#my darling wretched clown

[royalvelvette]

and love will bring us freedom

Making my own Uncle Ozzie content with this next short story.

(Part 1 of 3) (Ao3 Link)

Rating: M

Characters: Alastor, Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Cherri Bomb, Niffty Non-Physical Appearance: Fizzarolli, Mammon, Ozzie Mentioned: Lucifer Morningstar

Warnings: Assumed incest (it isn't), canon-typical language, implied child/teen abuse, discussion of past major character injury.

Word Count: 2024

Alastor raised an eyebrow as he peered over the banister. Much like when Lucifer had first visited, the hotel was in quite the tizzy. Perhaps a little less so than that wretched day – today’s frenetic energy seemed to only be affecting Charlie and her darling. He watched silently for a moment, as was his wont; not for long though.

Charlie was carrying one of those horrific picture boxes, and that just wouldn’t do.

Alastor stepped back into his shadow, re-materializing next to Vaggie. Vaggie didn’t notice him at first (she rarely did; it was quite rude), so he cleared his throat. She jumped, and Alastor yanked his arm back before she could grab onto it – her stress-gripping was only amusing if it wasn’t him she was doing it to; he had no desire to have a short-tempered angel clinging to him for upwards of ten minutes, no thank you.

“I wasn’t aware there was... another one of those noisy picture boxes in the hotel,” he said after enduring Vaggie’s (frankly adorable) glare for long enough.

“We put in storage after someone,” here, she shot him another sour look, “destroyed the one in the living area.”

“My dear, I couldn’t leave such a threat unattended,” Alastor said. “After all, Vox is quite capable of using any of those devices to infiltrate an area. Why, I ought to do my duty as guardian of this hotel-”

Charlie set the picture box down with a very solid thunk, cutting him off mid-sentence. She wiped her hands off on her pant legs (disgusting, he needed to teach her the importance of image lest she tarnish his own by behaving so boorishly in public). She straightened up, hands on her hips as she surveyed the room.

“It’s okay, Al,” Charlie said, coming over and slinging an arm over Vaggie’s shoulders. “That tv was made down in Envy; Vox won’t be able to use it. You did a great job setting things up, babe,” she added, kissing Vaggie’s forehead.

Disgusting. Alastor turned away from the public display, instead walking over to the picture box. He examined it carefully, looking for any of the telltale marks of a machine created for sinners. Nothing stood out to him – the logo was of a company he had never heard tell of; not even as one crushed under VoxTek’s heel. The screen was (unfortunately) of much better make than the usual garbage that the Pride ring had access to. He rapped it once, sharply, with his staff.

Nothing. No power resonated back at him, not like the first television. It was, as Charlie said, completely unusable to him – and, therefore, Vox. He sighed – there would be no ridding himself of this picture box the same way he had the last. Unfortunate, truly. Perhaps he could entice Niffty into ruining the screen at some point in her pest control pursuits.

Charlie and Vaggie approached his back, so he turned to face them. “It is as you say, my dear,” he told Charlie. “May I ask why you are only bringing it out now, however? I know Angel Dust has been bemoaning the lack of... entertainment ever since I rid us of the first one.”

Charlie beamed at him. “My cousin is going to be on today,” she said excitedly, grabbing onto his hand. “He’s won every year, of course, ‘cause Fizz is the best at being a clown, but I still like watching him perform!”

“I... see,” Alastor said, extracting his hand after waiting a moment to see if she would let go on her own.

Vaggie made a sound a little bit like snnrk. “Her cousin is famous,” she said, entirely unhelpful.

“Who’s her cousin?” Angel Dust called from the bar, where he and Husker had been watching the girls run around. “Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

Charlie darted over to the bar, practically bouncing on her toes. “His name’s Fizzarolli! He’s the best jester in Hell!”

Angel Dust shrugged. “Neva heard of him.”

Vaggie sighed, following after Charlie and tugging her back just a bit. Alastor followed – he was loath to miss out on learning more about anyone. Husker was already pouring him a drink when he took a seat, the good man.

“He’s popular with hellborn,” Vaggie said. “Pretty much everyone owns a robo-fizz at some point.”

Charlie muttered something under her breath, scowling. Alastor barely resisted turning his ears towards her.

“What was that, dear?” he asked instead.

Charlie looked up, eyes wide and – perhaps guilty? Hm. Curiouser and curiouser, Alastor made a mental note to reteach her the importance of a smile.

“Oh, I just...” she mumbled. “I don’t like the robo-fizzes, is all. They don’t compare, y’know?”

He kindly let the lie pass. If Charlie didn’t wish to repeat herself, it was most likely mean-spirited. Good to see that the girl hadn’t lost her spine during the assault on the hotel, though he would have to work with her on lying successfully. Charlie wearing her heart on her sleeve had been cute, at first, but with the Vees showing interest... no, best not to let it continue.

“Wait,” Husker said. “Ain’t Fizza-whatever the name of your uncle’s boyfriend?”

“Oh, they’re the same person,” Charlie said.

Angel Dust spat out his drink – Alastor quickly covered his own, though he understood the sentiment. Perhaps it was different for hellborn demons? It wouldn’t surprise him that incest was less taboo. It was Hell, after all.

“Your uncle’s fucking your cousin?” Cherri Bomb shouted from the top of the staircase, skipping them altogether by sliding down the rail instead. “Now this I gotta hear!”

“What?” Charlie asked, frowning in confusion. Vaggie whispered something to her; a blush quickly overtook Charlie’s face. “Oh! No, no, it’s not- no. Not like that! My uncle, Mammon-”

Alastor thought he caught a faint undertone of dislike in the way Charlie said her uncle’s name. Interesting; interesting enough to get him fully paying attention again.

“- he adopted Fizz after an... accident at Fizz’s old job, or took custody? I was never really clear on that- anyway, not important! Mammon, he, uh, he was kinda Fizz’s guardian? Father figure? When Fizz was a teenager. We hung out a lot, cause – haha, it’s really hard to make friends when your father is a deadly sin or the king of hell, y’know?”

Charlie didn’t want to talk about this. Thinking about Mammon and Fizz always made her feel... bad. She had missed Fizz so much when Mammon decided to take him away... meeting him again as an adult had been great, even though he was so much older than her now.

“Anyway, we uh. Fell out of contact? When Fizz was old enough to go work for Mammon properly-”

“-wait wait wait,” Angel said, holding his upper hands in a t. “I thought you said Mammon was Fizz’s guardian, not his boss.”

Charlie scratched her forehead, where her horns usually came out. “It’s... a bit of both? The only reason Mammon took custody of Fizz at all was because he won a contest to become Mammon’s next big thing before the accident. Everyone already knew about him, so Mammon couldn’t back out without looking real bad, so he paid for Fizz’s hospital stay-”

“Whoa, hang on, hospital?” Cherri said, knocking back a shot of whatever Husk slid her. “Charlie, man, you’re cuttin’ off half the story!”

Charlie laughed nervously, holding up her hands. “It’s not really – I don’t know what happened, I just know he was in the hospital for a while after an accident at his old circus-”

Alastor cleared his throat. “My dear, if you’re going to lie, you should learn to do it well. You know more than you’re telling us.”

“It’s not – Fizz doesn’t like talking about it, okay?” she said. “I’m not – I’m not gonna talk about it without permission. Please stop asking, guys.”

“But-” Cherri started, only for Niffty to kick her in the shin. “Ow! You little shit, what the fuck was that for?!”

“I want to hear more about the bad boy!” Niffty said, giggling in her way.

“Fizz isn’t really a bad boy-”

“Not him!” Niffty shouted. “Mammon! Tell me more about Mammon!”

It shouldn’t surprise her that Niffty wanted to hear more about Mammon – he really was just... the worst, exactly Niffty’s type, but it did. It also made something heavy settle in her stomach – with even Niffty hanging on to her words, there was no getting out of talking about... everything.

“Can you guys stop cutting Charlie off,” Vaggie snapped, wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. “She doesn’t like talking about this!”

Charlie placed a hand on Vaggie’s shoulder, offering a small smile when Vaggie looked up at her. “It’s okay, Vaggie. They’re just curious,” she said softly. She looked back at the group sat at the bar, sighing. “Though Vaggie’s right. I don’t like talking about this. Can we try to keep our questions until the end? Please?”

Alastor barely reacted, though both Angel and Cherri looked a little contrite. Husk busied himself with wiping down a glass, not looking at her; Niffty couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. About what she expected, honestly. Nobody said anything for a moment – two – before Charlie started talking again,

“Okay. Anyway, where was I? Right, so. Mammon adopted Fizz, probably so he wouldn’t get hurt at the old circus before he could start working for him? Either way, Fizz lived with Mammon and we were friends for a while. We fell out of contact – wait, I’ve already said this, right? Right, okay, hang on.

Fizz started working for Mammon when he was of age, and we fell out of contact. I still make sure to watch all his broadcasted performances, even though we couldn’t see each other, cause Fizz was a really good performer. Anyway, skip... a few years? Six, maybe? And my other uncle, Ozzie, he’s got a new employee that he wants me to meet, so I go down to Lust and it’s – Fizz was there. Fizz was working for Ozzie, had asked about me – Ozzie wanted to know how we knew each other, ‘cause all he really knew was that Fizz was Mammon’s star; he got, uh. Really mad. At Mammon, I mean. It was this whole thing...”

Charlie paused to finally take a breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t really know how Fizz and Ozzie started dating. One day, they were employee and boss – Ozzie had Fizz host at his nightclub, nothing too big – the next Ozzie was “introducing” me to his boyfriend. Er, he didn’t call Fizz that yet, though. Sin of Lust and all, it would... not be great, for him or Fizz, if there were feelings involved. If it got out.”

Husk raised his hand, waiting until she gestured at him to speak. “If it’d be bad for that to get out, why’re you tellin’ us?” he asked.

“Good question!” she said. “It’s uh, a bit of an open secret, now. There’ll be an article every so often, haha, calling Fizz a gold digger or Ozzie a hypocrite... Ozzie doesn’t really care, anymore, and he makes sure Fizz doesn’t see the ones about him... eight years is a long time to spend worrying about that sort of stuff.”

Charlie’s interrupted by her phone chiming in her pocket. She gasped, rushing over to the television and turning it to Greed’s network. “It’s starting, everyone shut up!”

She hopped up onto the couch, crossing her legs as Vaggie came to join her. It was still the pre-show – Charlie tried not to get too angry at the robo-fizz advertisements, instead distracting herself by watching the others come over and find spots to sit as well.

“You guys don’t have to watch,” she said. “It’s okay, I know it’s not for everyone.”

Angel shrugged from his spot leaning against Cherri’s shins. “Eh, you hyped up the guy so much, I wanna see him perform.”

Charlie beamed as even Alastor came over, taking his customary seat in the armchair by the fire. “You guys...” she said. “I love you guys.”

“Sh!” Cherri said. “It’s starting!”

#op content #my writing #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #helluva fanfiction #alastor #charlie morningstar #vaggie #angel dust #husk #cherri bomb #niffty #chaggie #fizzarolli #mammon #asmodeus #fizzarozzie #alastor hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #cherri bomb hazbin hotel #niffty hazbin hotel #fizzarolli helluva boss #mammon helluva boss #asmodeus helluva boss

[bucknastysbabe]

Slips through cracks

A/N: Idk where this monstrosity TW of a beast came from but hope someone enjoys!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW implied ab*se, past underage, incest, weird manipulation and childhood trauma, Aegon being Aegon, drug and alcohol abuse. Modern!au, Frottage, fucked ass up greens, Daeron’s twin reader, she’s of age in this, nepo baby Aegon with a coke problem, Daddy Criston hours, I attempted to use English terms👍🏻 xoxo your pathetic American, toxic relationships

Oh boy, the trip to Oldtown. The whole family has to go see Daeron play in the Westeros Cup of football. You included. Ripped from an Essosi holiday break to cohabitate with the most dysfunctional unit of all time for a weekend. Then you could fuck back off to your own pretentious private school, Helaena could go back to her cottagecore Etsy shit, Aemond to med school, and Aegon.

You clenched your teeth at the mere thought of him. Degenerate. Drunk. ‘Wild Prince’, Asshole. You could go on. He was videoing the plane, incessantly talking to his ‘followers’. There was no way he wasn’t coked the fuck up right now. Aemond sniffed and tucked his nose further into his book, eyes rolling at the eldest.

Alicent and Viserys had already made it to Otto’s place, sending Criston Cole to keep the ‘kids’ in check. Even though you and Daeron were legal adults now. Peering over your book you watched Helaena knit a sweater in the fine print of a spider’s web. She smiled softly and asked, “Do you think he’ll like it?” She was almost done and it did look damn good, Daeron would love it. Your twin was kind and definitely could find a way to insert the handmade item into his wardrobe.

“Yeah Hel, you know he’s going to find a way to wear it every chance possible,” you laughed.

“Darling Daeron,” she sighed under her breath, eyes dreamy. You watched her nimble fingers, tuning out Aegon’s wretched talking and Aemond’s pointed noises. Eventually your eyes slipped shut, book falling into your lap.

“It’s time to get up,” he teased in your ear, you bolting upright with a gasp. Aegon smiled down at you, grinning lecherously, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. You scoffed and stood up, shouldering him off in the process. Your big brother whined, “C’mon you’re still mad at me? I was drunkkkk.”

Being drunk does not constitute leaving your sister in your dorm for a night after promising a ‘real flea bottom party’ with his ‘famous friends’. You cried watching him being a dumbass on social media, plastered with girls and drugs. Idiot. You got an actual Uber back to the family estate, crying to Criston about your dick brother.

You ignored him further, wanting to rip that stupid earring out of his head. Aegon pouted, prodding further, even taking your bags for you. Which the dumbass never worked out so he was struggling. You couldn’t help but quirk your lips up as the eldest brother almost fell face first down the jet’s stairs.

Aemond snatched your duffel, easily hauling it over a broad shoulder. He snapped, “You being a pathetic clown isn’t going to magically fix everything.” You shared a look with Cole and snickered. Aegon grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Oh get the stick out of your arse Aem.”

Helaena drifted aside, eyes on the sky, gazing towards the tower your mother’s side of the family was named for. You followed her gaze, frowning. It was a gleaming beacon on the outside, a gloomy vault on the inside. You hated it there, unsure why they couldn’t just abdicate the site to national affairs like every other royal did. Too proud.

Cole ushered you all into the limo, giving Aegon an extra shove and low curse, the blonde rolling his eyes. You sat far away from your elder sibling, asking Aemond how school was going. He replied in that stiff way of his, “More tests and research, then hopefully I can get my first residency. I’d like to be in a high-profile area like King’s Landing or Lannisport. Get more expertise.”

You nodded along, giving your brother best wishes. He hummed, “And your studies? Last I heard you’d rather play tennis.” You rolled your eyes and snorted, “I’ve given up hope, I won’t be a professional like Daeron. Finding myself with a passion for Psychology and it’s social aspects.”

“So you can figure out what’s wrong with the Targaryen bloodline,” Aemond said.

The aggravating ringing of Aegon’s phone ruined one of your rare conversations with Aem. He apologized sheepishly but still held up a finger as he argued with someone over the phone. It was either about one of his girls, drugs, or both. You rolled your eyes and groaned, watching the city pass by as the limo bumped it’s way toward the Hightower.

“Okay, whatever, fuck you I have plenty of others!,” Aegon spat, cheeks red from annoyance. Criston reached over the limo and snatched the cell, stuffing it in a coat pocket. Your brother gaped like a dying fish before demanding, “Give that back! I was in the middle of a conversation!”

“You’re getting on everyone’s nerves. Obviously it’s not doing you any good so why don’t we take a break, eh?” His brown eyes remained stony, arms crossed authoritatively. Ser Criston was basically the surrogate dad of your group, Viserys preoccupied with his health and elder daughter, her brood.

Aegon begged but received nothing. Eventually the prince settled down when Criston said he’d return the phone after they got there. The idiot instead rolled his window down to the crowd outside and waved, cheering with the people. You could see the cameras flashing on his cheeks, Aegon just sucking it all in. Aemond slunk deep into his seat and Helaena put on her noise cancelling headphones.

Aegon’s violet eyes turned to you, breathlessly stating, “They love me you know.” You retorted, “They love how accessible you are.” Aegon’s cheery smile faltered for a second, eyes flitting down. It didn’t last long as he painted the grin back on and blew a kiss to a girl decked in Oldtown’s team colors.

Eventually the limo pulled into the high gates surrounding the tower. Attendants were already getting your bags and taking them to the assigned rooms. Your mother, Alicent, and grandpa Otto waited by one of the many grand doors. She hugged and kissed you, blessing the seven for your safe arrival. The same spiel happened except for Aegon who got a stiff kiss on the cheek. Otto and Helaena shared an embrace, your sister happily chattering to him about her sweater for Daeron.

You raised a brow and asked, “Where is Daeron anyways? With the team still?” You checked your phone to see if you missed a text. Alicent replied, “He’ll be here later, they’re finishing up practice currently.” You frowned. Daeron had better get here quick or you feared someone was going to get stuck with a knife.

Criston held out Aegon’s phone to the blonde, who snatched it up greedily. His ringed fingers and violet eyes soaked up whatever minutes he had missed. You asked, “Can I go to my room? I have a headache.” Otto put his hand at the small of your waist and said, “Yes, come on, I’ll get someone to bring you water and medicine.”

You must’ve been really tired, blinking open your groggy eyes to see that hours had passed. Stretching your body you let out a little squeak, happy to have some alone time. Then the door crashed open and a freshly showered Daeron cheered, “Sister!” You grinned and hopped out of the bed as fast as possible, tripping in the process but your sibling caught you easily.

You pulled the taller twin into a hug, gushing, “This is so exciting! Look at you, Mister Oldtown Football himself.” Daeron blushed and rolled his eyes, “Nothing but hard work, I swear,” he added lowly, “And beating off bloodsuckers.” You smirked and both of you simultaneously said, “Aegon!”

Daeron groaned, “Yes, I had to come find you so he’d stop getting me on his social media shite. He went out to party though, so we’re clear for dinner.” You laughed and replied, “Well, let’s go have some family bonding. You need to tell me all about your year.”

“No you, freezing away in the North like that.”

Bonding with Daeron was exactly what you needed. Even dinner was not unpleasant, Viserys in a jovial mood. No one spoke of the elephant in the room. Your twin did slide his phone over to you later in the sitting room, dramatically pantomiming a gag. The video was of Aegon draining a shot between some broad’s tits. You could see the coke on the table in the back, loads of it.

Aemond peered over and barked a laugh, “Oh he’s going to be a nightmare in the morning.”

You swallowed at the comment, a thought leaving as soon as it appeared.

You grumbled, “Hopefully Cole will leave him out there.” Daeron smirked, “Someone’s still mad about summer.” You batted Daeron’s shoulder, now clad in Hel’s sweater. You pouted, “Try getting left alone all night! It sucked.” Your twin gave you a look, murmuring, “I know he’s your favorite for some reason but you shouldn’t trust Aegon.” You leveled him with a glare.

Daeron dropped the subject and the rest of the evening went smoothly. You went to bed when your twin had to return to the team complex. You tossed around for a bit, wondering about your eldest brother. Eventually sleep graced you. Not for long.

You groggily beat at whoever was in your bed. You rasped, “There’s no ghosts here Daeron.” Then realization hit you. Daeron was across Oldtown. Bolting upright you flicked on the lamp to be greeted with a disheveled Aegon. His purple eyes were big and sad. Obviously he’d been crying. Your big brother was likely suffering from a coke crash into a sad drunk fit.

You cursed, “The fuck are you doing? How did you get here?”

Aegon’s plush lips wobbled as he sniffed, “Cole got me.”

“Why are you crying?”

Aegon sniveled some more, “Did you mean that earlier? Does anyone like me? Why do y-you hate me?”

You gawked at him, perplexed by the behavior. Throwing up your hands you demanded, “Aegon you’re twenty-four years old, why are you crying in my bed like we’re children? I don’t hate you, you’re just a selfish prick.”

The blonde threw himself on top of you with another cry, apologizing profusely. You sighed, “Thanks- I guess. It hurt my feelings when you left me alone all night. I thought I was more important than that, big brother.” If you were turning the screws on him, that was your business alone, but it worked like a charm.

He pulled back and shook his pale locks, blubbering, “No-no-no you are so important to me, I am a selfish prick! I’ll make it up to you when Daeron wins!” Aegon was embarrassingly pathetic. But here you were, rubbing his heaving back while he whimpered, “No one gets me like you do.” You idly wondered if he said this to other girls or just his sister, which had long been a strangeness never deeply thought about. It’s just something that was, is.

You sighed, “I love you big brother, of course I get you, now can you get the booze clothes off and we can go to bed? I have some leftover headache stuff you can take.” He snuffled into your neck, wetting your skin with more tears. Shoving the man off you gently ushered him along.

“Promise you love me? I love you more than anything little sister,” he whispered into the darkness once the light clicked off.

You replied, eyes unblinking up into the inky black of the room while he cuddled into you, “Love you more than anything big brother.” A tear slipped down your cheek but you arms were too busy wrapped around Aegon to wipe it.

You awoke again tucked into his frame like many a night from the past. He always came back to you. As soon as Daeron and you grew up enough to not be attached at the hip, that’s when Aegon sunk his talons in.

He pressed little sleepy kisses to your neck, humming in contentment. Aegon murmured, “Smell so sweet. My perfect sister.” You swallowed at the feeling of his cock swollen and nestled between your thighs, only separated by thin cotton. Wetness had already seeped out your cunt, probably started when you were still asleep.

You chided, “A-Aegon, what if mother walks in?”

He whined, “C’mon, please, missed my sister’s pussy, please baby.” You found your will crumbling at the sounds of his breathless grunts and hot cock rubbing against your swollen folds. Aegon moaned like a needy whore in your ear, rutting harder and whimpering like he couldn’t enough. His hands grabbed and groped at your tits desperately.

“Hnnn- oh fuck, you get me so horny, m’so fucking hot for you.”

You rolled your hips back easily, playing into this mood. It was like muscle memory now, start baby talking him when he got this desperate. You pitched up your moans, “Yeah? Big brother all hard n’ achy for me? Gonna mess your little sisters panties up before breakfast?”

“Fuck!,” he cried, mouthing at your shoulder with a shudder. Aegon mewled, “Yeah, yeah- mmmfuck yeah m’gonna bust, so hard for you.” You taunted, “Didn’t even get a nut off last night? My handsome big brother surrounded by all these pretty girls and- oh- has to come rut into the baby?”

The tip of his cock was dragging the soaked material of your panties across sensitive nerves. You cried Aegon’s name softly, pressing your tits into his greedy hands, squeezing around his prick. He stuttered and whined, long and loud at your ministrations. The prince whimpered out, voice strangled by desire, “I thought about you, how much mmh- better your pussy is, oh gods m’gonna cum!”

You turned around to seize his loose lips, colliding with wet smacks. Both of you drooled and whined into eachother’s mouth, fucking faster by the second. The bed was faintly squeaking by now. You gasped, “Brother! Aegon!” He rasped, “Love you oh my gods love you.”

The elder seized up, hot cum soaking and staining your underwear further. He whined through his nose, exhaling on a choppy breath. You came soon after, Aegon’s whining and tweaking at your tits sending you over the precipice with a tight squeeze and muffled wail.

Your legs trembled as he slumped against you, pressing another kiss before rolling onto his back with a sigh. He jerked you over to him while fumbling to the side for his phone. You laid quietly while he slid through the messages and videos, a frown on his lips. He asked, “Do you ever think about running off to Essos?”

You shrugged, “Sometimes. I don’t think it’ll be much different for you in Braavos or Astapor.”

He challenged, “It would be just me and you. I swear.” The phone was put away petulantly, his red rimmed eyes staring into your own. Footsteps passed outside, your eyes nervously flickering to the door. Peering back at Aegon you said, “Just say the word and I’ll go, big brother.”

He seemed satisfied at that, lips curling back up. Aegon sighed, “Good. I’ll get going then. Love you.” He pecked your lips again and darted out an old servant’s exit while you watched blankly. Holding back a retch you texted Daeron, “Good luck today!”

#READ THEM TWS #dead dove #aegon ii angst #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd fic #hotd smut #targaryen!reader #modern!au

[pvffinsdaisies]

The UK & Ireland as Taylor Swift songs

ENGLAND: The Archer

“Combat, I’m ready for combat. I say I don’t want that, but what if I do? ‘Cause cruelty wins in the movies, I’ve got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you.

(…)

I’ve been the archer, I’ve been the prey. Who could ever leave me, darling, but who could stay?

Dark side, I search for your dark side, but what if I’m alright, right, right here? And I cut off my nose just to spite my face, and then I hate my reflection for years and years.

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost. The room is on fire, invisible smoke. And all of my heroes die all alone, help me hold onto you.

(…)

All the king’s horses, all the king’s men, couldn’t put me together again ‘cause all of my enemies started out friends. Help me hold onto you.”

IRELAND: Mad Woman

“What did you think I’d say to that? Does a scorpion sting when fighting back? They strike to kill, and you know I will. (…)

Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy. What about that? And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry.

And there’s nothing like a mad woman; what a shame she went mad. No one likes a mad woman; you made her like that. And you poke that bear til the claws come out, and you find something to wrap your noose around. And there’s nothing like a mad woman.

Now I breathe flames each time I talk, my canons all firing at your yacht. They say “move on”, but you know I won’t. And women like hunting witches too, doing your dirtiest work for you. It’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together.

(…)

I’m taking my time, taking my time, cause you took everything from me. Watching you climb, watching you climb, over people like me. The master of spin has a couple side flings, good wives always know. And she should be mad, should be scathing like me but

No one likes a mad woman.”

NORTHERN IRELAND: Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“The who’s who of ‘who’s that?’ Is poised for the attack, but my bare hands paved their path. You don’t get to tell me about ‘sad’

(…)

The scandal was contained, the bullet had just grazed. At all costs, keep your good name. You don’t get to tell me you feel bad.

Is it a wonder I broke? Let’s hear one more joke, then we could all just laugh until I cry.

(…)

So tell me everything is not about me, but what if it is? Then say they didn’t do it to hurt me, but what if they did? I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. So all you kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebs- I’m always drunk on my own tears, isn’t that what they all said- then I’ll sue you if you step on my lawn. That is fearsome and I’m wretched and I’m wrong. Put narcotics into all of my songs, and that’s why you’re still singing along.

So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street. Crash the wedding like a record scratch as I scream, “Who’s afraid of little old me?” I was tame, I was gentle ‘til the circus life made me mean, “don’t you worry, folks, we took out all her teeth!” Who’s afraid of little old me? Well, you should be.

SCOTLAND: Peace

“But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean-wave blues come. All these people think love’s for show, but i would die for you in secret. The devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Your integrity makes me seem small; you paint dreamscapes on the wall, I talk shit with my friends. It’s like I’m wasting your honour.

And you know that I’d swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches. Give you my wild, give you a child. Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother. Is it enough?

But there’s robbers to the east, clowns to the west. I’d give you my sunshine, give you my best, but the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me.”

WALES: Seven

“Please, picture me in the trees, I hit my peak at seven feet in the swing, over the creek. I was too scared to jump in, but I, I was high in the sky, with Pennsylvania under me, are there still beautiful things?

Sweet tea in the summer. Cross your heart, won’t tell no other. And though I can’t recall your face, I still got love for you. Your braid’s like a pattern, love you to the moon and to Saturn. Passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long.

And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why. And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates, then you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet. And just like a folk song, our love will be passed on.

Please, picture me in the weeds, before I learnt civility. I used to scream ferociously anytime I wanted.”

#peace is literally Scotland about Norway #like #that’s literally ScotNor 😭😭 #except I don’t think they’d want children tbhh #I got really sad when I realised n Ireland’s song #anyway #I wanted to make this post for a while but I never had a song for n Ireland #and now I do! #hetalia #aph england #aph ireland #aph northern ireland #aph scotland #aph wales #hws england #hws ireland #hws northern ireland #hws scotland #hws wales

[azuryuu]

💓 ✏️ 💧 💥

Hee hoo

hee hoo hee - here r more cringe lore. he's so fucking cringe you should put him down. you should clown on him. do it. do it for me.

💓 BEATING HEART - what gets their heart racing?

coffee. when he drinks too much of it, it gives him heart palpitations. 

any amount of exercise or high impact sports will also get the blood pumping for sure. his heart also tends to race whenever he feels the adrenaline rushing before a test ala pre-exam jitters. or during an exam when he’s not even halfway through the questions yet, but more than half of the exam time has already passed and he has to speed up and pick up his slack or when only 3 minutes are left and yuu has one more paragraph to finish, so yuu has to write at the speed of sound, no time for mistakes. those moments really gets him going.

of course, he loves the adrenaline and the way his heart starts racing when he’s doing something he knows he shouldn’t be doing, messing with someone or stealing something or otherwise committing something foul and villainous and wretched and dastardly. he loves it when he has a close call, when he is so close to being caught in the act, but gets away with it in the end. the best kind of rush making the rewards even more satisfying.

and who can resist the sheer satisfaction he feels when someone he dislikes is floundering, struggling, trying but failing to understand something that yuu understands easily, simply, naturally. when yuu knows that someone he dislikes is wrong about something, and he is only seconds away from correcting them and getting to see them flustered and lose their composure, flapping their chops and stumbling for words to try and retort, failing miserably and embarrassingly.

✏️ PENCIL - is there a particular quote / lyric that you associate with them?

quote:

“isn’t it funny, how you can live so near and never notice.” — not-them, the magnus archives, mag 3: across the street.

“my manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and i have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or over-estimate you. never reveal your true abilities or plans.” — annabelle cane, the magnus archives, mag 147: weaver.

lyric:

“i, alone, am like a swaying rootless weed./ on this seething, seething loop line,/ there’s none— there’s no terminal stop./ farewell, darling, darling, darling,/ on the endlessly looping loop,/ keep on walking alone miserably, young lady.” — リンネ (rinne)/samsara.

“there is no flower in this world more beautiful than an artificial one./ that’s because everything is manufactured from lies.” — フォニイ/phony.

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

yuu was bullied for as long as he could remember. since the day he could remember, up until the last day of highschool, he was always othered by his peers. in his younger days, for his bizarre mannerism and appearance. in highschool, for his disposition and a title he never asked for. despite being class president, people would isolate him and scribble derogatory insults onto the back of his white uniform shirt or pour an assortment of liquid on him to humiliate him.

classmates would relay all their menial tasks to him, even things that yuu shouldn’t have been doing alone, like cleaning the classroom at the end of the day or carrying stacks of dirty food plates to the bin at the cafeteria, expecting him to simply carry along without a word, not being able to complain because he’s “just doing his task right, oh so great class president.” or fight back because “a real class president shouldn’t mouth off and just do his job right?”. he was only considered class president if it suited the class, otherwise he was more invisible than air, worse than trash.

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

yuu actually has good control over his own emotions, and he doesn’t really fight or repress any of them. he’s experienced and mature, he knows how to identify his emotions and deal with them, so he can parse feelings like sadness and anger and embarrassment or humiliation with relative ease. negative thoughts and misery are things he keeps as company so he’d rarely act out because of them. i suppose more positive emotions are ones he has less experience in? even then, yuu wouldn’t fret over it too much. he’ll accept them graciously. yuu has no trouble accepting praise or love. so, of all of them, i think the one feeling yuu absolutely despise is feeling helpless. not knowing what to do, not knowing how to do something, not knowing. he hates it. he doesn’t like how it makes him feel small and weak and powerless. he doesn’t like how it opens him up to being taunted at and jeered at by others for his shortcomings. it’s something that yuu would seek to rectify as fast as he can, and yuu has already gotten over his struggle of asking for support. he wants to resolve something by himself, but if he needs help he’s going to ask for it.

overall, yuu is very nonchalant. he doesn’t see the point of feeling emotions strongly. superlatives like “love” or “hate” or “jubilation” or “ire” or “attraction” or “revulsion” or “admiration” or “jealousy” are a waste of his time because he doesn’t let himself be affected or bothered by things external to himself, which in turn makes him emotionally resilient. to feel strongly because of other people or by circumstances outside of himself means to be vulnerable to the whims of other people and circumstances, which he frankly couldn’t care less of and are ultimately uncontrollable and unpredictable. but his thoughts and feelings and actions? those are things he can control and those are the things he anchors himself on.

#yuu stranger lore #twst mc #twst yuu #-; yuu stranger lore #-; ramblings #ento

[fangirlinglikeabus]

i finished blake's 7 two days ago, here are my totally unsolicited thoughts on 'blake'

god i think killing blake really and utterly broke avon. if only blake had stuck around for rumours of death, then he’d KNOW about avon’s trust issues and wouldn’t have tried to test him (or maybe he would because it seems he ALSO has trust issues at this point. love these fucked up little guys)

is it morbid to say that while i sorta got avon/blake it didn’t really click for me until that moment where avon shot him? avon's taste in women AND men works out terribly for him. it's equality

jenna’s death didn’t happen onscreen, therefore it didn’t happen <3 i pretend i do not see

i love the way gareth thomas delivers that line about her taking out the ships when she blew herself up tho. like blake doesn’t even have space to mourn one of his closest allies anymore, he just gets the grim satisfaction of knowing at least she did something against the federation with her death

vila fighting back and disarming his opponent only after dayna got shot is like,,,BRUTAL especially considering he’s the one who brings up cally in this episode. i truly do believe he cares about all his crew mates so much under that veneer of cowardice and being the clown, and while i don't think he was ever seriously going to betray them in that moment, i can't help but read into how immediately his attack follows on from dayna getting hurt

speaking of brutal moments. slave says tarrant’s name and it’s so sweet but it’s also what blake at least claims gave tarrant away to him...can’t have any nice moments in this series

soolin my darling underdeveloped queen...you can see all throughout that she’s really not happy about returning ‘home’ and then she gets shot? on the planet she lost her childhood to? for a cause I’m not sure she ever really believed in?

(i do like that dayna is the one who asks her more when she’s talking about her past. they seem very close by this point and that’s a nice illustration of that)

the gunshots continuing in place of the credits music until the names of all the main characters have appeared...yeah. like i know there was a Plan in place should there have been a series 5 but i’m honestly happy things ended here, tragic though it may have been.

blake’s 7 is often a show that’s so good i wish it was better - such great characters who don’t always get utilised to their full potential (the NUMBER of cally possession episodes...get a new plot!), moments of drama that don’t always get their full consequences followed through on, an entire series where the main characters frequently seemed to lack any sense of urgency or drive but which also had my beloved rumours of death in it, ben steed episodes which frankly have nothing much to redeem them - but my god, what an ending. and i really do love this wretched, tragic little show with all my heart even with all of its irritations. time to buy the box set and watch it five billion times!

#blake's 7 #spoilers #blake's 7 spoilers #don't usually do that for forty y/o shows but ya know. it's That ending

[unlimtedfangirling82]

-Condemned- Marvel Circus Au

Kinda Loki X Reader

Description: The Circus is a place of wonder in the evening but, how does the circus operate deep into the hours of the night

Warnings ⚠️: Violence, implied abused reader, implied death/violence, mentions of a child predator

The moonlight glistened off the metal bars. Tonight was different, the atmosphere heavy, the carousel creaked in the wind, all lights out. The circus was an entire different world in the deep night. It was a sign of rebellion, a warning sign. The cloth of tents swayed, it was quiet... too quiet. It almost looked abandoned, dead, soulless.

“H-hello?” A frightened voice called out. The wind caused a shiver to trail down their spine. Their hands trembled as they held the hand written letter with a wax seal.

Suddenly the carousel creaked loudly moving, with no lights, no movement, no sound. It caused the body of the freighted voice to jump in fear. A dark shadowy figure was now present on the ride. Standing and holding onto a bar... that person was you.

“Yes Dear? You called” you answered calmly.

The stranger then gasped but sighed in relief as they saw an outline of life.

“Yes! I received a ludicrous letter! A-and I was instructed to arrive here at this time” they replied with a hint of fear still prevent in the new found confidence.

“Is that so?” You giggled as you swung yourself off the bar of the carousel and onto the ground.. your figure grew closer to the sight of the stranger, the moonlight shadowed you like a protective blanket.

“Yes! What is the meaning of this I want to know!!” The stranger yelled in outraged causing the crows perching above to disperse with a cry. It startled the stranger as they cleared their throat but, you were not shaken. You laughed and simply walked past the stranger heading toward the entrance of the big tent building. The stranger scrambled to follow behind you wanting answers as you laughed.

The inside was just as dark the only light that shown was that of the moonlight peering through the cloth. Silhouettes scattered about the arena. The silk dancer hung limply from the silks not moving a inch, There was someone sitting on a crate, another figure stood on a big platform, many more figures stood in almost pre planned poses. You yet again let out a giggle as the stranger followed you in

“Welcome to the show” you announce skipping in-front of the person. Quickly two guard like figures stood in front of the entrance, no escape..

“What is this!! T-this rubbish?!” The stranger shouted in fear. A loud chuckle erupted from the figure standing on the high platform. The sound of his cane hitting the platform echoed as a fire snapped alive from the fire artists... the flames dully ilumated the arena faces and bodies now seen clearer.

“Mr. Wilkinson! The pleasure is mine!” The Ringer Master greeted looking down upon the man. His mischievous l grin flashed brightly as the light reflected off his one gold tooth. It was obvious he was enjoying this.

“Are you the one that sent the letter?” The man asked with annoyance

“Hmm... maybe I did maybe I didn’t” the Master responded shrugging

“Tell me dammit” the man cursed in rage starting toward the platform.

“Watch it Pal” a voice said from behind holding the man by his shoulder and quickly holding sharp cold steal against the man’s throat the man gulped.

“Careful, Bucky don’t want to damage the merchandise” Loki said nonchalant

With the command Bucky slowly retracted the knife and pushed the man to his knees

“Ah yes, where were we” Loki said now holding his cane in front of him and reaching up to take off his hat.

“Mr. Wilkinson, The circus is a place of fun yes?” He asked rhetorically pulling a paper from his hat

“The circus is a place for families, for children, for people to relax and to enjoy the mischievous wonder of the world.” He grinned tipping his hat as he put it back on

“The Circus is not a place for vile disgusting child predors” all of a sudden Loki’s tone changed as he spat the words the atom sphere dropped to a heavy serious air.

The man gritted his teeth about to spit back insults before the silk dancer interrupted

“I wouldn’t if I were you” the red head warned as the other figures circled in on the kneeling man

“We have the evidence” said another voice

“While the law may let you go we won’t” said another voice of a blonde headed man.

The Wilkinson man gritted his teeth as he listened to what they said he was scared yet full of anger. Why should a high class man be at the mercy of these freaks

“Mr. Wilkinson, you have been condemned by the circus for mercilessly killing innocent young lives wither it was psychically or mental you have ruined many lives, what do you have to say for yourself?” The ringmaster spoke coldly as if he could freeze beer as he put the man on trial.

“They deserved it! It’s there fault for running around like that! I did nothing! I don’t have to answer to you freaks!” The man rentallatead in anger he had nothing to lose now

“How, Sad...” Loki spit out like venom gripping onto his cane his eyes glowed golden anger glazing over them

He sighed as he began to walk down the step from his platform

“It’s a shame really, that creatures like you, decide they deserve to crawl out of your corner of hell” he clicked his tongue as he slowly descended.

The man was now shaking at the presence of this man with gritted teeth.

“Fucking freaks” he spat under his breathe immediately regretting it as a laugh came out of Loki’s mouth.

“Oh really? We Are the freaks?” He scoffed as he walked down the last step, the man still kneeled looking at the master with anger.

“You wretched insect! Bow before us!” Loki quickly make his way over to the man, pressing his boot down on the man’s neck forcing his head into the dirt.

Everyone was silent only the sound of Loki and the man struggling lingered. Loki then yanked the man up by his collar.

“Here’s the difference between you and me you twit! I know I belong in hell... And I will suit it admirably, you however, you coward will suffer as you bow before the gods sniveling and crawling like the pig you are” he spat out tossing his cane and drawing out a knife the man pleaded and struggled as Loki began to trace the man’s face with the tip of his knife.

It was rare that the master personally got his hand dirty but this time was different it was personal and he wanted to cause suffering to the man by his own hand. The man cried with pleads to stop and that he’d be better he pleaded with lies which made the Master angrier.

Loki laughed again this time more sinister. “Lies will get you nowhere, not here.. “ he whispered as he carved into the man’s face. Sounds of groans and cries of pain filled the empty air as Loki carved a clown face makeup into his skin and then dropped the man like a rag doll. He walked back near the platform leaning against one of the legs with his arms crossed. A smirk formed on his face.

“Let the fun begin..” he said as the other members of the circus came alive approaching the man as he screamed his pleas.

—————

A final scream shattered the silence of the night. Then quiet.. leaving the details of the execution to the wind. What happened to Mr. Wilkinson no ones knows.. at least that’s what they say... You sat behind the curtains holding your knees to your chest, tears cascaded down your face. Then a gentle knock against the wood.

“Come in” you responded softly. Loki peered his head through the curtains.

“It’s over darling..” he whispered softly to you a look of pity washing over his face.

You gasped tears following, this time more violent as you stood to see him. You could barely choke out words. He quickly walked fully through the curtains and took you in his arms. You were shaking uncontrollably and gasping as you tightly wrapped yourself around him. He shushed you stroking your back as he held you. “It’s okay my dear, he can’t hurt you anymore.” He breathed “He won’t hurt anyone anymore my dear, You are now free.” You started to cry harder not in sadness but in relief. The Master took it upon himself to tend to you the rest of the night while the others took care of “business”.

“Welcome to home y/n” he whispered into your hair. Mr. Wilkinson was never found but, the world wouldn’t miss him anyway.

#marvel #marvel au #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki odinson #bucky barns #natashawilona #circus au #loki laufeyson #loki headcanon #angst #gender netural reader #x reader #steve rogers

[cctinsleybaxter]

2020 in books

2020 was a year of changed reading habits; people reading more than ever or not at all, some changing their tastes and others turning to old comforts. While there weren’t any huge overhauls on my end, more free time did mean a total of 32 in a wider range of genres. In the past couple of years I found a lot of the things I read to be kind of middling and ranked them accordingly, but this year had some strong contenders in the mix. With college officially behind me I love nonfiction again, and I really need to stop being drawn in by novels with long titles that ‘sound interesting.’ A piece of advice to my future self: they will only make you angry.

The Good

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky I loved the BBC radio play when I first listened to it back in 2017, but didn’t know if I could stomach the idea of actually reading the 700-page book, especially since I already knew the plot (spoiler alert: this had no effect and I gasped multiple times despite knowing what was going to happen; Fyodor’s just that good at atmosphere.) The story follows Prince Lev Myshkin, a goodhearted but troubled man entering 1860s Petersburg high society and meeting all of the wretched people therein as he navigates life, laughs, love, unanswerable questions of faith, and human suffering. I care about it in the same way I think other people care about reality TV shows and soap operas. I’m so personally invested in the drama and feel so many different emotions directed at these clowns that it’s like being a fan of Invitation to Love (with an ending equally upsetting to that of the show ITL is from, Twin Peaks.)

Salt: A World History by Mark Kurlanksy I adored this book. The first half reads a little like a Wikipedia article, and I was worried that it was leaning too clinical and would be disaffected with colonialism and indigenous peoples, but even that oversight is corrected for as the text goes on. It’s not going to be for everybody because it really is just the world’s longest encyclopedia entry on, well, salt, but it’s written with such excitement for the topic and is so well-researched and styled for commercial nonfiction that I think it deserves any and all praise it’s gotten. We have to talk about that time Cheshire was literally sinking into the ground, and companies who were over-pumping brine water to steal each other’s brine water said ‘no it’s okay it’s supposed to that’ so were legally dismissed as suspects.

Midnight Cowboy by James Leo Herlihy Cried. 10/10. The plot of Midnight Cowboy is very classic and actually has a lot in common with The Idiot, as 20-something Joe Buck moves from the American Southwest to NYC and meets myriad challenges as a sex worker. I’ve been obsessed with the movie for a few years now and the book made me appreciate it anew; I think it’s rare for an adaptation to take the risk of being so different from its source material while still capturing its spirit. The movie doesn’t include quieter moments like the full conversation with Towny or time spent in the X-flat, nor does it attempt to touch Joe’s internal monologue or his and Rico’s extensive backstories, but these things are essential to the book and are some of the best and most affecting writing I’ve ever read. Finally! The Great American Novel!

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones I would firmly like to say that this is probably the best horror novel ever written. The setup is very traditional in that it’s about a group of friends facing supernatural comeuppance for a past mistake, but delivery on that premise is anything but familiar. A story about personal and cultural trauma that raises questions about what we owe to each other and what it means to be Blackfeet, with a cast that’s unbelievably real and sympathetic even at their absolute worst. Creepypasta writers trying to cash in on the cultural mythos of lumped-together tribes wish they were capable of writing something a tenth as gruesome and good as this. It could very well be a movie the visuals and writing style were so arresting, and I can’t wait to read whatever Jones writes next.

Found Footage Horror Films: Fear and the Appearance of Reality by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas This is the least accessible title on the list since it’s a college textbook for people with background in film, but it was so nice to read a woman unpacking film theory with the expertise and confidence it deserves that I have to rank it among the best. I had an absolute blast reading it and am going to have to stop myself from bringing up the horror of 1960s safety films as a cocktail icebreaker.

Blood in the Water: The Attica Prison Uprising of 1971 and Its Legacy by Heather Ann Thompson

The year’s toughest read by far, but also its most rewarding. Thompson uses mountains of documents, government-buried intel, and personal interviews to explain what happened at Attica from beginning to end, and does a fantastic job of balancing hard facts and ‘unbiased journalism’ with much-needed emotion and critical analysis. It’s more important reading in the 2020s than any kind of ‘why/how to not be racist’ book club book is going to be, and the historical context it provides is as interesting as it is invaluable. The second half drags a bit in going through lengthy trial processes with some assumed baseline knowledge of legalese (which I did not have. All that criminal minds in 2015… meaningless), but aside from that editing and prose are some of the best I’ve seen in nonfiction. 

The Bad

The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn A friend and I decided to read this together because I’m obsessed with how insane the author is and wanted to know if he can actually write.

He cannot.

The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All by Laird Barron Barron is an indie darling of the horror fiction scene, so I was excited to finally read one of his collections but can now attest that I hate him. If you’re going to do Lovecraft please deconstruct Lovecraft in an interesting way. I had actually written a lot about the issues I have with how he develops characters and plots, but one of the only shorthand notes I took was “he won’t stop saying ‘bole’ instead of tree trunk” and I feel like that’s the only review we need.

Bats of the Republic by Zach Dodson Look up a photo of this author because if I had bothered to glance at the jacket bio I honest-to-god wouldn’t have even tried reading this.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone I went in with high expectations since this is an epistolary novella I’d seen praised on tumblr and youtube but oh my god was there a reason I was seeing it praised on tumblr and youtube. This is bad Steven Universe fanfiction. Both authors included ‘listening to the Steven Universe soundtrack throughout’ in the acknowledgements, and to add insult to injury there’s a plug from my nemesis Madeline Miller.

The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton The premise of this one plays with so many tropes I like that I should have been more suspicious. It’s a dinner party with stock characters one would expect of Clue, and rather than our protagonist being the detective he’s a man with amnesia stuck in a 24-hour time loop. Body-hopping between guests, he must gather evidence using the skillsets of each ‘host’ until he either solves Evelyn Hardcastle’s murder or the limit of eight hosts runs out. I read a lot of not-very-good books, and it’s so, so much worse when they have potential to be fun. This is how you lose the most points, and how I abandon decorum and end up writing a list of grievances: • Our protagonist can only inhabit male hosts, which I think is a stupid writing decision not because I’m ‘woke’ but because wouldn’t it make sense for him to also be working with the maids, cooks, and women close to the murder victim? • Complaining about the limitations of hosts makes some sense (e.g- there’s a section where he thinks that it’s hard to be an old man because it’s difficult to get to the places he needs to be quickly), but one of his hosts is a rapist and one of his hosts is fat. Guess which one gets complained about more. • One of the later hosts is just straight-up a cop with cop knowledge that singlehandedly solves the case. We spend some time being like ‘wow I couldn’t have done it without the info all eight hosts helped gather’ but it was 100% the detective and he solves the murder using information he got off-screen. • The mystery itself is actually well-paced and I didn’t have a lot of issues with it (e.g, there’s a twist that I guessed only shortly before the end), which makes it all the worse that the metanarrative of this book is INSANE. No spoilers but the reveal as to why our unnamed protagonist is even in this situation is stupid. I just know they’re going to make it into a movie and I’m preemptively going to aaaaaaaaa!!!

Trust Exercise by Susan Choi The fact that this was the worst book I read all year, worse even than the bad Steven Universe fanfiction, and it won multiple awards makes my blood boil. I could rant about it for hours but just know that it’s a former theater kid’s take on perception and memory, and deals with sexual abuse in a way that’s handled both very badly and with a level of fake deepness that’s laughable. Select fake-deep quotes I copied down because at one point I said ‘oh barf’ aloud: -I’m filled with melancholy that’s almost compassion. It’s sad the same way. -[On a friendship ending] We almost never know what we know until after we know it. -Because we’re none of us alone in this world. We injure each other.

There are also bad sex scenes that I can’t quite make fun of because I think (HOPE?) they’re supposed to be a melodramatic take on how teenagers view sex, but I very much wanted to die. Flowers were alluded to. Nipples were compared to diamonds.

Honorable/Dishonorable Mentions (categorized as the same thing because, well,)

The Life and Death of Sophie Stark by Anna North This book was frustrating because the first third of it is fantastic. It’s set up to be a takedown of the manic pixie dream girl trope, jumping from person to person discussing their relationship with the titular Sophie, and indirectly revealing that she was just some girl and not the difficult and mysterious genius they all believed her to be. Then in the third act, BAM! She was that difficult and mysterious genius and she’s now indirectly brought all the people from her past together. I wanted to scream the plot beefed it so bad, but the good news is I really liked this octopus description.

It was the size of a three-year-old child, and it seemed awful to me that something could be so far from human and obviously want something as badly as it wanted to get out of the tank.

Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women by Kate Moore Cool new nightmare speedrun strat is to hear a 2-second anecdote from a documentary that people used to get radium poisoning from painting watch faces, be curious enough that you buy a book to learn more, and be met with medical and legal horror beyond anything you could have imagined. This was almost one of my favorite books of the year! Almost.

Radium Girls is very lovingly crafted and incredibly well-researched; one of those things that’s hard to get through but that you want to read sections of again as soon as you’ve finished. The umbrage I take with it is that it’s very Catholic. The author and many of her subjects are Irish and their religion is important to them, but it casts a martyr-y narrative over the whole thing that I found uncomfortable. Seventeen-year-old girls taking a factory job they didn’t know was dangerous are framed as brave, working-class heroes, but there’s not a set moral lesson to be gained from this story. Sarah Maillefer didn’t make “a sacrifice” when she agreed to the first radium tests, she agreed because she was terrified. She didn’t think she was helping she was begging for help.

The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins by Anna Tsing Tsing is an incredibly skilled researcher and ethnographer; there are so many good ideas in this book that I’d almost consider it essential leftist text… if I could stand the way it was structured. Tsing posits that because nature is built on precariousness she will build her book the same way, allowing it to grow like a mushroom, and thus chapters don’t progress linearly and are written more like freeform poetry than a series of academic arguments. Some people are really going to love that, but I’m me and a mushroom is a mushroom and a book is a book. I don’t think in the way Tsing does, and while I tried to keep an open mind it’s hard to play along when something is this academically dense and makes so many ambitious claims. As if to prove how different our structuring methods are, I’ve made my own thoughts into a pros and cons list

Things I liked: • ‘Contamination’ as something inherent to diversity • ‘Scalability’ as a flawed way of thinking (Tsing has written whole essays about this that I find very compelling, but a main example here is that China and the US have come down on Japanese matsutake research for being too ‘site specific’ and not yielding enough empirical data) • Discussing how Americans were so invested in self-regulating systems in the 1950s we thought they could be applied to literally everything, including ecosystems • “The survivors of war remind us of the bodies they climbed over- or shot- to get to us. We don’t know whether to love or hate the survivors. Simple moral judgements don’t come to hand.” • Any and all fieldwork Tsing shares is amazing; I especially liked reading about the culture of mushroom pickers living in the Cascades and their contained market system

Things I didn’t like: • Statements that sound deep but aren’t, e.g- “help is always in the service of another.” (Yep. That’s what that means. Unless an organism is doing something to help itself which then nullifies your whole opening argument.) • A very debatable definition of utilitarianism • “Capitalism vs pre-capitalism,” which seems like an insanely black-and-white stance for a book all about finding hidden middle ground • A chapter I found really interesting about how intertwined Japanese and American economies are, but it tries to cover the entire history of US-Japan relations. Seriously, starting with Governor Perry and continuing through present day, this could have been a whole different book and it’s a good example of what I mean when I say arguments feel too scattered (the conclusion it reaches is that in the 80s the yen was finally able to hold its own against the dollar. Just explain that part.) • A chapter arguing that ‘true biological mutualism’ is rarely a focus of STEM and is a new sociological development/way of thinking which is just… flat-out not true

For all the comparisons art gets to ‘being on a drug trip’ this anthropology textbook has come the closest for me. Moments of profound human wisdom, intercut with things I had trouble understanding because I wasn’t on the same wavelength, intercut with even more things that felt false or irrelevant. I can’t put it on the nice list but I am glad I read it.

#2020 #books #long post #(in case the read more isn't working)

[clawtitties]

‘’Liar Liar’’ chapter 3 (Currywise x reader SFW)

TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS WORK : ABUSE / EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, THE ROMANTICIZATION OF SUCH THINGS IS NOT THE INTENT OF THIS WORK WHAT SO EVER. PLEASE STAY SAFE.

Note from Noa :

Here’s the third chapter! I feel like I’ve improved at least a little bit these past days I’ve spent writing. But yeah, enjoy this one! It’s definitely drawing to a close and I’ll have to eventually think of a new project. It’s been fun writing again though, so it’s not an issue as long as I can keep the ideas flowing! 

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You were sitting in his lap staring at your hands as nonchalantly as possible. There was so much on your mind that day, you could barely hear what Papa was going on about. Time seemed slower than ever, all your senses heightened as you tried to stay attentive. Your attempts amounted to nothing, you felt yourself slipping back into your own head. He let out a comically exaggerated sigh and directed his gaze at you. Then he spoke.

 ‘’Alright, alright. What’s wrong, doll?’’

 Suddenly you were snapped back into reality, everything seemed overwhelming now. At least a minute ago you were blissfully deep in your thoughts. You had to take a moment to gather yourself. ‘’I’m fine- Pennywise-’’ you said, trying desperately to mentally be literally anywhere else but sat in his lap where he could very well ask the wrong questions, you’d give the wrong answers and he’d do god knows what to you. He raised his eyebrows at you. It was clear he still wasn’t believing an ounce of your bullshit, which was understandable after that ‘’stunt’’ you pulled. At least he thought it was a stunt. That couldn’t be further away from the truth.

 He said nothing.

 ‘’R-really it’s fine Pennywise!’’ you stammered out. He gave you no other response than an exaggerated roll of his eyes. You knew what he was thinking. You were being no fun. Truth be told it’s hard to be any fun when you’re continuously weaving yourself deeper and deeper into a web of lies that’s surely going to bite you in the ass sooner or later.

 ‘’Come closer to Papa, doll’’ he said in a low grueling tone. You hesitated. ‘’Come on now, I won’t bite’’ he continued and flashed a crooked smile at you. Somehow you very much doubted that he wouldn’t bite your face off then and there. Still, you obliged. Faster than you could even fully adjust to being so close to a world-eating monster his sharp yellow teeth snapped dangerously close to your face. You flinched and almost fell from his lap before he grabbed you with deceptive strength. His pompous laugh echoed through your small apartment.

 ‘’Gotcha pretty good there, don’t fall now’’ he said, holding back that same highfalutin laugh. If this was his way of having fun with someone you wanted nothing to do with it. Still you let out a nervous laugh, your eyes darting around the apartment out of anxiety. ‘’Why so on edge all of a sudden sweetcheeks?’’ he chuckled, pulling you closer to him. You were now laying against his silky clown getup while he lounged in your old recliner. At least you thought it to be yours, there was no way of really knowing at this point. The thought of a cursed clown recliner made you let out a choked back laugh.

 ‘’There’s my girl!’’ that pompous laugh echoed through your apartment again. ‘’Wasn’t too hard to cheer ya up now was it?’’ he chuckled to himself while roughly patting your back. Something still wasn’t right. The way he was acting overly affectionate with you didn’t seem right for a monstrous clown. You tried to console yourself with the thought that maybe his looks were deceiving, maybe he wasn’t as evil as he looks. The sharp teeth really didn’t help his case.

 His affection was starting to make you sick. You felt like day after day you were more and more wrapped around the bastard’s gloved fingers.

 ...

 You woke up the next morning in your bed. The clown- Papa- was nowhere to be seen. You were alone with your thoughts again. Blissfully alone. Maybe if you tried hard enough you could just forget that Papa even exists. Maybe if you just admitted yourself to a hospital he’d leave you alone. Maybe if you turned yourself in to the police for some atrocity they’d put you in prison for long enough that he’d leave you alone.

 Being alone in a closed off space would probably be much more torturous than being in your own apartment where you have the freedom to escape if things go south. Besides, he isn’t here right now. You’re safe for the time being.

 You heard footsteps. God fucking damn-

 ‘’Hullo darling, missed me?’’ his voice was like gravel in your ears. Like sandpaper being dragged across your skin. You couldn’t even be alone for 15 minutes. You didn’t want him to be here. You just wanted this all to end, and for the wretched clown to leave you the hell alone. You knew he wanted nothing other than for you to be wrapped around his fingers for the rest of your days. He was leaning against the door frame leading to your bedroom.

 You shut your eyes as tight as possible, beginning to shake again. ‘’Aw, what’s wrong puppy?’’ he said. His tone sounded sickeningly sweet and condescending. You kept your eyes shut. Maybe if you didn’t acknowledge him he’d get bored and go away. Maybe, just maybe-

 A voice echoed through your head. Your eyes shot open. What the fuck? It was very clearly him. He was in your head now. You started crying and begging for mercy. He did nothing but mock you. It was all clear now. It was either him or you.

You had to do something. Fast.

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Another note from Noa : 

well that was it for this chapter! Thank you to anyone who’s reading these. I really doubt anyone is since the pennywise community is dead-er than ever, but I’ve been having fun writing this stuff! third reminder that if you wish to be tagged in my writing posts just let me know!

#pennywise #daddywise #pennywise x reader #papa penny #papawise #currywise #pennywise x you #pennywise imagine #pennywise fanfiction #papawise x reader #IT 1990

[lordxgrinnyxboy]

listening to the london version, 3/4

a scar is born!

“Grinpayne? Grinpayne?!” Dea...when you find him...kill him.

“something is scorching the air ‘round my head” it’s your thots gwyn weren’t you paying attention

“Is this the truth? Is this the truth, now?” first of all Excellent Vibes but also can we get some Gwynplaine Trelaw + If It’s True in the club? Especially the Justin Vernon If It’s True? i yearn

i love osric. so much.

haha funny how he says he thinks Gwyn is “the only son of God” and Gwyn is fact the only son of Lord Trelaw. could go further but im low on braincells u-u

...this whole sequence is so weird.

“Is this the truth? Is this the truth, now?”   please just go lie down sweetheart you are too far gone right now.

“This exquisite boy” awwwww

i’m missing about 90% of what they’re saying actually

*googles lyrics* oh

the tonal dissonance between the way they sing it all cheerful and the fact that This Is Freaking Creepy As Hell with a side of Really Really Sad is just. :O

labyrinth

alright darling let’s see what you’ve got

The Good Stuff Right There

Theremin = Good

interesting he says “something in me is burning” and, at least in the bristol version, Dea makes comments about the Crimson Lethe ‘burning a hole’ in Gwyn’s heart

In the other one he didn’t really comment much about...anything that was going on, really. He’s just kind of there during the scenes where people react to his wound. But here he has a whole verse about it and that’s...different.

“The people say the Grinning Man’s opened their eyes/can they hear the future in my shattered cries” OOF

“Why in hell would I want to feel it again?”

“what if that monster could also change me” 😭😭😭 i am. *snort* vanquished. i cease to be, to live.

PROTECT HIM

are the ‘scorching’ thoughts supposed to be taken literally in this one i mean they keep bringing it up soooo

oh here we go here we go the Dea part let’s go

“and pain, the only comfort I could find” BABY

“Stories are her way of seeing” god i love this part

BUT SHE WOULDN’T LOVE ME IF HER EYES COULD SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUEH

go off theremin! love you!

“If they find laughter in my face, why should I run from their embrace?” HECK

“The dancing with the monsters in my mind” HECK HECK

“and touch it with a heart that isn’t blind” GWYNLIT FERMAIN TRECHARLIE CLANLAW YOU HUSH NOW

side effects of crimson lethe may include dumbass disease

he flourished the R XD

“FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACEUH”

i am. exhausted. this one can stay. how’d they fit so much more content in this one

Only a Clown

we’re. going from THAT, to- to th- okay

dambit barkilphedrno

“in truth, I felt like singing, so I did” cartoon villain u-u

this is another deeply unsettling one tbh like just the happy way he’s singing but while setting up the nooses and whatnot it’s just eugh

wait so earlier Gwyn says, “can they hear the future in my shattered cries” and here Barkilphedro says that he can “see a bold new horizon”

“imagine the blade of bilboa in your hand” *Legend of Zelda Link Impersonation* Gwynlit what are you doing

oh sh the “NOOOO” and “FATHER” in this one we actually HEAR the reactions? oh heck heck heck

*adds Tiny, Wretched, and Helpless to the ongoing list of things Gwyn has been called*

OH THIS ONE SLAPS they made a whole bop out of

awww he cryin in the background :((((

damn it bark il phed ro

oh heck this is creepier

FRICK SPIKE IS HERE THIS TIME WHAT TH

is spike still played by dirry-moir’s actor in this one too bc That Is A LOT

one small slice bitch you dragged him on that scythe three freaking times

LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICIN

SHUT UP SHUT UP STOP PAUSE RIGHT THERE NOPE NUH UH NOT TODAY

brand new world of feeling ( reprise )

hello i am grateful to be here. what a fabulous place to find myself. that is, anywhere but the above. 

u-u Gwyn Makes Bad Choices: The Movie

Josiana CALM DOWN jeez you’re gonna scare somebody

oh yeah she definitely said Freak in this version.

“Love?” see now you’re asking the right questions 

no longer grateful to be here

music’s pretty though

wait no where’s the guard when i need them to show up

THANK YOU QUAKE, THANK YOU.

“Did this brute hurt you” *lizard impersonation* “quite the opposite” i’m going to go climb into my mailbox and die there. Why This. Genuinely Why This.

“The torture chamber, not the nightclub” EXCUSE? PARDON? WHAT?

Josiana i genuinely hate that u can sing like an angel it isn’t fair

the smiling song

what is a smiling song precious we are Not Familiar

ohhhhh nvm this is the “have him hold the giant puppet head and get everybody to surround him so the audience won’t see him putting on a shirt” song

who the hell is this

angelica???

DEA TAKE ME BACK TO THE PLACE

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

Call him freak one more time Jojo. Call him freak again.

“I can’t believe that filth-ridden clown soon will be wearing my velvet gown” it’s funny Bark bc Gwynp could actually say the same thing,,,,,

THE DAY I WAS ALMOST A LOOOOOOOORD not as good

something something “Josiana, what did she see, could I see Dea the way she saw me” W H A T

so is he like. awake. in this version or.

#tgm #the grinning man

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Commission for @nichtiko

Request: Original Story, cute fairytale & protagonist

Title: Goodnight, Sleep Tight

The pain of loss is one so deeply ingrained upon the human heart, that often it seems never to heal from one bout of grief before the next sets in. Children learn sadness from an early age from little things, perhaps they wanted to be held a little longer, or their dummy has fallen from the pram, or a demonic clown is crawling over their ceiling at night and no adult seems to understand why turning off the light elicits such a reaction.

And yet, all is focused on the human experience… what of the things that are lost?

How must they feel? Most could not say, for they were never alive to begin with, and even had they been, who would listen to lost change or an abandoned shoe by the roadside?

Would donation bins scream with items that had felt themselves treasured, only to be cast aside, not realising that they were going to be owned by another in future?

From Rambo’s perspective, being lost felt a lot like falling down a deep well, far from those who loved you.

The little sheep never quite recalled where he had come from, only that the first memory stored within his heart of hearts, was of suddenly being held by his new owner… all of six years old, eyes bright and full of love for the fluffy little toy that would come to earn the name Rambo Eweniverse. Days of play, nights of cuddling close and guarding their human’s slumber from the scary things in the dark…

The creatures lurking under the bed, in the closet, in the shadowy corners of the room… none dared approach the bed where the vulnerable child lay, for Rambo was always watching, always ready to attack, to protect. That is what a toy is for, after all; Love, Companionship, Sympathy and Protection.

Years flew by, as sadly they must, and Rambo saw his human grow in all the ways a child verging on adolescence can; felt joy with every good grade, and commissorating every little heartbreak suffered. Perhaps it had made him blind to what the passage of time truly meant… or maybe it was a willful ignorance, for who really enjoys endings?

Their time together was coming to an end, as Rambo’s human transitioned to high school; certainly the toy didn’t sleep on the bed anymore, but on a bookshelf nearby, which at least afforded a good view of the room. He could still keep his human safe throughout the long night…

How strange that everything Rambo had done could be torn down in a mere moment, and from the most unlikely of sources. Teenagers, or those just now coming into the mindset of such, can be exceptionally loud, brash and over-critical when it comes to others; assuming such will hide their own flaws underneath pointed jibes. A sleepover, humans called it, though Rambo couldn’t recall them attending one for quite some time… there were probably five other humans of a similar age, all curiously pawing about the bedroom and making comments about similar items they also owned.

One particularly unfortunate-looking human, and naturally the loudest amongst the group to offset this, earned Rambo’s ire by snatching him from the shelf roughly and dangling the well-loved toy by a leg. The room swung wildly as Rambo did, from side to side, though all the little stuffed animal could see was red… like the rage he felt at this creature for daring to touch him, much less manhandle in such a careless way!

“Ew,” snorts the child, “You still sleep with a stuffed toy, Ryan? Aw, does widdle bay-by Wyan need a nappy-wappy and a bawttle…” he drawls in an exaggeratedly condescending tone. Shaking Rambo all the while. The other boys, clearly under the ugly one’s sway, laugh accordingly.

In surprise, his human whirls from discussing some computer-related thing with another friend, anger and embarrassment warring on his youthful face. Rambo silently pleads through black button eyes for his human to defend him, make this disgusting wretch release him!

Betrayal seeps into every stitch of his being as Ryan hastily adopts an annoyed expression. “What? No, that’s just some stupid toy my mum won’t let me throw out, some dead relative gave it to me, so I have to keep it for a bit longer.” he shrugs, nonchalantly, and turns away. “Just put it back or whatever… I don’t care.”

If stuffed animals could cry, Rambo would have done so, as he was harshly discarded upon the floor and unceremoniously kicked under the bed. His human… didn’t care for him anymore?

Loss, grief, betrayal… it felt like falling. Sometimes it was not what was lost, but who that item lost along the way, and what else evaporated right along with it. The love, care and trust built up over years no longer amounted to anything; the sacred bond of child and toy was sundered, perhaps irreparably. Maybe, come nightfall, his human’s heart would change…

Rambo held out hope…

                                              ~)0(~

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnot so hiiiiiiigh and mighttttttttyyyyyy now, are youuuuuuu, sheeeeeeeeeeep?” hisses the creatures lurking beneath the bed, all gangly shadows and ill-defined edges, curiously pooling around the forlorn toy. Rambo does not respond, his heart feels as if it has been shattered and nothing will ever bring him joy again; for his human had not secretly reached under the bed to retrieve him. Not even after all the other boys had lain to rest, all snoring heartily one after another.

From where he lay, Rambo could see the form of the ugly one plainly, splayed out on the floor in a sleeping bag; mouth gaping with every floor-shaking snore that burst forth, and drawing the stuffed sheep’s ire with every passing moment. Still, he could not seem to move, to speak, to react in any way… was the loss of his human’s love the reason?

Perhaps it was simply their bond that provided the little fluffy animal his animation, his lifeforce and feelings, as it were. Now the he had been cast aside…

A shadowy hand strokes along his flank, though Rambo cannot sense whether the intent is sympathetic or condescending; they gently right him, setting him on all four stiff little legs and brush away the dust. “Liiittle lamb, donnnnnn’t be saaaaaaaaad… it haaaaappenssssss to the beeeeeesssst of usssssss eventuallyyyyyyyyyy…” sighs the monster, one of their many, many eyes blinking slowly, sadly, within Rambo’s limited field of vision. His surprise must have shown somehow, for the creature laughed. “Wheeeeeeeeeere do you thhhhhhhhhhink the monsterssssss come frommm? We arrrrreeeeee the protectorssssssss leeeeeeeft behiiiiiind under beds or dresserssssssssss, thrown awaaaaaaaaaaay and ignoreeeeeeed… thisssssss isssss your futurrrrrrrre.”

Above, the bed creaks worryingly, the body upon it tossing and turning furiously as the creatures slithering along the ceiling held sway; dripping nightmarish visions onto the sleeping eyelids of the humans below, tittering maddeningly as they tormented the children. Rambo wonders what the nightmare-bringers once were, who had loved and discarded them so carelessly that they now sought to impose terror on every child they could find. Indeed, the question could repeat for whichever shadowy creature lurked in the house, in any house… under the bed, in the closet, upon the ceiling, behind the door.

All were once… as he was. A toy, a guardian; who had loved, protected and cared for the human who had reciprocated the same degree of affection… until they hadn’t. How could you discard a toy so carelessly?

Rambo’s thoughts were cut short as his human let out a sob, muffled as it was through the mattress, and it seemed to send a jolt of electricity through the little stuffed sheep. Struggling against invisible bonds, he fights to move his legs, his mouth, his eyes… anything it took, Ryan needed him right now… whether the silly human child knew it or not.

With effort, he took a step. Then another. Thin little mouth finally moving, though producing only a handful of soft sounds, moving through muted bleats and panicked cries to almost-words. “...-an… -yan… Ryan!” Rambo cries, moving out from under the bed, curiously uncontested by the shadowy creatures all lurking about the place in abundance.

“Get away from him!” he bleats a challenge at the ceiling-creatures, who recede up the wall like mist retreating from the sun’s glare. Surrounding him, human pre-teens seemed to settle slightly, their dreams becoming placid and possibly a little odd (going by the one boy happily gnawing on his pillow)...

Leaping atop the bed, Rambo bleats again, loud and defiant enough to force the monsters back into the closet. Feeling a glow begin within his stuffing that radiates out; so perhaps his child has grown, and no longer needs or loves him as he once did. And?

The day was always to come, now he thought about it; children of any species cannot cease changing for the want of a longer childhood; nor could their toys try to hold them back from maturity.

But that fact, how changes took hold of mind and body and likes, dislikes, wants, needs and priorities…well, it did not mean Rambo loved Ryan any less! It was okay to mourn the loss of another’s love, but still feel something for them… as parents did, when their darling babies became rebellious lanky creatures who defied all logic and order for no good reason.

“This human, and this bedroom, is and always will be protected as long as I remain here.” he advises, standing atop the chest of his human. Defiantly, he glares at the slowly-shutting closet door, and the monster within as it blinks sadly at a little redhead nearby… Rambo feels his anger relenting. “Wait… do you… know these children?”

“He WaS My BoY, LoNg AgO…” the closet-monster speaks with inhuman gasps, tone sad and wistful in its eerie mannerisms. A tendril, nothing more than a wisp of darkness really, curls out to stroke down the young man’s face; retreating swiftly as the human shudders in discomfort at the touch.  “I MiSs HiM So…”

“Tell me of him, then…” Rambo says, gently, an idea forming. Something he hoped would come to fruition…

“I AdOrEd BrAnDoN, WiTh ThE WhOlE Of My HeArT… I WaS A ChRiStMaS GiFt FrOm SaNtA ClAuS… He WaS JuSt A BaBy ThEn, We WeRe NeVeR FaR ApArT… He WaNtEd To Be An AsTrOnAuT AnD We WoUlD PlAy RoCkEt ShIp OfTeN…” it gasped, slowly shrinking in on itself, coalescing. “LaSt YeaR He SpenT More TimE WitH His Friends… And One Of Them Said It Was Silly to… have a stuffed toy, like me, around. That we were for babies…”

Smiling, the little purple octopus sighed again, remembering their child and the bond they’d shared. Utterly unaware of the miraculous change wrought by simply recalling that painful joy, sundered once, but still buried deep within their stuffing…

“And what did your child name you?” Rambo asks, waiting for the other to realise.

“Bubbles…” the plush octopus replied, looking down and suddenly experiencing quite the shock. Bubbles shifted all size little stuffed tentacles at once, awestruck at being back in the long-lost form. “How…?”

“The same way I stopped myself from turning into a shadowy nightmare monster… by remembering the love of my human, and what all the good times, even some of the bad. Just, remembering how it felt to be with them.” Rambo explained, hopping off the bed to peer under the bed once more. “And you? Tell me about your children…” he encourages the creatures writhing beneath, all watching on curiously.

A tale with many voices begins and diverges into a dozen little stories, each talking about a child and a bond so strong that they were devastated to be cast aside. Three of the shadowy creatures within the mass spoke about the boys laying nearby, their eyes growing softer, gentler with every word… strangely their tales fell silent when it became apparent that their humans had all felt a similar influence that had sundered the sacred bond between child and toy.

Dozens of toys laid under the bed now, three came forth to join Rambo and Bubbles now. A well-loved Teddy bear of pale yellow and an eye missing who was called ‘Mr Smiles’; Felicity the grey flying fox was next, her nose and paws tinged pink and soft fur worn by years of cuddles from her boy; and last, but not least, a large green frog with shiny silver eyes, known only as ‘Hip-Hop’. Each saw their child, and remembered what it once meant… to be theirs.

The other toys discussed the children they had loved all those years, quietly amongst themselves as the others clambered atop the bed to speak with the last creatures. Shadowy monsters scurried up the walls, dripping vile sensations and thoughts, nightmares upon every breath they exhaled…

“And your children?” Rambo asked, softly, trying to bring them peace as well. They swelled and shrunk, sliding closer to the unafraid stuffed sheep, clinging to the wall with a strange sense of loss emanating from them. The cluster shivered, seemingly saddened beyond imagining for the other soft toys gathered about.

“gONE… nO lOVE fOR uS aNYWAY…” the nightmare crawler laments, in many voices that all seem quite far away. “tHEY dISCARDED uS tOO sWIFTLY, oR tREATED uS cRUELLY… dESTROYED oUR bODIES, lOST pIECES oF uS fOR fUN, rUINED uS… tHEY dID nOT lOVE uS aT aLL… aND sO wE bECAME tHIS…”

“No one would blame you, the fault is theirs for not cherishing you as they should have.” Rambo says, to a chorus of agreement from the others. “But is there nothing we can do to help you?”

“nO, i aM aFRAID nOT… wE aRE tHE bRINGER oF nIGHTMARES, tO tHOSE wHO hAVE nO pROTECTOR, tHE oNES wHO dO nOT vALUE tHEIR tOYS oR wHAT tHEY dO.” replied the creatures, finally casting the true nature of their existence into stark relief. The irony of their self-fulfilling prophecy, potential protectors melting into tormentors because their children discarded and abused them for little reason.

“We’re sorry… that we cannot help, but will you leave these children be? We are protecting them from now, until our stitches snap irreparably, and would like them to sleep in peace…” requested the stuffed sheep quite politely.

“wE cOULD… bUT…” there was a pause, eyes swivelling to the form closest to the bed. An angry growl, a bristling of the mass as it fought the impulse to dart down. “oNE oF uS kNOWS tHAT cHILD… wE wOULD tO hAVE hIM!”

Rambo glances down, confirming it was indeed the child he thought, and smiled back serenely. “Oh, be our guest… we don’t need his influence on our humans.”

The nightmare creatures pounced, swallowing the boy in their mass and sinking through the floor, seeming to dissipate without a trace. Rambo tried not to smile victoriously, for surely the brat’s parents might miss him at some point… but at least Ryan would no longer need to deal with him.

Quietly, the amassed toys were placed in odd yet comfortable locations around the room and settled in to look natural; as if they had always been there. Then, the quartet silently moved to their respective children and slipped in beside them. Rambo curled upon the pillow next to Ryan; Brandon smiles in his sleep as Bubbles the octopus wraps around his arm; Felicity the Flying Fox flopped down on Francois’s chest, content in the warmth; and the last of them, Mr Smiles, cuddled up to Simon.

All abed, all at peace… none thinking of the confusion the next morning would bring.

                                                       ~)0(~

Many, many years later… Rambo Eweniverse never once regretted his choice.

Perhaps his human was older now, and only ever seemed to pick him up for a brief nostalgic moment of affection here and there… but that was alright by the stuffed sheep. Where a child moves on to maturity, another takes their place in one form or another…

Sometimes they are given to family, to friends and their children; other toys find their way to playgroups, schools and charity shops. Though a few, the important ones, remain with their humans for as long as possible… watching them grow, mature, live their lives.

One day, their child’s child may take them in hand and give the toy the same love; or maybe not. It matters little. Rambo is happy to have stayed, a protector even after all these years, enjoying the days observing the happy life his now-matured human shares with the people who love him… and watching the moon through the long, cool nights. Occasionally chatting cordially to the shadows creeping about the walls, who aren’t such bad company after all once you get to know them…

It is a good life.

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The End