#about the same apartment for the same reason (extremely loud sounds of child abuse) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bl00dgutsgl0ry · 3 years

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ooh since requests are open can i request childe’s s/o being jealous of Lumine as they noticed childe has been spending more time with her?? lots of angst but good ending? (also i noticed you write a lot for childe and i hope you don’t mind another childe request asdfghjkll)

Pairing - Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax x Reader

Warnings - MILD substance abuse (alcohol), panic attacks, mentions of blood/injuries.

Other comments - YES YES YES I LOVE JEALOUSY FICS SO MUCH ahem. And I do not mind having to write for Childe one bit because that Horrid Psycho Man has his claws DEEP in my heart. I even recently got a new sticker for my car with him on it (´ ε ` )♡. You guys know I’m a sucker for angst with a sappy ending (//▽//). This also takes place where Childe and the reader often move between homes Childe has stationed around Teyvat from working with the Fatui and from being so damn loaded.

Childe’s job was certainly unconventional, but for the most part you didn’t really mind. You didn’t know everything about what the Fatui were up too but Childe told you bits and pieces from his missions. You were never one to be bothered by any of his missions, which he was extremely thankful of, until a certain mysterious traveler became Mondstadt’s savior and quickly got the Fatui’s attention.

Now at first you didn’t pay it any mind just like the rest of Childe’s missions, but issues soon started popping up when Childe was spending more and more time with this Teyvat famous traveler. It had gotten to the point where some nights Childe wouldn’t be home until around three or four o’clock in the morning. You had even caught him trying to sneak back into your shared apartment you had when residing in Liyue; quickly tiptoeing around the apartment trying desperately not to wake you up, unbeknownst to him that you had never really gone to sleep that night.

You had kept your suspicions to yourself, as you knew Childe couldn’t help the fact that he was conveniently in Liyue the same time as this traveler was, so it made sense for him to be ordered to keep an eye on this “potential threat” that Childe would reference other Harbingers to call her. Her. That’s all you could refer to her as. You didn’t even know her damned name.

That’s what got you the most, when you would lay awake at night thinking about what Childe and this stranger were doing with each other. Were you seriously losing your beloved to a mysterious stranger who hadn’t even been in Liyue for more than a couple weeks? You wanted to go out looking for them. For her. You wanted to know what she looked like, what she sounded like; you’re mind always talked you out of it though before you could even get out of bed; did you really want to know the answers to the questions? Or would that only lead to more pain?

One night though, you fell under the effects of a deadly concoction of wrath, impulse, and alcohol. You no longer tried to hold onto your voice of reason, letting the muffled voice drift away with every sip of the dandelion wine that you had brought over from Mondstadt a while ago. The smooth warm feeling as the sweet liquid ran down your throat comforting you in a way, egging the impulse to go out searching for your lover and his “mistress” as you’ve started calling her. You knew that if what you thought was happening, was going on, you shouldn’t blame the traveler; your anger should be pointed at the man who was actively betraying you, but something couldn’t let you move your hatred.

Before you even had realized it, you were outside your apartment determined to find your harbinger and this stranger. Liyue harbor was rather large, especially in comparison to the city of Mondstadt, so it was going to take you a while just to get through the main areas; not even trying to think about what you’d do if they had left the Harbor.

Ironically enough, fate had decided to be in your favor that night because only after about half an hour of searching you found a familiar tuft of orange hair sticking out fair above the crowd; and at this very moment you were grateful that Childe stuck out like a sore thumb here in Liyue. You wanted to barge over to them, shove yourself through the crowd to confront this girl; but you couldn’t risk it. Not when you still cared so deeply of what Childe thought of you; he loved you because you never stuck your nose where is wasn’t suppose to be, what if doing all of this was going to ruin that? You quickly started regretting coming out here in search for them, that was until the crowd began to lighten up and you could start to actually see the two together.

For one, the traveler was beautiful and she held this almost ethereal, graceful, air about her; her movements languid and smooth as she conversed with the person you held your heart. Your heart had sank when you finally saw her, stopping dead in your tracks to stare and her; and it seems that she could feel your stare as you noticed her head beginning to look in your direction.

You quickly ducked behind a stall selling food, heart racing hoping that she didn’t notice, or worse that Childe didn’t notice. The two stayed in their place, as you peeked around the corner of an ally way; moving away from the stall as to not make even more people suspicious of you. You had a pretty clear view of them, and managed to get right within earshot with a little straining.

“Childe do you ever just stop talking?” The girl’s voice was as beautiful as her looks, and you felt another twang in your heart as your gaze faltered to the ground for a moment. Then you heard Childe’s familiar chuckle, the same chuckle that used to make your heart flutter, the same voice that was now making your heart as heavy as lead.

“Well then Lumine, maybe you should shut me up hm?” You had to restrain yourself from gasping when those words had left your “lovers” mouth. There was no way you could have heard that right? Did Childe just flirt with this stranger? Lumine looked at Childe with a playful grin, before giving a sharp nod.

Before you could watch the rest of the scene play out, you were running for your apartment; tears welling up in your eyes threatening to spill over which would only embarrass you more. When you finally were able to get into your apartment you started to frantically pack your things. You emotions were slowing down your movements though, as every couple of seconds you would have to wipe or blink the tears out of your eyes; your eyesight continuing to get blurry.

You hadn’t noticed but at some point you had just stopped packing completely and sat in the middle of your bedroom crying at the foot of your bed, clothes and other belongings of yours strewn across the room. Your body was shaking and you just couldn’t seem to catch your breath, it felt as though you were vibrating whilst also being lit on fire. Everything was just so overwhelming. You hadn’t heard the heavy footsteps of Childe’s boot on the hard floors. You also hadn’t notice his strong hands setting themselves on top of your shoulders, as he tried to figure out what was going on. And then suddenly you felt and heard everything all at once, your eyes met the blue one’s you once could never look away from; now they made you want to vomit.

You quickly shoved Childe off of you, and you scrambled to stand again; eyes flicking around his body like a wild animal being approached by a stranger. Childe stood up quickly as well, eyes just as wide as your his voice loud in your ears. You didn’t want to hear him, it hurt too much.

“SHUT UP AJAX!!” All at once everything was completely silent, except for your shaky breathing. Childe’s eyes had never been wider, as he looked at you like a deer in headlights. You’ve never yelled like this, and you never use his birthname. He didn’t dare to breath not wanting to elicit another demonstration of your unexpected wrath. He had no idea where any of this was coming from.

“You think I don’t know about your little flirts with Lumine?” Your voice was shaky and hoarse from the crying you had already done, but even then it never lost any of its vindication or venom. Childe’s blood was icy cold. What were you talking about? Flirting? Who had told you he was flirting? Did Lumine think he was flirting and then come tell you? Then why would Lumine always seem so comfortable with everything he would say to her?

“Wha- Flirting? What are you talking about (y/n)?! I never was flirting with Lumine!” Childe was silently begging you to believe him. Was he going to lose you to an issue he didn’t even cause?

“Oh why don’t you shut me up Lumine~~” Your voice was harsh and mocking, and you watched as Childe flinched at your tone. You never got this angry with him.

“Where did you hear that-? Whatever never the less, beloved please understand that was a misunderstanding. When I said that I meant in a spar! Lumine and I often dual, practicing with each other. That’s why I’ve been coming home late. Look I even have cuts and bruises to prove it!” Childe has never ripped his shirt off faster, not even when he was in the mood, he just wanted you to desperately believe him. He refused to lose you over such a simple misunderstanding.

You stood in your place dumbfounded. He really did have wounds, fresh and bloody. He was just... sparing? How could you have been so dumb? Why would you have even thought Childe would’ve done something like that.

“I don’t... You were just- Childe I’m sorry I shouldn’t have thought...” Tears began to well up in your eyes again, but this time when he made a movement towards you and brought you to his strong chest you didn’t push him away.

“I get it, I just wish you would have brought up your issue a little earlier before it boiled over like this. Were you really going to just up and leave?” There was something in Childe’s voice that you had never heard before. It sounded almost desperate for an answer. You didn’t say anything in response, you just couldn’t bring yourself to. It was silent, which let you hear the shaky breath Childe let out.

“Please don’t leave me.” Childe voice was so small, it almost sounded insecure; and it broke your heart. You arms tightened around Childe’s waist, while still trying to avoid his wounds.

“I’m sorry. I won’t I promise, if I ever have any thoughts like this I’ll bring them up with you. I won’t leave.” Childe kissed the top of your head and you nuzzled his neck.

“Thank you. Now maybe we should clean this back up?” Childe let out a small chuckle as he slowly let go of your form. You smiled at your beloveds attempt to lighten to air.

“I think that can wait until you’re not dripping blood onto the floor.” Childe let out a chuckle before nodding and mumbling out a quick, ‘ah yeah..’ and heading for the bathroom.

#Childe #Tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin childe #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin tartaglia #childe imagines #childe x reader #tartaglia imagines #tartaglia x reader #genshin ajax #genshin impact ajax #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagine #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact imagines

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creepypasta-headcanons · 3 years

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How you met them

Jeff:

Your parents had to send you to a boarding school due to them being extremely busy with their jobs and them wanting a very intelligent and we'll behaved kid.

Well, things never went like that. Your first weeks in that place were decent, but with the passing of the days, the teachers started to show their true colors.

Some of them were nice, others way more strict but still friendly...and the PE teacher. The school assigned your group a male weird teacher, that was cool with you on your first classes, and then things got perverted.

You wanted to get out of that place and he was the main reason, but also your only hope. He said he would run away with you and be happy, and that's what you did...well, with the exception you tried to knock him out to have time to escape using a fire extinguisher, but it seems that you hit him way too hard in the head.

Luckily you were able to run away fast, and you decided to hide inside an old looking house. Karma, that house was the one where Jeff and his brother grew up together. Jeff was casually walking around the place, and he saw something moving.

He was ready to kill you but then he saw your face, your expression...your eyes.

There was murder in your eyes. Your soul was no longer pure.

“—What the fuck do you think you're doing inside my house? —”

“—GAH! I am so sorry, please, don't tell anyone I'm here...they'll lock me up oh my god. —” And then, you fainted. Jeff took a deep breath to calm his anger, and decided to take you to the Creepyhouse to torture you.

At the end of the day, he never harmed you. He literally just forgot that you were in his room chained up to the wall and your mouth covered with masking tape because Eyeless Jack wanted to show him a dead squirrel that he found earlier.

Later, he went to his room and decided that before killing you he would chat a little bit to know why were you inside his old home.

Nina:

You talked to her at school before, but when she appeared in the news something was extremely off.

"—Someone or something is watching me... —” you thought. The feeling was uneasy but somehow safe.

Later at night, you were laying in your bed crying. You missed Nina. A lot, even if you two chatted a little bit at school.

You were sobbing terribly.

“—...Nina, please...I hope you are okay now... —”

After that sentence, a very loud sound startled your ears. You sat up in your bed and looked at the door: Nina.

“—Please, come with me. We'll live a better life now. —” you had to admit that your decision was kinda weird and stupid. You were living a cool life now, why would you start another one with her?

Oh, yeah, probably because she is holding a knife to your throat.

Eyeless Jack:

You were carefully walking through the forest, looking for some animals to kill. This was your only source of food due to your house and family being far away from everything in a little abandoned town.

You found a rabbit and tried to shoot at it with a big rock but it ran away. You gave the first step to run behind it but unluckily you stepped on a trap that tied you to a nearby tree with a chain.

Three hours passed, and the sun was going down. You were extremely hungry, dizzy and scared. The fact that you heard heavy footsteps didn't help at all.

“—Oh, cool. —”, you heard someone say out loud.

“— Can you please get me te fuck out of here? I am so hungry I think I'm going to die, oh God. —” your stomach growled loudly.

The strange masked guy walked slowly to you, and lowered his head to your ear.

“— Would you eat... something weird? —”, okay, this dude's vibes are extremely off.

“— I'll eat anything. —” and with you saying this, he pulled from his blue hoodie something that looked like a human organ. Ok, now you were scared shitless.

“— E A T. —” he said while getting that thing in his hand closer to your mouth.

You ate it all. What the fuck.

He took you to an abandoned place and when he asked if you wanted to stay here you showed that you didn't really care about your family or friends, proving him that you are one of them.

Sally:

You had a sister that was similar to her, but one day, she was kidnapped from school. This bad news affected your whole family and life.

One family in particular never gave up. Nope, it wasn't your family, they were the Williams.

A couple that once had a beautiful and innocent child, a family that broke apart because of a dirty man that ruined their lives, a family nobody really talked to due to the depressed aura around them. A family that had a daughter.

You always loved them because of the way the acted towards you. They treated you like you were one of them. They told you about their dead daughter and why they wanted to help you.

Still looking for your sister, you decided to have some time alone, some distraction. You went to the graveyard to talk to Sally's tombstone to tell her what's happening right now and how you feel about it.

You found it. It was kinda isolated, away from the other graves. This one had dead tulips, now you're replacing them with fresh and beautiful white roses.

“— H-Hi, Sally...I... —” you felt dumb, and numb.

“— I wanted to talk to you about my life. I know we never met, but I'm pretty sure you were a beautiful and full of life young girl. Your parents miss you so much, and that's why I'm here. My little sister...she....she was kidnapped some month ago and I-I'm really scared about what could be happening to her right now and I-If she's being raped, or if someone is selling her, or...or...—”, the ambience was weird. You took a deep breath.

“— what if she's dead? —” you were sobbing right now.

Something poked your leg.

“— Let me help you. —” when you looked down, you were met by two beautiful green eyes. Sally is by your side.

“— Go to the Michael's Mafia House. He has your sister. I'll bring some friends to help you, okay?—” you hugged her. Her voice was similar to your little sister's one.

Sally disappeared and adrenaline was running through your veins. You went to your house and immediately started looking for one of your favorite knifes from your dad's collection. When you were passing by the living room, you saw your beloved mother lying on the old couch, staring at your sister's picture. You smiled.

You started running towards the place Sally told you to.

The friends she was talking about were some creepypastas, they helped you to get to the boss office and encouraged you to kill him, wich you did. And you enjoyed every single second of it.

At the end, you found the place were your sister was kept captive and freed her and the other people trapped in there. She had clear signals of abuse like the other victims. You felt so angry, but she was okay. Everything was going to be better now, right?

Well, no. The rest of the mafia started looking for you and your family, and they had to move. Things were never the same, you started killing all the guys that showed up to your door to harm your people, and this interested Slenderman.

You ended up visiting the creepyhouse once a month because you had to stay with your family to protect them from the mafia.

Slenderman:

This is the same story as Sally's one. Sometimes you bring your sister with you to play with Sally, and while they played you talked with Slenderman about a plan to get rid of all those mafia members.

He wanted to help since he saw your potential, but he thought that the fact you had to protect your family slowed down your progress at training to be a murderer.

You felt extremely satisfied when you killed, and this was the other reason why you wanted to keep training with him apart of wanting to protect your family at all costs.

_______

I'm sorry if there are some misspellings or weird incoherences, english is not my first language and I made this blog because I wanted to practice my English, writing and drawing skills all at once lmao

#creepyhouse #creepypasta headcanon #creepy house #headcanon #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x reader

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raysreads · 3 years

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Teen Wolf Character Scents

Okay this might sound weird, but I’ve been reading a lot of Teen Wolf fic lately and it always puts a heavy emphasis on what the character smells like. Because...werewolf senses and everyone has a natural scent. I personally love this so here are my headcanons for what each characters natural scent would be!!!!!

(I give reasons for why I went with those things but some of the reasons themselves are headcanons, and some just came to me and have no reason at all besides that fact that i love it that way)

So background info: I headcanon some scents are from birth, while some are added/change based on experiences, temperament and emotions. You have your own scent and it does its own thing, even when you’re human. Humans cant smell them since they aren’t necessarily real, they are more a smell supernaturals pick up that’s a cryptic reflection of ones personality.

Stiles: Gotta start with the main boi!!!! He smells like spicy chili peppers, honey and everything spicy. He is wild and loud and so so sharp. He uses cutting anger and snark and sarcasm as a defense mechanism, this reflects in a scent that burns your nose. But he cares and loves a lot and is super soft, hence the honey. If you focus on his scent too much your eyes water with the chili. When he gets angry he send tears down everyone’s faces and even reddens the cheeks and burns the tongues of the supernatural pack members in his anger, his scent becoming physical as his spark acts up.

Peter: He smells like cold. Like cold, and petrichor and mint toothpaste. He always has. He smells like the cold of ice, the cold you smell when you open a freezer in the cold isle of the grocery store and like Vick’s Vaporub but 10x as strong. As the left hand of the pack it was his job to kill, to eliminate threats, his job to bear all the blood on his hands, to have his hands permanently stained sticky red and his eyes glow blue, so that no one else in the pack has to live with the guilt of murder, even when justified. His first kill was at 8 years old and he would never forgive the fact that he had been given that burden. So he became unmovable ice and unending cold. With the thick smell of rain for the warmth he would always keep hidden.

Theo: His scent is that of fresh, right off the smoker, BBQ sauce-soaked ribs and apple juice. Its a scent he was born with, one that reflects the gooey warmth of his soul and his innocence before he was manipulated and tortured. His scent always throws people off since it usually reflects ones personality and he’s not a good person by any means, he is amoral and cruel; and such a warm, soft scent doesn’t make sense. But his soul (though no longer pure) would always hold his original innocence. The apple juice isn’t actually his scent, but his sisters, her heart such a part of him that his guilt manifested her soul in his scent. And if you focus hard enough, underneath all that you can find the sting of bleach. His time with the dread doctors (and the fact that he was surgically tortured into being a chimera) leaving part of his scent mangled and altered into the artificial tang of bleach. The fact that he forced his scent to remain mostly unchanged throughout his life (which was worse than hell on earth) is Very Very Impressive, even more so when in the beginning he wasn’t even supernatural.

Scott: Our ever-sweet true alpha. He smells like overly sweet pink and blue cotton candy and hot, buttered, movie theater popcorn. He’s literally sugar and spice and everything nice. His morals and warmth translating to the hot popcorn and his perpetual smiling and niceness coming though as cotton candy. He smells like fairgrounds and the laughter of children. Underneath all that he bears the subtle scent of rust, a permanent reminder of his forced change to the supernatural and permanent resentment of the burden he must bear (and the guilt about that resentment)

Derek: He smells of Sandalwood, Patchouli, and Frankincense. He always smells like incense and spices, like the inside of a stereotypical fortune tellers shop. He becomes heat, warmth, and flame. Something that pulls at his soul since the fire. Something that is a comfort to the wolves around him. He also smells heavily of smoke (something that makes Peter unable to be in the same room as him for longer than 30 minutes unless forced) because of his never-ending guilt about his family, something that seared the event into his scent. When he’s angry (which is a lot) his scent gets stronger and the incense smell becomes extremely heady and makes his betas lethargic.

Lydia: She smells like metal, like your hands after handling handfuls of change. She smells like she bathed in pennies, her standoffish coldness bringing the bitter smell to her scent. Since she became a banshee she also smells strongly of spider lilies (also know as hell flowers), japans flower of death. You would think the contrast between bitter metal and floral scents, so strong you choke, would be bad but its actually strangely comforting. And while bitter its the only thing that can get Jackson to relax some days. The scent of the only person there for him for over a decade-and-a-half sometimes even more comforting than the scent of his boyfriend.

Isaac: His scent is of strong cologne even though he never wears any, he smells like he bathed in the Mahogany Teakwood candle from Bath and Body Works, or lived in an Abercrombie & Fitch for 50 years. He always had that smell, even as a child, but it just gets stronger the more confidence he gains. His childhood innocence and cleanliness of soul translates as a strong laundry soap smell. But hidden underneath there's an undertone of metal, plastic, and cold; that takes over his scent when he's scared and overwhelmes everything in a mile radius. It takes the Pack far too long to realize it smells like a freezer and metal chains.

Allison: She smells strongly of ozone and static (not rain though, never rain). Her anger and righteous fury making her scent like electricity and making the static-y-ness tingle in everyone's nose - sometimes making Scott sneeze. Nothing in her scent is pleasant or comforting to everyone's confusion. Its only when she feels negative emotions that she smells like roses and summer. Its like a warning but in reverse, the opposite of what it should be. Bad scents usually mean bad emotions or feelings or memories, and good scents mean good moods and positive things but for her its the opposite. Just like how she took the opposite path then what was laid out for her.

Jackson: He smells very very heavily of cherries, his scent so strong and sweet its like he took a bath in a hot tub filled with cherry cough medicine, chloraseptic cherry sore throat spray, cherry pie, cherry starburst, cherry Jell-O, and maraschino cherries. Its thick and sticky and strong enough to drown out the scent and stick for hours on anyone standing near him or touching him and it lingers on the Pack members even if they haven’t seen each other for years. Case-in-point: Jackson left for England after the kanima thing and Isaac left for France not long after. When Isaac came back 6 years later (2 years after Jackson came back) he still had the smell on him pretty strongly. Why cherries? No one knows. But its thick as hell and stronger than epoxy when it binds to things together forever. The Pack thinks it stems with his identity and abandonment issues, but once he claims you he wont let go, not even his scent. He is very self conscious and embarrassed about it so its never discussed, and he’s been friends with Danny for so long that his scent almost drowns out Danny’s own.

Ethan: Ethan’s scent is subtle and barely there. He was the one who always stood in front of Aiden to protect them, and took the beatings when possible so his scent became as bland and barely-there as possible. The Pack can only smell his scent with intense focus and at least an hours meditation (unless you’re Aiden). He smells of freshly baked bread and homemade jam, comforting smells that easily calm Aiden down. In times of distress he smells of burnt toast, he scent twisting with negative memories. A reminder that all good things have eventually turned bad for him and his twin.

Aiden: Aiden on the other hand smells strongly like curry and lavender. An odd combination but one that speaks of his guarded- but angry, headstrong and stubborn- nature. The abuse left him angry and twitchy and paranoid, everything setting him off and his moods turning on a dime. His scent fluctuated wildly between spicy curry and calming lavender which indicated his mood and Ethan was the only one able to calm him down, doing so with a single touch between his shoulder blades where they merged.

Danny: Danny smells like he lived in a Eucalyptus oil factory for 50 years, the scent soothing and calm like he is. Its always the same and never changes, not even when his emotions do. It was concerning at first, since everyone else’s scents changed throughout the day, even when their mood didn't (the only other scent that barely changed was Peter’s but that was because the man hand an iron grip over his emotions, even in his scent. Which is super impressive). He was just that calm at all times, even when annoyed. The one time he got angry- and I mean really angry not just the pretenses he kept when ‘annoyed’ with Stiles who he more endeared with than anything- his scent overwhelmed the entire apartment complex ( the one Derek had bought out for his loft) with the horrible, strong, pungent scent of burnt rubber. No one angered him again.

But they did have a chat about his witch ancestry.

Erica: Her scent was that of a bonfire. A blazing bonfire, gasoline, and the smell of the world when it was so hot outside the air above the tar street shimmered. She was competitive, and fierce, and pure heat and burning. If she wanted something, she would take it she had always been that way, even when she was sick. And while her sickness may be gone she had a subtle distortion to her scent, one like poison, that made her always smell slightly sick. (Peter almost had a panic attack when he first met her because of her scent, he now never came within 10 feet of her).

Boyd: He smelled like a flower garden. He was so stoic that the floral scent took many by surprise. He had always smelled like soil and dirt, his down to earth personality manifesting as a calming and grounding scent. He also smelled like the ocean, like salt and brine, and waves. But that was all drowned out by the overwhelming smell of flowers, a scent that used to be his sisters, one that he subconsciously adopted after her death when he was still human. He empathized with Theo and would exchange heavy glances when the pack discussed their natural scents as a ‘pack bonding exercise’, they were both drowned in guilt for different reasons, but both over lost sisters. They never discussed it. That was all folks!!! Feel free to add on to this and/or use it as a fanfic reference!!! Do you agree??? What are your headcanons???

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #peter hale #theo raeken #scott mccall #derek hale #lydia martin #isaac lahey #allison argent #jackson whittemore #ethan steiner #aiden steiner #danny mahealani #erica reyes #vernon boyd

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time-to-write-and-suffer · 4 years

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Gather round, children, and let Eff tell you a tale of today.

My mother and I live in an apartment with a family of 3: a woman, her 6-7 year-old-kid, and a hideous worm man who calls himself a human being.

Today a big fighty fight happened, where the two adults ganged up on my poor mother. It was a fight about hygiene, I believe. Mom was tired of us having to flush after the boy and the worm, because neither of them know how to press a button to make the water go, I guess.

Irrelevant. Given that I suffer from pretty intense social anxiety and always stay away from these conflicts, I should’ve maybe remained out of this one as well. However, I heard them arguing, and it was getting very loud. Like, unusually loud. So I grab my phone, press record, and start filming the argument.

When they notice me, the woman and the worm get very upset. The worm looks at me with the sort of hatred in his eyes that’s only reserved for a “woman” being uppity in a “man’s” presence. He’s a deeply religious muslim man, you see, and often tells his wife to shut the fuck up. Dunno if he’s ever hit her but she’s miserable 99.99% of the time. And he screams at her for maybe 95% of the time. He believes women are beneath him in every way. Oh and he tells his 6-7 year-old not to cry because he’s “a man” and he also makes him do pull-ups. So he can have a ripped child I guess.

So they see me recording this argument, and they both flip their shit. The wife starts trying to pry my phone out of my hands. My mom breaks it off and tells me to stay out of it, taking me back to our room. I stay there and obviously have a breakdown. I also call her boyfriend, because I have nobody else to call, but he can’t do anything. He seems to take my call pretty well though, to his credit.

Anyway, the argument continues without me for a while. They hurl insults back and forward, mostly the worm, who blames feminism for ... things? In general. They both demand to see my phone because I have “no right” to record them. They try to manipulate mom into giving them my phone by insulting us both and saying our relationship is “dysfunctional” because I’m her child yet I do not blindly obey her and thus do not “respect” her.

There’s a lot of insults about how I’m sick in the head and she has me locked up and a bunch of other nonsense. It’s mostly the worm arguing. The wife is now trying to do damage control, but he tells her to shut the fuck up when a man is talking (right after he proudly claimed that he, as the man of the house, “lets” her speak freely, which he defo doesn’t lmaooo).

Anyway, before you ask why we can’t go to the police, it’s because our “landlady”, who owns the apartment, isn’t actually allowed to rent it out. If we were to go to the police, both this family and my mom and I would be homeless. We don’t care much about the family, for obvious reasons, but mom and I are poor and finding an apartment in Stockholm is difficult, especially on short notice.

When mom explained this to them, the worm made a threat. Or at least it could easily be interpreted as such. He said he had “family” and contacts here, and that if we went to the police, something bad would happen. He either meant that, or he meant that they would be safe because of their family and contacts and we’d be the ones who were fucked. I recorded it all but I haven’t listened to the videos yet because I’m still recovering.

For now, things are relatively calm. They need us because they need our money, so the chances of the worm trying to hurt us is hopefully slim. But the worm is extremely violent and insecure, and he continued (I hope only verbally) abusing his wife and presumably traumatizing their child from the sounds of the crying for hours after our argument was over. He had been insulted and enraged that mom stood up to him and had to reestablish himself as the “alpha” and “the man of the house” by taking out his anger on the ones dependent on him, I guess.

So. Ya know. Things are very bad right now. Idk how to sleep knowing I’m in the same apartment as a criminal and a potential violent worm.

#personal

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panda-noosh · 5 years

Text

The One Who Wasn’t {Klaus x Reader}

Words: 5.3k

Summary: Reginald Hargreeves thinks you’re special. So does Klaus, but for two very different reasons.

Genre: angst

Warnings: themes of abuse. themes of neglect. themes of obsession. explicit violence/torture. Reginald is a complete fucking psychopath.

Notes: yeehawwww again.

---

He thought you were special. He thought you were something you weren't. He put you through hell because his tests had been wrong, and he refused to see it.

The world had become nothing more than four stone walls and a white chair. There was nothing beyond that – nothing you had ever seen. The manacles around your wrists and ankles were as familiar to you as jewellery was to a person with freedom; you never questioned them, because you'd never looked down to see they weren't there.

You never questioned the pain. For years, you had been convinced it was normal, that everybody's professors did this. Everyone was getting strapped down and torn apart, right? Everyone was getting screamed at and beaten for the simplest of mistakes, right? Everyone fell asleep on a cold stone floor, locked away in a room with no windows, no air, no life.

Right?

You thought it was normal, and that was why you often felt guilty when the pain became too much. The complaints nestled on your tongue, but you would never say them to the Professor – that would get you in trouble. Even more trouble, which was something you couldn't risk. Your body wouldn't be able to handle it.

The only person who ever truly listened to you when you were in pain was Klaus.

Klaus Hargreeves. A walking Ouija board. A man of many talents, a man with a loose tongue, a man who risked it all just to clamber down to the basement and see you.

In the beginning, it was a function of accidents. You were familiar with his screams, because it wasn't rare that the Professor locked him up in the room next door to you; you weren't sure what scared Klaus so much, but he screamed and screamed and you would listen to it so closely, unable to pull away because sometimes, that was the only noise that had stimulated your ears in weeks.

He managed to get out one day. You remember hearing the door bang open, the sound of his gasps as he threw himself out of the mystery room and straight into your own; he was reaching around for a light switch, he was crying out for someone you didn't know, he was begging it to stop, stop, stop and you could do nothing but pull your knees into your chest and listen to him chunter on and on about something you didn't know.

He looked up then, and you saw his face. The innocent face of a twelve year old boy – only a year older than you – doused in sweat and tears, mud streaking his cheeks, his knees scraped with the typical scars of a playful child; maybe he fell from a tree, or maybe he had fallen during a game of football. You had never done either of those, weren't sure if the blood dribbling down his leg was appropriate for that of a childish game of football.

His eyes widened. They were the colour of the earth, blue around the edges, sinking into a pleasant shade of green that was only illuminated further by the tears brimming along his water line. He narrowed them at you, took a step into the room as if deciding whether or not to approach you.

At the time, you didn't want him to. He was one of the only people you had seen beyond the Professor, certainly the first young person you had ever been in the presence of. His scraggly form and long limbs startled you enough to have you sinking deeper into the corner.

His eyes widened, noticing your fear. “No, no, wait, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

You flinched. His voice was too loud. The light from the hallway was too bright.

He paid your wince no attention, but had the decency to close the door as he stepped fully into the room. His own hands trembled. His voice was hoarse. He was scared, too, but he did a fantastic job of shielding it.

“I'm Klaus,” he said softly. “Klaus Hargreeves. Who are you?” He paused, bit his bottom lip, evaluated his next sentence. “What are you doing down here?”

It was only then that you noticed he was wearing the same thing as you, only much cleaner. The Professor called it a uniform. Yours was extremely dirty at this point, but Klaus's looked fresh out the wash. Smelled fresh out the wash, as well.

He narrowed his eyes. “You don't talk?”

“Of course I talk.” Your voice broke. You spoke. You knew the English language, could make conversation, but that didn't mean you did it often.

Klaus's eyes softened. “Good. That's good. Great, even.” Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor in front of you. You resisted the urge to flinch again. He'd been confused when you did it the last time. You didn't want to confuse him. “Can you tell me what your name is?”

The Professor always told you that names had a lot of power. “Y/N.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Y/N. That's a nice name. My name's Klaus.”

“You said that before.” He had. You were just pointing out the obvious.

He nodded. “I thought I'd tell you again. Just in case you forgot.” He paused. “You're meant to compliment my name now. I think that's the way it goes.”

You stared at him, unmoving, unblinking, trying to decipher what exactly he was trying to do. The Professor had told you he had kids – surely Klaus was one of them. He looked nothing like the old man, but you struggled to believe that anyone looked like the Professor – he was too old, had bushy grey hair that seemed most unrealistic.

Klaus was ethereal. His brown hair was caked in dirt. His cheeks were streaked with a similar substance. His knees were grazed, and there was a bruise on the side of his head that was turning purple – you looked down at the bruises indented in your own flesh, couldn't help but smile at the fact you had finally found someone who had similar marks to you.

You looked up, met his eyes again and said, “I like your name. I think it's pretty.”

---

“I don't think many people actually realise how good pineapple on pizza is.”

You narrowed your eyes, kept your hands on your knees. Again, you remained pressed against the wall, even though you wanted nothing more than to sneak forward and catch a glimpse of this strange food Klaus was describing.

He peeked up at you. Fifteen years old now, and he still managed to look ungroomed beyond anything. His brown hair dangled in his eyes now, having gained a nice little wave to it, courtesy of the rain he barrelled through only moments before. He hadn't even taken the time to dry off before he came down to visit you.

And in his hands was a cardboard box. You initially squeaked, pulled away when he set it down in front of you – the Professor always carried his syringes in a cardboard box.

“You can have some, you know,” Klaus said, holding the slice of pizza out to you. “I brought it down so we could share.”

“What is it?” you asked, craning your neck to get a better look.

Klaus nudged the box closer. “It's pizza. Bread, cheese, tomato sauce – my brother Diego likes it with a barbecue base, but I think that's illegal.”

“He's breaking the law?”

Klaus nodded as if this was no big deal. You watched him take another humongous bite out of the food, failed to disguise the way your stomach growled. It did look appetising; you were familiar with the bread part of it, at least. The Professor was often nice enough to give you onion bread. It was your favourite.

Klaus sighed, looking up. “I heard that, you know,” he said. “Have a piece. I'm not leaving here until I've watched you eat.”

You blinked. Hesitated. Thought it over and realised Klaus was serious – he wanted to share his food with you. He was offering. You smiled lightly as you reached forward and scooped a bit of the pizza out of the cardboard box, watching in awe as the cheese stretched. Klaus reached over, swiped his finger through the thin strand of cheese before he motioned for you to take a bite.

You did just that, and your eyes immediately widened.

Klaus laughed. Loudly, boldly, much too bold for someone who wasn't even supposed to be in your presence. “See? I knew you'd like it!”

You nodded enthusiastically, taking another bite. And another. And another, until eventually you were left with nothing but the crust – that was gone in a matter of seconds, too.

Klaus chuckled, nudging the box closer still towards you. “Dig in. There's plenty where that came from.”

He was offering, you reminded yourself, forcing the guilt out of your head to allow room to marvel at the new flavours you were trying out. You took another slice, and another, holding the both of them in your two hands. Klaus raised a brow, grinned around his own slice of pizza before he took another one, mimicking the same greedy pose as you.

And together, the two of you ate, laughed about the stupidest of things, and for a moment, the world didn't seem so bleak. For a moment, your world consisted of more than four walls and a white chair.

---

“I always thought dead people would be really rude.”

Klaus nodded, shifting his leg beneath your head; the cold floor dug into your back, but you paid it little attention. You were comfortable, head resting in Klaus's lap, a book that he stole for you hanging above your head. His back was leaned against the wall – the two of you had switched places now. He was eighteen. You were seventeen. Things were changing.

“They can be,” he said. “But mostly they're just depressing as hell.”

“Well, I can imagine. It must not be very nice being dead.”

Klaus fell silent. You glanced up at him, past the pages of your book until they met his face. Sharp jawline, deadened eyes, a blunt hanging from his lips that he struggled to relight. You screwed your face up, nuzzling your head into his abdomen. He looked down at you, plucking the blunt from his lips to watch you properly.

“What?”

“That stuff stinks,” you said. “The Professor is gonna know you were in here if he smells it.”

Klaus shrugged as if it was no big deal, as if you wouldn't get the beating of your life if the Professor found out about your and Klaus's ongoing rendezvous. “I wish you'd stop calling him that.”

You started. “What?”

“The Professor,” he replied, lowering his voice to dramatic levels. “He's called Reginald. Just call him Reginald.”

“I don't like calling him Reginald.” You shifted on his lap again. He dropped one of his hands, gently played with the ends of your hair as he watched you get comfortable. “Besides, he's never told me his real name before. If I start getting into the habit of calling him Reginald-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Klaus grumbled. “He'll know I've been here.”

“Exactly.” You patted his thigh. “I'm glad you're finally starting to understand.” Klaus rolled his eyes, but he couldn't possibly hide his smile – not from you, not whenever you were watching him so closely.

You did this all the time, and he asked you about it just as frequently; why you stared at him. Why you would sometimes get so lost in the sight of him that the rest of the conversation went in one ear and out the other. He would poke you for it, make fun of you, laugh when you quietly told him to shut up and turned away in embarrassment.

But he would never understand. That was something you had to remember.

You and Klaus got on so well. So, so well. He made your heart race and your palms sweaty, but he wasn't like you. He spent a few hours each day with you, keeping you company and making sure you weren't driven to that paralysing point of insanity ever again – but then he would get up and go back upstairs and be met with a Sunday roast and siblings who he could talk to and tease. The conversation would go on for him, whilst you went back to silence.

The Professor insisted there was something special about you. He took you in when you were a baby – you didn't remember your birth parents, your place of birth, if you had a name before the Professor had tacked the label Y/N onto your person. He was adamant on the fact that you were one of them, and he wouldn't give up until he unlocked that part of you that he believed was so special.

But you weren't. You had just been born on the same day as his kids.

Klaus's hand tugged on a strand of your hair, pulling you back to the present. “Hey. I thought I'd lost you there.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, folding the page of your book and placing it beside you. “Thanks for the book. I was getting bored on my own.”

Klaus smiled. “Any time. You can ask me any time.”

“I know I can.”

You reached up, intertwined your fingers with his, tugging his hand out of your hair and instead placing it on your stomach. His fingers trailed down your middle, dipped beneath the bottom of your shirt, messing idly with the hem of your shorts.

He inhaled deeply, leaned his head back against the stone wall. “I don't want to leave again, but Dad will be down here soon to check on you, won't he?”

You shrugged. “Him or Grace.”

“Well, either way.” Klaus shifted, boosting you off of his knee so you were sitting upright beside him. His hand slid away from your stomach, landed on your thigh instead. “I should get going.”

You nodded, smiling to hide your disappointment. Nonetheless, Klaus could see it. His eyes softened before he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek – it was something he had been doing recently. In the beginning, it startled you. It was one thing having his hands touch your flesh, but his mouth? At the time, it seemed utterly bizarre. But then he explained it – it was what everyone did. Just like everyone got tied down to a white chair. Just like everyone slept on a cold stone floor. Just like everyone cried themselves to sleep most nights.

It was normal.

And besides, you liked the feel of it sometimes.

---

“And what, do tell, is this?”

You jerked awake, heart hammering against your rib cage. The nightmares, the terrors, the torments of your own brain – they had been banished in a matter of seconds by the Professors voice.

The worst nightmare of all, only you couldn't just open your eyes and escape this one.

He was early this morning. He stood in your doorway, shadowed by the light, barely visible as your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. You sat up slowly, palm pressing against the floor. You curled your fingers, grabbing at the stone – your sleeping stone. It was special.

The Professor was holding something in his hand. Tightly. So tightly that his knuckles were turning an even paler shade of white. His lips were pressed together so the colour was leached out of them, as well. In his white lab coat, he looked nothing more than a piece of paper, flying through the wind. You smiled, remembering the book Klaus had stole for you.

It was instinctive when you reached out to touch it in its hiding place behind one of the many stone pillars in this room.

It was horror when your fingers wrapped around nothing. It was pure, unfiltered horror when you looked up and realised what it was the Professor was holding.

“Oh god,” you whispered.

He threw it to the floor. It crashed against the stone, startled you. You squealed at the loud BANG that immediately echoed through the room, scrambling upright and tugging your knees into your chest. You leaned your head against them, closed your eyes, whispered the words Klaus taught you; “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”

“And if you're really scared,” he had said in his high pitched thirteen year old voice, “add the number eight.” He had grabbed your hand, putting up eight fingers before pinching the eighth one. “Number eight can be you, but they only show up when you're really, really scared.”

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

“Where did you get this from?” the Professor demanded. He stepped into the room, slammed the door closed but he did not make an effort to move towards you. “Have you been stealing from me?”

“N-no, sir,” you stammered out, still pressing your head into your knees. “Please stop shouting. I don't know-”

“I'm not here to listen to lies, Y/N,” he growled, stepping forward. His heel clicking off the stone was paralysing. Your mouth wouldn't move. You couldn't talk, couldn't look up, couldn't find comfort in the numbers because you couldn't do anything. “You're going to tell me the truth, or so help me god-”

“I don't know where it came from,” you cried out. The words burst from your chest, exploded, echoed off the walls-

And then his hands were wound in your hair, dragging you upright. You screamed, kicked and stumbled. He didn't give you a chance to catch your footing before he draggedyou out the door towards the room you were so, so terribly familiar with at this point – he called it the Test Room. It was where all the pain came from.

The white chair was there. It welcomed you. It embraced you with open arms, manacles snapping round your wrist, your forehead, your ankles until you were pinned down on all sides by metal, metal, cold metal sinking into your skin and this time it was painful. He'd made them tighter. He made them even tighter now, even as you whimpered and whispered for him to stop. He sat beside you and he smiled until your hands and ankles were numb from lack of circulation and your head was pounding with the metal sinking into it.

He stopped then, leaned in, and you couldn't help but wonder how it was possible that this man had raised Klaus. Your Klaus – the boy you loved so dearly, the boy who did everything he could to make you happy. How had Klaus been raised by a man who didn't even care enough to give his kids names.

“You know, this book waves a lot of red flags for me,” he said, voice low, daring you to speak. “First of all, I didn't give you a book in the first place. Second of all, you don't even know how to read. I never taught you to read.” He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “So who did?”

There was cotton balls in your mouth, an anvil on your chest, metal in your flesh. “I learned on my own. I got the book on my own.”

He laughed. “We both know you're lying to me now. There's no way you could have gotten out of there. The door was programmed so only people on the outside could open it.”

“Okay, okay fine!” you burst. “It was – It was Grace. Grace brought me the book because I told her I was bored, and she sat with me-” You cried out. He was tightening the cuffs even more. There was no blood, just pain, just pressure and it was driving you insane. “Oh god, no, please! Please, it was Grace!”

“You really are more stupid than I thought,” he growled. “Grace is my creation! She would do nothing I didn't tell her to do.”

You tried to shake your head. It didn't work. You were pinned down. You were trapped, and he was free, and he could do absolutely whatever he wanted to you right now and there was nothing you would ever be able to do about it.

“You're gonna tell me who has been entering your room right now, or I will torture every one of them in front of you until I get my answer.”

Your eyes bulged open. “Please, no-”

“Then make this easy on yourself,” he growled. The manacles tightened just a little bit, just enough to have you gasping, squirming against the plush white chair. “Tell me who-”

“Klaus!” His name was ripped from your mouth. “It was Klaus!”

The guilt was immediate, accompanied by a sinking feeling of regret. The manacles started to loosen, and as soon as you could, you rolled onto your side and emptied the contents of your stomach. The Professor stared at you through those stupid glasses, slowly shaking his stupid head, staring at you with those stupid eyes that you would take great pleasure in ripping from his skull right about now.

You fell back against the chair, closing your eyes, fighting to take a breath. “What are you going to do to him?”

He didn't answer you. Just continued to stare, uttering the same few words over and over again.

“Of course. I should have known. I should have known. I should have known!”

He slammed his fist against the metal tray beside him, threw himself to his feet and grabbed your hair. He twisted until you were stumbling off of the seat, dragged to his side in a matter of seconds – he was so powerful, or maybe you were just weak.

“I want to know how he got out of his chamber,” the Professor growled, so close to your ear, too close to your ear. “How long has this been going on?”

“God, I don't know! I swear I don't know!” You did know. Years. Years, and he had no clue. You were smart enough to realise that telling him the truth would only make him angrier – the Professor didn't like being made a fool.

His grip tightened on your hair before he tossed you into the corner of the room. You fell against a metal table, the equipment shattering to the floor. You just barely managed to catch yourself, dart upright before he had you by the throat, pressing you against the wall.

And in his hand was a syringe.

You had seen plenty of these. They were used on you on a daily basis, nothing you were unfamiliar with. Sometimes they made you feel woozy. Sometimes they put you to sleep. Sometimes they made your stomach turn, and those were the days the Professor would say you'd been poisoned – he always said poison was a good thing, that it strengthened your resistance.

But this syringe was one you'd never seen before. It was filled with black stuff. It certainly wasn't poison, because he was aiming for your throat. He'd never injected you in the throat before.

You tried pulling away, but it only tightened his grip on your shoulders even more.

“I can't have this,” he growled. It was almost like he was speaking to himself, his watery grey eyes darting all over your upper half. “This isn't right. None of them were meant to know. You were mine. You were mine, and nobody elses. But now he knows. He knows, and he's going to tell people, and they're gonna want to share you.” He inhaled deeply, leaned forward so his forehead clipped against the wall. You could hear his heavy breathing, feel his springy grey hair touching your cheek. “I can't have this.”

“Please,” you whispered. “Don't hurt Klaus. This wasn't his fault. He was keeping me company. I asked him to-”

The Professor slammed his forehead into the wall, pulled back and dug the needle of the syringe directly into your throat.

You tasted it. It went nowhere near your taste buds, but the flavour burst in your mouth, and your body, and paralysed you. It was an array of different things – sweet, sour, acidic all in a number of seconds.

Then there was the burn. Your cheeks warmed. Your neck warmed. For a second, you could almost convince yourself that it was just a fever, because god only knew you'd had plenty of those in your time. But it got worse. It spread to your fingertips, and it was no longer just an uncomfortable fizzing sensation in your limbs – it burned. It ripped a scream from your throat. You were on fire, fire, fire, and the room was spinning and the white light bursting behind your eyelids was making it impossible to do anything but stumble and scream, claw at the Professor's arm pressed against your throat.

He pulled away and you fell to the floor. You meant to catch yourself, but it didn't work, didn't work, your legs didn't work.

He was crying. You could hear him, his pathetic little sobs as you gasped for air, clawing at your throat, trying desperately to get some kind of relief, but nothing worked.

“I had to do it,” he whimpered. “You're mine.”

“Yours,” you croaked out. “I was never yours.”

You fell forward onto your elbows. Your head cracked against the marble floor.

The Professor's desperate sobs were the last thing you heard.

---

He still looked ethereal.

Even with a blunt between his lips, his eyes heavy, his body sunk back into an unmade bed. He still looked absolutely breathtaking.

You stood in his doorway, unsure how you got here in the first place, unsure how you had managed to find your way around so easily. The hallways of the Hargreeves household were confusing, and yet you were drawn to this exact place in a matter of seconds.

He leaned back, inhaled so deeply that the buttons on his shirt swelled with the movement. His eyes were still closed, one hand draped across his belly whilst the other was knotted in his brown, wavy hair. He plucked the blunt from between his lips, crushed it in an ashtray beside his bed, rolled over onto his side-

Screamed.

Your eyes widened, the noise startling you so much that you flinched, stumbling back out of the doorway.

But Klaus was in front of you in seconds. You hadn't seen him stand, had barely registered him rushing over to you until he was reaching for you, reaching, reaching, reaching-

Grabbing nothing.

His breathing stopped. You saw it, that aura around him that told you he was still alive, his heart was still racing. It suddenly stopped moving.

His bloodshot eyes raked over your body. The aura started moving again, just enough for him to breathe out the word, “No.”

You didn't know what to say, how to explain what the past few hours had been like.

Klaus shook his head furiously, desperately. There were tears in his eyes now. You wanted him to stop, wanted to reach forward and grab his face in your hands and tell him to stop because what happened, happened, and his tears were going to do nothing but rip your heart from your chest-

Not like it mattered.

“No,” he said, louder this time. “No. No. He didn't-”

“Klaus,” you croaked out, and he fell silent. He fell silent, and then he fell to his knees, and his head fell into his hands, shaking, trembling.

You bit your bottom lip, looked to the ceiling, composed yourself before you kneeled beside him. “I'm okay.”

“What did he do to you?” he whispered. His voice was quiet, muffled even further by the palms he refused to take away from his mouth.

“I don't – I don't wanna talk about it,” you managed.

“Why did he do this to you?” It was a demand.

You blinked, tears building. “You're gonna hate me if I tell you.” Klaus shook his head again. “Don't be stupid. Don't be fucking stupid. I couldn't hate you. Ever.” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, took a steadying breath. “Just tell me why he did it. Why now? Why after all this time?”

“I did something wrong.”

“Bullshit.”

“It isn't,” you insisted. “I didn't hide the book well enough. He found it when I was sleeping, and he got angry, and...” You trailed off, concentration zoning in on Klaus. His face had gone from distraught to utterly broken in a matter of seconds.

Your eyes widened. “No, Klaus, no. This isn't your fault.”

He shook his head. His lower lip trembled. He stood up on shaky legs. You followed behind him, you tried to grab him, you tried to get through to him but your hands fell right through his arm and there was nothing you could do.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, trailing his hands through his hair. “Fuck, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. This was me. I got you that book-”

“It wasn't you, it was me. I should have hidden it-”

“I got you that book,” he continued. “And he killed you for it.”

You shook your head, stumbled closer to him. “He's a psychopath, Klaus. The only person who is at fault here is him.”

Klaus looked at you. He tried to nod, but he couldn't do it properly. He just kept his eyes trained on your own, stabilized himself against the wall, tried catching his breath even if it felt like the walls were closing in around him.

You took another step forward. “You're the only one who can see me now.”

He nodded, swallowed, wiped some sweat from his forehead.

“We don't have to. . . We don't have to hide any more, do we?”

His mouth opened just a bit. His eyes widened just a bit. His body relaxed, but just a bit.

You were smiling. In two seconds flat, you had come from hysterically shaking your head, resisting the urge to cry, to grinning from ear to ear. It felt so wrong. It felt so inappropriate at a time like this, but for the love of god, the realisation that just crashed down upon you was enough to make your knees feel weak and you were taking it and running as soon as possible.

“Y/N...,” Klaus mumbled. “You're the only dead person I know who's finding the positive in being dead.”

“C-can I stay here?” you asked. “I would very much like to stay here. With you.” His features softened. Tears still trekked down his face, and his hands still trembled, but the tension in his body dissolved as if the question had somehow hit a nerve.

He stepped forward, reached out to touch you. He realised his mistake, inhaled a shaky breath before he let his hand drop. He looked down at the ground and nodded. “I need you to stay here with me.”

“Need?”

“I need you, Y/N,” he said, firmer this time. “You've been the only constant in my life for years. I can't – I can't lose that. I'll lose my fucking mind if I lose you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Nothing seemed good enough.

“Do you think it'll be selfish of me to keep you around?” he asked.

You shook your head immediately. “Please keep me around.”

He smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

509 notes · View notes

fasterthanmydemons · 4 years

Note

🤡, 🥀 (Wanda), 😍 and 🐲 for the ask meme (hope the sick mun feels better soon! The transition from winter to spring sucks xDD)

(Thank you, I am feeling much better! Still coughing a bit, but definitely feeling so much better than I did earlier in the week.)

🤡 Do they have any phobias or irrational fears?

Pietro does have some phobias, although I would not exactly call them irrational. His phobias stem from traumas he’s experienced and aversions that he’s developed because of that.

Fear of falling: He’s not afraid of heights or falling over a ledge, but rather the sensation of the ground giving way beneath his feet or of falling into a large hole, like a sinkhole or something. This comes from seeing his parents fall into the hole created by the shell dropped on their apartment building when he was ten. Pietro has PTSD regarding this event for numerous reasons (as does Wanda) that has resulted in him having a very distinct fear of being drawn into or falling into a hole and dying. Even things like earthquakes or thunder that can shake the ground might send him into a flashback or panic attack, because he would feel the ground moving under his feet and immediately be brought back to that feeling he had when he was ten.

Fear of loud noises: Thunder, cars backfiring, transformers blowing, explosions, guns going off, things like that will make Pietro jump, become nervous, and maybe even panic. This is because it reminds him of the sounds of bombs being dropped and exploding, again taking him back to when he was ten, but also after Ultron in an AU where he survives, gunshots would be a traumatic thing for him to hear because there is so much pain and suffering attached to hearing those types of sounds.

Fear of being touched: Pietro has an extreme aversion to being touched by people he doesn’t know. I mean if he’s gotten into some girl’s good graces and a one-night stand is in question, he’s fine with that sort of thing, heh... and with Wanda he is always 100% okay with her touching him, but anyone else is going to get a pullback and maybe something more if they don’t stop. Especially soldiers, scientists, and doctors. This fear comes from the abuse he suffered in the Hydra laboratory. Pietro learned that when people come at him and try to touch him, it usually results in pain or something bad happening to him like being poked with a needle or a taser or something like that. So it’s a combination of fearing the pain or result of someone touching him with ill intent combined with the severe distrust he learned from Hydra that causes him to be wary of everyone.

🥀 How would they handle the death of a loved one? (Wanda)

(I will first direct you to the following post (x) and two starters (x, x) that I’ve already written about this subject, in case you want to read up about this huge ball of headcanons of mine in more detail. Since this is Anon and I don’t know who this is, if you’ve already read all those posts before then just ignore me, haha.)

The short answer is... not well. At all. Wanda is the most important person in Pietro’s life. That will never change, even if either or both of them marry, have kids, etc. Losing her would affect him even more than losing his parents, and that had a major effect on him. Nothing in the world could hurt him more than losing his sister. That combined with Pietro having a very old-fashioned and decidedly outdated view of masculinity means he’s going to react to that kind of devastating hurt with avoidance and anger instead of sadness and any kind of reaching out to others. He feels like, as a man, he needs to be strong and stable and basically impenetrable to emotional pain, and that unfortunately makes him view things like crying and being sad as weaknesses. The last thing he ever wants to appear to someone is weak.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t think that way with women or necessarily with other men, it is something he imposes on himself. I think a lot of it may come from years of taking the role of a protective older brother. If he’s getting upset and crying, then Wanda gets upset and cries, but if he acts calm and collected or at least like he’s not afraid or upset about things, then he feels like she’ll be more emotionally stable too. So he’s really either avoided or suppressed a lot of his “softer” and more vulnerable emotions throughout his life. If Wanda were to die, he would not want to be seen crying or sad or broken or anything like that. To mask this, he would project anger and defensiveness. He would push people away, have loud outbursts, punch walls, break things, get into fist fights, and really just be destructive and violent. And that would be a way for him to release everything he’s suppressing, although it certainly is not a healthy way to go about it.

I hate to get depressing, but I’ve mentioned this before... that Pietro might not survive losing Wanda. It would really take some attentive and persistent intervention with him to keep him from doing something drastic. He would honestly not ever want to live without her, so he would have to be convinced to do so and would definitely need to be on some kind of suicide watch. That level of intervention would have to come from someone he trusts and maybe even loves, such as a romantic ship or someone like Clint or Natasha that he feels relatively emotionally comfortable with, otherwise he will just push people away.

😍 How would they react if the person they fell in love with turned out to be non-human?

Pietro actually does have a non-human ship! Her name is Alice, and she is a “doll,” or a highly sophisticated synthetic human, written by a dear friend of mine over at @kitscompendium. Love is love to him, so if he loves someone, whether they are human or not, he will treat them with the same respect, attention, and care that he would a human ship. If he’s fallen in love with someone, then he loves them for who they are, regardless of appearance, race, origin, or biological physiology. So yeah, he’s very tolerant and open-minded with regard to that.

🐲 Were they afraid of monsters under the bed as a child?

Not at all, heh. In fact, Pietro was often Wanda’s first line of defense against said monsters under their beds as children, hahaha. She would very often get scared of things she imagined were hiding under her bed, in a closet, just past a window, down the hallways, or anything like that, and Pietro would play the hero and would explore all these places to scare away all the monsters. If that didn’t work, he would end up in her bed with her, holding her until she fell asleep so that she felt safe. But yeah, he was never afraid because he felt like he had to be the strong and fearless older brother for Wanda, so that helped him get over any fears he might have had early on.

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irenedonati · 4 years

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Why Wanlov the Kubolor's "Swim" is the most relevant piece of content we have experienced in Ghana in a while and why we should talk about it.

Wanlov The Kubolor, Ghanaian rapper, songwriter, producer, video maker, and performance artists recently released a new video and a song called “Swim."

I don't want to spend too much time talking about who decided, for instance, to report the content on Instagram because their susceptible soul was insulted by the nudity portrayed in the video. Can we blame people for not understanding? Or should we blame a system that keeps brainwashing people through religion and politics so they do their dirty job for them of silencing any voice that sounds too loud?

I realized that we shouldn't draw more attention to ignorance: as Eckhart Tolle says — “Whatever you fight, you strengthen, and what you resist, persists.” So I am not going to spend time strengthening ignorance; I will spend time on what deserves attention, strength, and power.

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I have admired Wanlov's work for many years, way before we connected in real life, and now I am able to understand him more as well as explore his energy. I consider him a friend and an ally in the fight for human rights, especially LGBTQ and women’s rights.

I feel Wanlov’s work is becoming more profound and even more fascinating. I recently had some long conversations about him with a friend who is a performance artist. We started tracking analogies that helped me explore the beauty of Wanlov's work and message.

After days of research, thinking, and re-writing from different angles, I realized that we could compare Wanlov’s work to many performance artists who used their bodies to make political statements. I am not comparing to validate. Wanlov doesn't need validation. It is however quite interesting to realize that artists from very different backgrounds and circumstances have ended up using a similar form of expression for related messages or fights. Again, I am not comparing to validate but to show how far from mental freedom those who keep finding offense in a meaningful artistic expression are.

Even though it's an unusual type of performance I watch "Swim" and I think "SOMETIMES DOING SOMETHING POETIC CAN BECOME POLITICAL AND SOMETIMES DOING SOMETHING POLITICAL CAN BECOME POETIC," which is text from the inspiring work of Belgian artist Francis Alÿs and is a poignant description of "Swim".

"A compulsive wanderer, Francis Alÿs is known for his in-depth projects in a wide range of media including documentary film, painting, photography, performance, and video. Many of his works involve intense observation and recording of the social, cultural, and economic conditions of particular places, usually conceived during walks through urban areas".

Even though it's an entirely different performance, "Swim" is something poetic that can become political. It's also indeed political and still incredibly poetic: the statement of swimming naked in an ocean of plastic in a country that is very good at having politicians taking selfies with celebrities, but can't seem to solve fundamental issues like the filth on our streets and shores; to the tone of the voice pronouncing the lyrics; to the music.

I could stop here and you would already have enough to think about.

But I want to go deeper because Francis Alÿs performances are not directly comparable to Wanlov’s, if not by intention. Pushing an ice block through the streets of Mexico City until it melts might look extremely different from swimming naked in plastic or walking barefoot everywhere around the world, but is it that different?

Is Wanlov's use of his naked body different from Ana Mendieta's use of her nude body?

Ana Mendieta is a celebrated Cuban-born artist who used her body as a statement for her entire career. Body Art is an expression that has always forced "the audiences to partake in oftentimes violent, jarring, shocking, or unimaginable experience, asking its viewers to consider the role they were playing in the dark and uncomfortable spaces between innocent bystander and culpable voyeur."

Ana Mendieta started using her body to make statements about the political abuse of bodies of women and about rape. She used her naked body in contact with water, earth, and other natural elements (including blood) to express her pain and her rage and to denounce sexual abuse/violence.

Is it that different from what Wanlov keeps doing in the fight for women’s rights and gay rights?

The reason why we are disturbed or moved by naked bodies in a non-sexy or non-pornographic state is that they represent the vulnerability of human nature. And we don't want to be vulnerable because vulnerability is considered a "feminine or gay issue:" Naked men are supposed to send dick pics or show their sexual power ( the wrong way ).

Wanlov is swimming naked in a polluted ocean. Wanlov is making his body look more feminine with clothes and makeup to dissolve gender roles. Wanlov is not afraid to show his naked body in a non-sexual way. People will whisper: "He must be gay," or comment on social media “Stop being gay.”

Is he so different from artists like Ana Mendieta swimming naked in her "Ocean Bird" performance? And is Mendieta applying male facial hair on her face different from Wanlov using makeup and jewelry and clothes to deconstruct gender?

Untitled (Facial Hair Transplant), Ana Mendieta, 1972 Source: Galerie Lelong

Wanlov: backstage “Mr. Casanova” 2020 - Shooting in Madrid w/Alvar Alonso

The "vagina has always expanded opportunities to unravel the feminine mystique and multiple voices as a loud and reverberating denouncement of the traditional male gaze." But this was 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago when this work could simply not be produced by a man.

We have now learned that the intrinsic definition of gender is an issue. So can’t a man use his body to make a similar statement and, at the same time, help to protect the over-sexualization of female bodies, which is an unintentional consequence of some expressions of the feminist movement?

Can a vulnerable male body be leveling the playing field and help to break gender barriers? I have no doubt that Wanlov’s body is carrying a feminist message.

We are recently learning that a body is no more the expression of gender. Trans women and men have taught us that you can be born in a body and not be what that body supposedly represents. In this scenario, Wanlov's sexual life and orientation shouldn’t be the subject of the conversation.

Still, somebody always tries to make it the only part of the conversation so that we don't focus on the critical message.

I am even more keen to believe that Wanlov's work is genius and authentic because of his spontaneity and because, like many true artists, he does it because he feels it, not consciously thinking of all the layers that I am now deconstructing.

"Swim" is offending people because it's telling us in a raw and familiar way that we are bystanders and voyeurs in the destruction of the Ghanaian shores, nature, forests, and with them, the people, the cultures and the dignity of many human beings.

And so it's easy for people just to dumb him down as the weird guy who walks barefoot and without underwear and showed his penis on TV, so they convince themselves that he's not a great artist, but just a controversial lunatic. I find it funny (non-literal please) that we still think we have to use the adjective “controversial” to define artists. All artists should endeavor to be controversial enough to spark a conversation. Or should music artistes simply be “yes” people?

What about being barefoot as an artistic expression? Being barefoot, besides being part of almost all traditional cultures (definitely apart from the Inupiats), is a symbol of innocence and pure energetic exchange with the earth. There's a reason why saints, gurus, and spiritual leaders are usually portrayed barefoot.

And let’s not forget the children as well. I think Wanlov's inner child vibrates very high.

The same people who are offended by nudity will never understand that walking barefoot is not an action supposed to make them laugh. In a recent conversation with Wanlov, he randomly said something that almost blew me away and sparkled the idea of Wanlov being a Synesthetic artist.

Could it be that his walking barefoot and continuously experiencing the world with an uncovered part of his body is transferred in his art in a synesthetic way?

Are his music, poetry, performances result of sensations that travel through the constant contact of his skin with the earth?

Is he a sort of superhuman because he's been able to feel and experience the world in ways that we ordinary human beings cannot?

But being myself a believer of energy exchange with the Universe, I find an act of extreme courage the ability to allow yourself to feel so much, especially in a world where desensitization and detachment are a new way of surviving. Preservation at a maximum level is what is guiding individuals who hide behind ridiculous concepts of self-care and self-expression to justify any selfish and stupid act.

Is this form of body art telling us that our level of detaching ourselves from the Universe is indeed creating monsters and destroying human interconnections?

Is he so different from artists like Regina Jose Galindo and her work "Quien puede Borrar las huellas," in which she walks barefoot whit his feet soaking in blood to criticize Guatemalan violence coming from the misconception of morality and gender?

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Why is Wanlov's use of his body barefoot with makeup and female clothes and jewelry not awarded and glorified as the Galindo one at art Biennales, as the men who uses his body to criticize the abuse on women and members of the LGBTQ community in Ghana? Is it because he's not a woman? Is it because he's not gay? So he has to be considered funny or weird or crazy?

And I could write for another day if we decided to start talking about his music, his lyrics, and his music videos.

Because Wanlov comedy is Monty Python's deep. I hardly laugh for more than a couple of seconds, and, after a couple of seconds, I squeeze my face, and I think "sheeeit that was deep."

If I have to draw another parallelism, imagine Dave Chapelle barefoot, in a skirt, with makeup and jewelry sending low blows to politicians, religious leaders, foolish humans, and useless institutions.

And using Pidgin English to dignify a language that could unify the African population, being at the same time hilarious but extremely serious.

My point: you have not seen anyone like this. And that’s why the way this Ghanaian artist is underestimated is highly disturbing.

I wish we lived in a world where people had the chance to be more receptive to something different and not classified in categories created to make us feel comfortable.

Being attacked for saying truths people don't like to confront and not conforming to what I’m expected to say as a woman in the presence of men and “bosses" has cost me professionally and emotionally. I feel slightly deformed by the systematic punishment put in place via a very subtle system of oppression perpetrated equally by men and women. I had gone into hiding because I felt my courage and vocals chords shrink. So when I see a fellow human being with the courage to keep their voice loud and stay principled no matter what, I can't avoid feeling deep admiration, gratitude, and love.

Thank you Emmanuel Owusu Bonsu aka Wanlov the Kubolor. We need more people like you in the world, and we need more people in the world to know about you.

( Thank you, Guildor Gallo, for the conversation that inspired my words. http://guildor.com/ )

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bee-squared-official · 6 years

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Some Detroit: Become Human Reverse AU Headcanons

Connor and Nathan are twins. Everyone thinks they’re identical, but technically, genetically, they’re fraternal. The only visible differences between them is height difference (Nathan is like a foot taller than Connor) and eye color (Connor’s are brown, Nathan’s are grey).

Connor was born about five minutes earlier than Nathan. Nathan hates this. Nathan loves when people mistake him for the older twin, but also loves correcting mistakes. This creates constant internal conflict for Nathan.

Connor emotes heavily, constantly on the verge of tears (happy tears, sad tears, angry tears, confused tears, etc.) or he runs around like a hyperactive child. Nathan doesn’t emote at all, but is very sensitive, so you get a lot of situations where in person he responds with a snarky comment, and then later he’s sitting staring at a wall for hours reanalyzing everything that was said and hating himself. Only Connor can really snap him out of it when he's in a funk like that.

Connor and Nathan are forced to share an apartment because of budget concerns. There is a tape line down the center, installed less than a day after they moved in. Connor’s side is clean and organized, while Nathan’s is in complete disarray (he claims he knows where everything is, but Connor is a neat freak).

Connor and Nathan both work at the DPD, but Connor started there first and has a higher rank. Connor’s natural talent, intuition, and charm helped him out of police school much faster than Nathan, who always had to work harder to get the same recognition. Nathan is smarter, faster, and stronger than Connor, and can’t understand why Connor is “better” at police work than him. Connor didn’t even want to be a detective when they were little, he wanted to be a veterinarian. And in college, he studied music theory. But he just had to get Nathan’s dream job more than a year before Nathan did...this is still a sore topic with Nathan.

Connor and Nathan cannot be partnered together on cases. Amanda, the police chief, tried this exactly three times, and though Connor handled himself well, the resulting damage Nathan caused to property and various DPD employees is just not worth it.

Connor and Nathan are brought in for almost every interrogation to do their “good cop, bad cop” routine. Because Connor was always so happy and Nathan was always so cold and emotionless, the first time they tried it, Connor was the good cop and Nathan was the bad cop. But Nathan’s unemotional approach just wasn’t intimidating enough, and Connor eventually grew frustrated enough to start screaming and throwing things, to the point that Nathan could barely hold him back. After the confession, Connor and Nathan switched roles. Nathan goes in with a glass of water and his unemotional “you don’t want them to send in my brother” bit, then Connor comes in and just lets out all of his anger and stress. It works upsettingly well, and new recruits are often scared of Connor until they get to know him.

Amanda is kind and caring...to Nathan. For some reason no one can fathom, Amanda can’t stand Connor. She keeps setting higher than normal expectations on him and then yelling at him when he fails. She sends him out on dangerous missions with no guarantee of backup, seemingly unconcerned for his safety. She claims he can handle the responsibility, but everyone can tell that’s not true. Connor idolizes her and is desperate to make her happy, but he never can. She walks the line, never abusing him enough to get fired, but never letting up. For some other reason no one understands, she likes Nathan and wants to groom him for management. Nathan loves praise and attention, but he can tell something is wrong with the way she acts, and keeps his distance from her. Connor walks out of every conversation with her heartbroken and confused, and Nathan can't figure out how to uncouple Connor’s self worth from Amanda’s approval.

Connor loves dogs. Nathan is allergic, and even stray dog hairs on Connor’s jacket can set him off. Unfortunately, Nathan also loves dogs. There are often sad situations in which they hug each other and cry about the dogs that they cannot pet.

Connor is almost always in uniform, and when he isn’t, he wears very neat clothes. He has one messy outfit that he wears as a disguise, only in extreme situations. He likes to be neat. Nathan just wears whatever is around, so long as it’s comfortable and doesn’t interfere with whatever he’s doing.

Connor is very unhealthy. He practically lives on sugary sodas and candy. He barely eats real food, and is constantly chugging energy drinks and pills to stay awake. He occasionally passes out from dehydration, especially if he's working on a particularly difficult case.

Nathan has a sensitivity disorder. He hates tight or sleek clothing, and avoids it as much as he can. Textures of certain foods can upset him to the point of throwing up if he tries to eat them. He can’t swallow pills. Loud noises, chewing noises, and various other sounds bother him. He gets headaches easily. He doesn’t like being touched, and he doesn’t like heavy metal.

Connor loves heavy metal, and he loves being touched. Connor lives for physical affection, and loves to give it to others. He’s always fidgeting or doodling on his arm, and if someone plays with his hair, he absolutely melts. He loves hugs and cuddling so much.

Cyberlife gifts two androids to the DPD. The HK800 model, called “Hank,” is assigned to work with Connor. The GV900 model, “Gavin,” works with Nathan.

Connor loves androids, and immediately tries to befriend Hank. He really wants to get along, but Hank is indifferent and cold. Hank, Connor realizes, hates most androids because he sees them as potential threats that could go deviant. Connor turns on the charm to get Hank to like him, which usually works on humans given enough time. The only response he ever gets is Hank’s complaints about his detective work, appearance, or voice. And sometimes, Connor thinks that the charm is even driving Hank further away from him.

Connor secretly starts trying to turn Hank deviant once he realizes the nonviolent nature of the android revolution. Multiple days in a row, he arrives at the DPD with flowers for Hank and a declaration of love. Each day it gets more and more heartfelt and serious, until it becomes obvious to everyone (everyone but Hank) that Connor really does feel this way about Hank. Though they become close friends, Hank never deviates. Nathan reminds Connor that it’s not an emotional “shock”, just emotional, to bring flowers every day, but Connor doesn’t stop.

Nathan and Gavin get along poorly. Nathan has never cared much for androids, and originally saw Gavin as a servant. Gavin never does as he’s told though, refusing to get coffee or fetch papers, claiming that it “distracts from his mission.” Nathan thinks Gavin is just being a jerk.

Gavin deviated the first day he saw Connor bringing Hank flowers. He does his best to keep his new emotions under control, but he can't stop himself from getting more and more snarky with Nathan. Nathan finally snaps, and punches Gavin in the stomach, briefly disengaging Gavin’s thirium pump. Gavin pretends that this is the moment at which he deviated, and now that he no longer has to keep his emotions a secret, starts actively antagonizing Nathan. Nathan secretly loving having a worthy sparring partner, and the two become close friends.

Hank is forced to break into Connor’s apartment when Connor doesn’t show up to work. Passed out again in some sort of sugar coma/dehydration thing, Connor is forced to rely on Hank’s help to get cleaned up and functional again. Hank begins to see Connor as something similar to a child he’s babysitting, and Connor begins to see Hank as a father figure (he and Nathan were abandoned by their father when they were younger, so it’s nice to finally have something like that).

There’s an HK800 model at the Eden club when Connor and Hank go to investigate. Connor is beyond embarrassed and won’t stop coughing awkwardly and blushing, while Hank focuses on the mission. The next day, there are no flowers. Connor takes Hank aside, privately, and apologizes. He says that he’s worried Hank will think he did all that as some kind of joke, or public humiliation show. He doesn’t want Hank to feel like an object, but he’s realized that his actions have been objectifying Hank. He promises to stop his antics and start treating Hank with more respect, as Hank deserves. In tears by this point, Connor apologizes again and flees. He doesn't come back to work that day, and doesn’t find out until later that that conversation is the moment when Hank deviated.

Connor and Hank visit the home of billionaire Chloe, designer of the first android to pass the Turing test (a KM230 model named Kamski) and once the CEO of Cyberlife. Her house is full of half naked androids in loose robes, all with identical man buns and subservient, quiet attitudes. After forcing Hank on a weird journey where she tries to make Hank shoot Kamski, she’s cryptic and weird about the information she shares before sending them away. Connor is fascinated and wants to spend more time at her house. Hank, shaken up, escorts Connor away and nearly warns Chloe not to talk to him or his son ever again.

Deviated and on a mission to free the android warehouse from Cyberlife control, Hank is surprised when another HK800 model shows up with his kidnapped partner. Connor urges Hank to forget about him and focus on waking the androids, but the duplicate Hank’s decision to punch Connor is what sends the real Hank over the edge. Connor breaks away long enough to pull a gun on the Hanks, both of whom try to prove that they are the real one. Connor, overwhelmed by the decision, starts crying. The real Hank steps forward to try to help him, and immediately Connor shoots the fake Hank, who hadn’t moved or reacted at all. Connor tells Hank that he knew it was the real him. They hug, and Hank wakes the androids.

Following the revolution, Hank and Gavin are allowed to continue working at the DPD, but now with full legal status as citizens and paying jobs. Hank acquires a secondary model as a backup, one capable of more in-depth analysis than Hank’s tongue is. The new model has enhanced hearing, taste, and smell, and is supposed to be very useful in tracking. It’s modeled after a large St Bernard dog. It’s named Sumo, and it doesn’t shed real hairs to trigger Nathan’s allergies. The adventures only continue from there.

PLEASE feel free to message me and discuss this, or write a fanfiction or make art. If you do PLEASE SEND IT TO MEeeeeeeeee

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bamiiib · 5 years

Text

Ethereal | Jung Jaehyun

Masterlist

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

You didn’t recognize the man who you used to call your father anymore. Beer bottles everywhere, and venomous words thrown, your entire world falls because of his old habits that refuse to die.

Words: 4.8K

Category: Modern!AU, Angst, Fluff

Song Rec: hostage — billie eilish

Warnings: Extremely Explicit Language, Signs of Physical Abuse, Alcoholism, Slight mentions of Depression.

A/N: This chapter is not for the faint of heart as it also includes very slight gore? Really it’s just a scene that has a little bit of blood mentioned, but it’s not that big. If you are sensitive to physical abuse then please do not read this chapter. Sorry for the late updates, I’m really trying my best to work with a schedule here but expect more this week because it is Spring Break! And who knows, maybe I have some new projects I’ll be releasing very soon ;) I hope you all enjoy reading, and stay tuned for the next chapter. Thank you my loves! :) —bambi

That night you had stayed with Jaehyun, for everything had felt so perfect, and so right in the world, you didn’t want to go back to face the reality that waited for you at home.

You woke up to the faint smell of eggs as sunlight crept through the thin yellow curtains. A hum of content rung in your chest, tossing and turning, you swung your arm towards the other side of the bed.

You expected to feel Jaehyun’s sleeping body by now, but when you opened your eyes, saw nothing more but the sheets pulled back and clustered closer to you.

You sat up, raking your fingers through your hair, sliding them down to cover your face.

You looked around the messy room and turned to the nightstand to your left where your phone had been buzzing nonstop.

With a raised brow, you opened your phone to be greeted by endless unread texts and missed calls from your dad.

Everything had fallen back into place, and you remembered your entire reason why you so desperately wished to stay here. Sorrow clear in your eyes, you didn’t dare look at the messages, and refused to listen to a single voicemail left from him.

You couldn’t help but feel betrayed. Why didn’t he tell you that he was being fired?

Why did he keep his drinking a secret from you?

You felt used—like he couldn’t even trust you anymore, and you couldn’t shake this feeling off like you did with most situations that’d make you upset.

It was your father, of all people, that had made you feel this way. The only person that was ever there for you, defended you, and stayed with you when no one else did.

When your own mother wouldn’t even look at you, because she knew that you were smart enough to know that she didn’t want to be in your life anymore, and your father was the only parent who did.

Or at least, you thought he did.

Your jaw clenched and your hands balled up into fists, gripping onto the surrounding sheets.

You listened to the soft footsteps grow louder, and when the door creaked open, you tossed your phone back onto the nightstand and buried yourself in the sheets, shutting your eyes as tight as you can.

You listened to that laugh that seemed to ease your mind away from your troubles, and the smell of freshly made eggs filled your nose enough to make your stomach grumble. “Get up sleepyhead, I made you some breakfast.” Jaehyun’s voice filled the quiet room. “You looked cute in your sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, so I brought breakfast to you.” He explained, and you smiled.

You peeped half of your face past the blankets to look at your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of the bed, tilting his head like how a puppy would, and a breakfast tray sitting on his lap.

When you watched his dimples pop as he smiled, you sat up fully, your grin turned to a dorkish smile and poked one of his dimples with your finger.

He shook his head, but laughed and reached towards your arm, lowering it and leaned towards you, pressing a short, but sweet kiss to your lips. You felt him smile into your lips, and when he parted from you, reached for the tray and handed it over to you.

Your eyes had widened at the sight of bright yellow scrambled eggs mixed with crispy bacon and two pieces of toast with jam spread evenly throughout on the side.

Just the sight of it made your mouth water, and the smell—it was enough to set you on edge.

You looked over at Jaehyun and gasped, pointing at the contents on your tray. “And you expect me to believe you cooked all this?! C’mon babe, just tell me Taeyong cooked this before he left and I’ll let this slide.” You laughed, pressing Jaehyun’s cheek teasingly as his ears flushed a bright cherry glow.

“H-Hey! I’ll have you know, Taeyong had been teaching me to cook since day one! Not everything you eat in this apartment is made by him y’know.” Jaehyun said with a stubborn grunt, crossing his arms.

You laughed again, nodding your head and reached over to kiss his lips. “Sexy, adventurous, and a good cook? I really won the lottery, haven’t I?” You purred, lips ghosting over his.

So close, yet still so far from reach.

Jaehyun hummed lowly, his eyes fluttered close, a tiny chuckle breathing through his thin lips.

“Yeah, like nothing screams ‘sexy’ like some good breakfast in bed.” He laughed and as did you. Your foreheads rested against each other, you had stayed in silent, just like that, for who knew how long.

You didn’t care to count, you just knew that you wanted nothing more than to stay like that for just one minute longer.

He brought his lips towards yours. One kiss turned to two, turning from sweet to passionate each passing second.

Jaehyun brought a hand to cup your cheek, the other snaking around your waist, and it was when you had to lean closer towards him, that the breakfast tray had poked your thighs.

You were the first to pull away, listening to a quiet whine escape Jaehyun’s lips. You laughed and kissed him shortly before grabbing a forkful of eggs and taking a quick bite.

Jaehyun watched you, at first irritated, but when you took that bite of egg and bacon, and saw your eyes instantly light up, his brows raised in anticipation.

You were quick to notice, suppressing the smile that threatened to creep, and tapped your chin, staring off into the distance. “Well?” Jaehyun asked, but you remained the same until you gulped down the food and grinned so wide, your eyes had disappeared into crescents.

“De-li-cious!” You cooed, reaching down for another forkful, and handing it over to Jaehyun.

“Oh no, it’s okay babe, I made it for you. You eat it!” Jaehyun insisted, but when he saw the stubborn look in your eye and your pouting lip, he was quick to give in and fell in a fit of laughter, biting down on the forkful you had fed him.

The rest of the morning had been spent helping Jaehyun clean the apartment—if there was anything to even clean. You were just more than happy to know that Jaehyun had a total neat freak as a roommate.

You were washing the last dish in the sink, and it was as Jaehyun had gone to go clean his room when you had then realized everything that happened last night.

The words that were exchanged, and the promises that were then made, and although every inch of you had craved to be happy, to jump in glee to know that the love of your life wished to take a bigger step into your relationship, and move in together.

But you didn’t feel that happiness.

You didn’t feel that joy, or that leap in your heart each time you’d try to desperately dream about it.

Something was holding you back, and you knew it. Each time you’d close your eyes in attempts to daydream of the future you so wished to spend with Jaehyun, instead, you’d find the eyes of your father, lost in his drunken state.

Your jaw clenched, your grip on the dish tightening, and the motions of your scrubbing turning rougher.

You knew you had to talk to him, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to accept the reality that he had chosen, and you didn’t want to accept that he was so quick to give up on a new life, without your mother.

After all these years, you had hoped that he’d evolve into someone better, and although you love and cherish your father, he was still the same broken man he was when you were just a child.

Your eyes stung with angry tears at the thought, and you wanted nothing more, than to find someone to blame.

Yes, that’s what you needed to do.

You needed someone to blame, and that someone was your mother. This is all her fault. If she never left, and if she stayed with you and your father, things wouldn’t have been this way.

You wouldn’t have lived in the dumpster house you lived in.

Your father wouldn’t wallow his days in liquor every day until beer became his only meal. Why did she leave you?

Did she not want you?

Was she so tired, of facing a broken family?

Did she not want to fix the wounds she had caused?

The pain she has created in your heart, and the fear she had built in?

You wouldn’t have feared love if she didn’t leave.

Even if it was all an act, even if she was just pretending to love your father—it still would’ve been better than screaming and shouting every day to him how much she hated him, and how much she hated you.

Maybe… maybe this was all your fault.

The sounds of glass shattering against the floor echoed in your ears, a sharp breath hitched from your lips when you looked down to see pieces of the cup you were just cleaning scattered all around the wooden floor.

You sniffled, bringing a hand towards your face to wipe away the tears you were late to realize were even there and crouched down onto the floor.

With caution, you tried your best to pick up each piece of glass, and when you heard loud, rapid footsteps rushing towards you, had cursed in your head. “What happened babe?! Are you okay?” Jaehyun panicked, falling to his knees next to you, and reached for your hands rather than the glass.

You shook your head, and when you saw his hands extend towards yours, flinched and scratched yourself with a piece of glass you were trying to pick up. “I-I’m fine!” You insisted, moving your head down so he didn’t see your tears, ignoring the bleeding from your palm and tried to pick up the pieces again.

Jaehyun groaned, shaking his head and this time, had carefully tried reaching to you again, in which you had let him as he grabbed your wrists with a gentle grip.

“Fuck… you cut yourself. I shouldn’t have been so sudden with my actions, I’m sorry baby.” He apologized with guilt as he turned your hand to see the warm blood that trickled down your palm.

“It’s fine. I-I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have flinched like that. It’s not your fault Jaehyun.” You tried to reassure, but failed when he shook his head in protest.

“Here, let’s just get you away from the kitchen while I grab first aid.” He instructed, helping you up and around the pile of glass carefully, and sitting you down on the living room couch.

“What about the glass?” You asked, but Jaehyun shook his head, turning his head to look over at it and sighed, raking his fingers through his chestnut hair.

“The only thing you should worry about is that cut. Leave the mess to me, I’ll clean it up later.” You opened your mouth to speak, but Jaehyun was already running towards the bathroom, leaving you in the familiar silence you wished to stay away from.

Your lips curled into a line, you winced at the pain that radiated from your hand, moving the other that had been holding your bleeding palm tightly to see the blood spread all throughout.

You cringed at the sight, and sighed, falling into your seat.

Everything had been going so well, everything had seemed perfect. Why were you being like this?

Why were you so paranoid?

What did you have to feel guilty about? It’s all their fault.

Both your mother and father. This was the life they chose, and with their choices, had led to how your life would soon be played.

None of it was your fault… right?

“Here, let me see.” Jaehyun’s voice had pulled you back, watching him from the corner of your eye as he sat on his knees in front of you, and placed the first aid box to the side.

In silence, you extended your hand towards him, opening it slowly to reveal the gash. Jaehyun frowned, but remained calm throughout.

He reached towards a damp cloth he had in his other hand and patted away the blood. You didn’t dare speak, and you couldn’t find the courage to even look at him in the eye.

Jaehyun would look at you now and then when he’d apply an antibacterial ointment onto your wound and decided to respect your decision when it was evident that you didn’t wish to speak at the moment.

As he was finishing up, wrapping bandages around your hand, you smiled gently when he finished, and moved your hand to hide in the folds of Jaehyun’s sweater that you had on.

Turning your head, you stared ahead at the glass pile that was still yet to be cleaned. Jaehyun got up, disappearing to put away the first aid kit and wash the cloth, he had quickly cleaned up the glass with a cautious step.

When he had finished, had walked towards you, and rather than speaking, decided to just sit next to you, your shoulders brushing with his.

You moved your head to stare at your feet, elbows leaned towards your knees, you then stared at your bandaged hand, running your fingers against it with a delicate, feather-like touch.

Jaehyun sighed, you sat up and found comfort in resting your head on his shoulder. It stayed like that for a long while, but when the air had then grown tense, Jaehyun placed a hand on your thigh.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” He asked, and you stayed quiet. “C’mon Y/N, you only ever space out like that whenever you have something bothering you.” Your lips curled in a line with his words.

Sometimes, you really hated how well he knew you, but, you still appreciated it.

He was one of the few people who could read you so easily, yet still make you feel comfortable, and willing to listen to your problems, even if you didn’t want him to do anything.

“My dad got fired from his job…” You whispered, your voice raspy, and mouth dry. You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath in and closed your eyes.

“He’s been an alcoholic ever since my mom had left us. I thought he was finally getting better, but last night—I saw the pink slip, and the fridge—” Your breath hitched and voice cracked at the memory.

“It was full of fucking liquor. I-I don’t like to talk about it much. It’s only you and Johnny who know, but that’s because Johnny has been there for me when my dad was at his worst.” Despite the sadness in your tone, you had smiled bitter sweetly.

“One time, it got so bad, I didn’t even know who he was anymore. I remember I had to stay at Johnny’s place for a couple of days. Sometimes weeks… it was like my dad was someone entirely different.” You laughed dryly as the familiar crocodile tears had caged your eyes.

You heard Jaehyun sigh, rubbing your back gently, you moved your head slightly, your forehead brushing against his chin in attempts to look up at him.

He met your gaze, in which you retracted as quick as you looked, and curled your lips in a line.

You held Jaehyun’s hand that rested on your thigh, gripping it reassuringly, you brought his hand close to your lips, and kissed his knuckles softly. “I want to start a new life with you. Like you said. To run away from our problems even if it were only for a second. To create our own little world… that’s what I want.” You breathed, and it remained silent.

“But I have to handle this on my own, if I can even think of doing that. My dad has been my life, but now… I don’t know how long I can help him for. I don’t want to fall apart for him. To continue giving him excuses, and I want him to be the good man I know he is.” You nodded, as if talking to yourself, you sighed, standing up from your seat, Jaehyun following your every step.

After changing into a quick pair of jeans, you walked towards the front door, and smiled at your boyfriend who could only glance at you with a gaze so sad.

You forced a smile and cupped his cheek, pulling him in for a quick kiss.

“I’ll be okay Jaehyun. I’m not as scared as I was when we first met. I can do this. For me, for my father… for us. Our future.” Those last words echoed in the room, and with that, Jaehyun smiled and nodded.

“That’s my girl.” You grinned at his sentence and left the apartment.

——— ——— ———

The drive back home remained in silence, your mind going through endless possibilities, you tried your best to focus on the road ahead of you instead.

Soon enough, you were parking in front of your street, staring at the dirty complex, wondering if your house looked as sad as you did.

You gripped the steering wheel, turning to your phone that you had thrown onto the passenger’s seat, watching it continuously explode with notifications from which you knew was from your father.

You tried to ease your heartbeat, reaching for your phone, and walking closer and closer towards your front door. When it had creaked open, and the bright sunlight poured through the dimly lit living room, your father had been sitting there, hands on his head, mumbling things to himself.

In front of him, scattered the familiar green bottles that had welcomed itself to your family. Your father’s head snapped in the door’s direction, his eyes instantly widening and shot up from his seat.

His hands ready to grip your shoulders, it was when he met your angry glare that he had quickly stopped.

“Y/N, what’s the meaning of this?! No text, no call back, do you have any idea how worried sick I was?! I thought something had happened!” He shouted, and you felt a knot tie in your throat.

“Where were you? With Jaehyun? I’m so sick and tired of you always being with him… I thought it was ‘family first’ with us bud!” His words turned from worry to venom in a flash, and something inside you boiled.

“I don’t like how he practically has you wrapped around his damn finger. You’re with him more than your damn father, I mean, what’s up with that? Since when did you let stupid boys have such an effect on you?!” The more your father spoke, the more you stared at the beer bottles, and the more you could smell the alcohol on his lips, your sanity had strayed further and further away from you.

That was when it had hit you, and your stomach churned.

“A-Are you drunk?!” You shouted in disbelief, staring at your father’s actions, the slur in his words, and when you checked your phone, it was just barely turning three in the afternoon.

He looked at you, stunned, but nothing could mask the guilt that burned deep in his dulled eyes.

He refused to speak, averted his eyes away from you, but you knew all too well of the truth. You sighed, your feet rooted to the floor and your hands gripped into tight fists.

“I saw the pink slip dad. Why? Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped!” Your voice had risen with each sentence, watching with curiosity, confusion, and fear.

A part of you was desperate for answers, but when you continued to watch your father, falling apart before your eyes, you didn’t want to believe that any of this could ever be real.

“I-I don’t understand. How could you get mad at me, giving me this ‘family first’ bullshit, and I can’t even say the same to you!? I deserve to know why you got fired. Why you’re letting yourself fall apart all over again!” You shouted, breaking apart bit by bit.

Your father denied looking at you, walking towards the couch with a stagger, and fell into his seat. “I guess your old man just doesn’t have it anymore.” It was those words that echoed in your ears.

You wanted to let him off this easily. To forget that any of this has happened, to leave it at that, and help him out like always, but as that same sentence continued to echo in your head, deep inside, you knew you couldn’t make up excuses for him anymore.

“I don’t believe you.” You whispered, and his head snapped towards you. “Well what do you expect me to say Y/N?! You want me to tell you that they fired everyone else too? That they didn’t fire just me because I’m not as hardworking and determined as the next fucking guy?!” He snapped, his voice raising to a loud crescendo, you felt your nails dig deep into your palms.

This was just the alcohol talking.

He wasn’t usually this snappy.

Your father would never talk like this to you.

This isn’t him.

“And that gives you some stupid fucking excuse to get drunk off your ass every fucking day?!” You shouted, chest heavy, and your father remaining silent.

“You’re a hardworking man, dad, so quit the bullshit! For the love of God, I’m not mad because you got fired, but that you fucking kept it from me! And your fucking addiction too, I mean—I thought you were moving on from that! Look at yourself for fuck’s sake dad!” You shouted, and felt your eyes sting in angry tears, your lip twitching and your body trembling.

Your father remained seated, but when you watched his fingers reach towards the half-full bottle of beer, you snapped.

Rushing towards his side, you snatched the bottle away from his grasp.

Your father looked up at you with wide, angered eyes. “You need to get rid of this habit dad. I care for you, so quit pity-fucking yourself and move on! It’s just you and me… mom’s not here anymore! She can’t help us! She doesn’t want to, and it’s all because of this fucking habit of yours that she’s gone!” A gasp breathed through your lips when you realized what you had said.

The words had just slipped like it was nothing, but when you saw that spark of anger flash through your father’s eyes, nothing could stop him as he stood up, and lifted his hand.

All fell silent, but the loud crackle that echoed in the room.

It happened so quick, that you went from looking at your father’s glare, to the wall next to you. The tears that threatened to spill gone dry, and your cheek radiating in a stinging pain.

Your hair stuck to your face in cold sweat, you brought a trembling hand to cup your cheek that felt hot to the touch.

You turned back to your father, and for the first time in your life, even after seeing his demons come out—it had felt like you were staring at the devil himself.

“You leave that bitch out of this you ungrateful brat. You don’t realize the sacrifices I have taken to give you everything that you have. You think your mother would’ve wanted you? She didn’t! Not you, not me, not anyone!” You stared at the floor whilst your father shouted at the top of his lungs, and fear rushed through your veins.

“She would’ve wanted us, if you didn’t destroy yourself like this…” You whispered, and with a spark of unknown courage, you shot a glare at your father, who could only respond with a drunken state of rage. “You know nothing.”

“Just listen to yourself dad! What the actual fuck?! I was there! I was fucking there for every single FUCKING argument you guys had! I heard her cries turn to shouts, I watched her depression turn to anger! All this time I thought it was all her fault we’re so broken. All this time, I thought you were the good guy here. But no… I guess I just needed to see this side of you to really believe it.” Your screaming had turned to whispers at that.

You don’t remember when the tears had fallen, but as you brushed shoulders with your dad, had let them trickle and crash onto the floor.

“I’m leaving this house.” You said as you walked up the stairs and heard a short breath hitch from him.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He whispered, but still loud enough for you to hear, so with all the crippling strength left in you, with the tears continuing to trickle down, you said, “I’m moving with Jaehyun. We got a place together. That’s all you need to know.” You suppress your sobs until you shut your bedroom door, back resting against it as you listened to your father’s shouts and pleads for you not to leave his side.

You listened to him with a pain-filled heart, flinched when you heard a loud crash from outside, and when you listened to his own cries that had echoed right after, had fallen in harmony with him with your own.

You locked your bedroom door as you packed as much stuff as you could carry, and although you could only carry so much in one tiny luggage, you’d have to come back to take everything else.

For now, you just wanted to be as far away from home as possible.

You had thought back to this morning with Jaehyun, and when you brought up your hand to eye-level, stared at the bandage that was wrapped tightly around your palm.

You sighed. You couldn’t tell Jaehyun what happened.

Not now at least.

You felt like you were already putting enough on his shoulders when none of this was entirely his business either.

He was your only source of an escape from reality, because whenever you were with him, nothing had ever felt so bad. You didn’t want to taint that image. You didn’t want to tell him what a fuck-up your dad is, and how horrible your life has turned because of his drinking.

You’d tell him when you were ready. For the moment, you were just sick and tired of always appearing weak in front of Jaehyun.

You didn’t want him to look at you with pity, but with a look that showed that he was proud of your courage. Courage that you still lacked to find.

Besides, he already has enough on his plate with his plans on dropping out of college, his family, and packing his own things for the apartment he had bought for the two of you.

You groaned, and ran your hands down your face, slipping away into the darkest part of your mind. Your phone rang, slowly, you brought your hands down to your sides and stared at the bright screen in the middle of your mattress.

With an arched brow, you reached over for it, and stared at the contact.

You sighed in relief, and a wide grin itched the corner of your lips as you immediately answered.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Jaehyun texted me of what’s going on with your dad. Is he at it again?” His voice resonated in your ear, and your heart had fallen apart all over again at the memories you had shared with him.

How he would always be there for you when your dad wasn’t sober enough to do so. The amount of tears that’d be shed as you’d both sit on the rooftop, and his hand stroking your back gently, enough to make you feel safe, and give you a sense of hope.

Even if you had a broken family, he had made everything seem just a little better.

“Hey Johnny, I’m fine, and um… yeah. He is.” You whispered, hugging yourself tightly as you tried your best to suppress the tears as you remembered everything that had happened in such a short amount of time.

From when your father had hit you, to that look in his eye, when you realized that you had lost him and his battle with liquor.

“Actually…” You whispered, biting hard on your bottom lip to choke down the sobs that wished to leave your throat.

“I’m not okay… C-Can I just come over? Stay for a while if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me. You can stay with me and Ten for as long as you need. I’m on my way.” You had heard the car engine roar after a moment of silence, and with that, you nodded your head with a sniffle and smiled bitterly, although aware he couldn’t see.

“Okay. Thank you, Johnny…”

“Don’t mention it. Anything for my best friend.”

“Oh, and please don’t tell Jaehyun. I don’t want him to know just yet… I don’t want him to see me like this. Please, Johnny.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you…”

22 notes · View notes

ralfstrashcan · 5 years

Text

3x11 Reaction / Commentary

So I haven't even started the episode and I'm already confused.

Why did Netflix put 3B in a separate folder? I mean, they didn't with 2B. What's the matter with that. Or is this just the German Netflix??

Smoooooothe move. Somewhere Derek Hale is smiling proudly.

Wtf why they so slow. I was half expecting this to be a simulation or sth because they took ages to arrive and then were walking super chill???

Seelie guy doesn't use this obvious distraction of the others to try and escape, since he knows he's just a minor character and shouldn't interfere.

Beautiful grieving sequence, especially Jace with the sketch of himself. I knew there would be a portrait of him in there before he even turned the page, I could feel it. I love how sensitive and therefore predictable the show is.

Ooooh nooooo Clary is still aliiiiiive, who whould have thought?!?!?! Okay sorry haha I had to.

lol didn't he look in a mirror recently and realize there's still no real resemblance? I mean, at least now he's not charred anymore, so I guess there's more resemblance than before, but you know what I mean. And I get it, this is supposed to be a parallelism to Lilith saying the same thing, but if memory serves right, at this point in time Jonathan was a) in a thick glass casket and b) dead so I'm wondering how he could have heard that.

wtf I'm getting sooo mixed signals from him. Does he want to give off creeper vibes or play house? Because he's kinda doing both?? Play Creeper House???

YEAH LITERALLY I WANT TO SEE THEIR HEATING BILLS

This...... doesn't sound as reassuring as it sounded in your head, Jonathan.

So, points for Clary for that ploy, but my heart is already pre-emptively breaking for Jonathan when he finds out she's playing him. The poor guy just wants family after being used and abused his whole life, man. Is that too much to ask.

More points for Clary for being sensible and grabbing a coat!!

“Clary, come on. You can't go out there. You're never gonna survive.”

Hahaha that had me laughing out loud. So Clary.

Okay, minus points for Clary for not actually wearing the coat. You had a winning streak of common sense but all good things must end, I guess.

Picturesque. But, uh, since Jonathan isn't following her she could slow down. And if she was a Slytherin, she would have waited til after breakfast with her daring escape.

LISTEN I LOVE THIS CASUAL DOMESTICITY

Also if you're more make-up versed than I am (which, admittedly, isn't very hard) and realized something was off about the way Magnus held that eyeliner stick (?) then check lynne-monstr's eyeliner salt club tag because it's hilarious. I also want to rec volunteer_of_hufflepuff's fic smile even though your heart is breaking because it's awesome.

...........................really. Really. That's how they want to play it? Ugh, okay. Ugh.

You know, I've had a whole lengthy extensive (dare I say exhaustive) rant ripening in my head since I saw this bit in the sneak peek but I'm just not in the mood, so let me cut it short: I get Simon's reaction emotionally, since losing Clary must be a horrible experience for him, but I'm still bitter about early 3A where blasting that werewolf across Taki's yard and knowing he might never walk again didn't bother Simon for one second. Repercussions should always matter, regardless of how close you are to the person affected.

Oh dear, she's still running. And her hair still looks like that?

Sure. Also

How can he keep up with her when he's walking and she's running? I mean he's not that much taller than her. Or does she run ten feet, pause to gasp and pant a little, runs again, stop and go, y'know? So on average she's just powerwalking.

Ok srsly I need to stop this nonsensical commentary.

Yeah and I guess he didn't notice the Clave-approved vampire-torture-sunlight construction Aldertree installed in this very same office (shown in 2x04 if you care to remember).

........who are you and what did you do to Alec Lightwood? You seriously want to tell me he'd consider not bringing up a violation of the Accords, and more importantly power abuse and torture, because of political reasons and he's “scared” to lose his standing with Jia? Please. He'd be enforcing Clave law. He'd be well within his right. We're talking about the guy who flat out refused to do the Inquisitor's bidding because it went against his moral code. Compared to that, this is a walk in the park. So. Please.

“I understand the kind of pain you're in, Jace.”

“No you don't. I'm sorry, you don't.”

“You're right...

Oh my god this isn't about Clary, or at least not for the most part. Jace is frikking traumatized because he wasn't in control of his body or his actions or his frakking mind for days. Btw I'm actually impressed and surprised they bothered to focus on anything but the Clary-Drama, namely Jace second-hand-killing like 33 people. And Imogen. And almost Alec. The way I see Jace he'll focus on his guilt, not the pain he feels over Clary's loss. Clary will be on his mind and that's one more thing to feel shitty about, because how can he be so selfish and think about his own pain when he brought so much more pain on other people? Jace has an incredibly intricately self-destructive mind and I love how it was portrayed here. Also loved the scene in general with some Izzy&Jace sibling feels, the tender way she talks to him, his kiss to her hand. But the focus (mainly because of Izzy) returning to Clary annoyed me a little.

And by the way, there is one person who can understand Jace. Alec. Because he was possessed by a demon and forced to kill someone, too. Granted, he doesn't have the memories of the action itself, but he saw it on tape. He blames himself because the demon fed off his own hate against Jocelyn. So I would really really love to see those two talking about it. I'm extremely thrilled to watch on and see if they do (but lol kinda hoping they don't because then I can finish writing my ficlet about it, which I sadly didn't manage to before 3B aired).

MY LIFE EXPECTANCY JUST INCREASED BY AT LEAST FIVE YEARS OKAY

Also what a damn badass nightlight, I want one as well even though I hate not to sleep in absolute darkness, that's how pretty this is.

HAHAHAHHAHHAHHAHAHA I C A N ' T

ALEC'S OFFENDED FACE AS IF THIS IS NEWS TO HIM

Wow I'm so glad they didn't forget about Iris. I was scared, not gonna lie.

Tbh I don't find Madzie's reaction that realistic. I mean, Valentine – the first person to talk to her after she got ripped from her normal life in her normal home – told her Clary got Iris into trouble. At some point they must have told her that Iris isn't coming back. But did they really tell her Iris was breeding warlocks? I highly doubt that. At most they told her Iris did some bad things. But, since they probably said the same thing about Valentine (and he was always “nice” to her) and told her Clary wasn't in fact evil, that kind of loses its meaning. And let's not forget, she is a child. A probably traumatized child, I might add, since Valentine used her to literally kill at least ten Shadowhunters that we see on screen, likely more. Her perception of what is right and what is wrong is easily swayed. And personally I think she neither really registered that Iris is supposed to be the bad guy now nor that living with Catarina / Magnus and Alec is sooooo much better than living with Iris ever was, so her having such a strong opposition against going with Iris seems unrealistic to me.

Love this. So good.

This is actually really beautiful

This is actually really dramatic for no reason and I'm soooo here for it.

Soooooo am I the only one wondering why the F Cat didn't put some wards on Magnus's place? I mean????? There is no explanation given for that, and frankly I can't come up with one. If not for Magnus, then Cat would at least put wards there while Madzie stays with him. Or....... do they want to imply Cat doesn't know that he lost his magic?? Hä?! If so, who the hell patched Alec back up from his neat little life-threatening arrow wound? Cuz I had assumed it was Cat. Since, y'know Jace pleaded with Magnus to help Alec, implying (to me at least) that an iratze alone wouldn't cut it this time. Except of course, if he asked because he didn't want to be bothered with taking out his stele and activating Alec's healing rune, but when Magnus refused because no magic he had no other choice.... and let's be real, the first scene of this episode heavily implies that a healing rune can cure just about anything in 0.3 seconds flat.

Alec wanting to bench Magnus makes no sense. Keeping him around and/or at the Institute makes more sense than, oh I don't know, telling him to stay in his loft where there are no wards. Wtf is logic anyway, right?

I liked this scene, don't get me wrong but... what's with the tough love? Alec isn't usually like that?? He's soft and firm reassurance, not aggressive and authoritative reassurance. Did he try that route before and it didn't work?? I need some answers.

“I had no idea.”

“How could you? You weren't there.”

“Me leaving had nothing to do with Simon. I just needed to be alone.

Okay, what, am I supposed to blame Maia now for needing time for and taking care of herself? She's so defensive as if her leaving was objectively wrong, and it wasn't.

“I guess when times get tough, some people need to be alone. And others need to be around other people.

Please, this is a dirty lie. Remind me again, who was it that pushed Alec away after he found out about her yin fen addiction, insisted she could handle it on her own, ran away and finally confiding in some random stranger she had just met? It wasn't Maia. Who stayed up late all night, disregarding her own emotions and rather tearing herself apart trying to fix the drama of her brothers than to mention to anyone she wasn't alright? Wasn't Maia either.

I feel strongly about this because this seems like a really cheap way to break up Saia and set up Sizzy and I don't like cheap things. I don't like Sizzy either, but my main demand is quality, not a certain content. I'll accept Sizzy if it's done correctly. But this isn't it. This is laying blame on a character who's not to blame, and making claims about another character that are plain untrue if you look at the last three seasons.

I've said it before, there would be good ways to break up Saia. For example their attitude to violence differs greatly from one another. Maia is trigger-happy and sees no harm in it, Simon is more or less pacifistic (at least when he's not having his I-don't-care-about-anything-but-my-gig-mood). Creating a conflict out of this would have been in character. Claiming Maia is somehow to blame because she wasn't there is not only unfair, but also invalidating all Maia has done for Simon before, and that was a lot. Putting up with her shitty ex, helping him search for Lilith, fighting her own pack so they don't bully him. She was about to have a face-off with the Seelie Queen – the very same creature that held her hostage not too long ago – just to be by his side. Is that all suddenly not worth anything anymore, just because she had the audacity to take a little time for herself, to sort through her own issues?

Seriously, he let her walk in that? No wonder she collapsed. Jonathan should have gotten her nice hiking boots.

EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS

CAN WE JUST.... CAN WE...... APPRECIATE.......... HOW HE BATS ALL HER MAGIC ATTACKS AWAY....... LIKE............ MAGNUS................ H O W

Btw if this is supposed to sway me and make me see that benching Magnus would have been the right call, then it's not working, because fine, let's assume Magnus had gone home. Then Iris would have had an even easier job to snatch him away, because a) no wards and b) no sword. And on top of that Alec wouldn't have had a way of knowing that Magnus was even taken, since I doubt Iris would have let Magnus call or text him.

Do you even know that? I'd like to see what you're willing to do after being tortured for ten years. Just saying. But fine. Stay there on your high horse.

Ohmygod I am stunned. I couldn't have written that summation any better and to be honest I had assumed the show would just blackpaint Jonathan as evil villain and be done with it. This is so much more than I expected. I am impressed. (And of course now I hope that there will be a redemption arc for Jonathan, but I'm afraid I'm setting myself up for heartbreak with this one.)

Do they intend to tell me that this whole place is warmed by the fireplace? Why not by a heater? Since the three billion lamps

imply there's electricity somewhere. Or was that line about firewood just Jonathan's way to exit the scene? Who knows.

“Ollie? Doesn't remember a thing. Praetor was good about getting her and Samantha relocated. New identities. They're safe now, like everyone else.”

I'm still high-key bitter about this. I love Ollie a great deal, okay, so this is a pretty disappointing solution to outsource her from the plot. Just let her forget all the shit so she doesn't have to deal with trauma. Guess she thinks now her mother died in an explosion caused by a gas leakage or something. I wonder what the mundane police has to say about that and how long it'll take them to find her, since, y'know, they have evidence against her and all that.

Edit: This doesn't actually make sense if you think about it. Did Ollie just get dropped into a witness protection program for no reason she can remember? Or does that “new identities” actually mean they have completely new identities because they don't remember ANYTHING from their old life?? I need answers.

I get it. This is supposed to make me see how rundown and wasted Luke is. But is he purposefully trying to make himself look like a confused hobo? I mean couldn't he like, prepare the notes he wanted to show Jace? It's like he's trying to reinforce to Jace he shouldn't listen to a thing Luke says because these are clearly the actions of a desperate man. Presentation is half the battle man, man.

Hah, badass. There's a reason I love him.

I totally dig Magnus in his kiddie clothes, but I also need a lot of answers because there's blood on his hands and bodies at his feet and this doesn't look like magic gone haywire, this looks like a massacre and I need answers. I wonder if they're gonna explain this flash or just let it sit there uncommented. (I hope they address it and I hope it has something to do with Asmodeus and their time together.)

Ugh do I honestly have to reiterate that parking Magnus in his ward-less loft wouldn't have helped? Also, he's a grown-ass man and can make decisions for himself, dammit.

Owning up to his mistakes unrestrainedly. There's a reason I have a soft spot for Raphael.

New York, huh? What a coincidence. Wouldn't want him to live somewhere else and have Maia burn through the other half of her paycheck to pay some warlock to portal them again, right?

Also, not to be controversial, but why don't they ask the Praetor first? Since they had a whole ass book on the mark of cain and everything. And figured out what it is. And getting rid of something so dangerous is basically their job. I mean. Just saying.

You know I always marvel at this. Just because he's old he knows shit? Is there really an age where knowledge pops into your head just because? Because I'm still waiting for that to happen to me, let me tell you. Just like being immortal somehow grants you immediate access to celebrities and the questionable honor to be in the midst of all historical events of the slightest relevance? Srsly if I was immortal I'd still be glued to my lappy and hate going out.

LOL give Iris a front row seat on how you smashed her XD XD XD

IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE

<3 <3 <3

This exchange thing is a ploy, and to be honest, a painfully obvious one. I find it really kinda hard to believe Iris falls for it. What I've been asking myself since this plot line started is, why didn't Iris have that idea herself? Like, I honestly expected her to use Magnus as a hostage and tell Alec he either hand over Madzie or she'll kill Magnus. Makes way more sense than her just trying to find Madzie herself and then what, try to break her out again? That didn't work last time, and since the warlocks are warned by Magnus's abduction it'd be even unlikelier to work now. I get it plot-wise since it'd be a little awkward if Iris out-blackmailed the Shadowhunters, but like. Seriously. What's the in-universe-explanation for this???

I don't know why, but Magnus looks super cute in this shot.

Five bucks say this is Izzy with a shapeshifting rune, and ISTG if this is actually Madzie then I can just shake my head at them.

Okay, I totally dig Lightwood siblings working together but. Why do you have to simultaneously hurt me with plot holes.

1) Where did they get Seelie Magic? Did they employ Meliorn? Srlsy. Also, the Seelie Magic at the beginning of the episode could move so why was Illusion!Madzie standing there like a display dummy? That was super suspicious.

2) Why didn't they use a shapeshifting rune? The illusion would have held longer, Izzy could have gotten closer and tied Iris up more easily, without Magnus getting smashed first. But, drama I guess.

3) Where the f is Catarina? Please. Her ward almost gets kidnapped and all she does is go “Oh shit, gotta relocate her to some other High Warlock lol.” Her best friend gets kidnapped and all she does is go “Oh shit, but whatever, here have a fake ransom note but don't think I'll move my ass from this super important Bitching and Drinking Conference. I payed like 200 bucks to get in.” Wtf. This is shitty ooc behavior from her. Wtf. She's either suuuuuper confident that Alec and Izzy will get Magnus back no problem, or she doesn't give a shit about him, and sorry, I don't believe either of those two options.

HAHAHA I'M SCREAMING LOOOOOL!!! Is this code for “We wanted to kill her but Lilith was quicker so we'll pretend we weren't even interested in killing her in the first place”? The Clave, man. Always good for a laugh.

No, dummy, this is their R&D Department.

I'm not even kidding, remember 2x04:

Oh the good old times.

This was. Really good. Really. I'm like, reeling. I feel like show writers read too many fanfics and therefore the Malec scenes this ep were exquisite. Magnus evasively running around and not liking his “powerlessness.” Alec there to reassure him with the sweetest of words. Their kiss, not to short, but hard and determined, with feeling. Top tier shit.

Wow, even though the words that left their mouths were reassuring and good it still feels like their relationship is suddenly dying. I wonder why that is? Oh, right. Because Sizzy, that's why.

I love.

Ooooh guess the residual electricity finally ran out. And I guess Clary turned all the candles off to match the mood? Also, since it was dark outside before and now isn't anymore.... was Jonathan out collecting firewood the entire night? That's dedication, man.

.......what a coincidence that their healing rune is in the exact same spot. On that note, I've been wondering.... if the ressurection resetted his skin to a state it hasn't been in for ten years, effectively un-charring it, shouldn't his runes have disappeared as well? Did he spend the “days” Clary was sleeping with putting runes all over himself?? On that note, why the hell did Clary have to sleep for days when Jonathan was the one who came back from the dead? All that Clary did was running at Simon in slow motion. I mean, I know what I would find more taxing.

I soooo appreciate the blood on her teeth. Such care for detail <3

Okay, so I realize that this makes Jonathan look like a fanatic, but I actually understand this scene like this: He's not an idiot. He knew Clary wasn't really going to give him a chance. But this, this is his chance, because now she has no choice but to stick with him and see for herself.

Btw if you're wondering why I'm so pro Jonathan, you can read the beginning of this post where I got out all of my Jonathan Feels. Basically, until I actually see him act intrinsically evil I refuse to believe all hope is lost for him. He did terrible things, yes, and he's aware of that, but the way I see it he did them because he wasn't ever presented with an alternate choice. And now that he has one, he's holding onto it tooth and nail. He wants to leave all the pointless violence behind.

I'm aware he's a sadistic psycho in the books, but this wouldn't be the first time the show gave a character a make-over (for the better) and so far the only compelling piece of evidence on the show in favor of Jonathan's demon blood causing him to be unsavably evil was Jocelyn's vision of him killing a flower as a baby, and it's not even clear if that was intentional. So excuse me if that's not enough for me to write him off.

Gif Sources: Malec cheek kiss, Magnus being cutesy with his croc impression, Magnus brandishing his sword *facepalm* you know what I mean, Magnus batting Iris's magic away

#shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #jace wayland #clary fray #isabelle lightwood #jonathan morgenstern #simon lewis #maia roberts #luke garroway #jia penhallow #raphael santiago #malec #magnus is badass #reaction

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mst3kproject · 6 years

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912: The Screaming Skull

This is another episode where the movie didn’t really leave an impression. I remember the Gumby short, mostly on account of the bots’ traumatized reaction, and Tom Servo’s proboscis is one of those images that never goes away. But The Screaming Skull itself? About the only thing I remembered about it was that it was in black and white.

Newlyweds Eric and Jenny pull up in the Electronic Car of Tomorrow outside their stately new home. This house belonged to Eric’s previous wife, Marion, and Eric inherited it after she died in suspicious circumstances. It doesn’t take long before Jenny begins seeing signs that Marion’s spirit is not at rest and does not approve of Eric’s decision to re-marry. Maybe it’s just Mickey, the disabled gardener who doesn’t quite understand that Marion’s dead. Or maybe it’s Eric himself, who murdered his previous wife for her money and is planning to do the same thing to Jenny… but sssh, we’re not supposed to have seen that coming.

This movie gets one thing really, really right – and that’s the fucking peacocks. Peacocks look pretty, but those shiny feathers cover up actual angry velociraptors who scream like the restless dead. I stayed at a house in Italy where the owner kept peacocks and hearing them for the first time at two in the morning scared years off my life. They will also steal your food right out of your hands and drop it in the dirt without eating it, just because they’re assholes.

Other than that... my god, this is a dull, gloomy little movie. It tries so hard to build suspense and all it builds is melatonin. Hearing a mysterious knock on the door once or twice is spooky. Hearing it four or five or six times just draws our attention to the fact that it’s the same sound clip playing over and over. Mickey is never believable as a threatening figure, while Eric, looming over Jenny with his I-know-what’s-best-for-you attitude, is so threatening and does things that are so obviously bad for her, you never believe in his innocence for a moment.

The fact that we know very well it’s Eric doing all the ‘haunting’ actually makes some of what’s going on quite funny. For example, the bit with the repeated knocking. You can picture him knocking and hiding in the bushes, counting to twenty and starting to wonder if Jenny is coming, and reaching out to knock again before once again leaping off the front step to hide. Over and over again. Then there’s the skull itself… is it supposed to be a real human skull? If so, whose is it? It can’t be Marion’s because her grave hasn’t been disturbed. Where did he get it from? How does the jaw stay attached? Movies never think about this stuff.

Eric is a really repulsive figure, denying Jenny her autonomy and constantly pushing her to get worse. Having made sure she identifies the portrait with Marion, he forces her to be the one who destroys it when she clearly doesn’t want to. When she pleads to be put back in a safe place – the hospital – he refuses, telling her she will be happier at the house when it is patently not true. I honestly wonder how this would have played in 1958. Did people back then honestly think a man knew what was good for his wife, particularly his mentally ill wife, more than she did herself? Would they have seen Eric as merely overprotective instead of abusive, and been truly surprised by the reveal? I have no idea but I hope not.

This abuser chooses as his victims people who are particularly defenseless. Jenny has struggled with mental illness for years and has bought into the idea that being loved will cure her (Eric encourages this belief, even stating to Reverend Snow that she’ll be cured when she’s “really loved”), which leaves her incredibly vulnerable. Eric’s chosen scapegoat, Mickey, has a disability that hampers his ability to communicate. Eric describes him as having the ‘mind of a child,’ leading people to dismiss what Mickey says and to believe he will behave irrationally. Even if the truth comes out, Eric has every reason to be confident that people will believe the word of the able-bodied man over the disabled man or the mentally ill woman.

Eric’s behaviour and his status as unquestionable villain leaves me rather confused about one of the prominent motifs in the movie: that of The Beast in the Jungle, the story Mrs. Snow gives to Jenny. It’s the tale of a man who only realizes he’s in love with a friend after she dies, and finds he has wasted his life. The fact that they bother to give the story’s title and explain its plot suggests that it must be very important somehow. I suppose we’re meant to see Eric as the hero of the story, who ignores the love of a woman and throws his life away for nothing. But Eric is actively malicious towards the women in his life, while the protagonist of The Beast in the Jungle believes he’s cursed by a terrible fate and tries to protect his friend by not letting her get too close to him. The two situations are not at all equivalent.

For all that, though, it’s possible to read The Screaming Skull as a feminist movie. For the most part the movie infantilizes Jenny, treating her as somebody in need of comfort and care, yet she is also somebody who should be allowed to make her own decisions about the form that comfort and care take. She wants a cure for her mental illness and learns that she cannot get it through the Power of Wuv. Her tragic backstory and personal issues do not revolve around men, being rooted instead in her relationship with her mother. Most interesting of all, Eric’s plot to get rid of Jenny involves turning her and Marion against each other – and it ultimately fails when Marion, from beyond the grave, refuses to let him!

Eric is Jenny’s only source of information about Marion. Mickey was close to her, but his handicap and his dislike of Eric keeps him from really talking to Jenny. Eric tries in a dozen tiny ways to convince Jenny that Marion would have hated her, drawing on the fact that he already knows Jenny is prone to be jealous of other women. All the information he gives her about Marion sets the dead woman up as a rival, right down to Mickey having liked her better and being expected to hate Jenny as a result. But at the end of the story, Marion’s ghost arrives to speak for herself, and while she uses no actual words, her opinions are clear: she does not hate Jenny, she hates Eric, and she will not allow him to hurt his new wife. This is a tale of women standing up for each other, even from beyond the grave!

On a practical level, unfortunately, Marion’s ghost is also where the movie falls apart. The other characters have just discovered Eric’s deception and are discussing what to do about it, when the ghost appears in the form of a skeleton in a gown and hat and chases him across the estate before killing him! In some movies this kind of supernatural denouement doesn’t work, being as much a deus ex machina as the dinosaur in The Beast of Hollow Mountain, but here it’s pretty satisfying. Whether Eric actually murdered her or not (based on the information the movie gives us, we suspect this but cannot prove it), he has used Marion as a bogeyman, and she’s through with his bullshit and ready to take matters into her own spectral hands! The problem is the ghost itself. The skeleton in Marion’s clothes is ridiculous and the things that happen to it don’t help.

Take, for example, the moment when the skull clamps its jaws around Eric’s throat. This looks so silly, especially when actor John Hudson is so obviously holding it there as he pretends to ‘struggle’ with it, that I laughed out loud. My favourite part, though, is when Eric throws a chair at the ghost, and the fake skeleton goes flying apart. Its arms were hanging from strings to keep them raised and when the prop falls apart they go sailing away in different directions! It’s hilarious and it completely kills whatever mood of fear the movie has managed to generate.

And that’s not much, because the movie shoots itself in the foot right at the starting gate. It opens with the infamous sequence in which the film-makers promise free burial to anybody who dies of fright while watching The Screaming Skull. This is perhaps the ultimate example of telling the audience something you cannot show – they can’t show us a scary movie because all they’ve got is The Screaming Skull, so they tell us we’re about to see one. The main effect of the bit, besides making the movie a couple of minutes longer, is to leave us extremely cynical. What makes this movie think it can scare us literally to death? As a result, we’re even less scared than what little scared we would have been anyway!

This one sucks. It’s got some interesting subtext but that’s probably unintentional and the text is boring and predictable. The Gumby short and Tom’s coffin delivery woes are far more interesting than anything in the feature presentation. I fear we’re in for a succession of awful boring movies in the future because so far, when I’ve come upon a film I really don’t want to watch, I skip it and go on to something else. Now I’m starting to run out of interesting movies. It’s probably all downhill from here.

#mst3k #reviews #the screaming skull #tw: abuse #50s

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sauvage-age · 6 years

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My journey

As I go on I learn and grow through my OCD. It torments me sometimes, relentless in its subjects and its continuity. Nonetheless, it does get better, thoughts don’t necessarily get clearer but your perception changes. The most important thing I ever learnt when combating OCD is that thoughts are just words. Though simple to most people, this is the biggest challenge someone with OCD can face. Words become our everything, we bleed, cry and get anxious over thoughts. Thoughts that seem so much larger than what they are… they become all consuming. You believe something that goes against your ethos entirely, you start worrying about every look, every smile and every word that you speak, think or hear. You hear sentences differently. What may be innocent becomes vicious and aggressive to you, you automatically get defensive. The worst thing about OCD is the guilt associated with these thoughts. These thoughts are invasive and cruel and show no mercy in sparing family and friends. You believe you are a pedophile and think about handing yourself into the police because you have a spur of the moment thought about a child and turn it into something heinous, like an innocent picture being smudged and torn apart. You believe you are affiliated with Satan and if you don’t pray every night you will ultimately harm someone else. You believe that you will harm your family without a second thought, you think you are a sexually abusive predator to your family, to women, to men, to God. Like I said, relentless. When these thoughts first started occurring I thought I was truly an evil person inherently. I did not understand why I would get hot flushes and cry and want to throw up from guilt. I didn’t understand why when I woke up every morning it felt like someone was choking me, and the feeling, once it came, never really went away. These were the overtly unconscionable, wrong thoughts that I experienced a lot through my time in understanding this illness. I had no physical ailments to say to my family, I am eroding from some fatal disease. I had nothing to show for it, I did not even have obvious compulsions like cleaning furiously for fear of germs. This illness attacked me from the inside out. I felt like my mind had bee poisoned. I cried myself to sleep, I drank alcohol in excess hoping that for a second the thoughts would leave my head. I broke up with my long-term boyfriend because I felt immoral and disloyal due to my thoughts. The alcohol lead to smoking and promiscuity. Neither of which were a solution to the raucous inside my head. I went to see a councillor who told me that I just had anxiety. I mean that was pretty obvious by my behaviour and my constant fears. But that wasn’t enough, because it still did not explain the immorality or absolute consistency of my thoughts. It did not explain this tangled web of thoughts that I tried to fight every single moment of every day and never winning. My GP then got concerned that I had bipolar because I was acting so different when I was drunk to who I was as a person. That concerned me, that seemed so permanent, so irreparable (which I now know is not the case). She recommended me to a Psychiatrist, prompting the fact that if diagnosed I will need further attention and potentially medication. I did my part and saw this psychiatrist and within ten minutes or so he diagnosed me with OCD. OCD??? I thought this was ridiculous. OCD is all about obsessive cleaning and checking door locks a million times and having rituals right? WRONG, so very very wrong. I cried and said he was “fucking joking” because I was sick of no one being able to tell me what was wrong with me. After the appointment I read about OCD, invasive thoughts in particular as that is what he told me to read up on. It fit every single category to a T. I cried so much that day, from relief mostly. I wasn’t fixed but at least something out there explained why my thoughts were poisoned and why I was struggling with this for over two years. Coincidentally I had seen my old partner for the first time in a year around the same time. This diagnosis made me realise that maybe it was never him and I, it was just me. He filled a part of me that no one could, and I loved him for who he was and who he made me be. I told him everything. My past, my actions, my diagnosis and why I felt this way. Something about OCD which is to be noted is that there are stereotypes that don’t quite exacerbate quite how all consuming and difficult this illness is. So initially, my parents, my soon-to be partner again, his family – everyone needed time to understand. I read up, so did he. We learnt together that my thoughts were okay. They were not as powerful as I thought they were and I was able to disarm them. I went to therapy, went on numerous different medications and quantities, but I learnt a lot and I understood that these thoughts were not consistent with who I am as a person. It was not consistent with the fact I would never ever hurt a child because I loved them and was totally passionate about protecting them. I learnt it was a monster that knew your biggest nightmares and told you that you were that predator. This bit, this bit gets easier because you can discern more unrealistic things as being the OCD. What becomes a more permanent struggle is the way in which you deal with little, every day things that the OCD has latched on to. For me this involved a huge fear of infidelity with my partner. Don’t get me wrong I have never ever cheated on my partner and genuinely detest it entirely. But ROCD became my next biggest challenge. How you and your partner work with OCD in YOUR lives. Part of relationship OCD includes feelings of constant doubt, do I love him? Is he the right one for me? I find this other guy attractive that must mean I’m disloyal. Do I even like these things about him? This all sounds horrible, like someone who is totally in the wrong relationship and unsure about their future. The thing is this, I loved him, I found him attractive, I would never cheat on him, those thoughts about other boys were the OCD. This becomes really difficult to understand for the partner and for the sufferer. This was not something as seemingly ridiculous as, am I a mass murderer? This was real issues that a lot of people face every day, normal people, with no mental illness, so was it real or was it in my head? I struggled with this, because I loved my partner so much but this form of OCD was super difficult to tackle. I am very lucky for two reasons. As someone with OCD or someone who knows a person suffering from OCD, reassurance is like music to the ears. My thoughts are clouded so I speak about my feelings out loud and someone tells me “that is not the case, that is ridiculous, you love him, you would never do that.” I am so lucky my partner knew this, he was so sure I loved him whole heartedly that he would tell me that it was okay, not to feel bad and that he knew how much I loved him. This made a massive difference as you can imagine. That hot bubbling of guilt waiting to burst happens sometimes, but he is there to reassure me that it is okay. I am also lucky I had beautiful friends that made the effort to try and understand what I was grappling with and had been with me throughout this journey. The best thing anyone told me was that, if the thought it inconsistent with how you genuinely feel most days, then it is OCD. Now that doesn’t mean if you think about it every day it is real, because let’s be honest the OCD is in my life every single day. It means that, you need to look at how you feel beyond the thoughts, how you feel when you’re NOT overanalysing your feelings. I took this on board whole heartedly and soon, with the mixture of right medication and a dedicated family, friends and most amazing partner I learnt that I could do this. It never gets fully easy and the thoughts will never go away, but disengaging with them helps and continually seeking help and love elevates you. I still struggle with drinking, I found that I do not need to drink all the time but when I am in an environment when everyone is consuming large amounts of alcohol, I always drink too much and the next day, regardless of if I had sworn at someone, started an argument or smiled at a boy I felt so guilty. I had a terrible week after and I felt so insecure, angry at myself and so so down. I have caused many arguments over alcohol and it is something I unfortunately cannot do whilst on my medication or in excess. That is probably my biggest advice to people on medication is drink in very small portions at dinner or with your family, do not excessively drink at the club because the aftermath is never comfortable or friendly. I also advise people to really understand that being depressed sometimes will come about. A natural reaction to those constant, horrible thoughts is to feel extremely down about yourself and the relationships you form with people. The light at the end of the tunnel here is that a natural mood fluctuation is normal, you will be elated and you will be upset and that’s ok. It passes and always gets better no matter how long it has gone on for. One thing I noticed is also like a total disengagement with the world. No emotions as opposed to extreme emotions whereby I would think about loved ones dying and not care, or jump out of a plane and feel no adrenaline rush at all (quite literally). This is sometimes the worst feeling because you feel like an empty shell. With consistent medication to stabilise your mood as well as personal mechanisms such as eating better, going to the gym, reading, painting whatever makes you feel ok, they will get you through some tough times as well.

It's been 4 years since my symptoms got severe and 3 since my diagnosis. I am happily looking for apartments with my long-term partner and we are expecting to get engaged in the next few months. I don’t go out as much and try and be healthy in terms of getting some air outdoors and eating better foods. I am so excited for what the future holds, I am certain about things, I am in love, I am loved and I am aware that the OCD will affect me forever, but that isn’t the end of things, because its controllable, its worldwide, its insignificant (I promise!)

Breathe. You are not alone.

#breathe mentalillness awareness OCD ROCD growth strength illness mind support

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sassytrickster666 · 6 years

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NSFW Alphabet:Hans Landa

GIFS are NOT mine, credit goes to original owners/makers. If you see one of yours and would like it credited please Message me. Thanks! <3

Also the idea of an nsfw alphabet is not mine either but idk where it started so same goes for this. Dont like dont read! Not here for the drama!

A = Aftercare

Most of the time he has other business to attend to so there isn’t much time for aftercare.

If he doesn’t have to go, he’ll wipe most of the evidence away and kiss some of the harsher bruises he left. After this he’ll lay back down and tell you you’ve been a good girl. Sometimes, he’ll pull you closer so that your head rests on his shoulder and his arm is wrapped around you.

B= Body part

Generally speaking he has a thing for your face, especially your eyes. Of those he can read you ; emotions, thoughts. He likes to know everything.

Whether you’re annoyed, nervous or happy during the day and whether you’re pleasured during the night.

When it comes to his own body, he would have to say his mind. It’s what helped him accomplish all that he did will do in the future.

C= Cum

Hans loves cumming on you, as it shows you’re his and you submitting to him.

He likes cumming on your breasts and stomach most. Second to those are your mouth and pussy. It gives him the feeling of ownership.

D= Dirty Secret

His secret is that sometimes, he is in a bit of a different mood (this started happening after the war). This is when he wants to hand the control over to you, do your bidding and feel small. What he enjoys the most, then, is having you ride his face and control his breathing. He gets turned on when you call him things ranging from milder words as ‘bad’ and ‘naughty’ to ‘pathetic nazi pig’. He has no idea where this comes from and frankly, is embarrassed by it.

E = Experience

Considering his age he would have his fair share of experience. However, the last couple of years he’d been completely absorbed by work, referring to his rank and nickname, and thus he’s a little rusty. At first he had his doubts about approaching you because of this. Later he had zero problems making you come the hardest you did in ages.

F = Favourite Position

It’s usually described this way:

You’re bent over on your knees and he’s behind you like in doggy style. Only he’s pulling you up by your hair, neck or upper body so your back touches his chest.

G = Goofy

Believe me, he is as unpredictable in bed as he is during the day. One moment he can be kissing you while being 100% serious and the next giggling while trying to clip off your stockings. Never quite knowing what to expect certainly provides an extra thrill.

H = Hair

He doesn’t like feeling dirty and has the time and the means to keep it exactly the way he feels most comfortable : bald.

He prefers for his partner not to be completely hairless, it would make him feel like being with a non-adult.

I= Intimacy

For one, it always takes Hans a long time to trust someone regardless of the situation. So he’s usually on edge anyways. However, once you earned his trust he started treating you a little different than before. He was never particularly abusive or mean towards you but now he dared to be softer with you. For example, he would proudly take you to formal events, reach for your hand. At times, softly trust into you while kissing and caressing you. The point is: once he trusts you he’d dare show another side of himself, a sweeter side that would involve lingering kisses, more tender caresses and a protective arm around your waist when going out. As if anyone would dare harass Landa’s girl anyways. And once he really goes for something, nobody better get in his way. Because he isn’t afraid of letting others know you’re his and anyone who would like to dispute that will get cut.

J = Jack-off

Hans wouldn’t jack off often, but when he does he takes his time. Whenever he’d been extremely busy or someone has been getting on his nerves particularly much he does it to blow off some steam. Would not look good if a colonel would blow out the brains of a bratty luitenant, would it?

So when he comes home and you’re away, he runs a nice warm bath, carefully undresses, put his folded clothes away on a shelf and let himself sink into the warm water. Then he would sigh and savour the moment. He would close his eyes and imagine you with him in a different setting. Your eyes, your smile, your curves, the way you would kiss him and how he would hold your body against his. Slowly he would trail his hands from his chest to his thighs to tease himself. He would imagine it your soft touch, both nude on a warm summers night. Your breasts bouncing slightly as you get on your knees. Looking up at him teasingly as you’d kiss his upper thighs.

Then he would stop teasing himself and start caressing his now rockhard cock, grunting softly. He would imagine the wonderful feeling of your mouth on him, how you would lick and suck him and try to swallow him whole as he’d speed up his hand. He’d imagine how your full lips would look outstretched on his cock, how you would moan softly as he’d tug on your hair, the vibrations almost immediately sending him over the edge.

Then Hans would use his free hand to tease his sack. At this point he would eagerly speed up his ministrations until he’d spill his seed, moaning your name and imagining seeing it disappear into your eager mouth.

K = Kink

Oh, my sweet summer child, if you haven’t figured that Hans is one kinky motherf***** yet, brace yourself. So here’s some of his kinks in a row:

-Bondage, using cuffs or ropes. Depending on his mood whether he’d be the one restrained. (Being restrained often goes with the degrading of D=Dirty Secret).

-Public sex. He loves teasing you in a public setting. it starts quite innocently with a hand on your knee or thigh, but you know that before dinner with his colleagues and their partners ends, you’ll have come at least twice. Either by him fingerfucking you under the table or him dragging you off to some broom closet or deserted office. He enjoys it most when you play with him, teasing him too. This is related to the fact that he loves the control and domination he usually has by simply walking into a room.

-Roleplay, he loves being versatile. His favourite scenarios include (cheesy, right?) nurse/patient, priest/churchgoer and teacher/student.

-Dear Hans is usually a Dom, which means that he totally gets off on you calling him ‘sir’, ‘mr. Landa, sir’ or by his official rank. He loves spanking your ass while you call him that, too.

L= Location

Though he thoroughly enjoys making you his in a public place, he definitely prefers the confines of his home. Here, you can both be as loud as you want and take your time.

M = Motivation

Pretty much anything can get him turned on and you like to tease him for it. The sheer knowledge of what kind of underwear you’re wearing, a look you give him or a simple touch. Whenever he draws a quick breath through his nose, and on occasions looks away you know exactly whats up.

N = No

Truly hurting you, mentally or physically. He simply cares too much about you to do that. They may call him a monster and he’s accepted he might be one and that’s a part of him. But even he could never hurt the woman his heart belongs to.

O = Oral

Honestly, he loves it, the anticipation, when you sink down on your knees before him. Knowing that soon you will take him in your mouth and working to take as much as possible. Actually, it’s the kitten licks you give his cock and balls before you do so that kill him. The view of you is simply too beautiful.

As to giving oral, Hans Landa does nothing half-assed. He loves propping your thighs on your shoulders and giving you love bites on them and your hips, marking you, showing who you belong to. He just gets enthusiastic about it. At times it seems he turns it into a game of how many times he can make you scream his name. One of his favourite moves is doing so slowly and suddenly sucking your clit hard into his mouth.

P = Pace

The pace would depend mostly on his mood as he doesn’t really have a preference. He does tremendously enjoy suddenly changing his pace. For example, when you are having a slow, intimate moment and, out of the blue, starting a brutal pace that makes your eyes roll back.

Q = Quickie

The reason that quickies rarely happen is that Hans is usually way too loud for him and that the last thing he would want is for the two of you to be caught. One, because it might compromise his authority and two; because your body is for his eyes only and he wouldn’t want to bring you into a position where you could be disrespected or embarrassed.

Though, the ones that do happen are legendary; the time in the office bent over his desk, the one in the broom closet at the busy restaurant.

R = Risk

Hans looooooves to experiment. It’s just so exciting to try out new stuff! He’s usually shameless with telling you what he’d like to try, though would never push you. In turn, he is quite open minded when you bring something up.

S = Stamina

Though he’s usually good for one round (occasionally a second), and he does like to make it count. He lasts up to a good twenty minutes, but it can vary a bit depending on how much you’ve teased him.

T = Toys

Apart from the stuff used to restrain someone, none, really. He doesn’t feel there’s any needed and neither do you.

U = Unfair

He loves teasing you, but is not patient enough himself to drag it out. He also likes being teased, to an extent.

V = Volume

One of the main reasons he prefers fucking at home. Thats where he doesn’t have to worry about anyone hearing too much. This man almost never shuts up and that’s evident during sex as well. And damn he’s loud . He moans, groans and is definitely a dirty talker. Speaks solely German when he does too.

His favourite sound of yours is either a whimper or the strangled sound you make when a moan gets caught in your throat.

W = Wild Card

He loves calling you nicknames and it’s kinda cute. Usually Schatz or meine Liebe. Next to that he really enjoys it when he comes home in the afternoon and you greet him with a kiss and some coffee after. It makes him feel fuzzy. Its strange.

It makes him think that maybe someday he could make you his forever. Get married or even have a family.

Beside that, he totally crumbles if he finds that you happen to be wearing a housemaids like outfit. Like i said, he’s a sucker for roleplay.

X = X-Ray

He’s quite long,of average thickness, veiny, and crooked very nicely so that when he thrusts into you it’s just too easy for him to hit your G-spot.

Y = Yearning

As there are so many things that can turn him on, his yearning is pretty high. If he gets the chance he’ll definitely make you his once or twice a day.

Z = Zzz

After sex, Hans is usually awake for longer than you, and usually just lays and enjoys the moment. However, when he does fall asleep he tends to end up laying on his side next to you, breathing in your scent and holding your waist.

#Hans Landa #Landa #Tarantino #movie #inglorious basterds #inglorious basterds imagine #SMUT #hans landa x reader #reader #xreader #imagine #hans landa imagine

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kennacrab23 · 6 years

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Summary: “I'm just tired of being the same broken kid." “We're all broken, Richie.” Group Home AU

Pairings: Reddie & Stanlon (Eventually Benverly too)

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4/? (Read on Ao3)

Warnings/Tags: Aged Up Characters. Lots of dark subject matter, including: abuse, self-harm, mention of sexual abuse, mention of suicide, mention of panic attacks. Bold ones are included in this specific chapter

“A little to the left. No, no, no. My left.”

“Would you like to come do it yourself?”

“That's perfect! Now c'mon, let’s do this!”

Richie shook his head, though he wore the fondest smile as he joined his sister on his bed. They had set up her phone on his desk and move it so it stood right in front of them. He crossed his legs under himself and pulled his guitar into his lap.

“Remind me again why we're recording this?” he asked, fingers giving the strings a few test strums.

“Ummm...so that someday we'll be famous,” she replied matter-of-factly, “Then we'll be able to get out of this hell hole.”

Richie nodded and offered a small smile, “Ready?”

“More than.”

Richie shook away the implications of those words and counted to three aloud before beginning to strum a soft melody. Shortly after, Sydney joined him, singing the words to match.

“All I have is one last chance

I won’t turn my back on you

Take my hand, drag me down

If you fall then I will too

And I can't save what's left of you.”

Richie smiled to himself as they both sang, adding some soft harmonies to accompany hers. He had to admit, they sounded pretty damn good.

“Say something new

I have nothing left

I can't face the dark without you

There's nothing left to lose

The fighting never ends

I can't face the dark without you.”

He glanced over at his sister. Her eyes were closed, head nodding along to the music while her fingers drummed against her thighs. She was in her element and it'd been a while since he'd seen her so happy. He only wished she could always be like this. She deserved to be. Happy and carefree.

A slam brought both of them to a halt. They shared a brief look and slumped off the bed. A loud obnoxious voice sounded through the apartment. They both cringed at the addition of a second voice, this one male. There was no intelligible words, merely sounds and gibberish.

“You think they're drunk or high?” Richie pondered aloud, grabbing his guitar and walking it over the closet.

“Ohhh, I'm sorry,” Sydney continued, voice resembling that of a game show host. “The answer is actually the hidden third option of both!”

Richie chuckled bitterly, stashing his guitar on the shelf in his closet.

“Why do you keep your guitar in there?”

Richie scoffed, “So it doesn't get pawned for drug money.”

“Fair enough.”

12:30am. After a fitful couple hours of trying to sleep, Richie found walking downstairs He planned to see if Bev was out back. They'd developed a habit of smoking together at least a few times a week. Before he could confirm her presence, he was distracted as he passed by the living room. The soft glow from the TV illuminated the otherwise dark room.

Eddie sat on the sat, feet tucked under his knees. He wore a pair of baggy sweats and a t-shirt, which hung just above his belly button. His heart fluttered in his chest for two reasons; first of all, Eddie looked extremely cute and secondly, though dark, Richie could see what looked like a scar on the right, lower part of his exposed stomach. He didn't have much time to process his observation since Eddie's attention was drawn over to him.

“Hey,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Wanna join me?”

“Sure,” he replied, almost making it to the couch before Eddie's hand flew up and pointed to a nearby chair.

“Before you sit down,” he called out quickly, “Can you grab that blanket?”

Richie chuckled softly, grabbing said blanket and tossing it to him. It landed on his head, most of it falling to drape over his body. “Perfect,” he retorted sarcastically.

Richie pulled the blanket down for him, letting it pool in his lap. He licked his lips as Eddie's face was revealed, a lot closer than he anticipated.

“Sit down,” Eddie requested, patting the space beside him. When Richie took the spot, he lifted the blanket and then draped it over his lap so they were both under it. Richie enjoyed the way Eddie's knee rested on his thigh. It was a simple, but intimate touch.

“So what brings you down here?” Richie asked, softer than he’d meant to.

Eddie shrugged casually, “Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd come down and watch some TV.”

“Friends? Really?” Richie asked incredulously. He wasn't necessarily judging the other's taste in television shows but he just had a hard time believing this was something Eddie was into.

“What? It's a good show!” Eddie defended, smacking his arm playfully, “It's easy to watch. You don't have to pay too much attention and it's funny. Perfect for late nights.”

“If you say so,” Richie chuckled, sticking his tongue out as Eddie shot him a glare. “Why aren't you upstairs shacking up with someone else then?”

“Okay, I haven't 'shacked up' with anyone in a long time,” Eddie retorted, emphasizing the phrase with air quotes.

“Ohhh,” Richie cringed, nodding in mock realization, “Is that why you're so cranky all the time?”

“Ha. Ha.”

They both fell silent, attention turning to the show playing on the TV. For a few minutes, they just watched before Eddie finally spoke up again, breaking the silence.

“Stan's been sleeping with Mike for the past few weeks.”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, I know. We share a room.” Ever since that night, the two of them hadn't spent a night apart. Every night after Mrs. Hanscom checked in on them, Stan would walk through the bathroom that connected their two rooms and slide into bed with the other boy. He strode quietly every time and, had Richie been asleep any of those times, he wouldn't have woken up. Some nights, Richie would mind his own business and continue to pretend he was in fact asleep. Other nights, he peeked over where the other two laid. Stan usually pressed up against Mike's side, who had his arm tightly wrapped around the other. Sometimes they would spoon. Richie tried not to make a habit of watching the two because he didn't want to be such a creep, but it was truly endearing how well the two fit together.

“Right,” Eddie murmured softly, his eyes briefly caught on the blanket in his lap. Sucking in a breath, he looked up at Richie. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You technically just did,” Richie replied, flashing him a cheesy grin.

“I'm being serious,” Eddie insisted, his voice soft, but firm. When Richie nodded, he continued, “Why did you react like that? When you walk in on it...”

Richie immediately felt his skin grow hot. The answer to this question was not only complicated, but also something he did not want to get into. Richie definitely no longer classified them all as strangers, but he still held no desire to express his deepest and darkest secrets to the others, or anyone at all. Especially not to Eddie. Despite the amount of compassion he'd witness from the other, voluntarily making himself feel weak in front him was the last thing he wanted to do. As much as he wanted to deny it, he simply couldn't; he had a crush on Eddie. Not only was he cute, but he cared about everyone close to him and took zero shit from anyone. Richie knew it was stupid and it certainly made him feel like he was in middle school all over again but he just couldn't help it.

He quickly tried to cover up with a half-hearted chuckle, “I mean, I'm not heartless Eddie.”

“That's not what I mean,” Eddie replied in all seriousness, his gaze remaining fixed on him.

Richie tried not to get distracted by Eddie's soft skin or the way his teeth subconsciously chewed at his bottom lip. He also tried to ignore the subject they were apparently discussing now. Richie didn't want to lie to him, especially with the crush he was harboring for him. But he also didn't have any interest in telling him the truth. So he did the best he could and concocted a statement which answered his question without divulging the intimate details.

“Someone I knew from school killed herself last year,” he said, barely able to choke out the words. Eddie could probably tell it was a lie, but if he could, he didn't let on.

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. A moment of silence passed between them again as a new episode began to play. Eddie's head fell to rest on Richie's shoulder. “This is my favorite episode. Will you stay and watch it with me?”

Richie found it impossible to say no to such a request and the weight of Eddie's head resting against him made his heart flutter. “Yeah, sure,” he whispered breathlessly. After a while of stillness, Richie worked up enough courage to press a kiss to Eddie's hair. The action resulted in a sleepy sigh, followed by slow, steady breathing. Richie peeked down at the boy sleeping on his shoulder, making sure he didn't make any sudden movement. He gently let his head fall to rest on Eddie's and let his eyes slip shut.

Richie woke hours later, jostled by the sound of footsteps shuffling along the floor. He squinted, eyes struggling to see through the darkness of the night. When they finally adjusted enough, he saw Bill standing in the middle of the living room, facing away from them. Over the TV that was still going, he could hear a soft mumbling. He groaned as he struggled to sit up, Eddie was now pressed against his side, leaning the entirety of his weight against him. He felt Eddie stir, but otherwise showed no indication of waking.

“Bill?” Richie asked inquisitively.

“Georgie?” Bill spoke gently, voice resembling a small child.

Richie frowned in confusion. Did he really just hear Bill's voice? He couldn't recall a time when he actually heard it before. “No it's Richie. What's going on?”

“Georgie, I miss you,” Bill whispered, the tears evident in his voice. “Things haven't been the same since you left.”

Richie opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of Eddie's sleepy voice, “Bill, wake up,” he called, not even opening his eyes. After a minute, Bill turned around to face them, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“C'mere,” Eddie insisted. His eyes were still shut and he was still pressed against Richie's side. He held his arm open as Bill walked over to the couch. He sat down beside Eddie, dropping his head down to rest on his thigh. Eddie rested his arm around Bill, his fingers idly trailing up and down his forearm.

Richie remained still, his gaze peeking over at the sight beside him. It wasn't long before both of them were fast asleep, Bill clearly comforted by Eddie's touch. In the short amount of time they'd known each other, he could definitely relate. Rather than dwell on it, Richie simply rested his head back on Eddie's and, shortly after, joined the other two in slumber.

In the morning, he woke before Eddie. Bill must have woken up before both of them, as he was no longer by Eddie's side. A smile graced his lips, as Eddie appeared almost angelic, bathed in the bright sunlight breaking through the windows. His fingers seemed to take on a life of their own as they gently raked through his soft, brown hair. The gesture earned him a sleepy sound of approval, which in turn only made his smile grow.

“Mmm, morning,” Eddie murmured softly, throwing his arms up over his head in a long stretch. When he did, his already short shirt rode up even further. Richie swallowed hard, eyes drawn to the newly exposed smooth skin.

“What's this?” Richie inquired, boldly brushing his thumb over the scar on Eddie's side. He'd be lying if he said he didn't notice the way Eddie shivered under his touch.

“A scar,” he answered sarcastically, only continuing when Richie stuck out his tongue in response, “Got my appendix removed a couple years ago.”

“Yikes, must've been scary,” Richie responded.

Eddie shrugged, “Not really.”

How in the world someone could be so fearless was beyond him. He'd never met anyone quite like him before, that's for sure. “We better get ready for school,” Eddie said, patting Richie's knee then using the hold to push himself up. “At least it's Friday!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in fake enthusiasm as he walked towards the stairs. Richie's gaze followed him. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. This boy was going to be the death of him.

Even it being Friday wasn't enough to pull Richie through the day. With each hour that passed, he grew more and more anxious, completely unable to shake the feeling. His mind took him all over the place; the group therapy he'd have to endure the next day, the sound of his sister's voice ringing in his ears, the way it felt to have Eddie's warm body curled up against him. Basically his mind went everywhere except the schoolwork he should be focusing on.

He noticed, gradually, it became harder to breathe; a familiar tremble tickled the tips of his fingers. He desperately wished he could ignore the feeling creeping up on him. No. Not here.

Despite the protests of the teacher behind him, Richie flew out of the classroom and ran down the hallway. He ducked into the first unoccupied room he found. Only one thought hit him as he glanced around the room. Of fucking course.

Momentarily his train of thought was distracted by the pure irony of the situation. All he could do was laugh. He slumped over to one of the many chairs, flopping down in it. He hung his head in his hands, attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. The closer he felt to complete helplessness, the more he thought fuck it.

His shaky hands grasped the neck of the closest guitar, pulling it into his lap. The familiarity washing over him brought him a slight amount of comfort. As his fingers strummed the chords, he tried to recall the last time he played. The melody filling the room gave him his answer.

“Say something new

I have nothing left

I can't face the dark without you

There's nothing left to lose

The fighting never ends

I can't face the dark without you”

He closed his eyes and, in no time, he was back there again. Sydney sat beside him, her fingers tapping out a rhythm against her leg, one Richie could not hear. He looked over at her. Her lips were moving, but producing no sounds. His eyes were drawn down to her wrists; the contrast of red pooling against the white fabric made his stomach churn. All he could hear was his own scream, deafening even in his own mind. But it felt so incredibly real that he couldn't even hear the melodies he was creating.

The whole song played out, practically unheard to his own ears.

“Wow,” Richie heard from the doorway. He peeked up and saw Eddie walking over to him, taking the chair next to him. “That was beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Richie whispered, the imaginary ringing beginning to fade and allow him to hear again. He set the guitar back on its stand and laced his fingers together, rubbing his thumb along the palm of the opposite hand. Richie wished he didn't know exactly where he picked up this habit. But an image flashed in his mind, hands moving in the same motion, frantically trying to wash the blood from his hands. The way the water ran red below his hands reminded him. He quickly dropped his hands, letting them run anxiously along the fabric of his jeans.

“I didn't know you played,” Eddie commented, “You don't have a guitar, do you?”

“Uhhh, no,” Richie murmured, reluctant to divulge the real reasoning for his lack of guitar. “It, uh, got smashed in the move.”

“That's too bad,” Eddie said, placing his hand on Richie's knee, “Are you okay?”

The words posed an innocent question. He knew the truth. He knew the answer he wanted to give. His whole time there he'd only fed them the answers he wanted, his words spinning a half truth, which kept them all at arms length. Just the way he wanted. So he surprised himself when his eyes met Eddie's and, with no hesitation, told him the truth.

“No.”

“And that's okay,” Eddie spoke gently, taking Richie's quivering hands in his own, “You know that right?”

“I'm just tired of being the same broken kid,” Richie whispered, staring down at their hands. The warm touch stilled some of the trembling in his hands. It was the most truth he'd told in a long time and it truly terrified him.

“We're all broken, Richie.”

In Eddie's eyes, he saw pain and understanding. He also saw patience and compassion. A silent moment passed between them. “But things get better. Give it time.” Eddie ducked his head down to press the softest, chastest kiss to his lips. “If you ever want to talk or anything, I'm here.”

Richie didn't even have time to process his confusion as Eddie stood and made his way towards the door. Right before he hit the door, Eddie spun around.

“Mrs. Hanscom wanted me to tell you,” he began, unknowingly making Richie cringe with those words. “She's taking us all to the carnival tomorrow.”

“The carnival?” Richie asked incredulously.

Eddie chuckled, sarcastically adding, “Yeah, because apparently we're all eight years old.”

Richie laughed along with him, still hung up on the tingle Eddie's lips left on his. It felt nothing like any kiss he experienced before. There was a different motive behind it. It didn't elicit a wild uncontrollable race of his heart. All he felt was calm, at ease. “It'll be fun,” Eddie said genuinely, flashing a toothy grin. An unfamiliar feeling washed over him. Home. But not the home he knew; the home he always wanted.

Richie couldn't say he was entirely thrilled to be in the middle of the annual Derry carnival. The lights were blinding, all the sounds deafening. The token carnival music that seemed to be playing every step of the way, sounded just slightly the wrong tone. Richie couldn't put his finger on it but it didn't sound right. Plus in the short amount of time they'd been walking around, at least four clowns crossed their path and Richie did not care to see any more.

But his attention was captivated by something else. Eddie walked alongside him, clad in a white t-shirt underneath a pair of denim overalls. They were cuffed at the bottom and joined by a pair of red converse. Richie found it hard not to stare. Eddie was indescribably cute right now; the way he rocked the overalls he wore, his carefree smile and the little bounce in his step as they walked along. Beverly had ran off with Ben and Bill, saying something about checking out the fun house. Stan and Mike were a few paces ahead of them, fingers tightly laced together. Eventually Stan pulled them off to the side to a booth with prizes to be won.

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed, throwing his arm in front of Richie's face to excitedly point towards the long queue to their left. “Lets ride that!”

Richie looked over at the roller coaster the line belonged to and let out a chuckle, “Are you sure you're even tall enough?”

Eddie scoffed in offense and shoved his hands against Richie's upper arm. There wasn't a whole lot of strength behind it and, had Richie not felt weak in the knees already, he wouldn't have stumbled the way he did. “Jerk!” he shouted, though it quickly faded into an infectious laugh. Eddie's hand slipped into his own and tugged him in the direction of the line.

Much to Richie's surprise and contentment, their fingers stayed locked together the whole time they waited. He could feel a pulse of Eddie's hand squeezing his and, when he looked over, he noticed the other boy tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

Richie smiled fondly, “Nervous?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admitted breathlessly, looking up at Richie in a way that made his heart flutter. His soft brown eyes bore into him, yet left him vulnerable at the same time.

“Yeah, me too,” Richie mumbled, though his words seemed to hold a completely different connotation.

As the roller coaster took them towards the sky, Richie couldn't decide which made him more nervous; the way Eddie gripped his hand like his life depended on it or the inevitable fall they would soon face. The drop brought about a sense of weightlessness, as did Eddie's thrilled shout which faded to the most melodic laugh when the ride pulled into the gate. Richie hadn't a clue how good it would feel, the brief moment where all his burden washed away. Much like the top of the coaster, he felt on top of the world. It was a feeling he'd never experienced before, but he wished it could last forever. But also like the ride, after such a great height came a devastating fall.

But the second Eddie looked over at him and said, “Let’s go again,” Richie immediately found the courage to agree. He wanted to fall again.

So they rode again and then moved on to a multitude of other rides. All the while, Eddie's hand still held in his own. Even on the tamest rides and the trips in between them, he didn't let go. And Richie wasn't about to. He would never dream of it.

“I'm gonna throw up,” Eddie whined, his other arm clutching his stomach.

Richie snorted in laughter, having spent the last fifteen minutes watching Eddie shovel a variety of carnival food into his mouth. The whole time, Richie was torn between two thoughts: how in the world could Eddie fit that much food inside his body and how could he look so damn cute doing it?

“Well yeah,” Richie chuckled, stating as if it was obvious, “You ate half the carnival.”

“Huh...” Eddie trailed off thoughtfully, then glanced up at Richie as he continued, “Maybe that's why my breath smells so funny.....Get it?” he lightly jabbed his elbow to Richie's side, “Half the carnival, half the clowns. Clowns are funny!”

Richie shook his head, offering the softest laugh, “You can eat them all. Clowns are creepy as fuck.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, eyes squinting suspiciously as he peered over at Richie. A teasing smile spread over his lips, “Are you afraid of clowns, Richie?”

“I don't feel the need to answer that,” Richie retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “What? You don't have any irrational fears?”

Eddie's smile faded all too quickly, “I do,” he answered somberly, “Sometimes I'm afraid I'll wake up in the hospital and this has all been some kind of crazy, drug induced dream.”

“That makes mine sound kinda stupid,” Richie mumbled quietly. Sure, he had plenty of other fears but he enjoyed pretending that wasn't the case. At least for the time being.

Things stayed quiet for a moment before Eddie let out a roaring laugh, “Gotcha! You shoulda seen your face! I was just kidding!” Richie had a sinking suspicion those words were a lie, but he had no right to press Eddie for any kind of information. He wasn't exactly forthcoming himself.

“Wanna go on the Ferris wheel?” Eddie quipped, eyes reflecting gold in the sun. For a moment, Richie was breathless, staring into Eddie’s eyes like they were the last thing he’d ever see. And somehow, in that moment, Richie wouldn't mind if that came true.

“Only if you don't barf on me,” Richie teased, embracing a moment of boldness and slinging his arm over Eddie's shoulders.

“No promises.”

A big smile broke over his face as he felt Eddie lace their fingers together. “I'll take my chances.”

Sunday was quickly coming to an end, no matter how desperately Richie wished otherwise. For the first time in a long time, he felt okay. The previous day had been the best he'd had since he didn't even know when. His mind wasn't bogged down with sadness as usual, but rather there was an unfamiliar clarity. Richie chalked it up to one thing and one thing only: Eddie. Something about him rendered his body completely at ease. He felt as calm as the twilight settling around them.

After dinner, everyone went outside to enjoy the mild evening. To no one's surprise, Mike sat in the grass, Stan's head resting in his lap. He plucked small dandelions from the ground and tucked them into his blonde curls. Bev, Ben, and Mrs. Hanscom all chatted idly on the deck. Eddie stretched out on the hammock, both hands tucked behind his head. Since it was his turn to do the dishes, Richie was the last to join everyone outside. His first instinct led him over to the hammock. But then he noticed Bill laid out on his stomach, with a sketchbook in front of him, hand scribbling across the page. Intrigued, he went over and crouched down beside him. On the paper was a beautiful sketch of two people, one resembling him, the other with similar features but much younger.

“Wow, that's amazing,” he whispered breathlessly, eyes fixed on the image that seemed perfect, yet it was a mess of eraser marks. Right around the smiles both of them wore the paper looked weak, like one more swipe of the erase would rip a hole in it.

Bill wore a small smile as he slowly flipped through the other pages. They were filled with an endless array of beautifully sketched people, some appeared to be a family; there was at least one of each person there, though Eddie had multiple pages.

But one picture stood out. He frowned as his hand darted out to prevent him from turning to the next page. When he scanned over the sketch, his heart immediately began to race as did the tremors to his fingers. His mind felt hazy and he could barely maintain his balance as he stood, fingers gripping the sketchbook as tightly as he could.

“Who the fuck is this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Drawn out on the paper was a young, dark haired girl with sharp features that mirrored his own. The more he stared at it, the more he saw it. Her. Sydney.

“Who the fuck is this?” he repeated, his voice much louder this time, attracting the attention of those around them. Bill peered up at him with a look of pure confusion. “Where did you see this?! Where did you sketch this from?” Richie's hands shook violently as he shoved the sketchbook into Bill's view. He couldn't control the way his volume kept increasing. He could hardly control the words coming from his mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem? Why won't you answer me?” he yelled, ripping the page out and chucking the book itself behind him. By this time, Mrs. Hanscom and Eddie rushed over, while everyone else watched on, expressions somewhere between confusion and concern.

“Richie, knock it off,” Eddie said gently. He grabbed at Richie's upper arm, trying to pull him away from the scene but his grip was immediately and forcefully shrugged off.

“Not until you answer me! Where the fuck did you see her?” When he was met with no answer, he laughed and shook his head. The small part of his mind still aware of the situation wondered why he laughed in this moment but the tears rolling down his cheeks told a different story. His chest heaved drastically as he fought to breathe; his fingers desperately tore at the paper, an action which should've been easy but due to the way they tremble and his dwindling strength, it was a struggle.

“Richie, you need to stop,” Mrs. Hanscom pressed firmly, placing herself between the two of them. Bill looked absolutely terrified, but he still remained silent. “You need to sit down and take a breath.”

A wave of dizziness washed over him as his legs wobbled under the pressure to support him. He watched Eddie move over to stand beside Bill, pulling him into his arms. A part of him was grateful as his vision began to blur, unable to see the look of disappointment presumably etched across Eddie's face. There were more words on the tip of his tongue. He didn't get the chance, however, as everything went dark and his head smacked against the ground.

Special thanks to @reddie-to-fight for beta-ing this for me!

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upontheshelfreviews · 6 years

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Sigh, poor package features, why does nobody like you? Why is it that internet reviewers and Disney critics and fans always seem to give you the shaft? Is it the minimized animation budget? The effort towards story and character that was forcibly driven towards wartime propaganda over actual films? The deviation of a traditional three-act structure in favor of a string of unrelated shorts woven together by a loosely connecting theme or narration? Well in a manner of speaking, it’s a combination of all three. For one thing most people I know prefer to sit down and enjoy a movie that has one uninterrupted story. And yes there are a good number of films, great ones, in fact, that play around with how the story is presented, but as of writing there’s yet to be an audience or even a filmmaker clamoring for an animated equivalent of something like Pulp Fiction.

In theory.

And of course the major factor in all this is the time period in which these movies were made. I’ve already talked about this in my review of The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad but for those not on the uptake, THERE WAS A FREAKING WORLD WAR WHILE THIS WAS GOING ON. Disney couldn’t afford to do something on the scale of Pinocchio or Fantasia or even Dumbo because his best animators were A, drafted out to fight, B, struggling to work with what little resources they had when the government was also pushing them to remind the public to buy bonds, or C, kicked out because of the disastrous animators’ strike of the early ’40’s. Projects with linear narratives that were considered big scale like Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and Lady and the Tramp were put on hold for virtually a decade. The best they could do was package a bunch of fun little shorts together because releasing them individually wouldn’t bring in as much desperately needed revenue as a full feature would.

And who says these shorts are bad? I don’t! At worst they’re fluffy little time fillers, but at their best they can hold their own with the big leagues of Disney animation. Again, going back to my Ichabod and Mr. Toad review, Disney’s Legend of Sleepy Hollow is the first thing I and a good many others think of when the story comes to mind. I also have the advantage that a lot of people today sadly don’t in that I grew up with virtually all of the package feature shorts in one way or another, either through individual VHS releases or on the Disney Channel as part of shows like Mouse Tracks, Donald’s Quack Attack, or the DTV music videos. It would be years until I saw them all as they were meant to in order as one full film, but blame Disney themselves for that. It’s a Catch-22 situation when it comes to their forgotten films; Disney sees there’s not much public interest in these old movies and so holds out on releasing them for as long as possible, while the public notices Disney never getting around to releasing these movies and think it must be because they’re not worth their time. So nobody wins and we all get smothered under another avalanche of Frozen dvds.

“FROZEN??!!! FROZEN FROZEN FROZEN!!!!!”

“No! Go home! You’re drunk!”

As of writing there’s only two – count ’em, TWO – Walt Disney Animated Classics that have yet to be released fully on Blu-Ray, and they’re, you guessed it, package features. “Make Mine Music” and “Melody Time” to be precise. You wanna know how old the dvds for them are? The advertisements that play before the main menu are for The Tigger Movie and The Little Mermaid 2. That’s THE YEAR 2000. NEARLY TWENTY YEARS AGO. And the only reason why today’s feature “Fun and Fancy Free” got on blu-ray is because the higher ups at Disney decided to combine it with Ichabod & Mr. Toad. So now we have a package blu-ray of two package features (three if you count The Reluctant Dragon which is also on there). It’s Package-ception, if you will. BWOMP.

“She’ll get around to the actual review any minute now, folks.”

Back to the topic at hand, World War Two was finally winding down and the country was in a state of elation from having their boys return home after tearing the Axis powers a new one. Walt Disney had ideas for two full-length features, one inspired by a short story by Sinclair Lewis (I’d say based on but it barely resembles the tale that’s printed) and the other a take on Jack and the Beanstalk starring Mickey Mouse. Neither of them were able to get the treatment he wanted due to story issues and because the first thing to go during wars and Republican administrations is money for the arts. So he compromised by bringing them both into one movie with each of them sharing a half. Looking back I would have loved to have seen what an hour-length or even 75 minute version of Mickey and the Beanstalk would have been like because for all its flaws I enjoy it that much, and I’m tired of holding my breath waiting for Disney to do SOMETHING with “Gigantic”. Bongo on the other hand, I can’t see as anything other than a short, but that’s not a jab at its quality. Yet how do both stand up as a feature? Does it live up to what its title promises? Let’s find out.

After the main title song (which sounds like the opening theme of a variety show from that decade), we get Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio going about his merry way in somebody’s house singing “I’m a Happy Go Lucky Fellow”. This was actually a deleted song from Pinocchio meant to be sung by Jiminy, so it’s good to hear it sung here. It proves the old adage about ideas at Disney is true; things are never thrown away, just put aside for someone to find and use later.

Wait, that book, is that…Darkman?! Whoever owns this library has good taste.

After startling a goldfish who resembles Cleo from Pinocchio, Jiminy concludes the fish suffers from too much anxiety and tries to reassure her by showing her a newspaper full of headlines that amount to “doom imminent, we’re all gonna die” (ah, the New York Post never changes). He explains that everyone’s been playing Nostradamus for years saying the world is going to end tomorrow but you can’t go around thinking like that. Que sera sera, whatever will be will be, you get the idea. I get where Jiminy’s coming from, I truly do, but it’s hard to back up his philosophy when he’s using real current problems as examples to ignore.

See what I mean?

Jiminy runs into a hungry cat and hides out in a child’s playroom where he bumps into a sad-looking doll and teddy bear. Assuming that all toys must be like his buddy Pinocchio he takes on the role of conscience yet again and tries to help them with their problems.

“Lemme guess, you’re wishing to become a real girl, right?” “No, I’m just disheartened by the extreme gender stereotyping that are enforced through children’s playthings and the psychological ramifications that are passed down with every generation.” “Swell!”

Jiminy’s prognosis is that these two depressed toys are in desperate need of some music and fun to cheer them up. So he whips out a record of Dinah Shore reading and singing the story of Bongo the Bear.

“The main character of the piece we’re about to watch, obviously.”

“No, I mean who the hell is Dinah Shore?”

“Ah. Gotcha.”

Dinah Shore was a popular big band singer of the 1940’s and one of the first female artists of her day to make a successful solo career for herself. She appeared on multiple popular radio shows, was a Chevrolet spokeswoman, won a total of nine Emmys for her various television shows and specials, and was romantically linked with stars ranging from Jimmy Stewart to Burt Reynolds. And remember Pee-Wee’s Christmas Special? She’s the woman who keeps popping in singing an endless rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas that goes over the end credits.

This wasn’t Dinah’s first contribution to a Disney package film as she had lent her pipes to the titular song of the “Two Silhouettes” segment in Make Mine Music the year prior. She does fine as the narrator of this section, though there’s one teensy problem I have which I’ll get to eventually.

The record begins with Dinah Shore saying this is a story about three bears.

No, Ms. Shore spells it out for us – a girl bear, a big mean bear who wants to be her mate, but mostly of Bongo, a bear born and raised in the circus who’s the star of the show. Had this story turned out the way Walt originally envisioned, it would have been something of a crossover-sequel of Dumbo with the titular elephant and the catty matriarchal troupe of pachyderms providing cameos. I assume this fell through due to Dumbo’s salary demands being a little too far out of Walt’s price range.

You know the war’s hit you hard when working for peanuts puts a crunch on your budget.

Bongo puts on his impressive act of juggling on a unicycle while on a high wire before making a spectacular dive. But we’re also privy to what happens when the show is over; no sooner does he back out of the tent from his curtain call than he’s manacled, hosed down, tossed into a cage and hauled off to the next state for a literal rinse and repeat. He’s the circus’ main draw, but he’s treated worse than, well, an animal.

And people wonder why Ringling Bros. went out of business.

In between shows the miserable Bongo dreams of a life of freedom out in nature. We’re supposed to feel immediate sympathy for Bongo based on what we see and because Dinah Shore tells us to, but the abuse is edited so quickly and played off almost comically. They’re aiming for Dumbo’s level of emotion but we had time to get to know Dumbo and develop a connection with him. We saw him be happy, we saw him bond with his mother, we saw him befriend Timothy; almost all of that happened before he was thrust into heart wrenching drama. We barely know anything about Bongo apart from he’s a talented circus performer who’s more like a prisoner than a celebrity. Did he have a good childhood? Was his family in the same line of circus work? Does he have a favorite color?

One day the call of the wild is too loud to ignore. He escapes thanks to a very flimsy lock on the door of his train car (you think between that and how the staff treats him they’re purposefully setting up an opportunity for him to vamoose) and soon he’s zooming down the mountain on his unicycle. For the next several minutes Bongo explores his new forest surroundings and befriends the usual bevy of Disney fauna. Dinah Shore underscores Bongo’s laid back euphoria with “Lazy Countryside”, an easygoing and pleasant tune.

Unfortunately after night falls Bongo is quick to learn that the bare necessities of life will not come to you, at least not right away. Between the incessant chatter of nocturnal animals and insects keeping him awake and a storm threatening to cut his newfound life short, Bongo spends the night and most of the following morning cold, alone, and starving. His attempt at fishing like a bear should doesn’t go as hoped, but it does catch the eye of our story’s love interest, Lulabelle.

Voted “Most Likely to Awaken A New Generation of Furries” in the ’47 Disney yearbook.

I love Bongo’s reaction to seeing Lulabelle for the first time; an unmoving incredulous expression on his face as he tries to wake himself up from this vision, all the while Dinah Shore says “I must be dreaming! It’s too good to be true!” about three dozen times. The two flirt for a little while before we’re spun into the next musical number called, you guessed it, “Too Good To Be True”. It’s cute, but the floating on pink clouds, the hearts everywhere, the little cupid bears flying around, it all seems somehow familiar…

“Do the Care Bears countdown, and send a wish on to the aiiiiir…”

The song itself is nice, but there’s one that always springs to mind which I prefer. My introduction to the story of Bongo was not through a full viewing of Fun and Fancy Free or even a tape of this segment, but through DTV. See, the Disney Channel launched around the time MTV was a massive success, and wanting a little of that to rub off on them the company commissioned a series of interstitials comprised of clips from their shorts and animated films edited to classic pop, rock and blues hits and called it DTV. They basically predated the kind of fanmade music videos you see on YouTube. It was popular enough that there were even a few hour-long holiday specials built around them (mainly Valentine’s Day and Halloween). I bring this up because one of the first DTV videos I remember watching and am still fond of is Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell’s “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” set to a few mountain-climbing themed shorts but primarily scenes from Bongo. And darn it, it cuts through the corniness and simply works. The imagery and overall sappiness of “Too Good To Be True” evokes every single vapid and thoroughly unsubtle Valentines Day product that is churned out en masse that time of year. No, wait, it’s not Valentines Day level of beating you over the head with glamorized romance. It’s Defcon 5, people – it’s LOVE DAY.

So Bongo and Lulabelle are happily in love, but it would make for a pretty dull short if it ended right here. Looks like we’re gonna need some more conflict to get the ball rolling. Enter our third bear, Lumpjaw, whom Dinah Shore describes as “the roughest, toughest, meanest bear with murder in his eyes”.

Meh, typical cartoon bear, he’s not so scar –

AHHHHH!! I TAKE IT BACK! I TAKE IT BACK!!

Lumpjaw is jealous that this newcomer is making moves on “his” girl, and since Bongo doesn’t know how to fight like an ordinary bear he starts getting the crud kicked out of him until Lulabelle intervenes – and slaps him silly herself.

Bongo believes Lulabelle must hate him and is completely oblivious to her and the other bears watching the spectacle waiting for him to hit her back. You see in this movie, the law of the forest dictates that bears show love by hitting each other repeatedly.

“She hit me…and it felt like a kiss…”

And oh I can already hear the wailing of “this promotes abusive relationships” through my computer screen. First off, I KNOW firsthand what an abusive relationship is, and it is more than just physical violence. That doesn’t condone violence, not one iota, but emotional/psychological abuse play a part in it as well, and Bongo is at least quick enough to recognize the smacking as what it should be, an unwarranted act of aggression that is entirely the slapper’s own fault. Second, give the kids you put this on for some fucking credit. Children’s entertainment is not one size fits all. Some might internalize this backwards logic of “hitting means love”, but others may ignore it completely. If you’re concerned that they might act out this kind of violence after watching this, just sit them down and talk to them about it instead of assuming the worst and convincing your neighborhood to toss their dvds into the nearest dumpster fire. Even if you tell them something as basic as “this is only how bears show they love each other but not how people do” they’ll be more apt to listen. Speaking of, there is some truth to this fact as bears in the mating season can get territorial and violent, hence all emphasis on the slapping. As ridiculous and horribly dated as this whole concept of this plot point is, I’ll give the story men credit that they didn’t pull it entirely from their asses.

Lulabelle doesn’t understand why Bongo isn’t hitting her back and since they can’t talk it out because the only method of communication is the narrator providing inner monologues, the usual romantic misunderstanding ensues. You know how I feel about this blasted cliche, so there’s no point dwelling on it. She tries to give Bongo one more chance with another slap, but he ducks and she hits an eager Lumpjaw instead. The other bears congratulate the two on their forthcoming nuptials while Bongo sulks off.

Then comes our next musical number performed for the half-happy couple by the tribe of bears, “Say It With a Slap”. It sounds like something you’d hear in the Country Bear Jamboree, from the background yodeling to the square dancing bridge to the subject matter being hilarious for the time and for Southerners but awkward and uncomfortable by today’s modern sensibilities. Also as far as ritualistic courtship dances go I’m more fond of the Finnish Fish Shlapping Dance myself.

Watching the festivities from afar Bongo finally puts two and two together and races back to Lulabelle. Since Bongo can’t fight Lumpjaw on the big guy’s terms he faces him like a smarter than the average circus bear and pummels him good with his unicycle. I’ll give the sequence this, it’s the most entertaining thing in this half of the picture. Maybe if this story had focused more on Bongo learning to adapt to the wild bear lifestyle and finding a middle ground between that and his circus upbringing rather than dawdle on love montages and countryside imagery this could have been a more interesting short.

The two wind up on a log on a river, and since this is an animated movie they quickly find themselves at the edge of a waterfall. Lumpjaw goes over but oh no, Bongo’s gone too – oh wait, no he isn’t, yaaaay. The bears celebrate, Bongo becomes a willing participant in Lulabelle’s masochism tango, and they live slappily ever after.

The record ends and Jiminy is pleased to see the toys are now smiling. Thrilled that he’s got two inanimate objects buying into his well-intentioned dime store philosophy, Jiminy is about to go on his way when he spies a birthday party invitation lying about and uses that as an excuse to invite himself. I’d make a complaint here about Jiminy being a gate crasher but it’s something he’s done since Pinocchio; hell, that movie kicked off with him hopping into Gepetto’s workshop uninvited looking to spend the night and messing with some of the toys there as well so nothing has changed between then and this movie.

At the house across the way is the party in question being held for Luana Patten, a Disney child star who’s also appeared in Melody Time, So Dear to My Heart, and Song of the South, usually alongside future Peter Pan Bobby Driscoll. The host is a popular ventriloquist of the day, Edgar Bergen, and his two dummies, little wiseacre Charlie McCarthy and bumbling bumpkin Mortimer Snerd. In fact, they’re the ONLY ones there. Just tell yourself Luana’s parents had to go out for the night and Bergen’s a family friend who’s babysitting and it makes this scene slightly less questionable. When Jiminy shows up, Bergen is doing one of his ventriloquism tricks for little Luana with a literal hand puppet.

This early version of Lamb Chop’s Play Along is WEIRD.

Now this scene is something that irks a lot of people, and I understand why. Bergen is often touted as the man who popularized ventriloquism but here you see his lips constantly moving. In this kind of act what impresses people is that you’re making your puppet appear to be talking WITHOUT making it obvious that you’re the one who’s doing it. The fact that his popularity got started on the radio, where NOBODY could see him pulling this off is especially baffling. I suppose what Bergen lacked in innate talent he made up for with a good sense of comic timing and his fairly likable if simple characters. Speaking of, Charlie and Mortimer are odd to be sure, and I see why some find them off-putting with their big unblinking eyes and noticeable slits around their large mouths, but personally speaking I’ve found certain Muppets to be much creepier than these dummies. Despite all this, I can’t hate the guy or his weird looking puppets or their questionable placement in this movie.

And you wanna know why?

Because if it wasn’t for Edgar Bergen, we wouldn’t have Jim Henson.

I kid you not.

Henson was a huge fan of Bergen as a child, and it led to him wanting to become a puppeteer. I think we all know how that turned out. It’s enough that as a way of showing his appreciation to Bergen he gave him and Charlie McCarthy a cameo in The Muppet Movie and dedicated it to him after his passing.

Bergen decides to regale the company with the story of Jack and the Beanstalk. When you think about it, Jack and the Beanstalk is a hard tale to tell, not because it’s been done so many times before but because there’s so few good versions out there. Let’s get one fact straight, Jack is a TERRIBLE main character. He makes a stupid decision that nearly plunges his destitute family into further poverty, then cons and steals from an innocent housewife no less than three times and kills her husband in cold blood when he’s caught. It takes a lot to make you want to root for him, and lord knows people have tried. The Faerie Tale Theater version added a backstory where the giant was the one responsible for killing Jack’s father and stealing his family’s treasures in the first place. HBO’s Happily Ever After series and The Henson Company’s made for TV movie explored Jack’s morality by having him learn greed makes him as much of an all consuming monster as the giant. The Gene Kelly television special and the animated Japanese version both added a cursed princess in need of rescuing; the latter also went for straight out weirdness just for good measure. And then there’s the Sondheim musical Into The Woods, which told the story best by forcing Jack to face the consequences of his actions when the giant’s widow finds another beanstalk and climbs down for revenge.

So how does Disney make their version one with no questionable morals or character motives? By having their three main stars Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Goofy star in it, of course (if you haven’t already gotten that before). There were tons, and I mean TONS of story ideas that were tossed around when this was being developed as a full-length feature which I would have loved to have seen in the final product. One version would have had Honest John and Gideon from Pinocchio be the ones who swindle Mickey into buying the magic beans. Another one had Minnie be the queen of Happy Valley (proving that not all animated queens who don’t have ice powers have to be evil) and had her give the beans to Mickey as a way to return the dried up Happy Valley to its former glory. There were lots of gags and and creative visual concepts about the land of the giants and what would happen when the main trio got there. For a time the hen that laid golden eggs, a staple of the original story, was a part of it, and she would have been played by the now relatively obscure character of Clara Cluck! Unfortunately everything had to go when the war started and the budget got slashed. And that’s not the only thing that went with it. This short would be the last time Walt Disney would provide Mickey’s voice as his smoking habit was beginning to affect his performance. After this he would pass the torch to the studio’s sound effects wizard Jimmy McDonald.

Bergen opens the tale in the magical land of Happy Valley and we see Luana imagining it in her mind as he builds on details like babbling brooks, lush farms and a splendorous castle overlooking it all. And in that castle lives the key to Happy Valley’s success, a magical singing harp (Anita Gordon). She sings the lovely “My What a Happy Day”. I really like this song; some have told me it’s the sound of blandness, but I can’t hear them over the innocent joy it infuses me with. Maybe it’s the fact that I grew up with this particular short that makes me enjoy it so much. My VHS copy had the story narrated by beloved Wonderful World of Disney character Ludwig Von Drake with bookends featuring him and Herman the Bootle Beetle, and I watched it all the time. It was my childhood.

According to Bergen the song of the Harp casts a spell of prosperity and happiness over the land, which admittedly raises one potent question: The enchanted prosperity I can get but is the happiness a side effect, or is it enforced like that one Monty Python skit where everyone in that Happy Valley has to be happy all the time or else?

Of course the story would go nowhere if it was constantly this happy which leads into my favorite exchanges between Bergen and Charlie:

Bergen: It was too good to last – Charlie: I knew there was a catch. Bergen: For one day – Charlie: They built a schoolhouse.

Out of the blue an enormous shadow creeps over the valley like a storm cloud (complete with actual thunder and lightning too) and snatches the Harp from the castle. Without the Harp’s music Happy Valley decays into a barren wasteland that no amount of song can salvage.

And Lord knows they’ve tried.

We check in on Mickey, Donald and Goofy, three starving farmers with nothing to their name but a dried up cow, a crust of bread they have to slice paper thin, and a solitary bean. It’s a darkly comic sight, one made even more tension-filled and humorous when it’s filtered through the narration…

…in the Von Drake version.

Yeah, while we’re on this topic I might as well go into why I prefer the one with Von Drake narrating over the original. The main problem I have with Bergen is the same I have with Dinah Shore’s voiceover in the Bongo section, yet by comparison Shore is barely a nuisance. You want to know what that is?

BERGEN.

NEVER.

SHUTS.

THE HELL.

UP.

Everything he adds to the proceedings is already plain to see before us, and when he isn’t talking about the current action on screen or trading barbs with Charlie McCarthy he’s going into what the characters must be thinking or feeling at that moment. It’s not like film is a visual medium where we can draw our own conclusions based on what we’re viewing and our prior knowledge of the characters, oh no, we have to be told everything like we’re children. Oh wait, we don’t, because I watched the Von Drake one when I was a child and I knew what was going on without him telling me every five seconds! The Von Drake edition knows when to clam up and let what’s happening speak for itself. It allows this half of the movie to breathe and lets us take in some good atmosphere and music where there was once constant voiceover. On top of that, Von Drake’s delivery hits all the comic beats while Bergen’s is rather dry. The original Mickey and the Beanstalk from Fun and Fancy Free has cleaner scene transitions as well as moments that were edited from the Von Drake edition since that was taken from television, but half the charm comes from Von Drake and Herman; that and the previously mentioned amount of narration makes their take the superior version.

“Wow…I never realized how much I needed to say all that.”

“Felt good, didn’t it?”

“You have no idea, Cynicism.”

Anyway, caught between starvation pangs and an omnipotent voice incessantly stating the obvious, Donald finally snaps and attempts to make a sandwich out of the plates and cutlery. Goofy and Mickey bring him back to his senses, or so it would seem.

Ah, I knew this movie was lacking something – nightmare fuel!

Mickey spies the axe conveniently hanging on the wall has gone missing nearly too late. Outside Donald is making his moves on the cow.

Heeeeeeere’s ducky!!

For many people this is one of the scariest moments in Disney cinema. While I’m not inclined to agree I can surely understand. His slow descent into madness is framed almost like a psychological thriller. Plus, we all know Donald’s had a temper before but we’ve never seen him flat-out attempt murder…almost.

I’d like to point out that in the picture on the left the gun is going off in a crowded theater. Unfortunately the timelessness of Disney’s films doesn’t always apply to their early shorts.

Mickey and Goofy intervene in the nick of time and the story fades back to the puppet party. Charlie is all up for Donald murdering the cow to survive and lists a number of increasingly gruesome ways to pull it off over Luana and Mortimer’s distressed protests. Ok, NOW I think I understand why everyone is terrified of Charlie McCarthy. The kid’s a little wooden sociopath.

After some more blathering, Bergen gets the story back on track and tells us Mickey went to go trade the cow for some much needed vittles. But Donald and Goofy’s dreams of a Be Our Guest style feast are dashed when he returns home with nothing but a handful of beans. Donald goes berserk even after Mickey says they’re supposed to be magic and smacks them out of his hand where they fall into a hole in the floor. Yet as everyone sleeps that night, light from the full moon shines into the house, which is the very thing needed for the beans to work their magic. The whole sequence where the beanstalk grows through the entire house and raises it up to the sky is a highlight. It begins with an almost sinister air, the beanstalk crawling its way upward and silently through the dark like a snake, and the wonder and music constantly builds as it climbs higher towards the heavens. Every action matches with the music, and the animation is the best in the whole movie. I must say it always amazed me that Mickey, Donald and Goofy are able to sleep as heavily as heavily as they do through the whole ordeal, especially since they get shaken around so much and come close to falling so many times. Were the hunger pains that bad that they took a heavy dose of Ambien before turning in?

The three wake up that morning in a land in the clouds where everything towers above them (and apparently they’re totally fine with their house being destroyed). They venture to a nearby castle where the only clue as to who lives there is a set of footprints each the size of a ditch. While crossing the moat Donald angers a formation of dragonflies and one dive bombs them. On the tape I had it was immediately swallowed by a jumping fish and the ensuing splash washed the friends to shore. So imagine my surprise the first time watching it in full and seeing this was a full-blown action sequence of sorts with the dragonfly going after them repeatedly and their little vessel nearly sinking. I’m guessing it was cut for time but it’s kind of a neat part.

Mickey and crew climb up the enormous stairs and sneak in the castle under the door, and all the while Bergen does not stop talking. I’m almost tempted to put it on mute when the animated characters aren’t the ones who are speaking. They come across a giant table laden with enormous food and gladly help themselves. Goofy in particular gets in plenty of shenanigans involving a bouncy jello mold. The gorging is cut short when they hear the voice of the Harp coming from a locked chest. She informs them that she was kidnapped by the giant Willie.

Twenty-eight years of watching this…how did I not realize… There is no way that name could have been chosen at random!

Bergen tells us Willie is “a heartless monster” who stole the Harp because “he was cruel and selfish and didn’t care what happened to Happy Valley”. And I…he…I…

No.

NO.

Screw you, Bergen.

Screw you, screw your horrible narration skills, and especially screw your picking on my Willie!

“Ugh, there’s no way around that phrasing, is there?”

Again, going back to the Von Drake edition, they painted Willie in a much kinder light, one that’s more true to his character. He’s not the crude, gluttonous, overly violent thug like past giants. He’s big enough to pose a threat but he’s silly and very endearing, almost childlike at times.

Come on, does this even look cruel, selfish and wicked to you?

His goofy voice plays a part in it as well thanks to Billy Gilbert, the same actor who voiced Sneezy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. At one point he even gets to do his trademark over-the-top sneeze. Willie does not seem at all like a cold-hearted brute who would leave an entire kingdom to rot for his own selfish pleasures. It’s highly likely he didn’t even know the Harp was needed for the land to thrive and was completely ignorant to the fact that Happy Valley was turning into Death Valley without her. That’s why it bugs me when he’s lumped into the group of Disney villains. Nearly every bad guy in the canon either openly embraces how evil they are or do what they do because they believe it is the right thing. Willie falls into neither category; most of his maliciousness is incidental rather than intentional. If you don’t believe me that he isn’t evil, look at how he’s portrayed beyond this movie. In a bout of perfect casting, he plays the friendly and jovial Ghost of Christmas Present in Mickey’s Christmas Carol. He’s also made positive appearances in shows like House of Mouse and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Maybe it’s just because I’ve always had an affinity for big tough looking characters who are really enormous marshmallows (wait until you see who my favorite character is when we get around to reviewing the American Tail movies), but I can never see Willie as a true villain, and that’s a good thing. So back off, Bergen. He may be a big galoot, but he’s MY big galoot.

What also separates Willie from the giants in most other adaptations is that he has the ability to change himself into anything he wants provided he says or sings the magic words “Fee Fie Fo Fum”. A common complaint with this new feature is that it’s completely unnecessary; his superpower is that he’s already big and strong, so why give him magic? I disagree. I like his transformations and think it adds something special to him. Walt purposefully wanted to create a combination of the traditional beanstalk giant and the shape shifting ogre from the fairy tale Puss in Boots to add more danger and intrigue to the story (as well as eliminate the moral quandary of making a side character a widow). In fact one has to wonder if this means Walt ever planned on doing an animated take on Puss in Boots someday. My only wish is that Willie’s powers were utilized more as it was originally planned in both his song and the first draft of the ending, where he’s shrunk down to normal size and becomes a member of Queen Minnie’s court.

Willie discovers Mickey hiding out in his sandwich and snatches him. But clever Mickey has already seen Willie showcase his powers through his introductory number and pretends to learn and be impressed by that fact after reading Willie’s palm. Willie is eager to show off and Mickey, spying a flyswatter nearby, asks if he could transform himself into a housefly. Willie is of course suspicious and would rather be something like a pink bunny but goes along with it anyway. The friends prepare to attack, but Willie does the old switcheroo and exposes them.

I’m guessing Mickey never bothered to actually read the original Puss in Boots story; there Puss convinces the shapeshifting ogre to turn into gradual bigger and fiercer creatures and then taunt him into becoming something small and helpless so he can dispose him. Sweat the small stuff immediately and the one you’re trying to trick will be on to you right away.

Willie captures his would-be murderers though Mickey escapes before he can get locked up with Donald and Goofy. Luckily they have an ally in the Harp, who sings Willie to sleep with the sweet lullaby “My Favorite Dream”. Mickey is able to sneak the key out of his pocket after almost waking him with an upturned box of snuff and rescues his friends. Donald and Goofy start making their way back to the beanstalk with the harp, but Mickey tries to buy them more time by tying up Willie’s shoelaces in case he wakes up. Unfortunately doing this does cause Willie to wake up and attack. There’s a surprised “Oh!” from Luana at this part that was left in on the Von Drake tape so for the longest time I assumed it was the Harp crying out in terror despite the fact that they sound nothing alike. Oops.

Mickey manages to outsmart Willie at every turn, mainly because the giant is so furious he conveniently forgot he can become anything and catch and crush Mickey like an insect at any second. The story abruptly ends with the three friends cutting down the beanstalk and Willie crashing to his death. We don’t even get to see the harp returned or Happy Valley restored or Mickey, Donald and Goofy sharing a victory high five. Mortimer’s not satisfied mainly because he’s saddened by Willie’s murder, and I don’t blame him. As if I need to repeat it, they do too good a job of making him likable that you don’t want to see him die. Bergen responds by reminding Mortimer that Willie is only a fictional character and gives him a crash course in fantasy vs. reality – one that is completely thrown out the window when the real Willie looks in on them.

So, sentient crickets and puppets are accepted as normal as well as a living giant that everyone once believed to be fictional…

This whole movie took place near Gravity Falls.

There is no other possible explanation for this.

Bergen has the appropriate reaction and faints, Mortimer takes comfort in knowing reality is an illusion and the universe is a hologram, and Jiminy figures maybe now is a good time to get the heck out of dodge before this crossover gets any stranger. So our odd little film comes to a close as we follow Jiminy tailing Willie as he terrorizes the downtown Los Angeles area in search of the mouse who made him homeless.

“Run!! It’s Godzilla!!” “It may look like Godzilla, but due to international copyright laws and the fact that this giant is so obviously a human whereas Godzilla is reptilian, it’s not.”

Well…that was something. Maybe not as spectacular or fully underrated as I remember, but it was something. The host parts are disjointed and don’t gel very well, even in comparison to the other package features. But the main draw at the time was less about the animation and characters and more about the celebrities that would be playing a part in it. Fun and Fancy Free basically predates the Dreamworks formula by about fifty years. Food for thought, huh?

As for my summary of the individual segments, Bongo is perfectly fine. Not amazingly humorous or gorgeously animated, but not poorly scribbled out or annoying, at least for the most part. It’s middle of the road entertainment that I don’t have much to complain about or praise. The worst I can say is that it’s as padded as my high school brassiere. Mickey and the Beanstalk, though? Never fails to give me the nostalgic warm and fuzzies. It’s a big adventure with a boatful of lovable characters and great songs. By all means though, seek out the version that has Ludwig Von Drake narrating. It’s available on dvd, and last time I checked it’s on Netflix too. It even comes with some of my favorite Mickey shorts like “Mr. Mouse Steps Out” and “Brave Little Tailor”. I know I’m not the only one who feels some connection to this part of film; whereas nobody remembers or bothers to reference Bongo, even in Disney media, there’s one or two mentions of Mickey and the Beanstalk in the Disney parks, primarily in Fantasyland. Also, take a look at these stills from the Animaniacs parody of the fairytale and tell me it wasn’t influenced by the Disney one in any way.

Fun And Fancy Free performed decently at the box office, though it was overshadowed at the time by Walt Disney’s infamous testimony at the House of Un-American Activities Committee. Now it’s merely a footnote in Disney’s history. When interviewed about the film years later, the animators openly admitted they didn’t want to work on it. Even Walt barely had anything to say about it in his interviews and biographies. It was merely an assignment they had to do in order to keep the studio afloat, hold on to their jobs, and get their mascot Mickey back in a starring role (the last one he’d really hold until Mickey’s Christmas Carol in 1983). Truth be told, the making of Fun And Fancy Free, which was included on the original VHS and DVD release, is more interesting than the film itself as a whole.

But at the end of the day, do I dislike this movie?

No, not really. I can’t call it one of my favorites, yet there are things I like about it that I wish they were allowed to expand upon. It’s an uneven film that does the best it can to be simply light and entertaining like its title. And I guess that’s why people are quick to harp (ahem) on it. Disney is capable of making great art. But just because it can doesn’t mean we should diss it when they to do something lighter and fluffier. Sometimes you need that shallow, pleasant bit of pure escapism to bolster your spirits. Do you think the animation team would have been able to get by after Walt if they didn’t make The Aristocats? Or begin recovering from the failure from The Black Cauldron without The Great Mouse Detective (which I don’t think is merely shallow filler at all, but I’m saving my thoughts for the actual review of it). I admire Disney for being able to shift gears and go from deeper subject material to goofy comic fun when need be.

In other words, when watching this particular film, just repeat to yourself “It’s just a Disney movie, I should really just relax”.

Thank you for reading. If you like what you see and want more reviews, vote for what movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at [email protected]. Remember, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

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And a VERY special thank you to The Three CommentEARS for their insightful and entertaining commentary on this film which helped influence and inform this review. I’ve done some commentaries with them in the past for Pinocchio and the extended anniversary edition of Pocahontas, and they know their Disney stuff. Please go and check them out!

Caricature by Brian Slatky, 2017

June Review: Fun and Fancy Free (1947) Sigh, poor package features, why does nobody like you? Why is it that internet reviewers and Disney critics and fans always seem to give you the shaft?

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