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snowyfrostshadows · 3 years

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Hyacinths

Grif tracks Donut down and some much needed words are shared.

Slight AU from s17 in which characters actually talk to each other like actual human beings who’ve known each other for years and not. ‘Well, it’s just a dumb web show, character relationships, what’s that?’

"You honestly think nobody in our stupid group likes you?"

Donut slowly turned to face Grif, surprised to see him again so soon after everyone had left again. The surprise quickly swings back to anger though. With as much shit he's been through over the last....fifty? Seventy tries, he's done. The last thing he needs is another empty apology or salt rubbed in the emotional wound of his 'friends' not caring.

"I'm not stupid. I-"

"Clearly you are since you're really going to hold on to that dumbass idea."

There's an unreadable expression on Grif's face. If Donut had to wager a guess, he'd say disbelief, maybe something else, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

"No one likes you." Grif scoffs. "Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds? Or are you that oblivious to Sarge letting you do whatever the fuck you want? Or Simmons hovering near you like a fucking worried mother now and again because he still has nightmares over Wash shooting you? Fuck! Are you seriously trying to tell me that Caboose. Fucking Caboose. 'Best Friend to Everyone' doesn't like you?!"

Realization at the unknown emotion from Grif slams into him with the weight of a hammer.

He's angry.

But not the angry Donut's used to. Where he snaps a meaner than usual comment or frowns a bit deeper than normal. This anger has Grif moving. His hands are moving, whether they're gesturing to help with a point or fidgeting by his side like Grif, of all people, has too much energy.

Donut unconsciously takes a step back, unnerved by this suddenly Not-Lazy Grif. "No one listens to me." Even as the words leaves his lips, he knows it's a weak argument.

"No one listens to each other!" Grif shoots back. "Do you really think it takes us so long to get anything done is because we listen to anyone but you?"

Grif glares at him for a moment before something...breaks in his expression.

"Fuck." He mutters quietly to himself before focusing on Donut again, all fight, all anger gone. Like it's just been sucked out of him.

"I don't... I didn't mean to come here and yell at you. If you need time to yourself to regroup or just... think. Go for it. Just... don't go it alone for too long. Being by yourself sucks."

There's a surprisingly haunted look in Grif's eyes as he says that and Donut considers dropping it right there. But then he remembers how Grif quit the team(s) not that long ago and now that he's really thinking about it, how different Grif was when he came back. How different he sometimes seems now.

"...Do you...want to talk about it?"

"No."

Donut frowns and tries a different tactic "Then I don't see the problem with being alone for a few months. Sides, I don't know why you'd care if I go isolate myself." The carefully nonchalant shrug he throws Grif might be pushing it, but, Grif has for most of the conversation here, been throwing him off a bit.

He's still mad at everyone, Grif included, but this is the most expressive he's ever seen his teammate. And personal feelings aside, it's kind of... worrying.

Grif's expression tightens minutely

"No offense, but you can't afford to lose any more marbles doing that to yourself." Grif snarks before shifting uncomfortably. "Of course I care. Do you really think I'd be wasting my breath if I didn't?"

Donut shrugs "Maybe? I mean, there's more work for you to do if I'm not around to help right?"

Grif sighs and looks upwards for a moment before dragging his gaze back towards him.

"I'm only going to say this once because apparently you're either too stupid or too full of self-pity or both to get this through your thick skull but god yes I care. We all do, you over-dramatic numb-skull. We wouldn't have put up with all your weird-ass comments over the years if we didn't."

He wants to hold on to all of his anger and justified indignation.

He knows he deserves better than these assholes he calls friends because dammit, he's a person and has always done his level best to be kind and friendly and helpful.

But that is the nicest thing he has ever heard Grif say.

"Do you mean that?"

"For the love of-yes! If I knew you'd be this daft, I'd have recorded myself on an audio file and chucked it at you and let you listen to it until it sunk through your thick skull!"

Donut pushes down a grin. He's already decided he forgives Grif (and maybe the others; but they're still on thin fucking ice) but he is, above all, still a fairly petty person himself even if he's nice most of the time.

"I dunno... it's kinda hard to believe...but maybe a hug might convince me..."

Grif's eyes narrow and Donut's positive he's either going to watch the other man leave or throw something at him.

"Fine."

Donut can't help but stumble back a little at Grif's curt response.

"Wh-What?"

"If getting a stupid hug is all it takes to get you over your stupid pity party, then fine."

"Are you serious?"

Grif's eyes narrow. "You know what? Nevermind. I'm heading back. Die here in self pity for all I care."

He barely manages a step before Donut throws himself at him.

"Nope! You already agreed! No takebacks! We are going to hug!"

In the years since landing in Blood Gulch, Donut likes to think he's got a pretty good idea of who is and isn't a good hugger.

Sadly, it's a very short list as everyone sans himself, Caboose, and occasionally Frank seem to be deathly allergic to anything more affectionate than a firm handshake.

He'd had theories of course but he never thought they'd go further than that.

And at first, his initial thoughts for Grif, okay if maybe a little stiff, seem correct.

Grif doesn't seem to know where to put his hands and stands a bit frozen. But then he relaxes and oh god it's probably one of the best hugs Donut's ever had. Grif is warm and soft and his grip is tight in all the right places and Donut could honestly just melt right here from the pure COMFORT a Grif hug exudes.

Far, far too soon for his liking, Grif pulls away looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"You uh. You good?"

Donut taps his chin and thinks for a moment before nodding and shooting his teammate the brightest smile he has.

"Yeah. I think I am. Thanks."

Grif gives an awkward nod and looks away. "Great. Glad you feel better. Mention any of this to anyone and you're a dead man."

Donut just gives him an affirming hum for an answer. Grif rolls his eyes before he stomps away, muttering too low under his breath for Donut to catch anything useful or interesting.

As...exhausting as this whole time travel thing’s been and as frustrating in how long it took just to get everyone on the same page, that fact that the most apathetic and debatably least-in-touch-with-their-feelings member for both teams just apologized to him, tried to make him feel better, almost, almost makes it all worth it.

Besides, now that everyone is aware of what’s going on, he doesn’t have to do everything by himself anymore. It won’t be long now before Genkins’ inevitable defeat is just another colorful page in his scrapbook.

And once that’s done; maybe….he can figure out just what’s eating at his friend.

#red vs blue #my fics #honestly wasn't going to post this over here cuz it's just...dumb fluff and kinda short #but ffn hates working all of a sudden and won't take my writing anymore so #here we are

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ducktracy · 4 years

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172. porky’s railroad (1937)

release date: august 7th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (porky, bull), billy bletcher (rival conductor)

frank tashlin’s love of streamline design is incorporated into this fast-paced cartoon about life on the railroad: it’s up to porky and his “percolator on a roller skate” to win a race against an uppity conductor and his streamline shoe-in.

the typography lettering the animated title card melt away to reveal a rather complex steam train, chugging along to a merry score of a stalling favorite, “california, here i come”. as to be expected with frank tashlin, we’re treated to close-ups of the train (usually in conjunction with the music score): bells, whistles, wheels and all. some footage of the train itself has been reused time and time again, dating as far back as the buddy era, but the close-ups and camera angles add a layer of freshness to it. the train hurtles straight towards the audience, labeled triumphantly “the 30th century limited -- the railroad’s crack train”, a take on new york central’s 20th century limited train.

for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. iris in to the antithesis of the crack train, a sluggish, bulky locomotive named “toots”, headed by porky pig himself. tashlin takes a job towards hi (least) favorite porcine as the text narrates: “the 15th century unlimited - also a crack train. everything cracked -- including the engineer”. the typography is expertly done, the “15th century” lettering done in an old, archaic font. it’s all too easy to take font for granted these days--remember, these are all hand-painted letters, including title cards!

porky and his crack train toots are headed straight for piker’s peak, a daunting mountain whose height is pronounced in camera pans. the camera pans up a layout painting of the mountain, and then we get a wide-angle distance shot of the train itself attempting to chug forth. to assert the unreliability of the train and its speed, or lack thereof, porky observes a snail scaling up the mountain at lightning pace in comparison. finally, the train stalls out all together.

cut to an overhead angle of porky inside the conductor’s booth, where he reaches into a compartment and withdraws a pepper shaker (a brief closeup of the pepper shaker dispelling any confusion as to what’s in the pig’s hand.) with that, porky shakes the pepper shaker over a burning candle situated where the engine is--note his tail uncoiling and recoiling with each shake--and, predictably, the train begins to sneeze its way uphill, porky giving his blessing with a polite “gesundheit.”

soon enough, the sneezes grow rapid, and the train speeds over top the mountain like it was nothing. a habit of his, tashlin gets a bit too trigger happy and cuts too quickly for the gag to sink in--the caboose and a few of the box cars actually fly off the tracks on account of the speed. props for conveying such fast speeds, but it’s a little too fast, a problem area of tashlin’s at times. nevertheless, we’re greeted with more layouts of the scenery, motion conveyed by a camera moving closer to the backgrounds. at one point, the train even goes through a very short tunnel. the camera movements of the early LT cartoons can be janky at times, but here they’re conducted very well.

next, a bird’s eye view of porky’s train traversing a number of intertwining tracks. whoever animated this next scene, my hat is off to you--the boxcars all weave in and out of different tracks in a rather short yet complex bit of animation before realigning on one single track. very well executed and very fun, just one of the few scenes that make me say “i’m glad i didn’t have to animate that!”

unbeknownst to porky, however, is a train hurtling right in his direction. porky finally takes note, and hurriedly pulls his train up to an adjacent track just by a depot. however, the caboose is still on the track. at the very last minute, he manages to squeeze in and pull foreward JUST as the train roars by, giving an audibly “whew!” of relief (which i believe is bob bentley animation.) the layout of the two trains “colliding” is nice, but the scene itself has some execution issues: porky pulling up is a bit too quick and looks comically unnatural, and the odd crunching sound effect makes it sound as though the oncoming train actually did collide with the caboose.

porky doesn’t have much time to relax as he’s back on the rails. even tugging on the whistle wildly does nothing to alert the obstacle in front of him, yet thankfully he manages to squeal to a stop. he’s greeted with an obstacle that has haunted cartoon characters for years: it halted oswald in 1927 with trolley troubles, it plighted mickey and minnie in 1928 with plane crazy, it stopped bosko and honey a mere two years later in sinkin’ in the bathtub, and now porky is up to battle: a cow lying in the middle of the tracks.

carl stalling switches from “california, here i come” to a slow, lumbering yet fitting rendition of “rural rhythm” to accommodate the lazy cow chewing on some grass. the animation of the cow is rather amusing--her tail is high in the air, her exaggerated cycle of chewing is great, and the detail of her haphazardly cracking an eye open to pay porky any mind is another plus.

stepping off the train, porky opts to bargain with her with a polite tip of the hat. “excu-uh-excu-uh-pardon me, uh-muh-meh-missus cow, will you eh-keh-keh-kindly get off the t-teh-eh-teh-track?” despite his efforts, coupled with another tip of the hat and a smile, mrs. cow stays right put, barely acknowledging porky’s presence. porky’s attempts to make pleasantries quickly fade away in favor of a more hostile attitude, telling her to amscray (putting the “pig” in “pig latin”, i see!) and calling her a mess of T-bones, all while pushing her from behind.

finally, the cow does step off the tracks on her own, prompting porky to fall flat on the tracks as she lazily stalks away. porky fumes as he marches back onto his train, ranting about how cows like her give milk a bad name, how she can’t give sweet milk with a sour puss like that, etc.

enter the bull. the bull’s entrance is great: i love the bristling hairs, the assertive glare at the camera, the missing tooth, the flared nostrils. stalling’s score of “rural rhythm” is also wonderfully moody and alert. the bull marches across the tracks and hides behind a bush, with only its tail exposed. porky, not typically known for his intelligence, thinks it’s the cow from before and grows confrontational. “so, you weh-won’t walk, eh? i'll sheh-show you, you feh-four-legged eh-peh-piece of hamburger!” porky tugs on the aggravated bull’s tail before cursing at the bull (which is just dialogue reversed. reversed, the dialogue is “...toots, old gal. don’t pop your...” you can hear a comparison here.) the bull grunts, causing porky to rush back to his train and hurtle across the tracks in a flash. don’t quote me on this, as i’m not 100% sure, but i believe the animation of porky and the bull may be joe d’igalo...?

spark the ever prevalent Tashlin Montage: up-angles of disjointed hands tapping away on a telegraph to communicate the message (that comes out on a paper strip) “stop porky’s train”. more cinematic angles of brakes being pulled, barriers being put up. porky himself screeches his trusty train to a halt, waiting outside the depot as a paper rolls across a wire line to him. he grabs it and observes the news:

“streamline train” is highlighted, and sure enough, we fade to meet tashlin’s streamlined fantasy, a sleek feat of modern architectural design barreling down the tracks, named THE SILVER FISH. there’s a nice little intricate piece of animation as the train weaves closer into view, the conductor tipping his hat to the audience with a commanding grin.

elsewhere, porky bids his train a tearful goodbye. “au rev-v-vo... au rev-v-v... au rev-v-v--goodbye, teh-t-toots old gal. parting is seh-seh-such sweet seh-seh-sorrow...” however, william shakespig has little time to mourn his loss, for the silver fish itself comes whipping into place in the adjacent track, nearly knocking porky off his feet in the process.

ever the good sport, porky marches over to greet the conductor (towering feet above him) and wish him good luck. as he sticks his hand out, “mr. silver fish” reaches down and grabs porky, shaking him vigorously. the animation being shot on one’s paired with mel blanc’s near-incomprehensible cries for help pair together for a nice gag. porky flops to the ground, his lowly status only confirmed as the conductor (voiced by billy bletcher) regards his train: “saaay, what is that? a percolator on a roller skate?” the train deflates from the insult, coupled with bletcher’s signature laugh.

volney white animates porky’s close-up as he mutters to the audience “i’ll buh-be-beh-be-bet my eh-t-teh-t-tootsie can beh-beh-beat his old eh-seh-seh-eh-seh-silver fish.” the camera pans out as the conductor lurches into view, picking up porky by his tail and giving him a few pokes in the eye stooges style as he sneers “oh yeah? it’s a bet. we’ll have a race and see!” volney’s animation is very well executed, very dimensional.

fade to reveal both trains on adjacent tracks, complete with a referee toting a starter pistol. tashlin’s need for speed is unmistakable--as soon as the referee fires, the silver fish rockets off in a cloud of smoke, leaving porky’s old train tangled in a pretzel (complete with a score of “you’re a horses ass.)

the cartoon, at least for me (i am a tad biased on account of my unabashed love for porky), has been rather enjoyable up to this point, but here’s where things get sour. it’s literally 5 seconds, but enough to be incredibly uncomfortable and infuriating: the silver fish rushes past a woodpile (explicitly labeled as such), revealing a black caricature sitting beneath it. the gag itself is based off of an incredibly racist saying synonymous to “a fly in the ointment” or “a skeleton in the closet”--it’s in extremely poor taste and more than uncomfortable. i love frank tashlin, he’s one of my favorite directors, but this leaves a sour taste in my mouth, even if it was 83 years ago.

nevertheless, the silver fish speeds through a tunnel with such frightening speeds that it actually turns the tunnel inside out--the animation is a bit matter of fact, and thus the gag doesn’t reach the amount of potential as, say, porky pulling his entire garage inside out, but working with a tunnel also poses flexibility issues. it’s easier for a garage to appear rubbery than a tunnel. the silver fish screeches to a halt near a harbor as the bridges raise to let a boat through. it is then when a fish caricature of mae west pops out of the water, spotting the silver fish and cooing “oh boy, what a man!” the tashlin looney tunes shorts of the 1940s would use burlesque and sex comedy as a main topic for lampooning--this is a neat little precursor to that.

porky finally gets his share of screen time, chugging along frantically. the animation of him pulling on the whistle is incredibly smooth--judging by the complexity of the train and the thickness of porky’s eyebrows, i’d wage this as bob bentley animation. the bridges raise to pass another ship through, the S.S. leon. yes, as in leon schlesinger, who was actually a boatsman! according to a 1939 trade paper, schlesinger was a skipper--he’d bought actor richard arlen’s yacht (named dijo) and rebranded it as, fittingly, the merrie melody. porky’s train rushes right across the bow of the S.S. leon, bringing back a few unwarranted treasures in the process: a life preserver and a singing sailor in a lifeboat (singing “don’t give up the ship”), dangling from pulleys attached to a boxcar.

the temperamental bull from before makes another appearance, watching porky’s train speed by from the hilltops. mel blanc provides the bull’s raspy monologue as the bull recalls his prior experience with porky--”he can’t get away with a thing like that, i’ll show him!”

sure enough, the bull rushes onto the tracks, bellows out a roar, and rams into porky’s train at the speed of light, literally just a mass of dry brushed streaks. the animation of the bull plowing into boxcars like nobody’s business is more than satisfying to watch. the lack of a music score, just the chuffing of porky’s engine, adds a greater burst to the bull’s impact when he makes contact with the train. the bull, as it turns out, does porky a favor: as he collides with porky’s section of the train, the impact is enough to send him flying. that is, flying right over the befuddled head of the silver fish’s conductor. conveniently, porky lands right across the finish line, where he’s met with cheers and applause from the stands. the underdog wins at last.

iris in onto the side of the silver fish. we pan out to reveal the conductor, a happy porky pig waving his hat in the air in a direct parallel to the conductor’s initial debut. despite the upbeat, celebratory nature, we meet a rather morbid end: the camera pans back to reveal a crushed and mangled toots, a sign draped over it reading “headin’ for the last roundhouse”. iris out.

for its time, this is a very fun and lively cartoon. as to be expected in a tashlin cartoon, the camera angles are divine as always, and the fast-paced cutting, although a bit too fast at times, adds a nice bit of exhilaration to the cartoon. the race between porky and the conductor truly does feel like a race and leaves you breathless at parts. carl stalling’s music score is a joy like always, and the backgrounds are beautifully painted. there are some really unique pans and camera angles of just the layouts alone. tashlin has a fine concept of speed--more than fine, really. he serves as a rather suitable competitor to tex avery in that department. in some cases, he may even surpass him. my only true gripe with the cartoon is the incredibly racist gag--it can be easily skipped, it’s very much a throwaway gag that the cartoon’s success doesn’t rely on, but it does sour my glowing review quite a bit.

nevertheless, this is a fun, early porky entry that’s worth a watch. the racist gag is around 5:28-5:33 in the link i provided.

link!

(you can also watch the short on HBOmax if you have it--that’s where i got the screenshots from!)

#lt #looney tunes #porky’s railroad #tashlin #reviews #long post #racism m

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whyamistillwatchingtheseshows · 5 years

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Part 2 of @this-solaris-life Kisses Aren’t Threats. “I’m surprised you want to go into a haunted house anyway,” Forth looked at his boyfriend. They were getting closer to the entrance and Beam almost thought he’d race back to the car. Then he remembered that’d be just as scary.

“Just do not let go of me,” Beam requested of Forth.

“That I can do.” He hooked their hands. Ming and Kit turned to make sure their friends were behind them.

“Wait!” Beam exclaimed. “We have to crawl in?”

“It’s the only way,” a spooky host answered.

“Fine,” Beam lowered himself behind Forth. “I’m holding your pant leg.” Forth chuckled. Once through they were inside a room with a group of people. Another host appeared.

“Choose your path wisely.” Two lights lit up a door to the left. One to the right. The four friends chose the door on the left. Everyone else went right.

Forth squeezed Beam’s hand first. “Spiders,” he hissed. They were pulling no punches in this Haunted House. Tarantulas were freely roaming the room...or in something like that looked like crypt? The dense fog starting up around them made it impossible to tell. Ming and Kit seemed to have no reaction at all. When they neared the exit out of this particular room, a mummy jumped from an unnoticeable coffin and Kit laughed.

They were in another room. Screams echoed in the hallway and Beam sensed something behind him so he looked. Sure enough a character was following them. He put himself in front of Forth, wrapping his boyfriend’s arms around his waist knowing that Forth wouldn’t object to having his hands on him. They walked the rest of the way through the room, chains swayed from the ceiling. Fake body parts were attached on the ends of them. Suddenly, a bloody face hovered on Forth’s shoulder. He jumped and gripped Beam’s waist harder. When they made it through, Forth leaned down to whisper, ‘fuck you’ in his boyfriend’s ear. Beam only shrugged. Forth kept a firm hold on him.

“So where’s the exit?” Ming asked to no one in particular. “It’s got to end at some point?”

The hostess from the first room appeared. “The exit is right through here.” She pointed down to what looked like a doggy door.

Kit laughed again. “That’s not ominous at all.” The four of them stood there unwilling to admit that they were afraid to go through the door. The hostess waited.

“Give us a hint. Is that really an exit?”

“Be a brave soul and find out.” Forth snickered. This girl was quick with the improv. Beam rolled his eyes.

“Fuck it! I’m going.” Forth scrambled to follow him. Ming and Kit were now the caboose. They didn’t know if that made things better or worse.

They had to crawl again. Beam remembered reading in the waiver they signed that they’d get messy. He didn’t want to know what sticky shit was on his hands. They were finally able to stand and it seemed the last thing they had to pass was [as usual] a fucking clown.

“It’s just chocolate syrup on our hands.” Ming noted.

“And on my fucking pants!” Forth exclaimed, a little miffed.

“I’m not worried about the chocolate,” Kit shook his head finally feeling fear. “That’s what I care about.” They couldn’t tell from their distance if the clown was real or a dummy. It stood at the end of the hall, the exit sign glowing above its head.

The four of them looked at each other. “Should we devise a plan of action?” Forth asked them. Beam tugged on his sleeve. “Seriously, what are we going to do?” There was another tug. “What?”

Beam pointed down the hallway. The clown disappeared. “I don't want to move,” Kit admitted. Ming’s eyes widened with surprise and he slowly reached out for his boyfriend’s hand. “Fuck! It’s behind me isn’t it.” Ming had his hand and the four of them bolted to the exit. The sound of a chainsaw echoed down the hall behind them.

“Where the fuck he get a chainsaw? And why the fuck does this hallway feel so long?” Kit screamed as he was being dragged by Ming. Suddenly, Kit bumped into a stopped Ming.

“It’s a wall.”

“The fuck it is!” Kit exclaimed. Forth touched the wall, pressing at certain points, trying to find if maybe it was a pressure thing. Ming nodded in agreement as if that could be it. So he tried the other side. The chainsaw sound was getting closer. Beam kept watch.

“If I get kidnapped by this clown first I’m killing all of you!” Beam announced.

“Got it,” Forth found the mechanism and the door hissed open.

“I didn’t know this was a fucking escape room!” Kit yelled back and flipped off the clown. Ming rolled his eyes and took his hand again. Forth scrambled up steps watching Beam bravely linger just a moment to close the door in the clown’s face. The four of them took deep breaths and fell into the grass.

“How was it?” Pha’s voice sounded from above them.

“The two of you still have a chance to go find out.” Kit stood first. The others followed.

“I don't want to,” Yo shook his head. “I can’t.”

“All right, all right,” Ming patted his shoulder. “How about we all go get something to eat?”

“Chainsaws better not haunt my dreams.” Kit said through gritted teeth. A terrified look flashed over Yo’s face. Pha hooked their hands and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“We’re not going inside. We will, however, go get something to eat with these idiots.”

“Oh, and one more thing!” Kit called after the two stragglers. “If you two had sex in my car I’m going to kill you!”

They approached the car. Kit inspected it, satisfied that nothing happened. Forth elbowed him. “Why the fuck you care? Try to tell me you and Ming haven’t.” Kit glared at him. Forth cackled.

Pha and Yo were back with them. “I don't know why you think we’d have sex in the car. We have more dignity than that.” Everyone’s head jerked so fast to look at Wayo. Sassy Yo was here tonight! Pha licked his lips feeling very proud of his boyfriend. The gang burst into laughter. Seconds later, the gang piled into the car. Once on the road, in the rearview mirror, Kit noticed exchanged glances between Pha and Yo.

“You two did, didn’t you?! You had sex in my car?”

“Whoa, whoa, eyes on the road!” Ming yelled. He reached out for the steering wheel.

“Okay so um…” Yo shyly started. “I have no dignity!” He whined.

“Great! I think I’d rather take my chances back inside the haunted house than deal with this,” Forth interjected.

“You’ll never know what happened,” Pha finally spoke up.

Kit white-knuckled the steering wheel the rest of the drive to the restaurant. They rode in silence, mainly because every time Ming turned the radio on, Kit insisted on keeping the radio off. He seemed to think that served as punishment to Pha an Yo. They pulled up to the restaurant. Forth and Beam fell out of the car.

“Fuck!” Forth exclaimed. “My ears have never hurt so much.” Beam continued to keep silent by taking his boyfriend’s hand towards a table. The others followed. Yo was about to get out of the car when Pha stopped him by the elbow. A soft smile spread across Yo’s face as he let the older guy kiss him for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

“We should join them.” Yo managed to pull away.

“Should we?” Suddenly, a bang on the window sounded. It made Yo jump.

“Get out of my car!” Kit yelled. Pha rolled his eyes. He reluctantly leaned over and opened the door. He scooted Yo out and received a scowl from his friend. He merely shrugged and walked passed Kit with Yo in hand. Kit mocked kicking him in the ass all the way to the table.

#2moons2 #forthbeam #mingkit #phayo #into the haunted house we go #sure it is a cheap quick one...#but also Phayo being little devils #hahah #inspired by @this-solaris-life

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stareiiez · 6 years

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Flower Petals and Blood

Leonard Church x Female Reader

Hanaki Disease AU

Wow, very hella late update to my series but hey! Its never too late for good ass angst. Also my inbox is still open for requests so pretty please send those in!

Not even did a handful of days pass once the black armored man, sorry bitch man, arrived at the blue base. Of course, you knew to never speak out against her, since she had this team by the balls in her right hand and the team flag in the left. Whoop dee fucking do, your eyes could roll to the back of your head from that mental image. If only you were transferred to Project Freelancer, instead of this shit hole, you could come back just as Texas but maybe your training could leave the female shitting in her own armor. The intimidating aura the woman gave off seemed to fuel your mood into nothing but negative, or stoic, hell you even tried to get along with her. Although nothing worked out, 'girl talk' resulted in her claiming the blues as her own and if you were there just to prove your place on the team she'd knock your ass in the ground. That talk left you with an itching trigger finger as a grated out 'yes ma'am' scraped out past clenched teeth.

The sun seemed to taunt you with its bright rays that seemed to tan your legs to a crisp underneath the fabric of torn up civil jeans, that were fashioned into haphazard shorts. The warthog's radio hummed its overly played Spanish polka song through scratched speakers. Oil dripped on your cheek before it was cleaned away with a bright red rag that was looped lazily on the underside of the puma. Vehicles always seemed to be broken around the blues, or reds, but you didn't seem to mind. Being alone with your mind focused on just vehicles while Church, Tucker, and Caboose were clambered up on the cliffside. Humming under your breath, to the song, the wrench was tossed out the side of the puma before you yourself scooted out from underneath the vehicle. Grease and other fluids had stained the dark grey tank top you wore, but hell, command gave you too many clothes to go out and waste. Clothes, spare parts, supplies, and the occasional shore leave option came by every two months.

"You'll be purring for sure no like a large cat now." You told the clean four-seater. Moving to the driver side, you turned the keys in the ignition on. In a second the engine purred and rumbled like a happy cat laying in the sun.

Proud of your handy work, you turned the vehicle off. A nice sounding vehicle always brought you happiness. It brought images of you driving this thing in actual streets with the radio blaring old songs that you would sing along to. Maybe you'd have a shotgun rider who's be singing along with you, and acting like a complete fool with you, while you forever cruised down an endless black pavement into the future. Frantically, you shook your head. The shotgun rider had contorted into Church, his stupid smile infecting your brain while his sky blue eyes gazed at you with adoration in their orbs.

"Stop it." You scolded yourself ignorant of your own mind.

Your chest seemed to squeeze painfully at that blissful wonderland. Like your own organs were retaliating and voicing their own pain. It never seemed to hurt as much as you used to woefully mourn over the male's heart captured and locked away by another. The music of the warthog dimmed a little while your ears rang faintly, were you even breathing at this point? A hand rose to rest on your chest to check, the erratic heartbeat calmed you slightly yet the sting of oxygen deprivation made that fade. Drawing in lungs filled the air, you winced from the slight strain. A frown creased your brow, while your hand turned into a loose fist. A few light beats on your chest and the strain eased with a few coughs. Oxygen pulled in freely like there was nothing blocking your airway now.

It was nothing, you convinced yourself. It was possible you had gotten sick with some alien virus. As if nobody was sick in the last three months, except for Caboose. He came down with a small head cold that ended up almost frying his brain at high temperatures. Doc managed to help him breathe through the high fevers after the course of a whole week and a half. A virus couldn't hang around for that long right? Were his lungs hurting as much as yours was?

Your hand rubbed your chest in small circles as if that would ease the stress of the pain that plagued the vital organs. The music that the warthog played soon eased back into your once numbed senses and brought the Spanish polka music to a close with the press of a button from your finger. The silence was golden until the prick of the man who caused you so much pain and confusion was seemingly 'haunting' right over your shoulder. Great.

"What do you want Casper the little shithead aren't you supposed to be burning in hell?" You bit out with a slight venom laced with your words.

"Can't a ghost of a dead guy show up to watch over his-" A hesitation in his voice hurt more than that pain in your chest ever could. "Teammate." He finished.

"You aren't-" Fuck, you can't come right out and blurt it. Flowers would be rolling in his grave as well as all of Project Freelancer. Hell, even his freelancer buddies who were running around would slit your throat if they reached you.

That's if they were still around, how many years has it been since the Project fell? Three years? Maybe it was less than that word about those 'scary guys with guns' was a topic you all avoided.

"I am dead, you idiot, my grave is right where you're standing. I guess I just have unfinished business here so God, or whoever won't let me rest." Church groaned out tiredly as if a ghost could actually be tired.

"Right, so why bother my ass again?" A brow rose unamused brow upwards.

"You know how ghosts can 'possess' people like in those out of date movies?"

"Right? And?" Your voice trailed off, although the idea was very clear to you now.

"I need to test that out." A scoff cut him off and he rolled his eyes behind the visor of his helmet. "It's just for research plus I'm bored so hurry up."

As if it was more of a demand than a suggestion you crossed your arms over your chest and let out a drawn-out sigh. "Is that the only reason?"

"Well, Tucker did say that I've been in you in more ways than one so." Church crossed his arms over his chest, his ghostly figure drifting a few more steps to you.

"Ah! That's enough Church. Just shut your mouth and hurry this bull shit up." You cut him off before your arms uncrossed and spread out to the sides.

With a smirk, the 'ghost' charged at you and sunk into your skin. The force was enough to actually lose your balance and move back a few steps. Your breath was lost and your brain spazzed out like you were having one hell of a seizure. Every organ seemed to shut down and then restart, under his control. It felt like someone pressed the restart button on your body, but you never had the controls anymore. Instead, an idiot had the controls and he was taking advantage of it.

"Holy shit!" You heard him yell in your voice that was slightly altered to form a combination of both deep and smooth sounds. "It worked."

Church fist pumped, well you fist pumped, in the air before a grin formed on your features. While Church was walking and talking to himself, and feeling your body, your subconscious was shoved to the very reaches of your mind. It was all black surrounding you and the echo of the outside world set your nerves on fire. Anxiety never bothered you but now you could feel the familiar squeeze of uncomfortable feelings snatch your throat in its maw.

"Church! Enough is enough get out." Is what you wanted to say, but you doubted your mouth could even form words right now. It was like you were too tired to even move.

The sensation of your 'lover' being inside you was suddenly exhausting for an odd reason. Your heart ached at the sensation. You could feel his presence, almost imagine would his 'warmth' spread through our whenever you were laying side by side in bed with him. Rants of every day were something you related to, and it was the most interesting part of your day. Your eyes squeezed shut, the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance and luckily an A.I couldn't feel pain, your pain, but they could sense what wasn't right. That was this time. His fun and games of yelling/flirting with a Tucker who was still stuck o the cliff was ceased immediately and his presence was no longer there. The reset button hit you again and only this time it hit you with relief if it wasn't for the series of coughs that slipped past your lips and landed in the square of your elbow.

Your name was repeated softly from his mouth until the coughs ended in six seconds and your lungs hurt. Your eyes shot up and landed squarely on his golden visor.

"You good? What was that?" Church placed, or tried to place, a hand on your arms yet instead, it passed through your cheek.

The action made you wince inwardly, as well as physically. The move brought the pain to squeeze your lungs until it ached with the intention to freeze your organs into cold blocks of ice. You felt cold and overall panicked.

"I really don't know but you're not helping me. Get Doc, before I pass out from stress or pain." Your teeth grit together while your eyes narrowed menacingly. The look caused his figure to stiffen and then blinked out of existence with a quick nod of his helmeted head.

Screams for Doc in Red Base as well as Sarge's gruff voice echoed from the canyon. You would smile over the arguing of Church and Sarge, while the screams for Doc rained over the conversation, but right now the pain was too much right now.

You damned hoped that Doc would move his grape ass to you because the suffocation would settle in from how shallow your breathing was.

"Please, God, let it just be the flu."

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donutdarwin · 6 years

Text

RvB Fluff Week: Day Four - Carolina

Prompt: Carolina gets very emotional and sad about the Sigma incident after Chorus (specifically after losing epsilon) and Wash is just a shoulder for her to cry on (platonic) they support one another.

Caboose was the one to go on the tangent about thinking he lost a brother, despite not having one, when Washington first met him. How sad would it be to not have a brother and to lose a brother all in one day? Those words had been Caboose’s, and completely illogical, but had rang in Washington’s mind for weeks now.

A shadow clung to Carolina, dimming her fire. To the teams, she put up a good front- the illusion of the same old Carolina, ready to kick ass and take names. But retirement didn’t offer a lot of asses to kick or names to take; it just offered a lot of time to ruminate and think and reflect and talk to your ghosts. And one particular ghost had haunted Carolina’s sleep since the Freelancer finally reached retirement.

Washington knew they both had plenty of ghosts- he wasn’t the only one to still think about Maine, almost daily now as the hours waxed on listless and humid, and he knew Carolina was equally haunted. Flashes of CT, North, York, South- even Tex. Hell, even Wyoming. There could be no relief, no redemption. The past ended and the dead were dead, buried or not. But that didn’t stop it from creeping into the lonely days, inching Carolina further from the rest of the team, putting up a shield to block her from the closeness they might offer. It took Washington a while to figure out the ghost that haunted her most- a fool, he’d thought maybe it was York, but York was long dead and Carolina had dealt with that. By the time Washington figured it out, he felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

He found her on the sandy beach, pale in the moonlight with shadows under her dulled eyes. Her hair shone fiery as ever, but she didn’t radiate strength and vigor like she used to. And he couldn’t keep watching her deteriorate.

“Heya, Wash,” she greeted him as he walked up, her green gaze remaining on the ever-rolling sea. “Nice night out, huh?”

He sat down next to her on the shore, mimicking her pose: knees drawn up, arms relaxed over them, eyes cast out to the sea. “Yeah, pretty nice. Why are you out here alone?”

She shrugged, a common response from her these days. “I just needed some time to myself. To think, you know, clear my head.”

He didn’t have to ask, already knowing what cobwebs clung, but he wanted her to say it. “What’s so bad that you need to clear your head? We’re in retirement- no fighting, just white-sand beaches and the same idiots we’ve known for years now.”

She snorted. “Right, because that’s my idea of perfect retirement.”

He shrugged. “We can’t all find exact perfection like Illinois did. Is that it? The other Freelancers?”

“Ah, c’mon, Wash…” She trailed off, drawing a few lines in the sand with an idle finger. “We’re always going to be sad about them, aren’t we? They were some of the best friends anyone could ask for, and now all of them are gone. That’s- never going to just go away.”

“Yeah, I know, and you know that, too. Which is why it wouldn’t make sense for that to be what’s wrong.”

He gave her a pointed look, and she turned to defend herself, but as their eyes caught she froze. Her green eyes cast downward again, she smoothed out the sand and dusted off her hand, and then turned back to the sea. Her posture betrayed that she knew that he knew, and he knew that she knew that he knew, and they were going to talk about it, because she needed to talk about it.

“Carolina…”

“It’s Epsilon, okay?” Soft, snappy, defensive- a little broken. “I… Never had siblings. Mom died before that was even a possibility. And he was- well, we had the same dad, and that counted for something. To us, anyway. He was an asshole, and he was based on my dad’s mind, and it was weird, but it was like having a brother, except it wasn’t. And- and I don’t know, I can’t grieve like I lost a brother, because I know it’s not the same as if I had a tangible sibling that I grew up with, but…”

Washington peeled her tense hand back off her knee and twined his fingers with hers. “You can grieve however you feel fit, Carolina. I just don’t want you to tear yourself apart doing it.”

Carolina had never been the type to sigh at the points where others would. She turned instead to the stars, and Washington’s chest pulled to see the watery glimmer brighten her green eyes.

“Wash… I didn’t cry when my mom died. I was five. And I decided she wasn’t in any pain, and I would miss her, and I’d be happy because she’d want me to be happy. Come to think of it… I was never actually all that happy. I didn’t fall apart when I left my dad with a gun and his memories and walked out with Church. I lost both parents, and didn’t ever let it get to me. Then I lost Epsilon, and… It’s a different kind of loneliness. I never got to connect with my mother, and my father wasn’t one for connections. But me and Epsilon connected. Like I did with the Freelancers, but more personally- I knew I could always count on him. And it killed him. And that’s not easy to talk about or get over.”

Washington’s heart twisted. And sure, he’d always been more emotional than her, that was a given. But Carolina’s voice didn’t crack and the shine in her eyes vanished in a few blinks. She never offered a single external sign that she was in pain. And come to think of it, she was usually the one to come rescue others when they were hurt- but Washington didn’t really remember anyone helping her.

“Carolina… You remember when York lost his eye?”

“Of course.”

“How you ran to him, the first on there, calling for medics?”

Wariness pricked in her shoulders. “Yes…?”

“And when Maine was shot in the throat,” Washington ignored the tightness in his throat, “You rushed to do something about it. In the fight against the mercs on Chorus, you would jump to my side in the thick of battle.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is- it’s okay to let others help you, too. I know- I know you don’t want it,” he rushed, and then slowed, “But we care about you, Carolina, hard as it may be to believe. Trust me, I’ll be the first to say I don’t know how it feels. But I know how it felt to lose our other friends, and Tucker and Caboose aren’t doing their best in the wake of losing Church, either.”

“Epsilon.”

Washington half-shrugged. “You guys know him by different names, but it’s the same person. The same death. And Tucker has done nothing to hide his grief- he’s like a PMSing teenager right now- but moping about it and not dealing with it isn’t going to help. So, I’m not saying hire a therapist or spill your guts to me, but… You don’t have to go through it alone.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

She looked at him a moment, and then laid her head on his shoulder, staring out at the sea again.

“Thanks, Wash. I can’t promise anything, but… I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

#rvb fluff week #carolina #carwash #washington #brotp #epsilon #leonard church #hurt/comfort #in which carolina's upsetti spaghetti about epsilon's death #dammit danni you got me hinting at mainecarwash #not my fault

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aspen-arts · 6 years

Text

Price of Freedom Ch 11

And here we have Chapter 11!

Sorry for the long wait, but I hope it’ll be worth it!

Enjoy!

CH 11

“Is he going to be all right?”

“I’m sure he’s gonna be fine. He’s a tough ghost.”

“Yeah, tough ghost.”

Those were some of the words Specter was barely able to hear in his head. The voices seemed so far away. A bad pain began to throb in his head and he gave a groan.

“I think he’s waking up!”

Now the voice seemed to be closer. Specter slowly opened his eye and immediately closed it due to the bright light shining down.

“Specs?” He could hear a familiar voice. “Specs, c’mon…wake up.”

Once again Specter slowly opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. He was staring up at T-bone and the Blaze Brothers who were looking down at him with great concern. Specter groaned and rubbed his eye.

“Ughh…what happened?”

“Hey, hey!” One of the Blaze Brothers laughed. “He’s awake!”

“Awake!” The other one cheered.

Specter lifted his head and slowly turned his head to look around. He was in the caboose and was in his bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. The ghost tried to sit up but was immediately gently pushed down by T-bone.

“Don’t strain yourself, Specs.” The skeleton instructed. “You’ve been beaten up really badly.”

“I’m fine,” Specter grumbled but as he said this he felt lightheaded and dizzy and collapsed back on the bed. He rubbed his head. “Can someone tell me what happened?”

“Head of Train saw you being beaten up by that nightshade flower,” T-bone said, “so he went off the rail and managed to scare him off while we brought you back here.”

“What?!” Specter stared at them. “I couldn’t even beat that bastard?” He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Uugh! Why couldn’t I beat him?”

“Because you’re a small and shrimpy twit,” One of the Blaze Brothers remarked much to the amusement of the other brother.

“The real question is,” T-bone immediately frowned, “is what the heck was going on with you and that nightshade flower?”

“Nothing was going on!” Specter defended himself. “He just followed me and started shit. I didn’t do anything.”

T-bone said nothing but raised a brow and continued on staring at Specter. Specter stared at him for a few more minutes before looking away in discomfort. T-bone looked at Specter for a few more minutes before turning towards the Blaze Brothers. “Hey, you guys get back to your stations.”

“Aw, c’mon, T…why can’t we—”

“Now!”

The Blaze Brothers stared at T-bone in disbelief before slithering off with scowls.

“Okay, okay, fine. No need to get all snippy.”

“Snippy…”

T-bone watched as the Blaze Brothers slithered out before turning his attention to Specter. It was a while before the skeleton spoke again. “And just what were you doing in this little vacation of yours?”

“Umm…”

“Did it have anything to do with this Cagney guy?”

“No!” Specter squirmed with uneasiness at T-bone’s expression. The same expression he always used when he suspected Specter was lying. “I was just trying to find out more about him and this Nathan guy. T-bone, I was right! That Nathan guy is hurting Cagney! Okay, okay, I admit I went over to their apartment but—”

T-bone held up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait…why did you go over to their apartment?

“Uhh…”

“Please don’t tell me you were going to confront him!”

Specter’s silence gave T-bone the answer he was dreading. The skeleton buried his face in his hands. “Oh God, Specs! You can’t do that! You can’t just go off playing hero!”

“I wasn’t trying to play a hero!” Specter snapped.

“Then what do you call going to an apartment where a guy is just waiting to tear you apart?”

“It was for Cagney…”

T-bone pinched the bridge of his nose. “Specs…let the police handle it. They’ll get that guy and save Cagney. We’re just railway workers.”

“Getting the police won’t work!” Specter argued. “Nathan has eyes all over the place! He’s a sly son of a bitch and he’s just going to get away with it. We gotta deal with him now.”

"Specter, look what he did to you!” T-Bone exclaimed, gesturing towards Specter's neck. "He almost killed you, and you’re already dead!"

"But we could work together this time! I wouldn’t be alone," Specter insisted.

“The answer is still no.”

“But why?! Why won’t you help me?”

“Because you’re letting this idea about saving Cagney control you!” T-bone finally snapped. “You’re disregarding your own safety and trying to go against something bigger than you, literally and figuratively! Look, I know Cagney is your pal and all, but you can’t go off and try to save him in your state. That nightshade is stronger and a more experienced fighter than you. If you try to confront him again, we might not be nearby to save you again.”

T-bone waited for Specter to say something but he didn’t .The ghost merely stared at the skeleton before looking away and glaring out the window with pure resentment. Resentment against T-bone for not seeming to care about what was going on, resentment against Nathan for causing all this suffering, but most of all resentment against the fact that T-bone had a point. T-bone softened at Specter’s expression.

“Look Spec, that guy will get what’s coming to him. We just need to wait for an opportunity and then take action. But right now you need rest.”

Specter did not say anything but he settled down in his bed and pulled the covers over his head.

“I’ll get you something to eat later,” T-bone went on.

“Not hungry…” Specter grumbled.

“All right then. Just get some sleep now.”

Specter grunted as he heard the door close. Feeling quite exhausted, Specter closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. It seemed like he had only dozed off for a minute before the blowing whistle awoke him.

“Last stop! Everyone off!”

Still a bit dazed from the sleep, Specter sat up and looked out the window to see where they were. It was at that moment he had one last idea. One final chance for Cagney’s freedom.

The Devil hummed to himself as he counted out the money won from the casino. He was pleased. So far it had been a very good day for him. Business was booming, the casino was getting more and more customers, and thanks to his debt-collectors he had gotten five souls from some debtors who stupidly believed they could get out of their deal. Hah! Idiots.

After counting up the money, the devil leaned back against his throne and puffed on his cigar, the screams of the damned caused his good mood to heighten. Yes, nothing could damper his mood. There was a knock at the door.

“Enter!”

The doors opened and in walked King Dice. “Hey there, boss. You look like you’re in a good mood.”

“More than good, Dice,” The Devil grinned as he chomped on his cigar. “Business is booming, I’ve been getting more contracts, it couldn’t be any better!”

“Well that’s great,” King Dice pointed at the door, “for you’ve got a visitor.”

“Oh?” The Devil raised a brow.

“Yeah, said it was urgent and he needs to see you right away.”

“Hmm, interesting…” The Devil clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. “That guy must be really brave or really stupid. Fine, bring him in.”

King Dice nodded and went out to the hallway. A few minutes later, a small blue ghost floated into the Devil’s throne room and the Devil’s smile grew bigger.

“Well, well, haven’t seen you for a long time Blind Specter. How’s the Phantom Express?”

Specter stared up at the large towering figure of the devil and swallowed. “They’re…good.”

“Do they even know that you’re here?”

“N-not exactly…”

The Devil suddenly leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the nervous ghost. “So why are you here?”

Specter opened his mouth but no words came out. He merely stared up at the devil and couldn’t come up with any words.

“Hurry up!” The Devil snapped. “Don’t waste my time!”

“I-I…” Specter clenched his fists. “I’m here to make a request!”

The Devil blinked. Now this was getting interesting. “What kind of request?”

Specter hesitated before slowly going into the story. He told the Devil about Cagney and about Nathan. He told him about Nathan’s treatment of Cagney and how he tried to fight the nightshade but to no avail. Once Specter got to the end of his story, he looked up at the Devil to see his expression. There was no expression. In fact the Devil looked absolutely bored.

“So?” He shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”

“Like I said, I’m asking for a request.”

“You said that before, but never said what kind of request.”

Specter took a deep breath. “You’re the Devil…you can use your powers for anything, right?”

“Sure, sure,” The Devil scowled. “Get to the point.”

“Well…you can use your powers to get Cagney away from Nathan. Get rid of Nathan and free Cagney from his control.”

Both ghost and devil stared at each other.

Finally the Devil’s face broke into a huge grin. “Well…I think I might be able to do that…but it won’t be free.”

“I’ll pay you any amount,” Specter insisted. “I can pay about 50 cents or even a dollar!”

“Not that kind of payment, wise ass.” The Devil snorted. “I have another payment in mind.”

“Name it.”

“Your soul.”

Specter froze in horror. “W-what?”

“You’re a bold guy,” The Devil smirked. “I don’t have anything like that in my collection. Your soul will be a great addition to my collection.” He snapped his fingers and a contract and pen appeared in front of Specter.

“Gee,” Specter rubbed the back of his head. “I…I don’t know…”

“Well, it’s either you sign over your soul or that flower pal of yours gets beaten until he’s a bloody pulp.” The Devil shrugged. “Your choice.”

Specter stared at the Devil and then at the contract floating in front of him. He had never expected this to happen. He can’t sign over his soul! He can’t imagine being imprisoned to someone…especially not the devil himself. However the words of the Devil haunted his mind.

Sign the contract or else Cagney will continue to suffer.

Inhaling, Specter took the pen and signed on the dotted line. When he was done, the contract floated over to the devil and he grabbed it. He grinned wickedly at the ghost.

“Your soul is mine now…don’t even think about running away from this debt or else I will have to drag you here myself.”

“I won’t…” Specter growled.

“Good. Now get out.”

Specter didn’t have to be told twice. He flew out of the throne room and rounded a corner of the hall. Once away from the Devil’s throne room, he stopped and leaned back against the wall, breathing rapidly as the realization of what he had just done fell on him.

What will happen to him now? What will the other members of the Phantom Express say if they ever found out? And what about Cagney? Will he ever see him again?

Sinking down to the ground, Specter buried his face in his hands as despair overcame him. He had saved Cagney’s life and possibly had given him a chance for freedom from Nathan…and now he himself is a prisoner to the Devil’s debt.

“What have I’ve done?”

#ghostblossom #blind specter #price of freedom #cuphead fanfic #cuphead #my writing

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thegreatmercutio · 7 years

Photo

Birthday Gifts.

A Malec Fanfic. Part ½.

Summary: It’s Alec’s 38th birthday. Magnus is haunted by old memories with an unexpected birthday guest. A look into Magnus’ past.

Rating: Mature.

Author’s original characters are included.

****************************************************************

“I don’t want do this.” Alec said as he tucked in his dress shirt. Staring at his uncomfortable face in the standing mirror.

“This one.” Magnus draped a red velvet tie around Alec. He turned to face him, pulling up his collar to ties it. “It’s your birthday, darling.” Alec huffed, Magnus smiled. “Your sister will not be pleased if the guest of honor does not show up.” Magnus pulled up the knot and leaned up to kiss Alec’ pouty lips.

“Let’s just stay home.” He is persistent.

“Alexander, it’s just a few hours and then we can go home…and I’ll give you my gift. It’s that tiny little bag over there.” He grinned as he helped Alec with his dress jacket. Alec turned to see a tiny shopping bag from Musee Lingerie. He smiled.

“That’s a tiny bag.” Alec smiled.

“Tiny, yes…but has big potential.” Magnus kissed him. “Let’s go, we’re going to be late.”

As promised, after food, cake, champagne, gifts, and a drunken and poorly done but earnest toast from Jace. A slow dance with his mom, his sister, and then Magnus. Alec was very drunk and very ready to go home for his other gift, which he was shameless telling others.

A tipsy Alec is grinning exceptionally as he followed the swaying of Magnus’ ass as he led him into their bedroom. Alec tugged his tie off, pulled his shirt loose, and begin to unbutton them. He’s needy and horny. Magnus turned his head, his golden eyes on display with a lustful wicked grin. He snapped his fingers and the stereo turned on, playing D’Angelo’s Untitled (How does it feel).

Alec smiled. Bless this D’Angelo.

“Get comfortable love, I am going to go put on your birthday gift.” Alec nodded, excited. Magnus walked in their walk-in closet.

Minutes later, he came out looking like sin and nothing else. Alec was on his knees.

*************************************************************

“Thank you” Alec grinned. Staring at the ceiling, completely in the state of euphoria. Magnus kissed him. He gently placed his hands on his cheeks. “Happy Birthday to me.”

The surrealism and bittersweetness of Alec turning 38, made Magnus felt heartbreakingly somber. Yet, he will celebrate Alec at any cost and at all moments. Time, was precious and quick.

“You’re welcome?” He laughed, as he pulled Alec closer. Kissed his forehead. “Happy Birthday, Alexander.” He closed his eyes, holding Alec.

****************************************************************

A melody, a familiar melody. Melody of a music box. Magnus opened his eyes. He felt disoriented, shaking his head against the pillow to break the wall between reality and the unconsciousness of dreams. The melody continued. He knows this song, somehow? In his dazed, his mind is jumping to no conclusion.

Magnus sat up. It echoed down the hall. He turned to see that Alec was still asleep. Maybe Chairman set something on. He tossed the covers over and grabbed his silk robe.

He finds Chairman asleep on the couch. Like Alec, he looked peaceful and completely undisturbed by the loud echoing melody. The open windows let the city lights softly lit the rooms. The song continued. He knows it now. It’s Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, E flat. The song got louder as he approached his office.

It was coming from the closet. The closet was filled with random objects, artifacts, books, and boxes of random things that even Magnus have forgotten about. The song grew louder. It took him pulling and rearranging a tidy space to find it. It was buried deep in a wooden chest box. Inside, was another box, a music box. The song stopped as he held it. It was perfectly crafted, handmade with wood and metal. It brought tears to Magnus’ eyes. He seated himself on the ground. He thought he lost it long ago, in his many travels. He opened the box and the song begin again. Two metal figures stood up and began to dance, twirling around, while hand in hand.

As it played, Bringing back old memories.

************************************************************* Tomas.

“Don’t go.” His green eyes looked at him, desperately.

“I have to. We can’t do this.” Magnus pleaded, determined to walk out with his luggages. He needs to leave.

“What about us?…I love you.” Tomas stood closer, his lips on Magnus’ cheeks. His arms around Magnus.

“You’re married, Tomas. There’s no us. I am…I am…This was a mistake.” Magnus pushed him, grabbing his bags. As he made his way to the front doors, he felt Tomas’ footsteps following him. He turned to see Mrs. Bennett staring from the staircase. Her eyes were cold and distance. She knows. Of course, she knows. Whispers in this hallowed house, are never meant to be secrets. Magnus wanted to apologize, but it was useless.

Outside it was snowing. He stopped, pulled his coat closer.

“Wait…” Magnus turned to see Tomas in his bedroom robe. Red eyes filled tears. He had a wrapped red box in his hand. “This is for you.” He carefully stepped closer and handled the box over. “Open when you’re alone.” Magnus took the box. It was heavy and it smelled of roses and cedar wood.

“I can’t accept this.”

“It was made for you. Take it, if you don’t…it has no purpose.”

“Thank you, Tomas.” Tomas huffed, his eyes still sad.

“You’re a cruel man, Mr. Bane.” He looked passed Magnus, at the horse and carriage, waiting.

“I am sorry.” Magnus gripped the box closer.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Bane.” Tomas turned and walked back.

************************************************************* “What is that?” Ishaan asked as they seated down in their booth. They were heading back to India.

“Apparently, a birthday gift.”

“Is it your birthday?”

“Strangely, yes.”

Ishaan was a Warlock, an older warlock. He has been mentoring Magnus in the past years. He has taken him in, sheltered him and guided him. Magnus has nothing but gratitude and love for Ishaan.

“How old are you today?”

“22.”

“I forget how young you are?” Magnus looked away, staring out into the passing scenery. “How was your time at Mr. and Mrs. Bennetts?” He knows, that birthdays are difficult.

“They were very kind, I learned a lot…from Mr. Bennett. But things got complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with mortals. Do you want to talk about it?”

”No.”

When Ishaan felt asleep, Magnus took a walk to clear his mind, ending at the caboose, where he was alone. It was quiet from human commotions. Most of the passengers were asleep. The sound of metals against metal echoed through the train. He seated himself down. He took the red wrapped box out. Carefully, he unwrapped it. Inside was a music box. A Tomas Bennett’ handcrafted one. Engraved on top was “un momento de nosotros.”

When he opened it, two metal figures, believed to be men. Hand in hand, dancing to Chopin’s Nocturne. Magnus began to cry. He can still feel Tomas near him. And the night, when he held him closes. In candlelight, behind closed doors, surrounded by warmth and music. Magnus closed his eyes. He’s filled with regrets and doubts. He should have never been there. Never, would he allow such feelings like this to happen again. He was not of his kind. Tomas was a well respected, human, married, and a White man. Magnus was Magnus. Living in their world. He laughed. He refuses to be in his own version of Madam Butterfly. He hated that play.

He was confused, clouded with questions and sweet forbidden kisses.

“What a beautiful box.” Magnus looked up. He felt embarrassed, quickly he got up. Shutting the box. There was a light tan man standing above him. He had dark hair, slender with high cheekbones and sharp dark eyes. He was dressed perfected in a tailored black suit, wrapped in a thick black fur. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you there.”

“It’s fine.” Magnus wiped his tears.

“I can hear the song from the halls, in the next car.”

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.” Magnus was surprised.

“No, don’t apologize. It’s a beautiful song. I was there when he premiered it at the grand halls in Paris. The room fell in love. Truly for the romantics.” He was studying Magnus. His eyes were difficult to read.

“Did you know that Chopin was not the original composer?” The man grinned. “…It was an Irish man, John Field, who hated Chopin.” He laughed. “…Chopin admired Field, respected him. Yet, such admiration was not returned. However, we don’t care for Field…it was Chopin who freed the song, broke it and gave it life…he will be the one people remember.” He smiled.

“Things we know, huh?” Magnus whispered. He felt unease.

“Yes, things we know. May I?” Magnus hesitated, but he felt as he should listen to this man. Magnus gave him the box. The man took it, carefully studying the wood carving. “…Oh my, I know this craftsmanship, it’s of Tomas Bennett, he’s a genius with mechanics, a promising young man. I have seen his works in London. His crafted music boxes is a rare thing.” He opened the box. The song began. “Are these two men?” Magnus got nervous, he grabbed the box and held it close.

“There just metal figures.”

“This is a gift? Did he give you this?” He asked. “You must be special.” Magnus didn’t answer.

”There, there.” His eyes soften. “So young you are…filled with so many questions about life and…love.” He took a step closer. “There is no sin here.” He placed his hand on top of the box.

“It’s…It’s late, sir.” He began to walk towards the exit. The air felt thin, like it was suffocating him.

“Oh Magnus, I have travel so far to see you.” The man voice changed. Deeper, colder, and hallow. Magnus froze. The lights begin to darken and Magnus felt the chill through his veins. He turned to see the man. Frightened. The man eyes have changed, they were gold and bright. Shining in the dark. He knows those eyes.

“What kind of father I am, if I did come to celebrate you, my son…on his birthday?” He smiled. ****************************************************************** I have a part 2 in mind, should I continue?

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec fanfiction #shadowhunters #lgbt

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youngandhungryent · 4 years

Text

Nick Cannon Eminem Diss Records Trolled By Slim Shady On Twitter, 50 Cent Jumps In

Source: Gabriel Olsen / Getty

One of Hip-Hop’s most lame rivalries has just come back to haunt us. We can thank Nick Cannon for the jig.

As spotted on HipHopDX the media personality challenged one of the most lyrically proficient rappers ever to a one on one. With the release of Fat Joe and Dre’s newest album Family Ties came a guest appearance from Eminem and he did not disappoint. In his feature came some not so subtle mentions about Mariah Carey and her ex-husband.

“Tryna tell him his chicks a nut ‘fore he got his jewels clipped/Almost got my caboose kicked/Fool, quit, you not gon’ do shit/I let her chop my balls off too before I lost to you, Nick” Shady rapped. Naturally the Drumline actor didn’t take the diss lightly. On December 6 Nick addressed the bars on his Power 106 radio show. While he initially said the verse wasn’t worthy of a response he in fact acknowledged the diss while wearing a Santa outfit. He later challenged him to a live battle on his Wild ‘N Out platform.

View this post on Instagram

Let’s Wild Out Marshall!!!

@Eminem @mtvwildnout @NickCannonMornings In the MuthaFuk’n Santa Suit!!!

A post shared by NICK CANNON (@nickcannon) on Dec 6, 2019 at 10:10am PST

But the opportunity for clout seemed too big for the San Diego native. Within 24 hours he has formally responded with a “diss” track called “The Invitation”. The host gets his thug on with a gruff vocal delivery and bars alleging that the Angry Blonde gave his former bodyguard oral favors. To add even more wack sauce to the formula he enlists the talents of his Wildn’ Out MC’s Charlie Clips and Hitman Holla to help out.

Naturally, Eminem took this opportunity to further clown Cannon with a series of tweets. “U mad bro? Stop lying on my d*ck. I never even had a chauffeur, you bougie f*ck,” he posted.

U mad bro? Stop lying on my dick. I never even had a chauffeur, you bougie f*ck.

— Marshall Mathers (@Eminem) December 10, 2019

He followed it up with another sarcastic jab saying, “I demand an apology Nicholas, you’ve made my gardener so jealous!”.

I demand an apology Nicholas, you've made my gardener so jealous!

— Marshall Mathers (@Eminem) December 10, 2019

Even 50 Cent jumped in the fray with his signature petty proving his cape for Eminem is still tucked in tight. “

hey Nick that sh*t was trash, I oughta kick you in yo ass when I see you PUNK!” he posted to his Instagram.

View this post on Instagram

I don’t understand to save my life why someone would pick a fight with EM. He is a different kinda animal, I haven’t seen a motherfucker come close to beating him man.

hey Nick that shit was trash, I oughta kick you in yo ass when I see you PUNK! #lecheminduroi #bransoncognac #starzgettheapp #abcforlife

A post shared by 50 Cent (@50cent) on Dec 10, 2019 at 4:17am PST

While we wish this entire incident would go away the two do have a history of back and forth. Back in 2001 Em’ hinted at dating Mariah but the Long Island native denied the claims. Her unofficial response “Obsessed”, with an accompanying video with her dressed up as Em, points to him being a bit too preoccupied with the songstress. Cannon then got involved too with “I’m A Slick Rick” but Marshall shut everything down with “The Warning”.

You can listen to “The Invitation” below if you have four minutes of your life you don’t value.

youtube

Photo: Getty

source https://hiphopwired.com/831259/nick-cannon-eminem-diss-records-trolled-by-slim-shady-on-twitter-50-cent-jumps-in/

#fucu #fucul #young and hungry ent #boss of bosses #instrumental type beat free

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demi-dufresne · 7 years

Text

Haunted*

Hello! Still feeling particularly halloween-esque. Here’s another entry for the red vs blue bingo, hosted by @rvbficwars ! This one’s for gen, seeing as I’d probably tag it as that if it were on ao3 or something. Break a leg, blue team!

Church hated halloween. He fucking hated it. It was this time of year that kids got the bright idea to whip out the Ouija boards, trying to summon deadass spirits who want to haunt their houses or some shit. Nine times out of ten, one of them would move the pointer thing anyways. What was even the purpose of calling him there? Church hated it.

Like, okay, October did have its perks. For starters, it was the time he actually had the most communication with the living, being a ghost and all. That was pretty nice. He had very little memories still intact from when he was alive, and being around living people sometimes brought them back. And he really liked the smell of pumpkins, which was all over the damn place this month. So cool. October. Not cool? The responsibilities of being dead.

Every time a person put their grubby little fingers on the Ouija board, the nearest ghost was summoned. Okay, yeah. That makes sense. It just sucked that, in Church’s little suburb of Valhalla, he was pretty sure he was the only dead guy who cared to stick around.

One perk he got out of that? Messing with people.

It was twenty days until Halloween when he got yet another call. Every time this happened, Church felt like his stomach was being dragged up his throat by a vacuum cleaner. This time was no different. He choked on air, as if he needed to breathe, and then suddenly, bam! He was in some random house in the middle of town. Grand.

“What do you even want?” He grumbled. Of course, they couldn’t hear him. There were four kids sitting on the floor there, each with one hand pressed to the pointer thing. Church hadn’t been dumb enough to mess with this shit as a kid. Like, come on. You’re begging for trouble.

“Uh, dear dead guy, or something,” one of them said. He wore a obnoxiously teal (aqua?) shirt, and for some reason held his head down in prayer. “Welcome to my house, I guess. I live here. It’s pretty great. Bet you’re glad to be in my presence. But uh, hey. Don’t like, kill us, I guess. Amen.” The other three nodded, one in dark blue a little more enthusiastically than the others.

That first one of the kids- okay, hold on. They weren’t really kids. They were somewhere around seventeen, old enough to know better. That almost pissed Church off even more. “Okay, guys,” the dude said. He had dark black hair cropped close to his head, with a darker skin tone than the rest. “We need to remember to be, like, polite and stuff. I think. Maybe. Or wait, did it say aggressive? I don’t know, I’ve only looked this up on wiki-how once, in like, seventh grade.”

“Thanks, Tucker. Nice preparation. Always great to hear you have an expert on your team,” a second guy said. Ginger, curly hair, glasses. Looked like a fucking dork to Church.

“Let’s just get this over with. Why can’t we like, sit around and eat popcorn and watch movies like normal teenagers?” This third dude looked kinda… Hawaiian, almost? He definitely had a point, though. These motherfuckers could be doing literally anything else, and they chose to summon ghosts. Great.

“I like ghosts. My cat Apples was a ghost once. She came to me in a dream,” said the fourth one. Don’t do drugs, kids, Church thought to himself. Even sitting down Church could tell this guy was tall as hell. Something about him seemed familiar. Fucking druggies. There was always one of those in a group, it seemed.

“That’s nice, Caboose, but we’re not here to summon a dead cat. Don’t think they can talk, anyway,” the first guy- Tucker- said. “Alright, come on. Let’s think of some questions.”

“Ooh, I know. What is your favorite color?” The Caboose guy said. Church felt his face fold into a scowl. He came all this way for this? Who the hell cared about his favorite color? He was a ghost, for Christ’s sake! At least ask about, like, ghost stuff! Or something!

Either way, he was bound to the damn thing. “Hey, look! It’s actually moving,” nerd boy said. Church touched the pointer, sliding it across the board. The four teens started in awe, watching it glide slowly. Church didn’t have fucking time for this.

“Uh… B- wait, no- oh, yeah. B-L-U-D? Blood? Oh my god it’s gonna kill us! Why the hell couldn’t we have just like, watched Star Wars like you guys said we would? Holy shit I don’t wanna die,” the Hawaiian guy said.

“Shut up, Grif, it’s B-L-U-E. Blue. Dumbass,” nerd boy said.

“Oh. Hah. Right,” Hawaiian guy- Grif- continued. “Favorite color blue. Gotcha.”

“This isn’t even real, it’s not like it matters,” nerd boy complained.

“Oh, boo hoo, I’m Simmons and I don’t believe in things I can’t see,” Tucker mocked. “Grow a pair, dude. Grif, your turn for a question.”

“Right. Uh, I guess… What’s your name?”

If Church was able to kill them, he just might. Everyone started with that stupid question. Like, he was never asked anything of relevance. ‘Hey Church, what’s it like being dead?’ ‘Hey Church, do you want us to light a pumpkin candle?’ ‘Hey Church, how do you feel about not eating?’ Nah, instead it was a bunch of bullshit about favorite colors and names. Ugh. It drove Church nuts.

He did toy with the idea of giving his first name. Then again, who respects a ghost named Leonard?

“C---H-U-R-C-H. Church. Huh. That’s a weird name,” Tucker said. He then turned his head to the ceiling, shouting at what he probably thought was Church. “We didn’t ask you your place of worship, dude!” Church sighed.

“Oh look, he’s spelling something out again!” Grif called.

“I-M… okay, I’m, what’s next? Oh. J-E-W-I-S-H. Hey, he’s Jewish,” nerd boy- Simmons- said.

“Never said he was a dude,” Grif said. Simmons bit his lip.

“I- I just hope it’s a dude, I wouldn’t talk well to, uh, lady ghosts I don’t think-” Simmons stuttered out.

“Apples was a lady ghost,” Caboose said. “Oh! I know! Ghosty-man, do you know Apples?” Church laughed. If there was a druggie’s cat-ghost floating around with him, maybe life would be a little more interesting. All four teens started intently as the pointer moved to “No.”

“Whelp, sorry Caboose, looks like our Jewish Church here doesn’t know your dead cat friend,” Tucker said. “Church! Tell me buddy, are you the only ghost here?”

Church looked around the room. Of fucking course he was. Everybody else died and got to go up or down, but Church? He didn’t know. They couldn’t find a place for him, so they stuck him in the middle. Figures. He was alone his entire life, why should his afterlife be any different? He moved the pointer to “Yes.”

“I don’t know guys. I don’t think this is real. Tucker, are you moving it?” Simmons asked.

“The only place my fingers will be moving tonight is inside your sister. Bow chica bow wow.”

“I don’t even have a sister, assbag,” Simmons said. “Now grow up. This is fake and we all know it.” He stood to leave.

“He’s the only reason I’m here. He’s out, I’m out,” Grif said.

“Wait!” Tucker called. “Here, let me- Church! If you’re hearing me, prove you exist. Like, I don’t know, float something or whatever.”

This was another thing Church hated about Ouija boards. The people behind them almost never knew what they were doing.

Church moved the handle to “No” again. Tucker whined.

“Aww, come on man, don’t be like that!” Tucker said. Church rolled his eyes. “Wait guys, don’t leave, he’s moving it again. Uh, C-A-N-T. Can’t. Oh, come on. Dammit, Church,” Tucker said.

“Right. You two have fun with your fake ghost. We all know it’s you,” Simmons said. Caboose looked up at him with wide eyes. “Well, at least, Grif and I do. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna head.” He left Tucker’s bedroom, Grif trailing behind.

“Hey, ghost-Church,” Tucker whispered. “If they leave the house, you should haunt their asses.”

Okay. There was one rule of the Ouija board that it bugged the hell outta Church if people didn’t follow. That rule was saying goodbye. Like, not only is it common courtesy, but it leaves the portal stuck here. He’d have to stay in the shitty room where the kids were goofing off, and he couldn’t leave until they opened it again and closed it properly this time. If Church had learned anything about these motherfuckers over the past twenty minutes, it was that they certainly wouldn’t know how to close it. That aside, he didn’t want to see what Tucker got up to in here, his bedroom. Fucking gross.

If they did ask him to do something like a haunting, where he’d need to leave the house, however… and he agreed to it… he wouldn’t be stuck here. That sounded nice.

“S-U-R-E. Oh my god he’s actually gonna haunt them,” Tucker said to Caboose. “Dude I wasn’t being serious.”

“T-O-O, too what? L-A-T-E- oh god, dammit,” Tucker swore. “Fuck.”

“Maybe ghost-Church could say hello to Apples for me. I know they’d be best friends,” Caboose said. He still seemed a little too familiar.

Behind him, Church heard a door close. He followed after the noise, knowing Simmons and Grif to be the culprits. Afterall, he had some haunting to do.

II.

“Ooh, it’s really cold all of a sudden,” Simmons said, wrapping his arms around himself. Church knew that was his fault. Stand too close to someone and wow, it’s like they’re a living icicle.

“It is fall, dumbass,” Grif said. “Here, take my jacket.” He shrugged an orange jacket off of his shoulders, passing it to Simmons.

“You sure?”

“I don’t need a jacket, I’m always hot,” Grif boasted. Church smirked, taking a step closer to Grif. Grif visibly shivered.

“Grif, you’re a fucking liar. Now come on, we can’t just stand here on Tucker’s doorstep all evening. We still on for pumpkins tonight?” Simmons said.

“Oh yeah! I almost forgot about that. My mom did buy them this morning, so they’re ready whenever you are,” Grif said, walking off the porch. Church was all but beaming. Not only did he get to fuck with these bozos, but he fucking loved pumpkins. If only he could eat, man. His (after)life would be complete.

The two of them walked silently, side by side down the autumn streets. Leaves were everywhere. Yellows and oranges and dark reds. It was kinda pretty.

And damn, what Church wouldn’t give to have the energy to read their minds right then. Shame he got so tired after a seance, because usually that wasn’t a problem. The joys of being a ghost, he guessed.

“Hey, Grif, can I ask you something?” Simmons said, looking over.

“Yeah, sure,” Grif said. “You want to borrow the jacket?”

“Uh… y-yeah. Right. Thanks,” Simmons said, his face suddenly flushing red. Grif passed him the coat, and he shrugged it over his shoulders wordlessly. A few moments passed before he said something. “Ugh, it smells like smoke.”

“Well, I smoke, my mom smokes… and I’m pretty sure Kai smokes weed,” Grif said.

“It’s gross. You’re gonna get cancer and die, dumbass,” Simmons said.

“Yep. That’d leave you sad and lonely.”

“Ppsh. Yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without you eating all of my parents’ food and making bad first impressions. And second impressions. And really, all the impressions,” Simmons said sarcastically.

“You eat all my parents food too,” Grif protested.

“Uh, yeah. If by that you mean I eat half a serving and then you finish mine, yours, and Kai’s without even asking, then yes. I do eat all your food,” Simmons said.

“Don’t make me take that jacket back, Simmons,” Grif said.

“Is that a threat?” Simmons said with a chuckle. Church looked between the two of them. He was having trouble telling if they hated each other’s guts or there was just a lot of, uh… tension. Romantic tension? Sexual tension? Friendly tension? Just plain regular tension? It beat Church.

They arrived at Grif’s house a couple minutes later. He opened the door, sliding into the house. It wasn’t even locked. Church was pretty sure that when he was alive, he must have been born in a city, because he hated unlocked doors. Something about them just set him off. He wasn’t sure what. Simmons shut the door behind him and Grif, and Church took a bit of his energy to lock it. Something about unlocked doors, man.

“Sister! Mom! You guys home?” Grif called. No one responded. “Whelp. Guess it’s just you and me, Simmons.” Grif waltzed into the kitchen, checking twice for good measure. Nope. No one else was here. A line of six pumpkins sat on the counter next to the stove, and some newspaper was spread out across the floor.

It kind of reminded Church of when he was a kid. It wasn’t a clear memory- those rarely occur- but it sort of seemed like something he’d done. The spreading out the newspaper, cutting off the lid, collecting the pumpkin seeds to put in the oven… It was familiar to Church.

Something about that made him wonder what year he’d died. He had no idea.

“Cool. Let’s grab some knives, it looks like we’ve got some pumpkins to carve,” Simmons said. Grif grinned.

“Hell yeah we do,” Grif said. He pulled down two of the six pumpkins off the counter. “Bigger one or smaller one?”

“Eh, whichever one you don’t want,” Simmons said.

“Dude. It’s a pumpkin. Just pick one,” Grif said, sitting down on the newspaper. Simmons plucked two knives from the butcher’s block, sitting down next to Grif.

“Fine. I’ll take the smaller one,” Simmons said.

“Hey, I’ve always said size doesn’t matter, it’s what you do with it,” Grif joked. Simmons gave a forced smile.

“Heh, yep,” he said quickly. His cheeks were going red.

“Oh, relax. Grab the pumpkin, nerd,” Grif said.

“You’re a fucking pumpkin,” Simmons muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” Grif said, nodding his head. “And Simmons, you know I can’t let that pass.”

“Grif, Grif, don’t- Grif-” Simmons said, but it was too late. Grif tucked his fingers into Simmons’ side, tickling him relentlessly. “Grif, Grif!” Simmons chuckled.

“I’ve got you now!” Grif called, laughing himself. Simmons had fallen over, sprawled out across the newspaper, giggles leaving his mouth.

Church stared down at the whole thing with one eyebrow cocked. What the hell.

Grif pulled away, panting with laughter. “Are you really out of breath from tickling me? Wow. You really are a fatass,” Simmons said.

“Kissass,” Grif panted out, falling next to him on the papers.

Simmons met Grif’s eyes. They just sat there for a second, making weird eye contact for longer than Church knew to be normal. Or at least, thought to be normal. Was everyone more comfortable with each other in the future? It beat Church.

Grif’s eyes flicked down for a second. Just a second. But Church knew what that meant. Simmons tilted his head, his eyes closing.

That’s when they heard someone pulling the door.

“Hey, dirtbags! Who’s bright idea was it to lock the door?” A harsh, almost southern accent filled the front of the house.

Grif groaned, rolling away from Simmons. Simmons jolted up, rushing to get to the door.

“Sorry sir,” Simmons called, “It was probably Grif.”

“That no good, lazy, son of a gun…” the southern man said, his words trailing into muttering.

Within the few seconds of the man coming to the door, both Grif and Simmons’ demeanors changed entirely. The two of them went from being relaxed and content and- maybe about to kiss?- to Grif starfished out on the floor grumpily while Simmons was wearing the biggest grin in existence. Church didn’t know what was going on, but he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Simmons unlocked the door, grinning up at the man who stood behind it. He had greying hair with a military buzz cut, and a bit of stubble surrounding a firm scowl. “Took you long enough,” he said.

“Sorry, sir. Grif and I were about to start carving pumpkins,” Simmons said. “Would you care to join us?”

“Join you? Grif, how dare you start pumpkin carving without your dear brother!” the man called. He pushed past Simmons into the house. Simmons, instead of protesting, just sat up straighter. He struck Church as the type to always be eager to please. The man made his way to Grif, looking down at him sprawled out on the newspaper. “At least wait for Donut.”

“Listen here, dickhead,” Grif said, sitting up from his position on the floor. “Just because you got with my mom doesn’t make you my dad. And it sure as hell doesn’t make that stupid son of yours my brother!”

Oh. Now Church could see what was going on. This man was Grif’s stepdad. That Donut guy was his step-brother. Got it.

“Oh, hey boys!” Someone else was standing in the doorway, looking between Simmons and Grif with a grin. Just by his looks Church could tell this guy was named Donut. He just… looked like a Donut. Short blonde hair, a pink tank top tucked into denim short shorts- if that didn’t scream Donut, Church didn’t know what did.

“You know what? Fuck this. I’m going to Simmons’ place. At least his parents seem to ignore me,” Grif said.

“My parents hate you, Grif,” Simmons said.

“As they should! All you do is eat and sleep! Why can’t you be more like Simmons here, listening when people tell him things-”

“Really? Thank you, sir!” Simmons said.

“-and then misreading them entirely, messing it all up! At least that’s humorous!” the step-dad said with a hearty chuckle. Simmons took a second, his face falling.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Grif said. He stood at his full height, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Come on, Simmons. We’re leaving.”

“Yeah. See you later, Sarge. Bye, Donut,” Simmons said, following Grif outta the house with a shrug. Church sighed. He really wanted the smell of pumpkins.

With that, Church felt a tugging feeling in his gut, like his stomach was being dragged up his throat by a vacuum cleaner. He knew what that meant. Another seance! Great. Just what he fucking wanted.

III.

“Dear father, son, and holy ghost- we come with peace in our hearts and curiosity as our intention. We wish no harm and only to learn of the other world. Vile spirits be warned. Amen,” started the first guy.

“Amen,” the group chorused. That group being distinguishably recognizable. Dammit. Church was ready to kill a man.

This was probably the last place he’d wanted to be. But, as cruel as fate is- he was back in Tucker’s bedroom.

This time, though, an Indian looking teen in a purple hoodie was leading the seance, blocky black glasses over his closed eyes. He’d gone and lit some candles, too. They weren’t pumpkin candles, but hey. It was close enough. At least someone had some respect for the undead.

“Peaceful spirit, we ask you to please state your name,” hoodie said, pressing his fingers lightly against the pointer. His eyes flickered open. The group- consisting of Tucker, Caboose, and some blonde guy in gray and yellow- followed suit.

Church sighed. He was so sick of this.

“C-H-U-R-C-H. Oh, hey there, Church, buddy!” Tucker called. “I was hoping you’d be back.”

“I wasn’t,” Church grumbled, but it fell upon deaf ears.

“Church! We wanted to tell you not to haunt Grif and Simmods!” Caboose said. His eyes were squeezed tight, as if he was trying to mimic the guy in the hoodie. He wasn’t doing it very well.

“His name is Simmons, you fucknut,” Tucker said. “Anyway. You can stop haunting them or whatever, but first you should definitely tell us any dirt you caught on them. Any secrets? Any mystery women? I mean, come on. Grif strikes me as the type to hold an illegal sex ring.”

Church had never realized the capacity of stupidity. These people freakin’ embodied it.

“Grif wouldn’t. I wouldn’t put it passed you, Tucker, but then again, I wouldn’t put much of anything passed you,” the blonde guy said. His whole face said ‘exasperated.’

“Why are you even here, Wash?” hoodie said. “You are obviously a skeptic of the supernatural arts. I can read it all over your face.”

Blondie-- Wash-- rolled his eyes. “I was told there would be cats. As of yet, I have seen no cats,” he deadpanned.

“Cats? Did you see Apples? I want to see Apples!” Caboose shouted, his eyes slamming open.

“Seriously. Shut up,” Tucker said. “Back on topic, Church! What did you dig up on our friends?”

Church moved the pointer with a sigh. These people were ridiculous.

“T-H-E okay the, wait not the, T-H-E-Y-’-RE. They’re. They’re what?” Tucker translated. “G-A- game? Y. They’re- oh.” Tucker paused. “They’re… They’re gay.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Wash said. “Have you seen the two of them?”

“I knew it! I always thought Simmons was a secretly a gay robot,” Caboose insisted. Church raised an eyebrow. For as strange as that sentence was, he swore he’d heard it before, somewhere.

“Ppsh. No you didn’t. That’s what you used to say about… uh, Leo,” Tucker said. At those words, everyone got real quiet. Wash’s head hung down. Hoodie bit his lip. There was something going on, and Church couldn’t tell what.

“Tucker,” Caboose said. His voice was lower than usual, almost at a whisper. “I miss him.”

“Me too, buddy,” Tucker said. He moved his hands from the pointer, swinging an arm around Caboose’s shoulders. “Me too.” Caboose’s eyes stayed locked on the board. He wasn’t moving.

“Caboose. It wasn’t your fault,” hoodie said.

“Thanks, Doc,” Caboose whispered. “But you do not have to play pretend. I did bad.” It almost looked like he was going to cry.

“He was your best friend. There’s no way you would have done that on purpose.” Wash said.

Church took a second, looking at the people across the room.

That’s when it hit him.

Church had that feeling again. The stomach sucked through a vacuum cleaner kind of feeling. Except this time, he wasn’t travelling in space. His mind was going back in time.

A flashback. A flashback of when he was alive.

He knew where he was, somehow. He was outside Michael’s house. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a beige newsboy cap over his messy black hair. He could kind of see his breath, if he tried really hard. He had to squint to really see it.

He must’ve been like, eleven at the time.

It was such a vivid picture. For the minutes it took, Church felt like he was actually there. The details of Tucker’s bedroom faded out as the muted yellows of Michael’s house faded over his vision.

He rapped his knuckles on the screen door, waiting a couple of seconds. Church rocked back and forth on his heels. It was mighty cold outside, especially for the time of year. Leaves were a muted brown and red, occasionally bright yellows sticking through. It was October. His birthday was coming up. He was gonna be a big twelve year old soon, and he couldn’t wait. One more year until he could actually get into PG-13 movies in the theatres! He wished his mom was still around. Maybe she could have taken him. God knows his dad wouldn’t.

“Michael! Hey, Michael! Michael J. Caboose, open the damn door!” He called to the upstairs window. Of course he didn’t think to try the handle. It was always locked. That’s how the Caboose family was- always locking things.

This was the one time they didn’t.

Church rocked on his heels again, whistling some melody off key. Two flights of stairs up, a certain Michael leaned over the window, looking down at Church with a grin on his face. Boy, was Leo gonna love him! He had the funniest idea for a prank. All he had to do was startle him, drop the thing twenty feet to his left, and laugh about it later. Nothing could go wrong. It was the perfect plan.

Church didn’t hear the window upstairs slide open. He certainly didn’t see the bright orange of a pumpkin being pushed out of said window, a smiling Caboose looking down over him. And he definitely wasn’t awake long enough to feel the brute force of the impact, the pumpkin smacking into his head and his head smacking the cement. It all happened too fast.

Caboose’s smile slipped slightly.

“Hey guys, we’re back. We- oh, come on. You’re still playing with that ghost bullshit?” Simmons’ voice interrupted. Church’s flashback came to an abrupt end. Grif and Simmons stood at the door, Grif peering over Simmons’s shoulder. His eyes were trained on Church, almost as if he could see him. But he couldn’t. No one could.

Church took a step back, suddenly heartbreakingly aware of the people in the room.

Tucker. Lavernius Tucker. He’d lived on Second Street, right down the block from Church’s house. They’d learned to ride bikes together.

And Doc. Frank DuFresne. That idiot thought he could heal anything, though he’d barely even earned his nickname. Hell, Church was the one that gave it to him. Once put a band-aid on Church’s mouth to get him to shut up.

Simmons. Richard. And Dexter Grif! They were the two kids on the playground who would always fight over who got the basketballs at recess… Dexter would only fight Dick about it to piss him off, and Dick would throw a hissy fit. God. It seemed like forever ago.

Wash didn’t ring that many bells, but even Donut was starting to seem familiar. He knew them. He’d known them.

And Caboose.

He’d killed him.

“And like, dude,” Tucker continued talking to Caboose, as if Simmons and Grif still weren’t there. “We’re not stupid. We know why you turned to ecstasy in the first place. But like, man. It’s really fucked you over,” he said. “It’s been five years. You need some closure or some shit.”

Caboose still hadn’t moved his eyes from the Ouija board. Church took a second, looking at this broken man. He was labelled as a murderer at twelve years old. And, as Church slowly realized, he’d turned to drugs to forget about that. To forget about the one time he fucked up and ended his best friend’s life.

But he couldn’t.

Church didn’t have much energy left, but damn if he wasn’t going to try his best. No hands were left on the pointer. In the moment, that didn’t matter.

“Wh- guys, it’s moving. What?” Simmons said. He took a step further into the room, Grif on his tail.

“What’s it say, what’s it say?” Tucker said.

“Will you be quiet? The spirit is trying to contact us, how could it possibly think over all this chatter? What you guys need is some Chamomile tea, that’d calm you down,” Doc said.

“Doc, shut up, I’m trying to read it,” Grif said, squeezing into the circle. All six of them crowded around the board, watching quietly as Church moved the pointer slowly, carefully. All of his energy was going into this. It was all he had.

“Caboose. It’s me. It’s Leo,” Church muttered, using the pointer to spell his words as he spoke them. “Leonard Church. I’m here.”

“Holy shit. Holy fuck he’s here,” Tucker said. “Holy shit.”

“Maybe this is the reason I stuck around, my unfinished business. It’s been years, dude. I’ve always been here,” Church said. Caboose’s eyes were going glassy. He still hadn’t moved from his position, and hadn’t uttered a word. “I just wanted to say I forgive you. I do. It wasn’t your fault. I mean, yeah, it kind of was, but you didn’t mean it to be.” At this point in his speech, Doc had begun writing his words down letter for letter. Church noticed this, and used it as an excuse to move the pointer a little faster. “You aren’t defined by mistakes, Caboose. Michael. You’re defined by your decisions.”

Caboose pulled his knees up to his chest, blinking his eyes hard and fast. This was getting too much for him.

“And I mean, yeah. You’re a fucking dumbass. And so am I, I guess. But I’m starting to think it’s time to let go.” He paused the pointer here, looking around the room. Six faces stared at his hands intently. Five people he’d known his whole life, but hadn’t known until just a few minutes ago. Candles were lit around him, and faintly in the October air, he could smell a trace of pumpkins. It was time to go. “I’ll say hi to your cat, buddy, if I see her,” Church said. “Good luck.” With that, Church used the last shred of his energy. He moved the pointer hesitantly to the ‘Goodbye.’

Six faces looked up, searching each other to better understand. Their friend was gone, but up until now, he wasn’t really. No one said a word.

Huh. Church had always wondered what would happen when he ran out of energy.

He guessed he’d find out.

#rvb bingo wars #blue team entry #halloween #church #grimmons if you squint #not really #it's kinda more church being an assuming asshole #what's new though amirite #leonard l. church #ghost church #grif #simmons #tucker #doc #caboose #agent washington #wash

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