#if all i remember of my club on my deathbed is moments like these then i'm fine with that genuinely <3

[southstand]

We know that this club changes lives.

#micky van de ven #tottenham #tottenham hotspur #spurs #football #footballedit #you'll never break our spirit. #if all i remember of my club on my deathbed is moments like these then i'm fine with that genuinely <3 #rahul.gif

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

A Kiss Kiss

Ship: Eddie x bestfriend!reader

Summary: The Hellfire Club is one member short, but Eddie refuses to let the campaign slow down. That's where you come in, Eddie's "tutor" turned into his muse.

Word Count: 4,728 words

Warnings: mention of sickness, fluffy, pining Eddie, oblivious reader, brief/slightly bad description of a D&D session, sugar as a pet name for reader, excessive mention of how pretty Eddie's eyes are

Note: This fic is set several weeks before the events of season 4. The campaign is leading up to the session we see in the show! Reader has graduated, but stayed in Hawkins to help Eddie graduate.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

"Lights...perfect. Got everything here... Where are my— There are my character sheets. Do I have...? Yes."

Eddie paced around the room one more time, checking everything for the fifth time. He needed to be certain that everything was ready. The session had to go perfectly. He'd planned for every possible curveball the party could throw at him, every stupid request and every bad roll and every plot twist he could use without straying too far from the course of the game. He'd been building up this campaign for too long to let it go awry just a few sessions away from his grand finale.

He twisted his rings around his fingers, giving the table one last look before sitting on his throne.

"It's gonna be fine," Eddie mumbled to himself, adjusting his stack of character sheets. "Everything's gonna be ooohhh-kaaaay."

The door opened. He looked up, expecting his players, and found you standing in the doorway instead, your eyebrow raised.

"Do I want to know why you're psyching yourself up for this like you do before your exams?"

Eddie groaned. "Let's not talk about my exams."

You made your way over to your own chair, which was sat just a few feet away from Eddie's. (He'd been inching it closer to him every time, but he wasn't going to tell you that, and he didn't think you'd noticed yet.) "You mean the exams you should be studying for?"

"They're weeks away! I have to finish the campaign, too."

Your eyebrows knitted as you leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. "You have to graduate, Eds."

For a moment, his heart dropped into his stomach. He hated that. He hated the way you sounded both hopeful and hopeless. He hated knowing where that sound came from, that you were really hoping the two of you would finally leave Hawkins together, like you'd planned to do two years ago, before he got told he wasn't graduating.

He still remembered the way your face had dropped when he'd told you. That looked crossed your face in his nightmares.

"If I don't—"

"Eddie..."

"If I don't," he repeated, a bit more forceful, "you don't have to stay with me. You should go to college and start your life."

You reached over, putting your hand on top of his. "You're going to graduate this time. You're so close, Eddie. You just need to pass your finals, and then you're out of here."

He looked over at you, expecting anger or annoyance, but he just found kindness. He always found kindness. "You can tutor me later, okay?"

"Good—because I brought all my physics notes, and there's no way in hell I'm lugging those things around for no reason."

Eddie grinned. You returned it, seeming to stare into his soul. Eddie felt a familiar flutter, one that he'd been ignoring for the past four, almost five, years. He buried it quickly, before he could get distracted enough to lose track of his campaign.

Not today, Munson, he told himself, tearing his eyes away. He could see how your gaze lingered on him for a moment, soft enough that he almost wanted to admit he was feeling those flutters—and possibly ruin eight years of friendship in the process.

"Not today," he mumbled to himself.

You raised your eyebrows. "What was that?"

"Nothing important." He glanced over and found your eyes pinned on him, gaze narrowed. "I'll tell you later." You nodded, satisfied, and he neglected to tell you that later meant on my deathbed.

The door opened again, and this time it was Gareth and Jeff. Eddie grinned the instant he realized their excitement matched—maybe even surpassed—his.

He left his throne to clap Gareth on the back. "Ready for this?"

Gareth grinned. "You have no idea. I've planned for everything you could throw at us."

Jeff snorted. "No, you didn't. Look at his notebook—he's got plans within plans over there."

"Ah, ah, ah! No you don't!" Eddie swooped back to his spot, dramatically clutching his notebook to his chest. "Avert your eyes."

You giggled from the corner. Eddie glanced over and the flutters came back; you were doing that beautiful thing you did, where you tried to cover your smile with your hand but it still peeked through. God, Eddie loved that smile—and he knew the rest of Hellfire did, too. He glanced back over and found Gareth practically swooning, very red in the face. He rolled his eyes.

"Where are the little sheep?" he asked, glancing at the empty spots where the three freshman he'd adopted usually sat. "And Grant? Jesus, where is everybody?"

"Grant is on his way, saw him in the hall," Jeff said. "Don't know anything about the freshies."

Eddie's jaw clenched. "If Sinclair's skipping out on us for basketball, I swear to God—"

You put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to you immediately, missing the look that passed between Gareth and Jeff. "Easy there, Eds. Maybe they got held for a few minutes after class. You know there are plenty of teachers here that will hold back a class they think has been too rowdy after the bell. Or..." You fixed him with a stern look he would never admit made his stomach swoop. "Certain rowdy students."

He looked away from you, awkwardly rubbing the burning blush climbing his neck. "It was one time!"

"Twice," you insisted. "And that's only that I know of! For all I know, it could have happened on nights we weren't going out, and you just never told me!"

Gareth peered around Eddie to see you. "Going out?"

You nodded. "For milkshakes and things—"

Eddie pushed his finger against your lips. "Shhhh, let's not talk about that, okay?"

You met Eddie's gaze. Mutual understanding passed between you, accompanied by an intense heat and a deep sense that you had misspoke. Eddie felt embarrassment curling in his stomach; it was clear that while you didn't understand you were about to describe the failed attempts at dating you Eddie had made throughout the years, the other two absolutely did. He was never going to hear the end of this.

Once again, the door opened, this time slamming directly into the wall next to it. Eddie's eyes flicked away from you and toward the two freshman in the doorway, Dustin ahead of Lucas, who still had his arm pushing the door open. Both were frozen, eyes wide as if they'd interrupted something they weren't supposed to attend.

But then Eddie realized what the situation looked like to them. He had, unknowingly, wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you close to him to press his finger against your lips.

And with the way you were looking at him...

Eddie cleared his throat and let go of you, stepping away as if nothing had ever happened. "Where's the third one?" he snapped.

"Um...that's what we came to tell you," Dustin said, glancing at Lucas for support. "He. Um. Mike is..."

"Not feeling well," Lucas put in. "So he won't be here today."

Eddie knew his expression wasn't pleasant. He didn't try to change it. "Not...feeling...well," he repeated, words staccato and mocking.

The two boys nodded.

"Is he alright?" you asked.

"Uh...not really?" Dustin squeaked. "He, um." Lucas kicked him in the shins.

"He what?" Eddie snapped.

You put your hand on Eddie's back, shooting him an admonishing glare. His stomach swooped again, a pleasant mix of fear and arousal. He sat in his throne, placing his elbows on the armrests and leaning forward, hoping it would hide the tent in his pants he was sure would make an appearance if you kept up with those gentle touches.

"What's wrong with little Wheeler?" Eddie sighed, trying to soften his voice. You didn't glare at him again, so he guessed he did a good enough job.

Grant appeared behind the two freshman. "Does anybody know that Mike just threw up in the hallway?"

Lucas groaned as Dustin tried to hide the words with a belated, hissing shush.

"Oh, Jesus," Eddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. With his hair creating a curtain to hide his face, he wiped his hand over his face, willing himself to pull it together.

He felt a hand on the back of his chair. When you spoke, he knew it was you. "Does Nancy know?"

Lucas nodded. "We went to tell her. That's why we were late."

"Shut up!" Dustin hissed. "Mike didn't want us to..." He glanced over. "Oh, what the hell? Cat's already out the bag."

"Nancy?" Gareth frowned. "What's she got to with it?"

You fixed him with a dry look that spat his question back in his face. Eddie had seen that look before, hated every time it was directed at him but loved when the other boys pining over you got it. "To take him home, Gareth."

"But what about the campaign?"

"What, you'd rather him throw up on the table? I'm sure Eddie would love that, wouldn't you?"

Eddie folded his hands together. "No, but it does create a problem—we are now one player short."

Silence fell. Eddie felt the question building up, felt everyone come to same realization and "solution" at the same time. He rapped his fingers against the armrest, waiting to see who would be brave enough to suggest it first.

It was Gareth. "Should we...postpone? Wait for him to get better?"

Eddie's attention snapped toward him. "Oh? Wait for him to get better, you say? And how long's that gonna take? A week, two? No—waiting would throw off the entire campaign. We need a sub for him."

"No one would play with such short notice, Eddie," Jeff said, shaking his head. "If this happened yesterday, maybe we could find someone, but everyone's left. Unless you want to go ask the basketball team if they'll spare another player—"

"Don't be stupid," Eddie growled.

"There's no sub, Eddie, you have to be reasonable about this," Gareth began. Eddie bristled.

"I'll sub."

Every head in the room turned toward you. Surprise flooded Eddie's brain. You wanted to play? The last time you'd played, it had been the same situation. You'd stood in for someone else, halfway through a campaign, and had been so confused you'd sworn off D&D for good.

"What?" Dustin said.

"I'll play in Mike's stead," you said. "I've done it before. Long time ago, and it wasn't exactly...great, but I'll do it." You glanced at Eddie. "If you want me to, that is. I know last time was kind of a disaster, but—"

Eddie worldlessly shuffled through his stacks. He sifted through every page and then flipped open a very worn down folder. There, at the back, was the page he was searching for. He handed it to you.

"Is this...?"

"The same character sheet as last time? Yep."

You stared at him. "You kept it?"

He shrugged. "'Course I did. I keep everything."

"No wonder your room is so messy," you teased.

He rolled his eyes. He saw Dustin's eyes go huge and knew the kid had taken it the wrong way. He had no desire to correct him. "Alright, that's enough of that. Everybody sit." He caught your arm before you could move away from him. "You stay close in case you need help. You need a refresher?"

You glanced down at the sheet he'd given you. "Um...maybe a little? Sorry."

"No problem, sugar. C'mere a second."

You did as you were told, the pet name going through you like lightning. Only Gareth seemed to notice, his gaze losing a little bit of light as he did.

~❊~

The ticking of a clock filled the room, coming not from the one on the wall but from Eddie himself, who was surprisingly good at mimicking the sound with his mouth. An eerie, whispering, scraping sound filled the room. If you hadn't been next to Eddie, where you could see his hand scraping the underside of the table, it would have freaked you out. On your other side, Lucas tensed.

"You hear it from a distance at first," Eddie said, his voice low. "But it's getting closer with every second." He mimicked the clock again. "The sound of magic and of chains."

Gareth shuddered.

"There's chanting around you. Too late, you realized you've stepped into a trap."

Half of the table groaned. Eddie's face lit up with a maniacal grin.

"He enters the clearing, cloaked and whistling." Eddie whistled. Unsteady and menacing, he swept his gaze across the table, making brief eye contact with every single player. "Try as you might, you have not the wits to escape me." His voice was deep and gravelly. Goosebumps broke out on your skin. You'd heard Eddie change his voice time and time again, but it never failed to shock you. "There is no stopping power as great as this."

Eddie locked eyes with you. A thrill went down your spine. "Yet there is always room for improvement. Magic is never satisfied."

"Here we go," Dustin whispered, his hands in white-knuckled fists.

Eddie leaned back. "From his cloak, Vecna draws a dagger. He lifts it into the air. Ritual must be satisfied." He turned to you. "What do you do, dear traveller?"

Your heart stopped. This was different from the lighthearted flirting you'd been doing with the other characters Eddie had pit you and the others against. You knew enough from his summary to know Vecna was not one of his regular, smaller villains, and you knew from the fear from the others around the table there was only one way this was going to go.

"I...try to stall Vecna, try to attack to give the others time to get away," you said after a moment. Eddie paused briefly, something flashing in his eyes. Slowly, he grinned.

"Roll," he said, nodding to the dice he'd set in front of you at the beginning of the game.

Heart in your throat for no apparent reason, you did. You didn't have to look at it to know how it went; you heard the groan of the others around you, heard the soft sound Eddie made, and knew your roll had not been high enough.

"You run at Vecna but are easily caught," Eddie said, and you reopened your eyes. "He puts the dagger at your throat. The others are terrified and trying to decide if they should help or run." He looked at the others. "Well? What do you do?"

You heard them each say that they would try to help, voices trembling. But roll after roll was far too low, so, one by one, they fled.

Eddie turned back to you. "So much for your friends, little one. Perhaps you shall meet them again, when I have killed them, too. He shoves the dagger through you and your world goes black, but not before you..." He made eye contact with you. There was a plea in his gaze. You studied him, saw the exhaustion in him. You glanced at the clock on the wall; the session had been going for nearly three hours. You could tell he was hoping it would be done very soon—and that you had a chance to end it now.

But what did you have to do?

Curse Vecna? Spit in his face? Cleverly not die?

Eddie licked his lips, hiding a mouthed word in the action. Summon.

You sucked in a breath. "I cast a summoning spell."

There's triumph in Eddie's face. "For what?"

You let instinct guide you this time. "Anyone who can help. Anyone who can defeat Vecna."

Eddie's grin was nearly villainous. "Roll, sugar."

You closed your eyes again and let the dice fly from your hands. You waited, not breathing, until you heard it stop roll. Eddie gave a shout of victory.

"Your spell is successful! With your last breath, you summon help from all four corners of the world, and lo and behold, a figure appears in the woods before you. As the world goes black, you see a cloaked man step out from the shadows. He throws back his hood and Vecna sneers. You catch a glimpse of his face as your vision fades to black, and standing above you is your savior—Kas the Bloodyhanded."

Eddie snapped his book shut. The reaction was immediate, his party leaping to their feet, yelling and shouting. You flinched against the wall of noise. Eddie grinned at you.

"Not bad for your second go," he said, voice still low and husky underneath the noise.

You smiled at him. "I hope you're aware I'm not letting you get away with not studying tonight."

He rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Of course not."

Dustin finally succeeded in trying to get Eddie's attention by leaning over Lucas and peering around your arm. "What?! Kas? That's insane!"

You leaned out of the conversation, leaving your chair and gathering up the notebooks and pencils you'd left on the floor. You might not have understood everything that was going on in the game, but you enjoyed it nonetheless; the party clearly loved what Eddie had put together just as much as he did. You knew that appreciation was not something Eddie saw often, and you were glad he got it here, at least.

The party stayed longer than they normally did after games, until Steve poked his head through the door and scolded Dustin to get a move-on. The others dispersed quickly after that, until it was just you and Eddie left.

He turned to you with a huge grin. "That was amazing, huh?"

You giggled. "I'll admit I was a little confused, but I'll chalk that up to joining in on a session halfway through your campaign and not your DM'ing skills."

Eddie started his cleanup process, reorganizing the table and putting away everything that wouldn't be needed until the next session. He eyed you. "I'm surprised you got my hints—happy, of course, but surprised, too."

You left your stuff on your chair and helped him clean the table. You shrugged. "I knew you were tired. And you'd explained the campaign up to now well enough, I knew what you meant when you said to summon." You shivered. "But I see now why the boys are always so terrified during games. It's so high-stakes!"

Eddie grinned, and it looked slightly malevolent. "Helps that I'm so intimidating."

"You're joking, but you're absolutely intimidating," you said. "I've never seen you so intense before." You gave him a sly, teasing smile. "Maybe if you applied that to your studying, we'd be in a different state by now."

The smile slid off Eddie's face. Guilt clouded his eyes, and you knew immediately you hadn't come off as joking as you'd like to have.

"Oh, Eddie, I didn't mean... That's not what I wanted it to sound like."

He sighed heavily. "No, but you're right. You could be out of here, at least. I mean, like I was saying earlier—"

You dropped the papers you were holding and cut him off by cupping his face in your hands. His breathing stopped along with his words. You were shaking your heard fiercely.

"That's enough of that, Eddie. I told you I was going to help you graduate, and I am. I'm not leaving you here, Eds. I can't imagine life without you. You have been here for me through everything, and I'm going to to the same for you. Alright?" You ran your thumb across his cheekbone. "You mean the world to me."

He curled his arms around you, tugging you flat to his chest and squeezing tight. "Thank you for believing in me," he whispered, just as he had when you'd first told him you were going to help him graduate. You were just glad this time the words came without tears.

"I've always believed in you," you whispered. "Always."

You pulled back away from him, idly playing with one of his curls. For a moment, it was just the two of you staring at each other, Eddie's big eyes more than a little wet. For a moment, the air between you changed.

Eddie's heart began to pound. He watched your gaze drop briefly from his eyes to his mouth and wondered if it was about to happen. If he'd be brave enough to let it happen.

If he did, his deathbed was a lot closer than he'd thought it was, because he knew kissing you was going to prevent him from breathing for a good hour at least.

But you just smiled at him. "Come on—let's finish up here and go through my old physics notes. You're passing that test tomorrow."

He groaned. "I forgot there was a test tomorrow."

You laughed. "What did you think I was here for?"

"Me."

"Aside from you," you said, poking him in the side. He squirmed away from you.

"Finals, I guess. Something a few weeks away—not tomorrow."

You shrugged. "If you pass your test, you can pass the exam. Hurry it up, Munson."

He wrinkled his nose. "You sound like Harrington and Henderson."

"Well, it is almost nine."

Eddie yawned. "No wonder I'm tired. Alright, come on. Let's go home."

~❊~

Stifling your third yawn of the past ten minutes, you cuddled closer into Eddie's side. The night had turned out to be one of the lazier study sessions, which took place in Eddie's bed. Judging by how tired the two of you had become the moment you sat down amongst his blankets, that had been a mistake.

Sitting up had become laying down. Laying down had become cuddling.

This wasn't new to either of you. For as long as you'd known each other, you had been touchy and physical, growing up mostly touch-starved and finding comfort with each other.

But today, it felt different. Eddie couldn't quite put his finger on why today was different from normal, but even just looking at each other when you were checking to see if he was still paying attention resulted in outbursts of giggles.

And for some reason, he was paying even more attention to the smell of your shampoo than normal as he buried his face in your hair. He sighed softly, mumbled your name, and slid his arm over your stomach, his fingers splaying across your side.

You glanced over at him, putting your notebook back down on your lap. "Hey, you okay? We can stop if you're too tired."

"No," Eddie whined into your hair, pressing closer to you. "'m gonna fail if we stop."

You glanced at your notebook. "What's the equation for kinetic energy, Eds?"

He was quiet for a minute, and then he mumbled, "One half of mass times velocity squared."

"What about gravitational potential energy?"

"Mass times gravity times height."

You closed the notebook and threw it off the bed. "I think you're going to do just fine, Eds." You rolled over and wrapped him in a tight hug. "As long as you remember the equations, you can get through the test."

Though it seemed impossible with how at ease he already was, Eddie relaxed in your arms. He hummed softly and threw his leg over yours, clinging to you.

"You can do it, Eds. I believe in you." Without really knowing what you were doing, you leaned back and bent your neck to kiss his forehead. Your voice dropped to a low whisper. "I believe in you, baby."

He hummed. After a moment, he asked, "Did you just kiss me?"

You thought about it. "Not really," you said. "It wasn't a...a kiss kiss."

Eddie looked up at you, his face so buried in your hair and your shirt that you could only see those pretty eyes of his. "Do you wanna kiss kiss?"

You stared at him. You didn't know why you said it, or what courage possessed you to do so, but you smiled, almost bittersweet, as you said, "I've wanted to kiss kiss you for three years at least, baby."

Eddie whimpered in your arms, eyes growing wide. He wriggled in your arms until you were face to face. He stared at you a moment, lifting his hand to cup your cheek.

"Hi," you whispered, feeling slightly embarrassed now that the words were out.

"Hi." His voice was just as quiet. He brushed his fingers across your face, the touch gentle and loving.

"If you don't feel the same—"

"Of course I feel the same," Eddie said. "Of course I do. How couldn't I?"

You smiled. "Well, you did a bang-up job of hiding it."

"So did you," he murmured. "I've always thought I knew everything about you, but I didn't know that."

You laughed. "I don't know how you didn't know that—I wasn't exactly subtle. Why do you think I wanted to run away with you all these years? You thought I just wanted to go start a whole new life with you just because?"

Eddie huffed. "Well, we can chalk up me not noticing to me being a bit oblivious."

You giggled. "Let's face it, we were both a bit oblivious about our feelings to each other."

"Oh, God, yeah, if I had known you liked me, I would've asked you out back in high school." Eddie brushed your hair out of your face. "So, uh... Can we kiss kiss? Please? Please?"

You giggled. "I like the enthusiasm, Eds."

He whined. "Please?"

"Yes, baby," you whispered. "Kiss me. Kiss me."

Your eyes fluttered closed the instant Eddie's lips touched yours. You held each other's faces as you kissed, a clash of lips and teeth and tongues. You enjoyed the feeling—Eddie's lips were supple and soft, only slightly chapped.

When you broke apart, you smiled. "Your lips are soft."

"Yours are like heaven," Eddie said, pecking them again. "My own personal heaven." He wound his arms around you, tucking himself back into your embrace. "I'm never letting you go now, okay?"

"Oh, believe me, I never want you to." You brushed your hand through his hair, earning a soft, content sigh from him. "Let's get some sleep. And tomorrow morning—you're going to pass your physics test."

"You have such faith in me," he whispered, eyes already closing.

"Of course I do, baby," you whispered, watching him lull himself to sleep in your arms. "Of course I do."

You kissed his nose and let him fall asleep in your arms.

~❊~

You were at Eddie's trailer before he was the next day, when he got out of school. He opened the door with a huge grin on his face, that only got bigger when he saw you waiting for him on his couch.

Before you could even greet him, he flung himself down next to you and whipped out a paper. He gave it to you, practically bouncing with excitement.

It was the physics test—with a big A+ circled at the top of it, the comment of, Wonderful job, Mr. Munson! written underneath.

You squealed. You put the paper down and threw your arms around him, kissing his cheek. "Oh, baby! I knew you could do it! I knew it!" You kissed all over his face. "I'm so proud of you, Eds!"

He pulled you closer to him, meeting for a deep kiss. "All because of you, angel. My sweet angel."

You curled up on the couch together, kissing like your lives depended on it, completely unbothered by the rest of the world or the show that you had put on before Eddie came home. You looped one of your arms around Eddie's neck, bringing a smile to his face.

Neither of you heard the door open. Neither of you saw Wayne walk in and stop the moment he saw the two of you, or the grin that appeared on his face at the sight of his nephew finally kissing the girl he'd been telling Wayne about for years, always with a bittersweet, love-stricken sigh.

The smile was a contained shadow of what it was by the time he said, "Took you two long enough."

You sprang apart, grinning sheepishly, but you both could still see the pride and happiness in Wayne's face, however much he tried to hide it.

You looked back at Eddie, kissing his nose and drawing a giggle from him. "Yeah." You kissed his soft lips. "I've been thinking the same thing."

~❊~

Stranger Things // Eddie Munson

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the E.M. taglist!} @ohatropa @lilylilyyyyyy@spencestyles@r-royce@theshiresposts@kaitebugg03@the-chocoholic-writer@noiralei@kennedyraye@yourdailymemedelivery@squidscottjeans@cannonize@sebastianstvn@corrodedcoffn

#stranger things #stranger things au #pre season 4 #hellfire club #stranger things d&d #eddie munson #dungeon master eddie #eddie x reader #eddie x bestfriend!reader #welcome to hellfire

[emerald-notes]

Death Before Water And Life After It

'The Avonlea Story Club'

Story no. #02 Inspired by prompt: “There was a legend about the well in the garden.” Time Duration: 1 May, 2023 - 31 May, 2023

Word Count: 2.6K Words Warning: horror elements, mention of illness, injuries, deaths etc.

Summary: Spending the summer vacation with an ill grandma in a remote village turns mysterious...

I attempted to write down a rare experience I got to have while I visited my late grandma’s village. The story I am about to tell is no ordinary tale. It is, in many ways, unbelievable too. So, I would rather let my readers decide upon believing it.

It was the summer of 2017. My grandma was diagnosed with a deadly disease and the doctors feared that she wouldn’t make it till the next year.  I had a long vacation of two months from school. I didn’t have any plans either. At that moment, my only desire was to visit my grandma for the last time on her deathbed, even though it was said that she couldn’t recognize anyone.

It was the very first time I sat foot in that remote village. I had expected a lot from it since it was located far away from the city. But in reality, nothing about the village appealed to me. It was just an ordinary village with ordinary people.

My grandma didn’t come to greet me. When I went to meet her, she didn’t even bother to look at me. I could tell by looking in her eyes that she was in pain. But as always, my sweet grandma didn’t want to burden anyone with it. I spent three days in the house without getting out for once. Within these three days, I had constantly sat beside grandma and talked to her in hope that she might recognize her youngest granddaughter at some point. But that didn’t happen.

Finally, it was the fourth day when I got bored of playing offline games on my phone. Since the network connection wasn’t the best at that place, I decided to take a look at my surrounding areas. Like I had mentioned before, the village had nothing interesting to enjoy. There was no place for sightseeing.

After some minutes of aimlessly walking around I came to a stop near what looked like a ruin of an old garden. I spent a minute or two looking at its broken gate. Then I finally went in. Once again, I was disappointed after finding nothing but a bunch of wild plants growing all around the place.

There was an old well at the far corner. I felt like I should go and check it before I left the place for good. As I walked towards it I felt uncomfortable and strange. I remembered I was all alone in an abandoned garden with no house that could be seen or people that could be heard.

Yet I couldn’t turn back without a close view of the well. It was as abandoned as the garden itself. Vines and roots grew all around it. The huge stones had cracks. When I peeked inside I was shocked to see water that hadn’t dried out yet. I could see my reflection perfectly in the black water inside.

I was about to go away when I heard someone behind me. There was a little boy sitting on the ground, his back leaning against the well. 

How come I didn't notice him in the first place?

He wasn’t wearing much clothes than necessary, I guessed it was because of the hot weather. He was dirty from his head to toe. I went closer to check on him. I found out that he was humming a tune while scratching his ankles.

“Hey!” I called him, “What are you doing here, all alone?”

He quitted humming at my intrusion and glanced at me for a moment. Then he looked down on his ankles and started to scratch them again. I felt an urge to stop him from doing that. His feet looked swollen and red.

Instead I asked, “Where are your parents?”

“They died… long ago,” he answered in a low voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that!” I went closer to sit in front of him, “Do you live nearby?” There were no houses in sight that could suggest his home. But I still looked around for any sign of life.

In reply, the boy looked at the well behind him for a moment. Then, he looked at me and asked, “Are you a foreigner?”

“No. I came from the city.” I replied.

“So, you are a foreigner!” he stated. This time with a thrill in his eyes. So, I nodded my head in defeat. Maybe he considered everyone apart from the villagers a foreigner.

“You shouldn’t do that.” I said, indicating his merciless scratching.

“It’s okay!” he smiled at me, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

I studied his face for a while. Even though it was dirty, I could tell that the boy was really beautiful. He had big doe eyes with long eyelashes. His small mouth looked really cute when he smiled. Also, he had the kind of smile that makes others do the same at its sight.

So, I automatically smiled back at him.

“C’mon!” I stood up, “I’m going now. You shouldn’t be here all alone. This place is giving me the creeps.”

“You’re going away already?” the boy asked. The smile on his face was gone. His big eyes were filling up with tears all of a sudden.

“Aww, don’t cry.” I said, giving him my hand, “I'm not leaving you. I’ll take you to your home.”

“I can’t go.” he shook his head.

“Why?” I asked, rather astonished at the bold reply coming from an otherwise soft spoken little boy.

The boy retreated to his previous position. He continued humming the tune and scratched his ankles as well. I tried convincing him to come with me for some time. He started to completely ignore me.

I checked my watch. It was past lunch time. I knew grandfather was probably really angry by now because he doesn’t like delaying meal times. So, I told the boy to go home early and not to come to the place again. I had to leave him alone by the well.

I had almost forgotten all about it. But another meeting reminded me of my encounter with the little boy by the well.

I laid awake in my bed. The little boy sat at the furthest corner from me. I stared at him for some time, watching him scratch his ankles and humming the familiar tune.

When our eyes met, he let himself smile. "You're awake!" He stated.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"I came because you didn't come to see me again." He replied.

"Did you wait for me?" I asked.

The boy nodded.

"Where?"

"Why? By the well in the garden!"

"Didn't I tell you not to go there alone?"

The boy laughed at me, "But I live there, silly."

I didn't understand him. Suddenly I remembered I was sleeping and I hadn't really woken up.

How could I tell that I was dreaming?

"Oh no! You're gonna wake up now, aren't you?" The boy pouted his lips.

"How do you…" I couldn't finish my question. I was already awake. And as I checked, the boy was gone too.

I couldn't make myself go back to sleep again. It was already dawn. So, I walked around the house. I heard my grandma calling me from within her room as I walked past it. My eyes grew larger.

She remembered me!

"Oh, granny. My lovely, granny." I sprinted inside her room and hugged her.

"When did you come, my love?" She asked, a sweet smile on her lips.

"Almost a week ago."

We talked for some time. Grandma said that she felt a lot better and was so happy to see me. She wondered why mother didn't come. I said she was very busy with her work. I lied because I didn't want to worry her about mother's health. And I knew she wasn't the type to get hurt when someone couldn't manage their time. It is a cruel world, after all.

At some point, grandma was reminiscing about the old times. Long ago when she was young and not yet married. She used to live here, in this village, at that time. She talked as if her memory of her childhood was just a few days back. I felt like she had forgotten me at some stage and mistook me for her best friend of childhood instead as she talked.

At one point, I asked her about the old garden. I asked if it was in use at her times. She looked at me with dreadful eyes, "don't speak of it. Don't you know, it's a forbidden place to walk in?"

"Why is it forbidden, Grandma?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, dear!" She suddenly started to laugh, "I keep forgetting that it's you." and placed a kiss on my forehead.

"Grandma," I called, "Please, tell me about the garden. I wanna know."

"It was a long time ago. Even before I was born. There was a legend about the well in the garden." grandma spoke dreamily.

"What legend?"

"At the time when the first gypsies came to settle down in the land, it was a barren one. No river. No rain. Nothing. Nobody knows why the river gypsies chose to live in such a land after years of floating in water. But they struggled against this land. It wasn't habitable for life at all. They decided they'll excavate a well. After months of labor they did it too. But it was only a matter of days  before the water dried out after the well was built."

"Why?" I asked as grandma stopped to take a breath.

Grandma nodded, "it was a cursed place. Everyone in the village had dreams about the well afterwards. An unknown entity would visit them in their dreams and ask them to negotiate with it. The negotiation was a human life in exchange for water.

"People were scared. They forbade everyone to go near the well. They decided to leave the place for good. Some of them even ran away from home in fear. But the nightmares didn't stop. The entity was hungry for human life. Finally, it got what it wanted.

"A little boy of a lonely mother wandered off to the well one day. When he returned home at sunset, both of his legs were found being chained. The mother walked along the long chains only to find that it led inside the very well her people had built. The more they pulled the chains, the more it grew in length, coming out of the dried well. No blacksmith could damage the chain, not even a little scratch could be made on it.

"The villagers started to see a different version of their same old nightmare. The entity now asked them the life of that little boy only. Then, started the gossip.

"The boy was an illegitimate child. His mother was not a very welcomed person in the community. They lived almost a separated life. Maybe the entity chose wisely. Maybe they should abide by its rule. Maybe the boy could be sacrificed for the sake of all.

"But the mother was a mad woman. She wouldn’t give up on her only gem. She would rather her son lived with the chains around his legs forever. The child cried. He cried all day and night. He said that his legs itched. And as he scratched them again and again, the skin had peeled off and left him wounded.

"'Mama, it hurts.' The boy pleaded with his mother to get rid of his shackles. But nothing could be done for his aid. The villagers, at one point, stopped even trying. The herbal remedy his mother gave him was useless.

"'Let me go, then.' The boy pleaded again. His mother denied.

"Finally, the boy decided for himself. When his mother would be asleep, he would go to the well again. He would ask the well what it wanted from him. And so he did. Nobody heard of the little boy anymore. Someone said that the boy had jumped off to the well himself. But nobody knew because there wasn't a body to be found.

"Since that day, there hasn't been any scarcity of water from the well. The well never dried off after. A beautiful garden grew around the land. No-one had any more nightmares. The gypsies finally overcame another adversary that was the most challenging in their community life. They lived happily ever after."

Grandma finished her story and looked at me with a smile.

"But Grandma," I spoke, "this isn't the type of story that ends with 'happily ever after'."

"Why not?" grandma asked, "the villagers, in fact, did live happily."

"What about the boy? And his mother?"

"Now," grandma stated, "they weren't the hero of my story, were they?"

"You've got a point," I said, "But don't you think that the boy could be the most tragic hero if it was said from his perspective?"

"He could be." Grandma thought for a moment, "Why don't you rewrite it in your own words then? Maybe you can do him some justice."

Before I left grandma for breakfast, I asked her one last question, "since everything is resolved, why did you say that it was a forbidden garden in the beginning?"

"Because, darling!" She looked at me as if it was so obvious, "the little boy can still be seen roaming around it."

I went to the garden that day. It was obvious what grandma told me was just a legend. And a legend can be a lie. Or at least partially. Maybe there was an incident of a boy's drowning. Maybe the nightmares originated from the collective superstitious belief of the gypsies. Or maybe, just maybe, there was an entity involved.

Whatever happened a long time ago, I could never know them for sure. I could only assume the story from my perspective and my beliefs in particular superstitions. But I didn't feel like I could rest till I saw that little boy again and demanded some kind of explanation. It might sound a little crazy to the readers but my mind couldn't make out any reasonable explanation of the boy's peculiar behavior at the moment.

I waited from morning till noon. But he didn't come. I didn’t know that some terrible news awaited me at home other than the fear that grandfather might be mad at me for missing another lunch.

Grandma was no more. My sweet, lovely grandma. The grandma who had talked with me just this dawn. I was told that the servant found her dead when he went to serve her breakfast. I almost didn’t believe it. But I accepted at last as we all do eventually.

I stayed till the funeral was over. Then I immediately packed everything to leave the place. I didn’t think I could stay at the house without feeling my grandma's presence.

But before I left, I had to solve something within myself. I had to see the boy again. I went to the garden for the last time. And as expected he was already waiting for me.

"Why didn't you tell me everything beforehand?" I questioned him, "Didn't you want me to know?"

"You know because I showed you." The same old smile on his face.

"But why me, of all people?"

He walked towards me and placed his cold hands on mine. It was the only time he had really touched me. He said hopefully, "You'll let them know, won't you? They'll finally know."

"Know what?" I asked, a little confused.

"The truth!"

I didn't understand him wholly that day. After years it somehow dawned on me. The little boy wanted the world to know. Not just the legend of the well in the garden. But the little life it took that made it possible.

Author's note: The story is inspired by a folktale my grandma had long ago told me that originated from her hometown. It was about how a pond was excavated and a child's life was offered for it to contain water. There are many versions of this story. The story is really memorable to me and honestly, I still get chills whenever I think about it. I made some changes to the plot to match the given prompt. I don't know if I could do it any justice. But I'm glad I made an effort to preserve one of the less known folktales of my country.

P.S. The country is Bangladesh…

#writer #writing #story #story writing #stories #short story #story club #writers on tumblr #booklr #writers club #reading club #book club #lit #original story #literature #support writers #female writers #writers block #books and writing #books #writers community #writeblr #bookblr #promt

[bard-llama]

The Taint of the Common Man (Meve/Reynard/Gascon)

Okay, so I finally tried to play Thronebreaker again and it turned out that my comptuer/steam/whatever had actually kept my save!!! So I didn’t have to start over, which was good, because the beginning was kinda boring, which is why it took me so long to continue. But it’s also kinda bad, because now I do not remember anything about Gascon’s introduction beyond “they fought, Meve won and threatened to hang him next time”. Which like... I could probably make it work, but knowing the details seems important for writing Meve’s feelings and reactions to Gascon. 

Anyway, this is a continuation of the thoughts that this lovely post inspired, and because I’m me, those thoughts grew a plot. Both the link and the rest of the story involve a VERY dubcon/noncon premise, so please engage only if you can. Also, spoilers for Chapter 1 of Thronebreaker (aka major plot things that happen once you reach Lyria’s capital).

Okay, once again: HUGE WARNING for Dubcon/Noncon stuff. Like, it’s how the story starts and it’s gonna be something dealt with through the whole story. My idea is basically a story that starts with Meve losing EVERYTHING, and then, through her quest to reclaim her throne, she learns how to be a better queen to ALL of her people, not just the noblemen. End game is intended to be Meve/Reynard/Gascon, but tbh, idk how they get there. Like, at first, Meve and Reynard hate Gascon A LOT, so they have to learn to love him and that takes time.

I’m kinda still learning about these characters as I think this through, so apologies if you find them ooc or if I contradict canon (without meaning to. Sometimes i do it gladly lol)

So we start with Meve returning to the Lyrian castle, only to find that her son and the Council of Peers (read: ruling council that advises the monarch and consists entirely of peerage aka nobility) have betrayed her and surrendered to Nilfgaard. She’s thrown in a dungeon and though her son orders that she is not to be harmed, she knows enough about reality to know they’d never let her live. 

She’s on guard, waiting for the guards to come and kill her - only when footsteps approach, it’s not the guards at all, but the fucking Duke of Dogs, the leader of the Strays of Spalla, a gang of bandits that plague merchant caravans and noblemen alike. Gascon, the proclaimed Duke of Dogs, opens the cell door and steps in and tells Meve that he’s freeing her, because the Council of Peers used him and his men and he can’t abide betrayal. But there’s one condition - Meve has to ask him, all nice and polite-like.

Meve, of course, refuses, because she’s nothing if not prideful. So Gascon closes the cell door and leans back against it and says something like, “guess we won’t be leaving, then. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to do something else on your knees,” or some sort of implication like that that makes it clear he’s suggesting that she blow him in exchange for release. And Meve is furious and her pride cuts at her, but dammit, she has no hope of freeing Lyria from Nilfgaard’s grasp while stuck in here. So she goes to her knees. And Gascon is surprised - from his view, she could’ve just begged him??? - but like... the QUEEN is on her KNEES for HIM, a (decidedly un)common bandit who she’d threatened to hang not a week prior. 

Also, I think there’s also a part of Gascon that blames Meve for the massacre of his family. According to the wiki, the year before King Reginald (Meve’s husband) died, Gascon’s family revolted against the king and were soundly squashed, with Gascon at a mere 8 years old the only one to survive. From there, he fell in with the Strays of Spalla and eventually became their leader. Remember this bit, ‘cause I’m definitely gonna come back to it. But anyway, Gascon doesn’t like Meve. He’s doing this because it’s the right thing to do and a little because having the queen indebted to him feels awfully good. Also, Meve is good with her mouth.

So good, in fact, that she drives him crazy, taking him to the edge and teasing him and teasing him and teasing him until his legs are shaking and the cell door is all that’s holding him up. I don’t think he actually begs, because his men are around the cell watching this, but he has to bite his lip hard to keep from doing so.

For Meve, there are many complicated feelings happening. On the one hand, this is humiliating and degrading and it’s shameful that she’s fallen so far as to be forced to service a fucking bandit and even worse that his men are SEEING this happen.

On the other hand... look, Meve was widowed 8 years ago. Somewhere in there (or before?), she comes to love and trust Reynard - who her husband, upon his deathbed, told her that he alone could be trusted. But she hasn’t made a move, because it wouldn’t be appropriate and she doesn’t want to ruin things between them. 

Point is, it’s been 8 years since she’s had sex and she has had cause to desire some sex. Queens can probably get amazing sex toys, but like, an actual cock? it’s been AGES since she’s been able to play with one and she kind of missed it. 

Additionally, in an effort to combat her shame and humiliation, she decides to flip the script on them. Gascon wants her to blow him? Fine, she’ll blow him so well that he utterly falls apart. And maybe she’s a little of practice, but Gascon is young anyway, he probably doesn’t even know better lmao. (But later, she’s oddly grateful that she had this chance for ‘practice’ before it actually mattered)

Eventually, she lets Gascon come - or maybe he uses his grip on her hair to pull her onto him? (She may decide to make it a good blowjob, but that doesn’t mean he’s earned deepthroating) - and the Strays, who have gone from hooting and hollering over the queen’s humiliation to flushed and aroused at the skillful way she destroyed their boss, let them out of the cell. 

Next, they go to the city jail to release Reynard, who was arrested as soon as the coup happened because everyone knows that Reynard’s loyalty to the crown is absolute. Reynard is sitting against the wall and he smiles brightly at the sight of her, so Meve strides into the cell to unshackle him. So of course Gascon, who now stands in front of the door once more, suggests something like, “such faithful loyalty deserves ample reward, does it not?”

And Meve is conflicted. Because AGAIN, the Strays of Spalla are watching them and Gascon is trying elicit sexual favours from her. But also, it’s Reynard. She’s wondered for so long what Reynard’s cock would be like and how he would treat her. And, she justifies to herself, she was already forced to give a piece of filth like Gascon a blowjob. Reynard most certainly deserved better.

So she orders him to stand and goes to her knees and is almost eager to get him in her mouth. And Reynard is caught entirely off guard here, because he was ready to skewer Gascon for the mere suggestion, and then she’s ACTUALLY DOING IT!!! And it’s not like she’s alone in having thought about it, but he always assumed that he would be the one on his knees. So for her to do so... he’s awed and a little horrified that he is party to degrading his queen in this way. And also aroused. REALLY fucking aroused, because Meve is on her knees for him! And unlike Gascon, he has earned deepthroating. Fortunately, he’s already leaning against the wall, so he doesn’t collapse. 

If Gascon hadn’t had the most intense orgasm of his life like 10 minutes previously, he’d definitely try to see if he could join in, even though they really don’t have the time for that sort of thing. But suffice it to say, Gascon remembers each and every moment Meve spent on her knees vividly.

Reynard comes (and Gascon is reluctantly pleased to have a companion in the wait-you-want-me-to-fight-after-how-hard-I-came!? club) and they all leave the dungeons - and get found by a patrol of guards. They have to fight their way out and Meve thinks Gascon managed to slip away - right up until he comes to their aid with his whole crew. With Gascon’s help, their motley crew flees the capital of Lyria (largely by traveling thru the sewers).

That night, they set up camp somewhere and instead of the royal supplies she’s used to, all they have is whatever the Strays of Spalla had, which means stolen and/or threadbare, ‘cause they’re not exactly living the high life. And Meve knows she should get some rest, but she can’t stop thinking about what happened in the prison(s) and she decides that, as long as Reynard was willing, why shouldn’t she pursue the man she loved? 

So she goes to the mess tent and it’s predictably full of drunken soldiers - well, drunken warriors. This rabble didn’t deserve to be called soldiers - and clusters of people playing dice and cards. She spots Reynard at one of the card tables - but sitting across from him is none other than the motherfucking Duke of Dogs. Half-formed plans to kiss Reynard drown under the flood of fury she feels and she summons Reynard to her, ignoring Gascon, who definitely tries to flirt with her. At this moment, she has VERY conflicted feelings about Gascon and most of them are negative. But also, they need him. She is very much aware that his men are the only reason she has any chance at all of taking back her home.

Anyway, Meve confronts Reynard, who explains that he doesn’t trust Gascon as far as he can throw him and whatever mischief Gascon is up to, whatever he thinks he can gain from helping them, Reynard is ready for the doublecross. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer is very much his philosophy, compounded by the way he has learned not to reveal - well, much at all. People probably find him very... is softspoken the word? Not like he speaks soft, but like, he doesn’t say a lot. He learned to keep his mouth shut after he managed to survive insulting the king, so he plays things pretty close to his chest and people find it hard to guess what he’s thinking. 

Gascon, for his part, is helping Meve because it’s the right thing to do (and a little because again, queen indebted to you? Very handy). He’s probably aware that Reynard doesn’t like him, even if Reynard acts friendly enough? Like, literally Reynard is so loyal to Meve that he was imprisoned and she was sure of his fealty. And Gascon has found ways to rationalize what he did i.e. raping Meve - she could’ve just begged! She had a choice! - but even though Reynard got a blowjob out of it, I’m sure Gascon would assume that Reynard would want him dead for the blowjob that he got.

I don’t precisely know what Reynard and Gascon’s relationship is like during this, tbh. I think it’ll be Meve’s POV, so she may have a limited view, but I think it’s definitely complicated. Made worse, of course, by both Meve and Reynard beginning to see the redeeming qualities in Gascon. But that comes later.

For now, Meve accepts Reynard’s explanation and knowing that he would do anything to protect her soothes some of the ruffled feathers from a very trying day. So she decides to subtly ask him something like, “come to my tent?” that like, isn’t blatant ‘cause they’re surrounded by drunk men, but also is pretty clear. And Reynard’s eyes widen and it hurts so much to do, but he tells her no. She’s had an intense fucking day - betrayed by her son and court, imprisoned, forced to give multiple blowjobs and work with lowly bandits and shit. Like, she’s been through a lot and he knows that she’s not able to be in her right mind. So he says no, part of him hoping that if she actually means it, she’ll try again in the morning.

But what Meve hears is no, not interested. Which makes this the third time today that she gets to be humiliated in front of the fucking Strays of Spalla, because not only is the man she loves rejecting her, but like... is he rejecting her because she’s tainted now? How is she supposed to interpret him enjoying a blowjob from her one hour and rejecting her advances the next? 

And the taint... I think that’ll be a theme in this fic (thus the title). Like, at the height of her power before the fall, Meve was “pure” - which in this case means firmly assured that she was right in everything, as she was always destined to be. There’s no questioning of the world order or if she’s qualified to lead. She simply knows that she is.

But now she’s been betrayed, her nobility and her title ripped from her grasp. And not only that, but she’s demeaned herself with a common thug! She even says it in the game - “look how far we’ve fallen, to be surrounded by peasants and deserters and bandits”. For her, this entire situation is almost like “being common” is reaching for her, trying to pull her in, and she wants to resist, because she’s always been taught that the nobles are BETTER than the common people. But as she works with her army of thugs and commoners, she starts to learn that poor people are people too (gee, who’da thunk it?)

That journey takes time, though, and we’re barely at the start of it! 

So, Meve gets rejected. She’s hurt and humiliated and at the moment doesn’t have a kind word for ANYBODY. She maybe cries herself to sleep and hates herself for being weak.

Then morning comes and she has her regular strategy meeting with Reynard, as she did every morning. And it’s awkward and Reynard is as silent as usual, always so deliberate about every word that leaves his mouth. And she wants to ask, but yesterday’s humiliation was enough. She can’t repeat it.

So even though they SHOULD’VE gotten together, they fail to, because Meve is stubborn and prideful and Reynard is closelipped and proper. And Meve kind of hates even the sight of Gascon, but since he IS the leader of the army that is currently only at her disposal because of him, she invites him to join the strategy meetings every morning. If Gascon helps provide a buffer between her and Reynard, so much the better.

Okay, I don’t actually know how everyone ACTUALLY gets together, BUT as they travel through the countryside of Lyria towards the Aedirnian border, a couple of important things happen.

1) Meve sees the real conditions of the people living in her realm. Even in areas that the lords had reported prosperous, people were starving and dying. She starts to learn that these are her people too.

2) Meve and Reynard get to know Gascon. Not just over their strategy meetings, but as they observe him and the Strays of Spalla they (Meve especially) begin to realize that their judgements were all wrong. Because yes, the Strays of Spalla are bandits. They steal from wealthy merchants and even wealthier nobles. That had always been enough to know before.

But now they come to know that that stolen food and blankets and supplies and coin went to the starving peasants in these lands. Hell, most of the Strays are from these areas. These are their people, even if Meve hasn’t figured out that they’re hers too.

Anyway, idk how they get together or how the story ends - is it with them getting together? Getting to Vengerberg to ask for help to reclaim their home? Ousting Villem and taking Lyria back? idk, I haven’t even gotten that far in the game yet lol.

So yeah, here’s a very long synopsis of a story that manages to have almost no porn and lots of angst, despite being inspired by a purely porny post lmao.

#meve x reynard #meve x reynard x gascon #thronebreaker #the witcher #fic planning #dubcon

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #8: contaminated

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- read first!

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: We’re always gonna be contaminated.

Genre: drabble, angst, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: more feels!

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Title named after the song Contaminated by BANKS. (Should give it a listen after reading!) Unedited!!!

.

“So what you’re telling me is, you fucked your roommate slash best friend who thought you were seducing him in the middle of a heatwave, and now, 9 months into sleeping together, you’re in love with him. Not only sleeping with, but also doing domestic coupley things like cooking together and cuddling during Netflix, but you guys not once made it official, or even exclusive because you both have commitment issues. And you thought he loved you too, so you decided to test him by saying you’re going on a date with someone to see his reaction, only for that to backfire right in your face because he slept with someone out of anger.”

You blink. “Man, why d’you have to put it like that?”

“Put it like what? I just summarised everything you told me concisely.” He laughs and pulls you in closer. You can’t help but note how different he smells, not bad, but just not what you’re used to. “So in conclusion, you’re both idiots and now you’re heartbroken.”

“I- I’m not heartbroken, I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just… a bit bummed out.” You avoid his gaze, squirming in his arms because the heat under the covers is starting to get to you.

“Wow, one night with you and I already know how stubborn and headstrong you are. You literally teared up a minute ago when you were talking about him. This is your problem: even now, you’re not willing to admit your true feelings. How well has that worked for you so far?” He shakes his head in dismay, his investment in your predicament surprisingly genuine.

This is a weird as fuck situation you’ve gotten yourself in. Out of desperation for relief from your, okay fine, heartbreak, you went out last night and came home with a guy. Taehyung had also gone out, and judging by the fact that it’s now the morning after and he still has yet to return, you can guess the direction in which his night went. It stings, but now you’re a hypocrite. This guy who you don’t even know the name of, Club Guy, has turned out to be more than just a fuck though. He knew he was the rebound for someone else, and he was more than glad to help. But one thing led to another, and the next thing you know, after your third round, you are pouring your heart out to this guy - this random, incredibly attractive, amazing at giving head, guy from the club.

It would be awfully strange, except he is unusually good at comforting people. You’re might consider keeping this one as a friend.

“Dude, I know it’s not my forte. I’m not good at expressing my emotions, okay?” You revel in the softness of his fingertips as he feathers your back. The sun is peeking through your curtains; you’re counting down the minutes until Taehyung returns, but at least speaking to Club guy is taking your mind off the fact that he was with someone else last night. “Yes, I’m heartbroken. I… I fucking love him. I know it was my fault for trying to get a reaction from him, but I just wanted him to say it, you know? Say that he loves me out in the open and that he wants me to… I don’t know, be his girlfriend. Girlfriend? Is that the right word? It sounds so weird. I don’t fucking know.”

Club Guy rolls his eyes, sighing at your ineptitude to grasp the simple concept of love. “Yes, girlfriend. God, you’re so annoyingly cute.” He smiles a smile at you that others would surely swoon for, and though your mind is too preoccupied with the boxy grin of someone else, you appreciate the warmth in his eyes. “Look, was it the night before the last that this all went down?”

“Yes.” Too fresh, too soon for you to be sleeping with someone else, you know. But you needed it so badly, you just needed to take your mind off him.

“What about the morning after? Surely you’ve seen each other since. From how you described him, I feel like there’s no way he could bring someone home knowing that you’re in the room next door.”

The memory sears.

You distinctly remember hearing their awkward morning-after conversation out in the dining room. After a long debate of whether to go out and reveal yourself to them or not, you decided that, fuck it, you’d already cried yourself to sleep last night because of this stupid son of a bitch, there is no reason for you to inconvenience yourself just to save Taehyung an even more awkward encounter. And so you stormed out of your room, eyes probably still a bit puffy and red, pretended you can’t see them and proceeded to make yourself a smoothie.

Yes, a homemade smoothie. You made sure to turn the setting of the blender all the way up so it was as loud and noisy as possible. You’re petty like that.

Especially because she’s using your mug.

Taehyung’s look of surprise when he saw you come out of your room did not give you even a fraction of satisfaction. Just a sad pang in your heart.

“I- Oh. I didn’t know you were home.” There was shame in his voice, and you hated every twist of your heart that it elicited.

You ignored him, not even a second of eye contact, poured that mango and berry smoothie and padded back into your room.

You had cried into your smoothie because his hair was messy like it usually was in the morning, voice still a deep rasp and eyes not fully open yet. And you had wanted to hug him so badly.

“It was awkward. I was a cold bitch and ignored him when I interrupted their breakfast. But no, he didn’t know, he was shocked to see me home.” You mutter, burying your face into your pillow to try to forget yesterday morning.

You could have said something, at least shown how hurt you were so he would apologise. Because you know he would apologise. But of course, you had a prideful image to uphold. Classic classic.

“Then…” Club Guy runs his fingers through your hair, twirling at the ends. “Then I feel like it’s really not too late. I’ll be out of here soon, and when he comes back, just sit him down and speak to him calmly. Calmly being the key word here. Explain to him that you weren’t actually remotely interested in the guy you went on a date with, and just wanted to prompt him to make you his. Tell him that you made a mistake and you’re hurt by what he did, but you can look past it because you were both in the wrong. Or maybe just tell him that you love him and don’t want to be with anyone else. It’s your choice whether you tell him about you and me, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him is all I’m saying.”

You contemplate his words. It sounds easy as hell when he says it like that, but you know when the moment comes, you will freeze up, panic, and muck it up somehow. It’s just a ‘I’m sorry’ and three simple words. Yet it feels like the most difficult thing you’re going to do.

“But what if he doesn’t understand. What if he doesn’t even like me like that, I feel like I could be grossly misinterpreting things.” You’ve pondered about this possibility since two nights ago. Afterall, how could he just go out and sleep with someone like that right after your fight if you mean so much to him? But then again, look at you now - likewise in bed with someone, albeit mostly for therapeutic reasons.

Club Guy shakes his head looking at you, almost in pity at how you could possibly still not get it. Smirk playing at his lips that remind you so much of Taehyung’s smugness. Fuck, it hasn’t been two days and you already miss him so much that your bones ache.

“Look, your best friend is head over heels in love with you and you’re seriously blind for not being able to see this earlier. Didn’t you say he would stay up all night with you during exam season to make you coffee and massage your shoulders? There’s no question about it, the guy is more whipped than whipped cream.”

Club Guy sits up, the covers falling off his front to reveal his toned sparsely tattooed body. You watch him wordlessly get dressed, the storm that is your mind whirling you into pieces. He’s right. He’s so right, and you hate it. The solution is honestly so simple. You and Taehyung are like two dots on a blank page. Instead of a mere straight line to connect the dots, you drew spirals around each other, closer and closer but never touching.

Should you tell him about Club Guy? You feel like you should. Though he is right, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. But you don’t want any more games, anymore dishonesty. Straight line.

“Uh, thank you for talking this out with me, I appreciate it. I’ve had no one to talk to about this because none of my friends know about him and I, and it’s kind of too late for me to drop the bomb now.” The awkwardness begins to trickle in, on your part at least. Club Guy just smiles that smile at you, rather pleased with himself.

“I should have charged you for that.” He shimmies into his skin tight black jeans, eyes crescent in amusement.

“What, the sex or the therapy session?” You joke. It’s sad because he has such potential to be a great fuck buddy, and you 9 months ago would not have hesitated to make him your next booty call. But the truth is, even as you were kissing, fucking someone else, you were imagining Taehyung the whole time.

If love is a sickness, you’re plagued on your deathbed.

Club Guy laughs. “If it doesn’t work out, call me I guess. But I’m rooting for the two of you idiots. You better not fuck this up.” When he slides into his shoes, you realise how much you dread him leaving. Firstly, because finally speaking to someone about all your pent up emotions for Taehyung feels like a weight lifted off your chest. Secondly, because you really don’t want to be left alone right now. You don’t want to agonise over every second that Taehyung isn’t home yet.

Lethargically, you stretch over the covers and roll out of bed, your limbs feeling especially heavy with the looming pressure of what you have to say to Taehyung. “I’ll… walk you out.”

The next series of events happens in shutters.

Mid yawn, as you’re scuttling down the hallway after Club Guy to see him out, the front door swings open. Taehyung walks in in yesterday’s clothes, wearing a miserable expression to begin with. But when his eyes glance up and locks on your male company, his face…

Shatters.

You have never seen Taehyung’s temper explode before. You’ve witnessed his grumpy tantrums, his quiet sulking, but this - a detonation of pure rage, catalysed by shock - runs your blood ice cold.

‘What the fuck?’ His voice is deadly low, eyes flying between the two of you. And instantly, you’re filled with a reciprocating anger. He can’t possibly go off on you right now, he can’t have the fucking nerve. Not when you hadn’t said a word about him and that girl yesterday.

“Holy shit…” From the corner of your eye, Club Guy turns a ghastly sheet of white.

It doesn’t dawn on you until he spits his name out like poison. ‘Park Jimin, what the fuck?’

And sense exits your brain.

You can’t move a muscle if you wanted to, nor utter a sound. You feel like flotsam, swept away by a roaring wave. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Of all people, all people, you slept with Park Jimin. As in Taehyung’s ex-best friend who his girlfriend had cheated on him with, Park Jimin.

“Oh my fucking god. Kim Taehyung…” To his credit, Jimin can at least speak, unlike you. Gone was the lovely, charming guy talking you through your crisis. He brushes his hair back in disbelief. “I- What the fuck… I swear I didn’t know she’s your girl.” You try not to let the words ‘your girl’ sink in too much. Because you were his, even if you weren’t.

“I swear to fucking god. I give you 10 seconds to leave my house before I kill you.” Not only can you not believe your poor luck of managing to bring home Jimin of all people from a random bar, you also cannot believe the fury seething from Taehyung, someone who you no longer recognise.

Jimin does not need to be told twice; he spares you one last glance before dashing out.

After the door slams, there’s just silence. Your eyes fixed on Taehyung’s, mind trying to comprehend how royally you’ve fucked up once again. You’re desperately trying to convince yourself that it isn’t your fault, you didn’t know. But the hurt trickling through Taehyung’s angry facade inoculates you with enough guilt to make you nauseous.

“Seriously?” Taehyung is trembling, from rage or heartache you don’t know. “You fucked Jimin?”

“I… I had no idea, I swear, Taehyung.” You want to move towards him but your feet stay planted on the ground. Your own throat is trembling, definitely out of heartache. You can’t imagine the pain tearing through him right now.

Another moment of an agonising silence. Every second you’re just standing there flabbergasted is a fresh stab to your chest. How did you two get to this place?

“So you fucked him? Yes or no?” When his voice cracks, it takes everything in you to keep the tears from springing.

You swallow. “Yes.”

Taehyung shuts his eyes, and it feels like he’s shutting the chapter of his life that is you. The end is looming, you can feel it. You don’t see how you two could possibly recover from this. How could he forgive you?

“Did it not cross your mind that that Jimin you were fucking could be the Jimin who stole my ex-girlfriend? Like the Jimin that led me to move in with you in the first place? Did I seriously not cross your mind even once?” His words are a slap after slap, no, even more physical than a slap.

Did he not cross your mind, he has the audacity to ask. He was the only thing on your mind, that idiot.

“I didn’t know his name, Taehyung.” You try to suppress the surge of injustice you feel. Of course you thought about him. How could he even ask something like that, as if you’ve done this out of malice.

“Oh, right.” He scoffs, shoulders dropping. “I forgot, you fuck guys without learning their names.”

And just like that, the line between sadness and anger is breached.

“Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”

“Do you want me to repeat it?”

Somehow, anger hurts more than the guilt you had felt. It manifests as something grotesque festering away in your chest, all the bitterness, the tears, the heartbreak, all condensed into this ugly emotion.

“Taehyung, you went and fucked someone first while I was in the room next door.” His tightly drawn brows soften a little. “I heard everything, every creak of the bed, every moan, every fucking thing. You have no idea how much that killed me, not a single fucking idea.” You feel your face crumpling, eyes stinging, and you hate falling apart like this in front of him, but there’s nothing holding your broken pieces together anymore. “I didn’t say a single word about it, shit, I even let that bitch use my mug while I was dying inside. And now you have the nerve to pin this on me and make me feel like a worthless piece of shit.”

You watch it dawn on him, the distraught state of your mind. And you want it to feel like a competition, like ha, you hurt me way more. But it isn’t. There is no winner. There’s just you two, gradually losing each other.

“I was drunk…” He croaks. “And I didn’t know you were home, I thought you went home with Junho.”

“You really think that little of me. Then you don’t know me at all if you think I would’ve done that. But look at yourself, you didn’t text me once that night, just went straight out to the club and fucked some girl. And what about last night? You didn’t come home either.” You hiss, pitch raising.

“I didn’t sleep with her last night. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?”

The truth rams into you no lighter than a train. You curse yourself. You curse him. This spectacular mess is unravelling so devastatingly that you want to scream. You can’t stomach the thought that you were fucking Jimin while he was thinking about you. Your situations mirrored one night after the next.

“And you say you were dying inside, but what about me? Hmm?” He flings his arms in exasperation. “Well what about me? How do you think I felt when I found out you were going on a date with some guy I’ve never heard you mention? How do you think I felt when you left me here all alone after that fight to wonder what the hell you were going to do with him that night? What else could I have done except get so drunk that I didn’t even remember my own name?” Seeing pain splatter across his beautiful features perhaps ruins you more than anything else. But your own pain is ringing.

“You didn’t even text me once! All you needed to do was tell me not to go, and I would have fucking stayed!” You cry, your throat dry and clogged.

“Did you want me to get on my fucking knees and beg? I didn’t have a right to tell you not to go. If you wanted to go, who am I to stop you?” He yells, a sheen now coating over his eyes, much like your own.

“GOD, I didn’t want to go, Taehyung! I don’t like him at all! Junho was nice but my mind wasn’t on him for even one second. I was coming back home to tell you I love you because I can’t stomach being with anyone else. But guess what? You were out pulling someone else because I clearly meant so little to you. Then I had to stay up all night listening to your fucking sex noises. I’m not the one who fucked up first here.”

Taehyung takes a breath to retort, but stops. Nothing but woundedness in his eyes. It’s clear that your words are embedding into him. The I was coming back home to tell you I love you. His expression falls, rapid breathing slows.

You’re looking at each other like you don’t recognise the other. Because it has never been like this between you two before. He has never felt more foreign, distant.

And when a wave of silence to calm you both has passed, he says quietly, “Why did you have to do that to me in the first place? I… I thought it was clear how I felt…”

The thundering tempest of your temper eases completely at the brokenness in his eyes. Acrid taste of regret in your mouth at the words that you hadn’t meant. Taehyung wasn’t the one who fucked up first, you shouldn’t have pulled that whole date thing. If you had just trusted him, and given him time, you would not be here right now.

But look at you two, fighting once again. Calmly, Jimin had said. And even that, you weren’t capable of. This is a childish game, the tossing of blame, and you’re drained. You don’t want to fight anymore. You don’t want to hurt. But you don’t know how to end this without ending everything.

“You really, really hurt me, Taehyung. But I was still willing to let it go. I was waiting for you to come back to tell you that… To tell you how I feel.” Your voice is soft now, diminished to just more than a whisper. You feel so extremely vulnerable, your frame creases inwards.

“You slept with Jimin…” Taehyung breathes, fists slowly unclenching. “Y/N, not just anyone, Jimin. I know I’d be a hypocrite if it were anyone else, but it’s him.”

“I didn’t know it was Jimin.”

“I didn’t know you were home after the date.”

For a good long second, you just stare at each other, chests heaving, throats raw, and you wonder if you are going to kiss and make up right this instant. Because for a moment, it feels like you could. It feels like you could forsake the past and just start anew.

But the window for that opportunity passes by as neither one of you takes a step forward.

You’re going in circles, you know.

“This isn’t going to work.”

Despite everything, this has been the hardest thing for you to say yet. And this time, you let the tears roll down. Your heart is screaming at you because it is on fire, but you persist through it because you know this has to stop and he doesn’t have the heart to say it so it has to be you.

And you just look long and hard at Taehyung, watch his eyes widen, shift, as he registers the finality of this outcome. It has been a wreckage. Only fragments of what once was a beautiful thing is left. You can’t keep hurting each other like this, and he finally knows it.

“What do you mean?” He asks, as if your heart hasn’t broken enough.

You want to fall onto your knees and sob.

“I mean, this needs to end. We’re doing and saying things we don’t mean and causing each other so much pain. If it was meant to work, it would have worked. I don’t want to keep doing this, Taehyung. Let’s stop this before we hurt more.”

Falling. Tears keep falling.

You’re breathing, yet choking on air.

Taehyung’s cheeks are stained, eyes rimmed with red. You have to clamp down on your lips to prevent yourself from crying out loud. When he closes his eyes, streams flow out, and you don’t think you’ve ever experienced greater pain. You want to hold him so badly, so badly. You want to tell him that you’re sorry for everything, and that you’ll always forgive him no matter what he’s done. But you can’t. Because you know things can never return to the way they were. Neither of you will be able to forget what the other’s done, it will live in the back of your minds, eating away at your insecurities.

Your love is tainted. Contaminated. And always will be now.

And even still, the selfish part of you wants him to say something, protest, fight for you. But you know he won’t. Because you know he knows it won’t be the same.

“So this is it? It’s over?” Cracks in his voice, cracks in your hearts.

It’s over.

But you can’t say it, so you just nod. All of this, just gone within days. Was your love so fragile to begin with? You were such a fool to believe that it would be enough.

“You can stay here, I’ll go.” You finally tear your eyes away from him, vision but a white glassy blur. You would rather him stay, it’s the least amount of respect you could offer to show how much he means to you.

And as you’re about to turn away, “You know that I love you, right?”

He says it, the first and last time you’ll hear those three words containing the meaning you’ve been seeking.

The tears don’t feel like they can stop.

“I know. I love you, Taehyung.”

And that has been your problem. You love each other too much but trust yourselves not enough.

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A/N: Sorry SORRY!! Don’t hate me… ;----; one part left </3

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22/02/19

© Copyright 2020

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@taexxxiiaa @shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @gingerpeachtae @spring2787 @askingtheimportantthingshere @casualminiaturetimemachine @vasysauce @deadinsidebitch2412 @emiyooa @i-dont-even-know-fck @chimycthulhu @gixanjos @hisunshiine @xtaeyi @softjellyjimin @bluemooncnblue @malfeitofeitto @bangtanfancamp @keopitae @out-of-jams@camilaxpolanco @d-noona @haechanspudu @dawnispeace @vante-visuals@liquanzhe222 @bangtanloverrrrr @inner-monologue @bs14401 @seokjoontae @trviahope @comingjimin @jeonsshadow

#Heatwave drabbles #taehyung fanfic #taehyung #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung oneshot #taehyung series #taehyung fic #taehyung drabble #taehyung reactions #taehyung imagines #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts series #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts reactions #taehyung x reader #namjoon #jin #seokjin #yoongi #suga #hoseok #jhope #jimin #jungkook

[thebluelemontree]

I’m sorry, @anabel7631​ but there are some very incorrect assumptions here. Lady did not die because Sansa lied.

"Joff told us what happened," the queen said. "You and the butcher boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him."

"That's not how it was," Arya said, close to tears again. Ned put a hand on her shoulder. "Yes it is!" Prince Joffrey insisted. "They all attacked me, and she threw Lion's Tooth in the river!" Ned noticed that he did not so much as glance at Arya as he spoke.

...

"They were not the only ones present," Ned said. "Sansa, come here." Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. "Tell us what happened." -- Eddard III, AGOT.

Sansa had already told the truth of what happened to her father the day Arya went missing. That’s how Ned knew immediately that Joffrey was lying and confirmed it with Joffrey’s tells. Let’s be real. Ned is the only adult in that room that even remotely cares what the truth is. Robert will admit on his deathbed that he knew all along Joffrey was lying too, yet he did nothing. 

Sansa doesn’t lie about placing the blame on her sister or Mycah or Nymeria at this moment. The most dishonesty she exhibits is saying she didn’t remember or see what happened:

 His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. "I don't know," she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn't see …"

"You rotten!" Arya shrieked. She flew at her sister like an arrow, knocking Sansa down to the ground, pummeling her. "Liar, liar, liar, liar."

The reason Arya is calling Sansa a liar is because she could not have known Sansa had already told Ned the truth. This is the first time all three of them are together since Arya had run off. When she was found by Jory, they were ordered to go directly to the king and queen. Sansa is guilty of failing to support her sister when she is being interrogated; however, this is still a patriarchal society, and she is being asked to speak against her future husband who is also the crown prince. Sansa tries to mitigate the pressure from both sides by attempting to take a neutral position. Ned never blames her at all for this. Again, Ned already knew what the truth was and he can see that clearly Robert and Cersei don’t really care what Sansa has to say anyway.

Cersei was already gunning for a wolf skin no matter what. She knew Lady had nothing to do with any of this by all accounts, but one wolf was as good as any other. You think Cersei’s history with Lyanna Stark both “stealing” Rhaegar from her as well as Robert obsessing over her since day one of their marriage, PLUS the prophecy of someone younger and more beautiful coming to take all she holds dear doesn’t have something to do with Cersei wanting to punish a Stark girl? Any Stark girl? Take that wolf skin trophy and strip her rival Sansa of her power and protection? This has less to do with Joffrey and more to do with Cersei’s insecurities and need for petty vengeance against a Stark scapegoat. 

It’s not only Cersei making her crazy demand to kill Lady. Robert’s response is to just walk away from innocent parties being killed (passively giving his consent) because he doesn’t want to be harangued by his wife. This business is all a big buzzkill and he just wants to get back to having fun. We already established that Robert knew full well that Joffrey was lying. Ned begs him to spare Lady, but Robert just fucks off. So Cersei’s authority as queen stands, which even as Hand, Ned can’t defy it once Robert co-signed. The only thing he can do is put Lady down himself so Cersei can’t have her trophy.  

That, obviously, still has a negative impact on Ned and Sansa’s relationship as a breach of trust since Ned volunteered and avoided talking to Sansa about it afterward. This was a decision Ned came to regret later when he wondered if he had made a big mistake in killing Sansa’s dire wolf. 

Sansa doesn’t have to regret anything about Lady’s death because she was in no way responsible for that happening. Does she still owe Arya an apology for some of the mean things she did say and the times she didn’t stick up for Arya when she should have?  Absolutely. Is the onus still on Sansa to make the first moves in repairing their sisterly relationship? Absolutely. Arya doesn’t hate Sansa at all. She was justifiably angry and hurt, but she doesn’t hate her. They will definitely resolve those past issues and reconcile. 

Even though Sansa tried to take the neutral position, that doesn’t stop Joffrey from refusing to see or speak to her for a long time. She had nothing to do with Joffrey’s injuries but he shows contempt for her all the same. While Sansa is “in love” with the person she thinks Joffrey is or wants him to be, we have to remember this is still a patriarchy. Sansa has been raised to be deferential to her husband. Joffrey’s cold displeasure leads Sansa to alter her view of what happened after the fact and misplace the blame on Arya for a good while. Joffrey is still her betrothed, so she has to rewrite the narrative because the idea of spending the rest of her life married to a liar and a cruel bully is psychologically intolerable. I’m not saying this part is a good thing at all. Sansa is in the wrong for blaming Arya and Ned to the point of fully excusing Joffrey and Cersei. She is burying her head in the sand and refusing to deal with the truth, which she has known all along because she told her father.  

Sansa will voice that truth when she is warning Margaery and Olenna of what kind of person Joffrey is.  

A shiver went through her. "A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well."

It’s not regret over what other people did that Sansa needs to express. Its dealing with the fact that the reflags were there early on but she couldn’t accept them. Arya had been right to dislike Joffrey and the queen, but Sansa didn’t listen. She thought Arya was crazy and just wanted to ruin things out of spite. In this reversal of positions, Sansa is trying to warn another girl, someone she will view as a sister, about her abusive ex. 

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. How can I let my sister marry Joffrey? she thought, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "Margaery, please," she said, "you mustn't." It was hard to get the words out. "You mustn't marry him. He's not like he seems, he's not. He'll hurt you."

Yes, there is a dig at Arya. Change doesn’t always happen in a smooth progression. Sometimes there are flaws, missteps, and micro-regressions; however, she also thinks “how can I let my sister marry Joffrey?”  

Once Sansa eventually experiences rejection by Margaery and the Tyrells, she will come to understand a bit more of how Arya must have felt when the support of her sister was withdrawn. It’s not conscious thought process, but she is having experiences that should make her more appreciative, mature, and understanding of Arya. ASOS is where Sansa’s thinking on Arya really starts to take a shift toward the positive.  

If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

We have to keep in mind, until Winterfell is sacked and Bran and Rickon are reported murdered, Sansa believed Arya was at home safe. Now everyone is dead. 

King Joffrey looked as if he wanted to kill someone right then and there, he was so excited. He slashed at the air and laughed. "A great sword must have a great name, my lords! What shall I call it?"

Sansa remembered Lion's Tooth, the sword Arya had flung into the Trident, and Hearteater, the one he'd made her kiss before the battle. She wondered if he'd want Margaery to kiss this one.

Her remembering of the Trident has gone from Arya being the aggressor to Arya being the hero that disarms the aggressor. That’s a total 180 in Sansa’s view of Arya’s actions, where Sansa is now justifying them as an appropriate response.

Then if you just do a search on Sansa’s mentions of Arya in ASOS, AFFC, and TWOW it’s all positive stuff. It’s all good memories, but Sansa thinks Arya is dead and they’ll never see each other again. When the sisters reunite, Sansa will be overwhelmed with gratitude that someone else in her family survived. She’s thinking of Arya quite frequently and the relationship they used to have, so Sansa will be more than willing to do the work of getting back to that relationship. She is primed to have that heartfelt, apologetic conversation to lay the rocky past to rest. The first step in being able to analyzing her own faults is accepting the whole truth and understanding Arya’s point of view and how she must have felt. That’s all there. She’s shown she has done that. ^^^ All that’s needed is for them to meet face to face and be able to hash it out. 

So no, I can’t agree with your assessment of Sansa’s characterization when what you’re basing that off of is fundamentally wrong.  

#sansa stark #sansa stark meta #arya stark #the stark sisters #lady #ned stark #joffrey baratheon #fandom wank #this old chestnut #we can never get away from the Trident can we? #It's been 84 years...

[tartrazeen]

How DBH Leans Way Harder Into HankCon Than Father/Son

Listen.

I love you people who make Hank and Connor that whole platonic family thing. Totally you do you, that's fine, don't even worry about it.

For real - this isn't some ship war. It's a game. I even got some dad vibes from Hank before - oop, nope, we just went full daddy, didn't we. So this is not pitting two ideas against each other to see which one's better. They're both good. I massively prefer one, but I'm not saying either one is wrong.

I *am* saying the canon is geared towards their relationship being HankCon.

Putting my last analysis aside, this game's got a consistent pattern to it: the relationship comes to a conflict.

Can a machine be a person? Central conflict of the game. The relationship is between humans and androids externally, and androids and machines internally.

Can an android ever be a mom? Kara's story, with a conflict of "What's the worst that can happen?" It certainly leads to some bad decisions, and - just... the *worst* doctor's appointment.

Can an android be a human's son? Markus' story with its conflict of, "Is that bad?" And here, we get some subtle hints that Leo's not too thrilled, like when Markus gets shot in the face (#defundthepolice amirite? no seriously, wtf guys). Unlike Kara, Markus doesn't have a little "Family" bar showing for Carl, but not only do they openly say what they think, Markus' extended conflict towards this is questioning whether he was more than a slave in a gilded cage or a privileged rich kid now playing War Leader.

Can androids be a threat? There's some demonizing of Markus if he inexplicably gets mad that his people are being killed to death (with a beautiful analysis on that tone policing by dbh-rambling) , but yes, that relationship's in the Deviant Leader's story as Pacifist vs. Non-Pacifist.

Can androids love?

Oh boy.

The question of whether androids can be somebody's son (or daughter) is only actively and directly discussed in Markus' story, and in Kara's from the parent's POV. Family doesn't come up in Connor's except for one big moment and one big parallel: when Hank tells Machine!Connor that every time a Connor died, he thought of Cole, and when Daniel at the start has his whole thing of being replaced after thinking he was part of the family.

Those do not incite a conflict.

For Markus, Leo makes fun of the idea, leading to one of the plethora of opportunities we have to sad-kill his dad or allow Markus stand up for himself.

Zlatko mocks Kara and kidnaps Alice, and while Kara won't leave the house without her kid in tow (who warned you like a billion times to leave girl smh), the race is on to find this chick. Ralph straight up tries to force it if you go that route, again putting Kara and Alice's bond to the test. Same thing at the recycling plant and crossing the border: how far will Kara take this 'mom' thing is the conflict.

Ain't nobody pullin' that shit on Connor.

He's vaguely interested in Hank's 'personal problems' as it pertains to the case. Hank might open up a little about Cole. It's not discussed until the very end, and the theme of 'son' doesn't enter the picture until we *see* a picture at Hank's house, whereupon Connor says nothing about it. That's different from the other storylines, where that family theme appears (and gets talked about) pretty much right away.

Connor doesn't even connect with the idea of replacing a member of a family when he's facing off against Daniel at the start. He basically calls Daniel dumb for it, pre-Zlatko style. His one interest in the Cole situation is saying it's not Hank's fault, with his sincerity adjusted per the Machine! or Deviant! path. He's focused on Hank and Hank alone.

You know what else he's focused on?

"Androids can't feel anything."

"They're not 'technically' emotions."

"I'm a machine and machines don't want anything."

Markus doesn't question whether he can be in love. Kara is maybe surprised by the emotion of those two androids at Rose's house, but her love for Alice is out in the open several times. That's the one thing they feel confident about, and North is as quick to accept it (as the only relationship able to go to 'Lover') as Markus is if Kara explains to him why she's helping Alice. Even as he's mocking her, Zlatko doesn't question that Kara *thinks* she loves her daughter. He uses it against her. That's why these aren't conflicts: they're facts more than anything, taken for granted.

... You know who ain't takin' that shit for granted? And is instead - like, actively challenging every speckle of the concept?

"*smack* What am I to you, a statistic? A 'zero', a 'one' in your fucking program?"

"People are fucking insane. They don't want relationships anymore, everybody just gets an android."

"Those two girls wanted to be together. They really seemed in love."

And like Zlatko with Kara, we have 60 being all goddamn, "Now it's time to decide what matters most: him or the revolution."

That is a conflict.

Kara, Luther and Alice go to a happy little theme park and frolic on a merry-go-round.

Markus has a heart to heart with either Carl at his deathbed or just with Carl's grave, but always to seek advice.

Connor and Hank go to a fucking strip club advertised in their *first* chapter together and get into a bitchy quarrel about, "WHAT ARE YOU REALLY CONNOR, I SHOULD NOT HAVE ADDED A GUN TO THIS CONVERSATION (for real #defundthepolice)."

That is the relationship.

So to recap:

Testing Markus' family relationship with Carl incites a conflict with Leo about who Carl's son really is, eventually putting their lives on the line.

Testing Kara's family relationship with Alice incites a whole host of conflicts that put their lives repeatedly on the line.

Testing Connor's family relationship with Hank incites... uh... a 53-year-old bear calling a 30-year-old weaponized twink 'son' as Connor bleeds out in that one ending you get where you do nothing for two minutes you monster, or - at best - spurs Connor to follow the platonic love of putting a father figure over *the entire revolution and existence of his newly self-aware species* by using it to 'find each other' once Hank has to pick out the real Connor.

Testing Connor's romantic relationship with Hank incites Hank to *fucking kill himself* if you two aren't friends, him punching Perkins in the face if you *are* friends, variations on one your asses dangling off the side of a building or getting dropped/pushed right off of it, and having it listed as a full-on betrayal if you dare to stay a licky blood machine.

Look - Connor said it himself:

"I'm whatever you want me to be: your partner, your buddy to drink with, or just a machine programmed to accomplish a task."

*You do you*. If you see them as family, just make sure they're happy for me, please (and that you remember that even on the good ending, Connor has to murder a minimum of two guards to get through CyberLife so show his ass some respect).

... but.

But.

I mean, when even Clancy says they weren't father and son - not to appeal to the actors' POV or anything, but if that wasn't on the menu when Bryan whipped out a little "I adapt to human unpredictability" wink (that he apparently had to fight David Cage for) then whoa - that makes the idea of Hank and Connor's relationship being platonic less canon than the evidence *for* HankCon.

Besides that, if Markus and Kara *and* Connor are exploring those angles of platonic android and human families, in and around the willingness to explore overt romantic relationships among the androids, who do we have to explore a romance between a human and android?

;)

#detroit become human #hankcon #hannor #hank x connor #hank anderson #dbh connor #dbh markus #dbh kara #my stuff #good job tartra

[ohblackdiamond]

“you win again” fic tidbit (ace/paul, 1988) (pg-13)

I mentioned that this story was in the works awhile back. It’s about 40 percent there, I’d say. I stuck it under a cut because it’s a bit long. There’s a very obvious gap between the second and third parts that needs cleaning up, but the gist is there.

teaser: The truth is, his own distaste for the era makes it obvious he’s not a part of it. Paul can’t keep up with what’s in now, and that’s the surest sign he’s out. Thirty-six is too close to forty. Too old to play the game. He’s square. He’s fucking square.

“you win again”

by Ruriruri

No one knows the man he may become when he loses his self-respect. —Camille

There’s nothing to recommend the Cat Club. The big names don’t come here, just the has-beens. The security’s perfunctory. The parties laughable. But Paul comes anyway. Frequently. All the Cat Club asks out of him is a shave and a bit of halfassed charm, and all he gets in return is a drink and maybe a lay and the vaguest passing memory of the way things used to be.

Studio 54, the Ice Palace, all the old haunts are carcasses. Paul’s heard that the Limelight’s in now, their club owner some one-eyed, painfully straight Canadian, which is a sure sign the scene’s got to be dead in the water. Kids ten, fifteen years younger than him run the promotions. The shit that he remembers, aquariums underfoot at the discotheques, coke handed out at the door, orgies downstairs, all that’s gone. The big clubs get their pull from day-glo bright mascot characters and raunchy freakshows, pure excess that makes for a lousy bedfellow with AIDS and designer drugs. He doesn’t understand the appeal. He gets cynicism; he gets hedonism. But the nihilism he finds utterly repulsive.

The truth is, his own distaste for the era makes it obvious he’s not a part of it. Paul can’t keep up with what’s in now, and that’s the surest sign he’s out. Thirty-six is too close to forty. Too old to play the game. He’s square. He’s fucking square.

The lines on his face aren’t too bad. His cheekbones are maybe more prominent than they need to be. Paul’s watched Gene’s weight fluctuate over the years and hated the way it scared the hell out of him. They’d sworn to each other way back that they’d diet off at least twenty pounds apiece before they’d dare get a real band together. Paul’d kept that weight off, and more, but to Gene, it’s just become another mostly tossed aside tenet. The way he looks doesn’t matter to him. Maybe it shouldn’t anymore. He’s had Cher and Diana Ross and he has Shannon Tweed now. Great girls, all of them, better than the vapidly beautiful women Paul’s tried to make a go of it with. If Gene can attract all of them without giving a shit about his weight or his looks, maybe Paul ought not to care so much.

Except, as always, Gene’s looks just aren’t the appeal. Gene’s being in a band isn’t even exactly the appeal, no; Gene would probably still be stacking away entire albums of Polaroids if he were a senator or a school superintendent. Gene’s appeal is Gene. The total package. Confidence glimmering like grease on a burger.

Paul’s no total package of anything. Some assembly required. Batteries not included. His looks get him into beds, sometimes, and his personality gets him right back out of them before too long. Twenty-one years with Hilsen and there’s still nothing he can do about the latter, but he can at least try to preserve the former.

But what really bothers him about his mirror’s reflection isn’t the age imprinting itself on his face, or the three or four grays he plucks every month, or even the way his hair’s gradually gotten thinner, the curls more like frayed wires, brittle from years of dye and bleach and teasing. It’s the look in his eyes. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of something wholly desperate in them. And it’s not just in scattered, low moments on tour or in the privacy of his own bathroom. He’s caught that look playing back tapes of himself guest-VJing and interviewing on MTV. It’s the look of somebody—somebody scraping for relevance.

He’s ashamed of that. Ashamed because that look got in his eyes so fast, ashamed because he wasn’t able to savor those scant moments of being on top. He remembers thinking ten years ago, so cocky and self-assured, that the Stones were getting sloppy and long in the tooth, that maybe they needed to bow out before they got to be a bigger embarrassment onstage. They’d come out with Some Girls later that year, so what the hell did he know. What the hell did he know about anything.

There’s legends, real legends. Real greatness. There’s rockstars and then there’s rock gods. Chuck Berry. Muddy Waters. The Beatles, the Stones, fuck, even the Beach Boys with their obnoxious California sound created something eternal. KISS hasn’t. KISS won’t. KISS peaked at lunchboxes and pinball machines, and KISS descended—well, KISS is still descending. It’s just a matter of time before Gene lets the whole enterprise fold like a lawn chair.

Too close to forty, Paul takes a seat at an empty table and orders a Pepsi, and he tries to look for a girl the way a security guard might look for a shoplifter. His vantage point isn’t great. The crowd isn’t great. But maybe there’s someone he could waste his time with, someone that would humor him for an evening.

He hasn’t had that in longer than he wants to admit.

Oh, he’s with people. He’s with Samantha, but the age gap depresses the hell out of him. There’s always that tacit understanding between entertainers, anyhow, the knowledge that they’re both going to fool around on each other that goes almost unmentioned. Sometimes he wants to make a clean break of it, start something sincere, whether with her or some other girl, stripped away from the publicity rags, but then his own lonesomeness gets the better of him. Like right now. It’s just not enough to be wanted by one girl when he used to be wanted by thousands. It’s not enough to fill two-thirds of an auditorium when he’d once played Madison Square Garden.

It’s just empty.

He sees a tall, pretty blonde before too long, by herself and practically poured into a sparkling silver dress, hair wildly permed. He’s about to make a move towards her when he hears a sound that stops him dead in his tracks. It’s not so much a laugh as a cackle. He hasn’t heard it in two years at least, but he’d recognize it on his deathbed.

It’s Ace Frehley. Ace Frehley, here at the Cat Club.

--

Paul’s never known Ace to go anywhere unaccompanied. Now’s no exception. Standing with him is some long-haired guy that Paul doesn’t recognize from the rock scene. Not that that means much, these days. Ace’s arm is looped behind the guy’s shoulders, though the guy doesn’t seem too comfortable with it. Paul purses his lips, trying to gauge their relationship from fifteen feet away, but it doesn’t end up mattering. Ace spots him after not even five seconds, and stumbles to him, with the guy in tow.

“Paul! How are you, man?”

“Ace,” he says, standing up on automatic, reaching for Ace’s free hand. Ace’s palm is damp in his.

“Oh, oh, lemme introduce you, Paulie, this is--” and Ace untangles his other arm from the guy, “this is Gordon. Gordon, y’know who this is.”

“Paul Stanley,” Paul says anyway, offering his hand again. Gordon takes it with all the cursory indifference of being introduced to a fourth cousin at a funeral.

“Gordon plays keyboard,” Ace says. “He’s real good.”

“Cool.” Paul can feel his mouth twist a bit. It’s petty to already be bristling a bit, only a few sentences in, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He’s so used to faking being cordial that the words still come out warmly enough to his own ear. “C’mon, have a seat. Plenty of room.”

--

“He’s using you.”

“I know.”

“Don’t you care?”

Ace shrugs.

“I’m running low on friends, Paul.” A quick quirk to his mouth. “Maybe you are, too.”

“I only ever had the one.”

“Bullshit. You still got at least three, if you want them.”

--

“I’ve got a place in California. This is just a rental,” Paul lies. He owns this shitty apartment outright. “My parents are getting older, y’know, it’s good to have somewhere close by. And Ericka--”

“She’s gotta be in high school now.”

“She’s graduating in May.”

“Shit, man.” Ace shakes his head. “Monique’s gonna be eight this year.”

“I’ll send her something.”

Ace waves his hand absently.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon, let me--”

“You ain’t sent her anything in six years. Don’t start now.” Ace pauses, glancing at Paul in a flickering, fleeting way, and then he shakes his head. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean it bad.”

Paul doesn’t say anything else for awhile, just crosses over to the kitchenette and opens the refrigerator. He takes out two Diet Cokes, handing one over to Ace, who looks at it before handing it back.

“’S fine. I’m not thirsty.”

“I don’t have any alcohol, Ace.”

“I don’t really want it.”

“You don’t?”

Ace shakes his head.

“What do you want?”

“Dinner and a movie, Paulie.” Ace’s mouth quirks up. “Dinner, we’ll have some of your fucking Lucky Charms; movie, we’ll put on an porno.”

“Ace--”

“What’ve you got, anyway?” And he’s scurrying to the T.V. set. Beneath it is his tape player and a few stacks of movies still in their packaging. His workout tapes. And there--

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #ace frehley #ace frehleyxpaulstanley #stehley

[movienotesbyzawmer]

October 21: Friday the 13th Part 3

(previous notes: Friday the 13th Part 2)

We're on a journey, you and I; a journey through the first eight Friday the 13th movies. And now we're at the only one that I actually saw in the theater! I was 11 when this came out, and I asked my dad to take me and a friend to see it in 3D. I remember mostly being excited about all the cool older kids that were in the crowd, plus also not being at all disappointed in the overall experience of cinematic violence.

And now I'm going to see it for the first time since then… and sure enough, I have it in 3D! I wonder if on my deathbed when I'm doing a mental inventory of my lifetime of experiences, if I will realize that I saw Friday the 13th Part 3 twice, both times in 3D. Will I wish I had the 2D experience at least once? Will I wonder if my life might have been different it… okay I'll shut up and watch it now, here goes…

Oh yeah, it does kind of suck to try taking notes while wearing the 3D glasses. Good thing this is just a Friday the 13th movie.

There is a card at the very start saying that the ladies and gentlemen of the audience must wear the glasses even though it won't be 3D right away!

Same director as the second one. He went on to do pretty successful non-horror movies, as I recall. The writer and director of the first movie weren't involved in any of the sequels at all, right?

Oh, the reason the beginning isn't in 3D is because it's a rehash of the end of the last movie. I wonder if they'll make it so that that ending sucks less. That's what I would do.

It's not even edited down, it's just the whole entire end of the last movie…

…oh, except, no, there is a new shot of Jason skulking away! And now the credits have started and there is a rockin' new theme, and I actually remember kind of thinking the rockin' theme was cool.

OMG the 3D here is going to be a huge problem. It is 3D, but it's broken. You know how when you look at a 3D thing without the glasses and there's the double vision thing? It's like I'm seeing the 3D effect AND the double vision. Am I supposed to have 50s-style red/blue glasses? I don’t have those. This is terrible to look at and despite everything I've noted above I am not going to watch it in 3D after all. (I tested another 3D Blu-ray and it looked fine so this is clearly just a shitty Blu-ray product. Oh well.)

The first scene after the credits is playfully doing 3D effects at us which I now cannot experience. Woe. Woe is me.

Woman in curlers is watching the story of the last movie as a news story on TV while worrying about a lurker outside. She's a little worried but she also realizes it's time to take the laundry in from the clotheslines.

Not even sure what the setting is here. The news reporter called the murders from the last one "the worst crime in local history".

The exposition has taught us about this couple who lives on this property that is a rabbit farm and a grocery store where the husband just grazes on the food. We know there's also a lurker! But there's also a snake in a rabbit cage that has mutilated a rabbit, and that snake jumps at the camera in some sort of Three Dimensional Effect! Plus also, lurker. Ch ch ch ch ch ha ha ha ha.

Husband checks a room and is butcher-knifed shockingly! These are not camp counselors. What did they do wrong. The wife gets killed quickly afterward, but with a different weapon, an arrow or something! Variety!

Now we're on some new characters. Fun lovin' young adults! One of them is a silly prankster who is insecure about his appearance. Will that play into the story later? Oh I hope so.

They all just arrived at a friend's house to pick them up for something. But uh oh… the van is on fire, look at the smoke! They are alarmed! But ha ha ha, no, it turns out there are hippies in the back of the van smoking grass ha ha! It’s their friends that had been deliberately a secret from us until this moment.

A merry Cheech/Chong scene ensues where they think the police are on their tail so they all have to swallow the drugs! But the police just pass them and it was all for nothing ha ha.

Unlike the first two movies, this Blu-ray transfer is riddled with marks and flaws.

The next tale in this saga, this veritable Odyssey, involves an old man lying on the road, obstructing their van trip. What is wrong with him! It turns out he's crazy; he is the sequel to the crazy old man from the first two movies. He is holding an eyeball maybe, and he tells them that his handheld eyeball means he has to warn them about doom or whatever. It doesn’t look like an eyeball. I am watching this movie.

The place they are at is some kind of ranch, not even a summer camp I don't think, but Chris, who it seems like might be the main girl, is reacquainting herself with a house on the premises that is adorned with many paintings. Maybe I missed where they explained who they are and what this place is, but it seems like they're just a bunch of young people who are spending a weekend at this ranch place where Chris used to hang out or live.

Insecure Guy played a trick which resulted in the 48th fakeout of the movie so far, he makes it look like he's been hatcheted, but it was just some clownin' with gore makeup. The dialogue is very, very unnatural.

Um, an incident just occurred at the grocery store! A different grocery store from where the opening murders happened. Insecure Guy was there with a friend, and some TUFFS show up to make trouble! They bully our protagonists and make them feel bad! That ends with Insecure Guy running over their motorcycles in a heroic moment for him. His character has a complex arc!

The TUFFS broke the windshield of the car, and all the characters are oddly tolerant of that.

The TUFFS apparently tracked our heroes to the ranch and are there to get some revenge. They gotta even the score! They're going to do that by siphoning gas from that stoner van apparently. But the TUFF that is a girl decides to go exploring. And someone we can't see is watching her! Hey, what kind of movie is this anyway? She is unnaturally amused by the various props on display in the barn she's exploring. She is so pleased with her decision to go exploring.

But she hears a noise! In the barn she has trespassed into! She decides to vigilantly investigate! But a moment later we see that she noticed the rope that hangs from the side of the barn and she swings on it. She is delighted! "This feels good", she actually exclaims while just swinging a little bit on a rope. I'm not sure the writers of this movie have ever met a person.

One of the TUFFS goes after her and finds her pitchforked! Then he gets pitchforked! Then the last remaining TUFF goes in there to investigate, having executed the masterful chess move of stealing gas out of the van, and gets in a fight with an assailant whose face we can't see, but who appears to have clean, pressed slacks. The last TUFF gets clubbed real good.

Insecure Guy tries to tell a pretty girl that he likes her. She responds by saying "no. I’m going to go outside for a little while, and when I come back inside, we'll talk." That's really how that exchange went. Have you ever been in an exchange like that.

We're on Chris now, and she's finally spilling the tea about her past. It turns out she was attacked by a grotesque man with a knife in the woods near her house. Just some mysterious man with a bad face. It ended with her losing consciousness and waking up with just that story which was apparently unbelievable to her parents. Glad we got to the bottom of that. Do you think this is a true story.

The way they're showing the killer makes him less scary than in the other movies. You see it's a male adult that has clean clothes and a casual, confident gait. We can't see his head at all but what we can see is well lit. Sometimes it's a fakeout because it isn't really the killer. But sometimes it is. Like just now the stoners went to investigate a mysterious noise in the barn. They don't find anything, but we see the killer, from the chest down, seeing them. Ch ch ch ch! Ha ha ha ha!

I think we just saw the first appearance of the hockey mask! Insecure Guy played another devious jape upon the pretty girl he was hoping to woo - she's sitting on a dock and he grabs at her ankle from underwater! Wearing a hockey mask. For some reason. He had a mask earlier, but it was a different one. Maybe his identity is "mask guy". Because in a way are not we all Mask Guy.

Jason, I guess, just killed that girl with a spear gun while wearing the hockey mask! It was a 3D gimmick death. Shot her right in the eye. I think when they had their first meeting about making this movie they just said "okay, let's just make a list of some different murder weapons and send it over to Fred, he'll write it up as a screenplay."

One of the guys just got macheted! I think I do remember that from before because he was a handstand walker-arounder and he was walking on his hands when Jason came upon him and swung the machete down between his legs! It didn't actually show it, but you know how he got sliced and ow.

That guy's girlfriend was in the shower when that happened, and when she comes out, she is distracted when she comes upon a very enticing issue of Fangoria magazine. They're in a bubble, the makers of this movie.

But that scene ends with her seeing her dead boyfriend in pieces above her in the rafters, and they are very gory pieces, and then she gets bowie-knifed from under the hammock as she's laying in it! Many deaths. Oh, the many deaths.

We didn't see Insecure Guy get killed; we only assume he's dead because Jason has the hockey mask now.

Oh, I had just typed that when Insecure Guy arrives at the stoner girl's door with a slashed throat. She doesn't believe it's real because he is such a fooler. Plus also maybe because it's not a very good gore effect by any standards. Suddenly her boyfriend is getting killed somewhere else in a manner that has to do with an electrical box, it all happened so fast! Then she herself gets run through with a hot poker! Jason is being very diligent about killing each victim in a different way.

Pretty sure all that's left now is Chris and her boyfriend, who were off somewhere talking about her terrible experience with a grotesque man. They are returning now, and we will soon see them realize that they are in a world of murder! murder! murder!

The boyfriend has a very square jaw. One of the squarest, really.

The most Hitchcock-y shot so far - Chris is looking out the front door and calling out for Square Jaw… she can't see him but we can, around the corner, being muzzled by Jason just out of her view! Then she goes back inside and Jason just squishes his head with his hands! Eyeball pops out and it is 3D. Unless it isn't, which in this case is what it is(n't).

Chris is exploring the campus trying to get some answers, and the body of one of the TUFFS is suddenly dangled in front of her from like a tree branch or something. Then she goes inside and wonders what oh what will become of her, and Square Jaw's body is hurled through the window. Each movie has multiple instances of bodies getting inexplicably thrown through windows and suddenly dangling out of the sky at just the right time for it to be scary.

She comes upon Jason in the house and they tussle! She stabs him in the leg with a knife that she extracted from a body that was conveniently nearby! He pulls it out and throws it at her with Olympic-caliber precision, but she still gets away.

She runs to the van and has the keys and starts it up even! Drives away and everything! But it runs out of gas so she literally just runs back to the ranch. Like, "back to the drawing board" I guess.

I can't stress enough how odd and disappointing it is that Jason just walks and dresses like a normal man, other than the fact that above the neck he is disguised by the mask. He doesn't limp or lurch or hunch, and again, he has clothes that, while plain, are oddly presentable for someone who is some kind of supernatural homicidal forest hermit.

Here now is another thing I remember from seeing this in Actual Nineteen Eighty Two; Jason's hanging from this pulley thing where she thinks she has him killed or immobilized or something, and he be-s alive at her, and even lifts up the mask to show his grotesque face! It's so that she can realize that he's the same guy that attacked her in the woods in the story she told from several years earlier.

He's about to get her… but one of the TUFFS is not dead, and emerges to fight Jason. That ends badly for the TUFF, he gets de-handed and just beaten down badly, but meanwhile Chris axes Jason in the head.

And here is what happens the next morning to blow our minds at the end of this movie. She has gotten in a canoe to get a good night's sleep. All tuckered out, time to hit the canoe, right? Then in the morning she wakes up in the canoe and spots Jason with a big head wound from her axe, he's just looking at her through a window of the house. He's totally going to come get her. But instead of him getting her, a lady emerges from the lake and pulls her in! It's maybe Jason's mother? But she's all ghoulish so we don't really know. Seems like that's the same sweater though. But also, her head is attached to her body, whereas the movie began by very clearly reminding us that Mom's severed head is a cabin somewhere else. But anyway, just like in the first movie, the consequence of that surprise waterborne attack is that she is being cared for by paramedics a little later, all confused.

This is a bad movie! So bad! From this team I expected so much this exact thing.

(next: Friday the 13th - The Final Chapter)

#friday the 13th

[ecto-american]

White and Nerdy

Holiday Truce Gift for @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy based on their request for Vlad’s slice of life outside of the Fentons.

On FFN and AO3

Summary: Contrary to belief, Vlad does have hobbies other than spinning in a fancy chair with his cat thinking of evil plots. For example, every Tuesday he dedicates the day to hanging out with his best friend as they both indulged in their crippling, long term addictions: World of Warcraft, with a pinch of Dungeons and Dragons.

Rating: K+

Warnings: Some cursing

Other Notes: Everybody is gay or trans, and you can't stop me.

Running a multi billion dollar empire was stressful, to say the very least. And of course, when you own those businesses, it was easy to work as much or as little as you pleased. Not that Vlad ever found himself taking off too much from work. No, no. He loved running his empire, the meetings and decisions. Whenever he took too much time off, the halfa found himself restless. Vlad craved a full schedule, and he needed things to look forward to.

Though of course, he wasn't all work and no play. There was one day of the week Vlad always, with the exception of business trips, took off or would take easy: Tuesdays. Tuesday was raid day.

And on that Tuesday morning, Vlad paid no mind as he could faintly hear the front door being unlocked and closed. His best friend, his actual best friend (NOT that fool Jack), had keys and was permitted to come over whenever he pleased.

Vlad continued his morning routine lazily, carefully shaving and grooming his beard to his preferred style. Brushed and styled his hair in it's normal ponytail, and he dressed himself. Any other day of the week, Vlad would be putting on his Italian brand name custom suits, always freshly pressed and ironed by a maid. But today was raid day, and so he instead was wearing sweatpants and an oversized Packers sweatshirt. He slipped on his football slippers, and he went downstairs to his computer room.

Not his office, which was expensively decorated with only the most fine and formal, shelves lined with important titles. His computer room, which was expensively decorated for a whole other reason. As he opened the door, he smiled at the shelves full of figurines of his favorite characters, accessories adorning the walls. He knew that most would have a stroke, since he never kept anything in the original box, despite having the entire collection of figurines, statues, busts, everything that would make the most dedicated fan drooling. That was simply stupid in Vlad's eyes, it was made to be admired and displayed, not kept in a box. If any were to break, he could simply buy another, no issue.

They lined shelves that were all over the brightly lit room, with cabinets below that held their boxes. While he didn't keep them in boxes, he of course, still kept them. There were also some books, mostly related to the lore but also game guides and manuals.

He admired his collection for a moment before turning his attention to the middle aged man getting comfortable in one of the three computer setups Vlad had, the far left one. All the setups were, of course, only the best and most advanced, with each desktop having three monitors and leather chairs. Each desk was a large U shaped one, set pressed to each other and near the back wall for the outlets.

"Hey, morning!" Edward Lancer greeted him warmly. Both men were morning people, clear by their chosen professions and schedules. Ed was in his own lounge wear, sweatpants with crocs and an old college t-shirt. "I brought McDonald's." He gestured to the bag that was left on Vlad's desk, alongside a cup of coffee clearly from Vlad's own kitchen.

Had it been any person other than Ed, Vlad would have been mortified over McDonald's. But even billionaires couldn't resist their breakfast, and it was only on Tuesday that he was able to privately indulge. Ed never judged.

"Thank you!" Vlad replied brightly. Ed had his own meal in front of him, sitting facing away from the keyboard as he took his time eating. Vlad joined him, sitting at his desk and doing the same, allowing them to talk face to face as they ate.

"Are you ready to fight the dragon later?" Ed questioned as he cut up his pancakes. "Since we're resting, I've been trying to figure out what spells I should prepare for the day to fight it." Vlad snorted, shaking his head.

"Knowing Harriet, she'll likely make the dragon a red herring that goes down with ease and dick us over with the actual boss that'll be invincible to half our party because it's immune the attacks that destroy the damn dragon," Vlad replied before taking a big sip of coffee. Burning hot, but delicious. Ed chuckled in amusement.

"She's always made it fair though," Ed replied. "Her boss battles are never unbeatable."

"Yeah, but she makes every campaign some Water Temple level meets 90s point and click mystery game difficulty and outrageous puzzle solving," Vlad grumbled.

"I like it, it's good critical thinking practice," Ed replied. "I've used some of her puzzles in the games I DM for the students. Really makes them think rather than just attacking everything. I swear, one of my students, Nathan, he just loves rolling to attack every NPC I make."

"Sounds like a ninny," Vlad said as he took a bite of his greasy fast food. The best part about the summer was Ed not having to teach. They could dedicate the whole day to hanging out. Of course, Ed took up a summer job, but he was able to secure Tuesdays off.

"A bit, but a good kid," Ed always spoke fondly of his students. "You should come in sometime for a game, it'd be fun."

"I think I might," Vlad agreed thoughtfully.

Of course, going to Casper High was always hit or miss. Daniel was there, and it was always nice to be able to check in on the little badger. But as mayor and a billionaire that funded several scholarships, it would be nice publicity to go and have some face time with kids. Many of his high school interns had graduated and left for college, and he was in the market for some new ones. Might be able to find some promising new future employees too. Hm, he'd have to see where he could fit a Casper High visit into his schedule when school began. Vlad would worry about that another time.

"How's their gay club?" Vlad questioned. "You guys just formed one, right?"

"It's got a steady group of kids who come in, very good kids. Many have supportive parents now," Ed explained. The teacher had paused, giving a small sigh. "It's a double edge sword for me. On one hand, I'm so grateful that so many of them can be who they are. But...I don't know. I hate that we never got to have that."

Vlad nodded understandingly. He poked at his breakfast, feeling hunger temporarily leave him as those depressive memories came back.

"I'll forever be thankful that Mother wanted to apologize and make amends before she died," Vlad spoke. "But I'm sorry she missed out on so much because of what I had to do to become happy. At least she passed away recognizing me as her son."

The last memories of his mother was depressing. Elderly and sick with cancer, even with all the money Vlad began to throw at her once she reached out to him after nearly twenty years of refusing to speak to him. Whether his sister wore her down, or it was deathbed regrets. It was an emotional two years, being able to see his mom again.

"Mine's in better shape than me, and they're still calling me by my old name," Ed complained. "I don't think it'll ever change. I try to keep a relationship, cause of the kids, but I don't know if it's even worth it anymore."

Silence hung in the air as they separately mourned for what it all cost them. Of course, it was worth it. Absolutely worth it to be happy, to be comfortable and finally as they should be, but it didn't make the cost any less harsh of a price to pay.

"Their generation will be better," Vlad said firmly. Ed nodded in agreement. "Please let me know if any of them need binders or anything of the sorts."

"I will. I've been thinking about starting a clothing drive for them," Ed explained. "I can probably get the school on board with it if we market it as for the lower income students too. Dressing how you want makes a big difference."

"You get the details sorted out, and I will absolutely financially back you," Vlad promised. Ed smiled.

"Thank you. I may start working on that to propose for this school year," Ed mused.

For the bumbling oaf that Jack was, Vlad had to admit that he was a very loving and caring man. A bit too caring, honestly, it was a bit of a flaw. He had immediately accepted Vlad, and later on his own son. It always warmed him to remember that Daniel had two parents that had immediately gotten him everything a young trans man could ever need. No hesitation, no questioning.

Ed took a final bite of his breakfast before humming happily. He wiped his hands as he pushed to toss his empty containers into the trash can.

"Enough being sad, let's raid," he suggested. Vlad hurriedly took his last two bites before nodding in agreement.

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The raid was broken up with greasy Chinese takeout for lunch, brought to them by a staff. Another guilty pleasure Vlad rarely indulged in. Then, of course, it was a return to games before they changed into their normal attire, sitting down to a home cooked dinner by staff. By the time they were finishing up, their other guests had begun to arrive for the evening plans.

Vlad always hosted the game. It just always made the most sense. He had the most room in his house, nor the distractions of family. Not that he disliked Lance nor Ed's children, they were great, but there was nothing that ruined the immersion of dragon slaying quite like teenage dramatics. And he thought that playing with toddlers in the house was frustrating.

The four sat in yet another room in Vlad's mansion that he had dedicated fully to the hobby. A large round table with Harriet Chin sitting furthest from them. A DM folder that separated her papers from there, just low enough that the halfa could see her smirking to herself as she reviewed her plans. Ed sat to her left, with an empty seat in between them. Another empty seat in between him and Vlad, and yet another separated Vlad from Lance Thunder.

Vlad honestly didn't really know the man that well yet. He was one of Harriet's coworkers that she had dragged into the summer game, as Vlad and Ed needed a third person in the party for this campaign. Their normal fourth and fifth friends, Joe and Frank, were spending the summer with their daughter and their newborn granddaughter. He already missed the pair terribly, especially Frank. Frank would often join in on their World of Warcraft adventures. But Lance was gay, and that made him okay enough for Vlad to accept him into their little queer circle with little complaint.

"I wouldn't get her a car unless she had good grades," Vlad gave his two cents into the conversation. Something about Lance's daughter wanting a car. Lance nodded.

"That's what I've been saying, but Alan keeps saying that if Star had her own car, she could begin driving herself to the library and to school to study, but I just don't buy that," Lance agreed. Vlad knew by now who those people were. Alan was Lance's husband, Star was Lance's daughter from his first marriage. Vlad had seen pictures of Star before. She was a spitting image of Lance. "She's more interested in being with her friends."

"And what does Rene think?" Ed questioned about the ex-wife's opinion. Lance shrugged.

"She doesn't think Star needs a car," Lance replied. "Public transportation isn't bad here, she can always borrow one of our cars, and lots of colleges won't let you have cars as a freshman anyway. So it'd be sitting in the driveway in a year or so for a year anyway."

"Star's going to be a junior, right?" Vlad questioned. Lance nodded. Vlad mentally went over his garage of cars. "When she's able to have a car on her college campus, I'll happily give her a good deal on one of my cars if she has good grades. I'll probably be retiring one of my cars by then. Of course, it's not going to be some beat up piece of junk." Lance's eyes widened.

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," Lance smiled warmly at him.

"Vlad sold my oldest, Ophelia, a car about five years ago. Car still runs like it's new," Ed spoke up.

"Ophelia just began graduate school, didn't she?" Harriet questioned, finally speaking up. She had been nose deep in her campaign notes. Ed nodded.

"She got in at the University of Chicago, full ride," Ed beamed with pride, and Vlad was very proud too. Ophelia, his precious goddaughter, was like a niece to him. Very smart, quick-witted and the only one who could match Ed's passion for literature. Of course, Vlad provided her with that full ride scholarship, as he did with her younger siblings, and eventually he would do the same for Ed's remaining two when they got to that point. No niece or nephew of his was going to college with student debts. "George is set to graduate soon too, this is his last year. Before med school anyway."

Ahh, little Georgie. Vlad got to spend a lot of time with him. He was one of Vlad's interns at Axion Labs. A strong willed boy, good head on his shoulders. Sometimes a little too honest, but the world needed more people like that. Whenever the billionaire stopped by Axion Labs, he always paid a visit to his favorite intern. It was always those times he spent with Ed's children that Vlad regretted not having his own.

"So how's the cat, Vlad?" Harriet asked, giving a small smirk. She could always seem to sniff out his emotions. Damn journalists. They were a bit too observant. Vlad rolled his eyes.

"How's yours?" he asked back. She chuckled.

"Bandit's the happiest boy alive, I just got him a nice new cat tower," she replied. Vlad nodded.

"I just had a new cat house for Maggie built," Vlad told her. Of course, he was never going to admit to his friends, most of them knowing the ghost huntress, that he named his cat after a long term crush. "It's going to be installed in the next week or so. You should bring Bandit over then. Maggie loves him."

"Oh I might," Harriet hummed happily. "It's been a while since Bandit got to hang out with Maggie."

"Does anybody want a drink before we begin?" Vlad questioned.

"Can I have a glass of rosé wine?" Harriet questioned. The billionaire smirked.

"Of course," he replied. He glanced to Ed and Lance.

"Uh, just gimme a beer, you know what I like," Ed shrugged. Lance thought for a moment.

"I may just have some wine too," Lance spoke.

Vlad nodded, and he stood to go to the intercom on the wall. All of the rooms in his house had it for his staff. He pushed it, and he requested the drinks, alongside what he knew to be choice snacks.

Almost as soon as Vlad had sat down, a male staff member came with a tray. It was full of cheese and crackers, popcorn, chips and fondue. Another staff member came with drinks and glasses.

Vlad picked up a beer like Ed, cracking it open and taking a long drink. Of course, in any other company, he'd indulge in wine. Beer was not something one could normally drink at a formal business function, and so he always took advantage of the times he could freely have some.

They began. A small discussion, and as the billionaire expected, the dragon went down easy. Suspiciously easy. Harriet gave the group before her a mischievous grin just over her DM folder. Vlad didn't like this, or that look in her eye.

"So you guys defeated the dragon," the reporter replied slyly. "But there's no loot to collect on him. The dragon dissolves and melts away. Everybody roll for perception and add your stuff. Then tell me what you got."

Oh, he definitely did not like this a single bit. Vlad eyed her coldly as he picked up his dice. Ed and Lance did the same.

"Visual or hearing, I'm missing an eye so I'd have to roll disadvantage otherwise," Ed reminded her.

"Hearing!" Harriet chirped. He nodded.

"Uh, sixteen then," he replied.

"Ten," Lance said.

"Twenty-two," Vlad spoke.

"You hear nothing," Harriet told Lance, pointing to him. She moved her finger to Ed. "You hear a small noise, two voices. But they're a bit muffle, you can't quite make out the entire conversation. But you do hear some words. The general jist of the conversation you can make out is that these individuals have realized you killed the dragon and are here." Harriet pointed to Vlad. "You! However, you can hear everything. It's a rough voice of a masculine figure telling somebody to prepare for battle, somebody has killed their precious dragon. They're going to detect your thoughts to determine your next movements before making their next move."

"I cast detect magic," Vlad replied. Harriet's eyes sparkled.

"It failed," she announced gleefully. Vlad internally groaned, and he could see Ed looking confused. "So what will you guys do."

Lance scratched his temple as he stared at his character sheet. He was not just new to the group, but to the game itself. The weather man studied his sheet for a moment as he tried to think. He took a long sip of his wine before speaking.

"Well uh, I think my guy is just gonna look for the treasure, cause I didn't hear anything," Lance said slowly. "And I'm still really interested in the promised gold."

"I tell him to not, because we should be careful," Ed spoke up quickly. "Because of what I heard."

"You tell your party what you heard?" Harriet questioned. She had leaned back in her seat, a leg over the arm of the chair as she held her beverage. The lesbian lightly swirled her wine in her glass before taking a long drink.

"Yeah, I tell my party what I heard," Ed clarified.

"And I'll tell them what I heard," Vlad agreed. "Because I need these people alive to keep me alive. They're my meat shields." Harriet snickered.

"So the prince never mentioned anything but a dragon being in here," Ed said slowly. "It must be another adventuring party trying to get the treasure. Prince Yamum said he did send several people to collect the family amulet."

"I say we kill them," Vlad suggested. Ed looked at him in disapproval, and Vlad shrugged. "My character's selfish. He doesn't want to share the loot with this party, and he doesn't want to share the rewards for returning the amulet."

"I agree," Lance said slowly. "My guy doesn't want the competition."

"No, no!" Ed said sternly. "We are NOT killing him, he may have useful information for us or be able to help."

"There's two voices, so that's a five way split between treasure," Lance pointed out. Vlad glanced to see Harriet's reaction. She was grinning like a fool, with that distinctive sparkle in her eye. She was absolutely up to something, and she looked like a true super villain. Evil plots forming her mind. Vlad trusted her with nothing, and yet he admired this chaotic evil lesbian. Harriet was his villain goals.

"Harriet, I swear on your grave," Vlad began his threat, only to stop with a frown at Harriet's devilish giggle.

"The individual detects your negative and violent thoughts," she announced cheerfully. She finished off her glass, shifting to have both legs over the armrest, her back against the opposite one. "And they have deduced that you're a threat that needs to be taken care of. Congratulations, boys. You're encountering the real boss." Vlad scowled.

"I knew you were going to do this, you always pull some weird bait and switch thing!" Vlad complained. Harriet smirked. "Lemme guess. It's a, it's a, god what would be the worst thing to fight right now." Vlad racked his mind for a possible enemy. "A rakshasa? Probably with a shield guardian too."

Harriet's smirk only widened. And Vlad knew he was correct.

"Roll for initiative, bitch."

#my phics #phics #holiday truce 2019 #idiot cheesehead archenemy #vlad masters #mr. lancer #lance thunder #harriet chin

[mallory-michael-langdon]

my beginning and end started with you

Chapter 3

pride.i

The table was cut from rich rosewood, sanded and polished to perfection, with a thick tablecloth made from a teal fabric draped over it. The way it felt beneath the fingertips, tough yet smooth, he could tell it wasn't anything store-bought, at least not recently. It was an old table, fit for an old house.  Many antiques laid about, from the strong wooden couches in the living room to the elaborately designed rugs that sat beneath them, the old decorative paintings of the Starry Night, and the mesmerizing terror that was the Scream.   Even the floorboards were ancient, though enduring, strong enough to last another decade. There was a hearth to, and it was still in use, filling the house with warmth. There were silky drapes hanging over the windows, so thin he could see right through the mellow yellow, and it painted the acres of green grass, darkening sky, and fading clouds gold.

The home smelled of cinnamon and pine, the scents of Christmas, and lights hanged out in the front, over the window sill.  But that was it, no Christmas tree, no presents hiding in the basement.  Not even a lot of land nearby that had those things to gaze longingly upon. Grandma had always bought a tree for Michael so that he could decorate it with their shiny red and golden ornaments. There was none of that here, and Michael wondered how Mallory could grow up in such a place until he remembered that her childhood had happened years ago, his had only just ended.

A soft withered hand placed a plate of mushroom chicken in front of him, on top of one of the many chilewich placemats. Then another plate was settled down for Mallory, who sat by him, then another for her aunt who sat across from her, and another for her mother who sat beside the aunt.

And when the woman was done settling down the plates she took her seat at the head of the table, the matriarch of the family. Three generations of unhappy women.

The mother was dazed but conscious, with half-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile on her face as she looked at Mallory.  The two had the same hazel eyes and chestnut hair but the resemblance ended there. The woman's face was long, with narrow features that must've fit her face nicely once upon a time, whereas Mallory's face was heart-shaped, delicate and soft like a porcelain doll.

“Shall we say grace?” the Grandmother posed a silent demand, stretching out her hands for her daughter and granddaughter to take.

It will burn you, the Voice whispered.  Your ears will bleed and ring with a screech, and they will know you for who you are and you will never have her.

Michael remembers the priest, remembers the scriptures, each word ringing in his ear like a thousand knives screeching against a stone wall. The only way he’d silenced the pain was by silencing the priest, cutting his throat clean open with his mind alone.  Michael could've very well done that to Mallory’s family, but as much as he’d rather he would be a fool to think she’d ever love him with her family's blood on his hands. He felt his stomach roil in trepidation.

Consider this a lesson for not listening, the Voice hissed with violence. Mallory grabbed his hand, and he tried to find strength in her touch.

The women closed their eyes and bowed their heads in prayer as they spoke in unison.  

“Heavenly father thank…”

Immediately Michael tried to drown their voices out, focused on any and everything that wasn't those god-awful words.  Instead, he closed his eyes and zoomed in on all of their thoughts, for they were loud and easy to tread.

The mother’s thoughts weren’t on the prayer at all. A little film played in her head, a moment in time from years past with little Mallory and a day at the park. It was an endless never-ending loop. The woman’s mind was a broken record, not really worth saving in the end.  Val was all tense and unforgiving at the end of the table, angry at whatever it was- be it an old feud or envy against Mallory’s mother, that set her and her sister apart in her mother’s eyes.  Other than that she was suspenseful of the boy she’d invited to dinner. That was a problem he’d deal with later. The grandmother was completely indifferent to everything, of the tension brewing at the table, of one daughter who's become somewhat of a simpleton and the other bitter, and Michael wondered if she felt at all.  Old age has taught her not to care about most things she has no control of.  And Mallory, his sweet, sweet angel, was actually focused on praying.  So much that he had to back away from her open-field of a mind, so easy to sink into.

The prayer ended as soon as it started, the women digging into their meals, but Michael found he wasn't really hungry, to begin with. Mallory let go of his hand, despite how much he internally protested against it.

An intense silence pressed in, with none deigning to speak.  It was almost ritualistic, how they all ignored each other in favor of solitude.  Something tells him that maybe Mallory’s mother was the light of the family, the one to melt the ice and bring warmth in its place.  But that light has since dimmed, and the torch has passed to Mallory for she is the first to speak.

“I really like the academy. Miss Cordelia is a kind woman, and the girls are very friendly,” she stated.

“Good,” the grandmother asserted. “Because you're going back as soon as feasibly possible, Mallory.  Why you thought you had any say in coming back here is beyond me.” she settled her fork down, pointing a slim narrowed finger at Mallory.  Michael would love nothing more than to watch it go up in flames. “Now when you return, I want you to thoroughly apologize to Cordelia for your mishaps, and for leaving so suddenly without permission.”

Mallory remained silent in response, content on being the timid obedient granddaughter until Michael reached through their bond to rouse her anger. You're not a prisoner or a slave, and she is not your master.  Who is she to tell you what to do?

“It’s a school, not a prison.” she spat back, with just as much bite in her voice.  The table went into a silent shock.

Mallory looked shocked herself, for back talking.  It was her voice, but not her words.  Still, she continued on at his insistence.

“Besides, I want to stay for a little while to take care of mom.  She needs me right now, and I’m not abandoning her again.”

The old woman’s brown eyes darkened. “Are you suggesting that I can't take care of my own child or that I took her away from you and left her in the fray?  If so, you are gladly mistaken. Separating the both of you was both for your own good. She’s not you're responsibility, Mallory.”

“Oh, because you've done such a good job with her. So much that she was nearly on her deathbed.  Had I not came she would've died on her living room floor, alone.” Mallory pursed her lips, determined to defy and disobey, and he loved it. “No, I’m not leaving yet. And you can’t make me leave.  I’ll just keep coming back until-”

“Mally, sweetheart, I’m fine-” the mother tried to chime in but to no avail. Her voice was to low and slurred with each word spoken, the first she’d spoken all day.  

“Have you lost your mind little girl?”

Val slammed her hand down on the table, causing a light thud. It was enough to garner everyone’s attention. “Please, not now mother. There really is no need.”  

The grandmother scoffed, shooting Mallory one last scolding look before focusing on her meal. Mallory looked down at her hands, clenching onto the hems of her dress just above the knees, knuckles white and red.  He found himself grabbing one of them, thumb running over the back of her hand, over the veins and bones, as the rest of his four digits moved in a circular motion within her palm. It’s okay, the gesture said. You did nothing wrong. He could see her shoulders drop a little, tension rolling off in waves.

Val smiled wolfishly, teeth gritted.  Then she fixed her feral eyes on him, a lioness in human form.  He returned the look back, with ease, a cold smile creeping upon his face.

“God, Michael.  I can only imagine what you must think of us now, arguing like a bunch of old maids.  Mind you we aren't usually like this.  It must be the cold weather.” she chuckled lightly, but there was no humor in the tone. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself.  I’m sure there is much to know.”

“Where do I begin?” he laughed. “Well, I grew up in Country Club Park. I’ve ever only had my grandma, but she passed recently, and I don’t have any other family. So, I’m on my own now.” his voice grew demure, but he was anything but.  The best way to lie was to give half of the truth.

It was all a ploy, an act to soothe her suspicions, whatever they may be.  For all he knew, she could just be an overprotective aunt looking after her niece.  And could he fault her in caring for Mallory for all that he wanted her for himself?

“No family at all, not even a distant relative?” Val inquired, leaning forward on the table.

“None that I know of. It doesn't matter really, I prefer being alone.  Though I do enjoy Mallory’s company.  She’s-well, she’s my friend.”

Mallory looks at Michael then, surprised, but then she smiles, squeezing his hand.

“Hm, is that so.” The woman was not impressed. “So, what school do you go to?”

At that, his mind froze.  He hadn't been to school in a few years, didn't even know which school to go to if he were to re-attend. 

 “He should be going to Hawthorne- I think that’s what it’s called,” Mallory hastily replied in his place.

The woman frowned, looking between the two of them. “Hawthorne?  As in the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men?” then a chilling smile crept onto her face. “So we have a warlock in our midst? Interesting, unsettling but interesting.  How did you two meet again?”

“Oh, would you stop with the twenty-one questions, Val.” the grandmother quipped abrasively. “I think we’re all growing tired of it.  So what if the boy is a warlock, leave it be.  And Mallory I haven't forgotten about what I said, you’re returning to New Orleans.”

Michael felt his blood run cold.  New Orleans?   He wasn't well versed in geography, but he was smart enough to know that there wasn't any New Orleans in any part of California. He hadn't thought her academy was that far. Michael had no means to travel that far, no money, no passport. Go to Hawthorne, the voice whispered, urged.  They will give you everything you need.

But Michael didn't want to travel all the way to New Orleans just to see her.  He wanted her to stay here, in California, forever. The mother was looking at him now, a feverish glint in her eyes, both daunting and grave, as if she’s just noticed his presence at the table, and didn't like it.

“I’m going to return grandma, I promise.  I just want to take care of mom for a bit.”

Val looked at the time on her phone.  “Would you look at that, it’s rather late. It’s time for you to go home Michael, wouldn't want you staying up late into the hours of the night.”

“I’ll take him home instead Aunt Val.” Mallory let go of his hand before coming to a stand, smoothing down her dress.

“Are you sure Mallory?  Because I don’t mind doing it and I thought we all initially agreed on me taking him home, you know, to make sure he actually gets there.”

Mallory merely rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure. I think I’m capable enough to drive on my own. And I’ll take mom home to.  Grandma do you still have that blow-up mattress?  Nevermind, I’ll check in the attic.”

“That’s not what I meant but okay,” Val mumbled, more to herself than anyone else. “The keys to the Range Rover are on the counter, and I want it back in one piece Mallory. I’m only staying in town for a few days but after that, I am leaving, the last thing I need to deal with is a wreck.”

________________________________________________________________

The house-or more like the apartment was an absolute wretch.  It resembled a box more than anything else, with a living room that led to a small kitchen, and a bedroom in the far back. The carpet was covered in cigarette buds and empty bottles, with a sickening hum that just sat and never abated. He sat on the couch that was wrapped up in a suffocating plastic, watching as Mallory opened up the long rectangular windows.  The girl stood there for a moment, staring aimlessly into the night out the last window she’d opened, the shadow of her silhouette reflected on the floor from the moonlight, then proceeded to pick up the bottles, tossing them in a bag before grabbing a broom to sweep up the floor.  She looked intent, perplexed, bothered.  Michael sensed a conflict in her, anger and regret, guilt and disgust, at whom had yet to be discerned.  But her eyes were far away, lost in another place, another time. A personal hell.  She looked but didn't really see, hummed to a tune she didn't really care for either.  Mallory, his broken little angel, the source of her problems nestled away in the bedroom, soundly asleep.  He had half the mind to go back there, and just a touch of his finger alone would spread cancer in the woman’s system that’d kill her overnight.

The broomstick began to groan beneath her tight knuckled grip, the brush of the broom moving to and fro bristly across the stiff surface.

“Mallory? Mallory?” he called innocently. “Mallory do you need help?” all movement stilled.  She looked up from the floor, gracing him with a smile of acknowledgment.

“Sorry, I was somewhere else. Um, you can help if you want. Maybe hold the dustpan down as I sweep the trash into it.”

He nodded eagerly.

They went on like that for a while, her setting the place to rights with him by her side to carry out the mundane task. Taking out the trash, drying the dishes, getting the covers to lay out as she blew up the mattress, plopping down onto it as soon as it was firm.  She was exhausted by the end of their cleaning spree, and she claimed she still had to wipe down the stained walls tomorrow.  She sat on the edge of the mattress, face buried in the palms of her hand. He sat on the floor in front of her, legs crisscrossed.

“Crap, I still have to take you home.  I’m sorry, I just lost track of everything.” she tiredly ran her fingers through her hair.

“It’s alright,” he assured.  Michael hadn't wanted to go back home anyway. “You look really tired, you should sleep.  I can stay here for the night and you can take me home in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” she leaned back into the mattress, sighing in relief the moment her back hit the covers.  Her mind was already made up, and so was his.

“Anything for you Mallory.”  

The night breeze crept into the living room, and she shivered. He looked at the thick blankets, at the sea blue, and green patterns, then stood up to pull the covers over her frame.  By the grace of his mind, the lights flickered off, and after he took off his shoes and jean jacket, he slipped beneath covers beside her, arms slithering around her waist, encompassed in her warmth.

Michael fell asleep to the lull of her light breaths, the fall, and rise of her chest, a smile on his angular face.

________________________________________________________________

2018 December

The house was covered in thick spindly vines that crawled up the red brick walls, overgrown grass, and weeds that tugged at the ends of Mallory’s dress.  

The morning had been a long one before she even managed to make it out of the house. She’d taken a much-needed shower, and changed into one of her casual gowns.  The seventies styled easy wrap white dress with a geometric pattern of red flowers encircled by small green leaves and thin vines that swopped diagonally to the hems of her dress, that reached a few inches above her ankles, and a v-line that rested between her bosom.  She wore her two prized necklaces, the ones with the silver star and moon, and a pair of black ankle boots.  Her hair was an ombre of brown that gave way to gold, resting below the nape of her neck, crinkly and wet from the shower.

She’d cooked a breakfast, an easy meal of toast and scrambled eggs, and watched wearily as her mother took bite after tremble handed bite.  It got to the point where Mallory had to feed the woman herself, that in itself a trying task. Then she went on to bathe the woman and saw how weak and frail, and realized with a horrible clarity that she’d restored life and youth, but not health.  Maybe she could try later… Or, maybe her mother has always been a frail woman.  She didn't know anymore.

“It was because of you Mally.  I had you when I was only sixteen, not the age any girl should be having a baby.” her mother had croaked when Mallory dared to ask. “Giving birth to you has drained most of the life out of me, but I don’t regret it. Not one bit.”

In the background of Mallory’s turmoil was Michael, always smiling, willing to lend a helping hand.  She still shuddered from the way she found him, them, when she awoke.

When Mallory woke it was to his face buried in the crook of her neck, legs entwined with hers while her upper body was encaged within the embrace of long, firm arms, toned and strong. His chest, his body, pressed into the back of her.  And something else too, hard and hot and- Oh, Oh. she had thought, with terror and excitement.  But when he woke, nothing happened ( she hadn't known whether to feel relieved or disappointed, of all the things to feel), he simply let her go, oblivious to his own arousal.  Did he even know what lust was? Of course not.  Michael Langdon was far too naive.

So naive, he didn't even notice the way she blushed whenever he casually took hold of her hand.  Like now, as he guided her to his front door, hand in hand. He’d insisted on inviting her inside and she willingly obliged, despite every cell, joint and hair in her body screaming at her to turn the other way.  To him, they were just friends simply holding hands. She shouldn't feel bitter about that, having known him for only two weeks or so, but she does.  And it confuses her, the way he makes her feel.  At first, it was a spiritual thing, -and not all soulmates need be lovers- but now it was a physical thing.  She could feel herself gradually growing attached to him with the more time she spent with him, and it wasn't hard for Mallory to grow attached to things.  The girl feared what this would do to her emotions, her state of mind when she inevitably leaves California.  Would he even care if she left right at this moment or would he simply shrug and go on with his day?  There was no telling.  

The door creaks and groans as he swings it open, and the moment her foot passes the threshold, the hairs on her arms and neck come to stand. Little dust particles danced in the pool of light from the window near the entrance, but everywhere else was dark, with long shadows.

I should not be here, no living creature should, and yet she continued to follow him, flinching when the door closed on its own volition. It smelled like burnt roses, the ozone before a storm, and decaying leaves in autumn.  It smelled like him, and his scent carried throughout the house. Or maybe it was vice verse, the house had imprinted on him.  They climbed the stairs, before walking down the mouth of the hall that led to infinite rooms.

She did not feel the comfort he felt walking down the corridor, could not shake that penetrating feeling of being constantly watched.  Despite that, it was a beautiful home, hauntingly so.  The ones that’d you’d read about in a gothic novel, with walls painted in tragedy, that groaned from bitterness and heartache. This house was much the same, a rare thing to find in sunny California, even in the life of a girl like her, a girl whose house was reduced to burnt timber and soot by her own hand.

“So you live here by yourself?” a stupid question to ask, one that she already knew the answer to, but she needed verification.  

Michael nodded his head, his strawberry blonde curls bobbing to the beat of his stride as he led them to his room, a forlorn thing with a brilliant heat that instantly made her sweat. The walls were coated with a dusty blue-grey paint, only darkened more by the shadow that seemed to hang over the room.  There were three wooden arches as well, embedded into the walls and ceiling, and between two of them was a shut door. Beside it was a computer sitting on top of a small desk cluttered with pencils and paper and a green lamp.  On the side of the entrance, a board adorned the wall, covered in sketches and doodles, no doubt Michael’s.  Across the room dwelled his bed with a metal headboard, and behind that were two windows with white blinds.  Sheets were splayed on the floor, with a fan plugged up next to them.

He pulled the strings to the blinds, letting in natural light. Then he pulled out a vintage record player, sitting it on the sheets at the foot of the bed, and a box of vinyl discs, the kind her Grandma still has displayed in her living room.  Mallory’s interest was piqued at the sight of them.

“Where did you get these from?” she gracefully sat upon the sheets, smoothing down her dress as she did so.

“They were my grandma’s,” he responded.  Perhaps it was a trick of the light but she’d sworn she saw his eyes water at the mention of the late woman.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he smiled, then sat down beside her, their shoulders touching.

She pulled the box closer and began to search through it.  There were many classics, most of them being from the sixties or seventies.  The Mommas and Papas, the Zombies, the Turtles, the Beatles. But her hand stopped at the Rolling Stones.  The album cover was a light blue covered in clouds with an abstract picture of the band in the center. Their Satanic Majesties Request, it read.  Michael’s crystal blue eyes gleamed.

“This one is my favorite,” his hand reached in the box after her, his long fingers faintly brushing hers as he gently took the album.

She watched as he slowly took the disc out, watched the way he handled it with care, afraid the faintest scratch alone would bring it to ruin. Mallory was mesmerized by his hands.  How could something so calloused, long and large as his hands be so gentle, move so elegantly?  Once again, she was struck by his beauty.  The way his pupils focused and dilated, filling out the blue of his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted. The light from the window cast one side of his face in shadow, while the other half was highlighted, all the sharp angular edges, the arch of his nose and the cut of his jawline.  He looked to be made out of marble at that moment, one of those greek sculptures come to life. Once again she asked herself how a man could be so beautiful.

He placed the record on the turntable, setting it to the right speed, then lifted the tonearm and placed the needle gently on the outermost edge of the record.  The moment the needle grazed the black surface music began to resonate throughout the room.  He skipped the first two grooves, but paused at the third, seemingly content with the choice of song.

“I love this song. It reminds me of you,” he looked at her with those piercing blue eyes that could roam the depths of the soul and told her this as if it were the ordinary thing to say.

In another land, where the breeze and the trees and the flowers were blue.

The singer sounded hollow and drowned, but it was loud and clear enough. Perhaps that had been the band's attention.  Michael laid down on his back, legs stretching out, before pulling her down with him.  The movement caught her off guard, but it mattered little when he nestled his nose in the crook of her neck, much like this morning, deeply inhaling her scent. Or when he slowly threaded his long fingers in the strands of her hair that crowned her head on the floor like a halo. “You smell so sweet,” he whispered, his warm breath ghosting her skin, lips not far behind.  So close, so very close.  

A shiver crept over her body, then pooled in her abdomen. She rested her hand there to feel a strange heat and cool.  From above, a girl and a boy laid side by side in the center of the room.  Oblivious to the things that crept in the halls and watched from afar.

I stood and held your hand/ And the grass grew high and the feathers floated by/ I stood and held your hand/ And nobody else's hand will ever do, nobody else will do/ Then I awoke, was this some kind of joke?/  Much to my surprise/ I opened my eyes.

His other hand trailed on her collarbone, edging its way closer to the valley of her breast, the part her dress so generously exposed.  She wasn't even wearing a bra, the dress wasn't the type you wore a bra with. He went down further, to where her hands lay, pushing them away to replace them with his own.

“...Michael.” she choked, eyes closed, too caught up in the moment, both terrifying and exciting.

Each breath she drew was shaky and unevenly spaced. What is he doing to me?

“Only what you want me to do, Mallory.” was his voice always so deep, had it always made her tremble?

His hand went no further, only stayed in that particular spot, rubbing circles. The small friction alone made her squeeze her thighs together, trying to repress the building need.

“When will you teach me?”  The deepness was gone.

Mallory opened her eyes, bending her head to look at him.  “How about now?”

We walked across the sand/ And the sea and the sky and the castles were blue/ I stood and held your hand/ And the spray flew high and the feathers floated by/ I stood and held your hand/  And nobody else's hand will ever do, nobody else will do/ Then I awoke, was this some kind of joke?/ Much to my surprise/ I opened my eyes.

The song had such a lovely melody,  woozy and otherworldly, with such dreamy elements and sad lyrics that left her on an acid-drenched high.  The type of high that you can only get from a song about two star-crossed lovers, only together in dreams, roaming a completely different realm. It reminds me of you, he said.  Of course, it would.

We heard the trumpets blow/ And the sky turned red when I accidentally said/ That I didn't know/ How I came to be here, not fast asleep in bed/ I stood and held your hand/ And nobody else's hand will ever do, nobody else’s hand...

“Okay,” he says. “We can do it now.”

Then I awoke, was this some kind of joke? I opened my eyes much to my surprise.

________________________________________________________________

Do you ever feel things happen exactly the way they are supposed to happen?

Every move made, every word spoken, every song played, it was for a reason. Everything, even the smallest of things Michael did had a purpose, a meaning, a message behind it.  One only had to pay attention to see the subliminal stimuli. When he’d played that song, he was telling her that those dreams, those memories were without a doubt real and not a trick of the subconscious mind. A confirmation to what she’d felt she knew. And now she was certain their souls were bonded- linked and chained- it was no longer a flight of fancy in her pretty little head.

After spending hours in his home, she didn't feel so out of place anymore.  She had walked these halls a thousand times before, she knew it in her bones. If anything, the house should be afraid of her not her of it.

The house was now alive with magic, crackling in her ears like static. The result of two powerful beings testing the waters before diving in. She’d remembered the little she learned from Miss Cordelia and handed those lessons down to Michael, who excelled in each spell and ability. He was always unsure about each one, but when he did them he took the extra mile and did something more.

Magic is often something to be possessed and controlled, but the magic possessed him, controlled him. Perhaps that is what made him so good at it. Magic possessed Mallory too, truth be told. It always has.

The sun was past its zenith, and it wouldn't be long before the moon took its place as the source of light, giving the room that evening gloom. Her mother had taken her medication after breakfast, which should have put her to rest for a few good hours.  Mallory had placed the house phone near the bed stand, phone number on speed dial just in case her mother needed to call. Dinner had to be made, sheets cleaned and walls scrubbed to create a more sanitary area for her mother to be in.  Nothing less would do.  Mallory and Michael’s little waltz was a nice one, but now the dance must end.

Yet they sat side by side beneath the crystal chandelier in the living room, in front of the cold empty hearth, and Michael refused to let her leave, always diverting her from the door with one thing or the other.  

“Please, just one more spell,” he begged, his head rested on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist as if he were a child. Such a baby.

His Rubik's cube had been set aside after 20 minutes of him showing her the many ways it could be manipulated to a different design instead of the same monotonous one that everyone else did.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, I promise, but I need to go home now.  My mother needs me.  I’ve been with you for half of the day.” her voice was stern, leaving no room for any more debate. “Now let me go, Michael, I’m serious.”

He stared at her in intense dead silence, not at all pleased with the tone of voice she’d taken with him, and the house itself held its breath.  It lasted for only a second, but it stretched on for hours in her mind.  Then he let go.

He let out a bitter, pouty. “Fine.” before racing out the room.  She heard his footsteps receding up the stairs and the distant slam of a bedroom door.

She sat there for a moment, in the empty living room, and the almost empty house.  The empty halls that didn't feel so empty at all when you actually had to walk down them. The floorboards that groaned on their own, and the air that at one moment could turn cold and fester with the smell of rot and then become hot, overpowering the house with the smell of him.  There was a silence that permeated so loud it was hard not to hear. She wondered about the stories the walls could tell, about the things they would say if she urged them to but dare not actually try it.  And then, it made sense why Michael wouldn't want to be here on his own, why he would want someone to be with him.

But she has to leave, she has to. Mallory stands up, making her way to the foyer. The door is right there, and her hand hovers above the doorknob, ready to twist. Mallory, of course, hesitates. She looks at the stairs, knowing where they’ll lead if she goes up. Michael’s little domain.  The least she could do was say good night.  Truth be told she was going to miss having him around her all the time, miss being around him.  Maybe she could get his number?

The stairs it was.  She took two steps at a time, moving as fast as she could. And then there was a blur of burning flesh, as red as the bright embers that fell of the skin, speeding across the corridor, children's laughter following behind it. And then it was gone. She blinked once, blinked twice. A trick of the light or a trick of the mind, she reasoned, maybe tiredness. But not what she thought it was, what she thought she heard and saw.  Was it out of the realm of possibility? No, perhaps not.  Mallory would rather ignore it though.

She hurried up the stairs then down the hall until she reached his door and knocked. No response. She knocked again, and still, no response.  “Michael, sweetheart, I swear I’ll come back tomorrow.”

There was a short silence before there was a shifting on the bed and the sound of someone drawing closer to the door. Michael opened it slightly, leaving it ajar, and peaked his head through.

“But how long will you stay?”

“For as long as I can.”

He opened the door more, stepping past the threshold.  She almost forgot how tall he was, his childish nature always made her forgetful of his age and height. Mallory barely reached his chest.

“I’d rather you stay here forever.”

Mallory frowned. She was a little confused and a little worried...and maybe a little touched.

“That’s not possible. Nor is it reasonable. We’re friends, right? Well, friends see and talk to each other all the time. We can visit each other or not. We can talk on the phone, we can go to other places too.  Look,” she raised her hand, sticking out her pinky, giving him a genuine smile. “We’ll swear on it.”

Michael hesitated at first, a frown marring his beautiful face, but eventually, he relented. Such a child. He wrapped his pinky around hers, gripping tightly.

“You swear we’ll always be together?” he asked worriedly.

“Cross my heart I hope to die.”

Michael returned her smile, showing his white teeth, slightly crooked in the front but in an endearing sort of way. Suddenly, he leaned down, gently placing a kiss on her forehead. As cold as ice on her hot skin.  It left her wanting something more.

“Goodnight Mallory.”

                                                          ________________________________________________________________

envy.i

It simply wasn't enough. Maybe it hadn't truly clicked for her yet, maybe the bond wasn't as strong on her end as it was on his. He didn't want to have her around only sometimes, didn't want to hear her voice for a brief moment over the damn telephone. Michael needed her by his side, forever and infinity. That’s what the bond called for.  He should have gone further when they were laying on his bedroom floor, should have given in to his desires, should have given her his mind, body, and soul completely. Should have kissed her lips instead of her forehead when he’d said goodbye.  They both had wanted it.  But he had to show some form of restraint, and he didn't want it to be here.  With friend and foe alike watching in their dark corners (and they were always watching, always hiding).  Her moans, her sighs, her body, should only be for his eyes and ears. Michael Langdon was too prideful to have it any other way.

Liar, the voice cackled. You were too scared.  You have no idea what you're doing.

No, he doesn't, he can’t deny, but he was going to damn well try. He buried his nose in the sheets she laid on, branding her scent into memory.  It still lingered there, the warm vanilla sugar aroma. His sweet flower, his sweet angel. She’d written down her number on the chalkboard before she left, and will soon be awaiting a call.

You will never truly have her with her mother in the way.  She loves her mother more than she will ever love you. The voice taunted.

“That’s not true,” he muttered into the lorn darkness. The ghost of this house must think he’s a madman if they don’t already. He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to swallow down the envy that was steadily brewing in his system.“That’s not true, leave me alone.”

Yes, it is. The voice only returned with a vengeance. How about, for once, you actually do something useful with your powers, instead of doing those pitiful witchy tricks and gimmicks. Do you know what you are capable of?

Oh no. “Please no, please just shut up.” he tried covering his ears, but there was no point in that.  Whoever the voice was, whether it be his father or his father's demonic servants, it was in his head. And it was taking over again. Michael hated not having control, especially over himself.

It always started like this, with the faint whispering and hissing.  And then if Michael listened long enough it would go on, filling his head like a toxic gas before it drowns him out and takes over. In those moments, he fades into the dark place and disappears.

You could bring the greatest mountains to kneel, could bring about the downfall of the greatest nations and their armies, befall millions with plagues and storms, could turn souls into ash if you so wished, yes...souls into ash, The Voice seemed to consider the last option, an insidious chuckle resounding in his head. And you only need use your mind.

Michael’s body began to tremble as something stronger than adrenaline coursed through his blood, sending chills down his spine.

You need to push yourself past anything you can do in this realm, the Voice reasoned. Conquer your ability in the realms that truly matter.

The last time he incinerated souls, it had been in this house, and he’d lost someone he cared for.  Ben Harmon, the father he’d always wanted but never had a chance to have.

Michael was paralyzed, something was holding him down. Then his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and darkness consumed him.

Whatever dwells between the realms of man and spirit, a soul should not tread upon. But this was no normal soul if it could even be called that.  A being that dwelled between both worlds and entered both the gates of hell and the gates of life with ease.  A realm that was a dark, hollow replica of both, filled with nothing but the lost and tormented, the damned who have yet to be damned and the saints who have yet to be saved.  The being walked with ease it did, marveling at the moaning and screaming and crying, and sicky-sweet laughter, a herald of a demise.

This was different.  Michael was still here, this time he had not faded into the dark. The Voice was guiding him in the netherworld, controlling not even his body but his spirit. What else could it control, if it so wished?  He might as well be dumb, deaf and blind.

There was a gloomy long hall, thick with fog, with an infinite amount of doors, but it only wanted one.  Whatever the being wanted he was obligated to want to, like master and slave.

He walked, footsteps loud enough for the damned to hear but none would harm him. All knew who his father was, all knew that they belonged to his father, and therefore belonged to him.  He stopped in front of the aforementioned door and opened.  There were other spirits in here. The apartment had a history, despite how recent that history was.  

The girl slept on the mattress in the living room, oblivious to all of them, oblivious to the kindred spirit that walked past her, down the hall and into her beloveds room.

He and the being looked over the frail body that dwelled there, listened to the leisurely taken breaths that echoed throughout the room. Do it, Michael, you know what you have to do.

It wasn't as if Michael had a choice. His hands moved on their own, hovering above the woman's body. An ancient tongue spilled from his lips that sounded like the crackling of ice on a winter lake.  The body began to spasm, the soul coming undone from its vessel. It rose, and rose, becoming an entity of its own, a weak one that didn't have an ounce of strength to fight back. The spirit levitated, before touching the ceiling, face looking downward below.  The woman's eyes were wide open, looking down at her body beneath her.  Her eyes flickered toward them then. The flesh that was her lips were sealed shut, becoming a patch of skin beneath the nose.  She wouldn't be able to scream her way awake, and the rest of her body was under their control. She wouldn't be able to wriggle her way awake either.  Meanwhile, her physical body was sound asleep.

Her lips may be sealed but her thoughts are as loud as ever. ‘It’s you, that boy. I knew it, I knew but I couldn't…’ the woman seemed more sound of mind than she did in the physical realm, even under the thumb of his power.  He could smell the fear and the anger but mostly the fear. That cold terror that caused a cold sweat to break out on her physical form. She so desperately wanted to return to it, but she couldn't, wouldn't. ‘Stay away from my daughter, stay away from me.’  The woman was crying now, but none would hear her.  Mallory was asleep, lost in her dreams of him.  ‘God save me.’ she pleaded. ‘Mallory save me.’

He felt rage, and humor, and regret for what he was about to do.  Other emotions that he was sure wasn't his own.

“I’m sorry,”

Are you Michael?

“I’m so sorry.”

Is that remorse I hear? Funny, I thought she didn't deserve the gift of life bestowed by your little angel. Hypocrite, you're being the very thing you hate. That was different, he thought. 

It’s always different, isn't it? it spat back venomously. Now do it. One finger alone and cancer will spread throughout her body remember? The Being, the Voice, the Darkness was forever the amplifier of his sinful thoughts.

And one finger he used. It was almost daunting, how impossibly still he rendered her body. A Metastasis cancer spread as quickly as brushfire, rattling her with tumors and a depressive sickness. The breathing had gone still, and so had the room. Her soul cried out for her daughter, each attempt futile.

He looked up at her, raising his hands toward her just as he spoke more of the ancient tongue, twisted and olden, more old and powerful than Latin itself. The language of Heaven and Hell. The woman would go to neither. Her soul caught flame, her ashes falling gracefully like snow, and she screamed bloody murder, a scream that no one could her except him. ‘MALLORY’ she screamed, and he laughed a sorrowful laugh, filled with pain and joy and self-disgust. The Voice laughed with him.

Ben was right, there was no saving him.

When he awoke, it was to the murderous sound of crows.

#my beginning and end started with you #chapter 3 #millory #mallory x michael #canon compliant #canon divergent au #im serious guys this is diverging far away from the show #there was so much they could have done #but ill do it my damn self #talk more on it later #don't be afraid to ask questions guys #might revise #my millory wip

[iamthegodofthenewworld]

Death Note characters as quotes by Chuck Palanhiuk

Misa:  You can’t fool people into loving you. // Choke

Near: We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. // Fight Club

Light: The world can be a lot bet­ter than we settle for. All you have to do is ask. // Survivor

Rem: That old saying, how you always kill the one you love, well, look, it works both ways. // Fight Club

Mello: I wanted to give up the idea I had any control. Shake things up. To be saved by chaos. To see if I could cope, I wanted to force myself to grow again. To explode my comfort zone. // Invisible monsters

B: More and more, it feels like I’m doing a really bad impersonation of myself. // Asfixia

L: For the record, knowing when people are only pretending to like you isn't such a great skill to have. // Diary

Mikami: I just want one person I can rescue and I want one person who needs me. Who can't live without me. I want to be a hero, but not just one time. // Choke

A: I am free to revise my story, to reinvent myself, my world, at any given moment. // Damned

Naomi: It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. // Diary

Matt: Recycling and speed-limits are bullshit. They’re like someone who quits smoking on his deathbed. // Fight Club

Ryuk: In a world where billions believe their deity conceived a mortal child with a virgin human, it's stunning how little imagination most people display. // Rant

#death note #light yagami #lawliet #misa amane #nate river #naomi #b #a #mello #matt #chuck palahniuk #books #quotes

[kenzieam]

The Reaper and the Vixen - Chapter Six (Eric X Fox)

Rating: M

Genre: Drama, Angst, Language

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

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The faint ringing of Eric’s cell phone roused him later. It was morning, sunlight streaming through the balcony doors and Eric was blissfully sore, satiated and satisfied in a way he could never remember feeling before.

After Fox’s declaration Eric had felt a visceral shock, a sudden tidal wave of emotions that swept over him. He’d been absolutely speechless, able only to draw Fox tighter to his body, crush her to him and hope that she somehow felt the power of his emotions flow through her, for love wasn’t anywhere near a strong enough word to express how Eric felt about her and he doubted he’d ever be able to accurately describe how deeply Fox affected him, how strongly his entire being had bonded to her. His mom’s theories about soulmates and searching through lifetimes for them didn’t seem so absurd now.

They’d twined sinuously together for hours through the night, making love, murmuring against each other’s sweat-slicked skin, bringing each other to peak after shuddering peak until they’d finally collapsed, beyond exhausted, limbs tangled together and simply passed out.

Rolling his head away from the noise drifted up from the main floor, Eric snuggled closer to Fox, burrowing his head further into her hair. Although they’d shifted slightly as they’d slept, they were still tangled together, legs laced through each others, Eric’s head nuzzled down into Fox’s throat, her hair a scented curtain caressing his cheek. Fuck, he could wake up like this every-

The landline on his bedside table started to ring now, a blaring, jarring, obnoxious cacophony. Fox jolted in her sleep, mumbling as her grip tightened on Eric’s shoulder and he groaned, rolling only far enough to reach out blindly for the shrieking little plastic bastard, pulling it to his ear and answering with an irritable grunt. This better be good.

“So, uh.. you comin’ to Church or are we holding it in your bedroom?” Four snickered.

“Shit.” Eric swore, slamming the phone down on Four’s raucous laughter. His movements startled Fox awake and her eyes opened wide, red-rimmed and puffy from sleep.

“Eric?”

“Shit, baby. I gotta go, Church today.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead Eric scrambled from the bed and ducked into the bathroom. He didn’t really have the time, but he couldn’t show up at Chapel absolutely reeking of sex and Fox, the guys would never let him forget it.

He was flying out again in minutes, body still dripping and grabbed his jeans, yarding them up his muscular legs, he was going commando today it seemed. Fox was gone, but he heard noises downstairs in the kitchen and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on as he half-raced, half-fell down the stairs. Fox was wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, her back to him, the curve of her ass just visible and Eric’s dick rubbed uncomfortably against his zipper. Shit, all he wanted to do was pin Fox to the counter in front of her and yank her shirt up while his dropped his jeans, driving inside her-

His cell chirped merrily, reminding him that he probably had a half-dozen missed calls from Four and double that in obnoxious texts. Fox turned, a shy smile on her face and held out a glass of orange juice. She’d dug out some oranges from his fridge, and even juiced them. Fuck baby, Eric thought, marry me. He loved fresh-squeezed orange juice, rarely remembered to make it. Accepting the glass he held it aloft while his other hand snaked around Fox’s waist and pulled her against him, drawing a shriek of delight as he whirled them in a circle, burrowing and nipping at her neck.

“I love you!” He crowed, caught on a sudden high. He could easily imagine waking up like this every morning, Fox snuggled in his arms, her sweet ass flashing him in the kitchen.

Fox giggled, nuzzling closer, wrapping her leg around his and sending a bolt of lust through him. He would have set the glass down and pushed Fox down onto the counter to ravish her if his eternally helpful cell didn’t suddenly chirp again, breaking through his blissful bubble.

“I gotta go, I’m sorry baby.”

Fox shook her head, she’d been visiting long enough to know about Church, the weekly club meeting. “You’re the President, of course you have to go.”

Eric pressed a kiss to her lips, savouring her taste and pulled back reluctantly. “Dinner tonight?” He murmured..

Fox nodded, “my place, come by around 7. I’ll lock the door here when I leave.”

Eric captured her mouth again and as he pulled away this time Fox’s fingers curled around his jaw, holding him close.

“I love you, I‘ve never told anyone that since Anthony, not even my family.” she whispered and Eric’s heart threatened to explode.

“Jesus Christ,” He groaned, almost giving into the desire to simply sweep Fox back up into his arms and carry her upstairs. He had never uttered the words before to anyone either, with the exception of his mother on her deathbed, but the words came easily now. “Fuck baby, I love you too.” Knowing it would only fuel his hunger instead of sate it, and leave him a blue-balled mess for the entirety of Church but needing to do it anyway, Eric pulled Fox to him, crushed his lips to hers and plunged his tongue insider her mouth, giving her a preview of what he planned to do tonight as his tongue fucked her mouth for a scorching but too-short time.

Pulling away with a growl Eric saw the same desire thundering in his veins smouldering in Fox’s and he turned, all but sprinted away. Snagging his boots on the way out the door he hopped first on one foot than the other, nearly crashing headfirst more than once before reaching his bike. Unable to stop himself anymore he glanced over, felt a swell of emotion as he saw Fox at the door, her hand raised. He blew a kiss back then fired up his bike and sped away.

Four was leaning against his bike, smoking when Eric roared up to the clubhouse. As Eric scrambled off and started jogging towards the building Four became almost hysterical, slapping his knee and howling with laughter.

“Shut up!” Eric grinned, slapping at Four’s head as he ran by.

Four snorted, shaking his head, choking his howls back to snickers. Pulling the joint from his mouth he pinched the end and set it behind his ear for later before following.

Eric burst into the Chapel, striding quickly to the podium at the front of the room. Catcalls and hoots followed him, his brothers as thoroughly amused as Four had been. Eric waved his hands good-naturedly, fighting a smile and waited for the room to quiet down.

“Alright, pay attention, assholes.” Eric called out, grinning and making the brothers laugh.

“First order of business-” Eric glanced at the notes in front of him, “the-”

“First order of business is whether or not you’re makin’ Fox your old lady or not!” Someone, Eric was pretty sure it was that pot-stirrer Four, shouted and Church again dissolved into a sugar-fueled kindergarten. Christ, for a bunch of hardcore bikers they sure behaved like gossipy old women sometimes. Eric whacked the gavel, something he rarely had either the inclination or the need to use. It wasn’t necessary to get his brother’s approval to ask Fox, like in some MCs, but it was nice to see their excitement. The club were brothers, closer than blood; a family, and a brother’s old lady fell under the protection of his brothers as well, it was satisfying to see the club’s enthusiasm for Fox becoming a part of them.

The squawking and laughter continued, like a fucking chicken coop Eric thought, and he banged the gavel harder, bellowing for quiet. Finally, with plenty of elbows and comical shushes, the men again fell relatively silent. All eyes were on Eric, and he might have felt nervous if he hadn’t already decided, didn’t already know in his bones that Fox was the one for him.

“You don’t ask her and someone else will,” Four chirped, laughing uproariously when Eric pointed the gavel mock-threateningly at him.

“Back to business.” Eric continued.

Church was fairly sane after that, the brothers settling down to business and the meeting concluded without any more teasing. The upcoming week was going to be relatively quiet, and for that Eric was grateful; he planned on spending every spare moment with Fox, beside her, on top of her, inside her-

“Got a sec, Reap?” Decker’s rough voice broke into his thoughts.

Eric shook his head to clear it and turned to him. “Yeah. Deck, what’d you find out?”

Decker smirked, his expression speaking a thousand words. “Found that jack-hole you wanted. Kid’s a little prick.”

Eric jerked his head to the nearest table. The other brothers had filtered out of the Chapel, leaving the two of them alone. It wouldn’t surprise Eric if Four poked his pointed head in to see what was up, but he was going to be in on this eventually anyway.

“Spill.”

Decker shook his head as he perused a few computer printouts. “Livin’ large out in ‘Lay right now. Like you said, designing shit for rich assholes. Some security, but not much; likes to show up at clubs and start flashing Benjamins. No wife or kids, no long-term anybody, couple cock-warmers but he never keeps them long. Looks like he gets a bit of a chub for gambling too, playing the ponies.”

“Doable?”

“Definitely.”

“Who’s doable?” Like he was conjured by Eric’s thoughts, Four poked his head in the room. Although he was a pain-in-the-ass, Four was still a hell of a biker and friend and wouldn’t have interrupted without knowing it was alright.

Eric jerked his chin. “Shut the door behind you.”

Four did, sauntering over; his relaxed postured hiding the tension in his eyes. Decker might not know him well enough to see it, but Eric could. With a groan he sat, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. His next words surprised Eric, he knew Four wasn’t nearly as stupid or immature as he liked to act, but he hadn’t realized his friend had been paying attention this closely. “We going after the fuck who hurt Fox?”

To Eric’s knowledge, Fox hadn’t told anyone but him, and he knew it wasn’t his secret to spill. “What makes you say that?” He asked carefully.

Four snorted. “I got eyes Reap. You and Fox are like Forrest Gump and Jenny; you start eye-fucking anytime you’re within a half-mile of each other. She’s not already your old lady and pregnant, so something’s keeping her scared. My money’s on some asshole from her past, now who?”

“Not my story to tell.”

“I don’t need details.”

“Fine. Some little bastard from university. Decker tracked him down and I plan on paying him a visit.”

“A visit?  Like the permanent kind?”

“Maybe, he certainly has it coming, but Deck here is still laying out the terrain, so shut up and listen.”

Four blew an air kiss back at Eric and turned his attention to the burly biker beside him. Deck was punching away at his phone, probably finding more dirt already and took a second to notice the bromance in front of him was on hold, waiting for him. He cleared his throat, sounding like gravel dragging over sandpaper.

“No real routine, no patterns; no one who’d immediately miss him. Give me a few more days to make sure, but it’s looking good.”

A cold satisfaction burned in Eric’s chest. “Good, keep me posted.” He stood at Decker’s distracted nod and Four stood with him, following him out.

“Fox ask you to?”

“No.”

“You gonna let her in on it?”

“Don’t know.”

“She might want the chance for payback.”

Eric hesitated. In his limited experience, Fox seemed too tender-hearted for that, and he would never push her, but he also wouldn’t stand in her way if she did.

“Tris is pretty worried about her; she can see something’s wrong, can’t figure out what.”

“Like I said, not my story to tell.”

Four nodded. They’d stepped back outside the clubhouse and he pulled the joint from his ear, a lighter appearing in his hand. He drew a few, then held it out for Eric. With a nod Eric accepted, toking deep once then passing it back.

Four took it between his calloused fingers, engine grease rimming his nails. “Seriously though Eric, things go good last night?”

Eric chuckled, cheeks pinking slightly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Four exhaled a thick cloud. “It was getting old watching you two circle each other. But you hurt her man, and it’s on. You might be my brother and my President, but I won’t have my baby’s family messed around with. Especially if she’s already had someone fuck around with her.”

A flash of annoyance hit Eric that Four could even entertain that possibility, but it was tempered by a fierce swell of emotion. Fox had a family that loved her, and, if she let Eric in, she’d gain even more family and love. Four’s warning was unnecessary, Eric would die before he hurt Fox; would kill before he let her be hurt by anyone.

He met Four’s eyes squarely. “Never. I will never hurt her, ever.”

Four nodded gravely, for once all humour gone from his eyes.

His phone beeped and Eric plucked it from his vest pocket, scanned the screen and couldn’t stop a small smile. The text wasn’t what did it, but the sender.

I’m on my way over to tell Tris.

You want me there?

No, I’ll be okay.... can you keep Four away for awhile though?

Yeah baby. I love you. His fingers tingled as he typed that out.

I love you too.

Shit, no matter what mood Eric found himself in, it would only take a few words from Fox to level him back out, the chance to hold her and nuzzle close the ultimate balm to his soul.

“Fox is going over to talk to Tris now.”

Four nodded, looking down as he stubbed out the roach on the ground. “Good, we’ll give them some time alone; wanna go for a ride?”

A faint tingle of excitement coursed through Eric, the weather was perfect for a ride, and he and Four were natural partners out there, always in sync, able to communicate silently, knowing what the other was thinking. Eric had been born an only child, but he and Four were brothers; closer than brothers, even before the club.

By silent agreement they returned to town a few hours later, rode directly to Four and Tris’ charming little California Bungalow with the full acre backyard and large, sheltering trees. A loud radio and Evan’s squeals and splashing in the backyard drew them there and Eric felt a flash of heated lust as his gaze fell upon Fox, laying on a towel in the sun. Her bikini was simple and black, mere triangles covering her most luscious places; begging Eric to run his fingertip along the ribbon trimmed edges. Evan was splashing in his wading pool and Tris lay beside Fox, decked out in a similar bikini, sky blue instead, but Eric’s eyes were glued to Fox, caressing her every curve with his eyes, mentally undressing her and licking every square inch of her soft skin-

Four elbowed him, hard and Eric looked away guiltily. He couldn’t help it, Fox existed, he was horny, it was a syndrome. Evan squealed as he spotted them and the girls sat up, lifting their sunglasses and turning their heads. Evan, still squealing, scrambled across the grass and launched himself at Four. Both girls stood and began walking towards them, and Eric’s eye was again drawn to Fox, her curves hypnotizing him, drawing him in. Tris moved faster, surprising Eric by completely ignoring Four and pulling Eric into a tight hug.

“Fox told me.” She whispered in his ear. “Thank you for listening, for being there.”

“You’re welcome,” Eric murmured back, “I’ll do anything for her.”

Tris pulled back enough to meet his eyes and smiled warmly, “I know,” she replied quietly. She stepped away and turned her attention to Four and Fox took the opportunity to step in front of Eric. Her cheeks went pink as the heat of Eric’s stare threatened to burn her. He reached out, fingers brushing the curve of her hips and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, burrowed his head into the crook of her neck.

“I missed you,” his voice was more of a rumble than a sound and Fox sighed against him.

“I missed you.” Her voice was barely audible.

Evan broke them apart, pushing between them with a child’s enthusiasm and tugging at his uncle’s vest. With a patience that surprised Fox Eric crouched, moving to eye level and focused completely on the boy. Fox didn’t catch what Evan was saying, but Eric seemed to understand and smiled widely at him.

“Later buddy, okay?” Eric asked, straightening, resting his massive hand on Evan’s wet head. “Evan wants to go for ice cream.”

Fox and Tris traded a glance and Fox cleared her throat, her eyes meeting Eric’s. “I’d like to talk to Four.... and we-” she glanced at Tris, “were hoping Evan could be occupied elsewhere.”

Eric understood. Fox was going to tell Four about Anthony, and Tris didn’t want Evan to accidentally overhear, or witness Four’s reaction if it was extreme. Eric wanted to stay at Fox’s side, but Fox’s eyes were pleading and he couldn’t say no. He would have to be content with holding her later.

Tris was murmuring to Four and he nodded, eyes flicking between Eric, Fox and his son. Gratitude flashed in his eyes.

“C’mon Evan, go get some dry clothes on and I’ll take you out for ice cream,” Eric announced, grinning madly, compelling Evan to yell and dash into the house.

Fox moved back to Eric’s side and he pulled her hard to him.

“You’ll be alright?” He murmured in her ear.

“Yeah, I just don’t want Evan to overhear, and if Four reacts badly, only Tris can calm him back down, you know that.”

Eric nodded, nuzzling closer. Four already suspected something, but it was true, he would listen to Tris above anyone else, calm like a placid beast at her soothing words. Eric now understood why, Fox was his own calm, his one he would hear over everyone else.

Evan reappeared, now sporting dry clothes and danced excitedly at Eric’s feet. Fox gave him a kiss on the cheek and a gentle push away. Eric leaned over quickly and kissed her again, shivering at the tingles it sent through him and stepped back, reaching for Evan’s hand.

“You got your helmet?”

“Forgot!” Evan turned and streaked back inside.

Fighting the impulse to stay, Eric started to walk towards his bike, glancing back over his shoulder and the courage he saw in Fox’s eyes only strengthened his love for her.

#eric coulter #jai courtney #divergent #eric divergent fanfiction #eric coulter fanfiction #fanfiction #eric and fox

[bughead-fic-request]

I would like to thank @leaalda for making these amazing banners.

This is an effort to spread the word about all fan fiction writers in our little fandom. If you would like to be featured or nominate a writer, please contact me. Please reblog this post if you can and check out some of @findingbetty work!

1. First things first, if someone wanted to read your stories where can they find them.

Find findingbetty on AO3.

2. Tell us a little about yourself.

My name is Annabel and I'm in the twenties club. I hail from the far reaches of New Zealand, a place every bit as green and beautiful they tell you. I’m technically a lawyer, though recently I retired at the ripe old age of 24 and ran away to Australia. Beyond examining the intricacies of my existential crisis, I’m a competitive rower. I also really like bagels.

3. What do you never leave home without?

I suppose my phone...depressing though that is. I wish I could at least say, like, my keys - if only to imply I can live a fulfilling life without my phone - but I locked myself out of my apartment twice last week. So that would be a lie.

4. Are you an early bird or a night owl?

Extra early bird. The kind that loves to hate getting up at 6am every morning to do a 20km training row before second breakfast.

5. If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?

I’m still waiting for my letter. I remain convinced my Owl just got a little lost on the way to New Zealand. There’s still time, though.

6. Who is the most famous person you’ve ever met.

Lorde. In the supermarket, back when she was still New Zealand’s best kept secret.

7. What are some of your favorite movies/TV?

I will never get tired of watching Friends. It’s the ultimate comfort for me. I also have a high level of appreciation for Girls, and I do like some Parks and Rec.  

I really like the familiarity and continuity of watching a series. As such, I don’t watch very many movies, but some favourites include Mistress America and Silver Linings Playbook.

I just like things that feel real.

8. What are some of your favorite bands/musicians?

Haim ❤️ Fleetwood Mac and John Mayer. Drake! I also like Kodaline, particularly their album In a Perfect World. I went to see Adele in March. It was the very last night of her tour and it rained torrentially. I was probably the least dry I have ever been in my entire life, but setting fire to the rain in a downpour was a glorious thing.

9. Favorite Books?

From a place of nostalgia, Harry Potter. Such a quintessential part of my childhood. Beyond that, I try to read quite broadly. I have one particular favourite that isn’t really representative of my preferred genre, but caters well to my particularly dry sense of humour - How to Be Good, by Nick Hornby.  

10. Favorite Food?

Pancakes.

11. Biggest pet peeve?

When people walk extra slowly and take up the entire footpath and won’t let me pass.  

12. What did you want to be when you were little? What do you want to be now?

As a child, I apparently professed wanting to be a writer. I used to think that was because some well-meaning adult told me that was what I wanted and I just believed them. But of late, I’ve wondered if perhaps I did actually dream that up myself.

I have since learned an affinity for writing can easily translate to a career in law, be that accidental or intentional. What is less easy is working out a more enjoyable alternative - I’m conscious running away to Australia is not a long term solution.

13. What are your biggest fears? Do you have any strange fears?

Failure. Regression toward the mean. Refreshing websites everyday for the rest of my life! Talking on the phone. All of these are the kind of inconvenient fears that will infiltrate and taint every aspect of your life if you let them.

More tangibly speaking, e a r t h q u a k e s. I feel like, statistically speaking, one is not likely to experience more than one major seismic event in a lifetime, but that doesn’t make going back to what’s left of my hometown any easier.

14. When you are on your deathbed what would be the one thing you’d regret not doing?

Anything I avoided out of fear of failure. See, it’s a vicious cycle!

For anyone else suffering this particular plight, I recommend reading/viewing The Fringe Benefits of Failure and the Importance of Imagination by JK Rowling.

Okay… lets talk about your writing!

15. Which is your favorite of the fics you've written for the Bughead fandom?

I’ve only written one story thus far, and it’s called Something to Tell You.

16. Which was the hardest to write, in terms of plot?

Well I have nothing to compare it to, but did struggle with writing Something to Tell You. Looking back, I kind of attribute that to the lack of plot. I wanted the characters to undergo reasonable change, but not in an especially dramatic way, and I didn't want it to be overshadowed by their circumstances. It was a hard balance to find.

I received mixed feedback about this particular aspect of the story. Many people liked the simplicity, but equally there were those that thought I rambled on for 20 chapters and that “nothing happened”. I appreciate there is no such thing as universal popularity, and having overcome the struggle of actually writing it I am now content with how everything unfolded.

17. How do you come up with the ideas for you fic(s)? Do you people watch? Listen to music? Get inspired by TV/movies?

Something to Tell You was founded heavily in experiences I had living with a group of friends who were every bit as quirky and interesting as the characters I tried to portray. I suppose I tend to write about what I know. I’ve largely made peace with that, but do worry it is fairly limiting and a somewhat insular approach.

18. Idea that you always wanted to write but could never make work?

Anything from Something to Tell You Jughead’s point of view. The entire story revolves around Betty not really knowing quite what to make of him, and his character is a construct of that to the extent that I just cannot find his voice.

19. Least favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

Clunky chapters. There were a few of them, but I’m not going to go back and look for them because it’s bad for my #complexes.

20. Favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

The Flowers and The Cheesecakes, and that’s largely because it was fun for me to write. It was also based on true events, memories of which evoke the best kind of nostalgia.

21.Favorite character to write?

Betty Cooper. It’s not too much of a stretch for me to see the world through her eyes.

22. Favorite line or lines of dialogue that you've written?

“He trades in intellect and wit.”

23. Best comment/review you’ve ever received?

When I started writing, it never really occurred to me that people would a) read it, b) like it or c) tell me so. Honestly, all your kind words make my heart sing. I've never been able to bring myself to actually read Something to Tell You in full, but I do go back and read your comments!

Those who reached out via private message to tell me how much Betty’s struggles meant to them were really special. I never expected that kind of a response, and was somewhat overwhelmed by it.

More specifically, I still remember and refer back to a comment by the lovely @village-skeptic, who I remain convinced understands my characters far better than I do. Below is an extract -

“Your version of this character is so multi-layered and distinctive, and yet it makes me think - this is what "I'm weird; I'm a weirdo" looks like without canon-Jughead's precise complications of self-loathing, trauma, deprivation, and precarity (or maybe with other off-setting factors?). It's just being quirky af, but also forthrightly kind, confident, ambitious, perceptive, and also part of a community.”

Sometimes I wish @village-skeptic was my high school English teacher.

24. How do you handle bad reviews or comments?

By refusing to ‘reblog Bughead’ and rearranging all of Veronica’s furniture.

25. If you could change anything in any of your stories, what would it be?

I try not to think this way, again because #complexes… but the first chapter of Something to Tell You. The one where nothing of substance really happened, because I truly didn’t think anyone was going to read it. Thanks to everyone who set aside that very obvious flaw and persisted.

26. What is your favorite story you’ve ever written? Any fandom?

I’m going to be optimistic and say I hope it will be something I write in the future. My magnum opus, or something.

27. What are you reading right now? Both fan fiction and general fiction?

I’m heavily invested in Vespertine by @yavannies, it’s absolutely wonderful. Please go and read it and leave a comment - I’m a big believer in always thanking the author for their efforts.

Out in the real world, How to Be Both by Ali Smith is sitting on my bedside table.

28. Do you have any advice for writers that want to get into this fandom but might be scared?

What is is that you're scared of?

I don't at all mean that to be dismissive - quite the contrary. I entertained a lifelong fear of writing before sitting down to write Something to Tell You. I was scared of expectations and judgement (be them real or imagined, my own or those of others).

I am still scared of both of these things, but I have also discovered that anonymity is wonderfully liberating. It allows you to write whatever you want, whenever you want. The more you do it, the easier it gets. And as long as you write for yourself, you can’t really go wrong.

Also, believe me when I say that people are wonderfully nice around here.

#bughead author spotlight #fan fiction #fan fiction writers #Bughead #bughead fanfiction #ao3 #betty cooper #jughead jones #jughead x betty #betty x jughead #riverdale #finding betty #something to tell you

[hanksterhillingtonexplained-blog]

Big E.T. in Arlen

Let’s start off with my very first video Big E.T. in Arlen. This video actually predates the Hankster Hillington channel, and was originally posted on a very different channel all the back in October of 2014. It never achieved more than a few hundred views, and when I decided to launch the Hankster Hillington channel a few months later, I reposted the video (along with the truly new Hank’s Waifu and You Only Dale Once), and for most people it was a brand new video. The opening joke of this YTP is simply “What if the opening of King of the Hill was boring?”. Basically, rather than having a time-lapse where many things happen, in this version nothing happens other than Hank, Dale, Bill, and Boomhauer looking all around. Truly, the pinnacle of clever comedy, I know.

The next joke, and the first proper bit of humor in this YTP begins with Hank exclaiming, “I heard a funny joke the other day.” The idea here is that Hank is reminiscing about the joke he heard, but isn’t going to tell his friends (or the audience) what it was. Really, this scene is just in here to set up the gag of Bill being destroyed by the ball. You think something will happen, but you aren’t sure what, so when Bill goes flying it should come as a big laugh, even if you have seen the real episode before. We see the ball fly past Hank, but it’s on screen for only 3 frames before cutting to Bill getting hit with it. This is quick enough to give the viewer the information they need so that the cut to Bill getting knocked over isn’t abrupt, but still fast enough that it feels instantaneous. Inside we get an assortment of more or less random jokes. We have Bobby lusting over Peggy’s giant breasts, “Warm Bulging Rains”, and Bill being pathetic before getting hit by another ball. There’s not much coherence to any of this. This was well before I started focusing on narrative driven humor, so these things are simply there to be funny without purpose. No more, no less. In the next scene we get our first of many sex jokes. This was well before I was comfortable showing any sort of real nudity in a video, so we have the brightness and coloring turned way down to simulate a dark room instead. It looks visually poor, but I think the dialogue works well despite that - especially  Hank falling asleep instantly after giving up on trying to pleasure Peggy.

“So what do you do? You just flick it?” The “Little Sister” song sequence that follows is nothing more than an excuse to showcase an underrated song I quite like. If there’s any joke here, it’s the unexpectedness of Bobby having a beautiful singing voice, perhaps juxtaposed against him holding a “black power” type fist pose. The scene of Bobby’s head expanding like a balloon before popping is supposed to be a physical manifestation of his ego. When Dale praises him it blows up, but it’s too much for him to handle and he “explodes” - quite literally. Dale sheds two tears here. Two are for Bobby’s beautiful song, and the third is for the death of Bobby himself. The “Joseph d-u-u-u-u-u-d-e” scene that follows is tantamount to filler. I couldn’t think a funnier follow up scene, so I stuck in this trite of Joseph’s vocals repeating quickly when he tries and is unable to correct himself from calling Peggy “dude”. Peggy’s reaction is supposed to be one of annoyance, and she quickly shuts Joseph without saying anything to him, but the whole scene doesn’t play well, and isn’t that funny. Luckily it’s over quick. The “Warm Buldging Rains” scene was supposed to be a little gag along the lines of, the YTP was bleeding into the actual real episode for a moment, before going back to the way it was. Or to put it another way, Big E.T. in Arlen is an alternate reality of the episode “Of Mice and Little Green Men”, and the other reality was peeking through for a moment. The joke doesn’t quite work however, and the typo doesn’t make it any better.

The next scene has a joke I really like. A man comes up to Peggy and asks, “Excuse me, is that seat free?”, and Peggy ever-so-slowly moves her purse into position before slamming it down on the empty chair. It’s unfortunate that the animation is so choppy here, because Peggy being a total bitch (and smiling at the pissed off guy) to a random stranger for basically no reason is pretty funny if you ask me. The cutaway to The Simpsons is a joke I would think twice about doing now. It’s funny as hell, but it feels like a bit of a tonal shift. Still, even if I would think twice about it, I would include a scene like it in a future video if I thought it was funny enough.

“Can you send a 13-year-old flowers?” If you look closely in this scene, you can see that Dale’s pants have some black lines, and a yellow spot on them. Likewise, his shoes have metallic stripes on them as well. The reason for this is because although this Dale was in the perfect pose to put in  this scene, he was partially obscured by some objects above him (he was originally on a mower, I believe) and I simply left those details in and hoped no one would notice. If I were making this video now, I would simply Photoshop those imperfections away, but I was young, naive, and needed the money.  (•﹏•) After a brief scene of more bitch Peggy (”Are you as nervous for Bobby as I am?”) we encounter that weird “Taters” scene that I for the life of me don’t recall how I came up with. It’s as bizarre to me as it is to all of you. I think it my thought process was something along the lines of “Wouldn’t it be funny if Peggy took a picture of Bobby, but it came out all real and grotesque”, and “Then the second time it comes out all real and cute”, but I honestly don’t remember for sure. We then come upon the “Go, Joe, Go!” scene, which isn’t really funny at all. The zoomed in Nancy face I thought was hilarious at the time, but now after having worked on so many YTPs and seeing so many off-model KotH characters, it just comes across as ordinary and boring to me.

So after another groan-worthy “Joe” joke, Dale and Hank get to talking, and Dale admits that Joseph isn’t his sus. This joke probably flew over the heads of most people, but the idea was that Dale calls Joseph his “sus” as a reference to all those older KotH YTPs where everyone would say “sus” and “yay”. Hank doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t understand what Dale means, before Dale corrects himself, by saying “son” instead. Luckily, this is followed up by an always hilarious gasp by Hank as he looks nervously back and forth, with Dale then stating, “Well, I didn’t impregnate Nancy’s pussy. So who did?” The word “pussy” fits so well into that sentence, you’ll almost wonder why it was never there to begin with. Okay, maybe not, but it feels more natural than having a character say “cock” out of nowhere like in some older YTPs. Anyway, the whole point of this scene is to imply (correctly) that Hank had an affair with Nancy and is in fact Joseph's father. Hank pulls the word “spacemen” out of his ass to try and cover his tracks, and Dale ignorantly believes him. Yet somehow Hank is completely right. Joseph is an alien, and he attacks Dale when confronted about this. Personally, I always like to think of Joseph lifting Dale up and breaking his back Bane / Batman style, but you can interpret it however you like. Next is a Big Wolf on Campus parody. I use the term “parody” lightly, as it’s basically just the theme song set to a bunch of clips from King of the Hill. It’s not a parody; it’s an AMV. You wouldn’t be surprised to see Vegeta powering up to Linkin Park at this point. To make matters worse, I didn’t have many episodes to work with at the time, so the clips in the sequence are all mostly from the same episode. It’s boring as hell in my opinion. I’ve never even seen Big Wolf, I just like the song. But unlike the earlier Rufus Wainwright tune, I feel this song was a mistake to include. The only positive that came out of it was Joseph’s scream at the end as he pops up in front of the title card, which I liked enough to keep as the thumbnail.

Some music from South Park plays as Hank enters the hospital. There’s this weird little scene where Hank talks with the receptionist that goes absolutely nowhere. You would be right to assume she’s talking with Dale, based on what happens in the next scene, but considering Dale is on his deathbed, I doubt he has the strength to even use the phone. Dale admits to knowing about Hank’s infidelity, and Hank apologizes before he dies. Hank then oddly smiles and walks away silently upon seeing his best friend die. This isn’t a joke. I just forget to add in footsteps and the sound of the door closing. I probably should’ve edited his face too to make him look more glum about this whole thing. But it turns out that Dale Winchester isn’t actually dead, but is now a demon! We see an extended sequence of fan girls reacting to the Gribble heartthrob dying and being resurrected as an agent of darkness. Personally, I think the whole thing goes on a little too long, but it was hard to trim it down, as it’s all buildup to the final scene where the two girls majorly overreact to Dale’s death. Funny enough, the girl from that finale clip actaully found out about this YouTube Poop and approved of her appearance in it. Who’da thunk it. (If you haven’t figured it out, those are actually reactions to the Supernatural season 9 finale, but with Dale taking the place of Dean who died and became a demon.)

“I don’t like this show anymore.” Dale uses his newfound second chance at life to live out his best Charles Whitman, in probably one of the funniest scenes in the episode. He blows off Bill’s head mid-sentence leaving a peeved Peggy on the other line to ponder Bill’s rudeness in hanging up on her. There aren’t any jokes in this scene. It’s just an excuse for Dale to be badass as he takes on the police and everyone in town. And honestly, I wouldn’t cut it for the world. I love this scene. It’s followed by a weird little snip of one of the Gun Club members saying “The police aren’t trained for this”, followed by them leaving, which seems like it’s going to set up another scene. I wish I could say that I put it in as a red herring so the ending would come as a surprise, but I actually forgot I had it in there, and didn’t remember to resolve the Gun Club subplot. Not that there was any story there to begin with. We then get a scene of Dale killing an unseen hostage (I probably should’ve put her body in a later scene), followed by the police shooting knockout gas at him. Cue shocked reactions from the cast. The idea here was that this would be a Dragon Ball Z-esque moment where all the characters are speechless by Dale’s new form, in which he’s able to withstand the police’s most toxic fumes, and they’re forced to think what they’re feeling instead of stating them aloud. It’s all very silly, but I feel like it works.

“The Dale we knew no longer exists.” Another funny little note... In the scene where the gas canister is shot into the tower, you can see Dale talking to someone, but we can’t hear his words. Perhaps he’s talking to the demon inhabiting his body? Perhaps he’s truly gone crazy? Or perhaps I simply forgot to put dialogue in that scene. It’s up to interpretation, and I think scholars will be debating it for years to come. In the finale, we get Hank slide-whistling his way up to try and talk Dale down. The scene takes itself fairly seriously, which is completely intentional. If there’s even a core of real emotion in this, it’s in this brief moment where the music kicks in, and Hank admits to his wrongdoings. It’s all set up to contrast what comes next. Curiosity gets the best ol’ Robert Hill, and in the ensuing struggle, the gun discharges shooting Hank, and causing him to fall to his death.

Hank’s dead. The end. We don’t get a resolution to the story. Much like life, it simply ends when it ends. I actually play (almost) the entire credits sequence set to  Blue Öyster Cult’s 1976 hit song “Don’t Fear the Reaper” to try to give it the feel like you were watching an actual episode of the show. This includes showing the production cards and 20th Century Fox logo with even a voice-over at the end of Bobby saying “Taters” and Joseph screaming his alien scream to mimic the actual show replaying a quote from the episode at the end. Honestly, I feel now that no one will actually watch the entire credits to the end, and most people will jump to another video or exit, so after this I shorted the credits when I used them before doing away with the idea completely (only bringing it back one last time for Metal Dale.) And that’s it. The first video that kicked off the Hankster Hilington channel you all know and love today. Ye-ep.

#King of the Hill #KotH #Hank Hill #Dale Gribble #Hankster Hillington #Big E.T. in Arlen #YouTube Poop #YTP

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, March 30-Sunday, March 31

XANDER: Anya, look around! There's ghosts and shaking, and people are going all Felicity with their hair... We're fresh out of superpeople, and somebody's gotta go back in there. (Deep breath) Now who's with me? (Willow and Tara hesitate.) SPIKE: I am. (Everyone looks at Spike in surprise.) SPIKE: I know I'm not the first choice for heroics ... (drops his cigarette and grinds it out with his foot) and Buffy's tried to kill me more than once. And, I don't fancy a single one of you at all. But... (pauses) Actually, all that sounds pretty convincing. (Frowns, shakes his head and walks away.) I wonder if Danger Mouse is on.

~~Where the Wild Things Are~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

The Lie (Xander, M) by CantSpeakFae

Stories and Lies (Andrew, G) by reconditarmonia

the end of the world (for everyone but us) (Buffy/Faith, not rated) by sevensevan

Summer(s on its deathbed) (Xander, M) by CantSpeakFae

These Cursed Things (Giles/Ethan, crossover with Sherlock, T) by eloquated

Remember Me As I Was (Multiple pairings, crossover with The Crow, not rated) by Crowsims

a stolen kiss (Ripper/Ethan, not rated) by themarkofeyghon

Dead Girl Walking (Spike/Reader, not rated) by Charlotte

Distress (Oz/Reader, not rated) by Charlotte

Prompt: The Scooby gang finds out that they have powers to turn monsters back into humans, which coincidentally looks like they're unmasking someone. (Buffy/Angel, not rated) by hippokuda

[Chaptered Fiction]

Mine, Chapters 1-3 COMPLETE (Buffy/Spike, not rated) by wolf_shadoe

Too Good to Be True, Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, T) by Slayerette16

Beer Very Bad, Chapter 39 (Tara/Willow, T) by Golden Waffles

Big Brother, Chapter 1 (Scoobies, T) by DiscordantSymphony

Sam Rosenburg and the Shadow Demon, Chapter 2 (Tara/Willow, T) by charmedfan120

Stuck in Sunnydale, Chapter 6 (Willow, T) by WestSunnydale

Notes from the Hellmouth, Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by All4Spike

I Dream of Spikey, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by bewildered

Liebestod, Chapter 20-21 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Iamblichus

Unburied Hearts, Chapter 6 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Fancyflautist

Need a second to breathe, Chapter 18-19 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Axell

No Happily Ever After, Chapter 53-54 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Irishrose

Beloved, Chapter 69 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by spikes_heart

The Darkling, Chapter 42 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by OffYourBird

Hindsight, Chapter 142 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Toften

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Buffy portrait by Foxy

Artwork: We Can Slay It tattoo by shes-elecktric

Manip: Giles GQ cover by 51kas81

Video: Mustard On My Shirt - Karaoke - Buffy: Once More With Feeling by Phizzy

[Reviews & Recaps]

Best of/Worst of... Angel & Faith character moments (Season 10, Issue 8) by harsens-rob

Best of/Worst of Buffy Character Moments (Season 10, Issue 9) by harsens-rob

[Community Announcements]

Pimping ... A new multi fandom big bang community, multifandom_bb by blondebitz

[Fandom Discussions]

More Links Than A Bag Of Sausages (Spuffy fic rec) by petzipellepingo

Rec: Fannon Fodder by Bellatemple rec'd by redrikki

Re: Do you want Faith and Fuffy in the reboot comics? by baumanhp

Angel telling Xander he can't revive Buffy because he doesn't have breath by 5wordsorless

I just really love the atmosphere and aesthetic of season 1 buffy by buffy-ask-me-how

Really the only foreshadowing we ever needed...To prove that spike was going to become obsessively in love with Buffy by sunnydelena

Question for the Bangelfolk - Spuffy in the comics by Multiple posters

If "Angel" Had Been Canceled First... by Multiple posters

Missing the high school years by Multiple posters

The new take on Willow by Multiple posters

Book Club: Soul Trade by Multiple posters

Discussion of 2.01 "When She Was Bad" by RDHWesley

Discussion of 2.02 "Some Assembly Required" by RDHWesley

Running Gags by Multiple posters

Making it up as they went along - What was/wasn't planned by Multiple posters

So you're stranded on a desert island with a fanfic to read... by Multiple posters

Discussion: Do You Believe? by Rebcake by Multiple posters

Favourite Podcasts by Multiple posters

We all become Giles. by Jayseaelle

Has anyone noticed that vampires and slayers are basically two different sides of the same coin? by nisillex

Buffy/Faith ship by swiftie2402

Smartest man in the Buffyverse by mrekho

Santa Clarita Diet And Buffy by operationjukebox

#btvs #ats #buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series