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metalhoops · 1 year

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Inspired by this post

Steve had watched the world end a hundred different ways. He’d lived the same day more times than he could count, watching the people he loved die or feeling himself die. There were things worse than death. There were memories he didn’t dredge up for fear of calling them into the waking world.

He'd held onto hope for the first twenty recurrent days, which had dwindled to a sense of steely determination until he’d lost count of the days. Then all that was left was the comfort of repetition. He was Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill, day in and day out. Steve kept trying and failing to save Eddie until it was all he knew.

Maybe he was Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods and spent his life paying for it, tied to a rock while birds picked at his liver, only for it to grow back with each morning. Prometheus whose name, by definition, means forethought; one’s ability to consider possible futures. Steve had spent a small lifetime considering futures. It wasn’t a comparison he would’ve made on his own. That was Eddie, who’d spent his childhood with his head in thick tomes of fantasy and mythology.

Eddie Munson came to him like cheap furniture, in crudely disassembled pieces that Steve had been working tirelessly to put together. Each new loop brought him another piece of Eddie. His favourite colour was blue. He only woke up early on weekends to watch cartoons. He liked too much cream in his coffee.

The Eddie that existed in a world where Steve stayed with him and Dustin during the swarm of bats had told Steve his biggest dream was to make enough money to buy Uncle Wayne a proper home. His biggest fear was that when he died, no one would remember him.

Days or months later, with Steve repeating the same damn day, he’d finally learnt why Eddie’s love for his uncle ran so deep. Wayne had taken him in before his dad went to jail when the man caught Eddie holding another boy’s hand. In that world, Steve had stayed with Eddie in the RV as the rest of the group searched War Zone.

Eddie’s mother died when he was six. He’d told Steve that later, or earlier. Steve had and has lost his sense of past and present. Eddie loved his mother deeply, though was unsure if that love had been misplaced. He recalled two mothers, one who read him bedtime stories and threw herself around the kitchen each morning with her wild theatrics and another mother who was distant and whose temper could turn on a dime. Eddie wasn’t sure which of those mothers was his and which was the mother of memory. All good storytellers know the story shapes itself in the retelling. Eddie’s mother was Janus, god of duality.

Steve understood. He loved and hated his parents. These feelings weren’t mutually exclusive. Steve loved Eddie because he’d spent the last hundred-odd days getting to know him, but Steve hated Eddie because he kept dying. Until he didn’t.

The boys lay side by side in the red-blue soil of The Upside Down, their bleeding sides caked with mud and demonic bat viscera. In the end, Steve wasn’t sure what’d done it. It’d been so long since he’d lived Eddie’s original death that it’d been smeared by the haze of memory and conjecture. All he knew was that a sea of bats lay dead around them and that it was over. Finally, over.

Steve removed his hand from where it was pressed into his side and extended it to ensnare Eddie’s. He felt muscles tug and tear from the walls of his ribs with the effort. Blood flowed freely from the cavity, but Steve didn’t care. He wanted to hold Eddie’s hand. Holy shit, they’d done it.

Somewhere along the way, Steve had fallen in love. It’d taken him ten more iterations to reconcile with the fact he could not only like a man but love him. That was months ago, in Steve’s time. It was old news. “Steve, you still with me?” Eddie asked, his voice horse.

He was hurt, though not as badly as Steve. All his wounds were superficial. He’d be okay. Steve had been so sick of watching Eddie die, he’d been willing to put his body on the line to make sure it didn’t happen again.

In this loop, he was still ‘Steve’, not ‘Stevie’. They hadn’t grown close enough yet. Eddie only called him ‘sweetheart’ in the iterations where they kissed. Steve wanted to kiss him, but there was the taste of iron in his mouth.

“I’m okay,” Steve insisted, squeezing Eddie’s hand. He felt a sharp pain shoot through his side as Eddie pressed his hand into Steve’s wound.

“Christ, there’s a lot of blood,” Eddie muttered to himself.

He was bad with blood. He’d scraped his knee down to the bone when he was seven and ever since, the sight of gore made him queasy. Steve wasn’t meant to know that yet. In this iteration, he hadn’t told Eddie about the loop. He’d tried before, but it never helped.

Pain and blood loss drag Steve down into a familiar oblivion. He expected to wake at the beginning of the loop, emerging in The Upside Down from Lover’s Lake, but instead, he found himself in a hospital room with Eddie in a bed by his side. It was late, too late for visitors, but Eddie wasn’t sleeping. His eyes were trained on Steve, equal parts concerned and curious.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Eddie confessed, as Steve’s eyes met his.

Steve wanted to cry or scream. He wanted to untangle himself from the knot of cords and tubes to crawl beside Eddie in bed as they had curled up together in the back of the RV dozens of times before. He needed to hold Eddie to know he was alive, to understand he wasn’t going anywhere. Steve blinked away tears, balling his hands into fists. He didn’t want to scare Eddie.

“I scared you?” Steve choked out a mixture between a laugh and a sob.

Eddie didn’t know what to do. He never knew what to do when people cried. Steve learned that in the iteration where they’d lost Dustin. He didn’t want to think about it.

“You almost died, man,” Eddie explained.

He somehow understood Steve wanted him closer. Eddie got out of bed, clutching his I.V. drip as he flopped into the chair by Steve’s bedside. He wanted to hold Eddie’s hand again, but he was out of excuses. He could tell him the truth, but he didn’t know what good it would do.

Steve was still used to thinking of possible futures. He was Prometheus who, unlike Sisyphus, escaped his torment. Steve wondered what happened to Prometheus after he was rescued. Did he return to a normal life? Does anyone bother to ask? Prometheus’ story is always about punishment. Afterwards, he was a footnote in the story of Hercules, but once the heroes leave the story, what’s left?

Eddie would know the answer, but it wasn’t a conversation he’d had with this Eddie. That Eddie was dead. This Eddie was and wasn’t him. This Eddie was Janus, god of abstract duality, god of beginnings and ends, god of life and death.

“Sorry my lame-ass face is the first one you had to see. Robin and the kids were in here all day. Wheeler left flowers,” Eddie tacked on awkwardly.

This Eddie didn’t know Steve. They were strangers. Of course, things were awkward. He couldn’t know he was the one person Steve wanted to see more than anything.

“No, Ed’s—.” Slip of the tongue.

“Eddie. I’m really glad you’re here, man.”

They were back to square one, but Steve could work with that. He’d been working with that for months. This time, Eddie would remember. This time, they had the luxury of taking things slow.

“One thing’s been bugging me all day,” Steve began.

After hundreds of days of getting to know Eddie, Steve had learnt a few shortcuts, a few ways to jump-start his way into Eddie’s heart.

“Can you explain what the hell Mordor is?”

It was a tried-and-true method. By that point, Steve knew Eddie’s response off by heart, but he wanted to hear him say it. Eddie gave him the same perplexed look he always did when Steve asked. It was as though Eddie thought he knew too much like there was some secret he wasn’t letting him in on, but he didn’t challenge Steve on it. He never did.

“Harrington, have you heard of Lord of the Rings?” Yes.

“No.” A million times.

“Tell me about it.”

Read Part 2 Here

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #ficlet #Metalhoops writes #I read the post yesterday #and I've been thinking about it ever since #the plot kind of ran away with itself #but I like how it turned out #I'm considering a part 2 #from Eddie's point of few in the weeks/ months that follow #depending on if people are interested #shoutout to #@theamazingbard #for the idea

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laundrybiscuits · 10 months

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(soulmates AU continued from Part 1)

Eddie has a blotchy, uneven blob on his wrist.

His jacket sleeve had been covering it up every time Steve had seen him in that long, terrible week, so when they’re finally let into his hospital room, Steve can’t help the way his face twists in surprise. He’s never heard of anyone with that kind of soulmark before.

Luckily, Eddie doesn’t seem to notice Steve gawking. He’s cuffed to the bed and he looks so breakable in his thin hospital gown, blinking blearily at them before his gaze slides away again.

“Hi, Eddie,” says Nancy.

Eddie’s mouth twitches up into what could be a smile before he winces. Half of his face is wrapped in big white bandages.

It’s strange to see everything around him in whites and greys and pale blues. He looks more out of place here than he had in the Upside Down.

“Hey,” he rasps. “Y’here for Red?”

“Yes, we are,” Nancy says, crossing to his side. “And we’re here for you too. How are you feeling?”

“Like…what’s his name. Prometheus.”

Nancy laughs, and Steve folds his arms defensively. He hates when people talk about all that fantasy shit like it’s a normal thing to know.

“The hell does that mean?” he snaps, before he remembers he should probably be a little nicer to Eddie. Nancy’s already glaring at him.

“Greek guy,” says Eddie. He doesn’t sound mad or anything. “Dared to steal fire from the gods. Got his liver eaten every day.”

“Wait, every day? How does that even work?”

Eddie grins with half his mouth. “That’s the bitch of it, Harrington. He regrows it every time, just to get it eaten again. Poor fucker never gets to die, just—just keeps hurting.”

“Well, we’re very glad you didn’t die either,” says Nancy, patting his cuffed arm. It’s the one with the weird blobby mark, but she doesn’t seem like she even notices. “It’s so ridiculous that they’ve got you in handcuffs like this. I’ll talk to someone, maybe—”

Eddie waves his free arm languidly. “Ah, don’t worry about it, Wheeler. Prometheus, right? He always…always grows it back again.” He’s starting to slur his words a little, drifting.

“Hey, man,” says Steve. “We’ll let you get some rest, okay? But we’ll—we’ll be back.”

“Ten-four, good buddy,” says Eddie, and closes his eyes.

———

Steve wants to bring up Eddie’s weird mark with Nancy, but he doesn’t know how to not make it seem like he’s trying to get her back.

So the next time he gets a chance, he asks Dustin as casually as he can: “Hey, you ever see Eddie’s soulmark?”

“Hah!” says Dustin. “No way. He covered it up years ago, before we ever even met him.”

“Wait, covered it up? Like…”

“Like, he decided to reject the uncaring hand of fate in a super permanent way.” Dustin pauses, squinting at Steve’s confused face. “He got a cover-up tattoo. Obviously.”

“Oh, sure, obviously. Totally normal thing to do,” says Steve, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, I’ve never even heard of that before.”

Later, the unwelcome thought that’s been prowling around the edges of his mind finally takes shape: what if Nancy wants to get a cover-up?

She wouldn’t, would she?

He doesn’t want to remember the way she always preferred long sleeves, even when they were dating; how she’d slide her fingers tight over her wrist compulsively, clutching, sometimes for no reason at all that he could see.

———

Soulmarks aren’t even that common, so he’s always seen his mark as kind of like a prize. It had felt like winning the lottery, when he’d watched the tidy script appear on his skin a few weeks after his thirteenth birthday.

He’d been a little surprised when he met Nancy Wheeler for the first time, a whole year and a half later; he’d never thought he’d go for someone like her. But then she turned out to be smart and passionate and surprisingly pretty after all, and the knowledge of a future together had sounded better and better all the time.

And now…Robin said, once, that maybe there was another Nancy Wheeler out there just waiting to meet him. The thought fills him with syrupy dread. He’s pretty sure Robin was trying to be nice and comforting, he just really hates the idea that he’s been getting it wrong all this time; that he tried so hard and felt all those things for nothing. But it’s Nancy’s handwriting for sure, just like it’s his on her wrist, and it seems pretty impossible that there’s also another Steve Harrington out there for her too.

So it has to work out, it all has to fit together in the end. It’s going to. He holds onto that for a very long time.

———

Steve doesn’t really get another chance to look at Eddie’s shitty cover-up for a while. At first, he thinks visiting Max and Eddie can be something he and Nancy could maybe do together, but she’s pretty busy handling the legal side of things. From what Jonathan says, it sounds like she’s actually managing to get a pretty good deal for both of them, like maybe there’ll be a duplex in a not-too-bad part of town with the Mayfield-Munson name on it. She’s good at that kind of thing, according to Jonathan. Steve wouldn’t really know.

It’s really obvious that Jonathan doesn’t know how to be around Steve. Like, how do you hang out with the guy who’s got your soulmate’s name etched on his skin by destiny? But somehow they make it work.

In fact, Steve’s started to take some strange kind of comfort from it. Jonathan’s probably the only other guy who knows what it’s like, this off-kilter funhouse vertigo of Nancy’s choice. It connects the two of them even more than it connects either of them with Nancy, probably.

Steve doesn’t blame Jonathan anymore, is the point. If—when Nancy comes back to him, they’ll both be better off because Jonathan’s been in their lives. He gets that now.

Anyway, Nancy’s busy with paperwork or yelling at men in suits or whatever it is she’s actually doing, but Steve still wants to see Max and Eddie. Mostly Max, to be honest, but it’s not like he doesn’t want to see Eddie too. He barely knows the guy, but he thinks it’s pretty normal that he feels some kind of connection or bond or whatever. It’s normal, after going through some shit with another guy his own age, to want to get to know him a little more.

Of course, Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson isn’t exactly normal, so Steve tries not to feel hurt when he opens the door and Eddie’s whole body flinches back, arms coming up protectively, eyes big and scared.

“Sorry,” says Steve, suddenly feeling like he should’ve knocked. “Didn’t mean to startle you, dude.”

Eddie bows from the waist, which looks fucking ridiculous when he’s sitting up on the bed hooked up to a bunch of monitors and stuff. He looks way better than the last time they’d been in the same room.

“Not at all, good sir,” he drawls. “Welcome to my humble abode. Sorry I can’t offer you any refreshments; we’re shockingly low on pudding cups.”

“Right,” says Steve. He’d forgotten the way Eddie talks and how it makes him feel two steps behind sometimes. Like Dustin, kind of, but not as annoying for some reason. Maybe Eddie’s a little nicer about it, he guesses, though nice isn’t exactly a word he’s ever associated with Eddie Munson before.

Without really meaning to, he glances at Eddie’s wrist. It’s tucked casually away against his stomach, half-hidden by the hospital sheets.

“Yeah, uh,” says Eddie. “Henderson…said you asked about. You know.”

Steve feels betrayed, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He hadn’t told Dustin not to say anything, because it wasn’t—it wasn’t fucking relevant to anything, so why would Dustin even mention it? Goddamn asshole kid.

Eddie holds out his arm, wrist up, fingers loosely curled.

“Doesn’t bite,” he says, so Steve takes the invitation and comes closer. He almost reaches out to grab Eddie’s hand, but that would be a weird thing to do, so he doesn’t.

After a moment, Steve says, “I just don’t get why you’d do that.”

Eddie cocks his head. “No? You don’t get why someone might not want to do exactly as they’re told, Ozzy?”

Steve doesn’t know what he expected. Just the typical Munson rebel bullshit after all. But he’s here, and Max is sleeping, so he might as well throw himself into the shiny plastic chair and say, “Whatever, man. How’re you doing?”

As Eddie launches into a convoluted story about some nurse feud he’s been eavesdropping on, Steve makes sure not to let his gaze drift to the obscene blob blotting out the fine tendons and blue veins on his wrist; doesn’t wonder at all about what else that ink might be covering up, and definitely doesn’t wonder why Eddie would want to throw away his one and only universe-approved shot at true love.

What would be the point?

#continuing my least popular snippet of all time! lol I really am just out here posting for myself #to head off any speculation at the pass: the name on Eddie's wrist is not Steve's #not!soulmates AU

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cosmiischillin · 20 days

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Twilight Town: The Frankenstein Twins

Sometimes I got to remember Frank and Len have been and always will be my favorites of the show and I think they’re the most popular aside from Misery and Ruby. I even drew a sketch of them from memory and now Twilight Town exists.

And since I have grouped both twins together. It’s gonna be a long one for the monster analysis. Especially since they’re based on a monster with a LOT of lore and background so let’s get started now

Why is the design part so damn long??

I always saw the twins with two different styles, especially in the Rock aesthetics. Frank would be the 50s-70s style of rock. The checkerboard and pomp hair definitely played a part there. It’s why he got jackets and more biker/greaser type style (growing up my mom used to do a happy Days musical). Len is the punk era of rock. Messy hair, flames, and just extra edge. His fashion was experimental and less clean as his brother. Aside from that I gave them different instruments. Frank has “Devil’s trophy” a golden bass and Len has “Tombstone” a tombstone styled guitar.

So when I was making the twins. The original concept had them still conjoined in adulthood. In fact most of my early sketches had them like that. They could only split apart with magic. I even had a storyline that they asked Jackie to do that and they would live non-conjoined for 24 hours. In the end, the decision would be that they would split as adults via surgery.

The choice of making them separate was the multiple struggles that would come once they’re adults. Relationships would be complicated, one sibling would have different ones compared to the other, and ultimately, they couldn’t blend in pretending to be a costume which I already made a post about, almost getting killed by humans.

The Modern Prometheus

I think I got the idea that Frank and Len were Frankenstein monsters from talking with my friend who is also the co-creator for ENAF. Honestly there was a lot of details that would work for that concept. Frankenstein’s monster sometimes gets his names shortened to be just Frank or Frankie, different illterations had him green (on rare cases blue), and even the visibility of stitches (which took me 13 years to see). So once I had them be the sons of Frankenstein’s monster (which is actually Frank 1) and Bride of Frankenstein (who is named Eliza) I did as much research and story writing about the whole family as I could. It’s why they have white hair streaks, hate fire, covered in stitchesand are affected by electricity. They get shocked and burned just as much as misery sometimes lol.

With the idea that they can eat humans is simply the fact that they’re undead monsters, almost in similarity to zombies. They’re far more intelligent and controlling than them since they have active non decaying brains and creations are different. The two have a rule with Ruby that they can only kill and eat humans who harm or attack them so they don’t just go by eating them all the time.

Background and Origins

There was a man named Victor Frankenstein. He lived nearby a monster sanction. Rather than react in fear, he was friendly to them which led to his exile from humanity. With no family to have, he created two monsters via science, Frank and Eliza Frankenstein. The couple were happy with Victor, even taking up careers in music becoming popular musicians with Victor’s support. (Oh and I have designed both parents. *yay*)

At some point, Eliza had twins who were unfortunately born stillborn due to lack of vital body functions. Since this would be likely the only chance the monsters could reproduce, Victor sewn the twins together and reanimated them back to life. The twins would be named Frank and Len and would live most of their childhood with their family before moving to Twilight Town as teenagers with a growing band.

When they were 18, they decided to undergo a procedure done by Victor that would give them two complete bodies by using their dna to replicate their bodies. After that they were no longer conjoined but no matter it, they still prefer to be close.

Next Up: Polyphemus

#TwilightTownAU #ruby gloom au #ruby gloom #god it’s so long #i’m sorry i’m like this #they’re sillies

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hannahhook7744 · 1 year

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Hadie Headcanons revised;

Hadie is just a nickname. His actual name is Hayden Prometheus Olympian.

He is 8 years younger than Mal.

He is constantly following and mimicking people-- including Mal, his dad, Harry Hook, Gil, Uma, and the Badun Detective Agency.

He's a nice, easily excitable, hyper little boy who just wants to help anyone he can.

He wants to be a detective, musician, and/or cook more than anything.

His mom is likely Maleficent, the wicked witch, or Persphone.

He has a long list of nicknames including, but not limited to; Hadie, Mini-Me, Flameo, Flamey, Flameo Junior, Hades Junior, Death breath, the flame prince, the fire prince, the prince of the underground, the prince of true underworld , little prince, little flame, little blue, blue, the Olympian flame, little blue, the little blue boy, the Olympian prince, and Cebrus boy.

He wears blue and black eyeliner -- alternating the colors depending on the day.

He learned how to sword fight from Uma and is one of her favorite kids on the isle.

Hadie, unlike Mal, isn't allergic to spices, so he can eat as much as anyone allows him to.

He likes spicy candy alot and has a high tolerance for it.

He likes blue food and drinks, and anything his dad, sister, and Uma cook.

His favorite meal is a noodle mix that Mal makes him all the time.

Hadie's favorite desert to eat is a vanilla blueberry swirl cone with sprinkles and chocolate squace. Harry, Herkie, and Ben can't say no to him, so he gets it all the time.

He is a bit of a pyromaniac, which surprises no one and he also loves flowers alot.

He calls cebrus 'Spot', despite Hades best efforts at correcting him. Because of this, Cebrus responds to both names.

Hadie lives above his dad's restaurant, which is near his dad's cave.

He sometimes helps out at his dad's restaurant and around the palace once he's off the isle when the staff allows him to.

He went to Dragon Hall on the isle.

Hadie's favorite classes are Orchestra , Wicked Economics, Artists and Thieves, Weird Science, Tall Tales and the Tellers Who Tell Them. He is also in the Anti-heroes club (like the Baduns) and the Sea Ponies club (like Uma is). He also likes astrology.

Hadie's ridiculously innocent for an isle kid.

Ben ends up buying Hadie a bike when the barrier is brought down. Hades nearly had a heart attack.

Hadie gets along with his dad's side if the family surprising well because they all find him adorable.

Hadie has always secretly wanted to meet Meg, Hercules, and their kids. Mainly Meg because his dad and Pain and Panic talk about her often, so he knows how cool she would be.

The first time he met Ben, he immediately took an liking to him. Something Hades doesn't like.

One day, while out for Icecream with Mal and Ben, they got swarmed by popularity and Hadie-- shy little Hadie who doesn't like loud noises and bright lights-- runs off to escape it. He gets lost and runs into this lady with brown hair and her teenage son, and they help him find his sister. They tell him jokes to keep him calm as they do so. And that's how Hadie met Meg and Herkie. Meg quickly becomes Cousin Meg after this (since she married Hadie's cousin, Hercules).

Hadie likes the way Harry Hook does his make up and even copies the look, much to his dad's charge. Harry thinks it's hilarious, even if it annoyed him at first.

Pain and Panic are like his uncles.

Hades doesn't really keep that close an eye on Hadie other than to keep him alive.

Hadie is terrified of Maleficent. A fear he ends up sharing with his bestfriends- Chloe Charming, Red Hearts, Danny Darling, and Maddox, the Madhatter's son, when the barrier is brought down.

It's an unspoken rule on the isle that if you want to stay in one piece, you'll keep your hands off Hadie. No one has ever laid a hand on Hadie and gotten away with it. Mal, The Badun Detective Agency, whoever his mom is, and Hades always find out and it no one knows how.

He suspects it either came from Gil or Mal. He's not too sure though.

He looks up to Mal and the other members of the Core Four after what they did in Auardon. But he also looks up to Uma’s crew and the Badun Detective Agency.

He also wants to beba Detective.

He has a stuffed, makeshift Cerberus. Meaning a stuffed dog with two other stuffed dog heads sewn on it. He doesn't know where it came from because he just found it on his bed one day.

He accidentally found out that Mal was his sister not long after he learned to read. He found Mal's birth certificate hidden under the couch. He was 5. He promised his father he'd never tell anyone.

He had to literally beg and plead with Yin Sid so he could join the Anti heroes club even though it was technically his idea because of how young he is.

He knows basic self-defense (taught to him by Uma and the Badun Detective Agency) and is good at climbing things/ as well as parkour.

Hadie likes cooking, punk music, dogs, skulls, fire, and learning about his dad's side of the family.

He wears scruffed up, dirty, and torn up black sneakers that are in better condition than most people's on the isle as well as ripped up (slightly baggy) blue jeans, a black leather jacket that his dad says "he'll grow into" that goes down at his knees at the moment, and a black tshirt with a skull on it.

Hadie sometimes models for Evie's designs.

Evie is the one who made Hadie's jacket. It was a favor she owned Harry back when she was vanished.

Only 5 people know this; Hadie, Evie, Harry, Hades, and Uma.

Hadie is one of the only children on the isle who has toys. No one is stupid enough to try and steal them.

Mal, Uma, Yzla, and Freddie are trying to teach him magic. He likes this very much.

He also loves the circus to death because Herkie took him one time.

Which means you can often find Queen Mal, King Ben, Hades, Hercules, Meg, Herkie, and Hadie sitting together at the circus. Hadie also inherited his family's knack for exploring and their curiosity. Which causes a few heart attacks.

He likes making potions, cooking, baking, playing on the playground, rooftops, the arcade, and by the docks. He also likes pulling pranks, something he picked up from Uma and Mal. However, his pranks are more harmless unlike theirs.

He loves playing with animals and stargazing too. He also likes listening and playing music, and playing with toys. Especially stuffed animals.

He loved acting, plays, and dressing up as well as coloring, drawing, spray painting, painting, and basically any form of art.

He doesn't know how to swim because Uma is too scared about what will happen if his hair goes out.

He's allergic to shrimp. He couldn't hug Uma for a month after thr shrimp incident without passing out. Which is another reason why Uma didn't forgive Mal for a very long time.

Oh, and Diego also taught Hadie how to swear on accident. Yeah, that was not a fun night for him.

Hadie is scared of lightning. And sea monsters. And Zeus.

Harry use to sneak Hadie into Evie's room back when she was banished so she could have some company. Somewhere out there, in one of Harry's note books, there's a picture of a 10 year old Harry and a 10 year old Evie laughing together with a 2 year old Hadie in between them, giggling during one of these visits. No one knows that that picture exists except for Harry, Hades, and Evie.

Oh and after the barrier is brought down, Diego tries to teach little Hadie how to drive using Cruella's car. It does not end well because Hadie is short since he's nowhere near old enough to drive. So they crash through a wall and the whole thing ends up pinned on Diego. He did not have a good few weeks after that.

Hadie is usually left to his own devices on the isle. That changes quickly when the barrier is brought down, much to his disappointment.

He also has a little villian phase in his teens though no one takes him seriously in his later years. Especially not the Badun Detective Agency.

He constantly yells as a teenager that the Badun Agency is ruining his street cred.

His 4 bestfriends also do not take him seriously about the evil thing and drag him along on their little adventure.

He constantly banters and roughhousing with Danny Darling every chance he gets. Much to Red, Maddox, and Chloe's annoyance.

He also has his own villian song (see Chris villian on YouTube).

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sukehiroselei · 10 months

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Red and Blue

To love him is red.

You are a match being struck against the side of a matchbox every time your shoulders touch when he shifts in his seat during work meetings. The memory of his laughter is essential for survival; it keeps the lamp in your hand aflame, the light of his smile repelling the shadows which tried to claim your heart long ago.

They see him as a harbinger of destruction: everything he touches burns away; he is reckless and spirited and unapologetic about it too—everything that the world says you can’t be. He is something to be afraid of, because he’s something they cannot understand; cannot contain. They see a roaring wildfire, but only you can hear the gentle crackling of his voice when he tells you not to push yourself too hard. The reason why Prometheus invoked the wrath of the gods and risked bringing him down to mankind, is because he brings life and warmth and light to you, who believed that her story could have anything but. He is the sun on the east where you look for your tomorrows, when once upon a time, you had been unsure if you would even live to hear the doves chirp in the morning.

You say you’re afraid to touch him because he will burn you to nothingness, even though you are entranced by the dazzling, dancing flames. Maybe one day, you will be brave enough to say I have loved you all along, and then you’ll realize that you are a phoenix. You have always been drawn to the fire because it is your destiny to meet—to embrace him is to be reborn.

To love her is blue.

To a fisherman, the sea spells life and death. A faint memory of your mother tells you to respect the waters, because she is fickle underneath the placid surface. You meet a woman whose eyes are the same shade of halcyon waves promising abundance, her tongue the undercurrent that pulls fools who weren’t taught to fear the depths to their doom.

You remember your mother’s words and keep to the shore, even though the tide is warm in the few instances it laps at your feet, even when her glittering waves promise you safe passage in her arms.

You didn’t notice it, but her love shapes you and softens your jagged edges; it washes away the smell of iron on your hands. Just as erosion takes time, it takes many years before you finally realize that your mother’s warning didn’t mean you should avoid the sea forever; she meant that you should tread the waters carefully, because she is deadly when underestimated, but within her lies an entirely new universe to explore for those brave enough to dive in.

Nobody has feared the sea before they loved her, and for this simple truth, she parts for you and you alone. But you tell her that there is no need for the tides to recede for you. She is free to exist as she is, for you have learned the call of the gulls and the sway of the wind. You tell her, I’m sorry it took a while, and you will hear the rolling tides of her laughter that baptizes you anew.

#e writes things #prose?#e frees up her disk space yet again

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october-writes · 6 months

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‘A myth. I’m thinking about a myth,’ she said. ‘Which one?’ ‘The Ancient Greeks blamed all the world’s pain on the curiosity of a smart, beautiful and talented woman,’ Ada replied, her voice low as she placed the butterfly down between them, ‘Zeus created her as a trap to punish men for accepting the gift of fire from Prometheus.’

Emery gave a high pitched “ha”, ‘Pandora with the box?’

‘Actually, the original texts described it as a “jar”. But this was mistranslated as a box in the sixteenth century.’

‘I still prefer the idea of a box! It’s cooler and I like the symmetry.’

‘Fair enough. Either way, Pandora was overcome with curiosity and opened the jar-’

‘Box.’

‘Whatever,’ Ada chuckled and slumped back in her chair, ‘When she opened it, all the evils of the world were freed. Every sin, disaster and malady imaginable.’

Emery nodded sagely, ‘War. Famine. Hatred. Dial-up internet.’

‘Lukewarm showers. Itchy sweaters.’

‘Hang nails.’

‘Split ends.’

The two women looked at each other for a moment before bursting into mutual giggles.

‘You know what? Fuck that!’ Emery declared as their laughter petered out, ‘Pandora. Eve of the bible. Misogynist propaganda to blame women for all the evil in a world controlled by men. Thus reinforcing the necessity of patriarchal domination. Pandora was freakin’ framed!’

‘Probably,’ Ada slumped forward to rest her cheek against her palm, ‘Oh, I think about her all the time. Why did she do it? Was it curiosity? An insatiable thirst for knowledge? Was she bored? Or malicious? Or was it her destiny?’

‘Well, you like to understand causes and outcomes. Point A to Point B.’

‘You got a problem with straight lines, Locke? I thought you liked symmetry.’

‘Yeah, to a point! Too many straight lines drive me crazy. You want everything to square up. I’ve told you, it’s not realistic. Life is improv. A wild squiggle on the back of a napkin.’

‘I like things to work the way they’re supposed to,’ Ada jabbed a playful finger at her, ‘You’re a scientist. You should understand that.’

Ada’s early life, from birth to the disastrous months leading to her eighteenth birthday, had been planned by her parents with such perfect precision that she often wondered if they’d plotted their daughter’s career trajectory on graph paper. Every activity, every class and every grade had led to something greater. It had all happened so naturally, so organically, that she hadn’t questioned it. Her life had been a series of steps in the right direction, until she’d had no direction at all. No home, no family, no career.

Her existence had been on pause until she’d been offered her place onboard The Persephone . There had been no improv, no wild tangents, and no crazy adventures for Ada Wong. Forget the wild squiggle. Her life had become a black dot at the end of a sentence. Nothing, period.

The Persephone was supposed to be her chance to get back onto the ladder to somewhere. Instead she felt like she was climbing the side of a mountain, swinging from handhold to handhold, rising and descending as she navigated a crumbling, never-ending rock face.

‘I have a theory,’ Emery announced. She turned sideways in her chair and rested her arm over its back. She gestured with her hands as she spoke, drawing shapes through the air with her sky-blue painted nails, ‘I think Pandora wanted to understand the world. The jar... I mean, the box was the world. Pain, death, loss. They’re just the other side of pleasure, birth and love. You want one? Then take the other. Life’s a package deal. My mom’s a physicist and she taught me that nothing is ever destroyed. Energy, organic matter, the molecules that make a million decisions every day to keep us alive? They all wind their way back into the ecosystem one way or another, forming new cells, new organs, new bodies, new actions, thoughts...’

‘Connections?’ Ada asked with a sleepy smile.

Her friend shrugged back, ‘Yeah. I may be a biologist, but mark my words! The first law of thermodynamics is the most romantic premise in the entire freaking world. It’s never really over. No energy gets created in the universe and none is ever destroyed. We’re all here and we always have been. Maybe one day when we’re both dust, my atoms will take a new form and find yours again, Ada Wong.’

Read the rest on AO3

#fic: pandora #ada wong #resident evil fanfiction #aeon #leon x ada #ada x leon #scientist ada x test subject leon #character: emery locke

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lemurious · 3 months

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[prometheus, rewind]

the eagle comes at dawn and meekly bargains for the price of fire

your story has been put in verse, in prose, in oil, in marble,

a twisted body straining to escape the tethers,

the words ring clear across the streets

of pride, rebellion, cruelty or courage

(enough to choose from. in all of them, a kind of meaning. they say, your choices must have been important, to merit such a punishment)

a secret pleasure in watching thought turn flesh

the sickly sweetness on the tongue of knowing this same crowd could make a punishment far worse, far worse a crime

what they don’t know is that a body is but minor matter for a titan

the price you paid was to be molded by the stories

until you could no longer recognize yourself

they wouldn’t ask you - was the fire worth it?

would they have learned of it without your help,

and spared you the humiliation?

they watch and sigh, in tones well trained to reach your ears

their grief and adulation,

designed, perfected, just for you

they wouldn’t ask you why, nor who, nor when

who did you love,

why did you fight,

when did you know you had no other choice?

you brace yourself, it is another day,

and once again it is your eyes that burn, you sink into a pain, awake

a god, awake a general, a prophet and an exile, awake a genius or a criminal,

the eagle comes in steel and flames and you can hitch a ride until the fall

awake. you are at war,

the skies ablaze above the desert, and clouds like golden fleece are churning in the hands of the olympians,

the world is burning, but you’ve forgotten all your prayers,

your punishment comes crashing down and ashes bear your name

awake. you are at war,

your life entire made of glory and of need, and eagles screech above the blue of the aegean, its emptiness reflected in your eyes,

you rush outside, your sword in hand, and lose the count of arrows hitting you,

your purple cloak forgotten in the house, your body turned to cinder

you think of seven chariots emerging from the dust,

awake. you are at war,

you have not stopped (you do not stop) (you will not stop) until the flames catch up with you,

your years are short, and half the world remains unconquered

entire poems dedicated to fire in your eyes, and whispers of divinity,

your years cut down,

the price entirely fair

awake. you are at war,

the first, the great, the old,

the clash of gods and titans,

the easier to pick a side and justify the price,

the sweet deception that a victory could come

awake. the eagle comes

it’s taken you three thousand years of stories to understand their worth

awake.

you are regrown

you are reborn

you are remade

the fire greets another day.

#lemur writes #my fic #my poetry #prometheus #guess the rest of allusions if you'd like #history #war

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o-kaythislooksbad · 9 months

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bingo! thanks again to @ficreadingchallenge for the card, i had lots of fun finding and reading fics for all of these prompts. links to them below the cut:

#fanfic #summer reading

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apicelladonna · 23 days

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An update (I think)

Random Daily Prophet reporter : How does it feel to be voted the number one hated war criminal slash dark lord in the Global Wizarding Community after the ICW elections?

Gellert Grindelwald: In a world filled with muggles and cowards, I wear it as a fucking badge of honor.

Rosalind Skeeter: What about the rumor that you killed Albus Dumbledore and took his body—

Grindelwald, ready to throw hands: wHO THE FUCK SAID THAT—

-Prometheus had Blue Fire draft, 5 am with ice coffee

#Prometheus had Blue Fire #Fic Compendium (Ella)#ao3 fanfic #Grindeldore #those old gay wizard lovers yes #Gellert Grindelwald #Albus Dumbledore #HP fanfic #FB3 #I am shaking #probably the coffee and exam jitters #but also wow!#ft OC Rita Skeeter aunt-#gossip monger columnist for Witches Monthly #fantastic beasts: the secrets of dumbledore #fantastic beasts #incorrect fantastic beasts and where to find them quotes #incorrect grindeldore quotes

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primevein · 11 months

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The Prime of His Youth: Book III: Prometheus' Gift: Ch02: Gift of Fire

Smokescreen slowed to a stop, as he saw the cave break in two. One seemed to keep level, while one plunged down into the deep. "Captain, we have a fork." Smokescreen stated.

"Keep yourself safe." Jack replied, "I'll send Windblade."

* * *

Smokescreen transformed as Windblade flew up, transforming into a landing. "Smokey." she greeted him.

"Hey." he replied.

* * *

Jack drove up on Arcee, the rest of the convoy behind them. Arcee slowed to a stop, and Jack climbed off. Unlike the choices before, he instantly knew they had to descend. He walked over to look down. Deep into the heart of Cybertron. They were nearly a Kilocycle from the Star Bridge, and still set to descend. Arcee drove up, and he climbed on board.

"Humans are so precious." Windblade stated, as Smokescreen transformed to drive down. Down, down, and further down. The pressure started to press against him, and still they descended. The flooding light from above seemed to dim, and still he descended. Behind him, Jack and Arcee followed, along with Bulkhead, Miko, Windblade, and all of the non-combatants.

Smokescreen paused again, "Captain, you have to see this."

* * *

Jack and Arcee drove up, followed by the others. Arcee stopped beside Smokescreen as Jack climbed off of her. He looked down, and saw a spiral ramp that seemed to descend into the deepest part of the world.

* * *

They drove down the spiral ramp, and as they descended, gravity seemed to ebb instead of flood. Deeper they drove. Deeper they dwelt.

* * *

Smokescreen reached the bottom and stopped, "I've hit rock bottom." he said over the coms.

* * *

Arcee pulled up next to him, and stopped. Jack climbed off of her, and looked about. Far from rock, it was metal, or maybe cybermatter. He wasn't sure. It looked worked, but maybe that was simply the way that Cybertron wanted it to be. Pillars straddling the ramp started to glow with the blue-green light of Energon. Two pillars ahead, and two behind lit up. And this continued on until the whole place was filled with light. It was hard for Jack to estimate the distances for things built for Cybertronians. It seemed to maybe over a mile across.

"Siren, how big is this?" Jack asked.

"A Kilochord across, and three from front to back." Sirenia stated.

"And in Human?" Arcee asked.

"Nearly three kilometres across, and nearly nine in length."

Jack walked towards Arcee and saddled up. He sat astride her, not sure what to do. "We'll setup camp under the ramp. Maximum sleep."

* * *

The cargo had been unloaded, hidden under the ramp. It was setup in a place only accessible by dollform femmes. The larger Autobots stood around, in the dull light under the ramp.

"Roxie." Jack said, and she eagerly stepped up to him, "Give everyone a checkup."

"Master." she asserted, and spun to step towards Bulkhead.

"Ciel?" he asked, and she stepped up to him.

"Master?" she asked.

"Make sure your archiving is caught up."

"Yes, Master." she replied.

"Siren." Jack stated, and she stepped up.

"Master?" she nervously asked.

"You're my cuddle bug." he said, and she developed a bright smile.

"What am I?" Arcee asked, "Chopped liver?"

Jack gave her a brilliant smile, "I need you on watch."

Arcee just glared at him, before turning to sashay away. She slapped her own butt.

"What about me?" Miko asked.

"I was hoping I was joking about you having to cuddle Bulkhead." Jack replied, and she just looked at him.

"Fair." she replied.

"We do have blankets." Sirenia said to her.

"Yeah-yeah." Miko replied.

* * *

Jack stretched as he stood up, movie away from Sirenia. "Morning." he said over the coms. He looked over to see Arcelia and Roxana cooking. "Before I go, I want Arcelia loaded up, with everyone else ready to fight. It will just be me and Arcee who drive out."

"And us?" Smokescreen asked.

"Rapid reaction." Windblade stated.

"While the Wreckers protect our... uh... base?" Smokescreen asked.

"Precisely." Windblade stated.

* * *

Jack sat astride Arcee as she drove forward to the great gates in front of them. They could see what looked almost like circuits of Energon across the surface of the walls surrounding the gates. Arcee stopped, with Jack's left-leg holding her up. Energon circuits appeared around the the gates. The colossal ring broke into four sections and pulled away. The large round gate rolled to the left, with one behind it rolling to the right. The square doors broke into four at the corners and pulled away. A pair of doors behind it opened up and down, and then behind that left and right.

* * *

Arcee rode Jack into a colossal chambre, with Energon circuits all around. "Where's Vector Sigma?" Arcee asked.

"All around us." Jack stated.

"Then where are we going?" she asked.

"I... have a feeling..." Jack stated.

"Well, it got us this far." Arcee said.

* * *

Jack seemed to be weak. Arcee slowed down, and stopped. They teetered, Arcee realizing that Jack could not hold her up. She transformed and ended up with Jack coddled in her arms. She knelt on the ground, Jack held up to her breast. He groaned, but did not seem to be here. She could do nothing but worry.

* * *

"The time has come." A great voice spoke. Jack opened his eyes and say swirling Energon around him. "You spark was willing, worthy, but you body could not interface with us." Jack simply looked around, unsure of what to say. "Your body needed to be changed to accept Energon. Your spark needed a chance to grow, to prove itself. Even if you were not crafted from My matrix, your spark is as pure as any of my children. But, you are at a crossroads. Do you stay with your matrix and be allowed to return to your life, such as it is. Or will you become one with My matrix, be patterned by My will as My children? I can make you no promises with each choice, other than greatness you have already achieved, or greatness a million fold greater. Keep your spark as it is, or let me make it even greater?"

Jack didn't have to take a moment to choose.

* * *

Jack found himself on the ground. He felt not different than he had before, except solid metal pressing against his flesh. As he awoke, he realized it was not flesh but mesh. He stood up and towered above Arcee that looked at him with awe. He moved his arms out, and saw them as purple with black trim. He lookced down, and the rest of him seemed the same. He then looked at Arcee. "What's the matter?" he asked with a teasing grin.

"Wha?.." Arcee asked, and paused, "You can't?.. I mean?.."

"If you couldn't feel what I feel, you would say that." Jack stated, "But from me, it couldn't be any other way."

"You... you couldn't be a Cybertronian?" Arcee asked.

"A Prime." Jack simply replied, and paused to let it sink it, "I mean, everyone was already calling me a Prime."

"You act like it was that easy." Arcee uttered.

He stepped towards her, and she looked at him nervously, "We both know how hard it was." he said, as he crossed the last distance and pulled her in for a warm hug.

She looked down and then back up at him. "Does this mean we can't interface anymore?" she asked.

He smiled brightly before leaning down to kiss her. He let her go and took a step back, "It's amazing how much Humans and Cybertronians were designed to interface. The downside is that I can't ride on you any more. But, there is something I want to try." he said with bright eyes, and Arcee was too awestruck to reply.

* * *

Jack walked out, carrying a transformed Arcee in his arms. "You're so adorable." he said.

"Scrap." she stated.

"Though, you've always been adorable." Jack stated.

"I thought I was beautiful?" Arcee asked.

"You were always outside, looking in." Jack stated, "I... wanted to join you."

"And now you get to carry me like a puppy." Arcee longingly.

"What was that?" Jack asked, "Is it embarassing to be carried like this?"

"Tsk." she replied.

* * *

Jack walked up and around the ramp. On his approach, he got a lot of blasters pointed at him. "What, did you guys miss me?" he asked, and everyone hesitated.

Arcee transformed out of his arms, "What, you don't recognize him?"

"No..." Miko noted. "You can't?.."

"Chi Chi and Ding Dong." Jack said to her, and she looked at him with awe. She pulled the armour off of him, and just stared. The blasters were all lowered.

"Jack?" Bulkhead asked.

"Or whatever I want to call myself." he simply stated.

"Wait?" Bulkhead asked.

"What?" Smokescreen added.

"He is a Prime." Windblade said, "As he always has been."

Jack looked to the femmes that were hiding in the darkness under the back of the ramp. "We have a lot to discuss."

#transformers #prime #the prime of his youth #darcee #jack darby #arcee

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putah-creek · 8 months

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like a stream in the hills

what is more fluid, more yielding than water -lao tzu

life rolls by on steel wheels as a train does and yet the afternoon seems small anyway like a child or an unfinished thought

the dogs have lapped up the butter from the dish and summer is half over would you rather feed the poor or buy more guns for the soldiers bigger guns bigger bullets

what was odysseus thinking when he had himself lashed to the mast of his ship and the sirens sang so seductively

prometheus returned the use of fire to the humans he must have known there would be hell to pay chained to that rock an eagle ate his liver every day and every night it grew back again zeus was a republican and he chaired the senate finance committee

be the water slipping down to the lower places flowing easy and slow like a stream in the hills a young girl comes to the bank and eases her feet into the blue water isn't she lovely do you hope that she is kind

james lee jobe

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sins-of-the-sea · 8 months

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Though for the captain and Prometheus, it likely felt like ages for their trip, but, back at the house, Rashid would only see ten minutes pass on the clock from the time the god and his captain had left the home.

Ten peaceful minutes of silent night that would soon come to an end as the symbol over the patio door began to glow a faint blue. If he listened closely, Rashid would hear the sound of feet shuffling outside. Of leaves and brush being pushed aside and iron dragging on stone.

The glow on the doors would fade as the symbol over the bay windows glowed instead. Whatever it was. It was moving, and Rashid could easily follow its path through the house.

Though if he were to follow it in the foyer, he would see that symbol over the front door was already glowing.

There's at least 2.

Rashid taps his fingers along the table as he sat by the incense, having completed a round of checking the house to make sure all the doors and windows are covered and nothing has fallen off. Good. The quiet is intense despite nothing going on. The man takes in a deep breath, hoping to distract himself from his nerves by focusing on the incense itself. Perhaps trying to identify it.

He smirks a bit, imagining an argument he and Ruixiong would probably have on what the incense would be. Gardenia? Pine? Myrrh? Sandalwood? Camphor? He chuckles to himself as the scenario would get out of hand in his head, as any discussions would Ruixiong tend to happen. As chaotic as the notion is, it's a strange sort of comfort. Knowing he has a friend to take his mind off of his anxiousness all while eager to help complete a nervewracking task.

…Though it seems the scenario breaks sooner than Rashid had anticipated. He looks at the clock… ten minutes. Only ten minutes. That's how long Prometheus has left the house. Luna did not take long at all.

"Khara!!" the man mutters beneath his breath as he gets up immediately upon hearing the footsteps. Please let it be just one set… no. Two. At least two. There could be more, but that would have to entail opening the covers to check outside. He will not deviate from that objective…. not with magic he doesn't fully understand. Especially gods' magic. He observes the glowing runes, following them… likely signalling their location should the house be ambushed.

He is not taking any chances. For all he knew, an entire army has arrived... or at the very least two beings far stronger a single human man can face alone.

"-=Rise, my army!=-" Rashid would command as he extends a hand. A wind would kick up saffron dust around him as the colors shape up across the foyer. Skeletons form from the saffron, some with tower shields taller than they are, and some with assorted firearms and swords. They are immediately tasked to cover the the windows and doors across the entire house, any with runes and symbols intended to keep spirits out. Hopefully this is enough to deter any intruders should they try….

…..and Rashid prays said intruders will call his bluff. As powerful as this spell is, the skeletons can only do basic, simple tasks: attack. Without Rashid directly controlling them, they're as useless as painted dummies with targrets on their skulls. He can only control so many at once. If engagement is to take place, then Rashid is fully fucked.

But he's not going down without a fight. He summons two more mirage warriors, this time fully armored up, and with shields as well as swords in addition to their guns. And to top that off, Rashid conjures his own sword--the Mamluk-era kilij Khaddim Alqamar--as well as his own shotgun and handguns should the fight reach him.

"I don't know why you've come…" Rashid says as though the intruders can hear him. "But I swear upon the Titan of Fire and the Goddess of Truth--I will not let any of you pass."

#*SCREECHING WITH HYPE*#THIS IS THE KIND OF RP I LIVE FOR <3 #[Rashid al-Qadar]#guns tw

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valeriasfragments · 9 months

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The Rigors And the Heft - Part 1

She was born a mad woman, mad as Mae, mad as Arla, mad as Lærke. Mad as all of them, maybe more. She lost count the number of times she lost her mind, lost down the rabbit hole with Alice, down the well with Sadako. Not many people wake up in an irrigation ditch at 11 years old with their pants around their ankles without going mad from time to time.

Regaining her sanity (as if), in the ruins of her life, shredded by her own hands, bloody boney things, hateful things. No excuse powerful enough to undo the curses cast from her own maddend hands. They say we hurt the ones we love the most and she was efficient.

Years of this cycle and Chance has run herself aground, a bloated whale corpse heart ready to burst with rot. Laying on this beach of a bed wracked by nightmare after nightmare, screaming awake on an air mattress with a leak, she wakes up every few hours and reinflates it in the dark of her room while the anxiety of her nightmares drains away.

She wakes when she dreams, she sleeps when she wakes, she stays up the whole night. She takes the little green and blue capsules when she starts to hallucinate at the edges of her vision. Hydroxyzine Pamoate to dull her mind and lull her to sleep, she's stockpiled more than a lethal dose, though she has never even thought of doing that, probably very painful anyway.

She rolls out of bed and onto the filthy carpet, half deflated bed like arms of a desperate lover who can't get enough. Stark angry noonday sun lancing through the crack in her beige lifeless curtains to ensure she is awake. The same drapery supplied with the apartment 10 years ago, never bothered to replace them either, apathy was her favorite interior decorator.

Just 24 hours prior she was in Kansas on the threshold of her aunt Arla's single wide mobile home, maroon and white corrugated aluminum shoebox similar to the one Chance grew up in. Two big windows on the front like doe eyes, a barren planter box, and a carport filled with dozens and dozens of 30 quart rubber bins.

The smell of the dead woman is thick in the air, she's wearing two masks and still has the urge to vomit, it's a smell that doesn't leave her for days. Not even the first dead body Chance has smelled, though her aunt was taken away 2 days ago, he stinking days old rot still clung to the air.

How does one begin to even go through a mad woman's hoarded possessions? A life of clutter accumulated in every nook and cranny, barely a walkable path though the trailer.

The hallway lined with National Geographic magazines from floor to ceiling, they have congealed from an unfixed leak, the soggy paper shape of a stack of magazines. There's even a perfect handprint in the paper wall where an EMT mistakenly put their hand.

The floor in the back bedroom squelches under foot and sags in the middle, a putrid smelling mattress with decomposing bits of her aunt's body, a shit river stain and a floor covered in never been clean clothes and half filled bags of trash.

One end of the room is a closet that dominates the wall, inside it is full of boxes, some collapsing, and others with odious stains on the corners. The dresser built into the wall had no drawers, in fact Chance couldn't even find them anywhere on the premises.

The other wall is a gaping hole where the fire department cut out the death trap horizontal slot windows, the type long out of style and only found on older models without any renovations. The hole is lined by cancerous pink cotton candy that Chance's intrusive thoughts keep telling her would be a good idea to eat.

Chance finds nothing in the house worth saving but she does spend a few hours i going through the tubs in the carport. She dug out a copy of Mysterious New England from 1971, a ratty later edition of Prometheus Rising by Robert Anton Wilson, a cat skull, some small glass bottles with cork stoppers, things her mom would call "witchy shit" oh and Dino Crisis for the Playstation, her crazy aunt contained multitudes.

She would be kinder to her aunt's memory if she hadn't been so cruel, her mad woman aunt who talked to the dead and heard their voices. Chance's kindness long lost because of a knife at her throat, a gun to her head, and the constant stream of verbal abuse that made it hard to function.

Now jetlagged Chance is on her bedroom floor, her clothes covered floor, just like her aunt and her grandma and her mother too. Everyone's mad in her family, a long line of mad women as far as she can remember. Chance and her mother are the first generation to never be committed but that isn't a very high bar to clear in these supposedly more enlightened times (yeah right).

Chance retrieves the pack of clove cigarettes from the pocket of her jeans on the floor, flips it open, retrieves a single clove wrapped in black paper, and places it between her lips still caked with last night's lipstick, a cheap black from the drugstore, a small cheap comfort she allows herself.

She lights the clove cigarette and takes a short, quick pull from it. The aroma hits her nose and she is immediately taken back to that first kiss, to the girl who smelled of patchouli and cloves, and left a taste in her mouth for the rest of her life, the kiss never forgotten, a soul moving kiss nobody had ever duplicated, almost against her will, the girl who smells like heaven or the closest she had ever been.

She remembers this kiss each time she smokes, the only reason she really smokes them anymore. Chance still won't let anyone else call her "baby" or "lover", those words belonged to her, the girl who hated her guts, the girl she hadn't seen in 20 years. Chance doubts the girl would even recognize that boygirl she kissed in high school.

#Chance #Elise #Fragments #lesbian #queer #More soon

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oculusxcaro · 1 year

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@pains-illusions is up to NO GOOD...

It's a good thing she's strapped down in her seat otherwise Khare would be thrashing around like a fish on the end of a hook. She'd never liked the dentist but at least they knew what they were doing. Dr. Green on the other hand... her eyes narrow in dislike as the good doctor busies himself with his tools and despite her anger at him hushing her as though she were a fussy child, it quickly fizzles out against the cold knot of dread coiling up in her belly. "Loosen these straps a little and I'll fucking show you hush." Khare hisses in response. It's a bad idea to provoke him, she knows but her biting words are the only source of comfort she's got. Her pupils are dilated with fear, blue eyes almost looking black in the intensity of her emotions despite the brightness emitted by the overhead florescent ring. It's too hot, too bright and only makes him look scarier, hovering close by with a dental probe in hand. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. Her time with Prometheus had been bad but at least she'd been locked up the majority of the time, taken out only for injections before throwing her back into her cell. Dr. Green was more... hands on in his approach, endlessly inquisitive about his new test subject and ruthlessly determined to extract every iota of information about her he possibly could. In the short time she'd been in his so-called care, he'd learned more about her biology than those who'd mutated her, the good doctor having the irritatingly good foresight not only to restrain her heavily but to adorn himself in protective gear on the off-chance she did manage to free a limb somehow. Maybe she was wrong to hate dentists. Clearly it was doctors who deserved her ire more. She flinches at the feel of his hand on her chin, expecting pain for her insolence or at the very least for him to dig his fingers into her flesh as a warning. Pain would come soon enough anyway considering the reason she was here, Khare's eyes darting back and forth as she looks from his ones of icy blue to the weapon glinting wickedly in his hand. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Khare mutters, her lips curled in a mocking sneer. Again, it's a bad idea to taunt him but it's all the power she has, holding onto this crumb of information he wants. Of course he wants to know about the teeth growing next to her eye, budding incisors dangerously close to touching the organ. The skin and flesh surrounding such areas were so delicate, making it easy for a bored and unhappy test subject to scratch away at healthy tissue until it became a habit of self-harm. A sudden smirk crosses her features as she coyly looks up at him from her restraints. "I'll tell you though, but it's a secret. Lean over a little closer and let me whisper into your ear..." Khare says, her voice trailing off into a whisper. She doubts he'd actually do it but figures it's worth a try, if she can get William close enough to bite - anything to get back at his smug face whatever way she can.

#pains-illusions #;; threads #gore tw #torture tw #medical procedure tw #dentist tw #Thank you for the lovely starter I jumped on it like a rat on a biscuit #If there's anything that needs changing just let me know #And thanks again for this William is a treat!#A nasty and awful treat <3 #Don't feel obliged to match length this all came tumbling out suddenly #Kicking muse back into inspiration

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denimbex1986 · 10 months

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'Today, August 6, marks the 78th anniversary of the destruction of Hiroshima by an atomic bomb dropped on the city by the United States during the Second World War.

Tokyo: America’s pathologies are, in my experience, more apparent (though no less troubling) from afar. The simultaneous release of the films Barbie and Oppenheimer resulting in the distasteful but hardly surprising “Barbenheimer” meme is a case in point: America’s twin obsessions of how it looks in the mirror and how it’s remembered in the history books have collided head on, leaving a twisted mess of wreckage – however harmless at this point – revealing more about our culture and ourselves than we care to admit.

As someone who has yet to see either film, I’ll withhold judgment on the filmmakers’ vision and their success or failure in realising it on the big screen. Like last year, I’m happy to report that I’m spending much of this summer in Japan visiting family, meaning my 11-year-old son’s grandparents and a whole host of welcoming uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews, nieces, and neighbours.

These, it should be said, are exactly the kind of ordinary Japanese folks that director Christopher Nolan chose to leave out of his film about the “mastermind” of the atomic bomb, and precisely the people who suffered and died in the hundreds of thousands when the US dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I respect Nolan as a filmmaker and, once again, will withhold judgment until I see the film. Being in Japan – which has yet to set a release date for Oppenheimer, but is expected to later this year after the August 6 and August 9 anniversaries of the 1945 atomic bombings – I haven’t had the opportunity to see his film, which I certainly will see. I have, however, had the opportunity to visit Hiroshima on a number of occasions, first as a young journalist nearly 30 years ago, and last summer with my wife and son.

On that first visit in 1995, not long before the 50th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima, I had the great honour of interviewing Yoshito Matsushige – a photographer for the local newspaper who was just 2.7 kilometres from the hypocentre when the blast occurred at 8:15 that August morning.

As I wrote last August in Hiroshima’s Message, “His immediate reaction was to grab his camera and head toward the fire. But when he saw ‘the hellish state of things’ he couldn’t bring himself to take pictures. ‘It was great weather that morning,’ he said, ‘without a single cloud. But under that blue sky, people were exposed directly to heat rays. They were burned all over, on the face, back, arms, legs—their skin burst, hanging. There were people lying on the asphalt, their burnt bodies sticking to it, people squatting down, their faces burnt and blackened. I struggled to push the shutter button.’”

After what seemed like an eternity, Matsushige said, he finally brought himself to take two pictures of people, suffering horribly, who had gathered on Miyuki Bridge, about 2.3 kilometres from the hypocenter. Many were middle-school children, their bodies terribly burned. Someone was applying cooking oil to their wounds. He remembered asking them for forgiveness, wiping away his tears, and saying “I just took a picture of you as you are suffering, but this is my duty.”

In all, Matsushige snapped his shutter just seven times – the only photos taken in Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, that survive to this day. He died in 2005, at the age of 92, a dedicated peace activist who shared his story with people around the globe, including before the UN General Assembly.

Christopher Nolan has said his film – which was inspired by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of Oppenheimer, American Prometheus – is focused more on the moral dilemmas facing the scientist tasked with making a bomb that could end World War II than on making a war “documentary.”

“He [Oppenheimer] learned about the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on the radio—the same as the rest of the world,” Nolan told MSNBC’s Chuck Todd. “That, to me, was a shock… Everything is his experience, or my interpretation of his experience. Because as I keep reminding everyone, it’s not a documentary. It is an interpretation. That’s my job.”

Fair enough. But I can’t help thinking of the photographer Matsushige and what he told me over a quarter-century ago, while taking pictures of children whose clothes and skin were charred and hanging from their bodies when only a few moments prior they were walking to school on a clear August morning: “I just took a picture of you as you are suffering, but this is my duty.”

Below is an interview, also from 1995, with the then-mayor of Hiroshima, Takashi Hiraoka, who, coincidentally, was a journalist before entering politics and worked for the same newspaper as Matsushige, the Chugoku Shimbun. I remember him as a true gentleman in his mid-60s, at ease with his role in local politics and passionate about sharing Hiroshima’s “Never Again” message with the world.

Now 95, Hiraoka served eight years as mayor of Hiroshima before retiring in 1998. Since our interview, two more countries – Pakistan and North Korea – have joined the nine-member “nuclear club.” According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, the US, the UK, Russia, France, China, India, Pakistan, Israel, and North Korea have among them nearly 16,000 nuclear weapons, all of which are many times more powerful than the two bombs dropped on Japan in August 1945.

Excerpts from the 1995 interview of the then-mayor of Hiroshima, Takashi Hiraoka, as published by The Japan Times Weekly, August 5, 1995. Used with the author’s permission

MJ: As mayor of Hiroshima, what is your message to the world on the 50th anniversary of the atomic bombing?

TH: The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki marked not only the end of World War II but the beginning of the nuclear age. In this respect, the bombings were a tragedy for all of humanity. The people of Hiroshima have chosen to see their experience as a lesson for humanity. The 50th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima is an excellent opportunity for us to look back on our past and think about our future.

Our message has always been that the tragedies of Hiroshima and Nagasaki should never be repeated. Now that we have reached the half-century landmark, this message should be re-emphasized, together with the call for nuclear disarmament. I see the 50th anniversary as an opportunity to come together with the people of the world so that we can work toward the abolition of nuclear weapons.

Japan does not consider the use of nuclear weapons to be against international law. What is Hiroshima’s official stance on the deployment of nuclear weapons ?

As the first city to have experienced a nuclear attack, we firmly believe that the use of nuclear weapons violates international law. We believe this for two main reasons. The first is the indiscriminate nature of nuclear weapons. It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to restrict the destructive power of nuclear weapons. The second reason is the extraordinary cruelty of nuclear weapons. What I mean by this is that there are still many hibakusha (atomic bomb survivors) suffering the effects of radiation exposure.

International law prohibits the deployment of weapons that inflict unnecessary suffering on human beings such as “dumdum” bullets and chemical weapons. The United Nations General Assembly has passed a number of resolutions prohibiting the use of nuclear weapons for the very same reason.

The Japanese government has three non-nuclear principles: not to produce, possess, or harbour nuclear weapons. We must continue to push the government to uphold these three principles. Unfortunately, the Japanese government does not have a strong stance toward U.S. foreign policy because it wants to maintain good U.S.-Japan relations. But I think the Japanese government should have a stronger stance toward the United States, particularly in regard to its nuclear-weapons policy.

In what ways does the city of Hiroshima influence the governments of other nations? How do you get your message across to the world?

Whenever a foreign country conducts a nuclear-weapons test, we immediately send a telegram protesting the test and calling for an end to further nuclear-weapons testing. We also have a program called the International Conference of Mayors for Peace Through Inter-city Solidarity. Currently, 404 cities in 97 countries are a part of the program and support our call for the total abolition of nuclear weapons. The purpose of the program is to contribute to lasting world peace by strengthening the ties between the cities of the world…

Hiroshima and Nagasaki have long been calling for the total abolition of nuclear weapons. How can this goal be attained when many countries—Iran and North Korea, for example—see having a nuclear-weapons program as the key to gaining respect on the world stage?

This is a very difficult problem, and one the whole world will have to work on together to solve. We must continue to tell the citizens and leaders of the world that possessing nuclear weapons will never be a positive thing. Governments justify their nuclear arsenals with language like “national security.” But what about global security?

Not only does nuclear war mean the annihilation of humans, but every time a nuclear weapon is tested, the environment is irreparably damaged. What we have to do is raise public awareness of the dangers. We can push for the ratification of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty as soon as the negotiations are completed next year…

[Apart from the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty] … we must also enact a law or treaty that ensures nations which possess nuclear weapons will never use them against nations that do not. Such a treaty will ease the concern of nations that do not have nuclear weapons and, hopefully, lessen the incentive to initiate a nuclear-weapons program.

We must also have strict control over the materials required to produce nuclear weapons. Those countries currently trying to develop nuclear weapons feel they are not given equal consideration in international politics. So, on the one hand, we need strict control over nuclear materials, and on the other we have to address the needs and concerns of all the nations of the world in equal measure.

In the United States and Japan, there was a great deal of controversy over a commemorative stamp that was to be issued by the U.S. Postal Service. The stamp, which was never issued, featured a painting of an atomic mushroom cloud accompanied by the caption “Atomic bombs hasten war’s end, August 1945.” What kind of message do you think it sends the people around the world?

I have many reasons to believe that the statement “Atomic bombs hasten war’s end” is simply not true. By August 1945, Japan had neither the ability nor the will to continue waging war. The Japanese government was trying to find a path to peace as early as the spring of 1945. I believe the U.S. government was aware of this when it decided to drop the atomic bomb.

If the United States had wanted only to end the war, it did not have to use nuclear weapons. The United States possessed more than enough conventional weapons to destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki and to end the war. There are many different opinions as to why the U.S. government decided to drop atomic bombs on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I would like to leave the answer to the scholars, but I do have a question. In 1945, President Harry Truman said that dropping the atomic bombs saved 250,000 to 500,000 lives. In 1985, President Ronald Reagan said dropping the atomic bombs saved one million American soldiers’ lives. In 1991, President George Bush said that several million lives were saved as a result of the atomic bombings. I wonder what this change means? I understand that the U.S. government uses these figures to justify the bombings, and that once a government has committed itself to a certain policy or decision, it does not want to change its stand.

But why do the numbers keep rising? Before the atomic bombs were dropped, many U.S. officials, including military personnel, argued that the bombings were not needed to end the war.

What is your reaction to the Smithsonian Institution’s decision to scale back its controversial Enola Gay exhibit at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington D.C.?

A couple of years ago the Smithsonian Institution had an extensive exhibition on World War II that included an exhibit on the plight of the Japanese Americans who were interned during the war. Due in part to this exhibit, the U.S. government admitted that its policy was a mistake and compensated the surviving Japanese Americans who had been interned. This led me to believe that the people at the Smithsonian Institution were committed to historical accuracy.

Now, the Smithsonian has yielded to political pressure and has missed an opportunity to thoroughly examine the history surrounding the bombings. I am disappointed with the Smithsonian’s decision, as are many people of conscience in this world. We could spend hours talking about whether the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were justifiable or not, but such discussion is futile—it happened 50 years ago. What we have to do now is learn from the experience and make sure it never happens again. We are not asking for an apology.

Some Americans say that we are trying to make ourselves look like innocent victims, that we are indulging in our grief in an attempt to diminish the atrocities committed by the Japanese military during the war.

Nothing could be further from the truth. As the mayor of Hiroshima I acknowledge that the Japanese military carried out a war of aggression and committed many atrocities. I have personally done a lot of soul-searching on this subject and have publicly apologized to those who suffered at the hands of the Japanese military. I would also like to add that if nuclear weapons are not abolished, the horrors that Hiroshima and Nagasaki experienced will be experienced by others. The question is not if but when it will happen. The nuclear weapons that exist today are tens of thousands of times more powerful than the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Obviously, a tragedy brought about by a nuclear war today would be far greater than the tragedies of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Why do you think the Smithsonian Institution decided against displaying photographs of and items belonging to the victims of the bombings?

It seems many Americans are not willing to face the reality of what happened after the bomb was released, but for humanity that is where the lesson begins. Hiroshima’s mission is to let the people of the world know what happened on the ground—what happened to the people of our city. I first came to Hiroshima in September 1945, so I remember very well the devastation and the initial rebuilding of the city. What moved me most was the strength of the survivors. That strength has evolved into a determination to prevent others from experiencing the horrors of nuclear war.

They feel it is their duty to make a constant appeal for world peace and nuclear disarmament. This is their mission, and with this mission they have overcome their tragedy. They do not harbor any hatred toward the American people. Instead, they have chosen to work for peace. The people of Hiroshima have come to understand what peace means for the world. And as the mayor of Hiroshima, I am very proud of them.'

#Oppenheimer #Barbie #Christopher Nolan #Hiroshima #Nagasaki #Takashi Hiraoka

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