#you’re all waiting to die in the place you were born I guess

[revengeromance]

yeah for real though all my haters are literally just mad at the eventuality that they will one day become nothing besides someone waiting to die where they were born

#haters being the people at school who are saying rude things about me behind my back? #especially when I haven’t talked to them in a year #don’t even get me started on my ex he is so well liked somehow and I am disliked by his friends #which makes me wonder how I’m perceived #that is probably why I forget I’m the one who broke up with him because somehow I ended up being socially ostracized even though he cheated #anyway… #you’re all waiting to die in the place you were born I guess #also boy you (<-my ex) are a senior in high school go apply to college #stop letting your junior ex boyfriend who you cheated on ruin your day #tell you one thing that dude never looks happy #like he actually gets pissed off by my presence it’s crazy

[library-seraph]

Griddlehark Playlist

What the title says, primarily about their relationship although there are a few individualized songs

(very heavily Harrow the ninth biased, which is the most romantic book despite or because of one member of the couple not being to able to remember the other)

Liner notes below cut, also, this is a perpetual WIP like all my playlists

Lioness- The World Is a Beautiful Place and I am Not Afraid to Die

When I was with you we were an estuary I don’t know if I come from the river or the sea All I know is you are both my opposite and my reflection

We were two bodies Running out of room in this world We carved space in ourselves for the other to borrow, for the other to burrow I wake up sometimes with ghost traces of your lips on my bones

Cosmia- Joanna Newsom (Joanna Newsom isn't on Spotify, track these down elsewhere)

Water were your limbs And the fire was your hair — And then the moonlight caught your eye And you rose through the air Well, if you've seen true light Then this is my prayer:

Will you call me, when you get there?

And I miss your precious heart;

NFWMB- Hozier

Give your heart and soul to charity 'Cause the rest of you The best of you Honey, belongs to me

If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you Held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Daughter of God- Phemiec

Doubt’s an elastic that snaps where you grasp it With idle hands clasped on your wrist just as sharp as A kiss on the scar where you carved out her name Or a line that is straight and confined to your fate You’re resigned to be damned by your hand in her hand She will hold you as soft as a feather on water You float on her fingers, she pulls you apart It’s not hard, it won't hurt, it’s not right for a daughter of god

There is a Light that Never Goes Out- Dum Dum Girls (cover)

And in the darkened underpass I thought oh, God, my chance has come at last But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask

And if a double-decker bus Crashes into us To die by your side Is such a heavenly way to die

Take Me to Church- Hozier (I'm allowed two screamingly obvious songs)

We were born sick, you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom" The only heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well

Never Let Me Go- Florence+ the Machine (This is the other one)

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me And all this devotion was rushing out of me And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me But the arms of the ocean delivered me

The Only Thing- Sufjan Stevens

Do I care if I survive this? Bury the dead where they’re found In a veil of great surprises, I wonder did you love me at all?

Should I tear my eyes out now? Everything I see returns to you, somehow Should I tear my heart out now? Everything I feel returns to you, somehow I want to save you from your sorrow

Los Ageless (Piano Version)- St. Vincent

How can anybody have you? How can anybody have you and lose you? How can anybody have you and lose you And not lose their mind too?

I guess that's just me, honey, I guess that's how I'm built I try to tell you I love you but it comes out all sick I guess that's just me, honey, I guess that's how I'm built I try to write you a love song but it comes out a lament

Running up that Hill- Kate Bush (Okay, three)

You don't wanna hurt me But see how deep the bullet lies Unaware, I'm tearin' you asunder Oh, there is thunder in our hearts Is there so much hate for the ones we love? Oh, tell me, we both matter, don't we?

New Ceremony- Dry the River

I waited by your bedside And couldn't close my eyes all night I named you like a prayer It's anybody's guess how The angel of doubt came down And crept into your bed But after we danced to the shipping forecast The words escaped your mouth: "I know it's gotta stop, love, but I don't know how."

Now the stairs forget your shoes And the gate don't creak for want of you But the jury's out on me We're wise beyond our years But we're good at bad ideas, my love Or so it seems to be

OH ANNA- The Microphones

Oh Anna, take me in with water arms surround me, blow your breezy charms around me Oh Anna, you're a house of many rooms and all the secrets deep entombed within you I know a few

Oh Anna, take me to your eerie heights above, paint white letters "I you love" Oh Anna, drop me off a cliff I fall

Weights and Measures- Dry the River

I was prepared to love you And never expect anything of you There's no patron saint of silent restraint Baby there ain't no sword in our lake Just a funeral wake

Just because we're beasts of blame by nature Doesn't mean that you should carry it again It's a question of needs and not rosary beads in the end

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross- Sufjan Stevens

Drag me to hell in the valley of The Dalles Like my mother Give wings to a stone It’s only the shadow of a cross

I slept on my back in the shade of the meadowlark Like a champion Get drunk to get laid I take one more hit when you depart

The Bomb- Florence+ the Machine (This is "Kiriona Gaia has been abandoned by everybody except two of the worst people in canon and everything except being a warcrimes corpse puppet and she's TOTALLY FINE with that, honest")

But if I was free to love you You wouldn't want me, would you? Unavailability is the only thing that turns you on Come here, baby, tell me that I'm wrong

I've blown apart my life for you And bodies hit the floor for you And break me, shake me, devastate me Come here, baby, tell me that I'm wrong I don't love you, I just love the bomb (Oh, oh, oh) I let it burn, but it just had to be done (Oh, oh, oh) And I'm in ruins, but is it what I wanted all along? Sometimes, you get the girl, sometimes, you get the song

Francesca- Hozier

Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darlin', I'd scare so easily? Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm since I was born How could I fear any hurricane?

If someone asked me at the end I'd tell them, "Put me back in it" (Da-ah, darlin') I would do it again (Ah-ah, ah-ah) If I could hold you for a minute (Da-ah, darlin') I'd go through it again (Ah-ah, ah-ah)

In a Sweater Poorly Knit- mewithoutYou

You're a door-without-a-key, a field-without-a-fence You made a holy fool of me and I've thanked you ever since And if she comes circling back we'll end where we'd begun Like two pennies on the train track the train crushed into one But if I'm a crown without a king, if I'm a broken open seed If I come without a thing, then I come with all I need No boat out in the blue, no place to rest your head The trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead

Kept Woman- Fleet Foxes (Tbh this is probably the soundtrack to the ideal stigmata fisting/heart regrowing scene)

God above saw, ever in the mind Blue and white irises in a line Under your nameless shame I left you in frame, and you rose to be ossified As a Rose of the Oceanside

Can you be slow for a little while? Widow your soul for another mile? I'm just the same as when You saw me back then And we're bound to be reconciled We're bound to be reconciled

The Chain- Fleetwood Mac

And if you don't love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you sayin' You would never break the chain (Never break the chain) And if you don't love me now (You don't love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you sayin' (Still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (Never break the chain)

Time as a Symptom- Joanna Newsom

So it would seem to be true: When cruel birth debases, we forget When cruel death debases We believe it erases all the rest That precedes

In the nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating Joy of life; The nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating Joy of life

#the locked tomb #playlist #Spotify #orig post #griddlehark #gideon x harrow #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #fave chars

[fliptoast]

The New Librarian

“Someone new landed on the shores last night, and they found the key” “I thought that old place burned down” “You know as well as anyone that place will not be done in by means of any old flame” “I suppose, but are you saying they’re going to fix it by themselves” “Come on mate, your mum was the one who told me stories of the last one, they’re always freaky, and this one is already recruiting” “Would you take a job from them?” “Not in a million years”

“They’re an old friend. I knew them back when I was a lad” “Rector, you are approaching fifty. They didn’t even look thirty” “I know you read the books in my study. If you want to ask the question, I request you do it outright” “Fine. What are they?” “Much better. I must admit I’m not quite sure myself. I have theories, ideas they always refused to confirm or deny, but I can say with confidence they are not human” “Not human?” “Not entirely at least. My best guess is that their parents committed the Crime and they somehow survived to adulthood. It explains their appearance, and why they could even find the key in the first place” “But it’s just a key. It’s just that no one was looking” “You got your causality all mixed up. No one was looking because the key is as elusive as the rest of that place. We would never find the key, yet they walked the beachside and found it instantly, like it was waiting for them.” “Was it?” “Don’t be daft it’s a key, it can’t think.” “So something else was waiting for them with the key” “Exactly.”

“Dear, they’re back” “Oh lovely! Did they say why?” “Said they needed help with their garden again” “Lordy how many gardens can that place have? It never seems that big until you’re inside it” “Before you leave, can you lay off the wine this time? You were quite a mess last time you came back” “I ain’t promising you nothing, if the host offers it would be rude to refuse” “I’ll see you tonight then”

“Why do you help them for such a small fee? I know you Denzel, you’re not the helpful type” “They took off their coat when Timmy introduced us. They had scars up and down their back and arms. I’d betcha anything their front and legs are covered in ‘em too.” “So” “I’m a veteran of a war you’ve never heard of. I left that world but I’m pretty sure they were born into it and they’ll die in it too. They weren’t drafted, they got no say in when their fight started and they got no idea when it’ll end. If they need me to move some boxes, you best believe I’ll fuckin move them boxes for ‘em.”

“Hello” “So you’re the newcomer then” “Yes” “That place has been expecting you” “I know.” “Not much of a talker, are you? Well, here’s what I got for ya.” “Thank you” “You’re welcome, and may I be the first to welcome you, Librarian”

#book of hours #cultist simulator #weather factory

[that-punk-adam]

I wish there was a better way of just…. [vague hand gestures]

Housing. Is such a pain. To get and maintain.

Rent. You never own it. $1.4k a MONTH for a poorly designed and maintained closet with NO amenities included in that rent. A single person cannot afford to live alone anymore because I guess we decided to not start burning shit down once $7.20 is a federal minimum that isn’t sustaining whatsoever. It can pay a phone bill and feed you some days. Car insurance, gasoline, maintenance on a car, food, water, gas (utility), electric. You’re super lucky if you’re going to get 3k a month after taxes.

I had to hunt online for housing. I had to apply to places, average $25-50, to get denied at most because husband doesn’t have a job because he wasn’t living in the city full time. You need a car to go ANYWHERE in this fucking country. Car = insurance, payment, gasoline, maintenance. $500? $600? $800? On top of rent + bills. On a single income just a tad over 2.3k after taxes. We didn’t have a vehicle for a while and when we asked (begged) my in-laws (his sister + her wife) for help with a car, they had to drive to Kentucky for the cheapest thing they could find bc there was no way in hell for me to save anything. Nothing at all. After the online nonsense we had to wake up as early as possible for him to drive to these locations, all 20+ minutes away from each other, on a crunched schedule, on what would be considered a ‘last moments notice’. If I was on a 9-5 schedule there would have been zero hope of ever getting out of my parents house short of running away because the modern world only runs between 9a to 6p.

Finally, a paid off car. In-laws back into it and bust the radiator to hell. Totaled. No car. We didn’t even get the insurance and title switched over. They were going not even 5 miles and killed it. Now on our own we won’t ever have a car unless he can work (????) and we manage to have no accidents or try to enjoy life too much.

I was 2 minutes late today after waiting on a ride that took almost 15 minutes to get to the unit we finally managed to get. The second driver got to my workplace as fast as he could but it was still 2 minutes too late. The apartment hunting made me late repeatedly. We almost had a roommate and I had to be late for that too. I was so sick I couldn’t even be awake 2 times in the span of 2 months and I’m convinced it was a nasty variant of covid. Testing isn’t accurate anymore and those tests cost $20/each, not (100%) covered by insurance, and you ‘should’ use at least 4 tests over the span of 3 days.

Y’all. I have only been in the work force for 4 ish years and I am ready to retire. If I loose this position I’m not even going to attempt to look for anything else. I’m going to leave society and if I die then oh well. The concept of being born for the purpose of working until you die is the most cruel and unethical thing I could ever do to another human being. I love my hypothetical children so much that they will never exist. I love my hypothetical children that I will do everything in my power to make sure they are never conceived. There is nothing worst then to be born into this form of slavery and to never to be able to opt out of it except for death.

#long post #vent #tw vent #anti capatilism #anti capitalist #capitalist hell #up the punkx #ask to tag #feel free to reply

[casanovawrites]

the walking dead ↳ season 11c sentence prompts 

❝ they don’t have any proof... yet. ❞

❝ stocked with supplies, like you asked. ❞

❝ i need you today. ❞

❝ i’ve heard a lot of stories about when the world fell. there were more dead than the living, and it started to look like the world would go cold. ❞

❝ some people survived by connecting with each other. others gave in to the darkness. ❞

❝ shit is upside down around here. ❞

❝ hope is running low, and the longer we're out here having these debates, the more our families back home are at risk. ❞

❝ this could get ugly. we need to be ready to help these people if it goes sideways. ❞

❝ right now, we got to play the quiet game. ❞

❝ from the beginning, you’ve seen this place for what it is. ❞

❝ you’ve never stood for bullshit. it’s one of your better qualities. ❞

❝ we’ve made it through a lot by knowing when is good to go.  ❞

❝ you’re so stubborn. ❞

❝ not one of my better qualities, but you never seemed to mind. ❞

❝ i told you i shouldn’t have come here. ❞

❝ well, i’m here to save your asses. ❞

❝ it’s hard to trust when anyone can go at any time. but the people who die and the people who go aren’t lost forever. ❞

❝ remembering their voices is how we keep them alive. ❞

❝ you never seemed to have a problem with how i got the job done before. ❞

❝ whatever game you’re playing, i’m very much in it. ❞

❝ i never thanked you for saving me. ❞

❝ what about everyone else here? shouldn’t we stay and help them? ❞

❝ you’d rather run away than stay and fight. ❞

❝ my place is here. ❞

❝ you gave me a second chance to do a whole lot more, so that’s what i’m gonna do. ❞

❝ i’m fairly familiar with guilt’s burden. ❞

❝ i got used to feeling like maybe everything would always be the same. ❞

❝ after all this, why shouldn’t we try for something better? thinking like that actually makes me feel good. maybe we could actually change things. ❞

❝ i want us to be safe. ❞

❝ you just wanted to be alone. i get it. i used to have a spot like this when i wanted to hide and not go home. ❞

❝ i don’t mind being alone. sometimes i like it better, gives you time to think. figure things out, i guess. ❞

❝ i don’t know what i’m doing, but i’m trying really hard. ❞

❝ i wish things were like how you want them to be. that’s the way they should be, but they aren’t. ❞

❝ sometimes i wonder if it takes more courage to live or die. ❞

❝ who we are now, the choices we make now, maybe that’s all that matters. ❞

❝ so you don’t know me, i don’t know you, we’re just... we’re strangers, huh? ❞

❝ can you walk? are you okay? ❞

❝ you sure you don’t want to get some rest? ❞

❝ i used to be married once. well, not legally, but yeah. i guess i don’t really talk about it much anymore. ❞

❝ when we met, there was just this instant connection. ❞

❝ loss is inevitable. it always has been. the only thing we can control is when we say yes. ❞

❝ i’m a liability. always have been. relying on others to survive, counting on their courage due to a dearth of my own. ❞

❝ do you think people are born brave or become it? ❞

❝ i took a gamble, and yes, it didn’t go the way i thought. ❞

❝ i don’t want you to leave. ❞

❝ it’s all such a shit show. ❞

❝ fuck that thinking. it could be better too. it should be. ❞

❝ right now, i’m the biggest threat you have. ❞

❝ there isn’t some kind of ‘justice’ waiting around the corner. ❞

❝ sunlight is supposed to be the best disinfectant, right? ❞

❝ what choice do you have? ❞

❝ it’s not acceptance. it’s survival. ❞

❝ there’s always a path. always a way out. ❞

❝ i’ll show you. you don’t trust me, i get it, but i know a way. ❞

❝ it’s okay. i made my choices and my bed. now i must lie in it. ❞

❝ until i find my people, there is no ‘after.’ ❞

❝ what about the kids? are you really going to deny them their only chance for the kind of life we took for granted? ❞

❝ doesn’t the next generation deserve better than the one before? otherwise, what’s the point?❞

❝ sorry, the lights went out. i thought you were right behind me. ❞

❝ that’s all you’re going to get. a chance. it’s more than you deserve. ❞

❝ i won’t make it out there. ❞

❝ you wanna die quick, or you wanna die screaming? ❞

❝ we’re gonna take back our home and make it right. ❞

❝ are you with me? ❞

❝ i’m with you. ❞ 

❝ i thought i recognized your footsteps. ❞

❝ you know me a little too well. ❞

❝ didn’t we already say goodbye? ❞

❝ this is your redemption. this is your salvation. ❞

❝ i don’t think i can do that - sit tight. ❞

❝ fear can make us do things that bring shame. could also push us into the light. ❞

❝ it was the worst day of my life. ❞

❝ we’re good. we made it. ❞

❝ came to convince you to do the right thing. ❞

❝ sometimes i think it wasn’t even fair to bring my kid into this world. was i being selfish? ❞

❝ you will always try to make the world better for your kid(s), because of them and for them. that’s hope. ❞

❝ this world is broken, but we don’t have to be. ❞

❝ we have to put our shit aside and work together. ❞

❝ this family, my family, would do anything to protect each other. ❞

❝ you’re thinking about what’s after. it’s a good thing. maybe we could all do a little more of that. ❞

❝ society threw you away. you were desperate and mad. i’ve been there. ❞

❝ i shouldn’t have hurt people. shouldn’t have done a lot of things. ❞

❝ i’m not even supposed to be here. the dead came for me, and yet i smile. war came from me, and yet i smile.❞

❝ yet i smile. i try to, anyway. i try. ❞

❝ i don’t want to live out whatever days i got left in bitterness. you know? ❞

❝ you know it happened to me. i made it all right, yeah? ❞

❝ we’re gonna get you through this. ❞

❝ don’t sweat it. you’ve lost enough. ❞

❝ i’m here, i’m here. ❞

❝ we could do more. ❞

❝ you know, people die. cities fall. things just don’t work out. people tell me they do, but they don’t. ❞

❝ i haven’t given up hope. ❞

❝ people are dying. i can’t just stand by. ❞

❝ i want you to pull your shit together, okay? because i’m still right here, and you’re gonna be fine. ❞

❝ i’m fine, like you promised. ❞

❝ i’ll never love anyone like that again. ❞

❝ i can stop wondering if i can ever forgive you, ‘cause i know now... i can’t. ❞

❝ i don’t want to hate you anymore. i don’t want to hurt like that. ❞

❝ i wouldn’t be the person i am today if i hadn’t met you. ❞

❝ i never thought we’d get back to any of this. i had hope, but we’re all very lucky. ❞

❝ it’s not luck. it’s effort. we have a lot to be proud of. ❞

❝ it’s not like we’re never gonna see each other again. ❞

❝ i’m allowed to be a little sad. ❞

❝ you’re my best friend. ❞

❝ you deserve a happy ending, too. ❞

❝ i think about the dead all the time. and about the living, who i lost. ❞

❝ we get to start over. we’re the ones who live. ❞

#ask meme #meme #ask prompts #rp prompts #rp prompt #sentence prompts #sentence meme #twd prompts

[murderousxcoffee]

My Dearest Adversaries Ch1 [Dilf!PolyGhostface x Reincarnated Sidney!Reader]

Prologue

Thanks to @brahmsheelshireshusband for the great name! No CWs apply, I think

Man, people used to tell you, you’ve got one hell of a future waiting for you.

You didn’t believe that then. You don’t believe it now, sitting on the floor of your shitty apartment, eating Chinese takeout. But things could be worse. God knows they could be so much worse.

It’s been less than two weeks since you moved in. Probably should’ve stayed in a campus dorm, but the thought of being around people made your skin crawl. Besides, this complex is nothing but college students and college dropouts and what you’re guessing are the two professors you saw not long ago. 

People here are, uh, nice. You think. You’re not really the best at making friends, ‘cause of the nightmares and stuff. But you’ve got a friendly next door neighbor, and someone invited you over for pizza sometime. Everyone seems to know everyone else, and they seem open to knowing you, too. Cool?

Maybe you should try and tone down the cynicism. You don’t have any reason to be cynical anymore, anyway. And yet…

Somewhere in your heart, a snake is coiled tight. It’s always there, that tight binding of anger, inescapable, insatiable. It has been there since you were born, and it will be there, you know it will be there, when you die. You were, after all, born to die, you know this. That’s the knowledge you’ve carried since even before the murders of your parents. That you’re here to die, and you’re not going to die alone.

Your phone rings. You glance at the screen. UNKNOWN CALLER, it reads in big fat letters.

You go back to eating.

The phone rings on.

Eventually, they’ll get bored, you tell yourself.

The phone rings on.

Eventually that telemarketer will give up.

The phone rings on.

Damn, this guy’s persistent.

The phone rings on.

The coils tighten around your heart. You look at the screen again.

You set your food down on the blanket you spread on the floor, and pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sidney.”

Your mouth goes dry. That voice.

“I’m glad you finally picked up. What took you so long?”

That fucking voice.

“You have the wrong number,” you speak.

“Do I?” he says.

You aren’t thinking, but you’re okay with that. Like allowing an old trusted friend to take the wheel of the car when you can’t drive. You pull yourself to your feet. As you pass the window, you look through the blinds. You’re high off the ground, where you should be safe. The courtyard below you is empty of anything but shadows in the streetlights. You look at the reflections in the glass at the room behind you. The room is empty of anything but you. How long will that be true?

“That’s not my name.” You turn around, head to the kitchen.

“Is it?” he says.

A weird thought surfaces - which one is this? - but you’re not thinking clearly, no, you’re not thinking at all, so you let it wash away.

There aren’t many knives in your kitchen, but there is one you trust in a drawer. You pull it out, press your back against the wall, and force yourself to breathe.

“Who is this?”

“Oh, you know… just a friend.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Really? What a shame. I hoped you’d have brought some with you.” The voice lowers. “Is it really just you, Sidney? Did you really come back all alone?”

Your stomach rolls. You place your fist over it, holding the knife away from your body. In your mind, you think of blood, so much blood and your hand all wet and sticky and slimy with it. But not how you remember.

What you want to say is, I don’t need anyone else.

What you say instead is, “which one are you?”

“Which one?” His voice lights up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s always just been me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“I know you’re lying.” Your voice shakes.

“Is that so.”

You didn’t even realize you’d closed your eyes. Now you open them again. Adjust your grip on the knife. Get moving.

“Where are you?”

“What a good question! How about we play a little game? Get it right, and I’ll tell you.”

“Fuck you.” You throw open the closet door in the hall. Empty of everything but a few bags from a dollar store. There’s only three rooms in this apartment, why does it now seem so huge?

“Oh, don’t be like that, Sid.” The shortened name stops you in your tracks. Your hand shakes, your grip on the phone beginning to hurt. “We both know there’s only one way this can end.”

“I’ll kill you first,” you whisper. 

“Now who ever said anything about killing?” The voice cackles. “I thought we were just having a conversation! No need to get all intense about this.”

“Shut up!” You slam open your bedroom door. “I know who you are!”

“You do?” He’s taunting you. Your hands are shaking, and it’s not all fear anymore. “Well don’t keep me in suspense, sweetheart! Tell me who I am.”

Your closet doesn’t even have clothes in it yet. You close the door and sink to the floor. The painted wood is cool against your forehead.

“Ghostface.” That’s all you need to say.

The other end is silent. When did you stop breathing? You’re used to holding it. You’re used to making yourself exhale and inhale without a sound.

“Now how about that?” He says. “You do know who I am.”

On the floor, a glint of light. You dropped the knife at some point. There’s wet on your fingers, you look at your hand and for a moment, it's all red.

“I’m a little bit surprised, Sidney.” Again, that name. “I never took you for the true crime type. It’s got so many bad memories attached to it. But I guess we all start somewhere, don’t we?”

Your stomach twists. You grit your teeth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to do more homework, baby girl. Better get on it quick, before classes start. You wouldn’t want to get left behind by all your new friends, would you?”

You don’t answer that. You let your eyes close, choose to breathe and think for one second, two, three, four.

“You’re not in my apartment, are you,” you say, voice flat. 

“Would you like me to be?” He purrs.

Turning around on the floor, pushing the knife away, you lean your back against the door.

“Do you want to know what I’d do,” he says, “If I were in that place alone with you?”

There’s no good answer for that, is there.

“You’re going to tell me even if I say no.”

“That’s my Sidney,” he whispers. “So fucking smart, Sidney. Once you know how the game works, you know just what to do to win it. But all games rely on a little luck to win. I’m sure you know how the quote goes.”

The wolf only needs to be lucky once. Yeah, you know that one.

“Every game is a little bit different, sweetie,” he says. “Nobody ever gets the same cards twice. So, I don’t really know what I’m gonna do, when I’m alone with you. But I promise you, baby. I promise you, you’re gonna hate it even more than the last time.”

You close your eyes.

“Which. One. Are. You?”

He breathes on the other end of the phone.

“Your first.”

Nausea rolls over you, it takes a moment to process what he said.

“Now the next time I see you,” he says, “we’re gonna play that little game you know I love. I’ve changed it up since the last time we played. It’s like brand new. I promise you won’t get bored.”

Your hand covers your mouth. A name surfaces in your mind, you struggle to grasp it, but the voice drives everything out of your head. 

“It’s gonna be so fun, it’ll be killer!” The laughter stabs your ear drums. You pull the phone away from your ear and look at the screen just as the other hangs up.

It takes all your strength not to throw the phone into the wall.

“Fuck!” You pull your knees up to your body best you can and bury your fingers in your hair. Now you feel them, hot tears streaming down your face, burning your skin. You don’t fight them. You let the alien emotions sink into your bones.

This is not a familiar pain. This is not a familiar rage. It is yours, uniquely yours, in every way. You grind your teeth as the sobs shake your body, and in this moment, you embrace it. That hatred that chased you down from the town of your childhood all the way to this miserable little city in the sun.

It pisses you off, that you’re not the only Ghostface in town. That’s what you tell yourself hours later, after you calmed down. It scares you, that another one might be onto you. That’s why you felt so sick when he said ‘your first’. You thought he said ‘you first’. That’s what you tell yourself. 

By the time the morning sun hits your windows, you even think you believe it.

#coffee writes slasher fic #ghostface x reader #polyghostface x reader #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x reader #stu matcher x reader #stu macher x y/n #stu macher x you #scream x yn #scream x you #scream x reader #my dearest adversaries

[italiansteebie]

Three's a Crowd (But who's complaining?)

Also on AO3

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

Steve is struggling, he’s being dragged further into the depths of the lake and he can’t breathe. ‘I’m going to die,’ he thinks, and just as his eyes go dark around the corners, he’s pulled through the slimy portal of the upside down.

He kicks as he’s dragged against the rough ground, he can feel the debris cutting through his back and arms. He really wishes he’d kept his shirt on. 

He stops, and there’s a weird chittering noise surrounding him. He comes face to face with some sort of bat that makes its way to wrap it’s tail around Steve’s neck, cutting off his air supply once again.

He feels the bats attack his stomach, he keeps one hand grabbing desperately at the animal ‘Demon,’ he corrects sourly, that’s pulling on his neck, while trying to swat away the ones that are currently feasting on his flesh. 

He hears a thud behind his head, and air flows easily through his throat, followed by smacking sounds that stop the meal the bats were enjoying.

“You come here often, Pretty Boy?” A gruff voice says from behind him.

Mustering up his strength he turns and comes face to face with, “Billy.” He breathes, and for some reason, tears spring to his eyes. He doesn’t know why- Well that’s wrong. While BIlly was an asshole, he was Steve’s.

And Steve was his.

He feels a bit numb as he stands with the help of his so thought, dead, pseudo-boyfriend. Really, they weren’t ever official, just a few dates and late night sessions here and there. Accompanied by shared trauma of bad dads and broken families. 

There are two collective gasps that break the staring spell he and Billy seemed to be caught in. Instinctively he grabs Billy’s hand tightly, much like he used to do those late nights at the quarry when one of them couldn’t keep it together. 

“Billy Hargrove, man. I thought you were dead.” Eddie says dumbly, walking over to him, reaching for a fist bump. Billy smirks at this, “Hey, Eddie. Guess I just couldn’t stay away,” He purrs, and Eddie’s cheeks go red.

Nancy is the one to break up the reunion, saying they need to get a move on.

“Wait. You’re telling me there’s a way out of here?” Billy asks, and he gets 3 collective nods, while Eddie shrugs, “I dunno, man. This is my first time.”

The ladies lead the way while Steve, Eddie and BIlly walk behind them, bumping shoulders softly as they walk.

“So… How ya been?”

Billy turns his head, “Still as awkward as ever, hey, Munson?” and Steve is thoroughly confused by now. “How do you guys know each other?” He asks, and they both go a little red.

Billy clears his throat, “Well. Sometimes I couldn’t afford to pay for my weed… So I paid him back in… Other ways.” He says, winking at the long haired boy on the other side of Steve. Steve shakes his head.

“Are you telling me, that the weed I gave you a blowjob for… You gave Eddie blowjobs for?”

“Well, Prettyboy. In a way, yes. But he’s a little bit more experienced than you. Do the math.”

Steve stops abruptly as does Eddie, “Wait. You were. You and- King Steve?” Eddie asks, a certain surprised tone in  his voice. “Look at the hair, Munson. You can’t expect a straight man to look this good. Certainly not… Well. Nevermind.” He cuts himself off, and Billy looks at him, now stopped a few feet away. 

“You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

“This isn’t the time or the place, Bills.” The old nickname slipping out on accident. It’s Eddie's turn to look confused now, “Well, I’m pretty sure we’re all very close to death, so like. Perfect timing to let out your deepest, darkest secrets.” He says.

Steve sighs, “I wasn’t born a boy, Eddie.” 

“Huh?”

“I’m…”

“He’s trans, Eddie. He’s got tiddies.” Billy huffs out, to which Steve gives him a pointed look. 

“Hm. Okay.” He responds. Billy and Steve share a loo, one that says, “Yeah, he’s cool.” and Eddie feels a surge of pride, and also a pang of jealousy at their silent conversation. He wants that, but with who, he doesn’t know. 

Nancy and Robin are a few yards away now, stopped, looking at them. “Congratulations, dingus! Now let's go. We gotta get out of here!” Robin shouts. It’s almost like their feet are stuck to the ground, but they will themselves to move anyways.

It’s a silent agreement that they’ll carry on the rest of the conversation later, about Steve, and also about the budding feelings between… All of them. 

They’ve made it out, and the tearful reunion has finished between everyone. It starts with Billy apologizing, sincerely. Sinclair. Lucas, the way I acted has no excuse. But I want you to know that I’m not actually like… That.” He says with disgust.

“My old man… He made me, and well. I just felt stuck. I never should’ve done that to you. Or you, Steve.”

A silent debate happens between the younger teens, and when all is forgiven, they are quickly reminded of Steve’s injuries. 

He was the last one out, and he’s still laying on the mattress breathing heavily, face scrunched up in pain. Everyone jumps into action. Eddie grabs paper towels and a bottle of vodka from the kitchen, and Billy sits with Steve holding his hand. Robin is there too, trying to help Eddie disinfect her best friend's wounds. 

“Okay, now Stevie. This is gonna hurt.” 

Eddie warns, as he tilts the bottle downwards and the clear liquor comes spilling out. His cries of pain catch the attention of the rugrats, who come over to inspect. Dustin notices there's a fear in his eyes that doesn't quite match the mood. He grazes over Steve abdomen and chest, and notices two faint scars running along the underside of Steve’s pecs. 

He goes to poke at them, “Watch it, Henderson.” Billy says sternly, pushing his hand away, and Dustin is confused. “What are those, Steve?” He asks, worried. 

Now that Eddies is finished cleaning, he helps Steve sit up, “Look. I’ll tell you like I told Bill-” He’s cut off by Robin.

“He used to have tits, now he doesn’t.”

“Robs?!” 

“Sorry, Steve. They’re cool, though.”

He looks around the room, seeing confused, yet understanding faces, “Wait. So..  How did you and Nancy… If you don’t…”

“If I don’t have a dick? Yeah, that was pretty awkward but… We figured it out.” 

He says winking, and the mentioned girl's face blushes bright red. He the younger teens’ faces scrunch up in disgust. 

The moment passes, and it’s daytime. Steve, draped over both Billy and Eddie, wakes up first. He pats the peaceful faces of his boys. He hauls himself off the floor, carefully stepping over the rest of the people who slept at Eddies. Which was all of them.

Steve rummages through Eddie’s kitchen, cheering when he finds a small box of pancake mix. He steals a pan, and begins cooking.

“What a house husband you are, Steve.” 

Robin says, effectively scaring the shit out of him, he turns, clutching his chest. “Jesus Rob. When are you going to learn not to sneak up on someone who just almost died?” He teases, and she rolls her eyes. 

Grabbing a pancake and shoving it in her mouth without any syrup or toppings she goes to sit at the small kitchen table.

“So. What’s up with you and Eddie, and Billy?” 

She hums with her mouth full, crumbs falling out.

Steve’s face twists up in disgust at his friend's bad manners, and he shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. I just. I feel better when I’m around them. Like I can be myself.”

“I think we completely agree, Prettyboy,” Billy’s voice sounds from behind him, turning he sees Billy and Eddie standing there.

“Why’d you leave, you were keeping me warm,” Eddie says dramatically, draping himself over Steve’s shoulders, planting a kiss on his cheek. Steve turns bright red, and Robin takes this as her que to get out of there. 

Her chair scrapes the floor and Billy wastes no time putting himself in it as soon as she gets up. Eddie pulls Steve out of his own chair, sits down and pulls Steve gently into his lap. 

“We gotta talk.” Eddie starts, and Steve taps his fingers nervously against the table. “I don’t quite know… I just, you guys feel right.” He tells them, and he feels Eddie nodding as his hair brushes Steve’s back. He shifts to face him, “You’d be okay… Dating me and Billy?” He asks timidly. 

Billy flashes a charming smile at both of them,”C’mon. Who wouldn’t wanna go out with all this,” He says gesturing to his body. Which, honestly, doesn't look that good after months of being in another dimension. 

Eddie chuckles, chest rumbling against Steve’s rib cage as he leans against him. “I would love to date both of you. If you’ll have me.” He says, polite as always. 

With that statement, Steve presses a kiss against his lips. 

With a sigh he says, “I’ve been wanting to do that since you threatened me with a broken bottle.” He sinks further into his boyfriend's chest. Billy’s face contorts, “I feel like I missed something. But that doesn’t matter, both of you get over here and gimme your lips.” He demands.

Scrambling up, Steve reaches him first, diving into a deep kiss, moaning as Billy’s strong hands make his way to his hair tugging on it gently. 

He feels Eddie press behind them and Steve moves his head down to Billy’s collar bones, pressing soft smooches there, as Billy and Eddie lock lips above him.

He feels secure. 

He feels loved.

But the moment is ruined by demon child Dustin screeching, “Don’t go in the kitchen!”

They pull away from each other, disappointed but hopeful for the future.

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #eddie munson #soft steve #trans steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve x billy #eddie x billy #Steve x Eddie x billy #harmungrove #steddie #harringrove #billy lives #best friend robin #robin buckley #stranger things #polyamarous

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Ruki [MANSERVANT ENDING]

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

ー The scene starts in the entrance hall of Eden

Kino: ー Ah ー Ah. How boring!

Ruki: ...!

Kino: As to be expected of the guy who was born human. You just love that kind of sappy stuff, don’t you?

Yui: Kino-kun...!

Yuma: Who’s this guy?

Ruki: ...He’s a Vampire. A bit of an oddball as well, though.

Kino: You’re the oddball, aren’t you? Family? Those precious to you? Just a bunch of fine-sounding talk! Bullshit!

You guys really are easy to let yourself get blinded by that. Don’t you have any pride at all? 

Kou: ...What’s this guy’s problem? For some reason he really pisses me off.

Kino: Sorry to break it to you, but you guys aren’t worth knowing my true identity. ...Nor do you deserve to be alive. 

Could you poor excuses for Vampires just drop dead already?

*WOOSH*

Kou: ...! Gah...!

ー Kou collapses

Ruki: Kou!!

Kino: Fufu, easy as pie. I guess a second-rate Vampire really is no match for me. 

Yuma: Ya bastard...!!

Azusa: You won’t get away with this...!

Kino: Ahーah. This really is so dull. ....Maybe it’d be more fun if I try taking on three of you at the same time? 

Yui: ... Stopーーーー!!

*TIMESKIP*

Yuma: ...

Kino: Geez. Mr. Tough Guy kicked the bucket first? What a letdown. 

Yui: ( Kou-kun, Yuma-kun...and Azusa-kun as well... )

Ruki: ...Hah...Ah...

Kino: Oh? You’re still alive? Guess you’re the most sturdy, surprisingly enough!

Yui: Cut it out already...Don’t murder...my family...!

Kino: ...’Family, family’. You’re seriously making me gag. You were all abandoned by your true families!

Ruki: Yui...Run...

Kino: Heeh. I’m honestly impressed you can still talk after sustaining so much damage. ...But could you please shut up now?

*Woosh* 

Yui: Ruki-kun!!

*SPLATTER*

Ruki: Kuh...Ah...!

ー Ruki collapses

*Thud*

Yui: No...Ruki-kun! Ruki-kun!!

Ruki: ...My bad...Even though...I said I would protect everyone...

...

Yui: No...Nooooooo!!

Kino: Haah, you’re quite the noisy one as well, aren’t you? ...Could you shut your mouth for one second?

*Woosh* 

Yui: Uu, ah...?

( My voice... )

Kino: Don’t worry. I won’t kill you. I’d hate to have those old geezers from the Church get on my case.

Besides, if you die, you’d get to meet your precious family again in the afterlife, wouldn’t you? I’m not that kind.

Yui: ( ...My voice won’t come out... )

Kino: You can’t cry nor scream, you can’t even call out for help to anyone. 

I’m pretty sure I’d get much more of a kick out of watching you live your life in agony like that, than if I were to put you out of your misery right now.

Yui: ( ...Ruki...kun... )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the World Tree

Shuu: ...So you’re here again.

Yui: ...

Shuu: We’ll be heading back to our Castle soon. We took care...of both the Vibora and that weird Vampire after all. 

Yui: ...

*Rustle rustle* 

Shuu: ...It’s honestly kind of awkward to have you lower your head to me like that. I didn’t do it for your sake or to get vengeance, really.

Apparently it’s my duty to get rid of anyone who threatens the safety of the Clan, even if this person is also a Vampire themselves.

So. You’re still set on staying behind here by yourself, aren’t you?

Yui: ...

Shuu: Don’t force yourself to speak. I’ll send a Familiar to check up on you every now and then, so just inform me if you need anything, okay?

Yui: ...

Shuu: ...It feels strange for you to be so quiet, since I used to always get annoyed at how noisy you were. Well, I wish you the best.

ー Shuu leaves

Yui: ( ...Thank you very much, Shuu-san. )

( However...I will stay here forever. )

( I am the only one left...to protect this place which was so important to everyone. )

( When I lost my family...and my voice, I also lost all hope left to live. )

( However, I’ve decided to at least watch over this Castle, until the day of its demise. )

( When I meet my end...I want to go together with this place full of memories for everyone. )

( It’s sad but...I can somehow tell, that time is not far off anymore. )

( So...Wait for me just a little bit longer, okay? Ruki-kun... )

ーー THE END ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #ruki mukami #lost eden #diabolik lovers translation #lerukiending2

[elkian]

This is something that’s occurred to me before, but I just realized it’s only come up in writing projects I haven’t uh... actually finished, let alone posted:

Vulpes Inculta Lies To Your Goddamn Face.

When you amble into Nipton, you can ask the furry with the chainsaw what happened to the good people. To paraphrase, he answers, “What good people? Everyone here was evil to the core and I did the world a service.“

More relevantly, he goes on to say that none of the townsfolk, not a single person, not a one, does anything to stop the Legion. He says they all sat back and waited passively for their turn to die, in the hopes that they might be the lucky survivor.

Okay, pause for a sec.

Have you ever met a human being?

Humans are deeply spiteful and contrary - not everyone, mostly not all the time, but it is something that comes up again and again in history. Rebellions, slaves fighting back, oppressed classes protesting and fighting for basic rights. We aren’t perfect, but we are capable of of saying “fuck the status quo”.

Now, importantly, this is Nipton’s first (and last) official interaction with the Legion. It sounds like a spy or two were sent in before “Mr. Fox” came by to bait the trap, but this was an independent town that notoriously served its own interests alone, refusing to side with or against the NCR, Powder Gangers, nor presumably Legion.

This is not a population used to the way Legion does things, indoctrinated former tribals or those born into its world, these were free contractors.

When the fuck have humans ever said “oh you’re going to kill all but like 2 of us? guess I’ll sit by and wait my turn!“ *

Not to mention this is the Wasteland. Nipton is an established town and what little you look up doesn’t mention raiders, but you have to pass by raider groups both directly before and after entering it, not to mention the Radscorpions and other wildlife threats. There had to at least be a few people in town who knew how to fight, because the town was still there by the time the Legion arrived.

With me so far?

Two places stand out to me. First, one of the houses in Nipton was a pain and a half for my noob self and I ended up having never looted it, because it is abrim with traps. There’s a Mr. Gutsy, a cage full of Radscorpions, and who knows what else.

There is a dead Legionnaire in this house.

The second place is the mobile homes sort of outside the town, to the right of where you come in. In fact, you can check them out without triggering Vulpes’ conversation. There’s several dead townsfolk out here, one of whom is holding an energy weapon. There is also an ash pile. If you inspect that ash pile?

[ID: Screenshot from Fallout: New Vegas. It displays the contents of an ash pile, which are a Legion Recruit Armor and a Machete, a common weapon of the Legion. End ID.]

That is two places where you can find legitimate proof that someone, actively or passively, fought back against the fate of Nipton. You find no Legionnaire corpses in Town Hall if I recall, but they failed to clean up other locations, perhaps not even aware of their losses but I doubt it. Vulpes surely knows that the good people of Nipton fought back, even succeeding in killing his soldiers, and he lies directly to your face about it.

*Given what I’ve heard of the other Bethesda ““Fallouts”“ this might be a valid expectation in another game, but definitely not here.

EDIT: Made the asterisk more visible.

#elk text #fallout #fnv #fallout new vegas #long post tag #i got back on the game and got the screenshot so time to post this lol

[robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle]

An excerpt from my Ronance/Steddie Demon AU, “Is The Devil So Bad? (If She Cries In Her Sleep)”

“Nance, this is bad.”

Nancy looked up, her heart shuddering at the genuine fear in Eddie’s eyes. “What is it?”

Eddie had an old, tattered book from the Archives in his hands. His pointed tail flicked with anxiety, his yellow gaze dark with concern. “If you don’t at least visit this human, lay eyes upon them within a fortnight of falling, you’re screwed.”

She growled, irritated. “I know, Eddie, I’ll lose-“

Eddie snapped. “It’s more than just a stupid job, Nancy! If you don’t at least look at them…you’ll both die.”

That was a new development.

Nancy stood, yanking the book away from Eddie. “Where does it say that?”

“Hey, this thing is fucking ancient! Don’t yank it around like it’s some stupid toy, it’ll fucking fall apart!”

Nancy scowled. “And I suppose these Dorito stains got here from thousands of years worth of demon history?”

Eddie blushed, as much as a demon could. “I needed it for science the other day.”

“If by “science” you mean “picking the cheese dust out of your talons onto the pages while looking at naked men” I’m seriously not interested.”

“Just read the page asshole.”

Nancy turned the tattered book around to face her, leaning down to look at the text. Unfortunately, Eddie was right on this one.

“If the demon and mortal in question do not lock eyes within a fortnight of the first sighting, both will perish and meet their own untimely ends.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Yeah, “fuck.” What are you going to do?”

Nancy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her talons. “I guess make a trip to Earth. No matter how stupid it is.”

“Wait, can I come?”

“Why?”

“I need more Doritos.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“Believe me, it’s not. Only good thing to come out of Earth.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just don’t look at me to bail you out when you pull some shit that gets you in trouble. I’m not doing it again, not after last time.”

“That was a fucking accident okay? How was I supposed to know that they don’t jump off super high shit up there? I didn’t even know those glass things were buildings!”

Nancy let herself relax slightly, playfully shoving his shoulder. “We don’t do that here either, Munson.”

Eddie stood up from where he was stretched out, glaring at her. “I don’t fucking know why we have different last names. We all come from the same dude.”

Nancy shut the Devil’s Archive as gently as she could, slotting it gently back in place on the night black shelf. “It’s because we’re all products of millions of different dead succubi, you know this, Eddie. We were bred for a purpose, not to be raised as humans.”

He stopped in front of her, pausing at the door. “When did you get so cynical, Nance?”

She sighed, not wanting to have this conversation again on top of the new mess they were in. “It’s our job to be cynical. Someone has to be, not everyone can spend their existence happy. I was born this way, Eddie.” Nancy swallowed a lump in her throat. “And so were you.”

Eddie looked back at her, his golden eyes shining with an emotion Nancy couldn’t place. “That doesn’t mean that’s the way things have to be. I thought you knew better than that.”

Nancy flared her wings, their bright ruby red catching on the flames outside the Archive windows. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Shouldn’t we be worrying about whether or not I’m going to die within the next twenty four hours?”

Eddie flicked his tail against her shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I totally need you in my life, couldn’t live without you. Besides, I want those Doritos, thank you very much.”

She laughed, baring her fangs in affection at him. “Let’s go before you break something, you’re already past your personal record of five minutes.”

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #ronance #steddie #fanfic #au #stranger things au

[endless-oc-creations]

🎶 Guess who’s getting used for the free space on my OC Bingo Card? 🎶

These questions are all about your lovely poly pirate Ace, because I love him dearly and I want to know everything possible about him ♡♡♡.

What song would you consider to be his “theme song”?

Is Ace his real name? If not, how did he come up with it as a moniker?

What is Ed’s favorite thing about him, and what is Stede’s?

If he lived in modern times, what kind of music would he like to listen to?

What would be the title of his autobiography?

Can’t wait to see your answers, and I hope you’re doing well!! 🧚🏻‍♂️✨

*sobs* You're a doll!! I really gotta get his intro post going at some point cause he's one of my precious boys! 😭 

What song would you consider to be his “theme song”?

Answer: Constellations by The Oh Hellos

2. Is Ace his real name? If not, how did he come up with it as a moniker?

Answer: Okay this gonna be way more detailed than needed, but I don't talk about Ace much...at all really. And I never really explained his backstory~ You also love him a lot so here it is!

---

Ace Cooper is not his real name. It's his most recent one. His last name used to be known as the pirate Captain Bartholomew Roberts aka the “Black Bart.”

Side note: I really hope Taika Waititi doesn't create a character based on Bartholomew Roberts's character for season 2 cause then I would have to obviously change things around for Ace. 💀

I wanted to use Ace as an inspiration from the real-life pirate Bartholomew because of how his crew thought of him and his story.

"Roberts was wildly admired by his crew for his adventurist courage, navigation skills, and bravado.  He captured over 400 ships during his reign, and died in a vigorous battle against a British vessel."

Ace's original name was Jonathan Roberts. Since he was a boy 'Johnathan' or John for short had been prepared to serve England by joining the Navy. When he finally set sail, the ship he was on was captured by a pirate by the name of Howell Davis.

Young John was forced to join his crew and not wanting to die, he complied. But quickly learned that a pirate's life really was the life for him. He never felt happier.

So it was official, Jonathan Roberts was dead and Bartholomew Roberts was born.

'Roberts' knew his place on the crew, getting along with the other members, and quickly became the Captain's favorite.

'Roberts' was a favored apprentice of Captain Davis, the two even going as far as to almost have a romantic relationship with each other

He enjoyed Davis's quick wit and tricks on their journey because after all Davis was known to be The pirate of disguise and trickery.

But that happiness was short-lived because Davis was eventually been tricked himself and there was an ambush. During this ambush, Davis had been shot five times by Portuguese soldiers and died.

Roberts ended up escaping with the remaining crew members from the ambush. The crew quickly elected Roberts to serve as their new captain.

In his rage and grief at the death of Davis, Roberts's first order of business so to speak was avenging Davis's death. He and his crew did just that.

The town they tricked and caused their beloved Captain's death was burned and totally demolished.

After that 'Roberts' and his crew plundered many ships, including warships, until being stopped a few years later.

As the crew was anchored, celebrating their recent plunder, the British Navy attacked them, and in the battle 'Roberts' was shot, falling into the sea to his supposed death. And without their Captain, his crew quickly surrendered and were eventually taken to trial where they were all executed for their crimes of piracy.

When Roberts realized everyone he once knew was dead, he felt like a failure and not worthy of the title of Captain so he never took on the reins of one again. Changing his name once more to what we all know as, Ace Cooper.

Ace wasn't even sure he would be a part of a crew again but then he met Stede Bonnet looking to hire a crew.

Stede reminded Ace a lot of his old Captain Davis and he couldn't help but find himself joining his crew.

---

3. What is Ed’s favorite thing about him, and what is Stede’s?

Answer: I feel like Ed's favorite thing about Ace would be how protective and gentle he is to those he cares about and Stede's would be Ace's kindness toward others and his skills and abilities as a first mate.

4. If he lived in modern times, what kind of music would he like to listen to?

Answer: Rock!

5. What would be the title of his autobiography?

Answer: Who is the real me? A Self-Discovery Exploration.

#ocb2023 #oc bingo 2023 #mimi replies #asks answered #answered asks #oc: ace cooper #ace cooper #fandom: ofmd #fandom: our flag means death #our flag means death #our flag means death oc #little ass kicker… that’s a good queue

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

This Moment in History

June 9, 2023

Stephen Jay Morris

©Scientific Morality

Written documents like this are photos, frozen in time at the very moment of their inception. Through these, I can reflect on the past or the present. The future, of course, is unknown. In my current moment in time, the former U.S. president, Trump, will be indicted in some federal court for crimes he committed. Now, on the cyber bulletin-board, Twitter, his followers are raging. The formal indictment will take place in federal court in Miami, Florida this coming Tuesday. His followers are calling for a massive protest. I couldn’t even guess how it would turn out. Will there be a low turnout? Will there be a violent riot?  Will there be a counter demonstration? How about a police riot? Maybe nothing will happen at all. It’s a game of wait and see. I am sure glad I am a mere Homosapien and not omniscient, like God. Every tomorrow is a surprise to me. If I was God, I would have knowledge of every future event. I do pity God. He must live forever—a prisoner of infinity.  Me? If I am lucky, I’ll live until I am 85, maybe 93 tops. I can feel pain, pleasure, boredom, anger, love, sickness, good health, hunger, horniness, hatred, and envy. I embrace my mortality; I do not resent it. I was nonexistent before I was born, and I’ll be nonexistent after I die; which brings me to my next point…

Pat Robertson, founder of the Christian conservative movement, has died. You know the old expression: Only the good die young. Well, Pat was 93 when he kicked the bucket—a long life. He started the Trinity Broadcast Company, by which he had some TV show called “The 700 Club.” His voice was suave but came off as a mush mouth. He had this chuckle that sounded like a sociopath laughing after having killed someone. He was a fake Christian. His followers would put their hand on their TV sets and pray for their salvation, then they’d send him money! I think that’s what’s known as grifting. It’s bad enough that of most his followers were exploited by Capitalism and taxes, but God picked their pockets, also! Most of these pastors tell their parishioners that giving money to them is equal to giving money to God. Yup! That’s the scam!  You don’t need a pastor. All you need to do is to read the fuckin’ bible! Unless you’re some wealthy individual, you don’t even need an accountant; you can do your own taxes!

Early this month, Canada had some big wildfires burning across its southern forests, similar to when Australia did. Canada always sends us rain and snow, and other shitty weather. They also send us their social deviants like Steven Crowder and Gavin McInnes. “The Proud Boys” was started by some Canadian Illegal Alien!  “America First,” my ass! Well, guess where Canada’s toxic, wildfire smoke ended up? Throughout the Northeast Coast!

One morning last week, I went outside. At first, it was like a foggy day. Soon, the sky was an eerie orange, like Trump’s face, and there was an odor in the air like a fireplace in Poland. Smoke! I quit smoking six years ago, and here I was inhaling this exceedingly, unhealthy smoke again! I thought the Catskill Mountains were on fire. Pamela went to the post office and learned that the smoke was coming from fires in Canada. She said the employees advised that we stay indoors and close our windows. News reports soon related that the air over the entire northeast region was at an exceeding high, unhealthy level. New York City was featured in the news as having been engulfed in smoke for over three days. The New York Yankees game was canceled.

Was this a sign of God’s wrath against the Christian Nationalist heretics? I am an Agnostic, so I can pose a question like this. If it wasn’t, it was certainly a coincidence! The sky turned orange, Pat Robertson dies, and Trump gets indicted.  Hmmmm! Makes you think…

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #anarchism #anarchopunk #anarchocommunism #baby boomers #anarcho punk #anarchoindividualist #anarcho syndicalism #anarchocapitalism #anarcho communism #anarcho nihilism

[queenharumiura]

Five Deaths - Gokudera

Taken from meme: [x] ||Accepting|| (I did say if how wasn't specified, i'm sacrificing Haru so here I am)

Prompt: [ FIVE DEATHS ] send for five times our muses almost died together and the one time the sender Haru does.

Let's see, I guess tw would be character death, being shot, and poisoning? I tried. I guess also nausea (bc poison cooking)

-

[1]

“Haru is going to die out here… she’s too young to die…” Haru sniffs. She’s lost in a forest and alongside a person who aggravates her half to death. She’s probably going to die from heightened blood pressure before anything else. “SOS, surely someone will come and find us. What are you even doing out here anyways? Haru is here because Lambo-chan claimed to know where the new cake shop was located.” Great, she’s lost in a forest, she’s stuck here, AND she didn’t get her promised cake! “Waaaahhh… Haru is so sad…” The dramatic tears start again.

[2]

“You mean to tell me that isn’t a relative of Godzilla?” In what way? Her evaluation of Gokudera drops to a new low. Is he trying to tell her that a natural born reptile of this era can grow to be that size? There is no way. If this isn’t some kind of monster or a nearly extinct dinosaur, she doesn’t know what it is. “Hah? A turtle? Dino-san’s? AT THIS TIME YOU’RE MAKING JOKES!?” You’re trying to convince her that a small turtle, submerged in water, will grow to that size? Don’t you know most turtles need to live in a wet environment to survive? “Stop making stupid jokes and keep running!”

Poor Gokudera, he was being honest too. A shame.

[3]

“Huh, they make pink grenades? Since when?” Haru picks up the grenade curiously. “They make grenades marketed to girls now?” Maybe it explodes glitter? That’d be cute. A bit loud and probably obnoxious though. The pink grenade gets knocked out of her hand and she gets dragged by the arm. “Hey! Wait! That hurts!” You’re going to stretch out her sleeve! Do you know how stupid her shirt is going to look to have one sleeve noticeably longer than the other? “Stop pulling so hard! Hahi! I’m NOT STUP-“ One of the grenades goes off with a loud bang. “…” She was holding that in her hand just moments ago, wasn’t she?

Wait, she could’ve died just then, or at least be seriously hurt. The realization dawns on her- who in the world throws pink grenades around? Haru also remembers that a certain someone had smacked the grenade out of her hand and dragged her away. It was dangerous, but he still went out of his way to drag her somewhere safer. “Thank you for saving me, but YOU’RE GOING TO STRETCH OUT MY SHIRT!”

[4]

She was really sick and tired of everything, but she kept those thoughts to herself. She wasn’t the one who had it the hardest here. All the guys were out there fighting, so she didn’t have a place to say anything—but! It’s still horrible here! She just wants to go home where it’s safe and sleep in her own comfortable bed. She didn’t want to wake up every morning feeling afraid of what was to come. Even if she knew what was going on, it was still hard to wrap her mind around all of the events that have transpired. Suddenly, they’re being asked to safe-guard Uni-chan, they’re on the run, and they’re maybe going to die? Everything is so scary here in the future. She’d always thought about her future with excitement, but now? At this point, she didn’t want to think of anything to do with the future.

It was a desperate time for everyone, and if things didn’t go well, they were sure to die—or at least some of them. She’s sure that some of them would survive at the very least. Does she think she’d be one of them, probably not. Knowing her luck? Nope. Hm? They’re talking about needing a place to hide at? Doesn’t she know a place that they could hide away at for a brief moment?

[5]

Blergh— “Wait, what do you mean Onee-san made this?” How did it take this long for her to find out that Bianchi’s cooking was deadly? That’s what happens when you’re being protected by those around you who know the truth about her cooking and they ensure that you’ll never have to encounter the poisonous cooking yourself. What they failed to realize is- if you don’t tell her, what about when you’re not around to supervise? She’s just going to eat it and die? “Hahi? You grew up eating foods like this? What kind of iron stomach do you—Ble- you have?” Haru is going to die here today. Is that her life flashing before her?

Wow… it weirdly looks like a sushi conveyor belt showing her all the desserts she’s had in her life. Her flashing life looks mighty delicious. “Setting us up for death by not telling us. Oh woe is Haru, to die doing what she loved: eating.” She’s being dramatic as she always will be. “I sure hope you’re dialing poison control over there.” Haru feels like she’s going to just waste away and die here. What if she just sleeps all this discomfort away? What are the chances she’ll wake up again? Hmm… how lucky is she feeling today?

[-]

Everything was so chaotic at the moment that she couldn’t really make sense of what was going on. Everyone was here for some kind of a social function from what she could recall. A gathering of powerful famiglias and gangs around the world celebrating—whatever it was, she forgot (more like, she didn’t really care that much). She had just seen Lambo earlier when he was fussing over some wine that spilled on his shirt and she was helping him address the stains. Who knew that as soon as they separated, an explosion at the other end of the dance hall happened causing mass panic and confusion.

Tensions were incredibly high as one could imagine with a dance hall full of those of the underground. Threats turned into gunfire, and the screaming only became harder to filter through. She’s looking around, trying to locate her friends. Lambo is over there and he met up with Yamamoto. He’ll be safe. Ryohei is of course with Kyoko. She couldn’t find Tsuna, but more than likely he was either trying to scope out the situation at hand to put a stop to things, or he was busy looking for everyone to ensure their safety first before proceeding.

She couldn’t find Chrome either, but she would be safe. Mukuro was also at the function… and there was no way he wouldn’t prioritize ensuring her well-being and vice-versa. Where is he? You’d think at a time like this, he’d be making a big, bold, and dangerous statement. Preoccupied with checking out the situation at hand, she didn’t realize the danger she was in (classic Haru, some things never change even when you’re an adult). A hand suddenly yanks her hard by the arm and she crashes into someone. The sound of angry concern fills her ears. She found him. Right where she was standing was a broken chandelier. IF that had fallen on her, she would’ve died. She swallows nervously. “Thank you, Hayato.”

The chaos was only getting worse and it was getting hard to see with all the smoke and dust filling the air. She takes the hem of her dress to the mouth and starts tearing the fabric with her teeth. A long dress was only going to get in the way in this situation. By the looks of dark smoke at one end of the hallway… there was fire. She’s cutting her dress so her mobility is increased but also because it would probably be for the best to cover your mouth with cloth to prevent dust from settling into your lungs. “Alright, I’m ready.” He had a handkerchief in hand, so he was set to go. She knows that he would’ve had her use the one he had, but Haru was self-sufficient, and not about to let him get sick later because he prioritized her over himself. That was her thing to do, to prioritize others.

He begins escorting her through the chaotic crowd of people running around and fighting. It seemed that some people decided to take advantage of the situation by attacking their enemies to blame it on the lack of visibility. Haru had been keeping an eye on the others ever since she spotted them in the crowd before. It seemed that all of the guardians were gathering together, minus Lambo. He was tasked with keeping Kyoko safe. Hibari has joined them—that’s how you know things are getting serious. Haru successfully gets escorted to where Lambo and Kyoko were. Lambo’s job was to escort both Haru and Kyoko to safety. Before he leaves to join the other guardians, Haru makes sure to give him a quick kiss- you know, for good luck.

Lambo carefully weaves them through the crowds and escorts them back outside where it should be safer. He stayed by their side until the situation inside was under control as he was given explicit commands to watch over the two ladies until everyone gathered around again for a head count. Lambo wouldn’t have left their sides anyway. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left to join the others and something happened to them. (Well, Haru probably wouldn’t allow him to head back into the danger zone anyways, knowing her big sister instincts) It took some time for more people to file out of the building and for the fighting to stop. If the Vongola were to get involved, it was only a matter of time before things were resolved.

Ambulances were called to the scene and they started taking the injured away. The last ones to come walking out of the destroyed building was of course, the Vongola. The site was secure, and everything was over. They could relax. Haru rushes over to Gokudera the moment she sees him, and she steps on a piece of rubble wrong and snaps her heel. It was just your usual ‘ah another clumsy Haru moment’ that everyone could laugh at- or so they thought. There was no usual Haru quickly recovering by regaining her balance. There was no comedic ‘Safe-desu~’.

No.

She buckled and fell hard against the ground.

Timed just when her heel snapped, a patient sniper lying in wait took the shot. No one can ever anticipate when Haru’s clumsiness will strike. It should be clear who the intended target of the sniper was, but Haru had to stumble and fall because of a snapped heel.

As sniper 101 would suggest, once you take your shot, you move locations as your position has been compromised. In the case of failing to snipe the right-hand man of the Vongola, the sniper had to run away immediately if he wanted a chance at escaping. It would be difficult, considering the person he’d just shot wasn’t some random person. He’d just shot a close friend of the majority of the 10th generation Vongola, and the girlfriend of the right-hand. Two of the most feared guardians had moved to give chase. With them on the job, there was no way anyone could escape. Hibari was relentless and powerful, and Mukuro was frightening and crafty, so he’d be able to spot any devious illusionary scheme hatched as a get away plan.

While normally one could survive a chest shot if medical attention was administered immediately, the underground wasn’t that friendly. The bullet was a special one that was designed to make it difficult to treat by any normal means, so the victim has virtually no other option but to die a painful death. The residual storm flames imparted on the bullet was fashioned so it did optimum damage to whoever was shot, expanding its area of effect. The flames were wreaking havoc in her system. A true sick bastard, who designed this bullet, as if being shot in itself wasn’t painful enough. The storm flames inside of the bullet made it so the remaining time of the victim was spent in excruciating pain. Of course, there was an extra added ‘bonus’ in store. If the bullet sensed a foreign dying will flame being used, it would release a lethal poison.

Again, a true sick bastard. This bullet was designed to kill, and to do so horribly. With how much everything hurt, Haru was relieved to know that by some sheer circumstance, she ended up taking the bullet instead of Hayato. She’d always thought to herself that if things came down to it, and she had to sacrifice herself for one of the guardians, she’d do so. In a heartbeat. In general, she was the sort who would sacrifice herself for those she loved, but she also knew that the Vongola couldn’t lose any of their guardians. Just thinking about Hayato being the one suffering this instead was unthinkable to her.

Haru could just instinctively tell that she wasn’t going to make it. Everything hurt like a bitch, she could estimate the number of vitals that were damaged, and everything just – yeah. Her hearing was fading out, she could feel herself going numb as the heaviness started kicking in. Her vision was starting to darken, and she desperately was searching for the one person she wanted to see. If by the fact that she was already in his arms and she hadn’t realized it yet was of any indication of how bad her state was, it wasn’t looking good for her.

Ah… she recognizes that cologne. She didn’t have the strength to move at her leisure to get a good look at him, and she couldn’t hear his voice (or anything else for that matter. The deafening ringing in her ears drowned everything out), but she could just barely pick up on the scent of his cologne. It was comforting to know he was right there in her final moments. Breathing was difficult and it hurt. She couldn’t tell if she was making any discernable sounds, but she did try. Nothing came out aside from breathy, pained, wheezing. If one could read lips, they’d see she was trying to say she loved him. If anything, she wanted her last words to be full of love than anything else.

Ryohei tried to use his flames to help with damage control and that’s what triggered the last mechanism. If she had even the smallest chance of survival, it was shot now with the way the poison released into her blood stream. With the tiniest of pained yelps in response to the first aid, she slumps limply against Gokudera.

There is a reason why they tell you to never let your guard down even for a moment. They’ll get you when you least expect it.

#Xcedia #Meme answered #Answered ask #Thanks for the ask! #Haru speaks #((Muse; Gokudera)) #((An d that's the last of my memes! Thanks for sending them all in! I had fun with em!)) #Guns tw #Death TW #Poison TW #Poisoning TW #Nausea TW #((Ahahah I really said in front of everyone- die. Right when you least expect it))

[sad-scribble]

AI generated Deltarune fic

I polished it a bit (like correcting Kris’s pronouns and adding a few scenes) but other than that its posted in all its raw glory.

After sudden fountains have started popping up in the dark world, the Lightners must destroy the fountains before the Roaring can happen. If the Roaring happens, the world will crumble and all Darkners and Lightners will die. The story starts in Castle Town.

Their first task is to discover what exactly the prophecy entails so they can fulfill their tasks. Once their task is completed, they’ll set sail across the land to where they believe the next fountain must be. The only problem is when said fountain was supposedly destroyed, there were several more ruins to explore. This is not an easy task for both the young heros to handle.

“Well I guess it can’t hurt to try.” Kris muttered to themselves, glancing over at their older friend. “Besides, what if the fountain really is here? It would make things easier if we found it… right?”

Susie smiled faintly.

“It could be nice having something to help us out. It’d probably give us some ideas how to look further into this whole mess.” She shrugged.

“I suppose…” Kris said, shrugging back and heading towards the castle with Susie following behind them.

Once they got inside and had settled in a bit, Kris began reading the prophecy aloud.

“Three saviors shall fight against the darkness. One who is not born of the earth, another who is neither human nor monster. The third will hold dominion in these lands, the last will bring balance to the land,” Kris read aloud, pausing. “That sounds familiar, don’t you think?”

“Hmm… yes it does kinda remind me of somethin’, actually.” Susie agreed, nodding her head thoughtfully.

“But I still think we should keep going until we come across the fountain and figure out just where in the world we need to go.”

“Yeah… You’re right. After all, why else would we even be here?” Kris replied, shrugging slightly.

“Exactly! We can’t waste any more time.” Susie declared, placing her hands on her hips. Kris rolled their eyes and giggled a little.

"Alright alright, let's take off then."

And with that, they made their way through the ruins towards the castle gates. As soon as the two heroes stepped foot in the new town and onto Main Street, the air felt tense, which caused Kris to instantly perk up. They knew something bad was coming. But they had no idea what. They glanced nervously behind them and saw Susie frowning.

“Did you sense anything wrong too, Kris?” She asked quietly, tilting her head slightly.

Nervously, Kris shook their head. “No, nothing. Just nerves. That’s all.”

Susie nodded and turned to face forwards again. They both kept walking until they reached the town gate. There, they stopped and surveyed the area, wondering what exactly they needed to do now.

“Maybe we’re supposed to follow that road down this way.” Susie said, pointing down a dirt path.

Nodding in agreement, Kris followed the path down, trying desperately to ignore the ominous feeling looming over them.

About 20 minutes later, however, Susie’s prediction came true. “Susie, wait up.” Kris called out as they caught up to their friend.

“What the hell are we doing?”

She glanced backwards, looking slightly panicked. “I dunno Kris! Whatever we do, we gotta hurry! Those creatures could attack us at any moment!”

“Calm down, I know, I know.” Kris sighed heavily, running a hand through their hair. “Just tell me what we’re doing again, cause I lost track after a while.”

“We’re searching for this stupid fountain! How could you forget that!?” Susie huffed, crossing her arms.

“Yeah… I know… just don't know why we gotta go out all the way out here without Ralsei." Kris wondered, furrowing their brow slightly.

Susie looked over to the end of the dirt path and saw a familiar blue figure.

"Hey, isn't that Rouxls? What's he doing here?" She grabbed ahold of Kris and ran over to the Duke.

"Uh, who are you two again?" Rouxls turned around and asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"It's Susie, remember? And this is Kris? We're trying to locate that fountain!" Susie explained.

Duke nodded and glanced behind him. "Oh well, uh, good luck with that. I'd better head on back now… See ya around!"

Before Kris could say anything, Rouxls turned and raced back down the hill.

"Huh, he's gone." Susie commented.

The duo walked down the hill after him and came to a halt once they reached the bottom.

“Wow… I guess he really wanted to run away.” Kris mumbled, rubbing the back of their neck.

“You’re telling me.” Susie groaned, throwing her hands in the air in frustration.

"Come on Kris, let’s just go look for this fountain. If we don't find it, we're gonna get yelled at by everyone.”

With that, the two took off down the dirt path, hoping that whatever was causing the odd feeling wasn't nearby. They didn't have to wonder very far before Kris spotted the fountain; or, what remained of it anyway. Its surface had been shattered to pieces, leaving a massive gaping hole in the ground. Large pieces of rubble floated in midair like islands in a deep sea. Even the water seemed to be gone, leaving only a murky, cloudy substance beneath the rubble.

"This looks familiar…" Kris breathed out slowly as they stared at the destruction.

"Well, it certainly looks like something happened here. Maybe the Fountain went rogue like the fountain that the old lady told us about?" Susie said, shivering slightly.

"Yeah… maybe." Kris replied softly.

"So what do we do now?" Susie asked.

"well I guess we have no choice but to go home, the fountain destroyed itself." Kris shrugged.

"maybe Rouxls destroyed it for us?" Susie laughed to herself.

"Maybe, though I doubt it. He seems a little scatterbrained to me." Kris admitted, scratching the back of their head.

After a moment, they suddenly remembered where they had seen the statue they had seen earlier, near the fountain. Looking around, they realized they were pretty much alone at the moment. Well, almost.

There, about 30 yards away, sat a tall stone pillar, the base of which had fallen into the ground, making it impossible to see beyond its base. At least, that was what Kris guessed.

"Guess we can go see if it'll work!" Kris grinned, grabbing Susie’s hand as they jogged towards the ruined pillar.

After reaching the pillar, Kris stood beside the fallen pillar, trying their hardest not to stare at the broken statue lying atop it. As the pair gazed upon the statue, they noticed a strange symbol carved on top of the pedestal.

“Hey look! A dragon!” Kris called, gesturing towards the carving. “Look at that! What a cool piece of artwork right? I wonder where it came from!”

“Yea… I wonder if anyone’s found it yet or what…” Susie murmured softly.

A few moments passed with Kris and Susie staring at the statue silently as a cold breeze blew past, sending tiny bits of debris floating around them. It appeared as if someone had placed a large rock upon the statue’s head.

At that moment though, the wind abruptly changed direction and the statue lifted itself off of the pillar with a loud cracking noise. The next thing Kris knew, there was a sharp crack as the stone statue crashed into the ground, revealing a staircase leading upwards that lead deeper into the ground below.

"Ahhh…" Kris breathed, letting out a shaky sigh.

"Looks like we found some stairs." Susie stated.

"Yup…" Kris replied.

Without saying another word, the pair headed up the stairs, trying their best to avoid looking downwards. Once they reached the top of the steps however, it became quite obvious that there was nothing up there. No sign of a door, no entrance to any other room aside from the one they currently stood in, which led into the main part of the tower.

"What do we do now? Are we just supposed to sit here? I'm starting to get a little impatient…" Kris muttered.

"Uhm, well, it's either that or go home and leave our things to fend for themselves. I think we should try our luck at least first. Besides, I kind of feel like something bad is waiting for us if we just turn tail and run." Susie said cautiously.

"…That makes some sense." Kris agreed, shoving their hands into their pockets. "Well I guess we'll never know if we don't try." They concluded.

"Yeah, you're right." Susie responded.

"Okay… let's get moving then."

"Good plan." Susie smirked, nodding as she kept ascending the stairs.

As soon as they hit the last step, Kris heard a low grumble below them; it sounded suspiciously like thunder. Both of them froze and peered over the edge of the staircase, trying to catch sight of whatever might have created such a sound. Unfortunately, it wasn't so easy and when they looked up again, nothing was visible except a couple of small rocks hovering above their heads.

“Did you hear that Kris?” Susie whispered, glancing over at them worriedly.

"I think so." Kris replied quietly, craning their neck back to try and peer downward.

"Wait, do you hear that too?" Susie whispered, tilting her head slightly to one side.

Kris narrowed their eyes, listening hard for the sound again. Sure enough, a faint whirring sound was getting louder and louder.

"It sounds like it's coming from below us." Susie said thoughtfully, looking around as a sudden realization hit her. "And unless I miss my guess, that doesn't sound good."

"Right… I think it's starting to get closer…"

Kris swallowed thickly, their body shaking ever so slightly.

"guess we have no choice but to fight it." Susie took out her axe and started descending the stairs as the noise got louder and louder.

"wait, what?!" Kris shouted, staring down at the axe in Susie’s hand.

"If it wants us dead, then that means we’ve got to face it ourselves." Susie stated firmly. "Cmon Kris. Let's not waste time."

Sheathing her axe, she started racing down the steps, leaving Kris scrambling to follow.

Susie ran down the stairs before seeing a small platform that hadn't been there before, and jumped down on it, before quickly disappearing from view, and reappearing on the other side. When Kris arrived on the platform, she was already standing, gripping her axe tightly in her right hand.

"Are you okay? Your hands are really shooky." She noted.

"Yea, just nerves I guess." Kris responded uneasily, shifting their gaze around nervously.

“Let’s do this…” Kris breathed quietly, stepping onto the small bridge that connected the platforms together, their grip on their sword tightening.

Looking ahead, Kris saw what they could only describe as the most terrifying creature they'd fought in a long time. The thing towered over the two heroes, towering at several stories tall. Its large, black wings extended out from both sides of its massive torso, while its clawed feet tapped the ground every few seconds. Its long, snake tail swung back and forth with each tap.

Even worse than the monster’s appearance though, were its huge jaws that were open wide. Its tongue stretched out from within the gaping maw, flicking against the rocky wall of the tower every so often. When the monsters eyes finally met the two, they instantly froze and stared back.

Slowly lowering her axe, Susie crept forward, staring intently at the monster before them.

"Is that it…?" Susie asked, glancing towards Kris.

"We won't know until we take it down." Kris replied in an equally soft voice, stepping further onto the bridge.

Taking a deep breath, both of them charged towards the monster, slashing their weapons through the air as fast as lightning, slicing through the creatures' large jaw. As it fell to the floor, all of the dust began to settle, revealing that the creature had stopped moving completely. At that point, the two decided to get the fuck out of there and jumped off the platform back onto the stairs and made their way down back to the ruined fountain.

Kris, tried to steady their breathing, still in shock from the sudden fight. They had fought so many battles before, why was this any different?

"Next time we find some weird staircase, we'll tell Ralsei." Susie chuckled, also very exhausted from the battle.

"Sounds good." Kris smiled weakly. "Do you think he'll be able to help?"

"I don't know." Susie shrugged. "But maybe he will, if we ask him." She smiled, causing Kris to smile back.

"You did great today, by the way." Kris mentioned. "Even if we didn't destroy the fountain, that is."

"Thanks. That means a lot." Susie got up and put her axe away.

"I think we should go back now, the fountains gone so we can't go that way. Gotta find a way out from the starting point. Maybe Ralsei knows how to get back?" Susie suggested.

"Sounds good to me. We can try asking him." Kris nodded.

The two walked along the dirt path back to the town, trying to forget the battle they had gone through just now.

Soon, they made it back. And in the distance they saw a familiar Prince.

"Kris! Susie! You're back, and you successfully destroyed the fountain!" Ralsei greeted them both.

"Hey Ralsei. About that.." Kris muttered. "It wasn't exactly us that destroyed the fountain."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Ralsei questioned.

"the fountain was destroyed before we got there." Susie replied, not really paying attention to the conversation.

"that's strange… well it's destroyed and that's all that matters!" Ralsei immediately brushed off the implications of all that.

"Yes but how are we supposed to get home then?" Kris asked.

"I'll just teleport you two back to Castle Town! Simple!" Ralsei smiled.

"You can teleport people?" Susie gasped.

"Of course I can! Don't worry, I won't drop you anywhere dangerous." Ralsei assured.

"I still don't think it's a good idea…" Kris muttered, turning to look at Susie apprehensively.

"Oh come on Kris. It'll be fine!"

Before Kris could respond, the 3 appeared in Castle Town instantly.

"huh." Kris looked around, seeing a small round figure in the distance. it was Lancer!!!! THE BOY!!!!

Susie looked over towards Lancer and smiled.

"well look who finally came back! It's been forever!" Lancer hopped over towards Susie.

"Lancer it wasn't that long! Only a day." Ralsei reassured him.

"It still felt like an eternity!" The small blue pumpkin pouted.

"Lancer, what's going on?" Susie interrupted, giving him a confused look.

"Oh yeah. I'm sorry, I got excited and forgot about the fact that you guys didn't come back yet. It's just that… well you've gotta see this!" Lancer grinned widely before grabbing Susie by the arm and leading her over to a dirt spot in the corner of Castle Town.

"what's that?" Susie asked, very puzzled about what she was looking at.

Lancer pointed down at the tiny thing wriggling around in the dirt.

"worm." He said, smiling.

"worm?" Susie repeated, blinking a couple of times before slowly kneeling down to check it out.

it was indeed a worm. Very wormy!

she looked back at Lancer, and chuckled.

"You really like worms huh?"

Lancer nodded.

"You dork." Susie stood back up and turned over towards Kris, who had also been looking at the worm.

"that's one lousy worm." They said.

"Shut up Kris, you eat nothing but moss."

">:("

"Anyways, now that we're back in Castle Town what do you wanna do Lancer?" Susie asked the small boy. "Well, I want to show you two something else! Something cool!!!" Lancer exclaimed excitedly, bouncing up and down on his feet.

"Like what?" Susie glanced over at Kris.

"Follow me!" With that, he ran off in the direction of the castle.

Kris and Susie followed, with Ralsei not long behind them. A short time later, the three found themselves inside the castle, walking past various rooms until they eventually reached Lancer's destination.

"here it is!" Lancer exclaimed when the three of them came to a stop in front of a door. He pulled a key out of the pocket of his pants, opened the door and stepped into the room.

there was nothing inside the room except for a black box thing. Kris inspected it closely. It was a PS5.

"Lancer how did you acquire a PS5!?" Susie questioned him.

"Lesser dad got me it!"

"how did Rouxls buy you a PS5? Nobody sells them here." Ralsei asked.

"oh no, he stole it." Lancer smiled. Kris and Susie shared a glance between each other.

"guess that explains it." Kris shrugged.

"How about we play video games?" Lancer asked, excitement vibrating off his body.

the four decided to spend the rest of the day playing PS5 games. the end.

#Deltarune #ai generated #dreamily ai #kris dreemurr #susie deltarune #ralsei #lancer #rouxls kaard #fanfic #this is so silly

[thewestern]

Chapter 15

Jiggle the knob. You have to fuc-king jig-gle it.  

I am jiggling it. 

No, you’re j-j-j-erking it. It’s not some homeless guy you met under the highway. He’s not gonna share the rest of the ham sandwich he found in the dumpster in exchange for you grating the cheese off his dick. It’s a door knob. You have to Jiggle It. 

Hey Thadeus, guess what? 

What, Louisa?

I’m about to Jiggle this rusty old key in your fucking eye socket … fuuuck, dude. This was supposed to be my day off.

 Our Day Off, Lu. That’s just it — your selfishness. It’s limit does not exist. And that’s just as a twin sister, to say nothing of your fucking tending bar. Maybe if you weren’t such a [whispers] c-u-n-t to the customers, we could make some real money. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to take the extra shift from the first. 

Maybe blow me, Thad, you chode. 

Parked across the street from the green awning, over the gentle purr of his lithium-ion battery-powered engine, Billy could hear every word of this invective volleying, as if it were taking place in the backseat. Sometimes when people cursed a lot — such as Ari on Entourage or Hank on Californication, two of Billy’s favorite premium cable television anti-heroes — it could be kind of hilarious. You know, like if they knew creative swear words or how to incorporate clever puns into their insults and stuff. But this seemed more scary than anything. Borderline abusive, actually.

You know at the time I thought it was harsh but maybe mom was right when she said you were a mistake. 

Oh really … we’re twins, you twat. 

I know. That’s why I wish I was never born, only so that you wouldn’t have ever been born either. You make life worth not living. 

Well, I wish you could terminate one half of a pregnancy. Then I would travel back in time and drive mom to the clinic and pay the hundred and twenty-five dollars or whatever it cost back then to abort you.

Oh yeah? Because with you I bet she’d say, why bother with all the paperwork, when I’ve got a hand mirror right here, and there’s a closet full of perfectly good coat hangers. 

What if we were Chinese, and we were born under the One Child Policy? They probably would have put you up for adoption. Wait, you’re the girl, so it definitely would have been you, by fucking default. You’d have been sent to live with a couple in Paramus, New Jersey, who tried for years to get pregnant but couldn’t because the husband grew up downriver from a cat food factory. They’d name you Jennifer. You’d be their little China doll and they’d spoil you rotten. But they’d never love you. Not really. Not like they would have their own flesh and blood.

Listen, you creep. I don’t know what blood type we are, but you better hope you don’t ever need a life-saving plasma transplant because I will let the cancer eat away at your bone marrow until you fucking die slow. Bitch ass.

Jesus. Them two were mean, man. No doubt about it. But also, so fantastical with their dueling barbs as to render them mostly harmless. At least by Billy’s estimation. Hildy on the other hand didn’t have to resort to any profanity-laced threats of incurring bodily harm upon one’s unborn person to hurt his or her feelings. That’s not to say she couldn’t be passive-aggressive, which she could — with the best of them. Whatever she did say, however, you could be sure that she meant it. And that was the worst part. 

It goes without saying though that while Hildy practiced nonviolence in her campaigns against Billy’s self-esteem, the Jackson twins were willing to defend themselves by any means necessary. When she finally got the door to lock (thanks to some subtle jiggling, although she’d just as soon die than admit as such), Lulu raised her hand in the air and snapped her fingers repeatedly, creating a diversion that she used to then throw the keys at Thad, aiming for his groin. Somewhat haphazardly he blocked them by lifting his right leg, scrunching up into a standing fetal, and countered by bludgeoning her with his backpack whilst hopping on one foot like a defensive flamingo. Absorbing the off-balance blows, she readied to perform the fatality maneuver — every time … he started, she finished — a behind-the-leg, scorpion kick to his upper shin, buckling his knee just shy of hyper-extension. 

Argh, Full-blown AIDS, he shouted, thus signaling his submission as he crumbled unto the sidewalk of New Frontier.  

But right back up he sprung. And, with that out of their system, they carried on down the block as if nothing happened, walking right past Billy to their car. It was a hand-me-down minivan that their mother and father had previously used primarily as a means to promote the family orthodontistry practice. (Also they would take it out on weekends and holidays to the Less Fortunate neighborhoods, where they’d offer up orthodontic services on a pro bono basis. A nice gesture, albeit ill-conceived.) And damnit if there wasn’t a big old fucking incisor impacted right on the roof, crowned by a bracket fashioned out of aluminum foil and coat hangers, that which twins never bothered to have removed. 

  Billy waited for them to disappear around the corner before himself flipping another bitch and pulling around to the curb beside the front entrance. With the press of a button, the drivers’-side door flapped open, like a hydraulic wing. Billy suddenly regretted how difficult it was to subtly exit out of a vertically-hinged door, especially when it was attached to a canary yellow sport coupe. Stepping onto the curb, he could see how in all that commotion, the quarrelsome twosome had left the keys just sitting there, right beneath the chalk sign which today read: Our intent is for all your delight. 

Funnily enough, almost this exact scenario had played itself out once before. Although in that instance circumstances had been the reverse, in that it was Thadeus who’d flung the keys at Louisa, a short time after which a presumably homeless person happened upon them, entered the bar and beelined for the cash register, the key to which was situated there on the very same ring. Unfortunately for the perpetrator, this crime of utmost convenience was committed on what was among the slowest Monday’s in recent memory. The take, therefore, was less than fifty dollars in small bills. Probably feeling a little put out, before absconding with the paltry sum, he or she used the bar as a bathroom. And not the bathroom part either. 

It had to have been Hank who discovered the burglar’s fecal calling card there on the parquet floor. But then wouldn’t you believe he wasn’t all that upset? Not the first time, he said somehow wistfully, as if reminiscing about a past instance of a similar nature. Suppose then this was just an occupational bio-hazard. Another day in the bar business. Obviously, he left the mess for Thadeus and Louisa to clean up. You can only imagine how bitterly they argued over the how, the where and especially the who, when it came time to dispose of the turd. Hank didn’t fire them though, or really even offer much reproach. For crying out loud he let them keep their closing privileges. That was the kind of guy Hank was. Accepting of all shenanigans.   

Billy, though, might could have tested his patience. Experienced as he was in causing mischief, he knew better than to do … whatever he was going to do — he still hadn’t decided — on a downtown avenue, beneath the street lamps as they refracted off his highlighter-coloured, cry for help-of a motor vehicle. So he pulled it around the corner and ducked back down the alley. 

The greatest trick this car ever pulled was parking itself, which it proceeded to do between the dumpster and a brick wall. To interpret this as a testament to the benevolent sophistication of Artificial Intelligence and its potential myriad of positive applications for aiding humanity, or a demonic sign of the coming singularity, is your prerogative entirely. In either case, Billy didn’t have near enough room to open his driver’s side door. (Because it hinged open vertically, one could not crack it open and shimmy out like a regular schmuck. It required room enough to fully spread its wings. Before you fault the manufacturer for this, a rather obvious design flaw, consider that the typical driver of a car that costs more than your average three bed, two bath, in a great neighborhood with good schools, isn’t squeezing into many tight spots between two gigantic fucking pickups, because somehow it’s the single empty space in the entire Pacific Ocean-sized parking lot of the Save-a-Load. It’s called, Valet.)   

Just as soon as he was through hoisting himself out through the moonroof and sliding down the hood, Billy approached the back door with a privileged sense of calm — as if he owned the place, which according to his mother he bloody well would, pending board approval. There were five keys on the chain, and none of them were working. It occurred to Billy how he didn’t have much experience with analog locks. True, his parents weren’t around a lot when he got home from school, but you don’t qualify as a latchkey kid when your house has retinal scanner-enabled entry. And of course it goes without saying that his car’s ignition was push-button. On the whole, keys were very not swag at all. 

Readying to resort to his most time-honoured practice — quitting … just giving up — Billy remembered all the way back to five minutes before. You have to jiggle the handle. You fucking twat. 

###

Ask yourself. What would Billy do? Not as a Craft Beer Explorer, so much. As an individual. In this instance, a highly fucking suspicious one. Well, recall that crime comes down to motive. So what does he want? Right now he wants someone else (his mom) not to do something, which is hardly wanting anything at all. Suppose then, in the grander scheme of things, that he wants to become a successful beer executive and to carry on his family legacy. But does he want that, or does his mother want that? Or does he want his mother to want that. Or does he just want her to want something — anything — on his behalf. 

Now that we’re clear on his intentions, what are his available options? Counterintelligence, obviously, comes to mind. Corporate espionage. Gather, or better yet manufacture incriminating evidence against the New Frontier Brewing Company, and use it to sabotage the acquisition. Realistically, without Yayo-L standing by to help him hack the mainframe, he wouldn’t be likely to find a smoking gun among their electronic records, even if he knew what he was looking for, which he did not. Ah, but what about the art of sabotage, in and of itself … couldn’t he skip straight to that? Contaminate the beer with a foreign agent to somehow interfere with the fermentation. Again, he wasn’t fully up to speed on the microbiology of beer making. (Even the macro was beyond his tenuous grasp.) Perhaps that would be covered in his rotational leadership program, but then the whole point here was to avoid that bullshit straight away. There was always acting out of spite. That he had in spades. Take a dump on the floor? Who says no? 

All This was synchronized swimming laps around Billy’s head. Sometimes it was all he could do to tread water, try not to get kicked. The physical space was likewise pitch dark. Rather than flick the switch, Billy used the LED screen on his cell phone as a torch to light his way, slaloming between the tall metal tanks, hopscotching over hoses. Guided by only the faint blue glow, floating in all that darkness, he was like the captain of a deep-sea submersible, exploring the uncharted leagues along the ocean floor, searching for long lost shipwrecks and cataloguing new species of aquatic life forms.

All that was on the the Mick’s stark workstation was his marble composition notebook. Billy shined his light on the dog-eared page, faintly illuminating a vivid sketch of a man on a buffalo being chased off a cliff by a rocket ridden by … Doctor Ezekiel Lupustein. A big bad omen. Billy hated that fucking mutt. He would haunt him for all his days.

Entering the sanctum of Hank’s office, preserved in amber ale, for the first time in this particular breaking and entering, Billy felt like he was actually intruding on something. He was someone who had spent most of his upbringing in places that lacked a certain hospitality, to human life forms. Prep school, around his mother. And whereas these hallowed places, like the great halls of the Wolffenhaus, were intermittently occupied … this office, was a room that to him had seemed Lived In.  He could tell by all the cool shit there was everywhere. Like the furniture. Oriental rugs, a leather sofa, lamps galore. Items that had been walked, sat and turned on, many times over. 

 And books. A voluminous library with what figured to be many dozens of them. Dense biographies of Real Men of Genius. Such as Lyndon Johnson. The odd reference book about metallurgy. And of course, a robust stack of Hank’s favorite genre, Prepositional Phrase Adventure Porn. Into Thin Air, Into the Wild, Around the World in Eighty Days, In Harm’s Way, In the Heart of the Sea, (Twenty Thousand Leagues) Under the Sea, Between a Rock and a Hard Place, On Horseback Through Asia Minor, Through the Looking Glass. 

Kitty used to tease Hank about all his things. How he made his adult male doll house. A magnanimous man cave. He said, poke fun all you want, Kitty dear, but these things and this place are who I am. She thought better than to say so aloud, but what a sad thing that was to hear. 

Just like behind the bar, the office walls were covered almost every inch over. Although mostly by photographs. Also a mounted plastic fish that sang a song when you pressed a button, which Billy did instinctually.

Take me to the river, dip me in the water (Washing me down, washing me)

Billy fixated on one of a man he did not know to be Hank — khaki-clad, head-to-toe — standing in a row of what appeared to be tribesmen, all holding spears and shields. Then he inspected the various commendations, citations, honorary degrees, etcetera. Displayed most prominently among them was a plaque inscribed to John Henry W. O'Sullivan the distinguished recipient of the Randolph Scott Award for Innovation in Brewing as so recognized by the North American Master Brewers Labor Association. Somewhere, in the distance, the Mick stuck his tongue out and made a fart noise. 

Wasn’t much art to speak of, unless you count framed concert posters. Hank surely did. Winterland Arena, Nassau Coliseum, Avalon Ballroom, Wembley Empire Pool, King’s Beach Bowl, literally the Great Pyramids, in mother fucking Egypt. Souvenirs from faraway fantasy lands, were these illustrated relics from the bygone times of Kings, Emperors, Warlocks and Pharaohs. Only one painting without any accompanying copy. A lithographic portrait of Sadaam Hussein. Crude oil on canvas. You could expect that Billy didn’t much keep up with current events, but everybody knew Uncle Sadaam. He saw the video of him getting hung online. Like, bruh. See an opp in a spider hole. Catch a case in a tribunal. He want the glock. We got the noose. Neck go pop. Off your head top. 

Oh, cool, a ship in a bottle. There on the executive desk. Here was your classic old wooden ship with the full square rigging. Billy was once sent away as a teenager on a four-week Experiential Outdoor Education and Immersive Behavioural Optimization Expedition to the Caribbean, the first of several attempts at correctional recreation made on his behalf. The Bahamas was tight, but having to learn all those gay knots and eat canned pasta was whack as fhuck, dude. 

Having some sailing experience under his needlepoint belt, Billy took note of how this ship in a bottle wasn’t running triumphantly downwind, though. It was tilted at an acute angle, but it wasn’t sailing on a reach either — no, the masts were down. Was it capsizing? The water was white. For a fact, it wasn’t water at all; it was ice. The ensign was a Union Jack and the name on the stern read: ENDURANCE. Huh. Billy couldn’t make withdrawals from his trust until he turned thirty-five, and if he made it, he looked forward most to buying a Super Yacht, or at the very least a speed boat like the ones in Bad Boys II. BIG PIMPIN’, he would christen the goodship. Best part of getting a boat is you get to name it, he reckoned.

Then there was a shitload of other random ass shit. A totem pole in one corner. A grossvater clock catty-corner to that, which Hank never bothered to wound. (The time was currently set to quarter past eleven, actually only thirteen minutes slow, numbers which are not symbolic in any way, you can rest assured.) He kept a vintage milk crate filled of some of his favorite rock specimens he’d collected on various hikes. Chairs were set out in contradiction more than invitation — a royal blue plastic-molded seat he stole from the football stadium before it was imploded in a controlled demolition, an eames lounge chair notably sans ottoman, a set of two bean bags, a vintage wicker wheelchair and a t-bar, which was a primitive form of ski lift. (Somewhere in a faraway storage unit Hank had a one-hundred percent authentic electric chair. To be perfectly clear, he came by it organically. Insofar as he hadn’t sought it out or anything. And he only very briefly considered setting it out in the bar before he thought the better. He wasn’t one of those death perverts who collected blood relics and other assorted pain paraphernalia to put on public display.)  Right by the door there was a human skeleton — like they had in science class — with a crown of fake roses. (They looked and felt plastic, but they smelled real.) Kitty and the Mick got him that for his sixtieth. She grave dug it out from the janitor’s closet at West Middle, and he brought it back to life with a couple coats of spray paint, appropriately bone white. This specimen dated back to a simpler time when they used actual human tissue in classrooms, to Show the Children how exactly the knee bone connected to the shin bone. (Via what are called articulations, surfaces wherein two bones meet, the patellofemoral and the tibiofemoral in the knee joint.) Those were the days. Back in the present, some knuckleheaded smartasses had doodled tattoos all over it with permanent marker. The words Thug Life was written across the lower rib cage. A teardrop fell down the cheekbone. A monarch butterfly took flight from off the coccyx. In fairness to those kids though, they had no clue that Casey Bones, as Hank got to calling him, used to be a real living person, who very generously donated his or her body to Science, back in an era when that wouldn’t have been nearly as common a thing to do. (Long before it was a decision you could make at the Department of Motor Vehicles.) They probably had no idea then that they were desecrating that charitable person’s remains with these, their entirely coincidental symbols of life, death and rebirth. 

Beyond the cheap thrill of trespassing on someone’s property, as well as apparently their whole personality, nothing here was quite sustaining Billy’s interest. To be honest he was getting fairly bored. His phone phantom buzzed on his right hip. Out of habit he opened the Brick Blaster app before quickly closing it, something he did routinely — in important meetings, at the movies, one time while getting his ass et. It wasn’t easy to lose focus like that, in the act of committing a class-three felony, nor while reaching third base on a bend-over triple. But that was Billy. Always off someplace else, adrift in the tide pool of his own fucking head. 

On the way out he opened the mini fridge. Doing hoodrat stuff always made him thirsty. Hopefully there was a sparkling water in there or something. Damn. Just half a turkey sandwich, and two-thirds a six pack of Wolffenbeir Native. Or, Natty Dub, as it had been colloquialized by Billy and other like doofuses.

Taking a hard right out Hank’s door led him into the taproom proper. Billy could see a switch along the wall, marked by a little black tape label with embossed white letters which read: THE WALL of LIGHT. You already know he flicked that shit, and sure enough, son-a’-bitch lit up like the Fourth of Ju-ly. Red and green lights Hank hung for Christmas, blue and whites he hung for Hanukkah, despite the Mick’s repeated insistings how very much that he did not care, those paper lanterns for Chinese New Year … and for some pagan holiday for worshipping the occult, that neon likeness Doctor Lupustein — Billy could swear he stalked him — flashing red the color of hellfire ember. 

Although for once Billy’s animated nemesis wasn’t the center of attention. Not on THE WALL of LIGHT, at least. Like a nervous system, all of the bulbs and their corresponding circuitry seemed to lead to the middle top of the wall. There, the reason he came all this way was revealed unto him. Bertha, the prize bison head. Billy knew now. He was going to steal it. 

###

Billy was what you would call a Bad Kid. Objectively speaking. But, he didn’t do drugs. He didn’t even drink beer, it bears repeating. And he wasn’t a bully, not like a lot of his peers — rich pricks. For that he deserves some recognition from this board. Sure he liked to talk tough, but that boy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Still, by any measure, Billy was a Bad Kid. Or what you would call one. So, why? Because. Billy stole. 

Now your typical thief, Billy wasn’t. In so far as his crimes weren’t borne of necessity. Without the mean old Kraut Wilhelm I, Billy’s Grossvater, around to piss vinegar in his kids’ milk, this next generation of Wolffenbeir spawn had been spoiled rotten, almost as a matter of policy. One of familial diplomacy: Hard-earned entitlements by way of unilateral appeasement. Anything he ever wanted he could have. (Except that which he wanted most of all  — a boat … for now.) Usually in forty-eight hours or less. (And this was before two-day shipping.) All this is to say that Billy didn’t Have to Steal. He Wanted to Steal. Baby, he Needed to Steal. So Steal he Did. 

 Pre-school was his first score. Snuck away during nap time and cleaned out every last one of them cubbies. While he was able to nab the odd knapsack and lunchbox, mostly, it was an art heist. Finger paintings, macaroni pictures, hand turkeys. Damned if he didn’t get away with it, too, burying the loot in the sandbox, taking it home piece by piece throughout the remainder of the school year. 

Ms. Huey, his frizzly red-headed teacher, was beside herself. She hadn’t for a moment considered that one of her students could be capable of such an act, fearing surely it had to have been the work of a local pedophile. You can imagine then, when she expressed as such, the police were called in to investigate. They dusted off every inch of that classroom for fingerprints with which to cross-reference via the sex offender registry. Sure enough there was a hit, with Ms. Huey’s fiance, Geoff. It goes without saying that she was devastated to discover she’d been betrothed to a criminal pervert, who let the record reflect had courted her under false pretenses, and an assumed name, presumably because her job could afford him tangential and therefore untraceable access to a wellspring of toddlers. 

At least she hadn’t walked down the aisle to an awaiting Geoff (his real name, if you can believe it, was Jeff … now, this doesn’t apply to you pederasts, but pro tip to everybody else out there using aliases for non sexually-violent offenses, don’t just change the spelling of your name, and certainly don’t swap it out for something more conspicuous, like fucking Geoff … now there’s a guy who touches kids), before he could be perp walked out of their shared apartment in front seemingly the entire complex. That they had not recovered the stolen goods among his otherwise highly incriminating belongings, however, the proper authorities were not the least bit concerned, since they had quite obviously ID’d the culprit positively, and apprehended him peaceably.   

All the while, no one ever suspected Billy. It was the perfect crime. 

So perfect in fact, that Billy may well have peaked, prematurely. Thereafter, his lopsided record of W’s to L’s indicated he wasn’t a very good thief. He wasn’t a bad one either, necessarily. Not sloppy by any means. Really his was a problem of regression to the mean. You see, when it comes down to it, grand larceny is a numbers game. Any snatch and grab man that’s worth a shit will tell you you’re going to take a pinch, sooner rather than later. So you pick your spots. But that was just it for Billy. He had a different calculus. A high-volume shooter, you could call him. To be clear, it was not that he was trying to get caught, as if he had some kind of complex. You wouldn’t say he was compulsive about it, in that way. More … prolific. And with regard to consequences, it wasn’t that he didn’t care. Sure, he affected an air that he didn’t care, about anything, but it was painfully obvious to anyone paying attention that he cared —  desperately so — about every little thing. 

Perhaps it was partly because those consequences didn’t bear down upon him with anywheres near the severity as they would for your average hoodlum or hopper. To that end, Hildy spent much of Billy’s childhood into young adulthood covering his ass. For his benefit, certainly, but also for hers. Being a young and ambitious female executive within the chauvinistic corporate hierarchy that pervaded the Wolffenbeir Company, as it had been meticulously erected by its patriarch, Wilhelm I, Hildy’s career prospects were tenuous enough as it was. If somehow it was made widely known that her meteoric professional ascent as a working mother had come at the expense of her increasingly delinquent son, well, that would’ve reflected quite poorly on her wouldn’t it.

Mercifully for her sake then that criminals are territorial by their very nature, and Billy was no different. So it stands to reason how for many of his subsequent crimes, he returned to the scene of his original sin. The Canaan Country Day School. The ideal staging ground for an aspiring thief, this petri dish of deteriorating privilege. Those little human bacteria were isolated and cultured from pre-K all the way on through Twelve, although Billy only made it to Eleven. 

Though it ended thusly, just woefully short of completion, Billy made the most of his prep school tenure, rest assured. He robbed that place fucking blind. Offender on repeat. And he took big scores, too. For example like, at the start of every academic year, when it was often required that students of a certain grade level purchase a specific school supply, Billy took that as a personal challenge. In fourth grade it was recorders. He stole an entire symphony orchestra’s-worth on the eve of the big recital. Poor kids had to hum My Heart Will Go On. 

Thereafter, the middle school — or rather, Lower School, as the Canaanites insisted on calling it — mandated that students begin using three-ring binders to organize their assignments. Preliminary training for the diligent work that is Wealth Management, for the children of parents whose estates were to be meticulously stewarded through a convoluted network of byzantine financial instruments deployed in the name of charitable trusts, itemizing contributions only to worthy grantees such as the City Ballet or the Common Sense Institute for Economic Policymaking, or perhaps, say, the Canaan Country Day endowment fund, that which exceeded the GDP of some developing nations. So important a lesson indeed, that these parents — and acting executors of their family foundations — could not be bothered to pick up said binders or other learning implements on behalf of their brood at the local big box outlet. So that the binders were issued, included as part of the goods and services expense in their tuition, to each rising middle schooler, emblazoned with the Canaan Country Day motto: Values ​​​​ad vitam impletum (Values for a life fulfilled), or teaching the upper crust’s moldy fucking scraps how to hold on for dear life to the rest of what’s theirs.

But, before the all-important binders were to be distributed on the first day of sixth grade, Billy jimmied the door to the supply closet where they were stored, and lined them one by one, up, down and across the cloistered hallway, painstakingly popping open the flimsy metal claws to fashion them into bear traps for the pre-pubescent.

Come high school (beg your pardon, Upper School … fucking ugh), the nonlinear nature of polynomial algebra necessitated the ubiquitous use of sophisticated graphing calculators. Nevermind how he was a year-and-change behind, mired in eighth-grade-level pre-algebra. Billy resented the implication. However, by now you can bet the administration had picked up on the forensic patterns of his still-developing criminal mind, which by contrast were quite linear indeed. Which is to say, the heat was on; they had a Bolo out on Billy. Not subtle with their tails, either. These were obvious hall monitor types. With their snitch asses. They were working in shifts, in his khaki cargo pocket, coming and going in and out of every class. But somehow though, Slick Billy shook his tail, if only for a moment. That was all it took. In the span of a second period, every last calculator up and vanished from Mr. Kuntz’s advanced placement trigonometry classroom, using as a diversion one of his interminable lectures on the myriad practical applications of creating statistical models for means testing entitlements. Twenty-three calculators were taken in total, summing to a street market value of just a shade under two thousand dollars, the legal threshold constituting Grand Theft according to state law. (Again, Billy wasn’t a Master Thief by any measure, but he had his moments.) They were recovered on the first day of the following semester, stacked neatly on the headmaster’s desk, each bearing a numeric signature of sorts. Billy’s five-digit calling card: 80085. 

While the Canaan Country Day School was secular (godless, even), they did accept indulgences to pay for pupils’ past and future sins, as you might expect, in the form of in-kind donations. Ever the shrewd businesswoman, rather than pay an adjusted-rate premium for Billy’s a la carte offenses, Hildy negotiated a proto-subscription service model with the aforementioned headmaster, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Judd. In addition to providing a welcome stream of recurring revenue to the school’s general fund, the agreed-upon payment structure called for financing a semi-annual facilities upgrade. Before Billy could do long division, he was attending classes and participating in extracurricular activities on a completely renovated campus of state-of-the-art learning spaces, named almost exclusively for his familial ancestors and other figures of significance to the Wolffenbeir Company. up to and including the much-heralded dedication of the Doctor Lupustein Infirmary. To the utter delight of the assembled faculty and student body, Billy notwithstanding, the wolf himself, in the plush, attended the ribbon-cutting ceremony, with a trio of his sexy nurse practitioners in tow. 

Thereafter, running out of immediate relatives and beloved mascots (it should be noted how she refused to commemorate her Grossvater, Wilhelm I — joke’s on her though … Big Will would have burned that mother down and pissed on the ashes before suffering the disgrace of association with such a Rat Ship, as he referred to CCD), Hildy resorted to namesaking Conservative Women of Consequence whom she admired from throughout history. The Margaret Thatcher Dining Hall. The Shirley Temple Center for the Performing Arts. The Ayn Rand Endowed Teaching Chair. The Nancy Reagan Head of the Class Scholarship, given to that year’s Top-performing female student, pending results of comprehensive drug tests and an astrological reading. 

All this in lieu of expulsion, for which Billy would have been a prime candidate.  Not for nothing, but it was an outcome he would have vastly preferred to his rigorous program of deferred discipline, in favor of rigorous rehabilitation. As per his mother’s agreement, Billy was required to undergo an intense battery of one-on-one counseling sessioins, as well as additional Nature-based experiential therapy for troubled youths. (The latter was the reason for Billy having to earn his basic seamanship, as well as a full suite of other basic skills suitable for survival on land.) Headmeister Lieutenant Colonel Judd, you see, was a firm believer in the character-enriching properties of the Great Outdoors, drawing on his own personal crucible in the highlands of the Korean Peninsula, and later the flood planes of the Mekong Delta. Of course, if you could only line these ungrateful tenderfooted faggots on the business end of a Chinese-made AK-47, they’d fall right in line with a hop-to, lamented the Lieutenant Colonel. But, begrudgingly, he would settle for at least getting them outside, away from their perverted music videos. Marxist-Leninist indoctrination propaganda films, the lot of them. (Every afternoon he would watch Total Request Live and seeth, fantasizing about ripping out host Carson Daly’s polished nails, one by fucking one.) 

As for Billy’s shrinks, the diagnostic consensus was that here was your garden variety case of kleptomania, mostly benign. There was although some clinical disagreement among them therein — he was treated by a rotation of psychiatrist specialists over the years … the top docs in their respective fields, all — as to whether he also exhibited any symptomatic comorbidities, such as an elevated risk for substance abuse, latent homosexuality or perhaps even psychopathic tendencies. Now it was true that he lied, compulsively. Even Billy would admit that. But he only intentionally misled insofar as it enabled him to steal things. It wasn’t as if he was out here burning ants or drowning cats. Quite the contrary. Like his late grandfather, Wilhelm II — The Deuce, Billy-boy was a big-time softie for all the animal kingdom’s many multi-legged subjects. (There was one exception. He never did get along with man’s best friend. Obviously, there was Lupustein, M.D., his nemesis. Fucking doggy doctor, specializing in sniffing dudes’ dongs. Also he was aggravated by the constant mood swings of his mother’s manic depressive terriers. But to be honest, he couldn’t truly hate those two slobberpusses. Really, Billy only resented how they seemed to always take her side.) For a fact, when the day came to dissect bullfrogs in tenth-grade biology, he intercepted the shipment of live specimens and laid a plague upon his teacher Mrs. Toebbe’s hatchback, the one with the Darwin fish decal on the bumper. To be clear, no amphibians were injured in the making of this caper. The Canaan School stood on the grounds of a would otherwise-be wetland preserve and wildlife refuge, so this toad load thrived upon their stay of execution and subsequent release. (Yes, you are correct in assuming that these organisms are typically pre-euthanized and embalmed before being bulk-ordered and shipped off to classrooms for to be descecrated by teenagers. However, the Lieutenant Colonel pulled rank to intervene in Mrs. Toebbe’s lesson planning, insisting that if her students were to observe life in such a state, that they themselves see it drain from their subjects’ bulging eyes.)   

Despite his many trespasses, this delicate arrangement Hildy had made to shield her son from any repercussions whatsoever was holding up quite sturdily. Billy was a ball hair away from finishing his penultimate, third year. (A note on style. CCD didn’t go by grade numbers, like eleventh. There were no juniors, or sophomores or seniors or freshman, for that matter. Billy was a Third Year.) From there he could coast on through to graduation. (Commencement, in Canaan parlance.) Smooth sailing to the finish. That was until … he crossed a line so bold, his transgression, even his all-powerful mother could not erase. 

###

Without its tradition, the Canaan Country Day School would be but a husk of itself. In all his litany of larcenies, running up a rap sheet the length of the Condoleezza Rice Football Field and back, Billy had still yet to run afoul of the school’s ritual customs to an extent that which would narcissistically wound its stratospheric sense of institutionalized self-importance. Partly because Lt. Col.  Judd took great pains to prevent such occurrence. As the school year in question drew to its conclusion, the Lieutenant Colonel was preparing to unveil a bronze bust of the Canaan founding headmaster, his administrative mentor and father, Doctor J. Jerome Judd — a groundbreaking figure in the fields of preparatory education as well as eugenic theory, although this tribute would serve to emphasize the former. Several weeks preceding the ceremony, Judd the Younger spent bolstering his tactical defensive postures against Billy, the teenage insurgent. No expense would be spared, up to and including the subcontracting of a comprehensive risk assessment, to be drafted at exorbitant cost by a counterterrorism analyst from the Perlmutter Agency.  

Whosever fuckup was culpable for the binder debacle or the calculator calamity, this time, the Lieutenant Colonel wasn’t taking any chances. The evening before it was to be unveiled at the all-school assembly, he himself supervised the delivery, had it encased in bulletproof glass, and installed a laser tripwire alarm system, courtesy of the good people at ​​Karakuchi, Ltd., a high-ranking executive of which was the parent of a Canaan first-year. So help him god, if Billy or some other poor soul so much as set foot in the Ann Coulter Common Room, hell itself would descend upon them. 

The following morning, after making an excruciatingly lengthy speech covering a bevy of topics — scholarship and virtue, respect for one’s elders, the moral cowardice of guerilla warfare and others — Lieutenant Colonel Judd removed the velvet cover revealing to all his late father’s likeness ... fully caked in clown makeup. 

Billy styled the black and white countenance after one popularized by the rap duo Insane Clown Posse. During that time he was experimenting with Juggaloism. Juggal is the term of endearment with which ICP refers to their devoted fans, and they themselves and one another. Billy was more a casual Jugallo, though. Not a credentialed Jugallo for Lyfe. Which is to say he’d never had the pleasure of attending the Gathering (of the Juggalos), their annual pilgrimaje. However he was a one-time completist of the rap rock-slash-nu metal genre, and he had transformed the Canaan Country Day commemoration of its founder, Doctor J. Jerome Judd, into his own commemoration of the co-founder of the Insane Clown Posse, Violent J. 

(Some years after Billy’s rap palette matured to the extent it did, an infomercial for the Gathering of the Juggalos was parodied on the very same sketch comedy show that Doctor Lupustein made his much-heralded debut in primetime. It was very funny, and for a time the Juggalos became a kind of collective cultural punchline, especially among new media types, many of whom sent their Reporters out on Assignment, inland from their respective coasts to Cover the now-infamous music festival. From these hillbilly safaris, they brought back more low-brow fodder, masquerading as some socio-cultural taxonomy. Ironically cataloguing their various customs. What they drank, for example — Faygo, a budget-friendly brand of soft drink distributed exclusively to the Midwestern market. Their mating rituals — bartering beads or other goods in exchange for the baring of one's breasts, which are often also festively painted.] Their iconography — the Hatchetman, a silhouette of a running man with dreadlocks bearing a hatchet, is the trademarked logo of Psychopathic Records, and a symbol many Juggalos have tattooed on their person. Their terms of endearment — colloquially, Jugaloos and Jugalettes refer to one another as Ninja. This is because Joe Bruce and Joe Ulster, the Christian names of ICP frontmen Shaggy 2 Dope and the aforementioned Violent J, respectively, grew up dirt poor in a suburb of Detroit, Michigan. To entertain themselves, they watched television. Professional wrestling and horror movies were obviously their most profound influences. But, also, Kung Fu films. In popular folklore, the Ninja, or shinobi, was a peasant warrior whom the higher class Samurai warrior looked down upon for employing tactics they deemed to be dishonourable. Stealth assassinations, spying, sabotage, general sneakiness. But the ninjas weren’t concerned with anyone’s concept of honour. Perhaps as testament to their poor upbringing, these outcasts were concerned only with one thing — survival. And this their special set of skills, made them exceedingly difficult to kill. Jugallos, or Ninjas, likewise, live forever.    

Their war cry —

Although it wasn't all fun and games. You see they also documented a troubling pattern of harassment against female ICP fans [Juggalettes]. Okay, lookit. This is not to in any way excuse that kind of behavior [here it comes …], which is incorrigible [ … bu bu bu], But [Flex Bomb!] the notion that women being mistreated is somehow endemic to this tiny subgenre of a subgenre … well that’s just crazy, man. Ask yourself this. What about Grateful Dead shows? All about peace and love, right? Well, why don’t you ask Mary Ellen Moffet how the fairer sex faired on Shakedown Street, where the love wasn’t always so peaceful. The point is that The Genre of music — however fucking silly — has got nothing to do with it. At every fest, concert, rave, recital, drum circle, jamboree … you name it … wherever music is performed and judgment-impairing substances are served … you can bet that women are probably being taken advantage of if not outright abused. Pointing the finger at these mostly harmless hillbillies because they wear funny facepaint doesn’t make the rest of us any less ugly. 

Around about that same time the FBI officially classified the Juggalos as a criminal street gang. With backing from the ACLU, ICP, Inc. strenuously objected to this characterization of their fanbase, going so far as to file suit against the federal government, albeit unsuccessfully. Spurned by the courts, ninjas took to the streets, staging a hundred-or-so Hatchetman March on Washington. 

Whether or not the increased law enforcement scrutiny served to prevent any crimes from being committed, it no doubt resulted in many otherwise law-abiding juggalos being targeted and harassed by dragnet investigations and baseless accusations. 

Five or so years later, Donald Trump got himself elected president. 

Not so funny now, is it?) 

To this day, nobody knows how Billy did it. Shucking and jiving his way like Catherine Zeta-Jones through all them lasers. Then again, as far as the other students were concerned, well, none of them much cared. You might suppose he would have been lauded by his classmates as a crusader — sort of a combination of Robin Hood and Ferris Bueller — sticking it to the curmudgeonly principle. But it wasn’t like that. Not even close. For a fact, everybody thought that Billy — the Insane Class Clown — was weird. Whenever he pulled off one of his big scores, they collectively rolled their eyes. Mostly they were worried about getting into a good college. Canaan Country Day fostered a highly competitive environment. They didn’t have time for Billy’s shenanigans. So while he would have relished in their tacit approval, or perhaps even having a partner in crime, as all the best stick-up men do, Billy was left to work alone.

The Lieutenant Colonel on the other hand was very curious indeed about how Billy had thwarted him for the last time, so help him god. Worse than the crime itself, Billy had also managed to lock the bulletproof encasing in such a way that nobody could get the damn thing out and wipe the grease paint off. For hours on end, he enhanced interrogated him. But Billy wouldn’t budge. This despite the Lieutenant Colonel pulling out all the stops. Intermittently he’d leave the room. (Canaan did not yet have a dedicated interrogation space, so he resorted to retrofitting the maintenance shed.) When he returned with the sweet old Mrs. Huey to play good cop to his bad Lieutenant Colonel, Billy still kept his cool. So Judd put him on ice. He left him there alone from fourth through sixth period, playing at full volume a selection of his favorite music, courtesy of the Margaritaville station on satellite radio. Still, Billy wouldn’t say a word. Judd was beginning to begrudgingly respect his adversary’s resolve. The boy had sand. He would know, having himself withstood an all-inclusive stay in a beach-front villa at the Hanoi Hilton. Then, in that exact moment that the Lieutenant Colonel was starting to admire his fortitude, without breaking eye contact, Billy farted, audibly and olfactorily. At this, the old fart finally went fucking ballistic. How’d you do it? You little pinko commie pissant! You’re not worthy of a Canaan Cadet! (The school had no military affiliation, he just liked calling the kids that. Cadets.) You disgust me! You’re scum! 

It went on like this for some time, until finally, like an old dog barking at the wind, the Lieutenant Colonel wore himself down. Billy, for his part, still hadn’t fucking blinked. So Judd returned his gaze with as much contempt as he could muster and asked one final question. The rhetorical type, that better not come with some smartass answer. He said, son, what do you have to say to yourself? Billy looked down in repose as if to truly consider this condescending query. Then he answered.

Whoop whoop.

What did you say to me, maggot? 

Whoop whoop. 

Are you whooping? 

Whoop whoop. 

God damnit, boy, stop whooping at me!

Whoop whoop, Ninja.

You will address me as Lieutenant Colonel!

Whoop whoop. [With these latest whoops, Billy gave a mocking salute.] .

Don’t play games with me, Mister Wolff.  

WHOOP WHOOP!

Stop it, I said! You stop it this instant! 

WHOOP WHOOP!!

This is your final warning! Cease whooping at once!

WHOOP WHOOP!!!

Nihilo sanctum estne?

Billy stopped. Suddenly his expression was sorrowful, as if he meant to convey, here is where it ends. I will fight no more forever. 

Now the Lieutenant Colonel paused, satisfied with himself. He knew the boy would break. They all do.

Do I have your unconditional surrender then? Go on. I want to hear you say it. I, Billy Wolff, am a gutless little worm, and I hereby submit. 

Billy leaned across the desk ever so slightly and whispered: 

Whoop. Whoop.

Expelled! Wilhelm Wolff the Third, I expel thee! 

#novls of tumblr #grateful dead #insane clown possee

[duchesstopaz]

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 6:32pm

Today, we’ll be diving into the wonderfully enraging topic that is my stepfather.

It is truly baffling yet underwhelming that a man such as he, exists. And till the day I die, I will continue to wish the most ruthless hell for that man. So, let’s start from the beginning…

The thing about James is that he’s a deceiver. Someone with many masks, with two sides like a coin, a shapeshifter, if you will. I will never forget the first night I met James, I was only 7 at the time. You could feel the dishonesty in every breath he breathed, with words that hid his true identity. I remember telling my mom I didn’t like him when she asked, after he left. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, she remembers too. 

I learned the context for his odd behaviors long after the time, but he always hated the house we lived in at the time. He would always come home irritated for some unknown reason, acting in very brash ways. My mother would inform me years later that he hated living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, eating at the same table, as the boyfriend that came before him. So, I guess the only logical solution would be to move, right? At least partially, no?

We had a wonderful 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom house, around the corner from my Nana. My younger brother and I had friends in the neighborhood, and would scooter around the corner to see our Nana, Grandpa, and Uncle. We went to a science academy, and my mom was doing absolutely marvelous as a single parent. But we moved. To a 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom house, 20 minutes to the next state, infested with roaches and mice, all for a little over $500 a month because dear old stepdad had a friend! And as a bonus (which was really the whole point), he got to call everything his! And did!

Anthony and I are almost 4 years apart, so I was almost 8 and he was 4. We moved churches, and it was like you were a completely different person. You would smile and laugh and joke and would be affectionate. But then again, there were people saying, “Oh, look at well behaved your boys are, James!”, “Your boys are so handsome, James!”, “I know they’re going to grow up just like their daddy!”. Umm… excuse me miss, sir, I’m standing right here and THAT is not my dad.  

We would go to our local BlockBuster and would be so excited to see the amazing place that brightened our eyes every time we went. You know, because every kid loves an outing. But, of course, it wasn’t for us. Ever. We weren’t allowed to look at the kids movies, weren’t allowed to ask to see the games they had, just wait for James to pick out the 4 or 5 movies or tv shows that he and his fiance (our mom) get to watch. Thank the universe for Nana for getting us a Wii, because all there was before that was trying to find ways to play with each other or watching wildly inappropriate TV with our “two parents”. Because seeing nudity and sex scenes are important for 8 and 5 year-olds to become men, right James?

Remember that time when me and Anthony were giving each other wedgies because we thought that shit was hilarious? Then, you punched me in the face so hard I flew into and broke our bookcase? Remember that time I stayed up all night playing video games, and you held and choked me against the wall? Remember that time when we lost one of the games we rented from BlockBuster, and after we found it, you threw every single toy, movie, book, game we had in the dumpster? And if not, oh well, because it didn’t stop there!

After my little sister was born, time sped up real fast. All of a sudden, they’re getting married, while just the five of us are standing in the pastor’s office, and I’m holding Malia and deemed “best man”, the day after my birthday. He said to me, “Well, now when you’re grown, you can tell your girlfriend that we got married right after your birthday!”. Then, we’re changing the house layout to where their bedroom and the living room are switching places because we need more space. I’m, now, given the esteemed responsibility as “baby-sitter” at age 8. My mom was pregnant again, and my sisters were going to be 10 months apart. Oh! And the most important bit, Anthony and I were now, “not his kids” (trademark it), and the violence got so much worse.

So, as he built himself a kingdom amongst rags instead of riches, where he is the sole king (without a queen), everyone else became his servants.  Everything in the house now had the possessive “my”, every single thing done in the house needed to meet your standards, everyone had to heed your requests and desires, no matter how untimely, and everyone had to be your audience as you spoke of promises for better that never came.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

#tw abuse #tw parents #venting #journal #personal diary #personal post #tumblr diary #public diary #physical abuse #verbal abuse #emotional abuse #mental abuse #healing journey #personal growth #parental abuse #child neglect