just not this one. She heads for her desk. RC: I can’t believe you don’t want to hold the baby. Everyone wants to hold the baby. JE: I don’t want to hold that baby. (THAT baby XD) (tbh I could clip that one phrase) RC: shrugs.

Jimmy Wolfinsky, aka Jimmy the Wolf. Good name, good tat. That sketch has a slightly too strong chin

RC: So it’s a tale of betrayal and revenge. Cameron abandons his partner Jimmy he comes down, leaving him to take the fall. Ridden with remorse, Cameron tries to put it all behind him, start life anew. But surprise, surprise. *cameral looking at ryan from the baby's POV* RC: Jimmy made parole after spending seven long years thinking of ways to make his partner pay. I like the "chorus" shakespeare bonvolio moments where people recap what has been going on in hte ep. Makes it make sense for me. But I thought cam told his wife everything & wouldn't keep secrets like extra marital babies & presumably bank robbery

Clip the jacket toss? Maybe they don't know he's gone, just like the lightbulb len episode (not relevant to anything but remember when castle was like "alexis doesn't think loving ashley at college is practical but she needs to love him anyway" & now with pi he's like "don't you dare effing move out") clipping lanie baby talk to for sure

LP: Well, whatever happened happened near that church. She drops her jacket on a chair. KB: Lanie, what are you doing here? LP: I had some information and I thought I’d come by and check on my little patient. (she bypasses them completely and picks the baby up from the pack and play) Hey little doodlebug. How’re you doing? KB: What makes you think Cameron was shot near the church? LP: Well, based on the nature and the severity of the wounds, your victim maybe had only five or ten minutes before he bled out. RC: He couldn’t have driven that far. LP: Twenty blocks at most. I also found something unusual under his fingernails. [In baby voice] Wax residue, charred nitrocellulose, and camphor. Despite her rundown of the facts, she more interested in the baby. KB: Nitrocellulose? LP: Yes. It’s used to make celluloid. You can find it in old filmstock, certain kinds of plastic, but it’s highly flammable. (she goes back to the baby) Isn’t it? RC: Charred celluloid? Where would that come from? LP: Beats me. That’s your job. Right now my job is to play with the little baby. Yes it is. LP continues to bounce the baby. KB smiles.

Ryan no you are embarrassing me & I'm just watching the show. JE: Yeah, this is Detective Esposito. I need to put out a BOLO on a Jimmy Wolfins- (he pauses when he sees a man walking toward him) Never mind. I think I found him. should I clip the oblivious ryan + fight scene esposito? lil bro said yes

INT – TWELFTH PRECINCT OBSERVATION ROOM RC: is in the room, holding the baby. They’re watching JIMMY through the glass. RC: See that man? That is a bad man. He’s gonna confess and we’re going to know just who you are. The baby coos in his arms. KR: walks in. KR: Castle? Mind if I try again? RC: Course. Here you go. He hands the baby over, and just like last time the baby immediately starts to fuss. RC: makes a face and KR: starts to panic. He hands the baby back. KR: I’ll just … wait outside. RC: No problem. KR: sighs as he backs out the door. He can’t even come up with an excuse. RC: (low, to the baby) You did that on purpose, didn’t you? High five. (the baby hits his palm) Good job.

RC: That’s a grownup lying. (low) Get used to that.

I like the wolf. Not ratting on his partner even tho the man abandoned him in the bank job.

JW: Because … I don’t know, when I was convicted I may have told some folks that Cam would pay. But that was years ago. (they’re silent) Look, the truth is, I was the one who messed up that day. I got hung up inside. Cam waited as long as he could. Longer than he should’ve. I told him that. He knew we were square. Good on them tbh

You're out of the house before 7? I mean I used to have to catch my bus for culinary school at 6.00...

Love seeing Gates be normal Gates not "iron gates".

KB: Castle, we were strangers until this morning. but you were only strangers until this morning! Consistency is important for kids! In the face of that face XD

One of our own sjfhdsjksdjklj

lunch HOUR? He works 7 hours & one of those hours is his lunch?

I had never heard the term blotter in this context before this fandom. KR: Nope, only three men and a mustang.

Wait how do-- right the footage. We saw the footage at 4.12 & mass was at 6.30.

Files, information, bank transfer numbers... they don't need to physically steal stuff b'y. Yeah bro if they got in you need to know how they did & where your security failed.

RC: A heist where nothing was taken. Maybe this is a classic ‘no honor among thieves’ situation. You know, a heist goes wrong, they fight. (reminds me of 2x21) RC: A not-so-classic no honor among thieves situation? KB: Where someone gets shot running away with a baby?

aaaaaaaaah def clipping

KR: I mean, earlier just got me thinking. Our baby’s due in a month and I can’t stop it. What if I’m really not ready? JE: Well, you’re not ready. KR: What?? JE: (shrugs) Nobody is. Look, being a dad is like being a cop. No matter what they teach you in the academy, you learn on the streets. You did okay with that, right? KR: Uh :| …my first day I was so nervous I rear ended the spot man and the guys in vests poured out ready to take me out with extreme prejudice. JE: JE: Well … you care. That already makes you a hundred times better than the dad I had. KR: [watches him for a second] (the man took you to baseball games between the ages of 3 & 5 at least...) also wow a month! The next episode is when the baby is born btw.

Typically I hear Beckett call him Espo the most. love his scarf btw

Castle can tell by the smell it was recent? A DIAPER!!! Poor baby, possibly witnessed someone get shot

I love rysposito just chatting in the background (saying goodnight & leaving in "we"s bc caskett are going home together but girl that also implies rysposito are going home together)

You are correct, he is NOT a bad guy. My man used to be a getaway driver but then he got out of the life bro. He's trying to save this baby from whoever is out there shooting ppl! actually that makes me think. Why didn't cosmo cry when cameron handed him to the priest?

Lol he's the baby whisperer. I mean yeah! Castle raised Alexis! "officially remains custody of the nypd" I used to dislike self-insert fanfiction but uh heheh technically custody of the nypd babes. & he's right! He DOES have all the stuff!

"wanna have a baby with me?" XD It'll be fun! cut to: this is SO not fun!

I love how Baby Whisperer is capitalized Them is so much faster to say but at least the book didn't say "it" (also heck yeah caskett moments) just has an exercise ball cream of mushroom soup babes HAS SHE STILL NOT HELD THE BABY? *holding him at arms length* "I hate that blanket" KB: We’re going on the nasty blanket. Yeah. Like a surgery lol. Castle really is a dad. Love the music *just not showing anything lol, rly good for filming bc they don't need to be in front of the camera* (the music heehee)

RC: All right. Now all we have to do is get him to sleep. Oh no

Martha was ALSO a single parent! The door opens and ALEXIS CASTLE walks in. Her eyes widen when she sees CASTLE and BECKETT rumpled on the couch and MARTHA happily feeding a baby. AC: How long have I been gone?

The elevator dings and CASTLE and BECKETT step off. They both have coffee but they both look bone tired. KB: Coffee’s not even helping. RC: I’d forgotten about this part. They sluggishly head for her desk. KR: Whoa. (really good "woah" from him) You two look like you got hit by the milk truck. CASTLE gestures to his face. RC: You see this face? This is the face of your future. (not clipping) JE: That bad, huh? RC: No, no, no. We slept like babies. KB: Yeah, up every hour. KR: Where is the little guy? KB: Martha and Alexis offered to babysit him. (Is that allowed? they r not the nypd?) KB: They said they were going to make a day out of it. (she tries to focus on work) So .. where are we on … um … JE, who has also basically adopted people: Child services? KB: … child services.

Nooooo did the baby's relative DIE???

KB: Uh, given how much baby garbage we generated in just one night and given how quickly they cleaned and vacated that apartment after the shooting, I’m wondering where all their garbage went. JE: raises his eyebrows. It’s a new angle. EXT – NEW YORK CITY ALLEYWAY (they've filmed in this alley before /neu) RC is digging through a dumpster. KB pops up next to him. (nice jackett btw) RC: You always take me to the most exotic places. KB: If you didn’t want to jump in your could have waited on the side like you usually do. Her teasing is good-natured. RC: What? After the puke storm I put you through last night? It felt wrong not to participate. KB: Yeah. RC: Which, by the way, you were great last night. KB: (smiles) Thank you. You weren’t so bad yourself. RC: Well, I was no baby whisperer. (she laughs) You know, I’ve gotta say, when I volunteered to take Cosmo I – I thought I was doing it for his benefit, but … I realized I was doing it more for mine. I – when Alexis was little Meredith wasn’t really around, so I – I did it all on my own. And … when you said you weren’t a baby person … KB: Ah, okay. Okay, I get it. You were thinking that … RC: (nods) Yeah. KB: Well, tell you what. When the time comes, there’s no way I’m going to let you take care of our baby on your own. She smiles and he smiles back. They lean in for a kiss. (“it’s just weird” -rc in reference to kissing in front of a dead body) KR: Hey guys! They pull back. KR holds up a bag triumphantly. (also if u look in the background esposito is peeing against the wall. Remember s1 with the nanny when castle asked where detectives go to the washroom?) KR: I’ve got something. (lil bro: "it's a couch! for my apartment!" dumpster divin', dumpster kevin...) He jumps out and runs to show them. KR: Diapers. The same kind that Cosmo was wearing when we found him. RC: The cheap, un-biodegradable kind? Now that’s just criminal.

Ryan canonically knows abt wine then? he mentioned if he won the lottery (before he had a baby) thet he'd buy a winery & farm, he's impressed by argon canisters... JE: They were lighting pin opng balls on fire??? RC: *you're right that's a college party trick*

KB: Okay, a wine preservation kit, a missing baby, and a heist where nothing was taken. I mean, each time we find a piece of this puzzle it makes less and less sense.

ryan embarrassing moments:

RC: There’s something we’re missing. Something that – There’s commotion from out in the bullpen. KR pulls a chair over to the TV. KR: It’s time! It’s time! RC: - something that’ll make the pieces fit. They head out to see what’s really going on. JE shakes his head. INT – TWELFTH PRECINCT BULLPEN KR: Quiet everyone. It’s starting! KR hands a few tickets to his coworkers. (BRO???) JE: Wow man, how many of these things did you buy – KR pushes his finger against JE’S lips to get him to stop talking. KR: Shhh. Baby needs an education. Officer Harrison.

RC: Right. The break in where nothing was stolen? Ping pong balls, wax, gas? You guys, it makes perfect sense. They fixed the lottery. The crowd mumbles. RYAN looks at the TV in disbelief before ripping his tickets in half and tossing them in the air. (at the desks now) RYAN groans, his head in his hands, shaking, BECKETT'S hand rests on his shoulder. Except how would they get them in ORDER?

the winning the lottery joke was not good

Oh no the husband is probably the one who got shot!

ok but is that the third briefcase from the end or the third briefcase from the leftmost one? what if you're doing double inclusive counting? double exclusive counting? I'm really bad at this sort of thing Benny was crying? Benny was there? no wait that was yesterday not today Why would gates ask beckett what would happen to Paul Vail? She's the captain here babes

Corner after corner walk & talk

Caskett finishing each other's sentences lol RC: They’re not leveraging him. He’s in on it. Yeah lol acab

Ooh the way the music stopped when she put down the phone? so good

They just have him in the car service location? Ok so sometimes they show up & start yelling from a distance, other times they sneak up on em. What's the difference?

Oh the reunion!

VG: Nicely done. KB: Thanks. But uh … Cam is the real hero here. VG: The getaway driver? RC: Yeah. Turns out it was a case of honor among thieves. JE: Yeah. Paul told us the whole story. KB: When Cam’s boss, Roman, found out about his past, he pressured Cam into the job and threatened to fire him if he didn’t go along. RC: It was going to destroy everything he and his wife were trying to build. (all four of them are doing the finishing sentences thing) JE: Roman promised no one would get hurt, but then after the ball exchange at the TV station, Cam overheard Roman and Walter Dennis talking. They whole leaving the country thing was bull. They never had any intention of letting the Vails live. KR: Yeah. After collecting the winnings, they were going to stage an accident, killing them all. VG: Silencing the only witnesses to their crime. KB: nods. RC: When Cam found out, he couldn’t live with that. PAUL: He tried to save us both, but they caught him. So he grabbed Benny and ran. (to MIRANDA) He gave up his life for us.

Baby! Love his hat btw

KR: Well, the good news is, I mean, besides saving that family, they are rolling over the lottery. So I’ve got another shot at that $247 million. All I’ve got to do is tape my tickets back together. JE: Oh … dude. (KR stops) They uh … they already took out the trash. KR stops for a seconds, then turns and bolts out the door, almost running into someone in the process. After he’s gone, JE starts to laugh. He pulls KR's tickets from his pocket. JE: It’s– I’m just going to let him swim around in a dumpster for like a hour, then I’m going to pull him out. XD what a dick but it's funny

AC: Hey, if you guys have kids in a few years, and I have kids in a few years, they can grow up together. RC: RC: And … it’s ruined. Bestie the turkey should have already been out of the freezer those things take forever to thaw. I missed a day of culinary school. & was screwed. Also, like??? just break it down? Different parts of the carcass have different cooking times. Break it down & then cook them so that you have them all perfectly done instead of some overcooked some still half-raw

Love Martha's outfit (her braids are not nearly tight enough tho) *don't talk about it don't talk about it don't talk about it don't talk about it hhhhhhhhhhhh* where's Jim? I'm glad that thought distracted me. Also yeah I totally believed the castle family would do that. but why did SHE get castle's outfit? if she thought castle was being srs & would have his own?

So yeah I really really loved this episode! Minus the fact that I'm FNMI ofc.

So there IS an audio commentary of this but idk if it would be worth liveblogging.

#castle 6x10 #castle 6x10 spoilers #castle 6x10 quote #the baby lotto episode

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betelguwuse · 3 years

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I’m starting to think maybe I don’t want to get married. Hypothetically I’d love to be in a godly marriage with a man who respects me and sees me as the person that God does (and not only me but women as a whole), but realistically do christian men like that even exist? Mainstream christianity, especially gender discourse, is so watered down and twisted into something that’s more political than biblical. I feel like this is gonna piss off both the christians and feminists, even though I’m both (though some might say I’m not a real feminist, whatever idc lol). Might also tag as Side B because I feel like this is also maybe a Side B mood? But here goes.

Color coded by vague topic, bolded so it’s easier to read.

Like I recently heard of a pastor being criticized for saying it’s a woman’s duty to look good for her husband, and the boomer conservatives were acting like criticisms of this pastor was the end of christianity. There’s no way “looking good” in a biblical sense was anything more than basic hygiene, nowhere near the beauty standards of today; and that is if the idea of looking good for your husband is even in the bible. These people siding with the pastor were saying that any woman who doesn’t shave or hide her “flaws” with makeup or basically completely embody the tradwife meme are bad wives. Like what the literal hell.

Honestly the entire tradwife aesthetic seems to be the goal for a lot of young christian couples, when it’s not inherently biblical. I used to be into it myself because heck yeah staying home, housekeeping, taking care of children, and wearing cute flowery dresses sounds like a dream. But my goals aren’t universal! Some women don’t want kids. Some women want to work. Good and God-honoring women of the bible didn’t all have kids and stay home. I mean the timeline of the bible spans so long, so yeah maybe there were times when most women did. But that doesn’t mean women who didn’t were bad wives or lesser women. Not to mention there’s such a blurred line currently between cute tradwife lifestyle and creeps who fetishize the idea of a traditional (and by traditional they mean submissive) wife. Gross.

Another thing too many christian men do is say women can’t be in any position of power in the church. There is the whole specific issue of whether or not women should be the highest up actual pastor of the church, and I don’t know enough about that whole debate to validate or debunk it, but I’m not talking about that specifically here. Aside from that one position, a lot of christians think women can only teach other women and girls but not guys, even like literal child boys. That’s so weird, like imagine thinking a little boy has more authority than, or even equal to, a grown woman? Couldn’t be me. And this whole idea comes from an out of context “I do not permit women to speak in the church” from a regular human guy. And the reason he said this was that the women around him were spreading heresy. I still think it’s flawed logic to exclude all women from speaking in that situation just because most of them were wrong, but again, this wasn’t a command from God. This was just a guy recording his church experience and doing his flawed human best to manage it. Various women throughout the actual bible outside of this one leader’s timeline held positions of power in various churches. And modern day american christian men think biblical womanhood is all about subservience? Bro what bible are you reading?

I just want to make it clear that these are all just generalizations, but having been in various actual biblical communities and conservative christian communities, I can kinda pick up on the general sexist behaviors of the latter. But unfortunately in today’s political climate more and more young christians are only being exposed to political opinions that are surface level americanized good christian morals, but not actually biblical.

Even on top of that, even if a man knows of these biblical misconceptions, we live in a society. Like we’re constantly exposed to women’s sexualization, and it’s pretty impossible to escape that. I don’t want to spend my life with someone who’s grown up in a world where women are seen as weak, objects, pleasure machines, etc. And yeah we can unlearn these biases (honestly I hate the word unlearn but I can’t think of a substitute rn), but it feels like a hassle to casually figure out whether a guy can make an effort to understand what women go through, and if I were to just bring it up I’d scare them away. And that’s not to say I’m some perfect person who’s never sexualized men, we are all sinners after all and we live in a fallen world etc etc. But a whole society where women are so objectified that it’s normal for little boys to be watching porn, that just doesn’t really happen with little girls. I can’t speak for all women, but when I started seeing men sexually it was in my late teens when I realized like ‘oh I can sexualize men too? wild. ok I’m an adult lemme check it out’. Still sinful, but not ingrained in me from porn ads as a kid the way most young boys have been since like the creation of the internet.

Even the men currently in my life who genuinely want what’s best for me are so incredibly misogynistic it’s baffling. My male family members see any woman who breaks an imaginary dress code or ideology is some kind of deviant. I just want to make it clear that this is MY family and I’M the only one who gets to complain about them. We all love each other here even if the males are horribly wrong.

So I shaved my head for halloween and my dad could barely look at me, not because he was exactly mad or anything but just because I looked ugly to him. He always says ‘close the windows in your apartment because men will spy on you changing’ but after my hair was gone he was all ‘actually don’t bother because nobody will look at you looking like that’ like wow I wasn’t aware men only sexualized women for their hair. Like you really think a gross creeper is gonna be turned off by a fully naked oblivious vulnerable woman just because she’s bald? That’s not how any of this works. And just today my sister was watching a goth youtuber egirl or something, I didn’t see her makeup but my dad said stuff like ‘ew why does she look like that, maybe it’d be cool as a costume but how is she going to get a job’. Like, I’m not one to go ‘women don’t wear makeup for men’ (because most women who only use makeup to hide their insecurities and follow beauty standards very much just do it so they don’t get backlash from others, if not directly to please men), but when it’s a fun crazy look that’s not meant to be pretty, I’m all for that shit and generally I hate when men lose respect for a woman just for wearing something they don’t like. Like fashion isn’t real and your appearance should be as costumey or weird as you want without people losing respect for you. Also like...do men know that makeup isn’t permanent?? Like if she wanted a job that required no makeup she could easily wipe her face off and get one?? Not only that, but people can work from home and/or be self employed. Maybe youtube itself was this girl’s job. Who the hell cares man. And the worst thing here is my brother outright said one time “the root cause of feminism is pride”. B r u h. And this was back when I considered myself an anti-feminist, even then I knew that feminism started for good reason and I was absolutely furious. I think I kept it to myself like a coward lol, but if anyone said that to me now I’d tear them apart. In a debate I mean, not like literal violence.

Tldr: I’m not trying to say men are inherently more evil because there’s evil in everyone, but the way it takes shape in men in most societies is so insidious and inescapable. I love my family and guy friends, but I don’t want to deal with one in a romantic/sexual relationship because I don’t know if even the most educated and goodest christian boi in this world can see me as a true equal. It sucks because I want sex and children, but when the mainstream idea of hetero sex is female submission, it just makes me shrivel up and contemplate becoming a nun. I’m not even catholic. But even nuns are sexualized and degraded in coomer’s disgusting brains. In conclusion I’m going feral and starting my own woman-only church in the woods let’s go ladies.

#christianity #biblical womanhood #christian woman #christian feminism #feminism #side b #side b christian

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vislorrturlough · 3 years

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Scaramouche!

"Of course, this assumption of responsibility does not mean that we are not conditioned genetically, culturally, and socially. It means that we know ourselves to be conditioned but not determined. It means recognizing that History is time filled with possibility and not inexorably determined-that the future is problematic and not already decided, fatalistically."

- Paulo Friere

For as long as Loki can remember, tapestries have lined the walls of Asgard's palace.

When Loki was a child, the Allmother sat by his bed one night and explained the significance of the tapestries that lined the walls of their home.

“The Norns weave the tapestry that assigns our roles,” she told him. “So that we may fulfill our fate and serve Midgard as we are meant to.”

The tapestries stretched across all the walls of the palace, covering vast miles of golden wall with breathtaking imagery depicting life and death and love and hate and everything in between. They pictured Loki too, who moved from boy to tragedy to a vicious and cruel man.

“So I have a role too? And Thor?” he asked. She smiled at him with fondness. The Thor on the tapestries seemed brave and strong - Loki could never imagine his brother, still a boy himself, to become that hulk of a man someday.

“Of course, Loki,” she said. “We all have roles. I am a mother, and a magician. Thor will be a great hero. Your father, a beloved and wise king. This is what is sewn into our destiny, to be enacted until Ragnarok and again after that. In a cycle, unending and unwavering.”

He yawned, obscuring the nervousness bubbling in his chest and curling the silken covers around his shoulders. He knew what the tapestries said Loki would do. He had hoped that maybe - “What’s my fate, mother?” he asked quietly.

Her smile, previously relaxed, became firm and serious. His heart was racing, thinking of that man, and of the awful cruelty that was depicted to come at his hands. “We all have a part to play, my dear. And every story has a villain for a reason.”

Despite common misconception, Loki Laufeyson never lived in the moment. In fact, Loki found the moment particularly difficult to pin down. Once you begin to think “Hey, I think this is the moment!” it wasn’t the moment anymore, and Loki already had four tabs open on his phone about the relativity of time and he didn’t need anymore.

Loki lived in the future, which was why he was that very moment getting his fair share of serotonin from the Schrödinger’s Night Out with Sigurd and Lorelei he was planning.

“Sigurd definitely won’t come out if Lorelei isn’t,” he explained to Verity as he paced hurriedly around their absurdly fancy flat, which he paid for entirely and in return, Verity didn’t ask where he got all the money. “Which means I need Lorelei to agree first. One problem with that!”

“Lorelei hates you?” Verity asked, as she planted an orange tree in Stardew Valley.

“Lorelei hates me!” Loki agreed. “Which means I need to sweeten the pot.”

Verity glanced up at him suspiciously. “How are you going to do that?”

He grinned, and picked up a pen so he could start dramatically gesticulating. “Bisexual women! They’re always fascinated with me. And by the end of the evening, I’ll have established a system where I transport their attention from me to Lorelei and get her many dates. Like a Ford factory.”

She glared, turned back to her game. “You’re a walking hate crime.”

“Was that a lie, Verity?” he teased, collapsing on the couch and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She tried just barely to shrug him off. “Was it a lie when I said bi women are fascinated with me? Was it?”

Verity narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t say anything, and in response he burst into cackles of laughter.

—

Lorelei claimed to be very insulted that Loki thought bisexual women liked him more than her, but he knew well that she knew well that she looked like the straightest girl alive and really, that was her own fault. Once Lorelei was a confirmed booking, Sigurd swiftly followed, because he’s nothing if not a simp, and thus Loki had now established the perfect evening. A pricey club, two people who could barely stand him, and himself.

Although he never really enjoyed it. He’d never planned to.

Anticipation was a drug, really. And as previously established, the moment was very boring indeed. And this moment, Loki found himself crammed against Sigurd, who while very attractive and an owner of some very firm abs, was covered in sweat, and only slept with Loki when he was desperate anyway. Loki squinted up at him, and tried to figure out if he was desperate tonight.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Sigurd shouted over the music.

Loki smiled at him genially, and proceeded to turn quickly around and elbow his way to the smoking area.

The initial smack of fresh onto his face was divine. He closed his eyes and smiled in satisfaction, continuing to move forward. The music was more muted out here, and the sound of voices and laughter blurred into itself until nothing was anything anymore. Peace! The lights were all different shades of pink and green, and they cast an ethereal glow over the throngs of young people with cigarettes in their hands, all here, all living now.

Loki bumped into someone.

“Shit!” he yelped, watching in horror as her cocktail spilt down her crop top. “I’m so sorry! Oh my God!”

She’d flinched a bit during the incident itself, but the alcohol had seemingly tempered any stronger reaction than that. Lightly brushing at her (now soaked) top, she only laughed lightly and smiled at him. “No worries, dude!”

He pulled out his best prince charming grin (practiced in the mirror and finely tuned). “Please, let me at least buy you another drink.”

“I’m not going to say no to a drink!” she laughed shyly, and they traipsed inside to the bar. Sigurd seemed to have vanished, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Lorelei getting very close to the DJ, so maybe if Loki had any luck he was crying in the gents or something. Usual affair, really.

He bought them both mojitos, and they fought their way back through the crowd to return to the smoking area. “I like your necklace,” he said, because his mother had always said women liked having their jewelry complimented. Sif had later said that they didn’t, but Sif was as much a woman as Loki was a man, so her opinion didn’t count.

The girl giggled. “Thanks, it’s a crucifix.”

“Oh sorry!” Loki said. “I’m not from around here. That’s the catholic thing right?”

“Do you guys not have catholicism in Britain?”

Ugh, mentioning Asgard would dance a bit too close to the possibility of ‘Oh man, anyone ever told you you look like Thor’s evil brother?’. Loki chuckled instead and rolled his eyes. “I was pretty sheltered. It was like, a weird cult?”

“Oh wow! That’s so interesting.” She had a sympathetic sort of look on her face, and Loki quickly buried the irritation that bubbled up in his chest. The sympathy wasn’t for Loki anyway, just some fake man who grew up in a cult. Did he think Asgard was a cult? God, he was glad he didn’t have a therapist

“Yeah, I don’t really believe in it now, you know?” he lied easily, smiling at her. “It’s hard to have faith when it’s like, you never see any proof.”

She nodded understandingly. “Yeah, lots of people say that nowadays, what with superheroes and Asgard and all. I don’t know, I kind of think the fact I don’t have proof makes it more important.”

“Oh yes?” Loki asked. “What do you mean by that?”

She looked up at the lights, placed her free hand on the crook of the elbow of the hand holding her drink. For a second, Loki saw ancient and revered philosophers! He decided that they’d had it all wrong. Screw the forums, they should’ve done all their philosophising in smoking areas.

“It means something, you know?” she explained slowly. “Like, of course we believe in the ground and the sky and all. Those are right in front of us, we can’t deny that. Same with science, or aliens, or Asgardians. But believing in God requires a certain kind of faith. I’m going beyond seeing and believing. I’m just believing. God has a plan for me, and I believe in that.”

Loki nodded slowly. A fate? One set, but controlled by a benevolent creature and entirely unknown? It wasn’t true or real of course, but there was a beauty to it, that Loki, who’s path was clear and determined, appreciated. The alcohol (he and Lorelei made a habit of spiking drinks they bought on earth with Asgardian liqueur, so they’d, you know, work) was beginning to blur his awareness anyway. “That’s beautiful,” he said kindly.

She giggled, quickly touching her necklace and looking at the ground. “Haha, sorry! I study theology, it’s kind of a thing.”

“No, no!” Loki laughed, giving her a wide grin. “It was very interesting! Where do you study?”

They got into a long conversation about Sarah’s (her name, Loki found out eventually) degree, NYU dorms and a guy she hated in her seminars, before he noticed Lorelei making a beeline towards him, her hand around Sigurd’s wrist.

“Hey,” she said, before frowning at him and glancing at Sarah. “I’m going home with a girl named Angelica. She’s goth and plays bass. So you need to take Sig home.”

“I’m literally an ancient hero. Of legend,” Sigurd interjected.

Lorelei turned and glared at him instead. “Well, you need to take Loki home.”

“Oh well, come on then Sig!” Loki said loudly, ignoring his scowl. “Thank you for such a lovely conversation, Sarah darling. Have a nice night!”

“Thanks Luke!” she laughed, not being not obvious about checking Sigurd out. Oh God, she probably thought he was dating Loki. Yuck, how mortifying. “See you around!”

“Go get a taxi,” Lorelei told him, before wandering off to a girl with a septum piercing and docs, which Loki considered quite basic, especially for Lorelei.

They didn’t get a taxi. They walked five minutes until Loki ducked around a corner, ignored Sigurd saying “Aren’t we getting a taxi?” and grabbed his arm before dragging him through the spaces in between the universe and dropping him on the bean bag in his living room. A solitary pringles can rolled quietly and hit Loki’s foot.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” Loki muttered, kicking it away.

“I hate you,” Sigurd growled, pinching his nose and clearly trying not to throw up. Loki didn’t know why, it wouldn’t be any major downgrade from how the room was currently. “And I hate that. You’re such a fucking prick Loki.”

Time to make his exit before Sigurd regained enough strength to cause him bodily harm. “Bye honey!” he trilled, and Sigurd’s growl was cut off as he made his way to his own apartment. He didn’t wake up Verity, she had work tomorrow, so he just kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, surrendering to unconsciousness.

Verity and Loki had moved in together for two reasons.

1) Loki spent most of his time at Verity’s. He had a separate shelf in her fridge for his energy drinks and his salsa, and a special place at the bottom of her spice cupboard for his snacks. He told Verity she had full ownership over all the snacks and could have them when he’d left, but she never did. Instead she got the little clip things she used and pinched the bags closed carefully, putting them to the side for the next time he came over. It was thoughtful, and Loki didn’t know what to do with it, so he never mentioned it. He got bored quite easily anyway, and most of his ‘friends’ had a very limited tolerance of him, so most days he found himself on Verity’s couch, playing Uno and eating Oreos.

2) Verity’s flat was bad and small and Loki’s was perfect and expensive, and if he spent all his time with Verity, they may as well hang out in his sketchily acquired penthouse. Plus, paying her rent made him feel useful. It was like a payment for all the little clips on his packets of Doritos.

He didn’t regret it. Except he thought that perhaps he might be as close as he could get to regretting it as he lay in bed listening to her pounding viciously at his door.

“Are you alive?” she yelled through the mahogany. He groaned just loudly enough to be heard, and she banged one more time for good measure before her footsteps quickly petered off towards the kitchen.

He sighed in frustration, rolling off his bed with just enough basic athletic ability to land on his feet. His vision blacked out for just a second, and his head very much rejected the idea of being on his feet. Had he shifted through space while drunk? That was so dangerous. He should have gotten like, a driving ticket. A magic driving ticket.

He stumbled into the kitchen and stared blearily at Verity. “What are you cooking?” he mumbled.

“Eggs,” she replied without turning. “Want some?”

“Hmm.” He stares at the clock. One in the afternoon? That wasn’t too bad. Verity must have just gotten in from work though, which made him feel bad. Oh, how he missed the days when he had no shame and also no friends. “No thanks, I don’t want to throw up.”

“I thought alcohol didn’t affect you?”

“Human alcohol doesn’t.” He sat down on one of the tall swivel chairs at their counter and spun around. Ow, oh fuck, that wasn’t a good idea. He grimaced and placed his pounding head in his hands. “Lorelei and I spiked our drinks with something we got from Asgard.”

“Huh.” Verity sat opposite him, eggs piled onto the plate she set down in front of her. She’d cooked the yokes, the heathen. “Did you have a good time?”

Loki stared at her. “I feel like I’m being interrogated by my mother.”

“Oh honey,” she teased, grinning through a mouthful of eggs. “Oh sweetie. Wear protection!”

Loki dramatically re-enacted retching, and she choked on her eggs. A just punishment for her crimes, he thought.

“Ew,” he moaned. “I had to see Sigurd’s flat last night. It was disgusting.”

“I wasn’t being serious?” she stared at him. “I didn’t know you actually slept with-”

“Ew, ew, no,” he interrupted. “I was just detailing how he’s far too disgusting to ever consider as a sexual object. I would probably sleep with Lorelei though.”

“As if she’d sleep with you.”

“I’m forever alone!” he cried “Like the meme!”

“If you think referencing memes from 2008 is going to help you get laid-” she got up, pulled the dishwasher open and put her plate in without washing it off. Awful dishwasher etiquette, and Loki was from a place where they washed dishes with magic, so she had no excuse. “-then I think you might be beyond help.”

“I’m waiting for the right person,” he mumbled, squinting in the light streaming in from their egregiously large windows. “Like America. I ship America and myself.”

“America’s a lesbian,” Verity said.

“I’m a woman sometimes!” He got up and opened the fridge. “It’d be perfectly possible if she could tolerate me.”

“Which she can’t.”

“Yeah,” Loki said in faux-disappointment. “Ergo, forever alone, I’m mister lonely, involuntarily celibate, and sent to the friendzone.”

He shut the fridge, no bacon in sight, and stared at the front of it trying to consider his next move. He could head down to the store, but also he couldn’t, because he couldn’t imagine bringing himself to put on something other than the shorts he was currently in that said ‘BAD WITCH’ in bright green, metallic lettering on the back (a gift from Kate) and also he was pretty certain a drink had been poured on him the night before, judging by the smell of lager and the way his fringe had congealed into a hard point overnight. He wasn’t in any fit state to walk down the street. He had standards to maintain.

Yes, he was an illusionist, but he was a hungover illusionist with a headache, thus he opened up DoorDash and ordered McDonald’s.

“Vee?” he called down the hall. “Do you want anything from McDonald’s?”

“Ew,” she called back. “No.”

He placed his order and looked back up at the fridge. They had a shared calendar printed out on that kind of slippy photo paper so they could use whiteboard markers on it and make sure to not double book having people over. Last time it had happened, Verity’s cousin had to top-and-tail with Thor on the couch, which was a weird experience for everyone, but mostly for Daniel. Currently, the calendar was pretty sparse, since it was early April, but Verity had written something in for Sunday. ‘Easter - Mom’s House’.

He stared at it, confused. He didn’t turn when he heard Verity’s feet pattering back into the kitchen. “Hey, I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Huh?” Verity had flopped onto the couch and was fiddling with the remote control, probably trying to turn on Dr Phil. “Not really, what do you mean?”

“You’re going to your Mum’s for Easter?”

“Oh I guess.” The Judge Judy theme song streamed from the TV. Loki stood corrected. “I don’t believe in it or anything. It’s just tradition.”

“Huh.” He glanced out onto the street. It was lively. They were in pretty central Manhattan, and usually when you looked onto the road it was hard to see a part of the path that wasn’t covered in black throngs of city goers. He sometimes wondered where they were going, had they plans, or were they just wandering, aimless and free? Loki had always thought it would be night to wander off and see where his feet would take him if he didn’t walk with direction or intention. “Had an interesting conversation last night.”

“Yeah?” Verity responded mindlessly, staring at the TV.

“About religion. With a girl in the smoking area.”

“Dude.” Verity leaned over, effortlessly butch. “Conversations about religion in a smoking area? I’m putting my foot down. Either you download Grindr or find a therapist.”

“Both of those options are severely limited by the fact that I am a divine being and a world renowned criminal,” he replied. “Do you think guys on Grindr are into my evil vibes, actually?”

“Guys on Grindr are definitely into your evil vibes.”

“Thanks Verity,” he said, turning and heading towards the door. “You always have my back. Maybe I’ll find a bae after all.”

He grinned at her sounds of indignation and headed to his room to sleep his headache away.

Loki had always been rather a superior child. He had no need for childish matters of ‘bravery’ and ‘heroics’, instead favouring his intellect and insight. His mother said he was a bright young man, thank you. So he cared little about Thor informing him he was too small and weak to spar with him and his friends. However, he had in return let Thor know that he would be instead spending some time with his very close friends, who Thor did not have an acquaintance with and who thought Loki was very cool and interesting indeed. Thus, appearances had to be upheld.

He peered around the corner of the great, awning entrance to the Bifröst control room. Lord Heimdall had his back turned, but Loki was not a fool. A child, but not a fool.

“Your Highness,” the Watcher called out, turning to face him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He inched forward, the tips of his fingers trailing the chilly gold-plated walls of the gate. “I was bored,” he lied.

“Very well.” Heimdall set down the Key and sat heavily down onto its platform. “Would you be able to keep me company during my break?”

Loki lifted his chin, glanced around himself and headed to sit beside him. “I suppose I can grace you with my presence, for some time at least.”

“Have you a full schedule, your Highness?”

Anger and indignation built in his chest. Loki whipped around and scowled at him. “I’m very busy.”

Heimdall’s playful expression sunk with practiced ease into something serious. “My apologies. Of course you are, my prince.”

Loki crossed his arms. He knew that Lord Heimdall knew all his business, all of everyone’s business, but it struck him like a spear to his chest to have been mocked over his… lack of desirability. How dare he? Loki may be a boy, but he was his prince. It was not Heimdall’s place to mock him.

He struggled to think of something dignified to reply, and the pressure of the silence between them built into a garotte that tightened around his neck. He daren’t look at Heimdall, imagining a mocking grin staring down at him. It was unlikely, and would be utterly out of place on the man’s face, but Loki would rather avoid the possibility altogether.

“How is your brother, your Highness?” Heimdall said to break the silence.

In a fit of rage, Loki slammed his palm against the platform. His eyes watered with the pain of it. “Why does everyone only care about what Thor is doing? How Thor is? I am not a vessel through which people may be updated about my brother’s status!”

In his anger he’d turned to glare at Heimdall, and was horrified to find the man’s face transformed by pity. Loki scowled in disgust, and stared at the wall in the opposite direction.

“I did not mean to imply anything as such, your Highness,” Heimdall explained carefully. “I merely asked out of having nothing else very interesting to say. Perhaps I should have asked how you are?”

Loki hesitated, glanced back up. “I’m well,” he mumbled shortly.

“That’s good to hear,” Heimdall replied, staring ahead, out the gates and down the Bifröst. Loki wondered if he saw that which lay in front of him with more clarity, or if what his tangible eyes caught was nothing different to everything else he saw. “Is there anything in particular you would like to speak about?”

Loki was silent for a moment. A topic had been weighing on his mind, one he hesitated to bring to his mother. A heavy topic indeed. “Heimdall?” he asked. “Why am I destined to be a monster?”

It had been a burden to bear, acknowledging what was written upon the tapestries spun deep in Nornheim. When mother had first told him of his destiny years ago, it had seemed like a childhood game, but everyday the gravity of his situation held him just a little firmer to the ground. All has its place, his mother had told him, and your place is important. It is against you that others will shine.

It coloured everything he did, and how others treated him. Thor still loved him as a brother, but everyday his pride in his own journey grew and Loki could only stand and watch as he looked on his brother with a little more suspicion, held him at a slightly further distance. Loki’s cruelty had been encouraged, not in a direct way, but in the ways in which his parents and carers were cruel towards him. Like a knife being sharpened.

Heimdall did not move. “Everything has its duty. Our world is not much but an elaborate play, and we act according to our roles so that the other realms may live in our image.”

“But why me?” Loki pressed. “Why can’t I be the hero?”

Neither mentioned what lay between them. A man and a child and a destiny for two corpses, having slain one another, to lie in the middle of their world as it burned.

“I’m sorry, my prince,” Heimdall said quietly. “Perhaps take some relief in the fact that you needn’t worry over who you will be. The Midgardians in particular struggle with virtue.”

“Really?” Loki muttered, head in his hands. “Isn’t it very freeing for them?”

“Not as such,” he replied. “In return for their agency, they are burdened with the duty to be ever kind and charitable to one another, or be damned for their failure to do so. It's simpler for us. Our fate is predetermined, and while you may be the villain, you are doing your duty as such and can rest easy knowing that it is a moral and just thing for you to be.”

Loki was silent for a second, staring morosely ahead. “But I don’t want to be the villain.”

“I’m sorry, Prince Loki,” Heimdall replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But the tapestries have already been spun.”

The Allmothers, in their omnipowetful ability to be incredibly annoying, always called him when he was in the middle of doing things. In this case, a lovely girl named Amelia who had told him he looked like Timotheé Chalamet.

She screamed, causing Loki to whip around with a curse only to find Gaia staring at him through his mirror, disgust on her face and her right eye covered by Loki’s Blondie postcard that Verity had bought him from some emo shop.

Gritting his teeth, he looked down at Amelia, who seemed to be sinking into some form of shock. “Oh man,” he said. “I’m so fucking sorry. Uh, I kind of have to take this. Another time maybe?”

She looked up at him in speechless horror before turning quickly and climbing out from under him. Before he could even look up at her he heard the slam of the door. He glanced up. Huh, at least she’d taken her shirt with her. Loki was a feminist after all.

With a sigh, he turned to face Gaia. “My Lady!” He greeted with gritted teeth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She held his gaze for a few awkward seconds.

“Okay,” he said. “I would say, if anything it’s your fault that you decided to just turn up in my mirror without any prior warning. Really? You can’t expect me to be celibate. I’m Loki.”

She graced him with a performatively regal sigh and a significantly less regal eye roll. “The Allmothers have a task for you to complete, Loki.”

“Don’t you always?” He grumbled, pulling a hoodie on to cover up some of his nudity. Amelia may have only lost a shirt, but Loki was already down to his boxers. He was a feminist, after all.

“There is a great treasure in the belonging of one of our own, one who dwells in the realm of Midgard.”

“In English?”

The Allmother paused. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Your first language is the tongue of Jötunheim.”

“It’s just a-, it’s just a phrase, okay? Anyway, can you get to the crux of it? I was busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

He threw his arms out dramatically, making sure his irritation was painted clear on his face. “Thanks for that, by the way!”

“We would like-,” she continued, gathering her composure. “-for you to retrieve the ancient sword, Gram. It’s power is too great for us to allow it to remain out of our grasp. We have waited too long already, and time is of the essence.”

“Gram?” Loki asked. “You mean Sigurd’s sword?”

“The legendary sword Gram does indeed lie in the hands of the hero Sigurd-”

“But Sig loves his sword,” he interrupted. “He’s going to hate me if I take it for you. That’s narc behaviour.”

“This is your duty, Prince Loki, to your people,” Gaia said sternly. “You are, and have always been, a narc.”

“Hey, fuck you-”

She was gone in the next second, and Loki was left staring at his face in the mirror, and the way the skin underneath his eyes was grey and sunken, which made his eyes pop in a sort of consumption-chic. He looked a bit like Maleficent, he thought in an attempt to distract himself from the dread of the task that now lay before him and the inevitable broken friendship (he didn’t have many to break left).

But without all the milf energy. Loki didn’t have any milf energy, which was probably the source of most of his problems

Often, Loki found the easiest way to avoid all of his issues was to pretend he was a funny, quirky little guy living a funny, quirky little life. Oh Loki, he’s the token evil teammate, the funny comic relief in stories about other people, relegated to side character (but hot enough that all the fan art and fic was going to centre him). This allowed him to get away with his faults, which were many and numerous, by playing them off as the work of that darned scamp, Loki. This situation however, was one that worried Loki, as Sigurd was nothing if he wasn’t two things; 1) absolutely unenamoured by Loki and everything Loki had going for himself, and 2) in love with that fucking sword.

Loki sat down cross-legged on his bed and contemplated the choices he could make here. He could take the sword, and try to manipulate the situation to make Sigurd look like he was overreacting. Take the sword to the flat and mess around while he showed it to Verity. But, he knew, Verity wouldn’t play along, because her moral compass was ever on the straight and narrow and anyway, she’d know he was lying.

Lorelei would side with Sigurd over him, because she didn’t trust the Asgardian establishment and they all knew that the tentative little bit of control that let them languish in something resembling a real life on Midgard rested on Sigurd having enough power that Asgardia would rather leave him alone than bother. Losing Gram would put that in jeopardy, and Lorelei wouldn’t trade a shoelace for Loki, nevermind her happy ending. He knew well enough that this theft would be unjust, would put all of the power into the hands of the already powerful. He knew this, and he knew that Sig and Lorelei? Wouldn’t hurt a fly, really. For all the three of them pretended to hate each other, Loki knew they were good people, and they just wanted to live their lives in peace.

He could simply refuse. Not take the sword, let the Allmothers deal with it some other way. He could say it was above his pay grade, which it was.

Except, he couldn’t. Not really. He had duties that Sigurd and Lorelei couldn’t possibly understand. That idea couldn’t push its way forward from the back of his mind, as if constrained by something, writhing back and forth to break free. Or was it? Or was that an excuse, a claim to someone that he was trying, still, to do the right thing, and that it wasn’t his fault when he failed to.

He sighed, and stood up. His wardrobe was a mess, but it was an organised mess, and anyway it was a bright, sunny day outside and he could find his dragon scale armour easily from the way it glinted in the light at the back of his slogan t-shirts.

Sig had moved all the dirty washing from his desk chair. Loki didn’t have high hopes that it was for any reason other than playing PC games though. Sig was really into, like, Call of Duty and Halo. Were they PC? Loki didn’t know. He preferred superior gaming experiences, like Professor Layton.

Lo and behold, Loki found the mysteriously disappeared dirty clothing on Sig’s couch. For a guy whose feats and adventures were written down in legend, he really had some drab taste in furnishings.

Loki moved silently through the flat, letting just a little bit of his seidr seep into his steps to cushion the noise. He didn’t turn on any lights, instead relying on a little bit of patience to let his eyes adjust to the dark. His Jotunn heritage, dare he say it, came in handy at times like this due to the Jotnär having pretty decent night vision. This was in order to do crimes and eat children, his nursemaid had informed him when he was small. Well, Loki was doing crimes, but the jury was out on the eating children bit.

Loki was an expert catburglar, tales of his stealthiness were scribbled on the walls of ancient Midgardian caves, the remnants of long extinct societies, all of which he had outlived. Thus, he cleverly noticed the Guitar Hero™ plastic guitar and stepped over it.

Loki knew one thing about Sigurd. He was paranoid. Thus, Loki had a suspicion about where he would put Gram, and if he was correct he knew this job wouldn’t be easy.

He eased open the bedroom door, and watched as the hero of the stories he had been told as a babe snored while laying on his front. Huh, great ass.

Loki mentally smacked himself. Bad!

His attention was then quickly snatched by the gleaming sword that lay against the left bedpost. Ding ding, we have a winner! Sigurd both expected his sword to be stolen and expected to have to fight off home invaders, and so he kept his greatest asset (other than his ass) right next to him in his most vulnerable times. Loki was his worst nightmare, well usually, but even more so at this moment.

He crept forward, stepping carefully over strewn clothes. Wait, was that Lorelei’s blouse? Ugh, he didn’t want to think about that. He’d much rather they remain entirely celibate in his mind.

Loki crept closer, and reached out to grasp the hilt of the sword silently.

“...What the fuck? Loki?”

He should have run, probably. Teleported, gone invisible, maybe should have even jumped through the window. That might have thrown Sigurd off the scent right? Prince Loki, God of Trickery and Harbinger of Ragnarök wouldn’t have just leapt through a window. Well, the window was seventeen floors up actually, so maybe a regular burglar wouldn’t have either.

Anyway, what happened was he stood stock still, unable to move a muscle or turn to face Sigurd, as if he were labouring under the delusion that Sigurd was a creature that tracked prey by movement. He looked like something out of Looney Tunes, which wasn’t fantastic for his dignity.

“Loki,” Sigurd snapped again.

He turned, and winced at the look of outrage on his friend’s face. Sigurd was sat up on his elbow, his other arm on his comforter. He looked like he was ready to attack someone. Loki was pretty sure he hadn’t expected it to be - well, Loki.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he said. “Were you stealing Gram? Why? For who?”

Ouch, that hurt. He may have been stealing it for someone else, but it was a bit upsetting that Sigurd had immediately disregarded the idea he was working in his own interest.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “The Allmothers send their regards,” he finally admitted drily.

If anything, Sigurd’s outrage grew. “How- How could you?”

A bit dramatic, Loki thought. Sigurd leapt out of his bed, and Loki didn’t have the chance to step back before his shoulders were in Sigurd’s bruising grip and his back pushed hard against the wall. “You know what this means,” Sigurd said, his disgust evident. “You aren’t stupid, Loki. You know what you’re doing.”

Oh, that was it, wasn’t it? Loki wasn’t evil because he did evil things. He was evil because he knew they were wrong before he did them, and he did them anyway.

“I have to,” he mumbled weakly. Was that a lie? Verity would know. “I have no choice.”

“Yes you do,” Sigurd said, releasing his grip and stepping back, “Yes you do, you’re just too much of a coward to admit it. You’re so desperate to play happy families. I can see it in you, and so can Lorelei. All you want is to be useful to people, even if it’s for the Allmothers, who treat you like shit. You do their fucking dirty work and they kick you around and you love it, because you get to be part of their rotten little story.”

Loki stared at him, suddenly feeling utterly, entirely tired beyond belief. Sigurd could not tell him anything that he did not tell himself.

“You’re a coward. You’re a fucking coward who does everything the Allmothers ask of you. One moment you sneer at them up there, in Asgard, and pretend that you and me and Lorelei are all in the same boat, but the next moment you bare your neck to them. One day they’re going to ask you to hurt someone you really care about, and you know what? You’ll do it. They’ll ask you to hurt Thor, or Verity, and you’ll do it without a second thought because you’re a coward, Loki, and you always will be.”

His breath caught in his throat. “I wouldn’t hurt Verity.”

“Yes, you would. If someone put it on a tapestry you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.”

“I see, well,” he paused, looked to his right to avoid Sigurd’s gaze. “I’ll let you get back to sleep I suppose.”

Sigurd reached out to grab him, but he was gone before he had a chance.

—

Received FRI 2:08

Verity: hey u coming back tonight or what

Verity: im assuming ur working

Verity: if u are there’s leftover pasta bake in the fridge. Ik you hate leftovers but its on offer. Im off to bed, night!

Received FRI 11:02

Verity: hey called lorelei to check in on you and she says you and sig aren’t talking. She didnt seem thrilled w you either. U ok?

Verity: call me if you get the chance ok

Received MON 15:47

Verity: yh ok this is cringe but please call. Im worried

Verity: you usually lmk when youre gone this long and sig was being suspicious

Verity: i asked him if hed seen you and he like laughed

Verity: idk maybe hed be more concerned if something had happened but u guys dont exactly have a normal expectation for health and safety in the workplace

Received WED 23:21

Verity: please call i’m worried

Verity: please

Received THU 18:54

Verity: you’re a fucking idiot

Verity: I hate you

Received THU 19:02

Verity: i didn’t mean that

Verity: sorry.

Verity: please do call. please

Verity wasn’t the only one texting him, which would have done wonders for his ego if it had been anywhere near still intact, but she was the only one who’s texts he kept re reading, scanning them obsessively and trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

The thing that nagged him though, was how would he know what the right thing was?

All his life, the right thing was whatever was in stride with where he was determined to end up. The path had been laid out for him - all he had to do was walk it. But, though the Norns had written out his beginning, his end, his great misdeeds and stories, they hadn’t written about things like whether he should get KFC or not, whether he’d be good at Mario Party or what dog breed was his favourite (alsatian). They had never had the name Verity Lewis brush their lips.

Because this world was untethered. It simply wasn’t important enough for the Norns to have seen. Did that mean that they were free, here? Was that bad or good? To Loki, who despite everything had spent an eternity comfortable in the knowledge that he knew what would happen, and that the future was clear to him as long as he could stand in the halls he’d grown up in and stare at the tapestries on the walls, the idea of absolute undetermined fate was deeply terrifying. It caught in his throat, wrapped around his heart, squeezed the warmth out of his chest.

But Sigurd was right, and so he had a decision to make.

There were people walking around under him, where he sat perched on the roof of a Soviet era apartment building in Brno. They didn’t know what would happen to them, how many kids they’d have, whether they’d marry or how they’d die. They didn’t know any of that, and that meant they could decide.

Huh.

He stumbled when he flashed in, and his hand reached out steady himself against the wall. The lights were off, but after a couple of seconds he heard a slight clutter from Verity’s room. Taking a deep breath he made his way to the kitchen and sat down at the bar. He didn’t bother to switch the light on, instead just collapsed into the chair and placed his head in his hands.

The lights switched on. “Loki?”

He peeked at her from between his fingers. Verity stared at him as if she couldn’t quite decide whether to be angry or happy. She was squinting (she wasn’t wearing glasses - she must have been asleep). He must have looked suitably miserable because instead of launching into a tirade she narrowed her eyes and slowly moved to sit opposite him, as if trying to tame some vicious creature. Apt, perhaps.

Their silence hung very heavily. “I’m sorry,” Loki eventually said, mortified to hear a crack in his voice from disuse.

She watched him carefully. “I forgive you,” she replied. Not ‘it’s okay’, because Verity found lying, even unconsciously, very difficult. “Can you tell me what’s up?”

By ‘can’, Loki knew that Verity was asking as if this was something related to his work for the Allmothers, but he found that even though this wasn’t any secret mission detail he was forbidden from sharing, he still found it hard to describe.

“I mean,” he muttered, breaking away from her stare. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Wherever you want to?”

He swallowed. “I had to steal something from Sigurd. Gram-” She opened her mouth and he jerked his shoulders defensively. “Please let me just explain. The Allmothers asked me too. I knew that if I did it it would put Sig and Lorelei’s relative safety at a significant risk. But,” he paused, bit his lip, horrified by the lump in his throat. “Even though I knew it was the wrong thing to do, and that all of you, all of my friends, would think less of me because of it, I had to do it. I had to do it because if I don’t do things that are wrong, that are bad, I am not filling the role that I am set out to fill, that I have always been set out to fill.

“There are tapestries, in Asgard,” he explained, a wobble entering his tone. “They’ve been there since before me, before my parents, before anyone. They were woven by the Norns, who see all of the past, the present and the future. They were woven so that we, who will be images of all the people of the Nine Realms and who will serve as a reflection of their large and varied communion, could know where we fit and what roles we are to play. And I’m a villain, Verity. I am the bad guy, because someone has got to be. There are people who actively choose to be bad and evil and selfish all over the shop, and someone has to represent them in the grand scheme of things. And, mainly, I have to keep everyone’s hands clean by making mine dirty.”

Her hands reached steadily out, grabbed one of his and held it between them. They were tears threatening to fall now, and they choked up his voice.

“So I do what the Allmothers ask me to, and I antagonise Thor, and I play my part as the bad guy of the story so that one day that story may be told to children as they are tucked into bed, so that they know that immorality causes you nothing but strife. I am supposed to have that strife, and through this my immorality is good and right, because I am an example.”

He paused. “Sigurd said I would hurt you, if they asked me to.”

“Would you?” she asked.

A second passed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d rather not risk it, but I thought you at least deserved an explanation for my sudden disappearance.”

She leaned back then, stared out their windows and onto the road beneath them, still busy despite the hour. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Dare I ask?” he chuckled wetly.

Her voice was firm. “I think that’s bullshit. I know you’re telling the truth, that you might hurt me if your Moms asked you. But I think you don’t know that that’s not true, which is why it’s registering as right to me.”

He squinted at her in confusion.

“You believe it,” she explained. “Which is why it’s registering as true to me. But that doesn’t mean you would, it just means you don’t think you’re a good person, and that’s not news.

“You see yourself as some kind of cut-out character with one trait, a yin to Thor’s yang or some shit, but you only think that’s all real because people have told you it is. Who’s to say those tapestries are anything? I think that you - all of you Asgardians - are terrified of being unmoored, so you make up shit like this so that you don’t have to grapple with morality.”

He tried to interrupt, but Verity continued. “You’re all terrified of life, so you pretend it’s one big play you’re putting on for our benefit, with roles and lines so that you needn’t make ‘em up. But you know what? Why don’t you just try? Try to improvise. Break away from it all. Maybe those tapestries do mean something, but maybe they just come true because you all keep doing what they say.

“You’re not the bad guy in a play, Loki,” she told him, her voice full of emotion and her hand rubbing his. It was just enough to keep him tethered to reality, he thought. “You’re my friend. You’re funny, and flippant. You don’t like to talk about your emotions. You don’t have great self-esteem and you kick ass at Jenga. You’re playing a part, but you know the thing about actors? They have lives when they get off the stage, and you could too.”

His boots echoed across the ground as he climbed the short hill to his destination. It was dust, not dirt, that he trod on, and the air was stale and cloyed in his lungs. It was the kind of air that felt like it didn’t blow, but just hung in the air for eternity, older than you by indescribable amounts.

No one went here. It was unplottable by some working laid down long before even the beginning of Asgardian history. It had taken Loki four days to crack, because 1) he’d spent all of his non-eating, non-sleeping time in the last couple of days focused on it, 2) he’d already made a groundwork as a teenager before his mother had told him off for meddling in things he shouldn’t have been and 3) he was pretty fucking good. Really, the only reason he hadn’t touched it before was because as he became a man, he grew to respect the Norns. Things had changed.

“Hello!” he called, not surprised to find the three women staring at him, likely well aware of his arrival for at least eternity, or something.

“Liesmith,” Lady Verdandi spoke in a low, powerful voice. “You have come to rattle the chains that you feel resting upon your shoulders.”

“Yep,” he responded, popping the ‘p’.

“These chains,” Skuld said in a tight voice. “Are imaginary.”

“No actually,” he said, beginning to pace around the room. “You see, I don’t really care if they’re ‘imaginary’ or whatever. I actually am just here to let you know that I’m just going to be kind of doing my own thing from now on.”

“Your ‘own thing’?” Urd sneered. “ You do not have your ‘own thing’. The fate we have laid out for you is everything you are.”

“Everything I am is just a mask. A mask that you put on me!”

“Oh? That implies something on which a mask can be put. Is there anything under your mask, Loki? Do you even know?”

“Well, I guess I’m going to find out,” he ground out. They were sat down, staring up at him, and he felt unnervingly like he was still a child who had been summoned to his father’s study to receive an admonishment for troublemaking.

“You will find out,” Verdandi explained calmly. “That you are mistaken, and that you will play your part in the fate that will become and will end and will begin again, whether you try to fight against it or not.”

“So that’s it then?” Loki said softly, although his voice still echoed across the ancient walls that enclosed him. “There’s no path to grace for me. I’m your villainous fool, cast in this grand play so that your heroes may show their virtue in my vanquishment. I’m good when I’m bad, and I’m bad when I’m good.”

He paused, and stared her down.

“Well, I’m afraid I’d rather be bad on my own terms, actually.”

Verdandi had opened her mouth to say something else, probably something even more patronising, but before she had the chance Loki had stepped between reality and left Nornheim and its frigid, stale air behind him.

“Saw you coming,” the Watcher said when Loki stepped out in front of him.

Loki smiled. “Naturally,”

Heimdall sat tiredly on the Bifröst’s lock. Loki noticed with a sort of jolt that Heimdall was getting old. Maybe they all were. “What is it you would like from me, my prince?”

“Oh nothing really,” he answered. “I just thought I should let someone know that I will be unable to complete the most recent mission that the Allmothers have given me. In fact, perhaps you could let them know that I’m putting in my two week’s notice, so to speak? Although I’m not really giving them any notice, let alone two weeks.”

“Oh? Might I ask what has brought this on, your highness?”

Loki crossed his arms. “I’m trying this new thing called ‘making your own destiny’. All the cool kids are doing it.”

Heimdall nodded. He wouldn’t have been able to have viewed Loki’s conversation with the Norns, but he would have seen what Verity had said. “I wish you luck, dear child,” he said softly.

Loki’s smile turned quiet and genuine for just a moment, before he turned away and took a few steps. Wait! He had something else to mention.

He looked back at Heimdall.

“By the way, maybe I am going to kill you someday,” he said. “”But I promise that I’m going to try my damndest not to.”

With that, he stepped back into New York, and headed towards Dominoes to pick up their pizza. They were doing movie night, he and Verity. They were going to watch Legally Blonde. Loki thought about - What was her name? Susie? Sarah? He thought maybe she was right, in the end. Maybe it was a gift to believe in what can’t be seen, and thus a gift to follow darkened paths. But the path that brought him home felt warm and reliable, just like it always did.

#this is nothing #really its just an attempt to see if i can write something 5k+#so its not good #but hey #loki #loki agent of asgard #agent of asgard #verity lewis #loki fic

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duhragonball · 3 years

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Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 57-61

This is the “Wizardry” arc.

I don’t know why it just now occurred to me, but there’s more than a hint of the Joker in the Major’s character. He’s always grinning, and now we have him dancing on a blimp while enemy helicopters are firing on him.

The Doctor shits a brick over this, because the arrival of the Vatican’s 9th Crusade force is the first serious resistance that Millennium has encountered since they invaded London. He begs the Major to come back inside and move their airship to safety, but the Major is too preoccupied with dancing like a goofball. Up to this point, the audience must have been eager to see someone take a poke at the Major. I know I was, if only to see what sort of powers he had. I mean, he hasn’t aged a day, but he doesn’t seem to be a vampire, so what’s his deal?

But before we can find out, the helicopter that was about to shoot him gets torn apart by magic wires. Wait... that sounds like...

DUN DUN DUUUUUNNNNNNN!

Yeah, Walter’s switched sides. He’s also younger-looking too, so this must be what Schrodinger was talking about when he told Zorin that the Major and Doctor had a new “toy”. They were too busy turning him into a vampire to bother punishing Zorin for disobeying orders. In the previous chapter, the Major asked about using Walter (without mentioning him by name), and the Doc said something about the rushed nature of the job. Presumably, the Doctor was doing the artificial vampire treatment on Walter all through the night, while Seras and the Wild Geese were defending the mansion.

What I’ve never been sure of is whether this was a spur-of-the-moment decision, or if Millennium approached Walter a long time ago, and Walter’s been their mole in Hellsing throughout this entire story. The Major’s line here seems to suggest this was a long-term plan. “I had already decided half a century ago. The Death’s Head [the Nazi SS skull insignia] is a fitting match for the Angel of Death [Walter’s old Hellsing codename].”

But that could just mean the Major thought of the idea way back then. He saw Walter and Alucard wrecking all his stuff in World War II and thought “This kid would be a good recruit someday!” But when did he make the pitch? Was it last night? Before the Valentines’ attack? Before Arthur Hellsing’s death? Before the end of the war?

I think it’s reasonable to assume that Walter was on board at least before he parted ways with Integra back in Chapter 39. The Captain suddenly showed up, and he told Integra to take the car and flee, because he wasn’t sure he could defeat the Captain and he didn’t want her around in case he failed. But it’s much more likely that he only said this to keep her from finding out that he had a rendezvous with the Major, who arrived soon after.

Now that I think about it, this may be the only reason the Major sent his troops to capture Integra. He wasn’t particularly concerned about her, but he knew Walter would be with her, and he wanted to get him to the Doctor as quickly as possible. This may also be why he ordered Zorin Blitz to hold off on attacking the Hellsing mansion. If Walter had been inside, Zorin wouldn’t have known about his allegiance, and it’s very likely that one might have killed the other.

Actually, yeah, this is why the Major fired those rockets on the Hellsing mansion in the first place. If Walter was there, he would know the attack was coming, and use the attack to cover his departure. Then Zorin probably would have been ordered to give him a lift back to the Doctor. But Walter wasn’t home, and Zorin didn’t wait for orders, and Seras turned out to be much too powerful for her.

Wow, this is like peeling an onion. That must be what the Major meant when he chided Zorin for costing him “precious soldiers.” Her reckless tactics got her and her company killed, but she might have also wrecked his plans to extract Walter, and it’s only a matter of luck that he happened to be at the naval base instead of the mansion. And we know that Zorin knew nothing about Walter, because Schrodinger only hinted about him without mentioning his name. If Zorin had known, he would have just said “Yeah, we’re turning Walter into a vampire right now, no thanks to you.”

Anyway, Walter’s betrayal fascinates me, but also fuck you, Walter, you traitorous piece of shit.

Speaking of treachery, the 9th Crusaders are busy shooting the shit out of London, killing anything that survived the previous night. Millennium is a threat, sure, but Maxwell sees this as an opportunity to conquer England for the Catholic church. I’m not really sure “conquer” is meant literally. I think it’s more like, Hellsing and the Iscariot Organization have some treaty, and I think that treaty applies to their respective governments as well, but the civilian governments might know nothing about it. Maybe?

What I’m saying is that I think this 9th Crusade is supposed to end with the overthrow of the Anglican Church in the United Kingdom, with a new Catholic-leaning regime in its place, so that the Pope would have the same influence over the U.K. that he apparently has over continental Europe.

In that sense, I’m pretty sure Hellsing’s version of John Paul II didn’t order Maxwell to gun down civilians and shout “Die did die die!” over a loudspeaker. He may not have been terribly worried about Protestant casualties, but there’s plenty of Catholics living in London, after all. Maxwell doesn’t seem to care, and I think it’s clear that he’s exceeding his mandate.

And Alexander Anderson knows it. I think the whole Catholic contingent in this story knows that Maxwell’s gone too far, but Anderson’s the only one honest enough to say it out loud. Anderson’s group is still escorting Integra home when the 9th Crusade attacks, and Integra accuses Maxwell of betraying her, but Anderson remarks that such backstabbing is typical in war. So it’s not Maxwell’s duplicity that offends him, it’s the way he’s going about it. When Anderson kills people, he’s doing it to serve God, and God alone. Maxwell’s not serving God at all.

“All you’re serving is his power!!” Anderson says. By “his” does Anderson mean Satan? Millennium? Mars, the god of war? Maybe all three, or maybe it doesn’t matter. I always thought Maxwell was serving his own power, but the point is that he’s not doing God’s will by any stretch of the imagination.

But the others still respect the chain of command. Archbishop Maxwell is in charge of the 9th Crusade and the Iscariot Organization, and Heinkel reminds Anderson that they were ordered to capture Sir Integra, not escort her home. So they all draw their guns on Integra, resulting in the most Integra panel ever.

Then Seras shows up and beats all their asses. Yeaaaaahhhhh! Seras, you’re doing amazing, sweetie!

Everyone’s like “Oh shit, it’s Seras Victoria!” like they’re gonna try to fight her, but Anderson can tell that Seras is now way out of their league. Remember, this group of Iscariots fought some Millennium troops and half of them were killed. Seras tore through about as many Milennium troops without much hassle at all, and that was before she drank Pip’s blood.

And Anderson spares some words of praise for his foe. I guess this is like the owner of a Ford truck exchanging compliments with the owner of a Chevy truck. “You’re a rat bastard, Chevy man,” he says, “but those are some fine Truck Nutz” you have dangling from your tow hitch.” They’re never gonna be pals, but real recognizes real.

Also, I just think Seras looks super extra-cool in this moment. Anderson kind of treated her like a joke before, but now he sees her as a peer. She looks so dark and haunted now, and at the same time she’s more comfortable and sure of herself than we’ve ever seen her. Seras never set out to become a vampire, but she’s still found herself on this path. It’s scary and beautiful at the same time.

But never MIND that SHIT, here comes...

No, not Maxwell, Alucard is returning! I just used this page because Maxwell’s reaction to the news is more interesting than gloomy images of a ruined carrier drifting up the Thames river.

There’s a moment in the Hellsing Ultimate anime, right after Seras and Anderson turn to look, where she’s got this big grin on her face, and she goes “I can feel it. He’s returning.” It’s not in the manga, maybe because it’s not that important, but I’m a sucker for any Seras content, and I love that moment because she can sense Alucard at a distance now, and it’s a very pleasant experience. For Seras, I mean. I suspect it’s actually a very bonechilling, bloodcurdling sensation, but Seras has gone Full Goth, so she digs that sort of thing now.

I don’t know how the hell Anderson can sense Alucard, though. Maybe being a Regenerator gave him super smelling powers, like Wolverine.

And even the Major is pleased, because now we finally have all the major players in the same city. Not sure why the Captain rates an appearance here, when he never says a word, but we’ll run with it.

So, up to now, we’ve had these 9th Crusaders lined up against Millennium soldiers, each cosplaying as troops from old wars. I guess Millennium’s SS uniforms have hint of legitimacy to them, as these guys really were part of the SS back in World War II, before they became vampires. But the point stands, they’re walking anachronisms and they know it.

But then Alucard jumps in between them, practically giddy for a chance to participate in this war. Not to be outdone, Anderson and the Captain perform similar Iron Man landings on the same street. When I watched the OVA, this was about the point I started to wonder if I had missed something about the Captain, because this story has been hinting that he’s like Millennium’s strongest guy, and somehow on par with Anderson and Alucard, even though he hasn’t said anything or done anything this entire time. This would be like if Superman and Goku squared off in the middle of London, and then some rando OC from DeviantArt walked up to join them. Like, we know Al and we know Andy, but who the hell is this dude? I don’t care if he can hang with these two, they should have established that earlier.

Al asks for orders, and Integra makes this big production out of “Kill everybody with a racist uniform and a funny accent.” Okay, fine, but this is a lot of bad guys. How is even Alucard supposed to take them all down? And this leads us to Control Art Restriction Level Zero.

I’m just gonna cut to the chase, because this post is running long enough already. Al used “Level 1″ to make short work of Luke Valentine and Rip van Winkle, and maybe Dandyman as well, I’m not sure. Recall that nothing could stop Alucard on the H.M.S. Eagle. The Blackbird crash, the Millennium soldiers, Rip’s magic bullets, none of it. So he activates “Level 0″, which ought to be even more gonzo overpowered, and starts reciting this alchemical poem which I really out to cover in some other post, and all the bad guys panic and start attacking him.

To all the smartasses who say “Well why don’t the bad guys attack them during the transformation?” there you go. AGAIN. This sort of thing happens a lot more than you’d think, and it never works, because anime/manga creators are more self-aware than you’d think. It never works, because if it did, then it wouldn’t be “attacking a character in mid-transformation”. It would just be “killing a guy before he could do his big move.” So when a character does a big climactic thing like this, there’s really only two options. 1) Have the other characters stand back and watch, or 2) have them TRY to stop it, only to fail, because it’s too late for that.

Anyway, I’m skipping all of that and just showing the end result of Alucard’s power-up. The bad guys tear his body apart, but it doesnt’ matter because that never worked on him before, and then all these undead men crawl out of the black ether that seems to make up Al’s body. Just a veritable flood of humans, all washing out of him like a tide of death.

Anderson starts to figure it out when he recognizes some of the uniforms on these creatures. And if that’s not enough, Integra explains it for Seras. When vampires drink blood, they absorb the very essence of the living being who contained it. “To suck blood is to make the whole existence of a life one’s own.” That’s why Zorin saw Pip’s memories when she tried to read Seras’ mind. By drinking Pip’s blood, Seras has taken on Pip’s soul as well. But that’s just one guy. Alucard’s been drinking blood for over 500 years. And each one he consumes becomes another soul in his personal army.

I’m going to guess that Alucard didn’t always have the ability to manifest all of his victims as familiars like this. Otherwise, how in the hell was Abraham van Helsing able to subdue him a century earlier? The Hellsing family did stuff to enhance and improve Alucard’s powers, so maybe this was one of them. They gave him the means to weaponize all of his victims’ souls, for use in large scale battles like this one.

And I think this might be why Seras is trembling in this scene, because she knows that this ability was passed down to her when Alucard turned her into a vampire. Or maybe, she’s realizing that she’s got something in common with all of those dead people in Al’s army. Alucard made her a vampire, sure, but he still drank her blood, so doesn’t that mean there’s a Seras Victoria creature down there, standing alongside all the Janissaries, Wallachians, and everyone else Alucard has consumed?

Something I picked up on was that this is what all of those eyes in Alucard’s design are supposed to represent. When he used Level 1 you’d see all these eyes staring out from the shadows, and now Level 0 has brought out all these dead people, like they’re the ones the eyes belong to. Although, most of them don’t actually have eyes, just smoke trailing from their eye sockets. So maybe that’s symbolic as well.

There’s also horses in this mess, and that makes me wonder if Alucard drank the horses’ blood along with the riders. Anyway, Archbishop Maxwell observes all of this from his Popemobile and finally confronts the elephant in the room: Alucard is Dracula, like the Dracula. I don’t think it was ever meant to be a secret, but Kouta Hirano’s been dancing around it this whole time, without ever spelling it out, and now he’s finally spelling it out.

I think the only one who might not know is Seras? Someone might have filled her in off-panel, or maybe she figured it out, since it’s not exactly hard, but I don’t know.

So yeah, somewhere in this arc, they do a headcount of all three sides of this thing. Millennium has “572″ soldiers left, and the 9th Crusade has “2875″, while Hellsing, of course, is down to just 3. But Alucard has more than evened the playing field, since he can do this trick and spawn an invincible army. I’m more confused how Millennium lost 428 guys in one night. Seras killed a lot of them, but not that many. Sir Penwood got some and Anderson killed a bunch of them, but not hundreds of them. The Crusaders could have taken out that many, but they haven’t been here very long.

But yeah, they try to form a Phalanx to hold off Alucard’s forces, and it does not work at all. You can’t kill these things because they’re already dead. right? I mean, maybe the Crusaders have holy weapons that can destroy these things, but there’s just too many of them. And the Millennium troops don’t even have holy weapons, so they’re completely fucked.

But what about the helicopters? Well, Alucard drank the blood of Dandyman and Rip Van Winkle too, and their powers are now a part of him, which makes quick work of nearby aircraft. I like how these two look the same as before, but they never say a word. I think they’re the only ones with normal eyes, although Alucard’s shadow tentrils are still fused with their bodies.

The Crusaders’ battle lines are broken, and they beg for Maxwell to order a retreat before they’re all slaughtered. But Maxwell refuses to give up. He’s drunk on his new power, and so he can’t accept that he’s been one-upped so easily. Then the helicopter carrying his Popetruck gets destroyed, and he somehow crashes without getting hurt.

And now he’s got a front-row seat to the same hell his troops are experiencing, but he still gloats, because somehow Alucard’s soldiers can’t get through the glass. He refers to “tektite” reinforcement, and that’s dumb because Tektites are just an enemy in the Legend of Zelda. I’m onto your ass, Hirano.

But then Anderson throws a knife at the glass, and that breaks it, so maybe it was magic glass that only a blessed weapon could pierce? All that really matters is that Anderson has finally turned on Maxwell, and Maxwell is doomed.

Alucard’s dead warriors hoist him up on pikes, fitting for Vlad the Impaler, and Maxwell realizes that he’s going to die alone in a foreign land. The moral is: Don’t start none, won’t be none.

Then this happens, and I’m pretty sure Dark Horse Comics goofed when they scanned this manga for the digital edition. I’d contact them to complain, but they don’t even sell Hellsing anymore because they lost the license years ago. I don’t think a lot of stuff happened on Pages 62-63 of Volume 8 of the Hellsing manga, but I can’t tell. I’m guessing just Maxwell finally succumbing to his injuries while Anderson pontificates about why he had to do it to him. And really, Anderson hardly needs to explain his actions in this case. Maxwell sucked.

Moving on, Anderson contacts all Vatican forces and tells them to withdraw. They can’t beat Alucard, Maxwell is dead, and there’s nothing more they can do here. However, Anderson chooses to stay behind and take on Alucard.

This is Anderson’s reasoning: By releasing all of Alucard’s stolen lives to fight as his army, Alucard has left his person vulnerable to attack. So Andy thinks that if he gets close enough to Alucard, he can finally have a chance to defeat him. If he’s right, this might be his only chance to try.

Anderson further speculates that this may have been the Major’s plan from the beginning. Invade London, force Alucard to use this Level 0 ability, all to leave Alucard vulnerable to assassination. Perhaps the Major was even counting on Anderson to see this opening and take it.

More to the point, I think Anderson kind of has to fight Alucard because it’s the only way his people can escape London. Integra’s orders were clear: None of these invaders leaves the island alive. Alucard would continue hunting down the Crusaders whether they retreat or fight back, so some force has to stay and keep them occupied to save the rest.

Anyway, now we get to the actual part with this scene, where Alucard kneels before his master and she welcomes him back. It’s pretty satisfying to see all these butthole soldiers finally get what’s coming to them.

I’m just gonna put up the entire reunion moment because it’s so sweet. Interesting how Seras sort of reverts to her old self when Alucard returns. For all that badass power she gained from drinking Pip, she’s still uneasy around Alucard. But he missed her and I think that look on his face tells the whole story. He of all people can tell that Seras has finally taken the fateful step to becoming a “true vampire”.

I do think it’s kind of interesting how Seras continues to address Alucard as “Master”. He promised her way back in Volume 1 that she’d no longer be a servant if she drank blood of her own free will, but maybe it’s more complicated than that. Or, perhaps she still calls him “Master” out of respect, rather than any sort of blood bond or whatever you want to call it. It’s like how Anakin continued to call Obi-Wan “Master” in “Revenge of the Sith”, even though he had been promoted to Jedi Knight. The relationship is still there, even if it’s no longer official.

I’m a big, dumb Seras fanboy, so you’d better believe I think about this sort of thing a lot. I’m not real crazy about Alucard/Seras shipping, although I do sort of get it. I’m really not interested in Seras in some freaky-deaky sex kind of way. Take the D/s stuff to the Alucard/Integra room where it belongs. No, there’s something very wholesome between Alucard and Seras, and I could talk about it all damn day. And why not? It’s my blog, and I’ve got the time. So let’s start with--

Um, excuse you?!

Okay, so Anderson isn’t waiting around to take on Alucard, so I guess we’re doing this now.

And whether or not the Major planned for this to happen, he certainly approves...

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #alexander anderson #the major #the captain #sir integra hellsing #walter c dornez #enrico maxwell #the doctor #warrant officer shrodinger #is that everybody?#i think so #i'm not gonna tag dandy and rip because they're dead

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scottymcgeesterwrites · 3 years

Text

Some Goddamn Curtains

When I was in college, I kept getting the compliment, “Wow, your room is really nice for a guy.” I never understood what that meant for the longest time. Then I actually paid attention to how most guys kept their dorm room. I once waited for a guy to get ready to head down to an event. I realized that I had never actually stepped foot in his room, much less even glanced inside of it. So when he stepped out and said he was ready to go, I leaned to the side over his shoulder and oh my god it was like downtown Baghdad during the worst of the Iraq War. Damn bruh, you live like this? I liked all my college roommates but the most untidiest one was in sophomore year. He left his toothbrush lying around in the open in a sock drawer, and it would end up somewhere else each night. Maybe he liked to play scavenger hunts to keep himself on his toes? He never put the DVDs back in their respective cases. I once couldn’t wait to watch Iron Man with a friend at their dorm, only to open the case once I got there and realize that my roommate had replaced it with Season 1 of Martin. He would also do this thing where he would drink a can of Coke (that I bought), not finish it, put it back in the fridge, then later open a new can of Coke that he didn’t feel like finishing, and rinse and repeat. First year roommate wasn’t that bad. Third year roommate was nearly as tidy as I was. Then in my fourth and final year I lived alone, so my sense of the idea that “guys were messy” didn’t really hit me because I’ve only had one bad experience and chalked it up to “It was just that one guy”. I’m 31, and by now I have noticed people saying things like, “Oh my God I was actually thinking about what curtains I liked and I’m such an adult. This is what adult thinking is like. I’m adulting now.”

I hate hearing shit like that. I grew up blithely admitting liking things that an adult would “normally like”, such as curtains. The curtains thing came up in high school when I hung out at the senior lounge. The senior lounge was this bare room that looked like it was meant for old people to sit and play bingo. It was boring and dull and I hated it. It felt more lke a prison cafeteria really, with some worn out couches. I would bring my video games to that lounge, namely GoldenEye 007, to play with friends during our free period. The room didn’t have any curtains, so at a certain time in the afternoon, the sun would beat down directly onto the screen, making it difficult to see properly. A lot of us would squint and move closer or lean forward. I then said, “This room needs some curtains.”

A pause, and then someone replied, “Did you just say this room needs curtains?” And I was like, “Yeah. Maybe something blue. Something dark.”

And he looked at me and scoffed, and all the other guys did the same - they gave me this funny sideways glance and scoffed. I asked what the problem was, but they mostly shook their heads in disbelief. I was frankly annoyed by their response. So I said, louder, “This room needs some goddamn curtains”, because I thought it was perfectly fucking reasonable that a person would logically do something about the fucking glare from the fucking sun. Maybe they liked blinds better. Who knows? But it took me ages to fully realize two things: 1. It’s not socially acceptable for boys to be interested in style - whether it be about living spaces or clothes. I was fiercely made fun of for the clothes I wore as a kid throughout young adult life. I hated all kinds of t-shirts. I think growing up thin and gangly made me too self-aware of my arms. But I never specifically wanted to wear anything that had a band name or a company logo or even my favorite video game or movie. I would feel like a walking advertisement, and that would piss me off. I often liked ties, long-sleeved shirts, and sweaters. I never left the house in sweatpants or pajamas. I always had to comb my hair and put on a good shirt. Sweatpants were when you worked out or worked around the house fixing things. I grew up in Catholic school, so we had uniforms. On dress down days, my classmates would come up to me and say, “Eddie, you were supposed to dress DOWN, not up” or “I can’t believe you’re wearing that on a dress down day!”. I didn’t have a problem with people dressing how they dressed. Sure I was never into the goth thing, but I didn’t want to judge. I just wanted to dress how I wanted to dress. And maybe I was influenced in some way by how my parents dressed me up, and maybe other times I did feel embarrassed, but I knew that at the end of the day I would wear what felt most comfortable to me. Sometimes my mom would give me a sweater that was a tad too bland, so I went to the bathroom once I got to school and took it off. I would like the polo but untucked it and unbuttoned the top buttons. Half-and-half. Right idea, but lemme wear it like this instead. College was really when I started to develop my everyday style, my “main outfit”, like a video game character. I always wore some untucked button-down shirt with a tie, jeans, and sneakers. I liked it. It was this weird blend of dressing up and dressing down. People my age thought I was overdressed but my parents and people over 50 complained that I was underdressed. It was great! It feels so special to piss off both sides! My parents still remember the time I got an award at college and I went up the stage wearing that getup. You look at the picture and see the students standing side-by-side in nice dresses and dockers, and then there’s me wearing jeans and sneakers with a shirt and tie. There always seemed to be this false dichotomy for how men should look and be - either the dapper “metrosexual” man who was slightly effeminate or the rough-and-tumble strong man who didn’t need to use an umbrella when it rained and never cared to fix his hair because that’s some “gay shit” for silly city folk. That false dichotomy is always played out in media. There’s a million buddy cop movies about the book-smart guy who is suave and sophisticated teaming up with the street-smart guy who is all muscle and manly and goes for the more practical route. Yin and Yang. Hot and cold. Good cop and bad cop. Lucky and Wild. Tango and Cash. But growing up I thought, “Why not both?” I loved watching James Bond as much as I loved watching Indiana Jones. Why couldn’t I be both if I really wanted to? It fit me best to play both roles. I AM GOING TO MIX THESE TWO THINGS AND YOU CAN’T FUCKING STOP ME! I WILL BE BOTH BOOK-SMART AND STREET-SMART. I KNOW THE QUADRATIC EQUATION AND HOW TO CON SOMEONE. THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM. The fucking worst though is being an adult now and hearing women wish they knew a guy who “dressed properly”, and men complimenting my clothes saying I look sharp.

Fuck all of you, honestly. 2. Young people are afraid to admit they like things that adults like. I grew up with extended family members living in cozy homes. I liked to admire their grandfather clocks, their decanters, their entertainment center, their offices and their chairs. I liked to wander around their houses during the holidays and poke my nose into their closets and admire old things. Maybe it’s something that an only-child might relate to the most. I wasn’t required or asked to be upstairs to attend a younger or older sibling. The adults just did their own thing and so I wandered off. Ikea always tickled my fancy as a kid. I would wander through the model rooms of offices and bedrooms and bathrooms, and I found whatever felt coziest to me and pretended that I was home. Better yet, I sometimes daydreamed that the entire Ikea facility was my home. How about that? Tired of sleeping on the bunk bed? Go to the next room to the big bed. I feel like cooking in that kitchen today, not this one. Some days I’ll feel more serious and work in the wooden office desk and other days I’ll feel silly and be in the kids room. I’ll take the whole building, please. This is where I live now. Swedish meatballs for dinner and creamy European chocolate bars for dessert every day. Young people fear being old and facing responsibilities. That doesn’t mean you liking these things makes you older. Taste and style is part of who you are, and there’s no shame if you have an interest in some bath mats or a nice decanter when you’re 20 or 17.

When I lived in my single dorm back in senior year of college, I realized that I was truly living alone for the first time. It brought some sanity to me that I didn’t know I needed. I was able to organize things how I saw fit, and hosted parties whenever I wanted. If I felt like something needed adjusting, I didn’t need to ask anybody’s permission. I really started exploring my sense of style and taste. As I grew up, I developed really specific tastes about where I would live: 1. Everything has to make sense. The placement of shelves, TVs, desks, dressers, paintings, pictures, all have to feel like they are easily viewed and accessible without needing to awkwardly turn to face them or reach them. 2. Symmetry is not always necessary but still good to fall back on when you don’t know what to do. 3. I never liked to sit with my back to the window(s) or the door. I always needed to see who or what was going to approach me or look at me. 4. TVs should never go on top of fireplaces. 5. Always have some kind of drawing room for guests to wait. 6. Never put your keys or sensitive documents in the foyer, drawing room, or wherever else strangers can easily find them the minute they walk into the house. 7. Open concept is pretentious. 8. It is far easier to cook if you have an island in the kitchen. 9. McMansions are the bane of style. Fake balconies, fake shutters, brick facades - everything about them is evil. 10. Get some goddamn curtains.

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mysterioh · 4 years

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The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 6

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge of art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

I’m Your What Now?

Ah, Columbia University. The pride and joy of New York. The mecca for philosophical thinking and scientific advancement.

It kept only the cream of the crop. Sons and daughters of the wealthy, valedictorians, and exceptionally bright international students. The future president. The next Plato. Another Einstein.

There was a certain standard that came with being a student here. The ooh's and ah's and the jealous eyes that bore into their backs were natural for these Ivy League students.

And yet as Steve stood there he found it to be like the overpriced Catholic school he spent twelve torturous years at. After school, he didn't really see a reason to go to university. His future was predetermined and he had no desire to go against it.

Steve wasn't stupid. He was intelligent. An expert in combat and tact and a mogul in the business world. His performance was better than his peers with their fancy degrees and certifications. He had them under his foot and they only moved when he let them.

It just went to show that knowledge and wisdom didn't come from going to a fancy school. It came from experience and hard work, rigor, and determination. But even so, he couldn't help but feel an odd sense of pride in his chest when he learned you attended Columbia.

Mrs. Rogers, you genius woman.

He sprinted up the steps and in towards the overarching gate. It was like a world populated by teenagers. Here, twenty-five was considered middle-aged. They milled around clad with backpacks and textbooks usually in a small group of three or four. Some passed by on bikes while others strutted to the beat of their music.

There were a plethora of styles. Punks and goths. Preps and jocks. Basic white girls with their leggings and UGGs. Snazzy poets in all black and topped with berets. Those avant-garde chicks that had an aesthetic like none other. Diversity was key at Columbia. The world was being represented here.

Steve passes by, following google maps on his phone to find the Student Resource Center in a hope to find you there.

A day ago…

"Okay," Sam sighed, holding a paper in his hand with a laptop sitting on Steve's desk. "Quentin Beck, a biochemical engineering student at Columbia. Around twenty-one years old and is most likely a total geek."

"Hey," Steve warns. Bucky snickers like a child, chomping loudly on some potato chips.

"Sorry," Sam replied. "No social media accounts. Not even an old facebook. You sure this chick's not a hermit?"

"She's probably focusing on her studies. She's diligent."

"You're defending her as if you know her," Bucky piped up.

"I do know her," Steve said.

"Yeah, that's why you're googling her like a pervert."

"Shut up before I punch your teeth out."

"Anyways," Sam called them back. "She's on the school website."

"She is," Steve pushes him to the side. "Lemme see."

"There's no picture. It's just a list of tutors."

"She's a tutor? Smart chicks are so hot."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I can hear your heart pounding all the way over here," he said lazily while sitting at his desk.

"Get your dirty shoes off my desk."

"Make me," Bucky taunted.

"So it's got hours of availability here," Sam said scrolling down. "Like when she's working."

"Ya know Sam I know you're a freak and all, but this is low, even for you," Bucky said, his feet still on the desk and his right hand greasy with potato chips. "I didn't know you were as big of a creep as Stevie."

"I wouldn't be talking, Mr. I stalk my ex's insta at four in the morning." Sam retorted, making Steve chuckle.

"I don't!"

"Bro, I saw you the other day!"

"What the hell are you doing at my house at four in the morning, you freak?"

Nat walks in to see the three lazing around and sighs. Sam quickly slams the laptop shut and Bucky slips his feet off the desk.

"What are you three doing?" She asked.

"Nothing," Steve smiled.

"For NY’s biggest mob man, you sure do suck at lying." He frowns. "You're also pretty horrible at signing your own damn name on important papers." She said, waving a paper in her hand. "What the hell are these hearts?"

"That's not me!" He retorted with a light blush. "How do I know it's not you?”

"You really think I have the time to do that?" She snapped at him. "We've got shipments coming in today and you have a meeting with the Gambino head tomorrow. Do you have anything prepared?"

"No…" he whispered.

"Am I the only one working around here?!" She shouted making the three cringe at her shrill voice. "What have you three been doing all morning anyway?"

"Planning," Bucky spoke up and Steve whipped his head towards him. Bucky if you say anything.

"Planning?"

"Yeah, we're planning Steve's wedding."

Nat almost snaps her neck by the way she turns to look at him. Her red locks bouncing around as she turns. She gapes at him with a million questions.

Steve sighs, rubbing his face with his hands in embarrassment.

"Stevie, you're getting married?!?!"

"Sn2 Reactions have bulky bases and only occur when you have…" you said, snapping your finger to remember what comes next. "Wait, don't say it," you stop Quentin. "Primary carbocations!"

"Correct," he smiled, looking up at you from the flashcard in his hand. "Man, you're just killing it today."

"I've been studying," you informed. "...and living in Chubbic's office.

"And it shows," Quentin chuckles.

Tutoring was slow today with only a student here and there, leaving you and Quentin with some prime time to study.

"I swear all you ever do is study," Quentin said.

"No, I don't," you denied. "Last night, I played Overwatch till three."

"Okay, scratch that, you're a geek." Quentin corrected. You huffed.

"No, I am not," you retorted.

"Y/N, you don't do anything but school and work. You don't even go to parties or socialize with other people."

"People are overrated. I have better things to do with my time."

"Like what?"

"Like...stuff," you said.

Quentin rolls his eyes. "You can't keep living a shelled life, Y/N. It's not healthy."

"I don't see how it isn't."

"You have to go out and make friends. You're gonna go crazy if you sit in your apartment forever," Quentin sounded like a mom.

"Quentin, my dude, it's the 21st century. Technology exists."

"That's not good for you either!" Quentin sassed then sighed. "All I'm saying is that you should be more open. Not everyone is out to hurt you."

You sink in your chair with a frown. You look out the window of the second floor to watch people walk by meters below. "But that’s how it always is in the end," you murmured. Quentin frowns. "Besides what do I need anyone else for? I have you."

Quentin's heart skips a beat, but he tries to ignore it. "But what if I'm not here? What if I have to leave?"

You sit up. "Where are you going?"

"I applied for this internship for this company in London."

"Wow, Quint! That's great!" You exclaimed. "I know you'll get it!"

"Thanks," he chuckles at your enthusiasm. "But I just worry about you sometimes. You're going to be all alone if I leave and I worry if you'll be alright."

"Then I'll call you every day!"

"Y/N," Quentin said with a lopsided smile. "I'm being serious."

You exhaled, masking the fear of him leaving by giving him a bright smile. One that's always only been for him. "Don't worry about me, alright? I'll be fine. You go out there and show 'em what you're made of. You're gonna kill it."

"Yeah?" He asked and you can sense the nervousness in his shaking hands.

"Like my good friend Naruto once said…" you alluded. "Believe it!" You said, giving him a thumbs up.

Quentin groans while crossing his arms. "You still watch that crap?"

"It's cool!" you defended.

"I swear you're a nerd."

"Hey, Quentin," Angelica from the front desk called walking towards you.

"Yeah?"

"There's a guy at the desk asking for you," she pointed.

"For me?" He asked puzzled. She nodded before leaving.

He gets up to leave. "I'll be right back. E1 reactions are next," he reminded. You nodded with a chuckle and took the cards he left.

Quentin walks up to the desk to find a blonde dressed stylishly at the front desk, chatting up one of the employees.

“Oh, Quentin,” Maria at the desk said as he arrived. “This is Mr. Rogers.”

Steve turns to look and his shoulders drop. “Uh, sorry, I think they’ve got the wrong person.” Quentin furrows his brows in confusion. “I’m looking for a Quentin Beck.”

“Um, I’m Quentin Beck,” he replied awkwardly, shaking the photo id that was around his neck.

“No, no,” Steve shakes his head. “I’m looking for a girl and her name is Quentin Beck.”

“There’s only one Quentin Beck here and he’s a man and it’s me,” he said in the nicest way possible.

Steve snorts. “Just because you grew a little beard doesn’t mean you’re a man,” he guffawed.

Quentin blinks once and then twice and a third time for good measure. “Excuse me?”

Back over at the table, you wondered what was taking Quentin so long. Taking a sip from your Hydroflask, you crane your neck to get a view of the front desk. The head full of blonde hair and spread of broad shoulders was hard to miss. You choked while drinking. Quickly placing your bottle on the table, you pat your chest in need of air.

What was he doing here?

You quickly jump up and run to the two. Steve catches you in the corner of his eye and pushes past a fuming Quentin.

“I knew I’d find you here!” he exclaimed.

“What the hell are you doing here, you freak?” you seethed.

“What do you think?” Steve chuckled, loving the way you pouted at him. “Here to see you, princess.”

Your cheeks burst in color and before you could say anything Quentin spoke.

“Y/N, you know this guy?” he asked.

“Y/N, so that’s your real name,” Steve takes both of your hands in his. His smile is so bright that you cringed under him. “I knew it wasn’t Quentin. I mean it doesn’t even make sense,” he starts to ramble and you just listen. “To think someone as pretty as you would have a name as ugly as Quentin. Like who the hell names their kid Quentin these days anyway?”

“Ah, Y/N,” Steve sighs dreamily. “It’s like a sweet melody to my ears.”

You tried to reply, but all you could let out was a garbled jumble of words.

“Quentin’s a good name!” your brunette friend jumped in.

“Yeah, if it’s the 18th century,” Steve deadpanned, before turning back to you. “Anyways…”

“Y/N, who the hell is this guy?” he questioned irritated.

“Uh, well, you see, um…” you tried to explain.

“Been keepin’ me a secret, huh, baby?” Steve chuckled. “I’m Steve, a friend.”

“We aren’t friends,” you hissed, breaking from his grasp. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone, huh?”

“Wait,” Quentin butt in. “Is he that guy?” he pointed at Steve while looking at you. “Is he the bad guy?”

“Bad guy?” Steve asked you, making you blush under his gaze. “So you have been talking about me? Y/N, sweetheart, I ain’t a bad guy. I promise I’ll be nothing but good to you,” he said with a wink.

It’s like every ounce of sass inside of you is gone and you’re left speechless. Screw this man and his way with words.

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his soft plump lips before Quentin butts in and swipes your hand.

“Yeah, she told me about you,” he hurls at him, his voice firm and his grip on your hand firmer. “Who the hell do you think you are, messing with my girlfriend?”

Steve is taken aback by his words and you gape at Quentin. You’re his what now?

Quentin looks towards you and sends a message with his eyes. Just play along.

“Y-yeah,” you stumbled at first, “Quentin’s my boyfriend and I like his name! Actually I love it because I love him.” you straight up lied. Steve’s brows creased in irritation and he had the biggest frown on his face. You wrap your arms around Quentin’s. “So leave me alone, freak,” you hissed at him.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to be speechless. Your words pierce through his heart like a bullet. It’s like being shot in the core of his spirit over and over again until there’s a big gaping hole.

“Listen, jackass,” Quentin calls him back. “If you even look in my girlfriend’s direction, I’ll rip your eyes out,” he threatened, before turning around and taking you with him.

“Wow,” you whispered to him. “I think he bought it.”

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” he said, clearly dissatisfied.

“Shut up and kiss me on the cheek.”

“What?” he freaked out with a light red creeping on his cheeks.

“Just do it,” you ordered quietly. “And wrap your arm around my shoulders.”

He sighed. “The things you make me do,” he groaned, making you chuckle quietly. He places a sweet kiss on your cheek while hooking his arm over your shoulders protectively. He turns his head to see Steve still standing there. His face twisted in a scowl and fists balled so tight you could see white in his knuckles.

Quentin’s sharp blue eyes locked with his own. His gaze was as deadly as a violent act with an intensity that had the fearless mob man’s chest tighten. His eyes drilled out any notion that it could all be a hoax. Either he was a really good actor or there really was something between the two.

Whatever it was, Steve stood still with a strange sense of deja vu. He was a hopeless romantic and hopeless in all things that concerned love. And as he watches your retreating form chuckling at something the boy whispered in your ear, he regrets even thinking he had another chance at love.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mob!steve #steve rogers #mob!steve rogers x reader #mobster steve rogers x reader #mob au

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sedehaven · 4 years

Text

Saving Ophelia Grace’s Toe

Y’all seem to like my stories about being a witch in the Bible Belt, so here’s another one. This is a coming of age story about a young witch (me), a bunch of adults of various degrees of uselessness, and Ophelia Grace’s rotten toe.

This is not a happy story.

Names changed when necessary.

CW: Body squick, graphic injury, incompetent nurse, malevolent nurse, poisoning, bureaucratic nightmares, dark DARK shit ahead

So, in spite of the crushing poverty that I grew up in, I was given the opportunity to attend a very prestigious boarding school for Juniors and Seniors in Klan Kountry, LA. It’s a public school, so it takes kids from all over the state.

My school was run by a dude named Brother Dave.

Brother Dave was so awful that one of our senior pranks (I DID NOT DO THIS) involved a password-protected screensaver on every communal computer in the school (including, I think, Brother Dave’s office computer) of a bouncing, 3-D image of this:

Dude was NOT well-loved. It is important to know that he and I did not get along. When I was still a prospective student, he told us that our mascot was the mighty Eagle, because Eagles Flock Together.

Y’all. Someone watched himself too much Mighty Ducks.

I replied, loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear, “That’s not true, sir. Eaglettes push their smaller and weaker siblings out of the nest as soon as they can.”

He looked to the staff for support, red-faced and embarrassed by this ninety-pound child who stole his thunder.

The biology teacher (who left for greener pastures after my first year--rumored to have been forced out for being too fabulously dykey for the new administration) looked at him and stated, in her very particular and crisp fashion, “Well, she’s right.”

Safe to say, he hated me from the start. So, if you read this and you wonder, “Why didn’t this silly kid just go to the grown-up?” That’s why. He was our grown-up.

Brother Dave started at the school the year before I did. He was brought in by a local Senator, because said local Senator Fucked Up Colossally.

Senator Fuckup was running against Mr. Sketchy Businessman. Mr. Sketchy Businessman was backed by the Ku Klux Klan (a big deal in parts of the world, folks. My school was in David Duke country.)

Senator Fuckup had a fancy name--well-respected all around the state. Like, several statues of one of his relations decorate the state capital. Big name.

Problem is, Senator Fuckup is half-Black.

In Klan Kountry.

Y’all.

So he’s already at a disadvantage. As it turns out, it takes a village to start a magnet school. Senator Fuckup was one of the founding board members, and promised all kinds of benefits if they put the school in HIS district.

Their other offer was in my own hometown, the Hub City, where several of our major state highways cross with two Interstates.A place with art and history and culture. A place with one of the largest outdoor music festivals in the state--a multicultural, international music festival! With art walks and museums and Mardi Gras parades! With a three-story library, a library for French language and culture, and the second-largest university in Louisiana!

Senator Fuckup PROMISED that the school wouldn’t want for anything if they went to Klan Kountry.

So they did.

It was no great secret that this school was Senator Fuckup’s baby. At the time that I attended, the school was number one in the nation. Something to be proud of.

Except.

Except that in order to keep various forms of funding, the school was required to take in more melanin-blessed individuals than the locals liked.

Enter Mr. Sketchy Businessman, who ran a series of TV and radio ads claiming that our STATE funded school was stealing money from the local school district.

That’s right. He claimed that our school took money away from the poor Whites of Klan Kountry and gave to the diverse and metropolitan school for the gifted.

Senator Fuckup tried to deflect and dismiss, BUT did NOT rebut those claims. He didn’t believe that the school’s funding was THAT MUCH of an issue.

Any reasonable person would understand that the school was funded from the State taxes. Right?

As it turns out, Klan Kountry is not filled with reasonable people.

Senator Fuckup is a member of a particular subgroup in Klan Kounrty--a not-insignificant population of Catholic Creoles. So, after he wins his election--barely--he realizes that Something Must Be Done to help the image of the school that everybody knew as HIS baby.

Enter his old friend, Brother Dave. Brother Dave, who nearly bankrupted his previous school. His brother-in-law was a contractor who got a few really juicy contracts through him.

Protip: Nepotism only works if the person being nepotized is competent.

Spoiler: Brother Dave’s brother-in-law built schools about as well as Brother Dave ran them.

Brother Dave’s old school is attached to an order of monks who build cheap and simple caskets for people who are into that kind of thing.

They bake bread for the poor. These are good people.

Y’all, these people made it KNOWN--statewide--that they had a casket ready for ol’ Dave if he ever stepped foot in their town again.

Still, Senator Fuckup decided that THIS was the man who would lead my school into a glorious future.

Brother Dave took an aggressive stance on admissions. He wanted kids who didn’t have a lot of drama, and kids who looked (WHITE) good on the recruiting materials. He pulled hard from the local Catholic (Segregation) Academies.

Y’all.

Our Black kids were nearly White-passing mixed-race kids, one kid who was ACTUALLY from Africa, a couple of kids from Catholic schools, and one dark-skinned Baptist girl who is bombshell model-gorgeous. (For those glossy brochures.)

So as many White Catholic kids as possible.

Y’all.

I’ve competed with private school fuckwits in academic contests my whole life, up to that point. If it was something that required preparation (science fair, for example), they wiped the floor with us.

Because daddy the petroleum engineer did the project for them.

If it was a you-know-it-or-you-don’t thing (quiz bowl, for example), they lost so brutally that I might have felt bad for them. You know, if they had souls. Which they did not.

So Brother Dave populated our school with what he thought were “good kids”. White, Catholic kids.

Spoiler: My class started with 250 students. We graduated less than half of that, even after he backfilled our class with new kids between junior and senior year. The class after mine was worse.

Why is that?

White Catholic kids at segregation academies in the late 90′s basically did busy-work worksheet stuff all day. They were not ready for 10 page papers and 5 page lab reports and 100+ pages of reading and 20-50 math problems and projects, projects, projects!

Also, if all you do is worksheets and sit-down-and-shut-up, there has to be a certain...chemical element...to cope.

So, yeah. Drugs. So much drugs. And booze.

Brother Dave also hired Nurse Bitchy Fuckface. She was actually his first hire.

Nurse Bitchy was a walking disaster.

I was sixteen when I first met her, and because she didn’t smell like street drugs (I KNOW WHAT THAT SHIT IS), I missed a lot of signs.

Looking back, I think that she might have been a Prozac-and-wine kind of person. But, as the only drugs that I was familiar with came from street pharmacists, I thought she was just evil.

Hateful to the queers, pagans, Goths, and all assorted weirdos.

You know, all the kids who could actually handle the schoolwork and the pressure. *eyeroll*

I’m allergic to Sudafed. Weird, huh?

A senior at my school told me to be careful with Nurse Bitchy. She has a sensitivity to acetaminophen (Tylenol) and couldn’t have it. Nurse Bitchy had given it to her a couple of times.

It was on my senior’s medical chart. If you’re keeping score, that’s felony attempted murder.

Nurse Bitchy gave me Sudafed seventeen times (that I remember) while I was at that school. She very nearly killed me doing it. Some times I knew, and some times I did not.

“But why did you take it, if you knew?”

Well, you innocent dove, if I refused to take the medicine that the Nurse gave me, then I got written up. Enough write-ups and I got kicked out.

My home school in the Hub City? Eh...as bad as Klan Kountry was, I didn’t have someone assaulting me daily. I didn’t have a gang of girls who got away with attempting to rape me with a broom handle. I didn’t have a very big kid who was given liberties with me (BY THE STAFF) because he was special ed.

Or, as my guidance counselor liked to say (after my father was murdered and I was flunking chemistry--not because of dad’s death, but because the chemistry teacher put all the girls and Black boys in the back of the class--which had NO air conditioning on hundred-degree days--after Brother Dave’s brother-in-law “fixed” it that summer), “Stephanie, you know that you’re the poorest student here. Do you really want to go back to THAT?”

No. I did not.

Under pain of going home to poverty, rape, assault, and maybe death, I took her poison. She watched me do it. And she smiled.

I only went to Nurse Bitchy when I was forced to. This happened far more often my Junior year. The teachers would send me because I was sick (I come from a smoker’s home, and I’m an asthmatic who is allergic to tobacco. My family never quit, so I’d end up with smoker’s pneumonia most times that I went home. Thanks for the lung scars, fam.)

Eventually, when I was a Senior, my computer science teacher realized that I was unresponsive with a fever in her class. She was new that year, and didn’t know any better. So she woke me up and sent me along. Nurse Bitchy gave me the usual and sent me back to class.

Very few humans retain the ability to projectile vomit after age seven. Did you know that?

Lucky me, I did. I still can.

I hurled all over my keyboard. I hurled and hurled. My classmates screamed and ran.

My computer science teacher, an ice-cold woman of Indian descent with a very posh English accent, unplugged the vomit-soaked, ruined keyboard. She took it and me to the nurse.

She slammed the keyboard down on her desk and screamed at her to NEVER send a sick child to her class again.

Nurse Bitchy was (shocking, I know) a racist. She feared the angry Indian lady.

My computer science teacher, I believe, spread the word about Nurse Bitchy’s ineffectiveness. Teachers stopped sending students to her.

That left a vacuum. Nobody was being forced to get medical help. But medical help was still needed.

Before going to school in Klan Kountry, I was a veterinary technician. I worked under-the-table from too young. Illegal-child-labor-too-young.

But, I knew my stuff. I had a stocked medicine cabinet and a dissection kit.

I started doing everything up to and including prison surgery in my dorm room.

I could handle most anything. Which was better than worrying that the nurse was going to poison one of my friends into the ground.

I didn’t ask for money or food or anything (food was a commodity at that school because our cafeteria was infested). I worked for the goodwill of my classmates, which is the shiniest coin in the realm.

I’d gotten into witchcraft earlier that year. People trusted the witch over the nurse. That’s where my school was.

I only had one case that I really couldn’t treat.

Y’all.

It was traditional in the girls’ dorms that unless you were asleep or studying, you kept your door open. Mine was open that night. I was writing Sailor Moon fanfiction, procrastinating on one project or another. I don’t remember, it was twenty-two years ago.

Ophelia Grace (not her real name) came to my door in Doc Martens, favoring a foot. Her roommate or a suitemate or maybe another theatre kid was holding her up as she hobbled into my room.

I hadn’t heard that she’d been hurt, but apparently she had been. She was feverish and weak. Her face was bright red. She was babbling.

“I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. She apologized for coming late. She apologized for coming at all. She was shaking.

I sat her and her friend on my roommate’s bed (we’d bunked them, and I had the top bunk). My roommate was out, in the art lab working on a particularly tricky painting. Probably for the best. He was squeamish (my ex-roommate is a transman, so I’m using his preferred pronouns.)

I grabbed a large bowl and a mug, filled both with water (salted the bowl of water), and went down the hall to the microwave.

The water in Klan Kountry was filthy. It smelled bad and tasted worse. Remember Mr. Sketchy Businessman? He wanted to relax EPA regulations for himself and his sketchy business friends.

They were actively dumping into the city reservoir. But Mr. Sketchy Businessman promised to KKKeep KKKlan KKKountry Lily, so he got 49% of the votes.

Racist douche.

I boiled the water in the microwave--first the mug, then the bowl. It was a walk I’d make several times that evening.

Ophelia had a fever, holding steady at “fucking HOT” by the estimate of her friend. My thermometer pegged it at 102. Not good.

I put a teabag and two whole cloves in the cup and let it steep while I took her temperature. I asked her what happened. I don’t remember the specifics of the injury, but I believe that something got dropped on her toe. I think it happened in the theatre.

Ophelia thought she could walk it off. I remember that.

She kept apologizing. I honeyed the tea and shoved it in her hands. The tea helped. She was shivering--hard--from the wracking chills of her fever.

I remember how her febrile shivers made the bunk beds shake.

I remember thinking that I was in over my head.

I remember grabbing my oldest towels, and closing my door.

I remember praying.

And then I took her boot off.

Y’all.

I’ve smelled rot. Some people think that all rot smells the same.

It does not.

Corpse stink has its own bouquet. Blood rot has a distinct stench. Necrotic yeast infections almost smell good--like yeast rolls and something meatier.

I’d smelled Ophelia’s particular rot before.

I was fourteen. A momma dog was brought in, heavily pregnant. She’d been delivering, and the third pup got stuck. There were 11 left. The stuck pup was dead, but we managed to save 4 behind him, plus the first 2, born healthy.

The uterus had begun to rot inside, and several of the pups had been dead for some time.

The spaying that happened after the pups were removed was green and black, with the consistency of pudding. We pulled as much out as we could, but the rest had to be rinsed out.

Thankfully, I’ve smelled that smell very few times after. It smells pungent and strong. Like garlic. Like a cream of garlic stew.

I thought I’d gotten a whiff of THAT smell when Ophelia walked in, and again when she sat down. Pulling her boot off was like the first deep cut into momma dog. Garlic and blood.

The smell of something rotting in someone still alive.

She had on two socks. I peeled off the first one. There was a stain at the toe. The second sock was worse. The smell hung around.

Our windows were screwed shut. I couldn’t do anything about the smell.

Ophelia cried into her tea. She was still apologizing.

The toe was purple and black. There was a lot of yellow pus under the nail, which was leaking out on either side. Red streaks ran up her instep, tracing her veins.

The toe was swollen and needed a lance.

I had no idea how she climbed the stairs to get to me. (I was on the third floor, and she lived below. We had no elevator.)

She started to get loud (peeling those socks off HURT), so I asked her a question. I asked about her history paper. The ten-page history paper was a rite-of-passage at the school, and I knew it was coming due for her. I told her to tell me about her topic and her sources.

She did.

Thank the Lord and Lady.

I got my dissection kit and rubbing alcohol. I made things as sterile as I could.

I told her that it would probably hurt, but that I would work quickly.

Her friend left after the first cut. She didn’t stay gone long, but I heard her vomit in our suite’s toilet.

Ophelia kept talking about her paper. I led her around on that topic, asking questions and asking for clarification. Asking about the books she’d read, and offering a few that I was familiar with on the subject.

This is why doctors and dentists know so many things about so many subjects. Talking keeps the patient calm.

Meanwhile, pus and blood dripped from the slits that I made in her flesh, onto a towel that bore the stains until I donated it to the animal shelter, years later.

I soaked her toe in the bowl of water. The salt burned, but she couldn’t scream.

There was an adult who was supposed to be watching us. If she was alerted to my low-tech medical unit, she would have stopped me and sent Ophelia to the murder nurse.

I filled another bowl, salted it, and microwaved it.

Ophelia’s friend rejoined us, and watched as I squeezed the rest of the pus out of her. Her toenail slipped off in the third bowl. The toenail was cracked. Ophelia kept it.

I wonder if she still has it?

Triple antibiotic ointment and a sterile dressing later, I told her to tell the nurse that she needed a doctor. Nurse Bitchy couldn’t keep us from a doctor if we asked for one. She said that she would.

I gave her a few oral anti-inflammatory pills and some Benadryl to get a good night’s sleep.

She left, with her boot in her hand and a soft smile on her lips. I cleaned my tools, my bowls, the floor where her foot was, and had to do a load of laundry because that one rag smelled so awful.

My roommate came back in time for headcount, and asked if I’d made ramen. Said it smelled pretty good in there.

It did. Rot can do that.

It was hard to sleep that night. I cried quietly until sleep took me.

Ophelia recovered. She became a witch some time later. In college, I think. We’re still friends, in a Facebook kind of way.

Brother Dave is still alive. After working for my school, he ended up helping the Church cover up three decades of sex abuse at a diocese school. Not sure what he’s up to, but probably nothing good. He’s a garbage human.

Nurse Bitchy just retired. She lasted twenty years at that school. God knows how.

Senator Fuckup died in a car crash and the school is being renamed after him. So are the new dorms that are being built.

Klan Kountry cleaned up their water after I left. That’s really good news.

The school continues. Apparently, it got better with Brother Dave’s leavetaking. I hope that’s true.

And me?

I’m still a witch. I’m still here.

And I can still smell that rotten toe on the edge of nightmares half-remembered.

~*~

I don’t want my diploma revoked or to be sued, so disclaimer time.

This is fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

#witchcraft #prose #proseriot #kitchen witch #healing #writing #amwriting #autobiography #true story

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thebarefootking · 4 years

Text

Eye Contact

Sometimes I look back on memories of what seemed at the time to be the happiest, most cherished times of my childhood, only to realise in retrospect that I was, in fact, miserable for nearly their entire duration. The starkest example of this phenomenon is that of the numerous trips I made with my Southern Baptist church youth group. Over the course of each year of my adolescence, we traveled to camps and conventions (and one time even to New Orleans, on a mission trip to 'convert the Catholics'). Each event was one I anticipated (and sometimes prepared for) for months.

The most frequent and reliable destination for our travels was a church camp a few hours away. Once in the summer and once in the winter, we made our way there for 4-7 days of sermons, prayer, and camp activities. Our group was assigned one cabin each for the girls and boys (or, occasionally, the girls got one of the 'new cabins', which were more like hotel rooms, with aircon but no bunk beds, and halfway across the campgrounds from pretty much everything of relevance. Bleh.), as well as a color and a meal hour. I'm not sure why, but we were almost always assigned yellow and green (with the accompanying later meal hour), as opposed to the much prettier and time-convenient colors of purple and blue, which I only recall getting once in around nine camp stays.

And so we would go, walking around camp with our yellow arm bands (meant to deter non-campers from sneaking a quick meal, they said, failing to grasp any irony in denying meals to the stranger at a Christian institution), doing camp things and singing camp songs.

One of the songs that still gets stuck in my head to this day was part of a camp game the campers played called 'Big Booty'. Being rather shy (read: terminally embarrassed due to rejection sensitive dysphoria) and also dreadful at rhythm games (no doubt due to lack of practice in childhood, stemming from the same), I mostly watched rather than actually engage in the play. Still, the song was catchy as hell, and could be heard from up to hundreds of feet away at nearly any point when the campers had free time. To play, all players stood in a circle and were assigned a number, counting clockwise from the position of the game's leader, who was referred to as 'Big Booty'. The goal of the game was to move up the ranks and become Big Booty, or, in another variation, to be the last one eliminated by messing up the rhythm.

The game started with a rhythmic chant: "Big Booty! Big Booty, oh, yeah! Big Booty, Big Booty, Big Booty!" All players slapped their thighs in rhythm with the chant, and throughout the whole game, to keep time.

At this point, the game was on. Big Booty would begin play by stating their own designation (Big Booty), and the designation of any other player of their choice (for example, Number Four). The designated player would then state their own designation and then the designation of yet another player. Play would be passed around in this manner until someone failed to say their part in the correct rhythm, at which point the one who failed was moved to the place in the circle with the highest number designation (with all other numbers reassigned as needed), or, in the other version, eliminated from play. It sounded a lot like this:

"Big Booty! Big Booty, oh, yeah! Big Booty, Big Booty, Big Booty!"

"Big Booty, Number Four!"

"Number Four, Number Eight!"

"Number Eight, Number Two!"

"Number Two, Big Booty!"

"Big Booty, Number Six!"

And so on.

God, now it's stuck in my head. Dammit.

In retrospect, this was how I spent a good portion of my camping time regardless of the activity at hand; I was a watcher, not a doer. And when I did, I most often did alone.

Not that I necessarily wanted to be alone. Awkward, adolescent, and very, very autistic, I had no idea 'How to Win Friends and Influence People', as the book says. My thought, logical as it seemed at the time, was that if I told people what I was doing, and then went and did it, they might follow along out of interest. And it seemed to me afterwards quite strange that no one was as interested in these activities as I was.

Of course, I didn't know to take into account the eccentricity of activities such as off-road blackberry picking in the eyes of kids who had mostly grown up in the city, and who later would express doubt that such edible berries even existed. To them, I was a quirky loner; to me, I was desperate and lonely.

Well, no, that's not right. At the time, I didn't even acknowledge that I was lonely, though I spent most every moment at camp attempting to remedy that loneliness. I was just delightfully weird, that was all. That was all.

Even cabin time rarely made for good bonding moments, queer as I knew myself to be. The other girls could playfully flirt with one another, knowing they meant only jest. They could touch each other (they knew how to touch each other) in a friendly way, and not have it misconstrued.

They could touch each other in weird ways. Some of the girls liked to exchange affection (and show off, I guess?) by licking one another's eyeballs in turn. I could only dream of aspiring to that kind of kinship.

No, I didn't touch the other girls. Not until the later years, when one of my close friends finally started coming to camp with me, and then we mostly hit one another, as was our wont. (Incidentally, this behavior never stopped everyone at school from assuming we were a couple. Go figure.)

The closest I ever got to making a friend at camp was making a friend that would later become an enemy. We'll call her Max.

Max was a later addition to the group, not a full time youth-grouper, but one who sometimes made it for trips. She had been brought into the fold by the most popular of popular boys in our group, who she attended school with (and who I had lusted after in my heart since before I even joined the church, possibly before I even knew what lust was).

Max was weird. She read The Lord of the Rings during sermons, instead of taking notes. She talked about Catholicism. She was goth.

She also, as I found out one Winter Retreat, wrote M-rated (and higher!) Rocky Horror Picture Show fanfic.

It would be a startling understatement to say that, at this point in my life, I was painfully naive. I had only recently discovered masturbation and the horrible spiritual agony it left in its wake. I was sure God was pissed because I was abusing the shower head every morning, and REALLY pissed that I sometimes thought of girls while I did. I didn't dare look at or read pornography. That stuff was addictive and homewrecking.

But... I did quite like Max.

We struck up a fledgling friendship as I tried to make her comfortable on one of her first trips with our group. It was the right thing to do. I certainly wasn't doing it because she was attractive and quirky.

And so, upon learning that I was a writer as well, she sought my opinions on some of her writing one evening, as we settled in our cabin.

"It's the least explicit one I have right now that doesn't require knowledge of the canon," Max said, kindly taking my foibles into account. "No sex or anything. Although she is naked. And there's… some… other stuff? Referenced. But not, y'know, explicitly."

Well. As long as it isn't explicit, I figured.

And that, my friends, was my first encounter with the idea of BDSM.

I was fucking shook.

While I already had, and had had since early childhood, a predilection for and interest in sadomasochism and power play, only at that moment did the spark go off in my head that connected these things to sexual arousal. It was like lightning. Things finally made sense!

But they were bad things. I didn't know what to do with that! I sputtered a bit, pointed out a couple of grammatical and syntactic errors, and told her it was good. I don't think she ever found out how dramatically she affected my life with those few crumpled pages torn from a composition book.

Of course, only a day or two later, I couldn't stand the bitch. She told some of my secrets to the guy I had a crush on (basically immediately after I told her?), and the two came up with a plan to use them against me, for no reason I could see but to be mean. My fault for trusting someone I barely knew, but she just had that vibe around her, y'know? And, as I said, I didn't know what I was doing.

Sometimes, I'm pretty sure I still don't. But damn if I didn’t learn a thing or two from her, including that that guy was a dick.

#a year of writing #02142020 #long post #actuallyautistic #this one took a while

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crewhonk · 6 years

Text

being in a relationship with Steve Rogers would include

He loves Hamilton

He frequently can be found crying to “it’s quiet uptown”

And screaming “motherfucking democratic republicans” at the top of his lungs

Which you reply with a chiding “language, cap”

“oH My GoD”

Steve remembers everything about you

From your fighting patterns to the way you tie the tea bag string around the mug handle so it doesn’t get lost in the boiling honey-water

He has a picture of fetus you in your teenage goth phase taped to his mirror in the bathroom because no matter how hard life is at the moment, that was a thing that existed once

He always stops you from going back for seconds, not because he thinks you eat too much or don’t need the food, he just gets so annoyed when you complain about your stomach hurting for hours after

You guys always brush your teeth together

And when one of you is on a mission, FRIDAY has to remind you both to brush your teeth because its just something you guys do together

He hates showering with you

The temperature you shower makes him break out into a heat rash, and even though he hates being cold, he doesn’t hate it that much

But he will always join you ten minutes into your bath

He always makes your coffee for you before you wake up, or he buys it with extra milk because you’re afraid of burning your mouth

His favorite music is 70s rock, and when you helped him download the I, Tonya soundtrack he listened to it on repeat for weeks

He listened to it so often that you had to hide his phone for a day

He didn’t even notice because when he wasn’t listening to it, he was singing it

and if you were to be quite frank, Steve was borderline tone-deaf

Singing together in the car or during karaoke or just at a bar was almost your number one favorite thing to do with him

Your other favorite thing to do with him was explaining internet language

“I can’t believe I’ve been sleeping on Shawn Mendes.”

“What the fuck”

“Language”

“That was two years ago!!”

The first time he watches Rocky Horror Picture Show he is genuinely horrified and refuses to let you pick the next movie for three months

The next movie you pick is The Breakfast Club

And no matter how much you try to watch it with him

He always falls asleep

“What’s the point of it? Like there’s no music and it’s just a bunch of teenagers in detention it’s boring. Do they even have breakfast?”

“No”

“thAn wHaTs tHe PoInt?!”

And he doesn’t let you choose another movie again ever

However, he happens to be sitting next to you while you’re watching pitch perfect

And he steals a headphone and watches it on your laptop w u

And he fucking loves it. He loves Bella and he loves the magic dude that he can’t remember the name of

You guys fight a lot about what’s good for the team

I'm talking in front of the team screaming at each other, throwing things etc

And you guys won’t talk for a while (hours-days)

But when one walks in on the other person sitting on the edge of the bed crying their heart breaks

So they cuddle the other and it leads to slow soft passionate makeup sex that eventually turns into headboard-breaking sex

“JESUS C H R I S T IS THAT YOUR GUYS’ SOLUTION TO E V E R Y T H I N G”

But they’ll take that over the icy glares and hyper-aggressive sparring

And when Steve is pissed his training is the worst™️

You also introduce him to your favorite sport

And it takes a while for him to learn what everything means but once he’s into it he is into it

And he chooses the rival team of your team to root for

You make bets whenever they play against each other

You both end up getting what you want by the end of the night if you know what I mean haha amirite ladies

Except the loser has to wear the winner's jersey while you guys are diddling.

When u ride him with his team's jersey on he loses his mind

Him being afraid to have sex with you three months into the relationship despite your indestructibility and healing abilities

You think it because of how you look physically, and when you finally confront him about it, he looks like he’s about to cry

“I don’t want to break you”

“you couldn’t break me even if you tried, cap.”

the first time you two do it, its slow and clumsy and you don’t cum

But the longer you guys practice, the more confident he gets

So when he rips off your pantsuit after one of Tony’s parties and fucks you against the wall from behind the orgasm that tears through you makes you see stars

You get beard burn on your shoulder because of the amounts of hickeys and bite marks he left on your back

Since Steve hadn’t had much power before the serum, he wears the pants

You take them off, though

You often get notifications from FRIDAY telling you that Tony told her to tell you to stop fucking like catholic bunnies

He loves biting, and slapping and fucking you into the mattress

He's a wild guy in the bedroom

Out of the bedroom, you’re the little minx

Calling him captain when you ask for the syrup at breakfast

Raking your hand through his hair when you’re cuddling

Working out in baggy shorts and an expensive sports bra

Winking at him during sparring,

The light catching the sweat on your stomach and chest, begging for him to look

Whenever he does he gets his ass kicked because he’s so distracted he stops fighting

Singing and rapping to provocative songs in the car

He's shocked by the things you sing along to, and one time he almost came in his pants when you sang “dead girl walking” from the Heathers musical during Karaoke Night

He really likes to choose songs from the Spotify playlist “songs that make white people beyond hype”

He loves Don’t Stop Believing

You hate it so much because it reminds you of shitty high school dances

You disclose to him your fears about you peaking in high school because while you are studying for a degree, making friends in real life is fucking hard

And between saving the world and studying you have no time for clubs or anything of the sort

So you feel a little stagnant

He looks at you like you’ve grown three heads

“Doll, you do know you save the world on a regular basis?”

“I mean, yeah I guess.”

He slaps you on the arm lightly and then kisses your forehead

The first time he farted around you-you laughed so hard that you farted and you were sore the next few days from laughing so hard at the center situation

He gets the hiccups a lot

Your tall, hairy super soldier of a man has very squeaky hiccups

You’ll often wake up in the middle of the night to him squeaking beside you and you just roll over and throw a pillow over your head

You sneeze a lot though, so he carries around tissues in his pocket for you at all times

You’ll be fighting some sort of aliens/robot and you’ll sneeze and he’ll hand you a Kleenex as he knocks a baddie thirty feet away with his shield

“That shield is so dumb, you know.”

“My shield is a patriotic icon”

“Yeah, but it’s the size of a dinner plate.”

“Just blow your nose, Y/L/N.”

“Yes, Sir.” You salute jokingly

He glares at you and before you can run to go fight the Big Guy he kisses you hard

The minute he knows you’re the one is when you’re both at Tony and Peppers wedding and Bucky asks you to dance to the Time Warp (Steve is still traumatized by the movie) and you know how to swing dance almost perfectly

You could keep up with Bucky (who was quite the dancer) and you looked so happy he thought your smile could have been the sun

He had waited for the right partner, and finally, all that time paid off

and he had found you

“I love you.”

“I know.”

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dantediscoversfic · 5 years

Text

Chapter 40: The Crap Cave

“Dante! You found us!” Clio said as I hovered awkwardly in the doorway of the art room that first day of school during lunch period.

She bounded over and grabbed my elbow to draw me into the oddly dark classroom. The overhead lights were all off, the window shades partially drawn down and gloomy pop music I vaguely recognized as The Cure droned from a cassette player. About ten kids were sprawled out around the room, most of them sporting various degrees of punk/goth/New Waver style. Two corset-clad girls in billowy skirts drew intricate designs on each other’s arms in black pen; a couple dressed in “normal” clothes was making out with gusto in the corner by the potter wheels; a boy wearing all black continually skimmed his pointer finger over the top of a Bic lighter flame; and the rest were eating lunch, chatting, scribbling in notepads or singing along to the music. Clio flicked the overhead lights a few times to get everyone’s attention, eliciting a few winces and hisses and boos from the group.

“Everyone, listen up, this is Dante. He’s new. He’s from Texas, but try not to hold that against him. He’s a brilliant artist. Dante, this is everyone. That’s Raija, Jane, Sachi, Fletch and Kelly back there sucking face, Joseph, Ann, Dave, Forest and Vee.”

I was greeted with a few head nods and finger waves, except for the couple making out who kept at it with sloppy yet admirable enthusiasm. Everyone went back to their conversations as Clio led me closer to the girls she’d pointed out as being named Jane and Sachi.

“So, Dante from Texas, welcome to 'The Crap Cave’”, Clio said using air quotes. “We have lit mag meetings here and also make our own ‘zines and stuff. Raija’s mom Ms. B is the art teacher—she just stepped out for a minute—so she doesn’t care if we hang out here as long as we don’t you know, perform ritual animal sacrifices or set anything on fire. Again.” She coughed pointedly in the direction of the boy with the lighter seated a few desks down from us and the girls chuckled. Seeing my apparent confusion she said, “See, Joseph’s a bit of a pyro and went through a destruction of property phase last year, didn’t you, Jo-Jo?” The boy in question grinned slyly up at us. “But he’s got it under control now,” Clio continued. “He channels his urges into sculptures where he can use an actual blowtorch from woodshop.”

“Blowtorches rule,” he said and cast me one more glance before focusing all his attention back to his lighter and intrepid pointer finger. I couldn’t help but notice that all his fingernails were painted black and he was wearing eyeliner and dark lipstick like the girls.

I pulled my gaze away from him, not wanting to stare too hard and be rude. “What did you call this room? The ‘crap cave’?” I asked Clio. “Did I hear that right?”

“Oh yeah, you heard me right.”

“Do I even want to know?”

Clio laughed. “Don’t look so scared, we know how to use the bathrooms like everyone else. It’s a sort of long story. You ever hear of The Batcave?”

“You mean like from Bat Man comics?”

“No. Well yes, but no. Same but different. The Batcave is this famous club in London for people like us. Bauhaus, Robert Smith, Siouxie, Nick Cave, Specimen all hang out and play there. Jane actually got to go there this summer, that lucky bitch,” Clio knocked Jane’s shoulder with friendly admiration. “So we kind of started calling it that in homage to the club like a year ago. But then the school had this gross mouse problem and their little poops were, like, this constant presence in our lives, so somewhere along the line we started calling it ‘The Crap Cave’ instead. Because that's how we roll.”

“The mice were perfect and adorable, not gross,” Sachi said.

“Sachi, no. Just no. The mice themselves might have been cute but their poops definitely weren’t.”

The two girls bantered about whether the mice should have been saved and kept as pets or if they were indeed an icky health hazard while I took everyone in, trying not to gawk, and sat down to eat my packed lunch. I was fascinated by the group’s collective style: a motley assortment of teased and spiked dyed hair, leather jackets, ripped band t-shirts, corsets and lace, fishnets, heavy boots, winged eyeliner, black lipstick and nail polish, powdered white faces, spiky hardware chain jewelry mixed with rosaries, crosses and pentagram necklaces. Some of the boys were even wearing makeup, which was something you hardly ever saw in El Paso. Joseph, the pyro boy, was particularly fascinating to me. His raven hair was teased out as much as Clio’s and his dramatic eye makeup accentuated his blue eyes and delicate, almost pretty features. The flame from his Bic lighter cast a warm glow on his ghostly pale skin.

Clio must have caught me staring because she leaned in close to my ear and said, “Don’t worry, Dante, we might look at little scary but we don’t bite. At least most of us don’t. Forest over there is saving up to get his teeth filed, but it’s not for blood sucking purposes. It’s because it’ll look badass.”

“Wow. My old school in El Paso was a Catholic private school so we all had to wear uniforms. It’s so cool you can wear whatever you want here. And be whoever you want. Do you all make your own clothes? I love your corsets,” I said to Jane and Sachi.

The girls grinned at me with approval and Clio said, “I knew you were a good egg, Dante. Jane made the corsets. She’s an amazing designer and sewer. I think the rest of us get by with thrift stores, hot glue and a crapload of paperclips.”

“I’ve never really thought about my clothes before,” I said. “But now I feel so boring compared to you all.”

“Aw, there’s nothing wrong with being a normie,” Clio said and patted me on the back. “It doesn’t make you boring.”

“Well, if you want to try something new, let me know,” Jane said. “Jo-Jo’s my twin brother. I make stuff for him all the time. Cravats, vests, things like that. I’m sure he’d let you borrow something.”

“Wow, thanks. You think I’d look good?”

“Yeah, for sure. But don’t let us pressure you. We dress like this because it feels right, right? But it’s not for everyone.”

The girls nodded.

“How did you all know you wanted to get into goth stuff?” I asked.

Jane said, “Well, for me, growing up I loved making clothes and dressing up since forever. Halloween was my always my favorite holiday. I was obsessed, like obsessed. Like I’d start planning my costume and how to decorate the house six months in advance. And after it was over each year, the next day I’d get so sad and cry for days and beg my mom to keep the decorations up and let me keep wearing a cape or whatever to school every day. So when I figured out that I could dress however I wanted whenever I wanted and basically have Halloween all year round and have my clothes express how I feel inside all the time, it was like a big weight was lifted.”

“Do people make fun of you?”

“I mean, sure, dicks are dicks,” Jane said.

“We get all sorts of ignorant comments at school, on the street, wherever. Like…‘Hey Morticia, Halloween is over,’” Clio lowered her voice to a dopey male grumble.

“Or ‘Errr….Do you sleep in a coffin?’” Jane said.

“Or ‘You look pretty hot for a dead girl!’” Sachi said.

“Or my personal favorite, the classic ‘Going to a funeral?’” Clio said with an epic eyeroll. “Yeah, your funeral if you don’t shut up about it. Please. But there are lots of people who aren’t asshats and you can just ignore the losers.”

“Yeah,” Sachi said. “People say things like ‘Oh, you’d look so pretty if you didn’t dress like that’ but this is how I feel pretty and beautiful. I didn’t feel right before. Now I feel good. Right. Like myself.”

“Raija’s mom is super cool because she’s an old hippie and gets it,” Clio said. “But my mom is still waiting and praying for the day when I let her dress me all in pink pouffy dresses again. Sorry Anita, not gonna happen.” There was an edge to Clio’s voice when she talked about her mom that I hadn’t heard from her yet. It made me wonder what her home life was like.

Sachi said, “Yeah, my parents were all worried at first that I was depressed and wanting to kill myself. They tried to have an intervention with all my aunties and cousins. ‘We’re worried about you, Sachi.’ ‘This isn’t the real you.’ Um, first off, yes it is. And second off, I’m so much happier now than before when I felt like a fake.”

“Yeah, people think that we do this for attention or as a cry for help or because we’re suicidal or worship Satan or are in a cult, but that’s not true at all,” Jane said. “I started making clothes for myself when I was ten. This isn’t a ‘phase’. I’m not going to just grow out of it.”

“And finding people who are into the same bands and fashion and movies and everything makes putting up with all the weird looks and comments easier. We’re here for each other, ” Sachi said.

“And sure, we get attention,” Clio said, “because we stand out with our awesome amazingness. But it’s not like we do it for attention.”

“Yeah, I totally get it.” I said. “I think it’s great.”

The girls smiled at me and I wondered how it would feel to dress like them, if that would feel ‘right’ for me or not. I understood what Sachi had said about feeling like a fake, though, and not liking how that made me feel. I felt that way when I used to tell people my name was Dan and not Dante. I felt that way still, a little. Because I didn’t quite know what it meant to be totally free and open with myself and the world and the universe. Not when it came to the biggest secret I had. In El Paso, I felt like I already stood out by not looking Mexican enough, by liking art and poetry and books and astronomy too much. It was enough to blend in and not get teased or bullied for being a little strange. Now I wondered if I flipped the script and really tried to stand out—if I dressed all in black and put on makeup and spiked my hair and embraced my innate weirdness—if that would make me feel more like me. It might make me feel tough and cool and badass for a little while, but I doubted it would make me feel more like myself the way it did for this group. How did I know, though? I’d never tried it before.

I wondered what Ari would think of my new friends. I bet he’d like them. And then I wondered what Ari would look like in black nail polish and eyeliner. I bet he’d look like a dark glamorous rock star. The thought did funny things to my insides.

Then the art teacher, Ms. Baldwin a.k.a. Raija’s mom, came in. She had gray hair in a long braid all the way down her back and wore a long flowy dress and bangle bracelets. She turned the overhead lights on and said, “Hey darklings, the cruel daylight beckons. Gotta get ready for the next class. Lunch is over in five. And you two, yoo-hoo, Earth to Fletch and Kelly! Please rein in your raging hormones during lunch if at all humanly possible? I can’t have anyone getting pregnant on school grounds.” Everyone cracked up at that and Fletch and Kelly turned beet red but finally disentangled their entwined limbs (and tongues).

I had an art class with Ms. Baldwin later in the day so I introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Dante Quintana, I’m in your painting class during sixth period.”

“Dante, it’s so nice to meet you. You’re new, yes? This lot showing you the ropes?”

“Yes, Clio invited me to eat lunch with her and be part of lit mag.”

“That would be lovely. I’m the advisor, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you. How are you finding Chicago? Settling in all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! Please, call me Ms. B. Where are you from?”

“El Paso.”

“Ah. I’ve only been there once. EPMA is a lovely museum. Have you been to the Art Institute yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“We’ll be doing a field trip later in the year, but if you are a lover of art you must go. It’s one of the prides of Chicago.”

“Thanks, Ms. B, I will.”

"Now if you’ll excuse me, Dante, I have to prep for next period. See you in a few hours!”

Ms. B went over to her daughter Raija, who had been sitting off to herself drawing in a sketchpad for most of lunch, and gave her a quick side hug before disappearing into a supply closet. Since everyone else was getting packed up I ate the rest of my lunch quickly and consulted my schedule to see where I was headed next.

“You’re in sixth period drawing?” I looked up and saw it was Joseph who had asked me the question. Standing up instead of hunched over the desk I saw how truly long and lanky he was. He was about a foot taller than me.

I nodded up at him and tried to smile but had a hard time keeping eye contact.

“Cool. Me too.”

He flicked his lighter a few times in his right hand and then grinned a lopsided grin at me before heading out into the hallway right as the bell rang.

This was shaping up to be a much different first day of school than I had expected.

#aridante fic #aaddtsotu

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moonlitmoth · 6 years

Text

Oh hey look it’s my answers to a survey no one asked for

Are you a morning person? Hell no. I’m demon spawn in the morning.

Have you ever been to Target? I love Target

Do you like iced tea?

Yes

When is the next time you’ll be at work? Tomorrow’s my day off, then I’m working Thursday morning.

Do you have a savings account? Yes

Have you ever been to Disney World? If so, how many times have you been? No

Are you good at wrapping gifts for others? Yes and I taught all my friends how to back in middle school. I joke that I’m goth Martha Stewart, but it’s true.

Do you enjoy big holiday dinners? In theory. I hate the majority of my family so I’ve always hated and dreaded the holidays. Someday I hope I have a nice family of my own so I can actually enjoy the holidays.

Is your vision good? 20/20

Is your present hair color natural? Sort of. I have an ombre balayage so the stylist matched my roots so well that you can’t tell. The rest is bleach. Naturally dirty blonde.

What was the last thing you ordered online? Special anti-itch shampoo for my dogs with seasonal allergies. Very exciting.

Have you ever worn color contacts? No

Do you follow a certain religion? Raised Catholic. I follow a blend of Druidry and Norse paganism.

Do you have any family members who live out of town? Out of town and out of state. Most of my dad’s family is in Illinois and most of my moms are in Texas.

Do you consider yourself short? Yes

What room are you in? Mine

Do you listen to any country music? I lived with my Texan grandparents as a kid so there was always country music playing (mostly from the 70′s). I have to be in the mood to seek it out specifically, but I don’t mind it if it’s playing. I listen to some though. I like Margot Price, Nikki Lane, 16 Horsepower/Wovenhand in particular. I like Southern Gothic-type country music.

Do you ever watch Lifetime? I have in the past, but the acting is awful

Would you ever consider having children in the future? I know I want kids

Have you ever lived on a farm? No, but the area I live in used to be fairly agricultural before gentrification

Do both of your parents have jobs? Just my dad

Ever been in a car accident? My mom got rear-ended picking me up from school when I was younger.

Have you ever tried to walk on a moving vehicle and fallen over?: What? No

What is your favorite kind of bread? Is there any of that in your house?: I’m not a huge bread person, but I love sourdough. Don’t have any at the moment.

Do you own any equipment to make cocktails, like jiggers or shakers?: I have them in my house, but they’re not mine and I’ve never used them. I think the only cocktail I’ve ever made myself are Dirty Shirleys and you don’t need anything special for those.

How many times have you seriously injured yourself?: Once and it wasn’t too serious. I cracked my head open as a kid by falling backward onto a glass coffee table and had to get staples in my scalp.

When was the last time you were a passenger in a car and sat in the back?: A week ago

Did you attend Sunday School as a child?: Not really. When we’d go to mass, halfway through the priest would call all the kids out of the audience and we’d all go to a smaller classroom and have a little Sunday school lesson from the Bible, but it wasn’t anything really official.

What is the longest your hair has ever been?: I’ve almost always kept it very long. It’s currently past my waist. It’s been down to my butt for several years. It’s probably way too much hair on me since I’m short anyway. But I feel really powerful with long hair. What about the shortest? (not including being a toddler or baby): I had a bob as a kid. For some years in high school, it was just past my boobs.

Have you ever smoked a cigarette?: No

Are/were you in the school band, and if so, what instrument did you play?: No

Who does the grocery shopping in your household?: Me

What is the best thing you’ve ever bought at a thrift shop?: I was Cindi Lauper for Halloween in 8th grade and I found a perfect match for the one from the Girls Just Wanna Have Fun video. I also bought this tartan skirt in high school that I used to wear all the time.

Would you dye your hair blue for $10,000?: I’d dye it for nothing, but I’d prefer pink

Have you ever ordered an unusual drink at a bar?:

Not really, just fairly typical cocktails.

What is your favorite thing about summer?:

Flowers

When was the last time you went to your local library?: I go about every other Friday. I’m on a first name basis with all the librarians at my branch and they have my stuff ready for me at the front desk when I come in to pick up my holds.

Do you have any friends who work in retail?: Yes

Can you do a proper cartwheel?: Not anymore

Have you ever been pulled aside by security at the airport?: No

Are you a fast-thinker or a slow-thinker?:

Both

What is your favorite card game and when was the last time you played it?:

I’ve never been much of a card player. Just kid games like slapjack and I haven’t played since I was 8.

Would you consider yourself to be good at spelling and grammar?: I’m not great, but I’m alright. My writing is much more relaxed when I’m doing it casually. It’s the internet, I’m not going to write the same way in my free time as I do for academic/professional things, but I try.

Who was the last person you cuddled with?: HAHAHAHAHAHA

Have you ever spoken or performed on stage in front of a large audience?:

I read some of my poetry aloud in a talent show in middle school. I was in choir for a few years in elementary and middle school. A few dance performances.

What is your favorite seasonal candy? (only available at certain times): It’s not that they’re not available during the rest of the year, but I only eat lacy cookies around Christmas. I only eat jelly beans around Easter.

Are there any television shows you own in entirety on DVD or VHS?: No

How far away from your house is the nearest gas station?: 1 Block

Do you know anyone who is fluent in a second tongue?: Most of my friends are bilingual

What is the scariest movie you’ve ever seen and who did you watch it with?: It's not that it really scared me when I was watching it, like I wasn’t screaming or anything, but for whatever reason, Zodiac fucked me up. I had nightmares and trouble sleeping for an entire summer. I don’t really even know why. Just the thought of how they never caught him, I guess?

When was the last time you had a bubble bath?:

Today. Used some Lush rose bubble bar thing

Have you ever been pressured into doing drugs? Did you say yes or no?:

Not seriously. My friends never pressured me. The only pressure I’ve ever gotten has been from family, actually. I hardly drink and I’ve never done any drugs at all (addiction is rampant on both sides of my family so I just never had any interest). My dad got punched in the face by one of his brothers once because he refused to drink moonshine with him at a funeral (surprise, we’re super white trash). And I had an aunt make fun of me at dinner once because I was the only adult at the table not drinking. She just had another baby who was born addicted to drugs and is going back to rehab for about the 10th time so...yeah, I’ll stick with my sprite thanks.

I copied these from someone else’s post, so go ahead and do the same!

#about me

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oddlymysteriousphoenix · 7 years

Text

#61 12:59am May 14

I will update when it's a good time to do so. As of now, I will simply post my update on all my friends in which who I can recall and will do what I can to do it right. Here we go~ (List will be in random order) -Mom- We're doing pretty good, nothing BAD exactly, she does annoy me from time to time with her demands such as cleaning up my room when it's going to be a huge mess anyway. Since awhile ago, she wants to get a grill from the money of my dad and I, hah... I don't hate her, I mean, we all have flaws and that's okay. She's going to go celebrate Mother's Day with her friends, including ''Konni'' (I don't know how to spell her name, but she's the aged woman who introduced me to sushi and I feel in love with it from the start.) But yeah, there's that. -Dad- We're always on good terms, never have we once been at odds with each other, he'll be coming down here soon for my graduation. I hope I'm able to spend more time with him as I aim to go on my own sometimes eventually. Not saying I won’t have contact with them, just being out of their influence would be nice. He's still up working on roofs and such, great worker he is. We continue to call each other every day, it has been a thing since I was little as my parents divorced when I was young and we all lived in Miami at the time. If only he lived closer so I could visit him, I would if I could. -Dj A.K.A. Jacob- Since the last time my mom and I went out to a nearby sushi restaurant, Dj and I have been talking again now. Which is wonderful as I still recall weekends where I literally had no one to game with, so yeah. We're still on good connections, we chatted last night as he and our friend (I’ll call him Party as it's part of his gamertag, new guy to me on Xbox) were playing Overwatch. Anyway, yeah, he's doing pretty good over there, I haven't heard him complain about anything of his life, yet. We all get there from time to time. I look forward into talking more, not to sound clingy, we just go way back into the days of Reach. -Seeker A.K.A. Jared- Ah, I miss the dude. Favorite catholic friend, not that religion matters, anyway, I haven't spoken to him since ages ago. I asked Dj on what has been going on with him and he told me he's still busy with work and such, but he's still going well. I wonder how he has been doing though, I miss him. We go way back as well, to Reach. Maybe sooner or later I'll get in reach with him, although he is busy very often from what I can recall and he has his own group of ''goons'', it's worth a nice try. What can go wrong? -Erin A.K.A. Goodbye Delilah- Quick clarification, long ago Erin told me she changed her name to Lilah, but everyone still called her Erin so I'm left to guess it was a ''phase'' of a name in a way. So, I no longer have any connections with her anymore. I texted her and she was insane again. She made accusations that weren't true, saying things such as I left her for cancer and I never loved her, so on so on. I took screenshots of what she was saying to me, notifying her that I was doing so as snapchat does that, she went on saying go for what I desire, don't bitch about it and telling me I shared shit for attention, mostly what she said from the pictures of what I took. Then she removed me right after, so poof! She is now gone. Honestly, I'm not disturbed or shocked, not at ease either. Yet, I am a bit relieved I don’t have to deal with her anymore. -Jessica A.K.A. School Buddy- Jessica and I are still talking to each other, even though we don't chat at all outside of class, we still manage to kill time together in class like this past week watching unique videos on YouTube in which are too complex to be explained for the simple minded. ''The pipe is leaking''. She now has a girlfriend too, can't be on school property and she's a dropout too. Dropping out doesn’t matter to me, but I never would have guessed Jessica would date the girl from what I have seen of her. She works at Walmart, I think, eh, whatever makes her happy. -Gabby A.K.A. Goth girl from South Carolina (Or somewhere near there)- Yeah, uh, we simply stopped talking to me as she went off on me saying I was a bad person and I made fun of her for a condition she has, I honestly don’t recall that. She also said I talk about others too much and that she doesn’t need more ''half assed friends'' to be around her. I can't say much about it, I'm not here to please everyone. Although she sees my snapchat story from time to time and I still have her on Instagram, I have nothing against her at all. I know I have flaws. I hope she's doing alright whatever she is up to. -Molly A.K.A. Mollyboo- We haven't formally spoken to each other in a too long of a time. Although we have a streak going on, that also recently died so we're back to square one, her and I don't chat as we used to. From moments passing by me, I feel like I was a cushion for her. I'm not saying she's a bad person, no she's not. All I'm saying is that things haven’t been the same for us. Which is a shame because I enjoyed skyping her when I didn’t have anyone else around. Molly has been with her friends more often recently, her life isn't perfect obviously, as everyone, she is struggling with a few things, but I believe in her where I feel she can get through it all. Uncertain if we'll even meet up during the summer, but that's okay, I just want the best for her. -Alyssa A.K.A. Ex Gothic Succubus-I'm afraid to declare that her presence has gone missing from my life awhile after my birthday. She's been going through a lot, with the possible pending deaths of her relatives, she has been occupied. I do not know what she's facing up to right now, but for sure I wish her the best. I'm not afraid to admit that I miss her, just ashamed on the way our relationship ended. Time will tell if she returns or not, she always does this from time to time being busy and such. I'm not blaming her disappearance on her, we're not even dating anymore so why should I expect her to come back instantly? Anyway, can’t say much about her since she's away at the moment. I sent her voice messages from time to time, maybe she'll hear them one day. I hope so, I have countless voice messages of her on my phone. -Rose A.K.A. One Year Crush- The impact of her thorns hasn’t healed at all. Ah, oh well, she's still dating that one nice looking guy. They went to prom together and they looked like a cute couple. Even though she said it could’ve been better, she still enjoyed it. I miss her. Of course, she's dealing problems from within herself and her family from what I have been seeing. It hurts to watch and if I could look away I wouldn’t as I care for her. Uncertain if we'll meet up for the summer to be honest, she hasn't texted me since my birthday. I still leave her voice messages from time to time, never expecting a reply back. Some say move on, some say hang on, I say woebegone. Since Reach we go back too, I don't want to loose what's part of my world. After all, more and more of it is becoming a memory rather than reality. -Angel A.K.A. Tall Mexican- Another surprise, we haven't talked at all. He's been focusing on work and with his girlfriend which is great and all, just wish we would hang out more. He still lives here, he still posts stuff that I see and he's more than alive surely. Joyful he's not, but he's getting somewhere, good guy he is. -Nara A.K.A. Gone Girl- Ever since the last time we met, we haven't texted. I know of recent she posted a pic with her boyfriend, so they're dating. I’m not jealous, only upset that she suddenly disappeared from my life like I was some paper airplane that was around only to be thrown away from her. Ah, oh well. No idea what she is up to. -Jaden A.K.A. Suicide Girl- Jaden and I are talking, but only in school. In no way do I desire to talk to her out of school and we haven't. Classless I am on her talking to me again in chorus when she hasn't before, wouldn’t even make eye contact. She mainly talks to this girl ''Ericca'' (Don’t know the spelling of her name) who has a ton of problems, but we all do so I won’t complain about that. There's that. -Grace A.K.A. Edgy Misguided Wiccan- Not much to say about her besides her unreasonable ways of living and her choice of people she surrounds herself with like having a best friend that's 13 doing drugs and dating a guy who snorted Doritos for a dare. Makes me wonder why I'm picked over these people, ugh. She has her hair black since recent. I was invited to a group chat just this week by her and I was kicked out ''yesterday'' because I disliked a band, I got upset and told her I won’t be coming back. Argh, whatever. I'll be gone soon. -Abby A.K.A. Switching Genders Friend- Ill use she to make it easy. Anyway, her and I have been okay. Not much talking between us, most memorable conversation between us as of this year was us arguing about her flying to live with her boyfriend who lives in Texas. Again, not a bad person. She desperately wants to leave Florida, I feel her. She's going to graduate soon as I am, which is nice. Tried texting her a few hours ago, she didn't feel like talking, I hope she's okay. -Andy A.K.A. I'm Not In Lesbians With You- Andy and I have come down to simply meeting up for a minute or two together walking to her bus and saying good bye with a quick hug. She's still cute and all, but it's not meant to be. Not saying that I desperately wanted to be with her, but at a time where Rose was all I could hold in my mind, I thought she would be the water to wash it away and have her take the place. Im completely aware this isn’t how love works, duh in a way. Besides, our lives are completely different. Anyway, she's out all the time with friends or family, or talking about Attack on Titan saying how Armin is her cush. So, yeah. There's that. -Siena A.K.A. Celebrity Spirit of Miami- Girl from Omegle that lives in Miami. Her and I dont chat as much as I wish, but that's fine. She usually says she's busy with life and ''a lot has been going on'', from what I know she gets called a whore a ton and I don't see her like that as all. Odd to think of it. She is attractive, yeah, but I don't really know much about her despite us knowing each other for a good amount of months. She's great at singing and practices plays, I hope all goes well for her. She deserves it even with her flaws. -Kaylee A.K.A. No Personality Girl- Nothing to say besides her always posting pictures of herself barely smiling or posting pictures of her pets. I would talk to her, but I never feel like she wants to talk to due to her responses. Also, not a bad person, just not a good connection between her and I. I mentioned her long ago as I wrote an entry saying I don’t mean everything literally, some is ranting some is ''blah blah'', I recall she couldn’t let that go because of it. I know I’m not important to her, oh well. -Kayla A.K.A. I Always Wear My Boyfriend's Graduation Ring- Kayla is in the hospital from what I know. She got a kidney stone, if I can remember correctly since it is so late I’m just passing my thoughts onto the screen. Before that, she went to a concert that was very far away and not in Florida, she managed to be with her boyfriend at the time. This was going around when prom was. She got sunburned. I helped her out with our homework for sociology but she didn’t come to day she was said to. I will say I feel like I irritate her sometimes, but maybe that's just me. -Marielle A.K.A. Guatemala Fire- We've been talking a lot for many months, well, this year so far. She recently got grounded by her ungrateful mother. She's not happy to be in Guatemala and wishes to get out of there. She's a sweet girl, smart too, she's learning how to code and working in an office. She's not there everyday and we're not able to skype, but I consider her close to me. So yeah. -Daphine A.K.A. Cloud Exhaler- So long gone that she might as well be out of this universe ever since she got a boyfriend. No clue what's going on with her. It seems the cycle of our friendship ended as she would tend to come back and be distant over and over. She has had a rough past and I can only hope it gets smoother as time erodes life. -Rayanna A.K.A. College Life- She's doing fine, her life has been lightened up by her boyfriend. Gosh, if only I could be that happy. Whenever I text her, she never fails to mention she's doing something in relation to him like being there with him or waiting for him to come over. Sweet relationship from my point of view. -Victoria A.K.A. Nordic Artist- Havent chatted in ages, taken away by her perfect boyfriend. Tried texting her long ago, she seemed very uninterested. I don’t mind, she seems happier and that's great compared to her past. -Stori A.K.A. G's Girl- Again... Long time no chat, seen her talking with G, Skitz and another guy in parties sometimes over Xbox. Which is a shame since Dj and I never get invited to them. Ah... Sucks, but so be it. G has taken up all the space for everyone else and Stori can go on for months not talking to someone so I guess she thinks Im fine or something. I'm only irritated a bit about it, she has a nice character, one of the most innocent people I know, intelligent too. She's not clueless, she just doesn’t act in a certain way which makes her seem classy, I guess. I’m so tired. -Sheyla A.K.A. Miserable Medical Girl- She's in college going into the medical field. We don’t talk at all, only once but that was ages ago. She seems to be doing well, I have her sister in my sociology class, Sheyla is a lot better compared to her, the sister is awfully annoying. -Jenna A.K.A. Las Vegas's Light- Jenna and I have been texting throughout the day, very enjoyable person to talk to. She's been to many ''cons'' and she's sweet. She's very busy often which sucks, but that's life. We tried staying up Friday, but she fell asleep pretty soon. She had to do a lot today and tomorrow or whatever day this weekend. She works at this place for old people, taking care of them and such.

I would definitely name more, but I am too exchanged to go on. Maybe I’ll add on more soon, as of now, good night.

- 2:54Am

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haiskulstories-blog · 7 years

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Hai Skül Story #1; 2 Girls : 1 Boy

PART II: Anastacia Raynolds

My name is Anastacia Raynolds. My friends call me Ana. I’m one of the brightest girls in school, but I hate school. Fuck Wilson High School and all the shitty kids that go there. Except my friends, who are OK. We like to hang out and systematically plan the deaths of all the popular kids while we paint our nails and watch Heathers or Twin Peaks. Sometimes we watch My Sweet Sixteen if we run out of popular kids to fantastically destroy.

I do well in school because I’m bright and I’m nice to the kids who are smart but too socially incompatible to aggregate any sense of a circle of friends. Turns out, they are some of the coolest kids in school because they die to have a class next to me and in exchange, they will do anything for me. Usually it’s like: “Will you please get me a cup of water? I’m still working on this problem,” but they are happy to fulfill a variety of purposes. Needless to say: wrapped around my little stinky pinkie.

Part of the reason I like them is because I have a lot of shit to take care of in my life and I don’t always have time to go to Hot Topic in the mall if, say, my striped leggings get a run. Diane Blair works there. She acts so goth with all of their weird, glittery, off-color makeup, but she honestly just makes herself look like a clown. The popular boys seem to like her though, so whatever.

Now, you get the basic idea of what I do in and out of school, except I have a few hobbies I didn’t mention that I like to keep to myself. I’m actually really tight with my family. I have a little sister who I aspire to mentor as much as possible. She is going to Wilson High next year and I’m almost done with her starter kit. It includes profiles on the ten most popular seniors-to-be, including their favorite brands (in case she decides to fall in with them). She’s awfully pretty and I could see her falling in with one of the jocks. I’ve also included for her where the ten people they live and what kind of cars they drive (for obvious reasons, if she follows in my footsteps).

I’m a little bit torn about what social group she is going to choose, but I’ve made a full proof plan to flat out not care. She may be more popular with boys than me since she flat out likes them more than hitting the books, a divergence of our personalities. She’s had some guys over that, yeah, I can call guys, to the point that sometimes I’m slightly concerned for her since she’s still only 14, but the guys drive awesome cars and buy her clothes and she seems happy enough. She gets them to help her with homework, so I really can’t complain.

When we were younger, we used to be a pair of tomboys and would fight like boys with the neighborhood boys, play in the mud, steal the other kids’ bikes and such. I guess we both have the rebel bred into us, we just have matured into different ways in terms of how we logically put it to use. When I started to see the way she was getting guys to do her bidding, I figured she might have picked up better on our mom’s pretty housewife thing.

All for good reason: our mom is a fox. I guess I got girly when I hit high school and switched up my style, started puting on a little makeup. But I still never dropped my boyish pursuits. Quite the contrary. Neither my sister nor my mom were much thrilled when I started excelling in math and became the president of the motorsports club. They end up opting to spend Saturdays at the mall and for reasons I cannot comprehend, Jaqueline, my little sis, never got over going to church. Personally? I say burn it.

They say having a large network of friends is a guaranteed path to increasing the likelihood of longevity. I care a shit ton about my little sister, so when I saw she wasn’t growing out of her Catholic pursuits, I felt I needed to take action, so we could sit together well after our primes, saggy wrinkles eating up the Carribean sun, sipping piña coladas. I had the realization just about halfway through sophomore year and up until then, I’d been hitting the books hard, outperforming even the nerds and not thinking too much about a social life to any degree. But I have a decent amount of foresight and I imagined my girly little sister getting to High School, failing at academia and not having any friends, so I figured I should buff up on the real extracurriculars for her sake; I started going to parties.

It was just around that time that I began to gather a following. My grade is a little weird in that most of the alternative girls are of the gothic persuasion and they simultaneously have a lot going for them looks wise. Using my head to grow my popularity but sticking to my cute and nerdy alt guns, I became a pin-up magnet and I soon had every pierced and ungodly chick’s posts rolling out a black carpet for a funeral-themed wedding whenever I scrolled through my Facebook feed. I guess they were excited by my bad-chick sleuthing skills to find the ragers and for good reason: I got them skin with boys they probably would never have seen until finishing their tattoo artist apprenticeships after graduation.

In turn, I was granted a spot in the throne as the prettiest in a flock of birds who would peck to pieces any sausage party. To put it plainly, we get what we wanted by sheer volume of pussy. I don’t even have to make plans on a Friday and by nine, I know where the party’s at and I know my gang will blow it up and turn even the lamest bangers into a roving burlesque.

And that’s exactly what we did over winter break when Stacy Fields, one of my prettier girls, let on that her boy Monty was having a get together with the basketball team. Stacy had visited Diane at Hot Topic earlier that day and snagged a couple bottles of O.P.I Midnight Glitter, so as soon as the bell rang, we all piled over to her house, ate strawberry Poki and watched The Devil’s Rejects while we spread layer after layer of shimmering jet black nitrocellulose over upwards of 100 nails.

We like to be fashionably late, so we rolled up to the party around quarter past eleven, ten girls decked out in torture garb with purses full of candy in a big black Chevrolet Suburban. When I got inside, it was apparent the party had already started because there were quite a lot of empty bottles sitting around, but the music was a little soft, dishearteningly acquiescing to hoots in a smoky family room focused on a plasma TV playing a videogame.

Monty walked up to me out of the smoke and asked me if I’d like a drink, so we headed to the kitchen where a couple other girls from the South Valley were comparing their boyfriends’ dick pics while sitting on the tile countertop, tugging out of a 32 of Miller High Life. Monty mixed me something strong that tasted flowery and vaguely like blue toilet liquid, but it got the job done. Uninterested in the dick pics, I walked back into the smoky living room, took a hit off a blunt that was being passed around and was lit. Then, I spotted him.

Across the room, sitting on an overstuffed brown faux-leather couch, was Erik Crooners, A-team player for the Wilson Wildcats basketball team. He looked uncomfortably out of place, not playing video games and not doing much at all except just kind of waiting for me to pounce on him and eat him up like he were a cup of soft serve.

Now, please don’t get me wrong. If I told you my taste in men, I’d first have to tell you my taste in women, to have a juxtaposition with with which to easily compare. I like Latina girls: tall, thin, but muscular. If she has a tattoo: especially my type. The more, the better. As for men: ditto! And Erik fits the bill to the ‘T,’ his sinewy body was even just ever so slightly caramel color, surely from all that time he spend with his oafish bestie DeShawn. Even made his white ass look a little bit vato: Swoon!

So then I stood there for like a split second, eyeing his most prominent tattoo, a ridiculously vain spidery scrawling of his own name that seemed to bulge out of his tank top on his left pectoral. I didn’t want to be a deer in headlights though. The faux-leather furniture set made the room feel especially ‘den’-like, so I took off my shoes and pranced over, flinging myself onto the big brown cushion next to Erik.

The whole chase was as much like eating soft serve as it had looked from a distance; all I had to do was pull on the little black bow in my hair and kind of tilt my head to show him my neck and he was melting. He tried to make conversation a little like a car trying to start when it’s battery’s dead. After he tried for the third time to say something incomprehensible, then he just kind of pulled his head back a little bit and squinted his eyes all Chinese.

We were up in the master bedroom for probably 20 minutes. He was acting a little like putty, but I’d had only one drink so I decided to take control. I’d had a crush on Erik Crooners ever since the third grade, ever since he gave me a stupid valentine that had a bunch of misspelled words on it about farm animals. I remember when he gave it to me, I took the sweater I had just taken off and threw it in his face.

Ever since then, my feelings of guilt had sort of blossomed into an obsession with his pathetic attempt, his embarrassment, his red little cheeks after I threw the sweater, stuck in my mind as cute but also loving. But when he came, his face got all sort of red and puffy and his eyes bulged. It was a little repulsive and made me question the whole engagement. I didn’t waste time and quickly got up to use the bathroom. On my way down the hall to the bathroom, I got a string of texts from Stacy:

“Where R U??? //

We jackt the keg! //

Alreds in car + keg + we gonna leave yo asssss!!!!”

Even though I felt like I was about to piss myself, I sprinted downstairs and out into the car. As soon as I got in, everybody started asking me where I’d been and then Felicia shouted out that she’d seen me go upstairs with Erik. While my opinion had just been stilted by Erik and the idiosyncrasies fornication will no doubt pull out of a lover every once in awhile, all of the girls started screaming. The keg had already been tapped and we took turns pulling out of it directly, half the girls in the car, including myself, blacking out by the time we reached Stacy’s house.

Looking back, maybe Erik wasn’t all that bad in bed. I remember at one point he started saying something and it pains me to think that I might of heard him confessing, “I love you.” Maybe that’s why he didn’t pull out and maybe that’s why I had to pee so bad after running out of the room, even though I thought he had. All in all, one thing came out of that night: me, pregnant with Erik Crooner’s baby.

#haiskulstories #highschool #popularkids #teen #highschoolclicks #collegebasketball #danceteam #pointguard #dating #parties

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