#reverend mothers aren’t great moms

[blacksunrequiem]

I am slowly digesting the audiobook version of Dune 1 by Frank Hebert and it is truly amazing, both the narration and the writing. Shame on me, for eluding the book for so long. (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

This very last paragraph of Chapter 3 makes me feel a rare humane and soft side of the Reverend Mother and gives a subtle hint of the true mother of Lady Jessica. I am aware that the identity of Lady Jessica’s mother has been debated following the alleged “notes” from Frank Hebert but this paragraph could be supporting evidence.

The RM may have had a tough time with the Gom Jabbar trial with Paul, knowing all too well the path lies ahead for the Atreides. For her blood daughter and grandson. Still, as the RM said earlier in this same chapter:

“Jessica, girl, I wish I could stand in your place and take your sufferings. But each of us must make her own path.” “I know.” “You’re as dear to me as any of my own daughters, but I cannot let that interfere with duty.”

Duty. What a heavy word. The four-letter word that seems to drive all of the characters crazy in the spiral of control and vengeance （−＿−；）

#dune #dune aesthetic #dune quotes #dune chapter 3 #pictorial edit #quotes #reverend mother #gaius helen mohiam #reverend mothers aren’t great moms #lady jessica #frank herbert

[ptergwen]

Hi can u do where like arvin grandma takes him to church and he meets a ‘nice’ girl but really she’s kinda like him and he finds her smoking behind the church thanks

angel

w/c: 1.4k

warnings: swearing, smoking, and suggestive themes

a/n: alright i went overboard this is pretty long 😭 sooo enjoy

-

“grandma, do i really have to-“

“you’ll come say hi to her. she’s a real sweetheart, arvin,” emma pats her grandson’s hand, which she’s leading him by through their pew to yours. she’s been gushing about you all week.

your parents and her ran into each other while buying groceries, and they spoke for a bit. about upcoming town events, about the heat, about their families. you and arvin of course came up. judging by how lovely your parents are, emma had a feeling you’d be the same. that sparked her idea to introduce arvin to you.

she likes the thought of arvin hanging around a nice girl. she’d wanted the same for her own son, although it didn’t quite work out. it’s only a matter of time before she’s pimping lenora out to a pearly white smiling church boy.

“you say that about everyone, grandma,” arvin sighs, lighthearted but with a hint of annoyance. he’s not so sure he’s into nice girls. or, that nice girls would be into him. no offense to you because his grandma has been talking you up, and you do sound great, but maybe not for him.

emma puts on her best smile as the two of them approach you. “just say hi, won’t you? give her a chance.” “alright, if that’s what you want,” arvin mumbles back, running his now free hand through his hair. your mom gasps in pleasant surprise. “oh, emma. wonderful to see you again,” she greets, you and your dad standing up so she can get over.

the women hug while arvin stands there, disguising an eye roll for a look up at the ceiling. you squint at him and smirk to yourself. you’re intrigued.

your parents had mentioned something about you meeting a boy, your mom more enthusiastic than your dad. he wasn’t too on board with it. he’d said the “russell boy” had a reputation, said he was rowdy and whatnot. that was meant to scare you and your mother off. she dismissed it, and your interest was only piqued.

“yes, dear, so wonderful,” emma agrees, grinning at your dad over your mom’s shoulder. he takes a step towards her, making small talk. “how’s it going?” you watch arvin while the three of them catch up. he’s got his hands in his pockets and a clenched jaw. he doesn’t look particularly thrilled to be here. not at church or in your pew.

you snicker at him, and he snaps his head in your direction. the movement is sharp, yet somehow subtle. you’d been expecting the kid to bounce off the walls from how your dad described him. he actually seems pretty quiet. intimidating, yet quiet. it’s hot.

arvin catches a small smile from you. he nods in response, then shifts his attention back to his grandma when she nudges him.

“remember i was telling you about my grandson?” emma asks your parents, both of them affirming. she glances over at you. “this is arvin.” “hi, nice to meet you,” he drawls and extends a hand for your mom and dad to shake. your mom keeps it short and polite. your dad does it with a firm grip, one that arvin matches.

“strong boy,” he comments. “oh, you think so?” arvin jokes back. that earns a glare from your dad, who perceives it as him having an attitude. you take it upon yourself to say hi to arvin next. one, because you aren’t liking the tension. two, because you want to.

you step past your dad so you’re in front of arvin. “i’m y/n,” you say with another smile. “arvin. nice to meet you.” he sticks out his hand again, which you ignore, going straight for a hug. he’s not sure where that came from. either way, he hugs you back by your waist. you lean in to whisper in his ear.

“you wanna get out of here?” he’d fucking love to. he already promised lenora he wouldn’t sneak out of service again, though. “can’t. my sister’ll kill me for it,” arvin murmurs back, you pulling out of his arms. he finds himself disappointed by the absence of your body. your parents and emma are back in their own conversation, so you can speak freely.

“aw, cute. you’ve got a sister. you listen to her?” you’re teasing, a glint in your eyes. you don’t seem like the sweetheart his grandma made you out to be. arvin likes that. “she’s a...” he lets out a breath, trying to come up with a way to describe lenora’s love for church. “you know, this stuff’s important to her.”

“not you?” you wonder, clasping your hands behind your back. “nope. i reckon you’re the same,” arvin hums and scratches his gelled hair. “listen, how about i meet you out back later? nice girls go to church, don’t they?” he throws the last part in to flirt. you pick up on it, poking at his chest and lowering your voice. “who says i’m a nice girl?”

“come on, y/n/n. service is about to start,” your dad interrupts, taking you by your wrist before you can protest. “see you later,” you call to arvin. “yeah, see you.” he grins as him and emma walk back to their pew, where lenora is anxiously waiting for them. they’ll grill him about how he likes you later. right now is the lord’s time.

your words ring in arvin’s head the whole time the reverend drones on about whatever he does. so, you’re not a nice girl. he can’t wait to find out what that means.

when the service ends, lenora and emma line up to speak with the reverend and everyone else waiting. arvin sets off to find you. you’re the only two not still in there, so it shouldn’t be hard. he heads out the back door because he doesn’t want anyone, meaning your dad, to see him.

you’re leaned against the building with a cigarette between your fingers, puffing out a cloud of smoke just as arvin spots you. your lips turn up in a half smile when you take another drag off of it.

“there you are,” you speak, words muffled from the cigarette. you retrieve a box of matches from the waistband of your skirt and dangle it before him. “need a light?” you’d noticed a pack stuffed into his jeans earlier. he’s not so good at hiding them, if he was even trying to. you could teach him a thing or two about being more lowkey.

arvin pulls a cigarette from his pack and shoves it into his mouth. “didn’t take you to be a smoker,” he rasps as you strike the match up, bringing it to his cigarette. you then throw it on the ground and stomp it out with a knowing smile. “i told you, i’m not what you thought i was. whatever my mom told your grandma.”

“mm,” he confers, breathing in and taking the cigarette from his mouth to exhale. “heard you were a straight a’s student. you’re in lots of clubs and all that.” you scoff, bringing your own cigarette to your lips again, further blurring his good girl image of you. “when i cross out the d’s and lie, sure.” arvin chuckles at that and leans back against the stone wall.

“you’re not like your family one bit, huh?” he already knows you aren’t. “nope. i think they’re the reason i’m like this, anyway,” you admit, fingers innocently circling over his bicep. innocently. “i’m doing the whole rebel without a cause thing.” your hand squeezes at his arm, waving out your cigarette and dropping it in the grass.

“what about you? my dad said you’re a fighter.” arvin clears his throat and looks down at your feet. they’re moving, closer to him. “sometimes, for my sister. i was tellin’ you she’s different from the other kids. they pick on her.” that gives you a new sort of admiration for arvin. you thought he was cool, now you think he’s also kind. he thinks you’re... beyond words. in a good way.

“sounds like you’ve got a good heart to me.” you press your fingers into his skin, this time with a smile that’s sweet. he isn’t sure if he prefers this one or the one that has something sinister behind it. “well, thank you,” arvin drops his hand to your hip, adding on, “angel.” he’s well aware of what he’s doing by calling you that name. you click your tongue.

“angel? mhm, i’ll change your mind about that.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #arvin russell #arvin russell imagine #arvin russell fluff #arvin russell x reader

[marsalimackimmie]

Another Outlander Fic Idea

This is set in an AU where Jamie came through the stones to the 20th century soon after Claire returned, and they raised Brianna in the future together.

(I wrote this whole thing out at once and didn’t proof read it so please forgive any typos. It’s a mostly stream of consciousness outline.)

Bree always knew there was something different about her family-- in that they had none. All her friends had grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins… but the Fraser's were an orphaned family. Her Mama and Da had plenty of stories, but always said the people they discussed had died a long time ago. As a kid it made her sad in a detached sort of way, but as she grew older she began having more questions her parents couldn’t answer. 

Growing up, Bree had developed an interest in history with her father. He was always reading books, watching documentaries, and always seemed fascinated by everything he learned-- even the things everyone knew, and the things he supposedly lived through himself. It became something they bonded over, and it led Bree to her secret hobby of genealogy. 

Unbeknownst to her parents, Brianna one day organized a day trip with her friends up to Broch Morda, the place her parents always claimed Jamie was from. She searched their historical archives and church records, but could find no mention of Jenny, Brian, or Ellen Fraser born in the last few centuries. At one point a librarian said she HAD found people by those names, but perhaps it was a more distant ancestor(?) as they were all from the 18th century. 

With this being the only lead Bree had, she dug all in. Every detail that matched up with her parents’ stories (as few details as there were) made her confusion increase. Her first thought was “oh no, my parents are crazy”. Clearly, Jamie had become so lonely as an orphan that he constructed an entire backstory based on the lives of people who shared his last name 200 years ago, who he found through his weird fascination with history. Or was James Fraser even his real name? Oh god, is Fraser even HER real last name?

Freaked out, Bree decides to visit Broch Tuarach’s graveyard to make sure there weren’t just typos or mistakes in the records (it’s not like they’re very valuable or well preserved). The newest graves are full of Murray's, McTavishes, Mackenzies… wow a lot of M’s for a place built by the Fraser clan. She pushes through and finds many faded graves from the early 1800s… quite a few match the names from her supposed family history as well. Brianna is now certain her parents have been lying to her this whole time.

Roger, one of the friends Bree came to Broch Morda with, suggests that maybe they should try some archives in the larger Inverness instead, that maybe this whole Lallybroch business is just a weird coincidence, or a matter of family names repeating themselves. It’s not like Jenny and Ian are uncommon, after all, or James and Katherine for that matter. Brianna is skeptical but agrees. 

Back in Inverness, they dig through the library and find articles about Claire’s disappearance through the stones. Surprised, Brianna does the math and realizes her parents must have met when Claire ran away from this ‘Frank Randall’. The lies piling up, Brianna decides to call Frank and ask for any information he has. Frank is reluctant to speak to her when she ambushes him at his office, and she leaves.

Later she returns late at night hoping to break into his files (she’s really mad and not thinking straight, alright?) and instead finds Frank still there, drinking at his desk. In his drunken state, he tells her everything Claire had claimed about time travel, and stones, and that “bloody Scot bastard” who had taken everything from him. Bree is disturbed to find him so bitter and drunk, and honestly can’t fault her mother for leaving the guy-- he seemed awful. And how seriously could she take his story about magic stones when he’s three sheets to the wind?

Still, Bree can’t help but think. Her vacation is over and she goes back home to Claire and Jamie (they live in Edinburgh maybe, or a remote farming village away from modern hustle idk). Despite dropping many subtle hints, she can’t get her parents to crack. She does start writing down small details they mention about the family though-- for comparison to the historic family, out of curiosity, etc-- and trying to suss out whether her father is delusional or just lying. But he seems as sincere as ever, and never contradicts his stories like someone making it up might. 

Now Bree is starting to feel like the crazy one. Is there even anything here to uncover? So her parents are orphans; so her mom left a drunkard and married a Scot instead. Everything truly suspicious is just circumstantial, paranoid even. Why is she so fixated on it? In the end, Bree finally decides to drop it. 

She still had another visit to Inverness planned however, and Roger suggests they go to the Culloden heritage reenactment festival instead of getting stuck in dusty archives. Bree agrees, and Claire helps her assemble a period costume. Claire seems oddly knowledgeable and nostalgic about it, but Bree brushes it aside. In the end she has a costume that looks great, but isn’t totally accurate. It’s cheaper. It has zippers. She never said she was committed to accuracy ok? Still, making and wearing it seem to make her parents’ lips loosen a bit, and they all bond talking about Scotland and history and family the night before she leaves. As she’s going to sleep, she thinks she hears her parents discuss how they think “Jenny and Ian” are faring at Lallybroch, but that’s probably her imagination-- why would they speak in the present tense? And she knows for a fact Lallybroch is empty. 

Flash forward-- Bree and Roger have a great time at the festival. (To insert my own headcanon agenda, I should mention Roger and Bree are not romantic, just good friends. Roger knows Bree is secretly gay, and sometimes even tries to be her wingman. Bree is out to her parents after they caught her and Sally McGinnis making out when she was 17; that’s why they trust her to stay at Roger’s during trips without too much shovel talk.) When they get back to the manse, they run into Fiona (who had been dancing at the stones at sunrise and gone all day). She awkwardly lets them know she brought a man back with her, who seems like he just needs some help. Confused, they ask why he wasn’t brought to the hospital, and she says he doesn’t need it. Fiona claims this man was at the reenactment (to explain his clothes) but dodges most of their questions. Still, Roger is very hospitable as a Reverend’s son and lets him stay. 

The man, who introduces himself simply as Claudel, seems very friendly if a bit baffled. Still, Roger doesn’t love the idea of Bree staying in the building with a stranger and asks if she’d rather go home. Bree is resistant because she’s not some damsel who has to be protected, but Fiona pipes up and agrees with Roger. Especially since the trains aren’t running right now and the inn is full-- could she call Mr. & Mrs. Fraser to come pick you up, Bree? 

Outnumbered, Brianna angrily agrees. She then sulks in the living room until Claudel comes in and they talk for a while. Brianna complains that everyone treats her like she’s less capable, and the man commiserates, pointing out what she had missed earlier-- his missing hand. She asks what happened, and he vaguely says “the war”. (Fiona had briefed him on what happened to him, where/when he is now, and how he should be as vague as possible when he couldn’t give the truth or a good lie.) Brianna decides she doesn’t mind this guy, even though his presence is inadvertently forcing her to be picked up by her parents like a misbehaving child from a slumber party. 

About an hour or whatever later, there’s a knock at the door. Bree gets up, long suffering, and jokes with Claudel that it must be ‘her time’. They say goodbye amicably and he offers to walk her to the door like a gentleman. 

Bree answers the door to see Claire on the other side, looking equal parts ruffled and concerned, and almost doesn’t notice Claudel freeze behind her. She hears him ask, “Milady?” under his breath, and now her mother is freezing in place too. Do they recognize each other? she wonders.

Bree gets her answer almost instantly, when a smile stretches on her mother’s face and Claire goes to hug the man, saying “oh my god, Fergus. Oh my son.” Cue record scratch noise-- did Mama just call this man her son??? Bree has more questions than ever before.

#outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfic #fraser family #fergus fraser #brianna fraser #claire fraser #fix it #jamie fraser #outlander au #jamie x claire #to be clear 'claudel' never heard that brianna's last name was fraser #but fiona kinda put it all together and set up this reunion on purpose #she's pretty sly #my writing #plot bunny #mine

[ask-de-writer]

THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS : MLP Fan Fiction

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THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1441 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/21/17

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

It is well known that Black Cats bring bad luck.  It may be that it is not QUITE true.

Sugar Maple was playing outside, in her Grandmare's neatly fenced yard. Sugar loved to visit Grandmare but her mom really didn't like to bring her this far into the Everfree Forest.

Sugar climbed onto the platform of Grandmare's swing set and began to shift her weight to make the swing swoop back and forth!  It was fun!  The wind made her light brown mane and tail fly about as the butter colored foal swept from one end of the swing to the other and back!

The swing was almost as much fun as playing with Grandmare's cats!  They were all pure, silky black and over half of them had wings like a bat!  They could fly really well, too!  Sugar bailed off the swing at the top of its swoop and spread her own young wings!  Her glide was inexpert but enthusiastic, as she sailed about Grandmare's cottage! She almost made it all the way around, back to the swing set!  Her hooves hit the lawn sod only about ten feet short of her goal!

Little hooves clattering on the stone of the front steps, Sugar dashed into Grandmare's little house!  “Mom!  Grandmare!  I glided almost all the way around the house!  I made it almost all the way back to the swing!”

Her mother set her teacup down firmly and began, “SUGAR MAPLE, what have I told you about unsupervised flying!?”

Grandmare raised an admonitory black furred wing and used the other to scoop Sugar into a welcoming hug!  Taking a moment to preen a few small tangles from Sugar's mane with her razor sharp fangs, Grandmare said gently, “You did very well.  Did you flap at all or was it a pure glide?”

Giving her leaf brown mother a slightly fearful glance, Sugar replied, “I glided the whole way!  I did cup my wings up to land!  I came down real gentle.”

The hug was pulled tighter as Grandmare smiled, showing her fangs. Shifting her voice up, beyond the hearing of most ponies, Grandmare asked, “[How is your chirping coming along?]”

Answering the same way, Sugar replied, “[It is going really good!  Mom can't hear it, so I practice it a lot!]”

“[Tell me, Sugar, what you chirp in my bedroom?]”

Excitedly, Sugar exclaimed, “You got a dress horse with a costume on it!  It is too small for Mom or you, so it must be for me!”

Nodding, Grandmare agreed, “It is, Dear.  Go and try it on.  Later, we will practice flying our way.”

Sugar dashed for the back room!  

Granmare returned her attention to Sugar's mom.  “Hazel, I thought that I made it perfectly clear that Sugar must be allowed to develop!  Look at you!  You play the part of a crippled pegasus!  You do it so well that you have lost the ability to fly or even hear chirping!

“THAT is too high a price to pay for 'fitting in'!”

Hazel looked down and fiddled with her teacup before trying, “If anypony ever saw my extended wing, or Sugar's for that matter, they would scream THESTRAL!  There could be a mob!  I don't want Sugar hurt!”

Grandmare softened, “In that, we are agreed.  Caramel Treat's is always a safe place.  Those Werewolves do understand the problem and will protect us.  So will Reverend Smallflower at the Assembly.”

Their discussion was ended by the return of Sugar.  She was wearing the costume as a thestral witch!  Two of Grandmare's cats were riding her shoulders, purring happily.  One casually lifted a furry, bat like wing to scratch under it.

Grandmare was delighted.  Hazel was less so, but agreed that it was a great costume.

Grandmare led Sugar outside, the cats following.  Soon Sugar was fluttering short distances and landing properly.  The cats were 'helping.'  They thought that the fluttering filly was a great toy!  Conversely, Sugar, dodging their mock attacks thought that the cats were great teachers!  It only took a few hours before she was swooping and dodging with them in a game of aerial tag!  Happy foal's laughter pealed down from the October sky.

Grandmare nodded serenely, “She takes to the sky as naturally as breathing. A true thestral if ever there was one.”

Hazel agreed sadly, “I know.  I hope that Ponyville will be better to her than it was to me.”

Grandmare turned Sympathetic eyes to Hazel.  “I do know what you mean, dear. You half breeds have it rougher than we full bloods.  The unicorns have never forgiven our service to the Nightmare Throne, 2000 years ago, in the Nightmare Wars.  The only thing that shows Maple to be a partial breed is her color.”

Sighing, Hazel glanced at the sun's angle and suggested, “We must return home, Grandmare.  It has actually been a good visit.”

Hazel and Sugar Maple trotted back along the nearly overgrown trail that led from Grandmare's to behind the Duchess O' Red Hoof's land.  It joined the trail leading from Brightmane's cottage.  It became far better and more traveled after that.

They reached Ponyville proper and went into their snug little cottage home without incident.  The two cats that had ridden Sugar's shoulder all the way, immediately flew from her shoulder, circling about the room, high and low.  They perched on the sofa back and began to preen.

Evening fell and with it began Nightmare Night.  Gathering together her loot bag and a “Witch's Staff”, Maple set out.  Both cats riding her shoulders.

She joined a group making the rounds of homes and small businesses.

“Wow! That is a neat thestral witch costume!  How did you turn your fur black, Sugar?”

She smiled and replied, “Just a cheap brush in dye.  It will wash out.”

“Gee, I wish that I had a cat like yours to go with my witch costume! Aren't you afraid of bad luck?  Yours are pure black.”

The mare in charge of the small herd was in a silly looking deer costume with phony horns on a spring gripper across her head!

Of course, they dropped in on Caramel Treat's Sweets for their famous Nightmare Night display and fabulous foal bowl!  It did not disappoint!  There were the very real Werewolves, Caramel and Fangrin in their Everfree Ridgeback Wolf forms, a black gryphon, several games and the foal bowl hidden under mists in a big cauldron.

The party went on toward the more residential parts of town, followed by a pegasus in a skull like mask and a costume of bones painted onto black cloth.  His wings could slide out through reinforced cuts in the fabric.  It hid his cutie mark.

Sugar chirped to the cats in a voice too high for ponies to hear, “[Dark Sky, New Moon, could you go back and cross his path a few times?  I do not like him following us!]”

In answer, both cats hopped from her shoulder, gliding to the ground and scampering back!  They paraded across his path repeatedly. Undeterred, he continued to follow the herd of foals.

The cats returned to Sugar's shoulder.  The foal herd was approaching Drastin Park and its big unobstructed hoof ball pitch.  He charged toward the hapless foals!

He tripped over two cats that had been watching him for any such stunt! He faceplanted, in a most embarrassing way!  The whole herd of foals heard him fall and stopped to watch!

Climbing back to his hooves, he charged again!  Bowling the foals over like ninepins, he grabbed two foal loot bags and leaped for the night sky!

Two cats and Sugar were on his tail, almost immediately!  The cats snagged his left wing, causing him to spiral out of control!  Before he could do anything to get rid of the cats, Sugar slammed her head in between his hind legs from above and power dived, flipping him over onto his back!

Fluttering and flailing helplessly, he hit the ground with a crunch!  Sugar landed lightly beside him and gathered up the stolen loot bags.  She was still picking up spilled treats when the rest of the group swarmed around her!

As Sugar was returning the stolen bags, one of the colts said admiringly, “We could see the whole thing!  The moon lit up those thin clouds and we saw it all!!  You really are a thestral!  That was so neat how you took him down!”

One of the fillies came and got her loot bag.  She petted the cats and said, “I guess that the thing about black cats and bad luck is true!”  Giggling, she pointed to the fallen pegasus thief.  “It sure was for him!”

~THE END~

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#THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS #MLP Fan Fiction #Tales to read AFTER the Lights are OUT #Written by De Writer

[takadasaiko]

Truth in the Lies: The Box

FFN II AO3

Summary: Liz and Tom unpack their new apartment and find Tom's old go-box. Set in S4.

The Box

It was quiet, the lights turned down low and Agnes finally tucked away and asleep in her crib so that her parents could continue the arduous task of unpacking their lives from the piles of boxes that filled the living room. Originally they had been packed away with the understanding that Kate would have them sent along to Cuba after things died down, but they never made it that far. Instead they'd gathered dust, waiting through their search for Agnes, the exhausting battle with Kirk, and finally until the Keens found their way out of Reddington's windowless safe house.

Somewhere along the way they had found Tom's old turntable in one of the many boxes. Soft music played out - not the Ramones, but just as good - and Liz leaned back for the partially-emptied bottle of wine that was sitting barely in reach to refill her glass. They hadn't found the appropriate glassware just yet, but the tumblers were doing the trick. She tilted a little too far and toppled off balance, straightening only enough to shoot Tom a faux-irritated look as he stifled his laugh.

"Yeah, what was that?"

"Nothing," he offered, holding his hands up, palms outward, as if he were surrendering before the battle began. Smart man.

Liz snorted and resumed her reach for the bottle.

"You need some help with that?" Tom asked, his tone more amused than not as she found far less wine than she expected left.

"Yeah. If we have another bottle that would be great."

"When have I ever let our wine supply run dry?" he teased as he stood.

Liz came back to sit cross-legged on the wooden floor and watched him as he moved to rifle through the bags of groceries he'd picked up while she'd been at work. "And that's why I married you. Twice."

"At least I know my worth," he laughed and returned with a bottle of Pinot. He shoved another box between them with his foot before taking a seat and starting in on opening the new bottle. "And the second time we didn't technically get married. We should probably fix that."

"Not sure we're going to find a reverend willing to meet us at eleven o'clock at night."

"Wine and unpacking it is then."

He refilled her glass and handed it over. Liz took a long sip before setting it aside and looking at the box between them. "I guess we should do at least one more?"

"You're the one that wanted this done by the end of the week."

"That's tomorrow."

"It's Friday, Agnes is asleep, and theoretically you don't have to be at work tomorrow. We've got this."

Liz watched as he took a box cutter down the center of the tape, expertly splitting each side and pulling it away. She leaned in, finding more packing material than she expected, and started to pull at it until she found something solid. A picture frame with the photo of her and her mother on the swing set behind the glass. A small smile tugged at her lips as she let her fingers roam across it, touching Katarina's hidden face and feeling a strange sense of warmth settling over her with it.

A soft breath from her almost-husband drew Liz's attention and she looked over, finding Tom holding his own prize that he'd found packed away. Paper lay abandoned to the side, loosing the old, familiar go-box from its hold and she watched him run his hands across the wood almost nostalgically before opening it. It was empty. She knew it was. He'd stored his various passports and less-than-legal documents in a folder that he'd had with him on his flight with Agnes to Cuba. That didn't stop his fingers from running across the edges of the lid or down into the crevice of the symbol. There was something strange about the movement. Something she'd never seen before when he handled it.

"I didn't know if it'd made it," he confessed softly.

"How long have you had it?"

"As long as I can remember."

There was something in the words that stopped her. Liz's head tilted to the side very slightly as she studied the man she loved, his focus on the box in his hands. The box that had been a symbol of her own blindness. It had housed lies and sheltered his secrets for so long. Buried down beneath the floorboards and the carpet of their dining room, if Reddington had never come into their lives, she might never have known it was there at all.

Funny thing, in the dim lighting of their new living room she felt like she'd seen the symbol on the lid somewhere other than on the offensive box before, and as she reached her free right hand out to touch his, she saw where on the burn scar on her wrist. Strange that she'd never noticed just how similar the two marks were before.

Dark blue eyes met her own and Tom's lips pulled into a thin, awkward, and questioning smile. "What?" he asked, uncertainty pulling heavily at the question.

Liz pulled in a breath, her mind working through the response. "I never knew you had it before… I guess I just thought it was a place to store fake passports."

He shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

"But you've had it a long time," she pressed.

His smile faded to a thin, even line and he pulled his hand away to run it through his dark hair. "Yeah. I mean, as long as I can remember. I used to…" She watched his jaw clench and filed another one of his signs of discomfort away. "I used to take it from house to house. I don't know how many before I landed at the Phelps household. I didn't own much. A couple of comics, a baseball card that someone told me was worth something…. A photo that I thought was of my family. No clue what put that in my head. Turned out it was a magazine clipping or something." He tried for an other smile, his lips tugging at one corner lopsidedly. "I was six."

"Kids have held onto stranger things," Liz murmured, tightening her hold on the photo of her mother. Adults too, if she were honest. She cleared her throat. "You said you were adopted, but you never said much about them. The Phelps'."

And just like that the smile was gone again, his expression closing off and he looked away. "Not much to say."

"Were they that bad?"

She watched the struggle, the promise of open honesty that he'd given her just the night before hanging heavily in the air and he swallowed hard. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight. "The Phelps' adopted me when I was seven. I think I went to the ER five times in the six years before I finally got away."

Liz felt her chest tighten and her eyes held his. "They hurt you?"

"We don't need to talk about this."

"Tom."

He cringed at the sound of his name and she hated how he almost flinched. She shouldn't push, she knew she shouldn't push, but something in her said this was important.

"I told you I'd try," he acknowledged. The lines on his face deepened as he tucked his chin and clenched his jaw, every inch of his demeanor screaming discomfort. When he spoke again, his voice was rushed, as if he were trying to get the words out before some long-instilled precaution stopped him. "He was drunk, she was complacent. I was… a little bastard, according to Frank. Sarcastic, ornery. I don't know. I just didn't like being shoved around."

"How did you get out?" Liz asked softly, almost regretting it as she did. Almost.

Tom shot her a look like she was asking him to confess to a series of crimes. Maybe she was, but it sounded more like he was the victim. "Yeah, I uh… He cracked a beer bottle over my head," he said as he ran his hand across the scar covered by his hair. She'd seen it when it had been buzzed short for his op in Germany, even if she hadn't given it a lot of thought at the time. "I think there might have been an argument. I don't know, but I got a couple things together and ran far enough that they couldn't send me back. This is the only thing I still have from before then. Thought about throwing it away more than once but just… never have."

Liz sat for a long moment as she let the story wash over her. She'd had her fair share of pain, but at least she'd had Sam to show her what it was like to be on the receiving end of love. Tom hadn't. All he'd known was pain and abuse and manipulation. It was no wonder he'd spent the better part of his life trying to be anybody else. Somehow, though, he'd come out on the other side of it. He could be violent and dangerous, but there was a gentleness that had managed to survive through it. She saw it in the way he held Agnes and felt it in how he loved her. He had said that his biological mother had abandoned him, but there had to be something buried in his past that had made it possible to love as deeply as he did despite everything life had put him through.

"Do you think the box is a link to your past?"

He settled back, glancing at it as he did. "Maybe. Doesn't really matter."

"Maybe your mom could -"

"We've been over this. I don't want anything to do with her. I know your past means a lot to you, but mine doesn't to me. This. Here. Now. That's what matters to me."

Liz swallowed the argument. There was no point when he dug in like that. Maybe someday she could convince him, but it wouldn't be tonight. Instead she set the photo still in her hand down and shifted to stand. She could feel his gaze on her, his voice hesitant. "Liz…?"

"Just a sec," she answered, moving into the kitchen. She checked two drawers before finally finding the one with the screwdriver in it and moved over to the vent in the wall. She crouched down, starting in on loosening the screws.

"What are you doing?" Tom didn't move from his place, but at least some of the tenseness had finally eased from his voice. It was almost amused, like he knew exactly what she was doing, but wanted verification before believing it.

"Well we're four flights up and we're just renting the place for now, so carving a secret hole in the floor probably isn't the way to go." She pried the tin screen loose and looked over her shoulder. "Passports are in the bedroom, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

She shot him an expectant look and he chuckled as he stood, disappearing long enough to retrieve them. He crouched down with her, handing over his go-box. She took it, fingers brushing across the old wood, and slid it into its new hiding place.

"I know I push you about looking into your past," she said softly as Tom handed her the vent covering to put back into place. "And if you're ever ready, I'm right here. With you."

He didn't say anything and she turned to look at him, finding the man she loved staring at her with wide, glassy eyes as if he didn't know what to make of the promise. She rocked forward, her hand sliding around to the back of his neck to pull him in. He met her halfway so that his lips pressed against hers, and when they finally broke the kiss neither were in a rush to put any distance between them. "I love you," he breathed, his voice trembling a little.

"You too," she answered softly and looked up, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "I don't know about you, but I really need a shower."

His lips tugged outward in a real smile. "That an invitation?"

"Sure hope so." She pressed one more playful kiss against his lips before popping to her feet, Tom following immediately behind her, leaving the box from his childhood stored safely away. The past could wait.

------

Notes:

So... it's been a while. Hi! lol

I've been sliding down a slippery slope and back into the Blacklist fandom full-force between working on my original scripts lately. The episode where Liz pulled Tom's go box out of the hideaway in the wall cut the breaks on it I think. I've been doing a full rewatch and I'm hoping to pick a multi-chapter Tom Lives fic up again during the hiatus. Who knows? I haven't had a ton of time for fic writing, but we'll see. I definitely have ideas for it.

This one came about in part from that episode and also a conversation I had with @tessabltheorist about how long Tom has had his box. She had the fantastic idea that it might have been something he had with him when he was taken and I love it. I happily blame her for helping to spark this idea.

#the blacklist #blacklist fanfiction #Elizabeth Keen #Tom Keen #Keen2 #Truth in the Lies

[snappedsky]

Fanatics Adventures in Space Part 24

The Night Terrors attend a party. Previous! Next!

--

The Banquet

           Our heroes have been gone for over half a year. And while their friends and family miss them, time continues to pass normally.

           Winter has struck the Nameless City as hard as usual: clear streets one day, snow the next. Many of the citizens are used to it and prepare around this time. But a couple are just unable to. Like the Night Terrors and their roommate, Aron.

           “I hate this time of year,” Aron mumbles, shivering and curled up in a blanket next to their space heater. The Night Terrors are in much the same position.

           “Yeah, I thought California was supposed to be like hot,” Eff whines.

           “You really gonna try and apply logic to this city?” Reverend Meat grunts.

           “At least the van is warmer than it was before it got tricked out,” Sickness points out.

           “Cold is still cold,” D-boy grumbles.      

           The door is suddenly thrown open, letting in the freezing air and biting wind.

           “Close the damn door!” everyone barks as Serena enters.

           “Relax,” she snaps back, shutting the door behind her. “Look at this.”

           She throws a newspaper on the floor in front of them. On the front page they recognize a photo of her father- Charles Von, the mayor of the city- shaking hands with another smartly dressed man.

           “Who’s that?” Eff asks.

           “Uh Vincent Pimento?” Serena replies impatiently, “I’ve been talking about him for the last couple months.”

           “You can’t expect us to listen to everything you say,” D-boy states, “normally it’s only about men you’ve fucked and eaten.”

           “I like those stories,” Reverend Meat says.

           “Well, to catch you up,” Serena growls, “with Celio Mussolini imprisoned, people are considering Pimento to be the new ‘most powerful man in the city’. And he’s taking that very seriously. I think he might try to take over the city like Mussolini did.”

           “But he looks like he’s making good friends with your dad,” Sickness points out as she looks over the article.

           “That’s just a front!” Serena snaps, “Dad doesn’t see it either, but he’s dangerous. I’m sure he’s gonna dig up some dirt on Dad and use it to blackmail him later. We have to stop him before he gets too powerful.”

           “We do?” D-boy questions.

           “Yes! You’re supposed to be protecting the city, right? Wouldn’t your ‘Little Boss’ want you to take care of a threat before it got too bad?”

           “Alright,” Reverend Meat shrugs, “but what are we supposed to do?”

           “I’m glad you asked,” Serena grins, “Pimento is holding a banquet at his mansion tonight. We’re gonna crash it and-.”

           “And kill him?” Eff suggests.

           “I considered that but his death would be too noticeable,” she replies, “so we’re just gonna find some dirt on him to use as blackmail.”

           “Sounds fun,” Sickness smirks.

           “Not to be the voice of reason,” Aron says, “but you might be able to sneak into a rich banquet, but do you really think these guys can?”

           “What’s that supposed to mean?” Eff asks critically.

           “You stand out?”

           “Oh. Yeah, that’s true.”

           “Don’t worry, I already have a plan,” Serena grins, “I’ll get in with one of you as my date. After, we’ll sneak upstairs and let the other three in.”

           “Okay,” Reverend Meat nods, “so who’ll be your date?”

           “D-boy.”

           “What?” he questions with surprise. “Why me?”

           “Yeah, why him?” Eff questions scornfully.

           “D-boy is the least likely to make a scene,” Serena replies.

           “I am?” he questions.

           “And once I clean him up, he’ll look like a half-decent socialite,” she adds.

           “How are you gonna clean him up?” Sickness asks.

           “At my dad’s house, obviously,” she grunts, as she gets into the driver’s seat. “So buckle up cause the party starts at 7. And I’m guessing it’s gonna take a couple hours to get D-boy clean.”

           “Is no one gonna ask how I feel about doing this?” D-boy asks.

           “No,” Reverend Meat replies plainly.

           “Alright. Just checking.”

           Serena drives them across the city to the richer part of town, where her family home is. She parks the van at the curb and they all get out and hurry up to the house, eager to escape the cold.            

           “Serena!” her mother chimes as they enter. “Always so nice to see you home. And you’ve brought your…little friends…”                

           “We’re going to a party tonight,” Serena explains, “I gotta help them get ready.”

           “Take off your shoes please,” her mom requests.

           “Trust me, none of us want that,” Reverend Meat says.

           She grimaces as they pass and follow Serena upstairs. She leads them to a large, sparkling washroom and shoves D-boy towards the shower.

           “Get clean,” she orders, “while you’re doing that, I’ll find you a tux.”

           “Fine,” D-boy groans as he takes off his hat.

           Serena hurries down the hall to her parents’ bedroom and goes into their walk-in closet. She goes through her father’s clothes before finding a nice, simple tuxedo and nods agreeably.

            As she leaves, she runs into her little brother, Jeff, in the hall. He’s leaning against the wall, watching her suspiciously.          

           When she gets back to the washroom, she finds D-boy in his spotted briefs sitting on the toilet while Sickness scrubs at his face, Eff, Reverend Meat, and Aron watching from the sidelines. D-boy’s hair is wet but he’s still covered in make-up.

           “What’s going on? Aren’t you done yet?” Serena asks as she hangs up the suit.

           “He showered but his face is covered in layers of paint,” Aron explains.

         “I haven’t washed in a while,” D-boy adds, “I just touched-up my face paint when I needed.”

           “Jeez, we need a freekin trowel to scrape all this off,” Sickness complains as she scrubs his cheek raw.

           When D-boy’s face is finally clean- albeit red and tender- Serena helps him into the tux and does his hair all nice and neat. By the time he’s finished, he’s barely recognizable.

           “May I present, Psycho of Doughboy,” Serena says, bowing dramatically as she shows off the finished product to the others.

           “Wow, Dee, you almost look like a respectable person,” Aron comments.

           “Which is more than can be said about any of us,” Reverend Meat remarks.

           “How’s it feel?” Sickness asks.

           “Not too different,” D-boy replies as he straightens his necktie. “I miss my hat though.”

           “Beauty is pain,” Serena grunts. “Now, we have about half an hour before the party. Wait downstairs and try to stay clean while I get ready.”

           “It takes you half an hour to get ready?” Eff asks judgementally.

           “Hardly. It usually takes me two hours. I didn’t expect D-boy to take so long.”            She shoos everyone out into the hall and starts preparing. By the time she’s finished, it’s almost seven o’clock. She’s wearing a long, dark purple dress with spaghetti straps and a slit up the left leg; her black hair is done up in an elaborate up-do and she has bright red lips and smoky eyeshadow.

           “Wow, you look great,” Sickness comments.

           “I know,” Serena smiles.

           “So how are we getting there? The van?” D-boy asks.

           “They can take the van,” she replies as she nods towards Eff and the others. “I got our own ride.”

           “Okay, guys, meet us at the Pimento residence- the address is in the paper,” she orders as she leads D-boy away. “Wait for us on the roof and we’ll let you in when we can.”

           “Okey dokey,” Reverend Meat salutes and the others wave as they walk away.

           Serena leads D-boy to the garage, where a limousine is parked. Her younger brother, Jeff, is leaning against the hood.            

           “You owe me for this,” he states, pointing at Serena before knocking on the driver’s door and walking away.

           Serena opens the back door and ushers D-boy in. “After you.”

           He looks around in awe as he slides onto the leather seat. There’s a fully stocked mini-fridge, a cooler with champagne, and best of all- a working heater.

           “Wow. Swanky,” D-boy grins.

           “Welcome to the highlife, Dee,” Serena smirks as she sits beside him. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”            The limo exits the garage and they head to the party.

           Expensive vehicles line the street leading up to the Pimento manor- a large, cream coloured three-story building with a big, clear yard surrounded by a brick wall. There are bright lights streaming out of the first floor and dozens of people crowded around outside the front door, where a bouncer can be seen.  

           “So how are we getting in?” D-boy asks.

           “That’s the easy part,” Serena replies, “I’m the mayor’s daughter, remember?”            As they exit the limo and head up the front door, Serena hooks her hands around D-boy’s arm.

           “Hey,” he grunts.

           “You’re my date. Act like it,” she hisses, “and stand up straight.”

           They pass by the line-up of potential, wannabe guests and approach the bouncer. He doesn’t even look up from his clipboard.

           “Name?” he grunts.

           “Serena Von,” she replies calmly.

           He glances at her with surprise. “Ah, Miss Von. Your father is already here.”

           “Yes, well, I like to be fashionably late,” she chirps, “do me favour and don’t mention to anyone I’m though, okay? I prefer to keep my presence separate from his, y’know?”

           “As you wish, Miss Von,” he nods and steps aside allowing the couple inside.

           “Will your dad being here be a problem?” D-boy asks as they pass through the foyer.

           “It’ll be fine,” Serena replies, “he’ll be too busy getting his ass kissed to notice.”

           They enter the large where the banquet is being held. There’s a large, crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. On the right side of the room, all kinds of clearly rich folks are milling about, being waited on by servants holding trays with fancy, little finger foods. On the other side, couples are dancing to classical music. A large staircase is on the far side of the room, blocked off by a velvet rope and guarded by two suited men.

           “So what’s the plan?” D-boy asks quietly as they walk through the room.

           “Blend in, wait for an opportunity to get those guards away from the stairs,” Serena replies.

           Meanwhile, the other Night Terrors have arrived as well. Having parked the van a couple blocks away, they made their way to the mansion through the back alley and jumped the wall surrounding the yard.

           “Jesus, it’s cold,” Eff whines as they make their way to the side of the house.

           “Okay, where are they?” Sickness asks as they peek through a window to get a look into the party.

           “There,” Reverend Meat replies, pointing at Serena and D-boy amidst the crowd.

           “Wow, D-boy really is unrecognizable, isn’t here,” Eff comments.

           Serena and D-boy start to head over to the serving away when Serena stops short and abruptly turns the other, pulling D-boy after her.

           “Ah, jeez! What?” he grunts in surprise.

           “My dad’s over there,” she whispers, keeping her head low.

           D-boy glances over and spots Serena’s dad, Charles Von, talking to a group of people. One man with short, neat black hair in a three-piece suit seems particularly interested in everything he’s saying.

           “Who’s the guy drooling all over him?” D-boy asks.

           “Vincent Pimento,” Serena hisses, venom dripping from her words.

          She leads D-boy to the dance floor, placing his hands on her hips and grabbing his shoulders.

           “I don’t know how to dance,” he whispers.

           “It’s fine, it’s not hard,” she replies, “just sway a bit and follow my lead. And don’t stare at your feet.”

           They stick to the middle of the dance floor, semi-hidden from her father’s view from the other dancers. While Serena watches him and Pimento talk it up, D-boy eyes the guards at the stairs.

           “So how do we get rid of them?” he asks.

           “We need some sort of distraction,” Serena replies.

           “I can come up with something.”

           “Okay, just be subtle-.” She flinches and looks away when she makes brief eye contact with Pimento. “Shit.”

           “What?” D-boy questions.

           “I think they spotted me.”

           D-boy glances over and notices Pimento whispering to Charles, pointing at them.

           “Damn. What do we do?” he asks.

           “We have to throw them off our trail; do something to make them uncomfortable,” Serena replies.

           “Like what?” D-boy asks as he tries to avoid making eye contact with Charles.

           “I have an idea. It’s a little crazy, but just roll with it,” Serena says.      

           “I like crazy.”

           “Good.”

           She throws her arms around D-boy’s neck and kisses him flat on the mouth.

           D-boy’s eyes widen slightly with surprise. Eff, Sickness, and Reverend Meat exclaim with shock and nearly fall over. Around them, the dancers grimace and make an effort to look anywhere else, as do Pimento and Charles.

           Serena breaks the kiss and they both glance towards her father.

           “Wow, it worked,” D-boy says.

           “Yeah, now it doesn’t have to be weird,” Serena remarks.

           “It’s not weird. Just a little gross.”

           “Right,” she grunts and wipes her mouth. “Do you paint the inside of your mouth?”          

           “Sometimes it gets through my lips,” he shrugs.

           Serena scoffs with disgust and smiles. “Okay, so, what was your distraction idea?”

           “Oh, right,” D-boy nods, “okay, just let me lead for a minute.”

           D-boy carefully directs them across the floor, doing his best to stay on-beat to the music, and nears another dancing couple. As they take a step, D-boy sticks his leg out, tripping the women and knocking both of them to the floor.

           “Nice,” Serena comments.

           Everyone’s attention is immediately drawn to the sprawled out couple and the men guarding the stairs rush over. While the couple is helped up and checked over for injuries- and the on-looking guests say rude things about their dancing under their breath- D-boy and Serena race up the stairs.

           “There they go,” Reverend Meat says, “let’s go.”            The three of them easily scale the wall up to the roof and wait for a window to open.

           D-boy and Serena hurry through the house to the third floor. Fortunately, it’s completely empty, any residents seemingly at the party or just out. They find a room with a window on the side of the house and quickly open it.

           “Nice work, guys,” Reverend Meat comments as he, Eff, and Sickness swing in.

           “Now time for phase 2,” Serena grins, “follow me.”

           She leads the crew back to the second floor and she quickly checks every door until she finds Pimento’s office.

           “Okay, look for something, anything,” Serena orders as she begins pulling out drawers and rifling through papers.

           “What exactly are you hoping to find?” Sickness asks as they follow suit.

           “I don’t know. Evidence of money laundering, human trafficking, child pornography.”

           “Wow, that really escalated,” Eff comments.

           “Just look for something we can use against him,” Serena demands.

           “Ahem.”

           The obnoxious fake cough makes Serena and the Night Terrors whip around to the door, where Pimento is standing with four of his servants. Serena glowers as he steps forward.

           “Serena Von,” he says, “I knew it was you. Why are you here? Why do you hate the friendship your father and I have?”            “You’re not friends with my father,” Serena snarls, “you just want to use him and throw him away. I know your type. You hate that my father uses his wealth for the sake of others and you want to destroy him.”

           “Why do you care what happens to him?” Pimento asks, “didn’t he kick you out and cut you off from the family’s wealth.”

           “He means well. He only did that to teach me responsibility.”            “And that sure didn’t work. Now you and your…odd friends are gonna be arrested and you will besmirch your father’s name.” He laughs cruelly. ���I don’t have to ruin him when his family does it so well for me.”

           Serena growls as he chuckles. “Okay, time to for Plan B.”

           “Plan B?” D-boy questions.

           “The ‘B’ stands for ‘Beat ‘em up’.”

           The Night Terrors smirk with understanding. Before the guards can even blink, Sickness is on top of one and knocks him to the ground; Reverend Meat punches the other in the chest, immediately knocking him unconscious; the Doughboys finish off the last two by slamming their faces into the walls.

           Pimento can hardly register what just happened, his jaw slung open in shock. Before he can say anything, Serena grabs the front of his shirt, tugs him into the room, and throws him onto the desk.  

           “Here’s the deal, Pimento,” she hisses, baring her vampire fangs inches from his quivering face. “If you do anything to try and hurt my father or my family, I will hunt you down and make you watch as I drain your pathetic body of every last drop of blood. Got it?”

           He whimpers and nods pathetically.

           “Good,” she chirps and steps back. “Let’s go, guys.”

           She opens the window and they climb out.

           “You know,” D-boy says as they scale the building. “If you had just done that like a week ago, we wouldn’t have had to attend this party.”

           “Yeah but this was more fun,” Serena shrugs.

           “So are we gonna talk about the fact that you two…uh,” Reverend Meat says, awkwardly pointing between the two of them.

           “Nope,” they declare.

           “Okay. Just checking.”

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #my art #my ocs

[lizardbooks]

THE COLOR PURPLE ;; the whole book

how does celie come to get married? Mr. _____ comes around and tries to marry her younger sister, Nettie. Celie thinks that her sister marrying him would be a good thing because it would get her away from their father who has been raping Celie, but their father forbids it and, instead, offers him Celie. At first, Mr. _____ isn’t happy with this second offer, but finally comes around. what do celie and mr. ___ tell harpo to do to get sofia to listen to him? how does this turn out? Physical violence! (wow so great!) They both think that Sofia gets away with way too much and that Harpo basically needs to show her who is boss. Sofia, however, does not take this lying down and when Harpo tries to smack her around, she beats him up. what happens when sofia meets the mayor and his wife? Sofia is driving around with her children and Buster. The mayor’s wife happens by and starts fawning over Sofia’s children. The woman tells Sofia that her children are so clean and maybe Sofia would like to work for her. To which Sofia responds, "Hell no." The mayor gets angry and slaps Sofia and so she assaults the mayor and then she ends up in jail. what is Shug’s surprise? Mr.__ thinks she’s bringing a car for him because she’s making "big money" now. When Shug comes, it turns out she brings a "skinny big toof man wearing red suspenders"—her new husband. His name is Grady. Shug also brings a car, but she said she bought it as a wedding present for herself and Grady. (So not a surprise that either Mr. _____ or Celie were hoping for). how does celie get a letter from nettie? what does it say? After telling Shug about her sister, Shug asks if Nettie might be living somewhere far away? She says she’s seen Mr. _____ get letters with weird stamps on them that he will just pocket. So, now knowing this, Shug gets one from him and gives it to Celie. Her letter says that she wants Celie to know that Nettie isn’t dead. She assumes that Mr. ______ has been keeping her letters from her. She wants Celie to know that she’s coming home soon … and that she’s bringing Celie’s children with her! what has nettie been up to? After being thrown out of Mr. ________’s house, Nettie ends up at the Reverend's place and recognized his daughter as Celie’s child, Olivia. She stays with them: the family is very religious and good to her. Nettie ends up going with them to Africa, as they are missionaries. • She’s learning so much she never knew before. For example, that Africa had great cities long before Atlanta existed. And that Africans sold their brothers and sisters. She realizes how ignorant she used to be. Corrine and Samuel are apparently wonderful people. They have a great marriage and they are so grateful to God for sending them Olivia and Adam. Nettie admits that Olivia and Adam are definitely Celie’s children. She assures Celie that the children are well cared for. how do the men in olinka remind nettie of her father? The men’s treatment of the woman mostly - they think of them entirely as less than. They speak to them only to give instructions and the woman aren’t even allowed to make eye contact with them!! They do not think that the woman should be educated — and the reverend and his family are scolded when it becomes known that they were trying to teach Olivia’s friend. what does the road mean for the people of olinka? When the road reached the Olinka village, the villagers assume that the road is for them and hold a celebration feast. Turns out, though, that the road isn’t done yet and is supposed to continue right through the village, and right through Catherine’s field. The villagers are really mad, but the road-builders have guns and are supposed to shoot if the villagers resist. The church, school, and missionary huts are torn down within hours to make way for the road. The Olinka chief sets out to complain and try to get reparations. However, all he returns with is bad news: The Olinka village and the surrounding area now belongs to an English rubber-manufacturing company. The Olinka now have to pay rent to live in their village and pay a tax to use the water. The villagers have rebuilt the school, church, and destroyed huts and are waiting to see what will happen now. how did samuel and corinne come to adopt olivia and adam? Samuel reveals how he got the children to begin with, from a shady character he’d known before he became a religious man. This man—Celie and Nettie’s Pa—turns out not to really be their father after all. He’s their stepfather. Their real father owned a successful store but was lynched by white folks who were angry that he was taking away so many of their customers. Apparently, after their real father was murdered, their mother kind of lost it. The neighbors had to keep bringing over food to feed young Celie and Nettie. Then a stranger came into town and married Celie and Nettie’s mother. The woman was pregnant every year from then on. According to Samuel’s story, the woman (Nettie and Celie’s mom), had two children just before she died that she was unable to care for—Olivia and Adam. Samuel never told Corrine about how he got the children, they just considered the kids gifts from God. Samuel says that when Nettie showed up, he assume that his ex-friend ("Pa") had been messing around with a young girl and that Nettie was the kids’ real mom. That’s why he so willingly took her in. shug and celie have a discussion about what god looks like. what is your god like? Not going to lie — I don’t exactly have the words to currently answer this question! This is something I’m going to need to think about more, before I answer. how does celie start to provide for herself when she’s with shug? She started making and selling pants. do you have any thoughts or comments on how the women’s relationships with one another in this book help them to face their struggles? It’s VERY clear by the first page that men hold all the power and women have to decide whether to try to fiercely (and sometimes unsuccessfully) fight against their men or to be completely trampled on. The only ones who can easily stand up for themselves are women like Shug who are financially independent. However, the women in this novel have found strength in numbers!!!! And it gets better for them when they stand together and learn to stick up for themselves — the men loosing their power because the women refuse to abide by it.

#trcbooks #trc: the color purple #2015 challenge #books: ***

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 87

I had these two Uncut magazine subscriptions that had interviews with Ray Davies in them about four years apart, and I often times enjoyed looking through them over and over, and reading the articles, sifting through and memorizing each and every interesting detail I could find, every personal story about The Kinks that I could find. Ray and Dave had an older sister named Renee who had died. In and of itself it held little significance that I shared the name of their beloved older sister, and yet it still meant something to me for some reason. I always wanted to cut the pictures out of my dearly beloved magazines, but wouldn't let myself do it. The Kinks had come to Lewiston Idaho of all places at the bitter end of their career. I had scowered through all their tour dates from that year, and as far as I could see, Lewiston Idaho of all places might have been when the Davies brothers had finally had enough of each other – growing so tired of seeing each other that they split up what was left of The Kinks forever to go solo, to silently go about the business of insulting one another to the media in subtle ways – mostly Dave Davies. When I had found out about The Kinks having played a show in Lewiston, I had my father talk to someone who had worked on their lights in town, an they said that Ray and Dave had been livid and furious at one another. It all seemed so weird to me, but I imagine that some if not all of this was extremely idealistic sign seeking. I mean, what could any of it all really mean. It was a personal coincidence to me alone. To the rest of the world, it was just where it happened to end.

I ended up cutting my hair as Ray Davies had his hair back in the late 60's, with the short bangs and the layered short hair. It was kind of a strange short lived English hair style for men in that very specific time in music. It didn't look the same on me. I knew what I was doing. I had looked at his hair for hours in the pictures I had of him, and when I came out having cut my hair precisely as his hair had been, I pretended that I had done it on accident because I didn't want everyone thinking I was a lunatic. And I was, but I kind of wasn't. Unlike Eugene, I had no interest in hooking up with Ray Davies at all as he was/is old enough to be my grandfather and he had been too old for the me in 2011 back in 1978 – unless I could get a time machine and even then I was fairly certain that we weren't compatible, and my affections for Ray Davies didn't really sway me in the direction of wanting to be physically near him or to even talk to him even though I thought he was absolutely beautiful. It's like I wanted to be him, but I wasn't trying to actually be him. I just wanted to be a little bit like him, or maybe I felt like I was a little bit like him, or I identified with something about him only found him to be a master at expressing that something in a way I was not. The specifics on that were blurry.

In order to improve my social skills, I read through the famous book 'How to Win Friends and Influence People'. I read it three times, as the book suggests. I read it despite and because of the chaos that ensued all around me. It was extremely helpful and insightful. It as basic as all get out, but it wasn't wrong about people either. I needed all the help I could get and the information in the book was precisely the kind of stuff I needed to be hearing. I wasn't good at peopling. This people business of making things happen in the world didn't come naturally. I was going to have to work for every morsel of people skills I had. Absolutely nothing came naturally to me. Even saying hi was an enormous question mark in my head.

My mother had started to save the money she made to move out. She had three thousand dollars. One day, we went out for groceries, came back and the three thousand was gone. Roxanne had bust in and stolen it. For the first week and a half after Roxanne had gotten out of her month of time in rehab, she had been enthusiastic, clear minded and ready for a life of sobriety. She was in rainbow land. And then it all came crashing down and she was back to using and every bit as desperate as ever. She came in one day, and I laughed and punched her arm lightly and affectionately, and she had suddenly become hostile. She threatened to throw me to the ground and beat me to a bloody pulp. It was sudden, and I was alarmed. And I knew she was back to using again. She went over to our mom and started telling her how she was going to lay 'that bitch' out – me. My mom looked at her nervously and attempted to explain that it had been a good natured sort of touch, not an attempt at a fist fight, but Roxanne seemed to not comprehend the gesture as being anything less than hostile. And soon enough we had to tell her to leave.

That three thousand dollars was not the first either. Sagen came in and stole the next sixteen hundred my mom saved up three weeks later. It was like the two of them were watching our house. They knew how to get in and out of Wes's. The look on my mom's face was horrifyingly sad when she looked around and suddenly realized that all the money she had been working for was gone. I often times lacked sympathy for much of my mother's outbursts, but this was a sincere and horrifying sadness. She actually began wailing. It felt like nothing was going right for anyone. Between Roxanne and Sagen my mother had essentially lost two months worth of wages. It was all in their arm probably before we even knew the money wasn't there anymore. If we hadn't had food stamps we would have been starving. Later on, Roxanne or Sagen or both, came in and also stole some rare collectors coins that Wes had owned. My mother never told Wes as he never looked at his coin collection – but it had been well over another five hundred lost and we all knew why.

At one point I remember the sink stopped working, and so we had to do the dishes in the handicap shower. It was very difficult. Allison attempted in vain to make friends. The people who she attracted were strange and nothing seemed to stick. She met these twin girls one day who were around her age that lived in our area. Both of them were very friendly, but not particularly bright. Allison remembers going to their house and watching them play with Barbies. Allison didn't play with toys anymore so she just watched and was amiable. What was strange about these girls is that they were very childlike, and also very unabashedly trying to get pregnant and make babies, which they both succeeded in soon enough so I guess good on them? And yet they still played with toys.

At night, Allison, David and I would walk around. We generally slept till the afternoon, or whenever my mother was awake. We hoped to avoid her as much as possible, and on the rare occasion where she had put down her farmville to get some rest, we were all very grateful. We listened to a lot of The Smiths and Joy Division. Properly speaking, we three aren't true goths, but to Lewiston we probably were. And admittedly, David and I in particular do have some level of that aesthetic ingrained in our nature. If I were to go cheap internet quiz on the matter – I would say I was 25% goth, but if post punk is the general term being used superficially we were both 40%. I also liked to think of myself as some kind of Lo-fi subcategory of indie that was folk-punky that encompassed mostly musicians I felt like I could relate to like Kimya Dawson or Jeffrey Lewis (a beloved favorite of mine). And at the same time I sometimes liked to imagine that if 60's baroque pop was a musical movement that had more of a distinct cult following like goth in the eighties, I was a good deal of  whatever that as well.

Anyway, in Lewiston I guess we weren't the biggest goths the world had ever seen since there was a rumor going around that there were teenagers pretending to or believing they were vampires who were biting people who walked alone at night. It seemed intriguing so we all went out every night hoping to meet the vampires. For all we knew though, that rumor could have been about us taking our nightly walks, we would never know. We decided to playfully defend our position by pretending that we were a group of The Cramps inspired psychobilly freaks called The Heebie Jeebies. I knew there was something called that already but I never bothered or felt curious enough to discover what that something was. Basically, we were these untouchable psychotic psychobilly freaks who drove around in old punked out hearses, played insane violent car games, messing up anyone who got in our way at night. We stayed up all night and slept all day. We were a gang and there were others. We invented characters. I felt influenced by some of the crazier tunes I had heard of Screamin' Jay Hawkins as well as Reverend Horton Heat and offbeat 60's horror. I liked the demented obscurity of it. We liked to make jokes that we were going to find those vampire kids and mangle them. It was a great way to pass the time as we walked for two hours through Lewiston at night.

One night around one in the morning. David was angry about something, and had just begun to drift. Allison was almost asleep as well. I was still awake, capturing a rare moment for myself in which everyone in the house was more or less asleep – a time at which I have always felt the most safe – when I started hearing the sound of pouring liquid. It sounded incredibly loud in the house. I looked over at a small closet where Allison and I kept most of our belongings and it was now heavily pelting on everything. It smelled terrible. Confused, I woke my mother up. She shouted at me, but I led her to the closet area anyway, and showed her the smelly liquid raining down on everything Allison owned and some things I owned as well. It was coming from the upstairs. My mother immediately got a ghostly disgusted look. Wes apparently had a giant container that held several gallons of urine. It was something that prevented him from having to attempt to get on his toilet which was hard for him. In his sleep he had knocked the container over, and what was raining on our stuff was his days old urine.

My mom was angry at first, and went and cleaned up the mess from the upstairs immediately. Allison had awoken to see that most of her posters and a great deal of her possessions were soaked and beyond repair. On top of everything else my sister had to go through, being kicked out for essentially no reason and so forth, seeing a lot of her stuff destroyed was rather disheartening. I lost a good deal of my paper items as well. I had to throw away some wood furniture. But I kept most of my books where I slept in my coffin so my losses weren't as great. My mother told us she would clean up the mess – since I guess his urine had some kind of disease in it – but after a few days it was clear she was simply refusing to do it.  I didn't think Allison, after having lost all of that stuff, should have had to have cleaned it all up by herself, but that is what ended up happening. We weren't exactly mad at Wes. It had been due to his laziness that this had happened, but I could only imagine how embarrassed and gross he felt upstairs. After that night, I grew suspicious and worried about urine rain coming down on me in the night. I tried to cover everything up better.

Sometimes I was beginning to feel like I couldn't take it anymore. I would never get out of this mess. I would never leave. My attempts at self improvement at the end of the day only amounted to me feeling that much more dissatisfied than I would have been had I not tried making the most of myself. I wondered about the darker avenues one could take to leave their family. Sell myself as a slave? Obviously, it was an unappealing thought – not one that I was going to follow through with – but what was it going to fucking take? Sarah-Mae was equally worried. She felt like there should be some kind of law against the way we were living. She talked to her mother about it, and they both were strongly pressuring me to call social services on my mom. I didn't feel quite right about it. While she had been a miserable person to be around, was what she was doing actually illegal? And I already knew it wasn't going to work. Interestingly, Wes was best friends with one of the number one people you talk to concerning social services. It was one of his few friends who seemed to honestly like and care about Wes. And while Sarah was trying to convince me to turn my mom in, she was up there serving this very fellow. He was in our house at that moment. There was no way it would have worked. And I remember feeling this vacant frustration with Sarah's methods of doing things. Ninety percent of the time, she took a very reasonable and pragmatic approach to solving problems. These approaches often times assumed there were no stipulations or psychological costs to the next step. In a lot of ways, it was good for me to listen to her, even when it went against my nature because I knew full and well that I could be my own worst enemy in regards to how I approached my life.

But every once in awhile, Sarah would, with the very best of intentions offer an explanation, a solution, or an assumption that felt redundant and sort of senseless. I wasn't mad at her for this. While it's true, she helped me talk through and work through a lot of my technical issues in life and she was right, I also knew that she wasn't god and couldn't fix my life. I think the disconnect was happening because she couldn't quite balance out being a friend who suffered with me, and being a friend who disconnected from my issues to help me remotely. In order to help me out in a remote sense, she couldn't let herself stand in my shoes. And at times I felt very alone, and misunderstood. Sometimes all I needed was the sense that I wasn't alone. And sometimes in order to solve a deeper seated issue, I felt like for instance with calling social services, it felt like she wasn't reading the situation clearly. Because even when I explained to her that the social service top guy was actually having supper upstairs, she almost had this remote sense that I should call him anyway, even though he knew us all by name already. I tried to explain that it didn't make sense, and she gave me this answer of 'well, you never know unless you try'. Allison, David and all knew that trying would be a bad idea, so that was never tried.

David was getting pretty terrible again. The stressful living situation was getting to him – bringing out his mental instability. I tried everything in my power not to fight with him, but he would emotionally attack us all. His fights with my mother got so bad – involving him going and breaking Wes's things and threatening to do worse, that she ended up calling the police on him. He was yelling and the entire scene was horrifying. Allison and I were afraid to leave the house. We sat on our beds fearfully and quietly crying. When the police officer came to the house, David was frenzically pacing around. If we so much as looked at him he would come up to us like he was going to hurt us. I remember the officer walking down the dingy little steps into the basement. David had retired to his bed area. It seemed strange to see a police officer in the basement, he was very out of place.

He started talking to David, telling him what happens to kids like him who refuse to go to school, who are violent and aggressive. For the most part he was telling David a specific kind of truth, but I felt there was an insensitive assholish aspect to this officer. What he essentially was telling us was 'adults are always right, your parents are always right, the world is a fair place and our misfortunes were brought upon us by ourselves'. David in many respects was at times someone who I had emotional difficulty feeling openly warm towards. I loved him to death, but you couldn't let yourself get hurt and you always knew that in the end he would hurt you and himself. But it seemed unjust to me to simply think that David was obstinately choosing this for himself, like he had ordered his emotional state out of a magazine arbitrarily as some kind of meddlesome fun. It was clear that he was miserable and looking at David like he was no victim seemed empty and rude. It was that same kind of attitude that had always prevented me from wanting to seek out help when I had needed it. If you live in a home and society that feels you deserve the bad things that are happening to you, then you internalize those bad things and it's sometimes easier for you to become cognitively dissonant and accept it.

I was relieved that the cop was there, as for the moment it had at least shut David down. I can't say I liked this cop much. He then started looking around the room and telling David how lucky all three of us were to live in this tiny room. Even my mother, who prided herself as some kind of tireless martyr was confused. While it was true that we had a fair amount of movies, books, stacks of albums and posters and pictures all over our wall, the idea that we were living well was a joke. I was personally offended. How could you look at Allison's stained pad on the floor, with no sheet and think of her as lucky? Would he seriously subject his children to this disaster? Or himself? I thought not. It seemed like an additional slap to face for all of us.

Sarah was having personal issues at home. I look back and I think some of her fixation on helping me might have been due to the strain of not knowing how to end her relationship. She didn't ever seem to look forward to going home. She seemed almost like Alex's mother sometimes. They didn't talk all that much either. They still seemed connected but there didn't seem to be a lot there. And Sarah didn't talk about him all that much. Neither one of them were the types to explode or fight out loud. What happened instead between them was almost an unspoken truce of resentment and indifference that translated into an empty form of polite acceptance of one another, that to me seemed almost worse than fighting. But maybe it was just that bad. There was so little passion between them, their relationship was so much like stale soda at this point that even fighting would have meant more than they shared. Or maybe they had simply both betrayed one another. Not in any theatrical display of abandonment or betrayal, but they had given up on their relationship but didn't want to talk about it, and so they continued to live with one another, both too proud and uncertain of their futures to know what else to do. I couldn't help but feel in retrospect, that they would be better off cheating on one another. It would have been more honest at least.

Then Sarah started telling me stuff. She had found three bottles of cough syrup in the back of the pick up that they had been given to drive from her mother. Alex had famously abused cough syrup when Sarah first knew him, but he had by all accounts quit for her. Now with this discovery that he had chugged three bottles of syrup, new questions sprang up. At first Alex denied that the bottles were his or that he had anything to do with it, but then he accepted that he was caught and told her it had just been that one time – no harm no foul. Sarah was embarrassed to tell me about it all – but she finally relented and let me know. She seemed disappointed. She was afraid I would see her relationship as a failure. She was afraid of the idea that her years spent with Alex had been a mistake. She didn't know what to do with him, but she felt weak without him.

And then soon after, she opened her piggy bank by her desk and found forty dollars missing. She was very upset about that. They quarreled. Alex felt that Sarah was obsessed with money. Sarah made it seem like money in her approach to the situation, but I knew Sarah, and the truth of the matter was she felt disrespected and she didn't trust Alex. Being mad at Alex at this point gave her an avenue to channel her distaste for being with him. She wasn't attracted to him. She didn't even seem to care if they spent any time with one another. She clearly was over him, but neither one felt like they could end it. So a fight about this stolen forty dollars was the first push towards the end.

I remember talking to Sarah about it outside of my mother's house. She drove out to Lewiston and we went out to a restaurant to discuss it. Then she talked more about it with me out by the curb. The sky was gray. We were leaning on her car. She didn't want me to tell anyone that Alex had stolen from her, or that she had found the cough syrup bottles, so I kept her secret. I didn't want to be the manipulative friend who always tries to encourage their friends to end their relationships and go single. But I knew that she wanted to hear it. In the end, she decided not to. Her reasons weren't all too romantic. She felt like she knew Alex too well to let him go. She felt like he was a nicer person than her in certain ways she wasn't giving him credit for. She felt like she might be able to force herself to be in love with him again if she could just try harder. And she was afraid that if she wanted to be a musician, her skills were not enough. Alex and her still hadn't done anything serious music wise, but it was true that Alex was skilled. He could play three or four instruments, and he had written songs that were half decent. Could she really let go of someone that talented? And most importantly, the basement still needed remodeling. They couldn't just leave her mother's basement without finishing it.

I tried to explain to her that all the things she saw in him that she didn't want to let go of, she could still maintain as a friend. They could move away from one another, and Alex and her, with the friendship they still had, could still play music. It's uncommon but not unheard of for exes to play music or work together. She could still visit him. But his life would be his life and her life would be hers. She didn't like the idea, and didn't want to make a decision. She was too afraid of what that might mean for her. She had been with Alex for six years, and the prospect of standing alone (though I would argue she was already doing that), caused existential dread.

David's outbursts were getting worse. All of us felt we were walking on egg shells. And there was nowhere to go. The best I could do was hide behind my pile of books, and hope to not make eye contact. My sympathetic nervous system was not given breaks. And the  same amount of daydreaming involved with keeping myself sane was also the same amount of daydreaming that would require I give up on my physical self entirely. So I would lay in bed, and I could not entirely let myself shut down to ignore him. I felt like an animal trapped in a corner, even when it wasn't aimed at me – and it often wasn't. It was aimed randomly at everyone, but generally it was my mother who fought with him the most. Usually it involved trying to get David to go to school. He was pushing things. It started feeling like something very violent and brutal was going to happen.

One morning, my mom was trying to tell David to go to school. By my assessment, she wasn't being unreasonable, yet. She told David to do something he didn't want to do, and suddenly he had become vicious and anything could happen. Allison had gone to school already, so it was my mother, myself and David down there. There was this awkward silence and we all knew that David was about to explode. I was rapidly trying to calibrate myself to this outburst that I knew was coming. My blood was flowing, I was having troubles breathing. I kept reminding myself to stay out of it by any means necessary. I tried to remind myself that I was in control of myself.

He started screaming at my mother, calling her a cunt and a whore and completely dehumanizing her. It felt murderous and sick. I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much like my father had made me feel. I stepped up and started telling David to knock it off, that our mother had only been polite to him and his reaction was insane. I said this calmly at first. I had tricked myself momentarily to believe I was not mad. I had jumped in, I think, assuming that I could maintain a calm face, and David could freak out and only get the mirror in his face as it had no reaction on me. But then he turned this argument entirely at me. He began calling me fat, worthless. I arrogantly tried to deflect these statements. I had only lost three pounds in that entire month and I was feeling pretty bad about it. And as I stood there taking his insults, I realized too late that my skin was too thin for this.

As he continued to call me a fat cunt, I suddenly felt this rise in me – this need to destroy what was hurting me. There was nothing else around us. Only him – or some version of him that I hated with every element of my being, and me. I felt like I was going to die if I didn't fight for my life. The sound went out of my ears. The next thing I know I was on top of him punching him repeatedly in the face as hard as I could. I couldn't stop, holding his head down to continue punching him. I didn't intend on stopping. I intended to punch until there was nothing left. Distantly, I could hear my mother crying and begging me to stop. It distracted me, and she pleaded with me 'RENEE, HE'S MY SON!!' This hit me for a moment. I looked down at David's swollen face. It's one of the most horrible pitiful sights I have ever seen in my life. His eyes were empty and almost dead with pain. I'd never seen anything quite like it. He was accepting these punches. It was spiraling down into something deep inside of him. He wasn't fighting back. I had destroyed something. I was breaking him, I was beating some creature full of shame. He wasn't just the enemy. He was the little boy I had helped raise. I probably punched him thirty times before I stopped. I stopped, realizing what I had done, and I ran out of the house. I never wanted to go back again.

In the moment, I had felt powerful. It's an ugly thing to grasp, that breaking of boundaries, that reclaiming of something for myself that I had never had before. I had felt this sense of justice and liberation and power that nothing had ever made me feel. Maybe psychologically I wasn't just punching him. Maybe I had been punching everyone in my life who had ever knocked me down spanning from early childhood. I had always been such a meek person on the receiving end of life. What he reduced it all to, and what he made me feel was a condensed conduit to all those feelings of being victimized and weak. And I don't remember deciding to punch him. If I had made the decision, I never would have chosen to do something like that to David.. I knew lived in the same shit world that I did, only he had less armor than me. He couldn't recede into the day world quite like I could. He had no savior in his life or friend like I did Sarah. The world was a dark and insecure place. And reality was ugly. He had been horrible to me, Allison and my mother – I won't deny that he was a monster at times, but he was also someone I loved and knew to have an enormous heart. He was very young, and nobody had cared enough to see him truly, or understand. And I had probably made the world so much more shittier for him, perhaps permanently. I had betrayed and broken some fundamental boundary. I had probably broken his heart.

The feeling of power of course abandoned me as soon as I found myself walking around down the dirty side roads of Lewiston. My hand hurt. I hadn't prepared my fist to become a weapon, and I had broken a few of my fingers in the process. My arm was swollen and throbbing. There was this inexplicable smell of suffering all around me. It had all happened so fast. One second I had been thinking of other things, the next I was trying to kill someone with my hands. Cars drove by and were indifferent. I felt myself feeling lost, and panicked, hideous. Reality seemed heightened and yet faded. And here I thought life had been getting better – here I thought I had been an instrument of self improvement. Here I was 'winning friends and influencing people'. Passerby passengers gawked at me as I cried. I probably looked crazy. Sarah didn't work that day, else I would have walked to her work and waited for her to get off. I was alone, and this was the world that I was trapped in.  And I had done something now that I could never take back. And I was alone in that decision.

I did eventually come back. I opened the screen door and slipped through, hoping to see my mother first. David was in his bed.  I detected no life from him, though there was that now familiar strange feeling of deep suffering I couldn't put a name to. The corner he slept in seemed darker than normal, as if he were sucking the light out of it. I had created a black hole. My mother looked at me from her laptop. Her eyes were accusing, and yet besides themselves. I don't remember what I said to her. By this point, perhaps we were beyond words. She wasn't mad at me. She was disassociating. It was too much. She was lost deeply in the electronic drug of her laptop. I tip toed to the other side of the bedroom, David on one end, I on the other. I let the black emptiness sink into me as I lay down in my book coffin. Allison came home, and I could hear my mother whispering to her what had happened. Eventually, I talked to Allison in the upstairs bathroom. David was still laying in bed. He laid there for the most part for several days, not speaking. Even in his silence, I felt like he was a different person.

We weren't on speaking terms after that. I generally tried to make even more space for him than I had already, letting him go on the few trips to the store with our mother. I had to come to terms with what had happened. It felt hard for me to blame myself the way I would generally. I couldn't remember the moment between standing there angry and suddenly being well into the act of attacking him. Had I remembered that moment, I would have been able to capture the exact emotion that spurred it on, to analyze it, make myself better from it. But all I could do was look back at the entire spectacle of violence, and realize what I was capable of – as an animal that wasn't in my keep. I didn't want to think about it, but it gave me this awakened realization that I could kill if I had to. I didn't want to glorify this realization. I didn't think it made me tough, or cool. It made me feel sick. I felt isolated. It was hard to own up to. But I knew myself better from the incident, all the while I knew myself less from it.

I was distracted though by something else as well. I woke up one Thursday morning from an emotional dream. In the dream, my father was going to kill himself. He was suffering. I could feel that suffering in my skin when I woke up. It felt real somehow, like a conversation I had truly had with him. I couldn't even say it was abstract. I knew there was something. I told my mom about it, and she suggested that I call him. I waited a day, anxious about giving into something I told myself I wasn't going to do. But then I began taking a different perspective. My father was not someone I was close to. He had indeed killed our connection in some way. Of course, deep in my psyche he would always live, there would always be that version of him in my thoughts somewhere, helping me through life and pushing me backwards at time. But I also knew from that point of our final fight had been something final. He wouldn't be able to reach me emotionally.

But then he was also a human being with a life, even if he wasn't my dad. I could find in myself, the empathy to check up on him, not as a daughter or a friend, but as a self aware fellow human being who had some sense that there was something wrong. I didn't want him to die. I had the power to do either one - I could not call, hope for the best (or the worst), and see what happened. Some part of me felt it would be more convenient for me to not make the call. If he died, then that would be the poetry and tragedy of his existence. I could appreciate that from a literary perspective. His physical death perhaps could solidify where I stood with him emotionally. But that was selfish and I knew it. Not everything was about me. Even if we never spoke to one another ever again, his life was his before I was born, and he deserved to continue to have that life with or without me in it.

So pushed myself and I made the call. When he answered the phone he sounded shaken, and panicked. The conversation didn't make too much sense. He asked if he could see me so we could talk. I agreed to meet with him at bike path by the river that evening. The sun was setting when I got there. The air was cold and brisk. My father got out of his truck like a wounded man. His color was off. He was shaky and struggling to come up with words. He looked around him suspiciously, as though he suspected he was being followed. I stood there observing all of this with a detached confusion. We began walking down the path, and he started talking about how 'they' were back again. I realized he was talking about the police/FBI or whathaveyou from the years before. I was confused. He hadn't done anything illegal in years. Hadn't we gotten rid of the evidence? What was this about?

After we had left him, he had fallen apart, spiraling into some kind of vague paranoid certainty that it was all over for him. The police were back – they were following him. He whispered these things to me, as he believe that it was possible the police had bugged the trees we walked besides. I had to eventually convince him that I hadn't gotten a hold of the police personally, something he had decided was true. He asked me over and over, looking into my eyes with this fearful blank look, had the police gotten to me? Had they? I was baffled and told him no. I knew he was too far gone into this nightmare to be reached, but I offhandedly tried my best to ask the sort of questions that might wipe away some of the vague certainties he had.

We went back to the house. He picked up Allison. I had convinced Allison that going with him might be a good idea, since he might be able to pay for her to get some new clothes. So she went with us. We stopped by Arby's. There was a  man eating by himself two seats down. My father was convinced this man was an FBI agent. Randomly, I tried to lighten the conversation by talking to Allison about unrelated subject matter. This entire thing was unpleasant, but I was going to try to make the best of it. I wasn't going to let my father's madness get to me. I wasn't going to let myself get too sympathetic. But I was going to try to stop him from doing anything stupid, and in order to be that person I needed to be a good actor for the cause. Randomly, as Allison and I were eating our food, he would hush us – even though we weren't making any remarks that would arouse suspicion. And how could we? We had done nothing wrong.

Somehow, my father pressured us to going back to Kendrick with him. I didn't want to. I so didn't want to. That town as dead to me – I had emotionally cut ties with that side of my life - forever. I hadn't been back there since the fight. Every nook of that town held some bitter sweet, bitter more than sweet memory of a bygone time in my youth. It was all tainted and stained by a consuming emptiness that cut to the heart of something inside me. It was over for me now and I was a new person. Going back to Kendrick was an unpleasant reminder of my roots. It made me feel the loss of things I couldn't quite imagine or explain. It had only been two months, but I had changed so much in that time.

Inside the house, nothing had changed since the day we left. I was aghast to find that the pumpkin that we had in the middle of the living room had been left to rot for two months. It smelled horrible. The house was freezing. It was already night time. It was twenty-thirty or so degrees in there. We could see our breath. How was he living in this dungeon? Absently, we were informed that the beloved neighbor cat, Tux, had died that year. She had been a family member to us – even when my own cat Nim was still there I preferred Tux, and her death only further cemented the end of an era in Kendrick. Allison and I once again, tried to make the best of it. He whispered and told us we weren't allowed to talk in the house at all. This made absolutely no sense. He said we could only talk outside. It a very cold very dark night, in the teens. I shivered and my skin started to burn when we went out there. We walked towards the roaring river. Still, my father insisted on whispering. He told me that 'they' had done something to his body. He had woken in the night to someone walking around his house, and the sound of some electronic crackling all around him, like the air had turned electric. His bones and skin were weak. He had stood up out of bed, and suddenly a green luminous light had passed slowly through the house, as if to scan it like an X-ray. He had thrown up.

Then he told us that police had followed him to his job, and when he got back to his vehicle, he had found powder on the door and all over the inside of the dashboard. And he then explained that he had befriended some guy at work, who he had told something to, and this man was part of it. This guy used to work for law enforcement and was looking to get back in. I was taken aback by it all. One part of me held into account that perhaps the investigating had started again. If that was the case however, they would have found nothing. There was no evidence and we hadn't done anything wrong. Even if there were some loose links in the situation, if they had enough evidence to convict my father for anything, I knew they wouldn't have wasted time. And what kind of technology could that even have been? Were there radiated X-rays that they could use to scan the insides of homes?

My father's eyes were swirly globes of fear. He also started talking about death, in a very abstract way, and then in a more immediate way. About how we had left him, and how he had nothing left. It was all over. He admitted that he was going to commit suicide that Monday. Had I not called him, he would do that. He had his gun ready, as well as a suicide note. He couldn't live this way. I walked composed and listened, Allison following suit. He kept looking around, sometimes stopping to say 'Do you hear that??!?', but of course I couldn't. And if I had heard something it would more than likely have been an animal. Nobody was going to sit out by the river in this kind of weather.

For about ten minutes, Allison and I were frightened that my father was going to kill us. It's not that he was threatening us directly. But his abstract way of talking about death and about us, the way he seemed to want to break our boundaries we had set up and cling to us like a wild frenzied animal hell bent on dragging us down to hell with him. For the first ten minutes of that walk, I had this painful realization that this walk could be the last walk we ever too, perhaps he had schizophrenia, and the voices told him to kill us? What if he had thought it was me all along who had called 'them'. What if he thought I was an imposture? At this point, anything was possible. I had long given up my preconceived notions for what would come next. Allison looked fearfully in my eyes, and later told me she felt the same way. I could picture us so well, both of our bodies frozen by the river, heads both bashed in by rocks. It would not have been a murder out of vengeance or rage. It would have been some aspect of my father's obscure suicide. Something more symbolic to his state of mind – a testament to how afraid he was to lose us. Perhaps a mercy killing.

We didn't die that night. And I came to believe that his madness was an external delusion manifested from his sheer inability to accept anything about himself. Perhaps the case had been reopened. It was hard for me to know for certain, and I guess I never will know. It doesn't matter though because there was no evidence that could be used, and there never would be. And lastly, maybe when this inner paradigm shift had happened, maybe it wasn't just me. Maybe it had affected everyone around me. And my father was too sensitive and weak to comprehend it and it had driven him insane? All of these were theories I held. I had no idea if they held any merit. Reality was getting fuzzier and fuzzier. It was hard work grasping for facts, and it was even harder to grasp for wisdom in the madness.

PART 86 - https://tinyurl.com/y8fcu787

PART 85 - https://tinyurl.com/y73j3s9z

PART 84 - https://tinyurl.com/y8chr6hw

PART 83 - https://tinyurl.com/yasrxfkj

PART 82 - https://tinyurl.com/y9wvecz3

PART 81 - https://tinyurl.com/yc7bm62r

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-80 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-8

#text #writing #life story

[flowersfangsandfire]

fangs recs fics

SURPRISE! There is a tumblr fics edition! Also last installment for the fic rec days, it’s been fun! These are all fics that have been published exclusively on tumblr to keep things sort of manageable. Since a lot of those don’t have titles or are prompts I titled them the way I refer to them in my head for ordering purposes. Sorry about that, I’m not very good with words.

Tumblr fics

Alex dates everyone except John – @the-everqueen Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Conservatory AU

Poor John. He’s a demon stay away! And then the demon gets fragile and yeah, there’s no way John is leaving him.

Burr steals bikes – the-everqueen Alexander Hamilton/Aaron Burr, Conservatory AU

EXPLORATION OF CLASS DIFFERENCES! And what Burr’s decorating choices say about his life.

Eliza dates Hamilton – @runawayforthesummer Eliza Schuyler/Alexander Hamilton, Modern AU, character death I love how this really shows all the stages in their relationship, even the one after Hamilton’s death. Because let’s face it, she might be alone but that doesn’t mean the relationship ended.  

Eliza has a good heart – @shapechangersinwinter Eliza Schuyler/Alexander Hamilton, Unicorn AU Alexander Hamilton is a unicorn (but he doesn’t know he is) and Eliza has the best heart. He loves her so much. Part of this au by an amazing anon and the writer.

Hamilton dies - runawayforthesummer Eliza Schuyler/Alexander Hamilton, Canon Era, character death See what I put as the title. I AM IN PAIN! That said it’s also very beautiful and I love pain. It’s just that she’s alone and “People keep dying and she keeps living.  She should know how to do this.”NO! See this fic about little Eliza Hamilton and better times to heal.

Hamilton is jealous –runawayforthesummer Eliza Schuyler/Alexander Hamilton, Canon Era   Eliza has a good relationship with the Reverend and her Hamilton is jealous and petty. Which I guess is an unbecoming trait but also hilarious!

Hanukkah - @theoroark Eliza Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton, Jewish Hamilton Canon Era

This is a great AU and such a touching fic. Eliza wants Hamilton to feel included and respected! She takes care to make sure his background is kept alive in their family! He’s not alone!

John loves Alex – @broromini John Laurens/Alexander Hamilton, 1980s AU (HIV/AIDS), character death Part of the One Year universe

This is really quiet and beautiful and you will be in pain because death. For something to dry your tears with see this user’s snapback au moodboards.

Lafayette likes emoji texting – @because-cur-non Gilbert Lafayette, John Laurens, Modern AU Part of the Revolutionary Fuckboys universe

“il y a un language barrier” but not really! Basically Lafayette being a terror croissant over text which is great for me but not for John.

Lafayette is a good friend – because-cur-non Gilbert Lafayette, John Laurens, Modern AU Part of the Revolutionary Fuckboys universe

John comes out, and they go to dinner to celebrate Lafayette. Because Lafayette knows how to get what he wants.

LNY ’14 – because-cur-non John André, John Laurens, Modern AU Part of the Revolutionary Fuckboys universe John André and John Laurens are roommates, and André gets a care package from home for lunar new year. I love how this digs a bit into André’s background, him not being fluent but knowing some characters, and sharing things with John. Also his mom sending new year’s money to John as well hahaha! But yeah, I have a soft spot for the softest bro, so this was extra nice!

Madison still stings – shapechangersinwinter James Madison, Manticore AU James Madison is a manticore without a stinger but that doesn’t mean he’s harmless and docile. He still thinks big! And has a sphinx friend to do the big talking! See here for more on docking tails of manticores in this AU (which is FASCINATING, all the POLITICS). 

Maria thinks about Eliza – runawayforthesummer Maria Reynolds (Eliza Schuyler), Modern AU Okay this is perfect because I too think about Maria thinking about Eliza more than I should. Because of course Maria would become fascinated with someone who is living a very different life that she has a little window into now. And then when they do run into each other, how Eliza still turns out to be different from what she thought.  See also this post for more Maria thinking of Eliza.

Paris - @sioscribe Angelica Schuyler/Thomas Jefferson, Modern AU

I don’t know what it is about this ship but they’re so fascinating! YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THIS PRETENTIOUS PRETENDER ANGELICA! But in the meantime I’ll read all about what’s happening with you two. Philip looks like Laurens – shapechangersinwinter Alexander Hamilton, Philip Hamilton, Shapeshifter AU, body horror Philip is curious and comes across a portrait of a person whose face he likes. His father is shaken up by it. This AU is so gorgeous and out there, like, shapeshifters who aren’t cute but actually really monstrous because limbs? Everywhere? Also shapeshifting is hard so disasters happen! See here for a thing Philip does that solid-form children don’t.

Pin – because-cur-non John Laurens, Gilbert Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton, Modern AU Part of the Revolutionary Fuckboys universe   Lafayette is going to his first American Pride with Alex, and John comes along. Poor John, he’s a bit uncomfortable but he also seems kind of glad he went anyway.

Selkie pelts – shapechangersinwinter Eliza Schuyler, Angelica Hamilton, Selkie AU   Little Angie turns out to have a stronger connection to the sea than her mother thought she had. So Eliza figures she should have a pelt of her own. Selkieliza is good and horrifying! See also this fic about Seelie court Adrienne visiting Eliza, with a little hint as to how Angie is doing (not so well I just want her to be okay).

Snowballs - runawayforthesummer Theodosia Prevost Burr, Aaron Burr, Canon Era Ah, the classic “you should come inside and dry your clothes” scheme! Very clever, Theodosia, very clever. This is really cute, Burr is completely in awe of Theo (as he should be!) and Theodosia is so radiant and knows exactly what she wants. Read the very sweet first kiss sequel as well! (and then I think of this post and I giggle)

Terror student Ham – the-everqueen Alexander Hamilton, George Washington, Conservatory AU

Because Hamilton would absolutely be that student taking over the whole thing. I don’t know anything about classical music so I looked up all the pieces (?) while reading and it was so much fun! But yeah, poor Washington, he does not need this in his life.

#fangs recs #fics #hamilton #hamilton fic recs #fangs recommends #ficrecdays #tumblr fics #i actually didnt think i was going to finish this one in time #because i dont have a good tagging system/bookmark system #THERES SO MANY I COULDNT FIND #but have these anyway! #i originally wanted to include headcanon posts as well but im just a small potato #and it was too much #maybe i'll do one for fun anyway #also sorry that the descriptions are so short and lame #but since tumblrfics tend to be short it's hard to do more without giving everything away

[galactic-pirates]

I have very bad second-hand embarrassment from the third episode of Black Lightning. If you’ve seen it then you’ll know what I’m talking about. *shudder*

I absolutely adore the character of Grace! I think she knows more than she’s saying. How cool would that be if she has powers/knows about powers and obviously so does Anissa but they are keeping the secret from each other? That would be like a “Whaaat you too?” Mr and Mrs Smith moment but without the fighting.

Question of the day why did the lady with the sniper rifle miss? The order was to kill “the electric freak” which I thought meant Black Lightning but she hit the reverend and it was a through and through and hit Khalil.

Ahhhhh *incoherent screaming* Jefferson and Lynn are taking my shipper heart and shredding it. I totally get why they aren’t together but they love each other so much. Their eternal argument is playing out on the TV with the friend/police inspector vs the public opinions. No wonder nobody knows who is right - they both are! It’s such a complex issue and that is so real.

Also Lynn is such a great mom. Mothers unconditional love and support and she totally wasn’t buying Anissa’s half-truth of the breakup. I wonder if learning about Anissa’s powers will help or harm any reconciliation.

Man I am falling so hard for this show!

#black lightning

[fathersonholygore]

Cinemax’s Outcast Season 2, Episode 3: “Not My Job to Judge” Directed by Howard Deutch Written by Jeff Vleming

* For a recap & review of the previous episode, “The Day After That” – click here * For a recap & review of the next episode, “The One I’d Be Waiting For” – click here Sidney (Brent Spiner) is taking care of his burned, young friend, who asks about if what Reverend Anderson (Philip Glenister) says of him is true. And the mysterious man says that the rev’s book calls him a “dragon” and he’s been called many other things by humans of flesh and blood. He has big plans for the kid, that’s why he saved him from the fire. Evelyn Bailey (Claire Bronson) shows up, always helping, along with Peter, who’s eager to be part of their nastiness. Only Sidney’s got no time for that shit, so he dispatches him. No more prying eyes. And the devilish man doesn’t have time for lingering attachment between humans, he doesn’t understand it; one of the most interesting traits of his character in the series, he’s dumbfounded by human beings and their emotion for one another. Exactly how you’d expect the devil to be were he personified in a body. Dealing with the consequences of her husband’s death, Megan (Wrenn Schmidt) has reached the lowest depths of herself. She’s dragged from the water by Rev. Anderson. He makes clear he wouldn’t judge her; not in the places he’s been himself.  Even quotes a bit of Dr. Seuss. Meanwhile, Kyle (Patrick Fugit) takes Amber to go see her mother, Allison (Kate Lyn Sheil), at the hospital. Things aren’t well between the estranged husband and wife. While Amber waits for her parents to chat, a man approaches her in a creepy manner, though a hospital attendant shows up. However, there’s something odd about her. She and the man corner Amber, and the little girl uses her own powers to fend them off; she’s just like her papa. While she’s out on the town, Patricia (Melinda McGraw) is abducted suddenly by a man (M.C. Gainey) and taken away, to who knows where. Anderson meets Kyle on the road to tell her Megan took off, after her near suicide attempt. She also took her daughter Holly. They’ve gone back home, apparently. Mom wants to make the house a nice place again, to live like before. Only her daughter’s sure that dad dying wasn’t “an accident” like she’s being told. I’m betting Megan is headed towards taking responsibility, in some way, which could change things irreparably for her, and maybe others, too. And back with Sidney, Patricia’s son Aaron is being given the opportunity to “fuck this world and all the pathetic creatures in it” – first, by having to cut up a body with a pocket knife. He can’t do it, though. Yet. And Patricia, she’s not getting any answers from Chief Giles (Reg E. Cathey), threatening to make waves in town if nothing more’s done, especially with Anderson let out after confessing to what he thought he’d done.

Poor little Holly, she can’t get over the trauma of her father dying. Worst of all, back in that bathroom where she stands, her mother comes in and starts having fragmentary flashbacks of when she killed her husband. Also, Holly’s got a bit of a premonition skill; is she experiencing any effects of possession? Kyle ends up finding Megan, trying to figure out her state of mind. She’s starting to believe in the demons. Not just that: she’s pregnant. Whoa. At the hospital, Allison is befriended by Kirby, the man who approached her daughter. He talks and talks to her, as patients are making crafts. It’s clear there are more possessed inside the walls of the mental health ward. A terrifying consequence of people being seen as insane, rather than for their demonic sickness; they’re all being piled into these places. Kyle and Anderson are trying to figure out what Sidney’s plan is, and it doesn’t prove easy. In the meantime, out on his own, the man who abducted Patricia looks to be digging a grave. Ohh, shit. And he seems crazy as hell, too. Megan’s having more and more trouble. It isn’t a great idea that she’s back in that house, where the demon took hold of her and killed her husband. It’s bringing up darkness. Maybe more than she can handle. She finds her husband’s gun, then before she can do anything crazy with it she runs outside to try getting rid of it. Where a woman’s waiting to give her a flyer for the Beacon.

Anderson and Kyle go back to the Austin place. Great inverted shot as they walk in, as if the world is literally turning upside down and they’re entering some foul, hellish place; superb cinematography, and this lines up with the opening titles where the camera flips around and we see the upside down world in front of us. When the pair are inside, they find Joshua’s mother in distress, talking about the man from the junkyard; the one who took Patricia. So the two track the man to the junkyard. They find Giles there, too. The man, Bob, is helping out with things. They’re trying to stop the demons by putting them into the ground, burying the problem. Now that’s a solution, I guess. They’re not all on the same page about it. Kyle finds out later that Bob and his mother were in league together, and that his “old man” was part of the trouble years ago; he isn’t the first to try stopping the demons. Sidney goes to see someone, for help. Looks like young Joshua, though could be someone else, who pours more of that black essence into him, as the devilish dude breathes in deep. What a great episode! This series gets exponentially better, as well as the fact it has a great score and soundtrack alike. Lots of things to look forward to, particularly “The One I’d Be Waiting For” next week. More demons, more Sidney, more mystery. Outcast – Season 2, Episode 3: “Not My Job to Judge” Cinemax's Outcast Season 2, Episode 3: "Not My Job to Judge" Directed by Howard Deutch…

#Brent Spiner #Cinemax #Demon #Hoon Lee #Outcast #Patrick Fugit #Philip Glenister #Possessed #Reg E. Cathey #Season 2 #Wrenn Schmidt

[ask-de-writer]

THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS (1 Part) : MLP Fan Fiction : Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

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THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1441 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/21/17

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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It is well known that Black Cats bring bad luck. It may be that it is not QUITE true.

Sugar Maple was playing outside, in her Grandmare's neatly fenced yard. Sugar loved to visit Grandmare but her mom really didn't like to bring her this far into the Everfree Forest.

Sugar climbed onto the platform of Grandmare's swing set and began to shift her weight to make the swing swoop back and forth! It was fun! The wind made her light brown mane and tail fly about as the butter colored foal swept from one end of the swing to the other and back!

The swing was almost as much fun as playing with Grandmare's cats! They were all pure, silky black and over half of them had wings like a bat! They could fly really well, too! Sugar bailed off the swing at the top of its swoop and spread her own young wings! Her glide was inexpert but enthusiastic, as she sailed about Grandmare's cottage! She almost made it all the way around, back to the swing set! Her hooves hit the lawn sod only about ten feet short of her goal!

Little hooves clattering on the stone of the front steps, Sugar dashed into Grandmare's little house! “Mom! Grandmare! I glided almost all the way around the house! I made it almost all the way back to the swing!”

Her mother set her teacup down firmly and began, “SUGAR MAPLE, what have I told you about unsupervised flying!?”

Grandmare raised an admonitory black furred wing and used the other to scoop Sugar into a welcoming hug! Taking a moment to preen a few small tangles from Sugar's mane with her razor sharp fangs, Grandmare said gently, “You did very well. Did you flap at all or was it a pure glide?”

Giving her leaf brown mother a slightly fearful glance, Sugar replied, “I glided the whole way! I did cup my wings up to land! I came down real gentle.”

The hug was pulled tighter as Grandmare smiled, showing her fangs. Shifting her voice up, beyond the hearing of most ponies, Grandmare asked, “[How is your chirping coming along?]”

Answering the same way, Sugar replied, “[It is going really good! Mom can't hear it, so I practice it a lot!]”

“[Tell me, Sugar, what you chirp in my bedroom?]”

Excitedly, Sugar exclaimed, “You got a dress horse with a costume on it! It is too small for Mom or you, so it must be for me!”

Nodding, Grandmare agreed, “It is, Dear. Go and try it on. Later, we will practice flying our way.”

Sugar dashed for the back room!

Granmare returned her attention to Sugar's mom. “Hazel, I thought that I made it perfectly clear that Sugar must be allowed to develop! Look at you! You play the part of a crippled pegasus! You do it so well that you have lost the ability to fly or even hear chirping!

“THAT is too high a price to pay for 'fitting in'!”

Hazel looked down and fiddled with her teacup before trying, “If anypony ever saw my extended wing, or Sugar's for that matter, they would scream THESTRAL! There could be a mob! I don't want Sugar hurt!”

Grandmare softened, “In that, we are agreed. Caramel Treat's is always a safe place. Those Werewolves do understand the problem and will protect us. So will Reverend Smallflower at the Assembly.”

Their discussion was ended by the return of Sugar. She was wearing the costume as a thestral witch! Two of Grandmare's cats were riding her shoulders, purring happily. One casually lifted a furry, bat like wing to scratch under it.

Grandmare was delighted. Hazel was less so, but agreed that it was a great costume.

Grandmare led Sugar outside, the cats following. Soon Sugar was fluttering short distances and landing properly. The cats were 'helping.' They thought that the fluttering filly was a great toy! Conversely, Sugar, dodging their mock attacks thought that the cats were great teachers! It only took a few hours before she was swooping and dodging with them in a game of aerial tag! Happy foal's laughter pealed down from the October sky.

Grandmare nodded serenely, “She takes to the sky as naturally as breathing. A true thestral if ever there was one.”

Hazel agreed sadly, “I know. I hope that Ponyville will be better to her than it was to me.”

Grandmare turned Sympathetic eyes to Hazel. “I do know what you mean, dear. You half breeds have it rougher than we full bloods. The unicorns have never forgiven our service to the Nightmare Throne, 2000 years ago, in the Nightmare Wars. The only thing that shows Maple to be a partial breed is her color.”

Sighing, Hazel glanced at the sun's angle and suggested, “We must return home, Grandmare. It has actually been a good visit.”

Hazel and Sugar Maple trotted back along the nearly overgrown trail that led from Grandmare's to behind the Duchess O' Red Hoof's land. It joined the trail leading from Brightmane's cottage. It became far better and more traveled after that.

They reached Ponyville proper and went into their snug little cottage home without incident. The two cats that had ridden Sugar's shoulder all the way, immediately flew from her shoulder, circling about the room, high and low. They perched on the sofa back and began to preen.

Evening fell and with it began Nightmare Night. Gathering together her loot bag and a “Witch's Staff”, Maple set out. Both cats riding her shoulders.

She joined a group making the rounds of homes and small businesses.

“Wow! That is a neat thestral witch costume! How did you turn your fur black, Sugar?”

She smiled and replied, “Just a cheap brush in dye. It will wash out.”

“Gee, I wish that I had a cat like yours to go with my witch costume! Aren't you afraid of bad luck? Yours are pure black.”

The mare in charge of the small herd was in a silly looking deer costume with phony horns on a spring gripper across her head!

Of course, they dropped in on Caramel Treat's Sweets for their famous Nightmare Night display and fabulous foal bowl! It did not disappoint! There were the very real Werewolves, Caramel and Fangrin in their Everfree Ridgeback Wolf forms, a black gryphon, several games and the foal bowl hidden under mists in a big cauldron.

The party went on toward the more residential parts of town, followed by a pegasus in a skull like mask and a costume of bones painted onto black cloth. His wings could slide out through reinforced cuts in the fabric. It hid his cutie mark.

Sugar chirped to the cats in a voice too high for ponies to hear, “[Dark Sky, New Moon, could you go back and cross his path a few times? I do not like him following us!]”

In answer, both cats hopped from her shoulder, gliding to the ground and scampering back! They paraded across his path repeatedly. Undeterred, he continued to follow the herd of foals.

The cats returned to Sugar's shoulder. The foal herd was approaching Drastin Park and its big unobstructed hoof ball pitch. He charged toward the hapless foals!

He tripped over two cats that had been watching him for any such stunt! He faceplanted, in a most embarrassing way! The whole herd of foals heard him fall and stopped to watch!

Climbing back to his hooves, he charged again! Bowling the foals over like ninepins, he grabbed two foal loot bags and leaped for the night sky!

Two cats and Sugar were on his tail, almost immediately! The cats snagged his left wing, causing him to spiral out of control! Before he could do anything to get rid of the cats, Sugar slammed her head in between his hind legs from above and power dived, flipping him over onto his back!

Fluttering and flailing helplessly, he hit the ground with a crunch! Sugar landed lightly beside him and gathered up the stolen loot bags. She was still picking up spilled treats when the rest of the group swarmed around her!

As Sugar was returning the stolen bags, one of the colts said admiringly, “We could see the whole thing! The moon lit up those thin clouds and we saw it all!! You really are a thestral! That was so neat how you took him down!”

One of the fillies came and got her loot bag. She petted the cats and said, “I guess that the thing about black cats and bad luck is true!” Giggling, she pointed to the fallen pegasus thief. “It sure was for him!”

~THE END~

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#THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS #MLP Fan Fiction #Tales to Read AFTER the Lights Are Out! #written by De Writer

[fathersonholygore]

Cinemax’s Outcast Season 2, Episode 1 Directed by Tricia Brock Written by Chris Black

* For a recap & review of the Season 1 finale, “This Little Light” – click here * For a recap & review of the next episode, click here. Can’t go wrong with starting on a Crowded House tune! And what about the demons left lurking in Rome, West Virginia? Right now, we see a young Kyle Barnes (Asher Miles Fallica) at the diner with his mom. Inside, the woman at the cash stares at her with malicious intent. There’s a spirit possessing her. Is it the one that founds it way inside Kyle’s mom all those years ago? In present day, Chief Giles (Reg E. Cathey) heads to that very same diner, looking for someone. Noises in the back lead him to a poor, possessed soul who runs when confronted, tearing his arms apart on barbed wire to get away. Kyle (Patrick Fugit) and his little girl Amber (Madeleine McGraw) are doing all right. Getting by, anyways. The world they live in is still a scary place, that’s not changed. Reverend Anderson (Philip Glenister) is kicking around, too. Filled with guilt. He burned down the trailer where Sidney (Brent Spiner) was hiding out, though the malevolent demon isn’t anywhere to be found. Anderson and Kyle aren’t on the same page anymore, as the rev doesn’t feel useful in the fight against evil nowadays. Anderson: “You think the devil is local? Sticks to the tri–county area?” Megan (Wrenn Schmidt) is being kept under close watch. She’s still not right, nor will she ever be, really. Her brother’s doing all he can to help, though between the possession and the tragedy she caused while under a demonic spell it’ll be a while before she can drag herself back from this dark, despair-filled pit. There’s also Patricia (Melinda McGraw), whose boy is gone, missing. The rev tries to assure her it wasn’t her fault, forces outside of her control took hold of the boy. Out around town Chief Giles is trying to find the trespasser he’d been chasing earlier. The Mayor (Toby Huss) certainly doesn’t see whey he’s so bent out of shape, and nobody’s too willing to buy into much Giles is saying lately after the ordeal with Anderson and everything else that happened. Later, Kyle and Giles meet to talk about Sidney. There are still so many answers left to be uncovered, understood. Neither Kyle nor Giles understand it fully, definitely not the latter. “Makes you wonder how far this thing goes,” the chief says, wondering aloud. And that’s a good point. How far have these demons reached? I’m willing to bet a lot further than only Rome. Anderson is trying to find a way to get past his own guilt, either by helping Patricia to find her son, or even helping himself along the road. He finds his way to a sort of backwoods-type church, where they say the darkness can be cast out if you’re seeking help. Could it be entirely the opposite? Are dark forces awaiting those who come in need at that makeshift chapel?

Kyle is out demon hunting, where he runs into Ogden (Pete Burris). He says Sidney’s gone, to the “beacon” that’s been calling him. Possibly the same place where Anderson ended up in the woods. Either way, Ogden is in bad shape – “He took my wife, he took my truck. Devil took my life, who gives a fuck?” – and dangerous, as well. After doing the bidding of his possessed wife and Sidney, he’s a ruined man. Rightfully so, for all the harm and horror he’s been a part of so long. Before the man can be of any help he blows a hole through his face. Up with her aunt Megan, Amber tries to explain she did nothing wrong to her husband; it was the “black thing” her own father knows so well and told her about before. Smart little lady. I worry, though. She’s surrounded by so much darkness, there’s always a fear she might get sucked up in it like she came so close to in Season 1. She goes on exploring the old place where her dad and aunt used to spend time as kids, a place they didn’t associate with good memories. In the attic, she finds cousin Holly by herself. She says she’s hiding from Amber, believing her cousin made her mother sick. That’s so sad, breaks my heart. Kyle does manage to get names from Ogden before he dies, and he gets in contact with the reverend for help. They go forward to find the remaining name left on the list: Joshua Austin (Gabriel Bateman). The boy is in the dark by himself. He tells the two Sidney and his mother told him what Kyle did was wrong, that he ought to be in trouble with the law. Kyle soon gets answers from him, then he and Anderson are no their way once more.

With a burned down house and a body inside, Chief Giles is butting heads with Officer Nunez (Briana Venskus). I can see her causing him problems sooner than later. But the real story is that Joshua’s mother returns, and Kyle lays hands on her. The reaction of the demon is clear, though Anderson believes something isn’t right. The demon has taken her over, “too far gone” to help. This sends Kyle into a rage, wanting to end this once and for all before the demons ruin another young child’s life like they did his and his mother. So he goes to find Sidney, finding only Joshua’s father. The man isn’t well. “You just delayed the inevitable,” he tells Kyle before attacking him viciously. When the demon starts sucking the essence from him, Anderson gets there in time with Giles to pop a few shots in the guy. We discover there’s no releasing the demonic spirit after it’s integrated itself deep enough into the human host; then, dead is dead. At the hospital, Kyle goes to see his mother. He meets with Dr. Park (Hoon Lee) about what’s going on with her; she’s actually dying now after decades of inactivity in a coma-like state. He has to face her death, alongside everything else. Simultaneously, Anderson demands Giles put him in jail for killing Patricia’s son when he burned down the trailer, trying any way he can to rid himself of the guilt he feels crushing his soul. There are a lot of things happening in Rome, West Virginia! Very interesting opener to Season 2. I’m looking forward to more. This series has been great since the first episode, and I feel like they’re hitting a beautiful, disturbing, fresh stride with every subsequent chapter. Outcast – Season 2, Episode 1 Cinemax's Outcast Season 2, Episode 1 Directed by Tricia Brock Written by Chris Black…

#Crowded House #Demon #Devil #Outcast #Patrick Fugit #Philip Glenister #Possession #Reg E. Cathey #Rome #Season 2 #Wrenn Schmidt