#the story itself is meant to be longer than a short story and i wont go into detail here but the idea just ended up being close

[dolcezzasfantasy]

lost and found - part 6

summary | you are arrested for crimes against the sacred timeline, but there is much more to the tva than you think there is.

pairing | bucky barnes x reader

word count | 7k

warnings | violence, killing, spoilers for the loki tv show!

notes | this is the last and final part !!! woo-hoo we made it everybody thank u for all the support on this series !! it meant the world to me <3333

previous part | masterlist

it was a magnificent sight to behold. the house was more or less broken down, but the background behind it was like something from outer space. a streak of white travelled behind the house, and rocks all around were levitating in mid air.

something so ethereal shouldn’t be true. couldn’t be true. as the three of you walked to the door of the house, you realised that the house was much bigger than it seemed. the door was two times taller than you — maybe even three — and the manor had at least four stories.

the obsidian doors and its frame had golden slashes across it.

wanda dared a step closer to the door. ‘aren’t you going to tell me not to kick the door in?’ she asked, in a small, shaky voice.

‘it never made a difference,’ you shrugged.

‘well,’ she turned to face you and bucky, ‘if you think it’s a bad idea, i prefer you to speak your mind.’

bucky gulped. ‘no. nothing to say.’

‘that’ll be a first,’ she snarked.

bucky shot her a dirty look.

‘oh,’ she whined, ‘just tolerate it, will you, you big baby?’

you sighed.

wanda cleared her throat and faced the door again, taking one step forward, and then one back. she was teetering nervously on her ankles.

‘everything okay?’ you asked.

she sniffled. ‘yeah. just need a moment.’

‘okay,’ bucky nodded.

‘it’s just you, usually—’ you started.

‘respectfully, please shut up,’ she said. ‘i was pruned before you even existed. i have been waiting for this moment for my entire life. i just need a second to get my head straight, okay?’

you nodded. ‘sure, of course.’ you placed your hands behind your back and looked down.

the entrance suddenly opened with a creak. you looked up, but wanda was in the same position as she had been before. the doors had opened of its own accord, it seemed.

the doors opened to a gloomy castle of some sort, with onyx pillars and obsidian flooring. gold slashes were distributed sporadically once again.

there were two stone-faced statues of time-keepers flanking an archway.

the three of you warily stepped inside; grips on your weapons tight, guns loaded, knives unsheathed. the doors slammed shut behind you, almost like a silent warning of ‘no chance of escape now’. kind of like the warnings there’d be at the scary rollercoasters at coney island. the memory brought a faint smile to your face.

‘okay, there it is,’ you said, pointing to the ride a few kilometres ahead of where you and bucky were standing.

bucky squinted to get a better look at it. ‘i don’t know, doll.’

‘oh, please, please, pretty please,’ you said, batting your eyelashes at him. ‘it’s my birthday.’

‘i know, i know,’ he said, with a nervous chuckle. ‘why don’t you go on without me?’

a frown grew on your face. ‘alone?’

the corner of bucky’s lips quirked up, almost as if it were shrugging.

you sighed. ‘fine. wait for me, i suppose.’ you let out a huff. you knew it was selfish to ask him to come along when he was so obviously scared, but you really wanted to spend time with him.

after seeing the frown on your face, bucky pursed his lips in submission. ‘you promise you’re gonna hold my hand?’ he said, scrunching his nose up almost as though he thought agreeing to this was a bad idea. how false.

you grinned. ‘promise.’

‘okay, then,’ he said, with a small smile on your face. ‘anything for you.’

you kissed him. ‘i love you.’

‘i love you too. might be the only reason i’m entertaining this death wish.’

‘reason enough,’ you said, pulling him for another kiss. ‘i love you, i love you, i love you,’ you said, peppering kisses all over his face with each chant of the three words.

he laughed. ‘alright, you’ve already sold me on it. let's go.’

after the ride, bucky had looked sick all day. he didn’t throw up or anything, he just had an uneasy expression on his face and flinched whenever he was in the vicinity of another rollercoaster.

‘remember coney island?’ bucky whispered, nudging you. ‘it’s the same door-shutting-as-a-warning thing.’

you chuckled. ‘that was a good day.’

‘for you, maybe.’

‘oh come on, sarge, do heights frighten the james buchanan barnes?’ you said, stifling your laughter.

‘heights really aren’t part of my job description,’ he joked in a hush-hush voice.

‘are you sure?’

‘can you two lovebirds shut up?’ wanda said, turning around from ahead of you two.

‘sorry,’ the two of you muttered, a smile plastered on your faces.

the moment she turned her back, bucky leant in and told you, ‘she’s just jealous.’

you let out a giggle.

‘i heard that,’ wanda snarled.

as the three of you moved forward, you could barely see anything in the low light. there was another archway ahead of the archway you were close to.

you were about to cross it when boom! an orange clock appeared.

‘hey, y’all!’ you flinched at her sound. you never really noticed how scary she could be.

on instinct, the three of you pulled out your weapons: wanda her sword, bucky his gun, and you your knife.

‘you again?’ wanda said, the realisation sinking in.

‘welcome to the citadel at the end of time.’

‘come on,’ you whispered, nudging all of them to move to the right of where miss minutes was standing.

she turned to face you as you moved. ‘congratulations. y’all had an awfully long journey to get here. he’s impressed.’

‘who’s impressed?’ wanda snarled.

‘he who remains,’ she said, with a smile that sent a chill up your back.

‘and who is he?’ you asked, keeping your voice low.

‘he created all,’ she explained, ‘and he controls all.’ the three of you walked closer towards the hologram. ‘at the end, it is only he who remains.’

she walked to a pillar, and placed her hands behind her back. ‘and,’ she continued, ‘he wants to offer you a deal. he’s been making a few creative adjustments and he’s worked it out so we can reinsert both of y’all back into the timeline in a way that won't disrupt things.’

you and wanda looked at each other, a suspicious glare housing itself in the pupils of your eyes.

‘“wont disrupt things”?’ wanda asked, dubitation prominent in her voice.

‘the tva can keep doin' its vital work and y’all can live the lives you’ve always wanted,’ she said, nodding. well, as much as a mostly two dimensional hologram could, anyway.

‘and what have we always wanted?’ you asked.

miss minutes redirected her gaze to you and bucky. ‘now don’t play coy with me, missy. you know exactly what you want.’

‘what?’

‘you lost your husband, your parents, everything. you versus the world, it felt like, didn’t it?’ you clenched your jaw. ‘how would you like to…’ she strolled around, ‘not lose anyone? live in peace? you can go anywhere you want. and,’ she smirked, and pointed at bucky, ‘you get to take him along.’

god, you hated her. she knew exactly where you were wounded and shot the arrow right there. your breathing got a little more uneven and deep.

‘what about you, hon’?’ she said, turning to wanda. ‘all those years on the run. desperate, alone. how would you like to wake up tomorrow with just a lifetime of happy memories?’

you saw wanda’s lower lip tremble.

‘two y/ns in the same place, happy and flourishing,’ miss minutes continued.

‘none of this would’ve ever happened?’ you asked her.

‘it’s crazy,’ she shrugged, ‘but he could make it work.’

all three of you shared a look.

‘all of it,’ she kept talking, ‘everything. exactly the way you’ve always wanted. and you can have it all. together.’

wanda breathed deeply. sighing, she said, ‘it’s fiction.’ you could hear the tiredness in her voice. you could hear the desperation, the hope. how much she wanted to forget everything she’d been through, but she knew she couldn’t. ‘we write our own destiny.’

‘oh,’ miss minutes chuckled, ‘sure you do. good luck with that.’ you didn’t appreciate the condescendence in her voice. with that, she whisked away into thin air.

‘come on,’ bucky said to the two of you.

🦇 🧳 ☕️ 🏹 🏷

ravonna shuffled through the files in her lap. she turned her head to her table in search of another file she thought she might have missed out on. her eyes landed on a ringed stain. james. it must have been from the last time they shared a drink in her office. it seemed like a million years ago.

her attention from the stain was diverted to the tring sound in front of her.

‘hey, there,’ miss minutes said, as she appeared in ravonna’s office.

‘what took you so long?’ ravonna snapped, as she put down the files she was perusing.

‘sorry. some things had to get worked out, but i'm downloadin' the files you need now.’ she pointed to a tempad with a loading bar on it.

ravonna leant in and picked the tempad up and frowned at it. shaking her head, she said, ‘this isn’t what i asked for.’

‘i know, but he thinks this’ll be more useful.’

ravonna furrows her brows in confusion. ‘who?’

‘happy reading!’ miss minutes waved and shrank away into nothingness.

🚬 🍂 🖋 💡 🔍

the three of you walked ahead, wary of each step taken, on the qui vive.

‘he who remains,’ you said.

‘not for much longer,’ wanda replied, with a whiff of confidence marking her words.

your weapons were raised in front of you yet again.

you entered a chamber of some sort. the same black marble interiors with golden streaks, only this time there were frosted glass windows, chandeliers and more time-keeper statues: one for each corner.

the three of you carefully descended down the short flight of stairs into the room. you walked ahead, hands raised at your sides. bucky followed you, and wanda headed in the other direction.

wanda walked towards a crumbling piece of cement with the same colour scheme. you wiped the dust off of a pillar. examining the relatively abnormal plethora of residue on your hand, you said, ‘are we sure he’s even still alive?’

just as wanda was about to answer you, the deep echoes of a lock clattering sounded throughout the room. the three of you headed toward the door where the sound seemed to be coming from.

as the door slowly creaked open, the three of you were alerted. bucky had his gun pointed at the door, wanda her sword, and you your knife. your shaky breaths punctuated the heavy opening of the door.

the hatch slid open to reveal a man dressed up rather strangely — almost as though he were wearing a costume, sitting on a seat. he was swinging his legs back and forth, but once your gazes landed on each other, he leant in forward in his seat with a wide grin on his face.

he stood up. there was a green apple in his hand.

he raised his hands slightly, as though to tease how on edge the three of you were.

‘this is wild,’ he chuckled. ‘the two of you,’ he pointed to you and wanda, ‘the same person. a little unnatural, but… wow. wild!’ he shifted his gaze to bucky. ‘you! you were supposed to be dead! and you were a tva agent! look at you, fraternising with criminals.’

your weapons stayed pointed at him. he bit into the fruit in his hand.

‘he who remains,’ wanda said, with a growl.

‘he who remains,’ repeated the man, albeit muffled with a mouth full of apple, you presumed. ‘she still calls me that?’ he said, gesturing to nowhere in particular. probably miss minutes. ‘creepy, right? but… i like it.’ he gulped.

wanda lowered her weapon and narrowed her eyes at him. she realised that this man couldn’t possibly be half the threat he was advertised to be.

‘come on,’ he said, his robes shuffling around, ‘come on, let’s talk in my office.’

the three of you gave each other dubious looks, not sure of this man’s intentions. you walked towards him into an elevator, it seemed, and kept the weapons pointed at him.

he looked like he couldn’t be bothered, however, and that was something that perturbed you. he was nonchalantly eating an apple. his shoulders rose with his heavy inhale.

‘not what you were expecting, hm?’

your breaths got shallower.

‘you’re just… a man,’ bucky said. you had expected an extra terrestrial creature, the sorts you had read about in horror novels.

‘flesh and blood,’ he said, rubbing his nose. ‘don’t tell me i’m a disappointment.’

‘no,’ wanda said. ‘just a little bit easier to kill.’ she advanced on him with her sword, but as though he knew what was going to happen, he disappeared and reappeared in a different corner of the elevator. wanda’s sword clanged on the empty wall of the elevator.

you and bucky looked up at the ceiling, where you heard a thud. the three of you skimmed through each crook of the elevator, panting. you heard the bell of the elevator ding, and your heads snapped upwards in alert.

the door slowly opened to reveal he who remains, with a sickeningly wide grin plastered across his face. he was holding a half eaten apple in his hands.

once the door completely opened, he beckoned the three of you into the room the door had opened to.

‘come on in,’ he said. his cloaks billowed behind him as he turned and left. you saw wanda glower at him. you didn’t know about him, but you sure as hell knew you wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of a stare like that. it was a threat of assassination looming around, waiting to be executed.

she stormed ahead to the table he was standing at, and you and bucky followed. he was bent over the desk, pouring some sort of beverage from a jug meticulously into a cup. his office had a desk, a large wall with circular frosted glass behind it, a library to the side, and a fireplace somewhere. the whole place was poorly lit.

the three of you warily moved towards him, weapons unswerving in their stance. wanda was closer to him than you and bucky were. that was probably for the best.

‘one,’ you heard the man say, quietly. he switched over to pouring into another cup. ‘two.’ his voice was rather gravelly, you noticed. ‘three,’ he said, filling another cup to the brim. he looked and up and beamed at the two of you. he set the jug down. ‘please,’ he said, gesturing to the three seats in front of his desk, ‘take a seat.’

wanda eyed you, as though to say, should we?

you stepped forward in agreement. bucky was right there at your side.

‘uh…’ he said, placing a cup on the desk in front of a chair where you were supposed to be sitting, presumably, ‘y/n.’ he nodded in wanda’s direction and placed a cup in front of where she was supposed to be sitting. ‘y/n…’ he then placed the cup in front of the last seat. ‘james.’

wanda raised her eyebrows at the two of you. bucky beckoned the two of you to sit in the chairs. you sat in the middle chair, knife pointed at the strange man.

wanda and bucky sat down after you did, and he let out a rather loud exhale.

‘been a long journey for you,’ he said, lounging on his seat. ‘lot of running, lot of pain. and you…’ he looked at wanda, and sputtered his lips in amusement. ‘you’re a flea on the back of a dragon.’ he chuckled. ‘in for one hell of a ride. but you did manage to hang on.’ he hummed and nodded. ‘i guess that counts for something.’

you raised your knife at him. ‘i’m not sure you quite understand the situation. you’ve lost.’ you looked at wanda and bucky. ‘we found you.’

he stared at the three of you for a moment, in confusion. ‘duh. of course you did.’

suddenly, wanda rose from her seat and slashed the knife at the man. unfortunately, he disappeared and reappeared this time too.

with a zap, he was sitting on top of the support of his chair. ‘whew, a swing and a miss.’

wanda released a growl. you looked at bucky with a raised eyebrow, as though to say, how did she make that sound? he seemed to have understood you and shrugged.

he laughed. ‘so, we still doing this, huh?’ wanda retreated from where she was leaning over his desk. he got up from where he was crouching on his chair. ‘let’s get all this out of the way.’

he picked a up a maroon file and brought it to his desk. ‘okay,’ he said as he flipped through it. he snatched out a white sheet of paper. ‘here we go.’ he pulled out two more, and laid one each in front of the three of you. it was almost like a teacher handing out test papers.

the three of you stood up and walked towards the desk to examine the sheets.

‘you can’t kill me because i already know what’s going to happen,’ he said. you picked up the sheet and brought it to your face. where were your glasses when you needed them? ‘see?’

you scoffed at whatever you could see. it seemed to be a screenplay, a script of some sort. only instead of the characters, your names were there. and replacing the dialogue was everything that had anyone had said in this past hour.

‘it’s a parlour trick,’ you said.

‘okay!’ the man snapped his fingers, and started circling the three of you slowly. ‘don’t you wonder how i’m able to get out of the way—’ he shimmied around in his place, ‘—just before you kill me?’

‘no,’ wanda said, ‘it’s because of that little tempad you have there.’ she pointed to the device at his belt.

‘right. but how do i already have it loaded up with everything i need to know to keep from being killed by you three?’ he had a villainous grin on his face, resembling that of a cheshire cat. when none of you said anything in response, he said, ‘it’s easy.’ he placed his hands on his desk. ‘i know it all.’ those words were uttered comically nonchalantly. ‘and i’ve seen it all.’ he sat down back in his chair.

‘everything you guys did on lamentis, i saw,’ he continued. ‘all the stuff the tva didn't know about, i knew.’ his voice was getting more triumphant by the second. ‘all the scheming, all the talking.’ he looked at you and bucky. ‘star crossed lovers united. quite sentimental, very touching stuff, by the way.’

you furrowed your brows. this man was talking about your entire life like it was some… soap on the television. you didn’t like it.

wanda looked at you, and shaking her head in disapproval she turned back to the man. ‘no. no, we broke out of your little game. that’s how we got here.’

‘no,’ he said, victory clinging on to his words. ‘every, every, step you took to get here— lamentis, the void, i,’ he ran his hand vertically through his desk as though to demonstrate a street, ‘paved the road. you…' he held his hands up and pointed them at the three of you. his hands imitated the movement of legs when walking. ‘you just walked down it.’

wanda licked her bottom lip and looked up the ceiling, frustrated. you teetered on your feet restlessly, finding bucky’s hand next to your own. he intertwined his fingers with yours. you looked at him. he offered you the best he could — a small, sad smile.

the man got up, and started perusing through his files again. ‘and i have the rest, um, right here.’ he flipped open something that was either a very thick and sturdy folder, or a small and relatively flat briefcase. he pulled out a thick stack of papers, and placed it in front of the three of you.

‘everything that's, uh... that's going to happen,’ he said. 'there's only one way this can go.’

‘then why are we here?’ bucky said, irritated.

‘oh, come on,’ the man said, seemingly offended by bucky’s harsh tone. ‘you know you can’t get to the end unless you’ve been changed by the journey.’ he used air quotes for that part. ‘this stuff, it needs to happen.’ he said it as though it was the most obvious thing, and something you should have picked up on. ‘to get us all in the right mindset to finish the quest.’ he was definitely putting on a show, a very flamboyant one at that.

‘right,’ you said, narrowing your eyes, dubious of his intentions. you lifted your eyes from where you were examining the scripts. ‘so, it’s all a game. it’s all… a manipulation.’

‘interesting,’ he said, ‘that your head would go to that.’ he leant in closer to you. ‘wanda!’ he yelled, suddenly. it made you flinch. ‘you think you can trust her?’ he faced her.

‘don’t listen to him,’ you muttered.

‘“don’t listen to him”,’ mocked the man. you wanted to punch his face in, so you flexed your fingers from beside you. this man might know it all, but probably didn’t know just how much you hated when men mocked you.

the man sputtered a laugh. ‘do you think you’re…’ he continued talking to wanda, ‘capable of trusting anyone?’

he sat perched atop his desk now.

‘i understand your moral objections to what the tva does.’ well, you think with a scoff, do you? he stood up and brushed down his cloak. ‘and my methods are deceptive.’ he walked in front of you, and sat on the desk there. ‘but the mission, it never was. without the me, without the tva…’ he shook his head, ‘everything burns.’

‘then what are you so afraid of?’ you asked, your voice low.

he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. he furrowed his brows, seemingly rummaging around in his brain for something to say. eventually, his eyebrows turned upwards, and he shrugged. ‘me,’ he said, sheepishly.

‘and just who are you?’ wanda asked.

‘oh,’ he stood up from his desk, ‘i’ve been dubbed many names by many people.’ he walked back to his desk. ‘a ruler, a conqueror.’ he snickered to himself as he took a seat in his chair. ‘he who remains,’ he shrugged, ‘a jerk.’ then, sucking in a sharp inhale through his teeth, he said, ‘but it’s not… as simple as a name.’ he made a circular motion on what looked like a watch on his wrist. he knocked something off of it. a piece of clay, it seemed.

the clay transformed into a figurine. a figurine that looked a lot like him.

‘eons ago, before the tva, a variant of myself lived on earth, in the 31st century,’ began the man. ‘he was a scientist,’ the figurine transformed to the man standing with his hand on his chin, confused and examining what seemed to be a miniature replica of the universe, ‘and he discovered that there were universes stacked,’ the discs multiplied and arranged themselves above and below each other accordingly, ‘on top of his own.

‘at the same time, other versions of us were learning the same thing. naturally, they made contact,’ the figures transformed to two of the same man; one of them was standing in a portal. ‘and for a while, there was peace.’ the figures shifted to shaking each other’s hands. ‘narcissistic, self-congratulatory peace. “i love your shoes.” “i love your hair.” “oh man, nice nose.” “thanks, man.” et cetera.’ he stared at the three of you with a grin.

‘they shared technology and knowledge,’ the figures transformed to depict a science laboratory. ‘using the best of their universes to improve the others. however,’ he picked up his green apple and bit into it, ‘not every version of me was so,’ he seemed to be searching for the right word, ‘so pure of heart. to some of us, new worlds meant only one thing, new lands to be conquered. the peace between realities,’ he blew a raspberry with his mouth — a feeble attempt at an imitation of an explosion, ‘erupted into an all-out war. each variant fighting to preserve their universe and annihilate the others.

he tilted his head, teasingly almost. ‘this was almost the end… ladies and gentlemen, of everything and everyone.’

‘and then the time-keepers came and saved us all,’ wanda interrupted, spitefully.

‘amen,’ the man sang it like a church choir would, stretching the word out more than necessary. he joined his hands together, almost as though he was praying, and the little figurines did the same, except they were kneeling.

‘no,’ he chuckled, shaking his head. ‘no. nope, this is where we diverge from the dogma.’ the figurine shifted into the man holding a lamp. ‘that first variant encountered a creature created from all the tears in reality, capable of consuming time and space itself. a creature…’ he bent forward on his desk, ‘…you all know.’

‘alioth,’ you said, quietly.

‘bingo!’ the figurine shifted to the man holding the lantern up again, but this time alioth — a big dark cloud, anyway — was there, in front of the figurine. ‘i harnessed the beast’s power and began experimenting on it.’ he inhaled with a grimace before continuing his story. ‘i weaponised alioth and i ended…’ his fists slammed the desk and his voice got more aggressive, ‘i ended the multiversal war.

‘once i isolated our timeline, all i had to do was manage the flow of time and prevent any further branches. hence,’ he leaned forward and held is hands up in a grand display, ‘the tva.’ it seemed he was anticipating applause. when he didn’t get any, he continued, ‘hence, the time-keepers and a highly efficient bureaucracy,’ he stood up from his seat and hoisted himself up on his desk, ‘hence, ages and ages,’ his voice was getting louder, ‘of cosmic harmony. hence,’ he crouched down to your level, ‘you’re welcome!’

when he didn’t earn a reaction, he swiped the pad of his forefinger on his watch, and the clay figurine disappeared with a spark and a buzz.

‘you came to kill the devil, right?’ he exited his crouch and sat, legs dangling over the front of his desk. ‘well, guess what. i keep you safe,’ he lowered his voice to a hush, almost as though he were telling a child a secret. and if you think i’m evil, well, just wait till you meet my variants.’ he had a sad smile on his face.

when you looked at bucky and wanda with worry laced in your features, the man drawled, ‘and… that’s the gambit.’ he got up, and started flailing his arms around rather unnecessarily. ‘stifling order or cataclysmic chaos.’ he chuckled mirthlessly, and returned back to his seat. ‘you may hate the dictator, but something…’ he exhaled deeply, almost as if to prepare himself for the words he was uttering next, ‘…far worse is gonna fill that void if you depose of him.’

he slid his hand across his desk. ‘i’ve lived a million lifetimes.’ you saw wanda shaking her head disapprovingly, glaring daggers into the man’s face. ‘i’ve gone through every scenario.’ you bent your head in frustration. ‘this is the only way.

‘the tva,’ he started nodding, ‘it works.’

‘or… you’re a liar,’ wanda spat.

the man bent to the side, leaning on his hand. ‘or i’m a liar.’

‘so you just…’ you said, averting your gaze from him, ‘…continue to prune innocent timelines?’

‘mhm. you three would.’

the three of you stared at him with a puzzled look on your faces.

‘there’s two options,’ he said, wagging his fingers. ‘one… kill me, and destroy,’ he waved his hands behind him, at the wall, ‘all of this, so you don’t just have one devil, you have an infinite amount. or… you three. you three run the thing.’

you narrowed your eyes at him. ‘you’re lying.’ it was too good to be true. ‘why would you give up being in control?’

the man clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. ‘buddy… i’m tired. and… i’m older. i’m older than i look. this game is for the young, the hungry. i’ve gone through a lot of scenarios… trying to find the right person take this spot. and it turns out, that person came in three.’ he let out a breathy laugh. ‘but it’s definitely you three.’

you and wanda looked at each other. it seemed the wariness was mutual.

‘so, no more lies,’ the man continued. ‘you kill me, and the sacred timeline is completely exposed. or… you take over, and return to the tva as its benevolent rulers. tell the workforce who they are, and why they do what they do.’ there was a triumphant beam on his face.

wanda glowered at him, a small smirk playing at her mouth. ‘you treated real people’s lives like some kind of game.’ her voice was nothing more than a whisper at this point. a chill ran up your back. you could only hope she wouldn’t do anything too drastic.

the man shook his head in disapproval. ‘it’s not personal, it’s practical.’

‘it was personal to me,’ wanda said, her voice raised.

the man groaned and leaped forward on his desk. ‘grow up! grow up, wanda!’ he was yelling now. ‘murderer. hypocrite. we’re all villains here,’ he chuckled. ‘we’ve all done terrible, horrible, horrific things.’

your gaze snapped back to your lap.

‘but now, we— you…’ he continued, ‘…have a chance to do them for a good reason.’ you couldn’t believe the audacity of this man.

a faint rumble sounded off in the distance. the man stopped talking and tried to hear it. his posture stiffened and worry stained his face like ink on paper.

not making eye contact directly, he said in a weak voice, ‘we just crossed… the threshold.’ he released a shaky laugh, absent of any humour. another rumble of thunder ripped across the room.

the man looked around the room, with a look of perplexity across his features. he picked up a figurine from all the way on the other side of his desk, brought it in front of him, and dropped it from a height.

he hissed through his teeth. ‘so… i fibbed. i fibbed earlier, when i said i know how everything’s going to go. i— i know... i knew,’ he chuckled nervously, ‘everything up to a certain point, and that point was about…’ he took a pause, mentally counting, ‘seven, eight, nine, ten seconds ago.’

the three of you furrowed your brows in worry.

‘but now i have no idea. no idea how the rest of this is going to go.’ he looked around the room once again, then turned to face you with an uneasy smile. ‘i’m being candid.’

you glowered at him. ‘so that’s it?’ when he didn’t say anything, you repeated your question. ‘that’s it? this is what happens at the end of time? and now you're just gonna sit there with all that freedom and... let us decide your fate?’ you had seen some strange things on your way here, but this was somehow, by far, the most peculiar.

he looked up. ‘yes!’ he said, rather loudly. ‘yes, yes, yes!’ he was almost shrieking now. you winced at the sudden enthusiasm. ‘what’s the worst that can happen? you either... take over and my life's work continues.’ you saw wanda’s foot bounce restlessly. ‘or… you plunge a blade in my chest and an infinite amount of me, uh, start another multiversal war. and i just... end up right back here anyways.’ his gaze diverted his feet. he took in a deep sigh, looked up again, and said, ‘reincarnation, baby.’

‘no,’ wanda shook her head with a knowing smile, ‘it’s just another lie.’ your chest rose with a hefty inhale. ‘another manipulation.’ the grip on her sword tightened.

‘oh,’ the man said, ‘no lie.’ he was vehemently shaking his head. ‘no manipulation.’ he sighed. leaning forward, he checked his watch and his brows furrowed. he pulled it off of his wrist.

‘wow,’ he said. he let out a soft chuckle, then placed the watch on the front of the table. ‘i love this. i love… all this honesty.’ he rested his head on his outstretched arm. ‘feels like a fresh start.’

suddenly, wanda sprang up from her seat. before she could impale the man with her sword, you caught hold of her wrist and yanked. she immediately turned around and placed the sword on your chest. she was now pushing you back and walking in your back’s direction.

‘what are you doing?’ she asked.

‘wanda, hang on a moment,’ you said, panting.

‘y/n—’ bucky said, standing up.

you held your hand up to him. ‘it’s ok,’ you mouthed. ‘let’s just talk about it,’ you told wanda, gently placing your hand on her elbow.

she lowered her sword. ‘well, how about we finish what we started, and kill him?’ she pushed you out of the way and walked towards him, but you grabbed ahold of her wrist. she flung her sword at you, but thankfully you dodged the blow.

‘wanda!’ you said, firmly, lifting your knife. ‘what if he’s telling the truth?’

‘so what?’ she snapped.

‘i believe him,’ you said quietly. wanda’s eyes darted to bucky, who softly nodded.

‘do you actually believe that a bazillion… boogeymen will turn up and wreak havoc just because we give people free will? he’s a liar, y/n.’

‘wanda,’ you said, softly, ‘we have seen an inordinate amount of strange things. this might be a little stranger than usual, but are you really willing to jump to such a conclusion after everything that’s happened?’

‘better hurry,’ the man called out from behind, ‘the timeline’s already branching.’

‘so, what are you suggesting?’ wanda exhaled.

‘that we think about it.’

‘and precisely what is there to think about?’

‘weren’t you listening to what he was saying? remove the dictator, and what fills the void?’

wanda’s posture stiffened. ‘this is about bucky, isn’t it?’

bucky’s head snapped up. ‘what?’

‘yeah. you’ll abandon me just to have a happy life with him, won’t you?’

‘wanda—’ you started.

‘no, i don’t blame you. because, after all, what am i, if not a pawn in your game?’

‘wanda, how can you say something like that?’

‘i knew i shouldn’t have trusted either of you.’

‘wanda, the universe is in the balance, everything we know to be true. everything. I know the tva has hurt us both. but what if by taking him out… we risk unleashing something even worse? all i’m suggesting is we just take a minute to think about it. i promise you from my heart this isn't about abandoning you. i could never.’

a small smile grew on wanda’s face. ‘what was i thinking trusting you? has this whole thing been a con? just a ploy to get the throne, and live a happily ever after with your boyfriend?’

‘really? is that what you think of me? after everything we’ve been through?’ you started nodding when she didn’t say anything in response. ‘of course. i’m evil. yeah. my masterplan has come together. you never really trusted me, did you? what was the point, wanda?

‘can’t you see?’ you bent in to her. ‘this is bigger than our experience.’

her lower lip trembled. ‘why aren’t we seeing this the same way?’

‘because you can’t trust,’ you shrugged, a sad smile on your face, and unshed tears in your eyes. ‘and i can’t be trusted, apparently.’

bucky walked closer to you. ‘are you okay?’ he whispered.

you nodded, and rubbed your eyes.

‘then i guess we’re in a pickle.’

‘wanda, wait,’ you said, your breaths getting shallower with each passing second. ‘please, just… try to understand.’

‘there’s nothing to understand, y/n.’

‘look, maybe he’s lying,’ bucky panted, frantically looking back and forth, ‘maybe he’s not. the cost of getting this wrong is too great.’

‘so kill me then. have your happy ending.’

‘wanda,’ you said, gingerly reaching out to her. ‘please. we can figure something out. we always have so far.’

‘don’t you see, y/n? there’s no figuring anything out. either i die, or he does.’

tears welled in your eyes. ‘there’s a between,’ you wiped the unshed tears on the back of your hand, ‘and we’re gonna find it.’

‘y/n,’ bucky said, eyes widened, and voice lowered. ‘i might have something.’

‘what?’

‘what if… we,’ — he swiped his thumb across his neck — ‘him?’

‘didn’t you listen to everything he just said?’ you hissed.

‘i know, but, what’s a multiversal war, right? nothing the folks back at the tva can’t handle.’

‘have you gone mad?’ wanda said.

‘hey, i’m on your side here,’ he said, defensively.

‘no, because what you’re saying is absolute rubbish.’

‘look. what if… we all got what we wanted?’

‘what are you talking about, buck?’ you asked, exhausted.

‘what if… we used the tempad,’ he patted his front pocket, ‘transported to a safe place on the timeline, and wanda stays back to fight him?’

‘that’s just selfish—’ you started, but were cut off by the abrupt sensation of wanda’s hand on your face.

‘that could work.’

‘you just said you didn’t want to be abandoned!’

‘y/n, let’s face it, i’m the only one of any real use here. it was more of a self esteem thing about you leaving me.’

your brows furrowed and your lips parted. you were a tad bit offended.

‘doll, if we pull this off,’ he didn’t continue any further, because he knew you would understand.

‘are you sure we should just… leave you here?’

wanda looked at you with a look of amusement. ‘yeah, i think this might work.’

‘great, great, that’s great. let’s, uh, kill this guy,’ bucky said, standing up.

‘well, have you made a choice?’ the man asked.

‘yeah,’ wanda muttered, in a dangerously low voice. you nodded at her, ever so slightly.

she stepped forward, and lunged out at the man.

‘y/n!’ bucky called. you tore your eyes off of her, and ran toward him. he extended his arm for you to hold on to, and the two of you fell through an orange portal.

it was a street, a rather busy street. but not a single person seemed to have noticed that two strangers had fallen smack-dab into the middle of the road there. a car abruptly halted at the two of them, and you could hear a strange of curse words fall from the mouth of the driver as he asked the two of you stand up and walk away. you hastily complied, brushing the dirt off of your shirt.

you stumbled onto the pavement of the sidewalk. looking around, you noticed something was wrong. very wrong.

‘this isn’t our time,’ you told bucky, desperately clinging onto his shirt.

he was staring at a board on a tall building with a woman singing and dancing on the screen. she was blonde, and had bangs.

he looked down at the tempad in his hand. ‘i keyed in brooklyn, i don’t know what went—’ he examined the tempad more closely, ‘—oh.’

‘what?’

he looked at you, his eyes in a sort of flummoxed daze.

‘bucky, what?’

‘we’re in brooklyn, but the future.’

you softly gasped. as you looked around, you asked, ‘what time is this?’

‘march the tenth, 2021.’

‘happy birthday.’

‘yeah, thanks,’ he said, gulping.

a stranger’s shoulder met yours as they walked past you. ‘watch where you’re standing!’ the woman yelled.

‘we’ll figure it out,’ bucky said. it seemed he was assuring himself more than he was you.

‘yeah,’ you said. ‘of course.’

🏛 🎞 🕯 🎻 🎬

‘incredible,’ the man said, as wanda looked contemplatively at the floor. the watch was still in her hand, but the glowing golden streaks vanished.

she slowly turned around, and tightened the grip on her sword. with a whoosh, she pushed the desk aside; all it took was a simple flick of her arm. there was a murderous look coating her pupils.

the man giggled, akin to a child at a magic show. he sat in his seat, bouncing with glee.

as wanda neared him, she said, ‘aren’t you gonna beg for your life?’

‘um,’ he said, his laughter ceasing, ‘could. could.’

wanda grabbed his neck, and held the sword. when he didn’t say anything, she jabbed it right in his chest.

the man grunted. wanda maintained unwavering eye contact with the man.

‘i’ll see you soon,’ the man whispered, and with a frail wink, he lost consciousness.

wanda took her hand back, and his head hung. he was gone. for good. or not. wanda sunk to the cold, marble ground, and buried her face in her palms. she tried her best to stifle the sobs that followed, but what did it matter? she was alone now. like she was always destined to be.

she tried to register in the magnitude of the situation. it was far too great.

the iridescent, current-like branches outside of the big circular window crackled. they had synthesised new branches. far too many.

the flurry of currents outside the window was nebular.

♟ 🦉 🩰 ⏳ 📜

hunter b-15 observed the constant beeping of the ever growing branches on the monitor.

‘no turning back now,’ she muttered to herself. she watched solemnly, as chaos ensued.

everyone around her slowly grew more alert of the beeping, and proceeded to realise what was going on — or at least, the legible portion of it — with a look of pure, unadulterated horror making its way onto their features.

the monitor had art on it, almost like a tree’s. it was mesmerising to watch — or would’ve been, did it not signify imminent destruction.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

tags: @buckylokisimp

thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

additionally, i think i might do drabbles/headcanons for this series! if you have any ideas or requests you'd like to see, feel free to send me an ask!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #lost and found

[popculturebuffet]

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck: The Last of the Clan McDuck!  Review “It Was Worth THE Dime”

This is one of my faviorite comic book stories of all time. Given i’m a massive comics nerd, for both books and strips, that is the highest praise I can give this wonderful, epic, beautifully drawn and deeply emotoinal story. I first discovered it in the local library that had the second volume, and found the rest online at a now long dead fan site. And while it took me longer than I care to admit to really dig into Duck Comics, and even now i’ve only scratched the surface, I can say without a doubt this story is the reason I’m so deeply attached to Scrooge as a character, and that I was excited as  I was for Ducktales 2017. This comic showed me just what Scrooge McDuck should be at his core as a character, and showed me what a wonderful character that is. So with all that glowing praise as you can guess i’ve been wanting to cover this for years, and even considered though back when I was more primarily a comic book reviewer last year. Any time i’ve reviewed stuff before now, i’ve considered it, and with Scrooge’s Sisters Hortense and Matilda presumably and definitely debuting on Ducktales soon, and it’s about damn time, the timing could not be better or clearer to dig into this utter triumph.  But before we can take a look at the story itself we naturally have to take a look at the man behind it: Writer and Artist Don Rosa. Don Rosa is easily one of the best Duck Comics writer out there, seen by many as only second to his own faviorite duck comics writer and God of Ducks, Carl Barks. For those 1 of you who do not know, Barks was the man who created pretty much everything in the duck universe comics wise and a bit in animation too: He created Daisy, Scrooge, Gladstone, Magica, The Beagle Boys, The Junior Woodchucks, Gyro, Little Bulb, Glomgold, Rockerduck, and the list goes on. While he didn’t make EVERY duck, he made so many that it’d be impossible to imagine either version of Ducktales being possible without him.  So of course Rosa was a fan and while he took up the family buisness, he was also an artist and duck comics fanboy on the side. So when, even if it meant a paycut, the opportunity to actually write and draw them came up, he lept at it and thus became one of their publishers go to guys, even if said publisher published the stories overseas where the Duck Comics are far more popular and still going to this day, and ironically where most duck comics printed nowadays get their stories from. Rosa was known for his meticous historical research and gorgeous art that he took his time drawing to get just perfect and showed on the page. The man has easily some of hte best and most detailed duck art around and I still haven’t found a duck artist that can match him.. and if you have or found one close i’d genuinely love to see that. He is a genuinely talented, spirited guy who was sadly mistreated by disney and that, coupled with tragically failing eyesight, eventually ended his career. He’s still around and I genuinely hope to meet him some day as he still does conventions.  The man is not without fault: I don’t get his hatred of superhero comics, as while I get them overshadowing funnybooks and that around the time of his career they were in decline, but it’s just as unfair to write off Superhero comics as mindless.  garbage as it is for people to write off the Duck Comics as “only for kids” and I genuinely wish he’d see that and see how the medium has evolved so much since then. I also grumble a bit as his refusal to allow anything besides barks into his bubble, and having to be forced to include fethry on the family tree, but that’s more personal preference. I like using as much material as you got. IT’s why i’ve wanted to, and hopefully will eventually get around to, write a sonic fanfic using bits of all the various universes that for legal, ken penders being an absolute waste of a human being, and sega being stupid reasons can’t be used anymore. I like taking everything in a franchise and putting it in a blender and it’s why I love the reboot. But there’s nothing wrong with taking things as is, not stepping on toes canon wise, but still being awesome. We’re just diffrent people and that’s okay.  And a lot of his fanboy showing actually lead to REALLY good things: Goldie O’Gilt was a one off character, and while used ocasoinally overseas, didn’t really pick up as a character again until a combination of Ducktales 87 and Rosa’s work with her, as he always loved the character, and fleshing her out lead to her being used more, and gaining a sizeable fandom. He also gained the Cablleros an even bigger fandom by giving them two stories of their own, and fleshing them out a bit more.  And this very comic is the peak of that, taking EVERY mention of scrooge’s past from various backstories to set up adventures, every tiny scrap, and to his credit going to both Barks Himself and various other Barks Experts Rosa was friends with to check his work, especially difficult given he likey had to find these stories in issue or pullt hem from disney archives, and complied it into one long epic that not only uses all this info effortlessly, but spins a compelling story that gives us a clear vision of what Scrooge should be, how he became the man he is, and how he lost himself only to find himself again with the help of three precocious boys and a cynical 30 something duck. So taint all bad is what i’m saying.  As for how this got started, thankfully rosa himself provided the origin story for this project in the back of the volume of his works that contained the first 7 chapters of life and times, as well as detailed notes for every chapter. At the time Rosa was working for Egmont, the big european publisher who handles Disney’s much larger european comics market, hence why most of his stories appeared years earlier in Europe before debuting here. The american publisher at the time , and an old friend of his, called Rosa with an idea: A 12 issue Maxi-Series focusing on Scrooge’s history, since at the time they were all the rage.. and really even today mini series are still a viable market and many indie titles just have several minis instead of an ongoing. So it wasn’t a bad idea, Rosa just simply offered a tweak: He’d tell his publisher at Egmont about the idea, and let her get a crack team of writers and artists to do this proper, and thus Disney could publish it for free once it was done and for no extra cost. Rosa gave his publisher a fax detaling both the idea and the fact that it needed to be done right, given to the best person possible, and done with the greatest care. She agreed.. and naturally handed it to him, as he admits he hoped. She made the right call, a legend was born and here we are.  One last bit before the read more and before I get to the first story itself at last: Since barks wrote a lot of side stories that fit into the canon, I COULD slot them in between chapters, but have instead chosen to review the original 12 part story as was, and do the various side stories and two epilogues, the utterly fantastic “Dream of a Life Time”, easiliy one of my faviorite comics ever, and the also really great “Letter From Home”, which will likely on some level be the basis for the upcoming at the time of this review “Battle for Castle McDuck!”, after completing the story. In other words i’m probably going to be at this for years. so join me under the read more won’t you as I begin the journey of a thousand miles with a single step as we look at the humble start of a legend. 

We begin, after a fun short teaser with present Day scrooge saying his past is no one’s buisness only to get hit with an oh yeah?,  with a scrap book title for the issue, something I want to bring up since while I got that’s what it was what I never got, and  must’ve glanced over when I first read rosa’s notes when I got this copy, was that it isn’t SCROOGE’S scrap book, but his sister Matilda’s who dutifully and happily catologued her brother’s adventures. It’s a really sweet moment.. and something that will hit VERY hard when we reach Chapter 11. If you haven’t read this story or heard of it.. .that’s this story’s equilvent of “Last Crash of the Sunchaser” and clearly Frank and Matt drew from that story a bit for it, but we can get more into the parallels when we get there. A smaller but fun note is that Rosa had specific coin drawing templates, for different indentions and what not he used, and used them for the coins in these intro bits. Yes he admitted he has a problem and yes that’s damn impressive anyway. 

It’s Scrooge’s 10th birthday, and his father Fergus has taken him up to see the family land, Dismal Downs to tell him of the mighty Clan McDuck and show him the ancestral lands, graveyards and Castle. He admits to having taken this long because the Clan McDuck currently lives in Glasgow so it’s kind of a long trip just to show your son “Hey look at the decay and rot that’s our ancestral homeland”. The Clan is on hard times, as a bad shipping deal, the backbone of a rather good barks story and I wont’ be interjecting for every barks reference as it’d get rather tiring though for what it’s worth Rosa provided tons of detailed footnotes in the back of each Fantagraphics collection, so good on him. Speaking of which though they do include 10 pages of Mc Duck family history that was supposed to open this story.. until Rosa’s editor wisely pointed out the story isn’t about them but scrooge and having read his roug draft, yeah.. there’s a good gag here and there, as well as “Dirty” Dingus McDuck, scrooge’s Grandpa and the reason Dewey is cursed with that middle name. Why anyone thought Dingus was a good name is beyond me, nor why Donald thought that was a good middle name back in 2009 is again, beyond me. Good on Don though for getting that past the censors.  But yeah with no money they can’t buy the land back and they were scared off it years ago by a mystical ghost dog, the hound of the whiskervilles. There is treasure in the castle, Sir Quackly’s gold, but he accidently sealed himself into a wall while sealing his treasure in there. Their interrupted by the town assholes, the Whiskervilles who have been grazing sheep on the land and are naturally behind the hound, using the sound of it to scare off Fergus once they realize he’s a McDuck. Because apparently you can keep a Scooby Doo style hoax up for Centuries if you don’t have meddling kids around. Who knew.  Back in Glasgow, we meet the rest of Scrooge’s family: His Uncle Jake, his sisters Matilda and Hortense, and his mother Downy. Jake hasn’t really been mentioned at all in Ducktales and I know next to nothing about him, which given I share a name with the guy you’d THINK I would. I mean I know a decent amount about this Jake. 

But nothing about who the hell Jake McDuck is or why he lives with his brother and his family. Here, you guys watch the dancing Jake, i’m going to probably do that for hours after this review is done, i’m going to go sort this out.  Okay one google and finding the Scrooge Mcduck wiki page on him, Jake shows up here likely because he was referenced in the story “A Christmas For Shacktown” and apparently borrowed from Scrooge and never paid it back. Otherwise.. there’s not a lot about him and unlike the rest of Scrooge’s family he really dosen’t do much that I can remember. Except like 2017 Scrooge, he apparently has become extremely long lived, as Scrooge and Donald STILL think he’s alive in the 1950′s.. and likely is STILL alive in some form in the Don Rosa stories, given his take place after Barks and thus in the 40′s and 50′s where Barks stories were set. Hence why unlike the Reboot, Scrooge isn’t inexpecilbly over 210. But Jake McDuck sure as heck is. Maybe this highlander is a highlander.. you know the movie and tv show type. Maybe someone cut off his head. That’s what i’m going with.

This does bring me to another point about this story: While Barks gave all of scrooge’s family their names, it’s where Rosa got them after all, it’s Rosa who really made them into characters. Fergus as a loving father ashamed his family legacy has fallen and wanting his son to do better than him, Downy as an equally loving wife and mother, Matilda as his sweet and caring sister and later her brother’s moral center, and Hortense.. well here she’s just a babbling baby but her character will become clear and glorious as we go. She is adorable here though and we do get some great bits with her.  Getting back to the plot now i’ve made my points, Jake is riled up wanting to understandably kick the Whiskerville’s asses with Scrooge, who even as a sweet innocent ten year old still has the family temper already, agreeing.. but Downy gently shoots them out pointing that two middle aged-ish men and a 10-year old just aren’t enough to fight an army of them and while she doesn’t mention it the fight would just tire them out for work and accomplish nothing as while it is the McDuck’s land the combination of the hound and the lack of money to move back means it’s pointless. She also mentions their younger brother Pothole, who went to America. This will be important later. 

Scrooge storms off and Fergus laments, in a scene that’s more painful the more I think about it, how his clan has fallen, with he and his brother lamenting their chances at glory are long gone.. but Fergus has hope his son can do better, and for his son’s birthday makes him a shoeshine kit in the hopes of inspiring him to greatness. This scene still resonates since many of us are poor, struggling and not doing so good money wise. I’m sure many parents have doubts and regrets about not being able to do more for their kid.

 Not only that but the story carefully avoids the trap of Fergus accidently being abusive by you know, pinning his family’s future on one 10 year old. While yes he is asking a lot of Scrooge, to restore their family name.. it’s very clear he mostly just wants his son to do better than him. Even if Scrooge was just slightly more successful, Fergus would likely be happy with that. He’s not using the legacy as a “This what you must be” like say the Gems in steven universe did for Steven with Rose’s Legacy, the kind where it sort of suffocates you till youc an make it your own. He’s just saying “this is what you can be” He believes his child can be great and simply once him to reach his full potetial and is simply giving him a means to hopefully do so, a simple home made shoe shine kit. While Jake scoffs, the narration notes the idea isn’t worth a dime.. it’s worth THE dime. The dime that would set Scrooge’s destiny in motion. 

The next morning, Fergus goes to check up on his son and his new buisness but Scroogey’s having no luck and about ready to just quit, the poor child. Also Matilda is dragging her baby sister around like a doll and it’s entirely precious as it is funny. 

But as for those Dorty Boots, Matilda wonders why her dad dosen’t just tell Scrooge that Burt the Ditch Digger is coming. Fergus tells her to quite and then explains his plan: he’s sending Burt to scrooge, with an American dime Fergus and Matilda found, to teach his son a lesson: By giving him a hard days work, he’ll teach him what hard work truly means.. and by having Burt “cheat” him with the American dime, it’ll give him the motivation to keep going and to nto be as wide eyed and trusting. It’s a well meaning if harsh lesson, and the kind you’d expect from 1900′s parenting and fits the origin well: Scrooge still earned his first money square, as he still did work.. but his getting cheated being a lesson dosen’t diminish what it taught scrooge, and helps flesh out what I talked about above, Fergus knowing his son has great potential he just needs inspiration to reach it. And instead of just telling him that he does a con job but it’s the 1900′s. This orign, and Fergus’ part in it would be entirely untouched in Ducktales 2017, the first scrooge based adaptation since this comic came out, and I bless them for it. Frank even said this comic was used as a bible by the writers and while theirs clear deviations, and we’ll get to that, they were mainly done for good reason, and it’s very clear that while scrooge’s history is very VERY diffrent in the reboot, the core of his past is still there. 

So the plan is on and young scrooge spends half an hour killing himself to get Burt’s shoes clean before getting his dime.. and realizing he’s been had, makes this proud decleration that will be the bedrock of his entire life and character. 

Scrooge being naturally stubborn as you can see takes his cheats a leson: There will always be hard honest work, and he will be there to do it and he’ll be tougher and sharper than anyone trying to cheat him out of his pay. Fergus’ plan has the intended effect, and Scrooge having learned a hard lesson now has the drive and determination we know him for. As for why it gives it to him.. I had to think on it a bit but it makes sense: For some a setback like this would make them quit.. for Scrooge it’s just proof he CAN find customers, he CAN do this job, or any at his hardest and instead takes this as a lesson to be prepared ot out think and outfight anyone who dares cheat him again, and to not earn his money by being the kind of guy who cheats a kid out of an honest days pay, but as a good honest duck like his father and his father before him. =He will make his money square so he can be the kind of person this seeming stranger SHOULD have been. Granted we’ll see Scrooge doesn’t end up as the best person at times but .. we’ll get there.  So with the fire inside turned from a spark into the flame Scrooge soon got to work, and by the next panel we see he’s eventually worked his stand up from a small box given to him by his dad, to a three seater shoeshining bench, who he wipes all at once by stretching one of his mother’s girldes over a light pole, a detail I didn’t get the first time around but now love. Naturally being a good kind boy much like his Nephews, Scrooge always gave his proud father a portion of his earnings, if with a full receipt for tax purposes. Because he’s still scrooge after all. His dad wonders he did too good a job while Hortense glxbit’s in agreement. 

As the years go on, a now tween Scrooge is eventually able to save up for a horse cart, and starts selling Fire Wood up in the city. He eventually realizes Peat, an earthy subtance found in bogs I only know about because I had to look it up for this review, is more profitable and with some snappy marketing moves into selling Peat for the rich instead, also showing the young lad already has a grasp of how to sell to obnoxious rich people. 

But while his business is booming, our young hero can’t resist visiting his family’s ancestral home and longing for it, hoping one day to have it for himself and in a nice show of how despite his temper and tenacity forged over the last few years he’s still at hear the kind, sweet optimistic lad he was just a few pages ago, he decides to tidy up the Clan’s Cemetary while he’s here. 

Unfortunately as proof that Donald and Della’s terrible luck comes from both sides of the family the Whiskervilles are sub-glomgold levels of human beings.. or Dogfaces in this case, and are digging up the McDuck Clan’s graves to hunt for treasure. Scrooge tries to simply do the smart thing and flee, but the asshole brigade catch sight of him and mistkaing him for a peat burgalar chase after him.. and spend WAY too much time and energy chasing a teenage boy over some fucking bog grass you clearly aren’t selling yourselves. I mean spare a thought for how dumb this is: They could easily sell of of that peat to put up a fence or chop down some trees to get the material if their really that concerned about someone getting in the bog. Then again this isn the 1800 and 1900′s where the child death toll was simply “Yes”, so they likely thought whose gonna notice one more dead child on our property?

Scrooge heads toward the castle and is gestured in by a friendly mystery duck who gladly shows him around and can tell he’s a McDuck just by look, showing the castle is still in glorious condition as the whiskervilles are too spooked to go in, hence why they didn’t chase Scrooge inside. I’d say being afraid of ghosts but not murdering a child is weird but these are the same guys who thought murdering a child was plan A. We’re not dealing with a brain trust is what i’m saying.  So the mystery duck shows Scroogey around, showing off some colorful stories about his ancestors recycled from that scrapped prologue I mentioned. THe mystery man, who brushes off Scrooge thinking he’s a McDuck asks Scrooge what he’s doing to restore the family glory and while Scrooge points out he’s already working on it, Mystery Duck points out he’s still missing something: He has the drive and the dream, but peat and shoeshining, while getting him good money for his family, aren’t the thing you can build a fortune or a future off of. He then points out where Scrooge’s dime comes from: America.. and that gives the boy the idea to head to the states. As for what he could possibly DO there to start, the mystery guy mentions his uncle pothole. So Scrooge has the dream, the drive.. and now a plan: Go to america, work for his uncle on the riverboats, and work his way up from there till he finds his fortune and restores his family name.  But while his future is settled, the present is still an issue and Scrooge wants to teach the child murder club a lesson and thus borrows, though MM wisely points out it’s all his property a horse and some armor, and stuffs the armor with peat. As for what his plan is.. welllll

That.. is fucking awesome. And far from the last fucking awesome moment in this thing. It also shows off even as not quite a teen yet, Scrooge is still a badass already, and while he doesn’t have his trademark strength or fighting skills quite yet, his ingenuity is already there.. and that will always trump both. The Whiskervilles run away and into some quicksand and Scrooge vows to return one day as laird and reclaim his family land. But that’s a story for a few chapters down the line. As for who the mystery duck is, he’s naturally Sir Quackely himself, or rather his ghost, who was simply guiding Scrooge and didn’t give him the treasure as simply handing him the money wouldnn’t restore their family’s good name or continue their bloodline now would it? 

For now Scrooge returns to work for a bit before finding his way to America: A cattleboat to New Orleans looking for a Cabin Boy. And so Scrooge bids farewell to his family. His Dad, feeling bad he can’t even give his boy shilling, gives him the family pocketwatch with jake pitching in with the family gold dentures. While Scrooge naturally refuses to sell the watch, he does plan to sell the teeth as soon as possible for good reason. We then get some sweet goodbyes with him, his sisters (With hortense uttering her first words to everyone’s astonishment) and loving mother as he wonders just what awaits him in America. 

And there he stands on the bow of a ship, heading for a new land, in New Orleans he can be a new man. And we’ll see just what kind of man he becomes as this series continues. For now this is the end of a chapter but the beginning of a lifetime. 

Final Thoughts on Last of the Clan McDuck:

This story is excellent. While there are even better chapters to come, this one is still one of the most memorable and most joyous, showing just how Scrooge became what he is, where some of his values come from, others will be instilled along the way , and beginning to flesh out his family. We see Scrooge’s love of wealth comes from starting from the bottom, growing up with a family that barely had anything and badly needed everything, but was loving and instilled fine morals in him. We also see a Scrooge far removed from the bitter old man he is in present day, an optimistic naïve young lad who only wants best for his family. It’s a nice stark contrast to who he’ll become, good and bad, and a nice way to both compare him to Huey Dewey and Louie and break your heart as his own hardens before briefly turning black later on.  The art, as is standard for this series and Rosa, is breathtaking, and the story isn’t lacking in good jokes, their just downplayed so the story itself can take center stage. There’s nothing really more to say: it’s an excellent start to an even more excellent tale and stands proud among an already stellar story as one of it’s finest outings. 

NEXT RAINBOW: Scrooge goes down to the mighty Missipi to work on the riverboats and meets one of his signature Rogue’s for the first time in their first form, as well as Gyro’s dad.. or grandpa.. or possibly both I don’t know his family tree. Point is, tune in next time for some riverboat hyjinks.  Until then if you’d like to comission an episode of any animated show, especially ducktales and the various other duck related disney shows, or another Duck Comics story you really like from Rosa, Barks or whoever you want really, I take commissions for 5 dollars a review, with 5 dollars off your full order when you put in for more than one episode or issue. You can also follow me on patreon.com/popculturebuffet and for just two bucks a month get access to polls (which i’ll start once we have at least three patreons), and my exclusive discord server. And if you liked this review be sure to reblog it to show off. My self promotion done until next time: There’s always another rainbow. 

#scrooge mcduck #don rosa #ducktales #the life and times of scrooge mcduck #fergus mcduck #downy mcduck #hortense mcduck #hortense duck #matilda mcduck #jake mcduck #uncle scrooge #duck comics #disney duck comics #carl barks

[rogueshipagogo]

ppl have been asking me my opinions on space channel 5 vr... and i guess since i bought a vr headset off craigslist just so i could play it and speedrun it before work the day it came out... i should talk abt it now... i dont rly think i’ll be able to separate it into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ things i think i’m just going to do a rambly stream of consciousness bc i have a headache... but i DO have good things to say abt this game... so st.... sta stay t tune  d

right off the bat, the thing i appreciate most abt this game- i like that space channel 5 vr doesnt have cash grab vibes. i Do genuinely believe that they Wanted to make this game For the people who are still obsessed with it, and that they ultimately did what they set out to do when they intended to scale certain aspects of the series up conceptually to match the way the fandom perceives it nowadays. but like i’ve said before... i’m not going to Disagree with the very common conclusion that it Needed to be longer, or at Least more intricate plot-wise. one of my fun and fresh excuses for sc5vr being as short as it is is because you arent really supposed to be playing vr games for too long anyways, its really disorienting and kinda painful, but even that doesn’t account for why so much of the game that we got is a rehash of old settings, concepts, songs, and characters. [i dont even have a problem with reusing old songs, i just think the ones they chose ended up being misleading]

for example i think it makes sense that the first report is a remake of the first games first report on the surface, it’s meant to take you back to the way the first game felt and give you an idea of what it means that the games classic scenery can be rendered in actual high quality detail now [same with the recurrence of events like encountering the space pirates in the asteroid belt/the last battle against a villain being singing to it about what it’s done wrong], but i really thought, like, report 1 was going to end up being a simulated scenario for the benefit of lou and kee’s training... which i dont think ended up being the case??? i think they really did write ‘ok here you are in the first game’s setting again, fighting the old enemies again, because... :^) ok have fun playing report 2!’

and then whats report 2... you fight another old boss from the first game... but theres Still no clear villain or motivation for anything thats happening... and there wont be until like... basically the end of the game...

like, glitter is a really cute character, but its kind of underwhelming that shes just a random citizen who was kidnapped by an entity that we NEVER LEARN ANYTHING ABOUT... like part 1 was extremely notable for being about corporate greed and corruption, part 2 honestly wasnt that political in comparison but at least made you do a think wrt purge’s motivation and his methods, and this game just has a plot device that feels like it’ll do smth but then ends up not doing anything beyond what we already learned about it from the information on its character bio before the game was out. if it turns out that cell x is actually relevant again in a future entry in the franchise and they do have a more developed concept for what cell x Is in mind, i’ll do an entire backflip, but for now its just chalked up to being the result of More Space Hijinks that dont need to be explained

ESPECIALLY WITH ALL OF THE ALLUSIONS TO CELL X BEING AN ENTITY THAT FEEDS OFF OF DANCE ENERGY... it had me thinking that there would have to be some New Method of fighting it off that didn’t just lend it more power in the process, but nah apparently just tacking on the disclaimer ‘*this dance energy is not for glitter’ is enough to turn it from smth it can consume for power into big attacks you can use to kill it... like honestly it sounds like im asking for a lot from a game that has Never made too much sense, but considering that in part 2 they could add details like ‘oh didnt you know purge can open pocket dimensions? ulala is capable of manifesting tangible dance energy and the only other person who can do that is purge???’, its not like they havent come up with weird new shit for dance energy to do within the plot before. they just didnt do it in this game fsr

like did anyone else think that cell x/glitter was going to be the result of tossing purge out into deep space and him encountering the sc5 universe’s equivalent of an eldritch alien creature, smth more bestial than morolians?? even if purge wasnt part of it, when you say ‘uh oh, this guy Eats this society’s only source of energy!!!’ i expect the stakes to get HIGH, and i want the ramifications of it to be kinda STARTLING, because blank wanted money and purge wanted to ritualistically end the world but something this near to an ecological disaster that would force an entire paradigm shift hasn’t occurred yet in the series?? its totally new!!! there’s a lot they could do with this but OH DONT WORRY ABOUT IT EVERYONE ulala knows how to make dance energy kill cell x instead of feed it she’s got this we’re good no need to investigate more into all that

i can’t explain why the game is like this. and i dont expect grounding to address it in any meaningful way either. i’m sure they’re Aware of these complaints by now- the game reviewing community has Not been kind to sc5vr specifically due to all of these shortcomings [i didnt even touch on the issues with motion sensing and how many of the games mechanics were removed in favor of smth presumably easier to program yet much less satisfying, like Secret Moves just being mini quicktime events and Turning Your Ratings Into Stars just being replaced with the standard Three Strikes You’re Out method of scoring], but the pr team still seems very enthusiastic abt the game and is still promising dlc and potentially even more games in the series after this one- heres hoping that they’ll at least take these grievances to heart and consider making the experience not only more accessible [aka it will... go back to being a rhythm game with controller input.... and not... an exclusive vr experience...], but also as immersive and detailed as the old games, with less reused plot beats. i can let some of it off the hook in this game simply because i’m aware that it began its life as a tech demo that was only supposed to be that initial first report from the first game But Happening All Around You!, but i Really dont think they could get away with doing this little to expand upon the groundwork set by the first two games again. not with the way people remember part 2 being such a vast upgrade from part 1... the bar had been set so high that this just felt like a huge backslide into something even sillier and harder to take seriously than part 1 before we had any idea what kind of staying power the franchise would have as a hallmark of sega’s quirky antics. like... this game is what i think space channel 5 looks like to people who don’t understand the appeal of the first two games. and that scares me

but i guess for the most part, aside from wishing they had done more to revitalize the setting and the lore of the sc5 universe itself, im kind of glad it didnt do a lot to change the existing storylines the characters have kinda forged for themselves- here i was stressing out that they would pull out some plot development that would utterly and drastically change the way we talked abt the series for the rest of time, but so little happened and so little was added to the bank of sc5 lore that we can kind of all just carry on as usual and keep having the same headcanons we always had.

BUT!!! there ARE a lot of cute little details here and there that make the experience feel wholesome and like i said not an utter cashgrab- like so many of the character profiles referencing previous games [all of the references to npcs in this game being relatives of the npcs of the last games made me lose it] and how often ulala changes her expressions up and looks right at you and talks to you. the new music they wrote for the game also all slaps and everyones redesigns [if they got a redesign... rip pudding] are stunning

one of the most important things they did in this game was give a nice sort of Update to every character.... for example explaining that ulala isn’t a rookie reporter any more like she was in the first 2 games, that she’s moved up to being in charge of training new channel 5 reporters, and that while pudding is still somewhat stuck on her rivalry with ulala her career isn’t stagnant either, she was just cast in a romcom series as the lead... which is really nice considering how in the past she was portrayed as somewhat of a loser with almost no remaining fans left from her idol years

and you knew i was going to bring up jaguar at some point HES ALL OVER THIS GAME AND IT LITERALLY MADE ME FEEL LIKE MY LIFE WAS WORTH POWERING THROUGH THESE LAST FEW YEARS AND ALSO LIKE IM A GENIUS FOR SPENDING SO LONG POSTING EVERY SINGLE DAY ‘NO REALLY, HE’S THE SECONDARY PROTAGONIST OF THE STORY, ITS ABOUT CHANNEL 5 AS A COMPANY AND THEIR IMPACT ON EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER ENCOUNTERED THEM AND THAT INCLUDES JAGUAR AS WELL AS ULALA HES INTEGRAL TO THE PLOT BC SHE WOULDNT BE ALIVE IF IT WEREN’T FOR HIM’ i feel like it’s really incredible how in this game he has genuinely nice energy and doesnt withhold praise from ulala just to be helpful in a mysterious way later and he like HAS FRIENDS now. like consider how he went from disgraced former ch5 employee who got mad every time he saw them, to kidnapped robot henchman kinda humbled by the fact that now the turns tabled and ulala had to rescue Him, and now 3 years later his bio is all about how he has a new tv show thats super popular and he has a new entourage of ladies who he considers his '’’’’’comrades’’’’’’’ within the station he founded??? AND AFTER 20 YEARS THEY WERE FINALLY ABLE TO GIVE HIS MODEL JUICY ASS CHEEKS??????????????? NO MORE PANCAKE BOOTY???? THE BOY HAD A GLOWUP AND NO I WONT STOP TALKING ABOUT IT

WHEN I SAY MEOW MATCH THE POSE MOTHERFUCKERS THIS BLONDE BASTARD GETS TO BE IN CHARGE OF THE HUNDRED STAGE BATTLE NOW TOO THIS IS THE YEAR OF THE SPACE PIRATES BAYBEE

#its almost 4 am. idk i will probably have more to say tomorrow. my head still hurts #the galaxy depends on my funky moves

[rheesus]

corpse party! — richie tozier (two)

pairing: richie tozier x reader

warnings: panic attacks, mentions of murder, gore, horror, occult and paranormal happenings

— part two of ?

( see part one )

i wont do all 5 chapters since chapter one is entirely based on seiko and naomi who are beverly and eleven sooo yeah! if you want to know what would happen to them and you don’t know the story of corpse party well, watch a gameplay or something laksjshddh 

something soft and wet had landed on y/n's cheek as she laid unaware of her surroundings. whatever was running down her face like tear drops seemed to have woken the class representative up. her e/c eyes batted opened and met to the view of a ceiling that had a clear whole through both the top of the building and the floor between that and the floor she laid on, next to that was a broken light fixture, flickering intensely with its last life.

"so, you're one of the new victims, huh?" an unfamiliar make voice echoed from behind her. the voice alone sent a wave of chills throughout her entire body as she turned and let out a ear piercing scream, she scrambled away, looking up at a boy no older than 17 - the lower part of his body seemed to sway like flames but his whole being had a blue ethereal glow to it.

from out in the hallway she could easily hear two voices calling her name in worry; richie and ms byers. if not for the boy in front of her, she would've smiled at this revealation. the boy's eyes seemed to wander in the direction of their voices and he gave a bittersweet smile.

"wow, stuck in the same space with not one, but two people you know? you're lucky." 

"w-w-" 

"that luck wont last long, i mean - look what happened to me!" the boy had laughed but not in a way that emitted happiness or amusement. his eyes now wandered to the floor, where a pile of bones and some ripped clothing laid.

“what do you mean?” the teen girl boldly said, though her thoughts didn’t match her tone. the ghost just shrugged. 

“you’ve been dragged here against your will. it looks like an abandoned school but it’s hell. you’ll either die horribly or eventually, you’ll kill your friends and die horribly. no matter what, it’s just pain twenty-four fuckin seven.”

 y/n had gulped down her fear in hopes to ask more before something came barrelling through the door and the ghost had fled at the sight and sound.

richie tozier and their beloved ms. byers. 

the first thing that happened upon seeing each other was the tears and smiles of relief before ms byers wrapped the class rep in a tight embrace, richie had squatted down next to her. his grin only widened when she turned to playfully glare at him.

"of all our friends i could be stuck with and i get stuck with you?" the boy rolled his eyes and ms byers had chuckled.

“if you ask me, richie was more worried out of—”

“anyways, it’s good you’re alive.” richie cut the lady off, smiling and ignoring the way his cheeks warmed up. y/n had smiled too, hugging ms. byers again. their happiness was, however, short-lived. the building had started to shake violently and a loud scream rang out through the building — one of filled with the pain and suffering. and who it belonged to was a familiar person to the three.

eleven hopper. 

the very thought that one of her classmates and friends were in danger made y/n’s stomach churn and her mind to run wild with negative thoughts. soon those thoughts became to overwhelming to the point where the teen girl couldn’t help but lose her breath. ms. byers could sense her distress and cupped her face in her hands, 

“y/n, focus on me. it was probably nothing,” she gave an encouraging smile, “probably the wind.”

“but you heard it, right? that was el. our el.” ms byers sighed. richie looked around the wrecked classroom, chewing on his lip nervously.

“ms byers, stay here with y/n and i’ll go look for eleven—”

“no! you stay here with y/n where it’s safe and i will find eleven.”

“stop it! no!” the two looked back at the h/c, her breathing was still erratic but she persisted in talking, “you can’t leave, i just found both of you.”

the kindly teacher had done nothing but give a genuine, sweet smile, “you’ll be fine. i’ll bring eleven back here safe and sound. promise.”

not allowing y/n or richie to protest, ms. byers had left the classroom. the two students stared at the door for what felt like hours. y/n had moved her head towards the corpse of the boy she had talked to. near his the bones of what used to be his hand was nearly touching a card of some sort. she crawled to it and took it into her possession. in fine black print were the words.

derry boys high school

steve harrington 

d.o.b.: 16 april 1996

grade 12 

y/n had let out a shaky breath before stashing the id card in her jacket pocket. she looked back to the door ms. byers had left from and mumbled words of hope under her breath.

please, be okay.

joyce byers had found herself in a classroom worse off than the one she left richie and y/n. one half of it was collapsed in, leaving nothing but a black abyss. she would’ve gone up the stairs but she could hear a wicked voice giggle in her head, “unwise to go upstairs, teacher.”

and so she stayed on the same floor. she had taken five steps in before a blue boy had appeared before her, a bored expression across his face. his mullet was a mess and he glowed. 

“teacher! you stopped cowering with the two in the other classroom, huh?”

she looked at the boy in annoyance. what did he mean by cowering? joyce bit her tongue and gulped, “i heard one of my student’s scream and i’ve set out to find her.”

“i see... regrettably,” he spoke lowly, “that won’t be possible. this school exists in a nexus where multiple dimensions overlap. it’s a single closed space in a sea of closed spaces. in other words, even though you may be in the same school as your screaming student, you and her occupy different dimensions... which means you two can never meet.”

“if one of you should die, perhaps your body... or spirit may move from one space to another... you can find a way of traversing the planes freely as they do,” ms. byers didn’t know why but the way the boy spoke the word they, sent a chill running down her back. the blue boy continued to talk to her, “consider this fair warning: even if you should find the exact spot from which your student’s screams emanated... she herself may not be there and if she’s not there’s not a thing you can do about.”

the boy spoke smugly but there was no indication in his expression that he meant to be. joyce’s eyes were filling up with tears of desperation, “but i heard her scream!”

“it is true other children have arrived here not long ago and by all appearances seem to be your students,” the boy shrugged, “but as i explained, time and space is fragmented here and it doesn’t behave like you assume — you say you heard a scream. that may have taken place a few minutes ago or perhaps in another space hours previous or maybe an echo from the future, who’s to say. or maybe with the phenomenon as it is; it’s possible two closed spaces can have some influence on each other.”

the young woman had clenched her teeth. this young boy was doing her head in. all she wanted was to find eleven and verify her safety, “it doesn’t matter! i can’t go on and ignore an antagonising scream like that! step aside!”

she charged at him and he disappeared. ms. byers had missed the glowering expression he gave her. she had looked around the room for any clues or hints that her student was near but to no avail. as she went to leave the classroom, a supernatural force pull her back in, slamming the door fast. materialising in front of her was the same boy she had just talked to except her glowed red with nothing but malice and hate in his lifeless eyes.

“step aside?! why don’t you fuck off!” his voice was now no longer monotone, but angry at her. the ground had started to shake once again. too focused on the earthquake, ms byers had failed to notice the shelf filled with cutting supplies slowly falling towards her body. the shelf itself was too heavy with the combined force of wat was pushing it down and so it caused her to topple too.

she felt the bones in her back all crack at once and her skin was being sliced. was it the scissors or the scalpels or the glass that was worse? she couldn’t tell it was all too painful to bear. the angry teen started to talk again, “in all the world, the most vile and untrustworthy are you schoolteachers. all you give a shit about is your own well-being! you’re not worried about your students! you’re just worried about being held responsible if something should happen to them!”

joyce couldn’t worry about his rant, only how much the weight was hurt her, “youre all the same... every single one of you! and i won’t be taken in by your lies!”

this caught her attention. taken in by lies? 

“when you see a problem among your kids, you just keep your distance because you sure wouldn’t want to get involved! have to keep up appearances, right? you just pick out the problem children and chip away at them until they drop out or get expelled! you’re not disciplining them — you’re just raging at them! there’s no teacher ever that’s actually cared about their students!” 

with what little energy she had, ms byers spoke up bravely, “-you’re... you’re wrong.” 

this angered him more and the weight on her back grew more heavier, she let out a yelp of pain as he continued raging, “all of your students are destined to starve to death here if they don’t succumb to this hellhole and kill everyone! it’s the only possible outcome. they’ll all die meaningless deaths like me! and they won’t be thinking of you when they take their final breaths i’ll even pass on a message as they die so — any last words?”

the woman used her energy to glare up at him menacingly, “d...don’t touch those children.”

the teen boy snorted than laughed maniacally like she’d said the most wicked joke, “come again.”

“spare my students... please don’t hurt them.” for some reason this angered him more and more, “please! i beg of you don’t harm a hair on their... goddamn... heads.”

her voice faded out but her thoughts didn’t. 

please please be safe, my sweet students.

  richie had finally stopped looking at the door to turn and look at y/n. minutes had passed and no sign of eleven or ms byers could be seen. y/n suddenly stood up, legs wobbling slightly but nonetheless she bravely stood, walking to the door.

“we have to go find ms. byers.” she mumbled. she soundly drained and tired.

“no way, ms. byers said stay here so—”

“we have to go find ms. byers!” her tone caused richie to flinch, “i just have a bad feeling... we gotta go search for ms. byers.” 

the boy sighed and shook his head.

“fucks sake, fine. but we leave a note for her. do you have pen and paper?” y/n produced a pen but shook her head without any paper. richie messily written a note on the teachers desk and sighed again, “alright lets get the fuck out of here.”

this was so long holy fuck-

anyways i finished writing this at 1am and i’ve scared myself writing so congrats! here’s chapter two! and if you want to be apart of the tag list, i ask or just like the post i made abt it or if i forgot you please tell me oksejhdhdhd

taglist — @dovageidys @the-internet-is-a-scary-place @schwankyblock @musicalsandbooks 

#richie tozier x reader #it 2017 #mike wheeler #mike hanlon #georgie denbrough #stranger things #will byers #steve harrington #richie tozier #beverly marsh #max mayfield #stan uris #eleven hopper #jane hopper #bill denbrough #pennywise #ben hanscom #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #stranger things 3 #it 2019

[starspatter]

WIP Challenge

Tagged by: @summertime-children

Tagging: @astrologista, @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine, @benditlikegumby, @cryptoriawebb, @ibmiller, @iceperialprincess, and @otherwise-uncolonized

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I'll also do what deta did and post comments + short fragments.  (Be warned it'll be very long though, and most of these are actually Pokémon fics since I was a much more prolific writer when I was younger, and that was the fandom I wrote mainly for.)  I also won't be including "Heroes and Thieves" on here (or any DC/superhero stuff really since I’ve essentially “done” everything I had planned for now), as *technically* it is all already completed in draft form, and I'd like to keep things a surprise for whenever I do end up posting~

Hero and Seek

“Well, we’re all together now, so let’s have some fun, all right?  Don’t worry, it’s really simple.  One person is the ‘demon’, and the others have to hide from him.” “Eh?  A ‘demon’?  But that’s scary!” Three pairs of eyes turned up to her in fear.  Those eyes, which screamed and streamed the stark color of blood the first time she saw them – not just from tears, but from the ‘monster’ they believed dwelled deep within.  She thought for a moment, then removed her scarf. “How about this then?  Whoever’s the ‘hero’ has to find and rescue the others.  It’s a very important Blindfold Brigade mission!”

I’ll start with the one Kagepro fic I did attempt at least, which I described previously here, but is basically about Ayano + the Meka Trio playing “Hide and Seek” for the first time.  (I actually had it originally titled as that but just came up with this new version on the spot lol I’m so clever~)  For some reason I’ve always been hesitant about reading/writing Kagefic, but I actually got a fair bit farther in this than I thought, so perhaps I should try to finish it someday... Princes and Frogs

“K-Koizumi-senpai… Um… Please go out with me!” Itsuki stared down at the tiny underclassman, watching a rose mantle spread slowly over her cheeks as she gazed back with shy, but determined hope in her bespectacled eyes.  The older boy could make out his own handsome face reflected off the lens, a virtual image embellished by sparkling hearts and stars.  With dim satisfaction and relief, Itsuki ensured that his bright, patient smile betrayed no hint of the weary sigh that whispered behind it.

This is an intro excerpt of the first chapter I planned to write for an ItsuHaru fic from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, which I only ever posted the prologue for.  ItsuHaru was my first obsessive OTP, and I still think about returning to this story someday (especially since I have now proven to myself I *can* finish a full chapter fic if I put my mind to it), but it’s been so long I feel like I’d need to refresh my memory of the whole series/am still holding out hope for a Season 3 to motivate me again. *shot*

Fall to Pieces

As Itsuki stared at Yuki’s vacant visage, his resentment kept building.  His hands clenched, rigidly gripping the edge of the table.  Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair.  That she could so easily ignore the madness fate had dealt them, never reveal any signs of suffering or bitterness towards her situation, and yet always, always wear the same damn expression on her face. How could she possibly stand it? He can’t stand it. (any more)

An ItsuYuki one-shot, where Itsuki basically blows up at her from pent-up frustration over having to wear a mask all the time and his hidden feelings for Haruhi.  The two start to form a connection over their respective “unrequited loves”/understanding of each other’s pain, and one thing leads to another...  Like “Heroes and Thieves”, this is in fact technically “complete”, since I actually used the leftover steam from the former towards finishing at least one thing I started a long time ago - although I’m still not sure I’m totally satisfied with it/kinda want to wait to figure out what I’m doing with my other ItsuHaru fics before I publish it by itself.  (Incidentally the working title comes from an Avril Lavigne song lol.)

Little White Lies

“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love.  But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty--perhaps the difficulty.” -George MacDonald, The Light Princess - Haruhi Suzumiya was walking on air. Itsuki could tell by the way she glided into the clubroom, sailing like a paper airplane – or a balloon with an inflated ego to match.

...Yeah that’s as far as I got with this.  This was meant to be a “White Day” story, which is Japan’s “answer holiday” to Valentine’s Day, where guys reciprocate by giving gifts to the girls who gave them chocolates.  I always wondered how the boys actually responded in-universe, and I imagine Itsuki secretly stressing out a lot about taking care to not upstage Kyon, but at the same time wanting to sincerely express his genuine appreciation and feelings towards Haruhi - whatever they may be.  In the end, he settles on a copy of “The Light Princess” by George MacDonald, which I highly recommend reading since it reminds me so much of this pair, and in general is such a fun and snappy “tongue-in-cheek” take on the fairytale genre. Sora in Wonderland

But wait- this one was a bit different from all its brothers and sisters.  For one thing, it was wearing a fancy waistcoat with pockets- and sleeves that were far too long for it.  As soon as it passed by her head, it stopped and slowly turned its head around to stare directly at her with its huge circular yellow eyes.  Sora stared vacantly back for a full five seconds before the information registered in her brain and she suddenly yelled, “Hey!”, and sat bolt upright.  The Heartless panicked upon hearing her voice and fled at top speed across the white sands, headed towards an opening in the rocks; Sora jumped down off her perch and immediately chased after it, no longer caring about the heat.  The Heartless hastily disappeared inside the cave, and Sora soon followed after, determined to catch the freaky little thing and ask it some questions, like what it was doing on the island at this time, and where on earth did it get a waistcoat.

OKAY SO I TOTALLY FORGOT THIS WAS A THING but apparently I tried to write a Kingdom Hearts parody of “Alice in Wonderland” lmao.  I’ve never actually played the games (aside from half of CoM), but it was probably inspired by a crossover art my friend drew? ^^; Also Sora is a girl in this bc that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. XP *shot* Note: The following fics are all Pokémon-related so I’ll just be listing them in roughly chronological order (from most recent to ancient, although they’re all pretty old at this point). Stranger

The elder slowly rose to his feet, gazing at the boy, the champion, the stranger.  “In all this time, why didn’t you come back?  You could have seen for yourself how she was.” Lance wanted to yell something defiant, like a child.  But he wasn’t a child.  Children were forgiven for their mistakes.  And he didn’t want to be forgiven. The professor’s ancient hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s the way this town works.  We don’t talk about things that happen outside our own world.  Maybe it was too long ago – too late for you to understand.” Lance didn’t say anything. “At least talk to Delia.  She’s been wanting to see you.” “Sorry.  It’s too late.” “You’re a bastard.” “I know.”

So this looks to be among the last things I’d written before taking a long break from fanfiction circa... 2007, jeeze.  Over 10 years, huh.  But, I think it speaks a certain amount of maturity that it’s the piece I liked most upon rediscovering.  It’s based on an idea I once had that Lance was (unknowingly) Gary Oak’s father, and he was friends/rivals with Ash’s father, who originally won the title of Champion but relinquished it so he could be with his “wife” and kid (or rather, then-pregnant teenage girlfriend).  *Something* happened though (I forget what I had in mind) and he ended up dying, leaving Lance bitter and depressed so he refused to return to Pallet Town because of too many painful memories.  (Though he *cough* “comforted” their other female childhood friend for one night of drunken grief before he left. ;()  What I like most about it honestly is the parallels bw Lance’s relationship with Ash’s dad and their sons’, and that amidst all the angst I enjoyed portraying the earnest energy and optimism of Ketchum(?) senior (”like father like son” after all).  I was definitely inspired by Mitsuki’s father in Full Moon wo Sagashite/Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist by making him a total “dork dad” who’d brag about his (illegitimate) family on national TV during the championship tournament lol.

Ihavenoidea

Either way, I get the feeling this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I made my decision to quit training.  I mean that in an intuitive sort of way.  Like, sometimes I feel as if I’m not meant to be here, like my life should have ended up differently someplace else.  Perhaps this is just one of those weird inconsistencies I told you about.  Perhaps not.  Even after all that’s happened to me recently, I still can’t really be sure about it.

...No seriously, I have no idea where I was going with this.  As far as I can tell it’s written from the POV of Gary Oak, whom I’ve always had a lot of... “complicated” feelings towards.  It probably has something to do with another concept I’ll discuss next, although for some reason it sounds like I was going for some sort of AU? *shrug* By contrast to the above, it reads like a whiny teenager complaining about his life - which makes me cringe but is probably an accurate portrayal of who I was at the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This one was actually dated a little after the previous, so my best guess is it was some kind of vent rant where I would “give up” writing/creating and “childish” ideals for a while, as I was wont to do - but I still always come back to it somehow... RainbowMolly

Molly stepped out from the car and onto the dusty road, her heart beating wildly.  She could hardly believe she was actually here, of all places. The ride had been long and mind-numbing with anticipation, and now that they’d finally arrived at the destination, it all felt somewhat surreal to her. A small bear clambered out from the vehicle, joining her as she stopped to take in the rustic view that met her bright blue eyes.  She smiled and picked up her Teddiursa, cuddling its warm, fuzzy body close to her own. Her gaze traveled down the road which stretched in both directions, houses lining up against its margins. She followed it with her eyes towards a hill in the distance, on top of which sat what looked like a quaint little farmhouse with a windmill, turning in the summer breeze.  She breathed in the country air, catching whiff of a faint salt smell from an ocean in the distance. So this was Pallet Town.

...Why I didn’t actually name the file “Chasing Rainbows” - which was the title I had planned for this - I don’t know.  This dates back to an old idea I had where I believed Molly Hale from the third Pokémon movie was secretly the true “God” of the Pokémon world - in the sense that the entire universe was an unknowing fantasy of her own creation, similar to Haruhi Suzumiya (ok fine this was totally a crossover/rip-off of the same concept so sue me OTL).  In a place where children never seem to grow up and can go on grand fantastical adventures forever, Gary always struck me as an anomaly who willingly *chose* to forego such a life to pursue more “adult” interests by becoming a researcher.  So I saw him as filling the role of “Kyon” - the cynical narrator who was destined to ground “God” and bring her back down to earth, but at the same time be won over by her innocence and charm and learn to appreciate “kids’ stuff” again.  However, the Legendaries were actually aware of the power Molly holds, and so saw Gary as a threat to their very being - as by “waking” the dreamer and having her face reality meant erasing their kinds’ entire existence.  As the “apocalypse” nearly occurred in the third film, Mew and Celebi took on human disguises (in the form of May and Max respectively) to investigate Ash, who was able to calm Molly and “save” the world by “perpetuating” the delusion (and whom Molly totally has a crush on btw *shot*).  So it’s a bit of a love triangle lol, with Mew and Celebi (*cough* an alien and a time traveler, get it? *shot*) acting as mediators/interference.  (Although Mew might’ve secretly shipped Gary and Molly herself. ;O)

Betrayal

And these blades, these damned scythes that attached themselves to my arms when I was born, a curse upon me since birth, though it had not been apparent up until now.  They were covered with blood, the vital crimson liquid that flows through our bodies, now dripping down the steel surface in a webbed pattern, drops beginning to splatter the pure, emerald grass below.  The arm felt heavy and weak as I tried to lift it, as if it did not belong to me, but that was only a wishful thought.  I gazed calmly at it, inspecting the intricate designs the flow of the substance had created, as if it were an abstract piece of artwork. Tentatively, a pink tongue rolled out and caught a small droplet of it just before it fell from the sharp edge, just to convince myself that it was real.  The semi-sweet, metallic taste confirmed this.  I had indeed taken these men’s lives, just as I had taken hers.

So I remember this was written from the POV of a Scyther who seemingly went on a murderous rampage.  I only know that I wanted to give him an “Edward Scissorhands”-like story, since the idea of having such sharp objects attached to one’s limbs so that one could never directly “touch” another without being a danger is pretty tragic.  I suspect “her” was someone (a human?) he cared about but killed by accident, and after that he was only seen as a symbol of power/treated as a tool to incite fear before eventually rebelling against his “master”... Roses

“If you love someone, you should give them something that’s yours. That shows how much you care for them.” In the darkness, I pictured his smiling face, explaining to me as he wrapped a present for his girlfriend. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of spirit unfamiliar to me; I guessed, a feeling of love.

Another “dark” take on a Pokémon’s biology (I really liked writing explorations of those back then lol), this time of Roselia.  The idea was that a Roselia was so in love with her trainer that she would do anything for him - including allow him to cut off her arms so he could give them to his girlfriend.  I actually ended up turning it into a poem at one point:

Love is like a rose they say, And affection leads to grief they warned. For in the end love betrays, Its Beauty maimed by a poisoned thorn. You gave me pure water with a smile. Your cheerful face became my sun. I offered up my blood to you, And in return demanded none. Chop off my wrists, and tie them together. I’ll gladly bleed myself to death. In order to give you that which I hold most dear. My dear, my dear, Won’t you accept this bouquet? You take it, smiling warily. A blush creeps onto your face. And in those eyes I can see A garden of roses stretched out, Composing a wondrous place. Then you bound my hands in lace, And brought them to the girl next door. You presented them to her with grace. … My blood continued to pour.

Fanfic

She smiled at me, although something about her expression indicated something wasn't quite right.  I watched as she glanced over towards the west, her gaze lingering momentarily on the setting sun.  The glowing, orange sphere was slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, peaks cloaked in a pale, lavender haze illuminated by flickering beams of gold and scarlet cast across the horizon.

More accurately, I found this buried in a “catch-all” file where I had several (mostly finished) fics saved.  This was meant to be from the POV of an Eevee who had just evolved - supposedly into an Espeon due to happiness and bond with her trainer, which is what both wanted.  However, since it took place at sunset, she didn’t realize she had become an Umbreon instead, and her trainer ended up abandoning her for it. ;( It was a warm

Children’s shrieks and laughter echoed across the park as they flocked towards each other, and soon were chasing one another round the playground, weaving in and out between the swings as they partook in an innocent game of Tag.  One child was It; she was trying desperately to catch one of her friends so that they would take over the job instead.  Then it would be her turn to run away, for none of them wished to play the loathsome role of It.  Or was it because they feared being tainted by the person’s touch?  It must have been one of the two, for while she would struggle to reach them, catch hold of them, they would only flee, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were vexing her.  Twice she nearly caught one.  Her fingertips were almost within reach of one of the other girls’ dresses, whose russet tresses were flowing wildly from the rush of movement and shining with golden highlights as the rays of the sun struck individual strands.  The target shrieked and shook her head, whisking her skirt free in time to escape capture, laughing with glee at the sight of the girl left behind, miserable and alone. 

Yeah I totally just went with the default beginning of the first sentence lol.  I guess this comes full circle with the first Kagepro fic I mentioned (although I’m not even sure I was aware back then that the Japanese version of the game literally called “It” a “demon”, which is even more fitting).  I believe this was part of a Pokémon series I was writing involving a creepy little girl and Mewtwo who would bring about the end of the world or something like that, but generally I guess I was just going for a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. *shrug* Golden Lights

The pale, rosy fingers of dawn were filtering in through the Granite Cave entrance, basking a small area near the opening in pinkish illumination.  Just out of reach of its expanse sat little Mika, huddled in the gloom of the shadows, watching the light creep steadily towards her as the glowing ball of fire rose slowly towards the East.  She knew about the Light that came from Outside.  There were plenty other small apertures broken into the cavern walls and ceiling that allowed some thin streams of gold brilliance to trickle through.  She had always done well to avoid them.  The brightness was like poison to her skin.  But they weren’t the Lights she’d had described to her by the old Crobat that always resided now deeper within the underground chambers, dozing now, most likely.  He wouldn’t awaken until night came round, and she did not wish to rouse him and perhaps disturb him from a pleasant dream.  She was very wise about things like that, being the young child that she was.  Still, she would have liked to hear a story to comfort her just then.

Last one I could find, about a Sableye who, like Icarus, literally “flew too close to the sun”.  In this interpretation I imagined that Sableye were creatures who could not stand sunlight at all, as it would cause their skin to burn.  But Mika (pronounced like “Mica”) always dreamed of going outside to see the “Light” anyway.  She was eventually tempted by Mew to leave the cavern under her angelic PROTECTion and step into the Light, who was acting as Ho-Oh’s messenger to “recruit” souls to “live eternal as an element of Ho-Oh’s Guarding Flame“, as the PROTECT faded and a “holy fire” began to spread.  I guess I was going for a Biblical/”Rapture”-esque reference.  (...Man I sure was obsessed with the endtimes as a kid. *shot*)

#Kagerou Project #Tateyama Ayano #Mekakushi Trio #Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu #ItsuHaru #ItsuYuki #Pokemon #Gary Oak #Molly Hale #fanfiction #starstories #astrologista #atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine #benditlikegumby #cryptoriawebb #ibmiller #iceperialprincess #otherwise uncolonized

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

War meets Death - Ch. 1

This is an AU!AHS with Michael as the son of the Greek gods, Hades and Persephone. 

Pairing: Michael x O/C Female (Emersyn)

Rating - eventual NSFW (not super slow burn but wont start for a few chapters)

Type: multi-chapter story

So much longer than I planned it to be, but I’m happy with the outcome. I have a couple ideas of how I’ll start the next chapter so hopefully that’ll be up in a couple days. Forgive any spelling or punctuation errors, I’m getting my laptop set up again on Word and it’s being a pain. I hope y’all love reading this as much as I loved writing it! Thank you to everyone that gave such encouraging responses to my plot-line post idea for this! <3 <3 <3 

Here we go! - Chapter 1

Emersyn had been sitting in her car for twenty minutes. No matter how many times she gave herself a pep talk she couldn't bring herself to get out and walk into the house. Was it fear? In a way, yes. Not fear of failing or being turned away. Not fear that if this didn't work she'd be on her own completely. No. It was fear that this would work. That her Nana was correct in her letter and that by going down this path she'd finally have answers. Having the answers and knowing who she truly was, was what she feared the most. Taking a deep sigh, she pulled her letter out of the bag and read it for what was maybe the hundredth time since she'd been given it on her birthday two months ago. 

"Follow my instructions my darling girl. Everything will work out and I promise you will gain more than answers to your past. You will get the future you were born to have. I am sorry I cannot tell you everything but rules are rules and I've bent them as much as I can. I love you more than anything.         - Nana"

As Emersyn finished that last paragraph, she forced the butterflies to calm and pushed every doubt out of her head. "Okay Nana, here I go," she mumbled to herself. She put the letter back in her purse before turning her car off and stepping out, slinging the purse over her shoulder.

 Once outside the car she let herself look around her surroundings once again. Off to her right was a large hedge in the middle of the gravel front. It was sculpted in a scepter and cornucopia, representations of who's home it was. The faint smell of flowers and fruit swirled around her, no doubt from the famed garden behind the house. Everyone knew the lady of the house loved agriculture and beauty, and her husband though intimidating could not say no to her. However the rest of the front, and no doubt the inside, gave little doubt of who held dark power here.

 The gravel crunched under Emersyn's flats as she made her way to the stairs leading to the massive house. House wasn't even the correct word. More like a mansion. Everything was ebony marble, dark and sleek while also glittering. It was daunting against the bright blue sky but also the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. At the base of the steps on either side in a grey marble was the family protector, Cerberus, sitting at attention waiting for this master. 

Breathe in, breathe out. She kept the mantra up until she was at the door. For a minute she just looked at it. It was made of solid marble with pearl for the handle and door bell. A monogrammed L was etched into the front of it. Emersyn nearly bolted back to her car but her legs felt like lead and her Nana's voice boomed into her head. "You are braver and stronger than you know. Grasp the power in your blood and all will be right." She'd told Emersyn that since she was a little girl anytime she was afraid and it always worked. Just as she lifted her hand to press the doorbell the door gave a click and slowly swung open.

 She waited a couple seconds for someone to show themselves and speak, but nothing happened. It wasn't proper but she felt something tugging her forward so she slowly opened the door more to walk in. Once she was completely inside the door once again moved on its own and closed itself. 

Emersyn took in some long deep breathes to calm her nerves as she looked around at her new surroundings. The inside was even more stunning then the outside. The floors and the grand staircase not far in front of her were made of the ebony marble that made the outside of the house. The walls were an off white with a few paintings and a couple mirrors put up. Above her was a huge shimmering chandelier with white lights and black jewels. She could see some black furniture pieces scattered around the room and in a couple open rooms easily visible from her spot. On some of the tables were smooth pearl vases with flowers in them, giving the house that same alluring smell as outside. Just as Emersyn had made her way to one by the door and was leaning in to take a sniff an authoritative voice stopped her.

 "Who the hell are you?"

 Emersyn spun around gripping her purse tighter to keep herself from screaming. A woman slightly shorter than her with dark short hair, dressed entirely in black stood by the stair case. She must have been coming from one of the back rooms when she saw Emersyn. The woman snapped her fingers to get Emersyn's attention as she hadn't answered the question. 

"I'm so sorry. I was going to knock or ring the bell but the door opened and I thought someone did it. But no one was there so I walked in and I know I should have called out but I got distracted by everything being so beautiful and I wanted to smell the flowers and -" She knew she was word vomiting, something that happened when she was nervous, but she couldn't stop them until the lady cut her off.

"Wait. The door opened on its own? You didn't do anything?" The look on her face was blank but her eyes were calculating and taking every response in. Emersyn nodded her head. 

"Correct ma'am. I was about to push the door bell and it clicked open. I waited but no one was there, so I came inside and when I was in the door closed again." 

The lady was quiet for so long staring at her, she thought maybe she didn't hear her. Then she spoke again, "Interesting. Back to my original question, who the hell are you?" 

Emersyn gathered her thoughts. "My name is Emersyn. I'm uh, not entirely sure what I'm here for but my Nana had a letter given to me on my birthday and it said to come here. I'm suppose to see a Miriam Mead. Do you know her?"

The lady raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, "You could say that. I'm Ms. Mead. But I don't know anything about meeting with you or anyone else."

"I have a letter addressed to you from my Nana. She said to give it to you and that everything would make sense after that." She rummaged through her purse and pulled the envelope out, walking towards Ms. Mead with it. 

"Look kid, you seem nice but I -" The stern look Ms. Mead had fell and she stopped talking as soon as she saw the hand writing on the envelope. She took it from Emersyn and pulled the long letter out, instantly going to the signature. Ms. Mead looked between Emersyn and the letter a couple times before she spoke again. "This is your Nana? Truly?" 

Emersyn looked at the signature shown to her and nodded her head. "Yes ma - Ms. Mead. That's her." The next minute was the longest of her life as Ms. Mead seemed to scan the letter and would look back at her a few times. Finally she said something. 

"Go sit down in there and wait for me. Don't snoop. I'll be back in a bit." Ms. Mead pointed to a room to Emersyn's left that seemed to be a type of sitting/visiting room with a couch, coffee table, two chairs, book cases, and a large bay window. She nodded again as she walked in and sat on the couch. Ms. Mead studied the girl for a moment, trying to get a sense of if she was trying to pull a scam but nothing raised any flags. Going back the way she'd come, she went into her office and sat down at her desk to read the letter in full. 

***********

Twenty minutes had gone by and Ms. Mead had re-read that letter three times. Few times in her life was she at a loss for words but this would be one of them. She never thought this day would come but here it was. A small chuckle left her lips as she looked at the writers last sentences. 

"This is my last act of defiance towards by daughters decision with my grand-daughter. She might have been stronger than me, but she is not stronger than fate. Enjoy the outcome for me, my dear friend."

Oh I will. 

Ms. Mead suddenly felt lighter. As if her worries for the future were dissolving and everything was going to be the way it was meant to be. With a final scan of the letter she folded it up and put it in her desk, locking it away, then took a deep breathe as she stood to set her part of everything in motion. 

***********

Michael was bored and agitated. He'd been slumped in a chair staring at the fireplace for the past two hours. His laptop and files left open and ignored on his desk behind him. Did he have things that needed to be done ASAP? Yes. Did he have the motivation to do them? Not in the slightest. He sighed so loudly his dog, Cerberus, came over to check on him.

"I'm good boy, just ignoring my work. I'm sure I'll get a message from father later." He grumbled as he pet the three heads of his faithful beast. Cerberus seemed to understand as he gave a low sigh himself and laid his heads on his masters lap. They sat that way for a few minutes when a knock came on the door. Michael told them to enter and kept staring at the fire.

Ms. Mead walked towards Michael but stopped short of the chair next to him. Cerberus came a small wag and went over to greet the woman. He'd known her since she started before Michael was born and had always liked her. She patted his heads and told him to go sit down, which he did. Michael held a small smile as he watched the interaction. 

Cerberus was a perfect dog, but only to those he respected and liked. Namely only Michael's family and Ms. Mead. Everyone else he scared nearly to death or actually tried to eat them. It was entertaining at times. Still wearing his small smile he looked Ms. Mead, seeing her looking at him. Her expression was soft, as it usually was with him, but her eyes were calculating something he couldn't figure out.

 "What is it?" He asked, sitting up straighter and sounding a little worried. Had something happened to his parents? 

"Nothing. But I need you to come meet someone. She's in the sitting room up front." She spoke as clearly and un-emotional as she could. She couldn't let her excitement out just yet. There were things that had to happen before she could celebrate. First was getting them in the room together.

Michael rolled his eyes and slummed back in chair. "Not another 'wanna be queen' one of the families sent over is it? I really don't have time for it. I'm far too busy." He waved a hand towards his desk. At this Ms. Mead raised her eyebrow.

 "Firstly, no she's not from any of them. And secondly, really? You've been in the same spot since I brought lunch to you and that was hours ago. Don't start with me." Michael shifted in his chair and refused to make eye contact knowing his excuse wasn't good. He just didn't want to meet someone else that only wanted the wealth and the power that came with him, instead of wanting him. Ms. Mead called his name pulling him from his thoughts and made him look at her again.This time she was sitting in the chair next to his, leaning towards him.

"I would never force someone on you. You know I only want the best for you, for this family. I love you all like you're my own. But I wont be here forever, and your parents need my help with things in the Underworld. You need someone you can depend on by your side for when I'm away. I think this girl would be a perfect fit to take over for me and help you." The look in her eyes and the steadiness of her voice told Michael that he needed to trust her. So he nodded and stood up to follow her with Cerberus trailing behind. 

***********

Emersyn had skimmed the books on the book a few times and after fifteen minutes of still waiting on Ms. Mead decided to pull one off as a distraction. Blinding grabbing a big one, she settled into the window seat made into the bay window. It was cozy and had a lovely view of some of the flowers surrounding the property. She looked at the book in her lap. Inside the Gods and Demi-Gods of the world. 

She flipped it open to a random spot and just started skimming. It was pictures of all the symbols and crests of the families. Some of them she knew from her growing up and some were new to her. Just as she turned the page again her eyes stopped dead on one at the bottom of the page. A ring of fire circled two swords making an X. A tingling sensation started in her fingers, growing up her hand and arm. The longer she stared at it the stronger the sensation got and her breathing started growing shallow. Just as her eyes started to flit around the page for who that belonged she felt something cold bump her arm.

Emersyn turned away from the book to be face to face with the infamous Cerberus, just staring at her. Logically she should have screamed or jumped away but she did neither. Instead she closed the book, moving it aside and looked at the three faces taking her in. 

"Hello there," she spoke softly, raising a hand towards the noses for it take her scent in. Slowly the heads took turns sniffing and then after taking it in, he gave a small wag and sat down in front of her. She gave a small laugh of relief and started giving the beast some pets and scratches behind the ears. 

As Emersyn smiled and gave attention to Cerberus, Michael stood in the entry way watching her while Ms. Mead watched him. He'd tried to grab Cerberus before he went to the girl, not wanting to deal with her being terrified and possibly crying but what he was watching was almost as frazzling as what he tried to stop. 

His hound, one of the most feared creatures that hated everything outside the family and Ms. Mead, was wagging its tail and totally attentive to this stranger. This girl. This girl that Michael now couldn't stop looking at. She had hair blacker than the marble the made up his house and skin as pale as the moon. She could have been a Goddess herself, but he knew all the females in the other families and had never met her before. She didn't look like she ran in those circles based off of her outfit either. Most of them loved to show off their skin and wealth, but her outfit was a simple white button up shirt with black skinny jeans and flats. Her hair was pulled into a low bun and she seemed to be free of much if not all make-up. Natural and bright. Something he wasn't use to outside of his mother.

Ms. Mead nudged him forward, effectively putting him in the room with her. Clearing his throat, he gave a small whistle to call Cerberus away from the girl. Cerberus gave a small whine but conceded to his master, giving the girl a small lick before walking to lay down by Ms. Mead. Michael gave his dog a raised eye brow as he walked by but turned towards the girl when he heard a small "hello." She was smiling at him and it was like seeing for the first time. Everything was bright and beautiful. And when their eyes met, damn he was done for. 

Emersyn looked at the stranger that called the dog away and forgot how to breathe. The most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her life was standing in front of her. His outfit was fitted perfectly to his body; black shoes, pants and a long sleeve turtle neck. Wavy strawberry blonde hair framed his face, complimenting his golden skin and his eyes - oh those eyes. The brightest blue she'd ever seen; the sky and ocean didn't even compare to them. 

Michael had never seen such green eyes. They were greener than any harvest field he'd ever seen during the spring tributes. They were calm and so easy to fall into, but there was something swirling behind them. Something he wanted a better look at. Taking a step forward to help his curiosity and to be a good host, he put his hand out introducing himself.

"Michael Langdon. Ms. Mead neglected to tell me your name, I'm afraid." He flashed a smile, sending calming energies into the room. She kept smiling, standing up and moving forward to reach his hand. 

"That's alright. I'm Emersyn, or Emery, either is okay." She gave a silent thank you to the universe that her hand wasn't sweat as she reached him. Her hand slid into his and everything stopped. Nerves. Doubts. All the thoughts that had been plaguing her since she set out on this journey. It was just her, him, and a humming that started somewhere deep within her and spread into her very blood. The tingling sensation she had earlier came back but isolated just to her hand that was holding Michael's.

Michael was feeling something as well. His frustrations and uncertainties went away so fast, it was almost like he never had them. The most serene feeling he'd ever had washed over him, engulfing him like a warm hug. A calm set deep into his bones, then the slow simmer set in. It wasn't uncomfortable, more like pleasurable. Every part of his body and soul was calling out, craving, this girl. The good and the bad. His hand that still held hers tightened slightly as he took a half step closer. As he moved closer his curiosity became stronger. Her eyes were still that perfect green, but then a fire flashed across them. Strong, red, and bright. He'd never seen anything like it. A breathe later and they'd settled back to normal. He wondered if he'd imagined it. 

They seemed to come to their senses at the same time as they dropped their hands and everything else came back into focus. 

"Ms. Mead tells me you're here about taking over her position when she semi-retires in a few months." He said, trying to regain some control back from the situation. 

Emersyn was going to say she didn't know anything about, but then remembered part of her Nana's letter; Go along with whatever Miriam says. She is there to help. So instead she said, "Yes. I know I'll have a lot to learn and big shoes to fill but I catch on fast. I can do it." 

Michael smiled, "Ms. Mead is definitely a tough act to follow. I'd be totally lost without her." He glanced over at her, as she rolled her eyes but sent him a soft smile none the less. Emersyn could feel the true bond between them and it made her a little sad. She had that with her Nana, never having quite bonded properly with her own mother and when her Nana passed she was alone. Hopefully not anymore. Michael turned back to her, making her push those thoughts away. 

"You have Ms. Mead's backing and apparently Cerberus would like you around as well," Michael nodded to the dog that had moved by her again wagging his tail and looking expectantly for attention. Emersyn gave a small laugh before he continued, "All I can say is welcome to the Langdon family. We take care of our own and by working for us, you are one of us. I'll let you and Ms. Mead go over the details and look forward to seeing you in action." 

Emersyn gave him a 100 watt smile, he found he loved bringing out. "Thank you sir. I won't let you or your family down." 

"Michael, please. And I believe you." He smiled back. 

"Thank you, Michael." Her eyes held his and once again they flashed that fire. The craving came back full force in him, causing him to take a step back. If he stayed too close he was afraid he might actually act upon these feelings and scare the poor girl. With a parting nod he bid her and Ms. Mead good-bye, whistling for Cerberus to follow. 

The dog gave Emersyn a look, begging for a final pet which she could not deny him. After she'd paid each head some attention, he gave her another lick on the hand and followed after his master. She looked at Ms. Mead wondering what the next step would be. 

"Come along girl. Let's get you set up." Ms. Mead motioned for her to follow and started up the staircase. Emersyn followed behind, each step easier than the last. For the first time in her life she felt she was where she belonged. 

Let me know what y’all think! And if you wanna be put on the tag-list!

Requested tag-list: @jamesbuckybarnes13

#ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon #american horror story #fanfiction

[jspark3000]

Hi J.S. Park! I've been reading your book "What the Church Won't Talk about..." because I am currently struggling a lot with stuff and on top of that feeling a very dry season with God. I honestly love reading through your thoughts and stories on tumblr, and reading through this book has brought me a renewed perspective on things- so thank you J.S. Park for being a light in so many lives! I don't know if you have written anywhere on it before- but have you ever shared your thoughts on shame?

Hey dear friend, thank you so much for your encouragement and your kind words. I really needed them today; it’s been a discouraging time. Also the book you’re referring to is here for anyone interested: http://www.amazon.com/What-Church-Wont-Talk-About/dp/1502529564/

Here are a few thoughts about shame:

1) Shame is a very poor motivation for long-term change.

Shame is that sick physical feeling of being washed through with a debilitating shiver; emotionally it can be an internal bomb of embarrassment, grief, anger, or regret; psychologically it feels like losing self-worth and value. We try to escape this feeling as much as we can—it’s an awful, nauseating, dizzying flush that your entire body recognizes on impact.

Shame is socially weaponized to coerce others into “doing the right thing.” Other times, it’s just to make someone feel like a terrible person, like they could never do any good. In the best case scenario, “shaming” would create the desire to reflect and change their ways for the better. It provokes a sort of social conformity in which you must fall in line for the common benefit of everyone else.

You can see shame tactics being weaponized everywhere. Think of every “public shaming” blog, made famous first by Tumblr, that calls out your fave celebrities for being problematic or mocks the guy who uses the entire four-chair table at Starbucks. Think of books like Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother or movies like Whiplash. Think of the model who was recently charged for “fat-shaming” (the actual charge was invasion of privacy, and rightly so). Think of this recent method to help quit smoking, in which if you relapse, you donate the amount of money you’ve saved off cigarettes to a campaign that you hate (this combines shame with aversion). Think of a typical evangelical preacher, who uses fear, shame, and fire-and-brimstone to manipulate you into “getting right with God.” Think of terms like “slut-shaming, virgin-shaming, gay-shaming”—and the list goes on. 

In the short term, some studies show that shame can make change. However, other studies show that shame is destructive and does permanent long-term damage. 

I believe that shame doesn’t really work as a motivation for long-term change. All it does is modify behavior to look like it’s conforming, without actually getting to the root of the issue. 

For a great talk about shame and vulnerability, watch Brene Brown’s TED Talk, the most watched TED Talk of all time. Her research is the absolute seminal work on this topic.

2) Shame and guilt are two entirely different things.

You’ve probably heard this by now, but guilt is saying, “I did something bad,” while shame is saying, “I am bad.”

It sounds like splitting hairs, but our approach to both can have entirely different outcomes. 

If we can adapt to guilt—”I did something bad”—then we can focus on the how and why of the behavior and even internally change our motivations. 

If we adapt to shame—”I am bad”—then there’s no room to look at how and why we do things, and instead can only use punishment and external deprivation to make change. This is turn only makes us craftier and more likely to suppress our true motivations without changing them.

We’ve all seen this before. You can have two people who attend church sit side-by-side who look exactly the same: they show up on time, they donate to charity, they bring coffee and donuts, they read their Bible everyday, they mow your lawn for free. But one is motivated by the anxiety of possible punishment and always compensating for a terrible gap inside them, as if they’ll always be found out. The other is motivated by doing good purely for the good in itself.

Of course, our motives are very messy and never this clear-cut. We could be a blend of both. But the next time you mess up, pay attention to your thoughts and feelings. Do you feel guilt or remorse or even anger about the thing you did? That’s more or less normal. Or do you disproportionately beat yourself up and wish you could disappear for a week? There’s probably buried shame that’s been carved into you by condemning voices over a lifetime—and really that’s no fault of your own. Many of us have been indoctrinated since birth to only respond to shame, and so we’ve become maladaptive.

3) Shame, despite its damage and ineffectiveness, still points to something deep and true.

I believe shame points to something very real about our human nature: that we know something is desperately missing inside, and we need no less than the divine to be made whole. Underneath our attempts at glamour and glory and prestige, we’re dreadfully naked underneath. The feeling of shame, whether that feeling has come about by right or wrong methods, points to our constant imperfection, that visceral longing that we’re always reaching for something just outside our reach.

So when someone says, “Don’t shame me!” or “Shame doesn’t work,” they’re absolutely right. Shaming doesn’t address the actual need. It only bludgeons someone into good behavior, and only works as long as the bludgeon is there. When it’s not, the behavior just regresses and reverts. The human spirit is a rubber band, always trying to snap back into place.

But to say “Shame is a lie” is actually false. When someone shames someone else, they’re not creating a feeling, but exposing a feeling that points to a human truth. We fall short. We’re incomplete. We’re not whole. 

In other words, The person who does the shaming is in the wrong and it won’t work. The person who feels the shame should recognize that this feeling points to a deep human need for wholeness and goodness, and should not ignore these implications.

4) As a Christian, I believe that Christianity both exposes and solves our shame problem.

On one hand, it’s too easy to say “shame is bad and evil,” as if the feeling itself must be banned from culture. The thing is, a world without any shame would be a dang shame. If you swing the pendulum too far this way, then there’s no accountability or justice—and in my opinion, I think it’s become harder to find people who can genuinely admit, “I was wrong, I’m sorry, and I hold myself accountable to doing better,” and then following through. Socially and politically, it seems almost impossible these days for anyone to embrace their shame as a reality which must be confronted. 

On the other hand, everyone lives with shame, and it’s a terrorizing, anxious burden in the basement of our hearts, often filling us with such dread that we 1) over-work ourselves to death, 2) hide our true selves under a mask of smiling conformity, 3) reinforce our pride to avoid any self-correction, or 4) stay terrified in the dark of making any moves at all. All these options end in spiritual implosion.

In the Christian worldview, shame points to my sin, and sin is the human condition of both my selfishness and emptiness. When I feel shame, it’s simply one more thread that traces back to the very real problem of humanity. 

In a perfect Garden, we once had no shame at all, because we had all the wholeness and validation we could ever want. But ever since our disconnection from God, we’ve all been clawing back to Eden, and sometimes, someone points at us and laughs. The pointing and mocking are wrong, but the clawing is our very real struggle for the divine love we once had. It is, like Genesis 3 says, a kind of curse, or perhaps a poisoned sickness, in which we’re trying to find the remedy. And culture says, Do this and that and the feeling of shame will stop. But it never stops. It only changes the behavior and not our nature. 

When Jesus died on a cross, he was exposing the high cost of our sin. This is what it takes to claw back to Eden—you’d have to beat yourself up to the point of bloody shreds. Jesus placed himself under the cost of our curse, so that now and eternally, we’d know that our shame was revoked. He did this out of love, but even better, out of grace, a costly love. When Jesus resurrected, this was showing he didn’t just pay a cost, but he also wants an eternal relationship, a relationship without shame. Think of that. He not only died for sin, but came back to live with us, walk alongside us, love us into who we could truly be.

Think of every other relationship you’ve ever had, whether it was with a person, with money, beauty, reputation, sports team, housing association, government, church, career. If you fail those things, they will shame you, and even if you change for them, they have you by the neck, and you’ll still feel unfulfilled. It’s a constant balancing act with unstable, unpredictable forces. These idols promise wholeness, but crush you the second you fail.

With Christ, if you fail him, he’s already taken the shame. He’s already forgiven you. And when you follow him, he actually fulfills you. There’s not an ounce of punishment or penalty in him towards you. He is purely grace. His love is such that, if you mess up, he already knew it was coming, and so instead of compensating for all the mess before, you can actually become who you are meant to be in Him now. No other person, philosophy, system, or interaction offers such grace when you fail. 

And only grace, in the end, is the pure motivation that causes true heart transformation. It may take longer, but that’s why it’s grace. Shame is like laying down bricks that never grow, but only keep shape. Grace is like planting seeds, that push through the dirt to the sun, so that your whole being is different. With shame, you only change for what it looks like. With grace, you change because you want to, because you can’t help but look at a savior and be tenderized and galvanized towards His goodness.

— J.S.

#waylandheat #guilt #shame #religion #faith #psychology #Christianity #Jesus

[waitinginthedarke]

Maybe Someday

A Kwon Jiyong Story

Summary: She was a rose, and he was the darkness that should have killed it…but when a rose is made of enough light to penetrate even the deepest darkness, sometimes the two are able to become one…

Genre: Fluff, Smut.

Part 9.5

[Y/N: Where are you? I need to talk to you.]

[KJ: Message seen.]

‘Aish.’ You mutter to yourself, feeling utterly helpless where you were sat in bed, having been forced to leave training after you’d tried to rehearse and had continued to show signs of being in pain.

‘Just rest for tonight, you can start again in the morning.’

You’d seen the blatant dislike for his own words in the choreographer’s eyes even as he’d said them, but after being lectured by the likes of Jiyong he wasn’t about to go against the wish of one of the biggest gear heads of the company.

Ever since your argument with said man, you’d been trying to get hold of him all evening after the way you’d snapped at him and he’d walked out, having spent a good few hours moping and deciding it just wasn’t meant to be, before realizing you were actually quite angry and that you wanted to yell at him about it. But no matter how much you’d text and called him, he hadn’t responded, leaving you with only ‘Message seen’ notifications to keep your frustration bubbling away inside yourself.

‘Why wont you just answer me!?’ you snap at your phone, before you throw it across the room, hearing an ominous cracking sound resonate from the device as it collides with the floor.

‘Shit.’ You whisper, staring in concern toward it, making to retrieve it but getting caught by your leg protesting in pain, resulting in you slumping against your bed with tears stinging at your eyes.

Its after 5 minutes of forcing yourself not to cry that you hear a quiet commotion emanating from the front room, and you refocus your attention on what was being said beyond the wall that separated the rooms.

‘Why is he calling us in at this time?’

               ‘I don’t know, the message just says that he wants to have a meeting now, although he did write that Y/N didn’t have to come because of her injury- I wonder how he already knows-‘

‘That’s not important right now, Jinnie. What’s more important is whether we should tell Y/N about it…-‘

               ‘Of course we-‘

There is silence for a solid minute, the pause giving your brain time to panic about (you assume) Yang’s request to hold a meeting with your group, minus yourself. He never usually called meetings this late, or with this little notice, unless the topic was severely serious, and after what had happened that evening, you couldn’t help but begin to freak out that he was going to push your debut back because of your injury.

‘Come on…if we tell her, she’ll only work herself up over it…-im sure its nothing-‘

               ‘But Chaehyeon!-‘

‘Jaemin, she’ll be okay, she’s probably sleeping, we’ll be back before she even knows we’ve left…now, lets go.’

You could feel your throat contracting sickeningly as the sounds of them leaving reach your ears; the shuffling of feet, the ruffling of coats, and the click of the door as the catch slides into place, all of it making you want to cry out at your inability to help, to be a part of the team like you should have been in that moment, especially with how close you were to your first release.

You’re too busy screaming silently at your dark thoughts as they curl around your mind, that you don’t pay any attention to the sound of the keypad to the front door dinging with an accepted pin code; too busy curling into yourself and hiding your face in your bed sheets to hear the exchange of shoes to slippers, and the footsteps as they walk into the kitchen to deposit something, before the anonymous intruder makes their way over to your bedroom door.

His entrance is silent, the minute your door handle turns and your door creaks ajar giving you a mild heart attack, but before you have time to freak out, your mind catches onto the face that was angled toward the floor, the familiar high cheek bones, and cats eyes causing your heart to continue to pound harshly in your chest as you realize that the subconscious wish that had been pedaling itself around your mind had come true.

‘Jiyong?’

He doesn’t respond to your whisper of his name- at least not openly. You watch statically as he seems to draw in a breath before slipping into the room, making sure to close the door quietly behind him, as though he might disturb someone, having to take a moment before turning toward you, and only then does he raise his eyes to find yours.

He looks so out of place here.

‘I don’t know what im doing here.’

It wasn’t what you’d expected him to say, but then again, you weren’t sure what you’d wanted him to say anyway, you simply found yourself being thankful that he was there, and that your frustration at him had dissipated slightly with his presence.

‘I…I told Hyunsuk about what happened…about your leg-he called the others in to discuss what was going to happen before the debut…but, I…I was meant to go home- and then…I… I found myself here.’

The shadows in the room seemed to caress him, and you found yourself wanting to reach out and pull him towards you so that they’d disappear from his expression, your heart desperately needing to see him smiling again, but before you could even move from your position where you were still laid on the bed, he was walking over to you, pausing just at the edge of your bed, before twisting to perch on the edge.

‘Why didn’t you answer me?’

Your question doesn’t seem to surprise him, the vocalization of it simply causing him to chew on the inside of his cheek as he avoids looking at you, whilst his hand hesitates to rest on the bed, seeming to timidly inch toward you, before he swallows thickly and pulls it onto his lap, his shoulders hunching into himself as he faces away from you.

‘I didn’t know what to say.’ He murmurs, barely taking a breath before he carries on in a quiet voice.

‘Usually I’d have deleted your number and turned up at the nearest club by now.’ He begins, the initial statement making your stomach churn, but he’s continuing too quickly for you to really get caught on that image, although your mind continues to linger on one specific word he’d said; ‘Usually’.

‘But for some reason I stayed at work for much longer than I should have…I just…I didn’t want to go home. …and then when I spoke to Yang and he called a meeting with the rest of your group,…instead of driving home, or to a club, …I drove here and waited outside until the others had left- I just-..I don’t know what to do; I-…I don’t want to let you go- I needed to make sure you were okay…I-’

His head falls into his hands as he groans the last sentence, any further words falling short of being spoken as he seems to get lost in his head, seeming utterly confused of himself, and his shattered expression and exhausted posture has you trying to sit up without thinking, almost instantly hissing quietly in pain when you twist your leg the wrong way and he’s immediately turning towards you to help support you into a sitting position.

‘You need to rest. …I brought some hot chocolate from the café downstairs cause I figured it would help cheer you up.’ He murmurs, helping to prop your leg up on a pillow, keeping his head down all the while, and you cant help but stare at him as you wonder why you hadn’t always seen him as the kind-hearted, caring man he was being now; somewhere along the line he’d stopped being ‘G-DRAGON’, he’d even stopped being Kwon Jiyong…now, he was simply the man you found yourself falling for.

‘I’m sorry for getting angry at you earlier…I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I was frustrated-‘ you begin to explain, a need rising in you to clear the air and make him understand that you didn’t mean what you’d said, your actions coming from a place inside you that realized that you didn’t want to lose him, but even as you start to apologize, his hand on your cheek and the way he shakes his head gently has your words trailing away as he leans in to touch his forehead to yours.

Even though you knew he’d been about to say something, you cant help but lean in to touch your lips to his, his mouth being so close to yours, and the hours that you’d spent without him being too much of an incentive for you to resist…although by the way he responds by sliding his arm around your waist and clutching you to him, you understood immediately that he felt the same way.

‘Tonight has made me realize just how much you mean to me…but im still sorry for making you angry.’ He mutters as he pulls away from your lips slowly, opening his eyes steadily to peer back at you, and the warm glow that emanates from his oak irises has your insides squirming happily as you peck his lips again, before pulling him closer to you and forcing him to lie beside you so that you could use him as a pillow, the comfort that you felt with him being in your room giving you confidence you didn’t know you had, but that you were glad for when you laid your head on his chest and felt his arms wrap warmly and securely around you.

‘I’m just happy you’re here. I missed your smile.’ You murmur quietly, already feeling yourself relaxing into the enticing embrace of sleep as he slowly strokes your hair, but after 5 minutes of being petted by him and almost falling asleep several times, you cant help but chuckle at his quiet murmur as his voice turns awkward.

‘Okay, but you know I cant stay here all night, right? I’ve got to leave before your friends come back. …Y/N? ….Y/N?’

‘Mmm, 5 more minutes.’ You mutter, curling closer into him, and even though you cant see his face, you can sense the smile that curls his lips as he watches you in the words that he says next.

‘Aish…I can’t fight your cuteness. Okay…5 more minutes.’

(T.B.C)

#bigbang #bigbang fanfiction #bigbang scenarios #bigbang fluff #bigbang smut #gd #gd fanfiction #gd scenarios #gd smut #gd fluff #gd angst #gdragon #gdragon fanfiction #gdragon smut #gdragon fluff #gdragon angst #bigbang jiyong #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong fanfiction #bigbang jiyong fanfiction #kpop #maybe someday #jiyong fluff #jiyong smut #kwon jiyong smut

[nostalgicpirate]

The Long Story

There was a time in my childhood when concerns about sexuality, gender, and other such matters were all but absent.  I flowed from day to day, each an epoch in itself, not wanting an explanation of the world, but simply living it.  Then came the pivotal moment, an event so traumatic as to be the catalyst of every negative event in my life from that point forward, or so it seems.  

I remember little of my life before the divorce, before foster care, before meeting my abuser.  My earliest memories are locked away, kept from me by the passage of time and my minds own selfish insistence on me persisting.  But I wont talk about those events in much detail now, only the affects to that cause.

I found myself living with another family, kept apart from all my siblings but my sister Allison, and with new parents and new brothers.  I remember Brain the most frequently when I think of the themes I will contain within this exercise.   Brain was an effeminate teenage boy who was one of the birth children of my foster parents, his voice was high and giddy, and he had a kind of energy that I had not experienced before.  He crossed his legs at the knees, he was concerned with his physical appearance in a way that somehow seemed taboo, in fact, all of his predilections seemed somehow against the grain, much to the chagrin of his, and now my, parents.  I didn't know what “gay” meant, but I heard the word for the first time then.  Too young to concern myself with things like sexuality, I thought it just meant the way he behaved, his voice, his mannerisms.  Attraction, I didn't understand, WAS a part of it, but I couldn't conceive of such things.  I did know that his parents and siblings found it amusing and somehow damning as if his “different-ness” somehow made him ridiculous.  I remember trying to take on Brains behaviors and was met with the same ridicule as he was, but they simply thought I was mocking him and thought little of it.  

Even as a child I liked to grow my hair long, and at that age it was a blonde so intense it was almost white. They called me cotton-top as an endearment because of it.  I was slight of build, my face was lean and thin, and I was short for my age.   Consequentially I was often mistaken for a small girl, something that I think bothered my mother more than me.  It bothered me then, but not enough to stop me and my sister from braiding each others hair.  

I wont go too much into detail of the events of my abuse in this piece, I've done that in other mediums, other pieces, and it doesn't need to be tread over again.  There is such a thing as beating a dead horse, and that isn't the purpose of me writing now.  Suffice to say I started my sexual experience as a human young, and with a much older man.  Even after I left foster care, my mother would let me spend nearly ever weekend in his “care”, and not understanding at first that what he was doing to me was abnormal, I still loved him like a father.  Years would go by in such a manner, even after my family moved from the suburbs of Richmond (where he lived) to the blue ridge mountains outside of the town of Crozet.  As I aged I began to understand that most boys weren't like me, most boys didn't have this secret thing that occurred with their “fathers” when the lights when out and we were supposed to sleep. As I began to enter puberty the acts became pleasurable, but somehow all the more wrong.  I liked it, what I felt when things happened, but I knew that it was wrong.  The confusion of both enjoying and being horrified by what was happening to me will never leave me.

At a time when most boys were on the look out for girls, I didn't know what to think, how to behave.  My friends sensed that I was stunted in this way, and one by one abandoned me, no longer wanting to spend time with me.  I found myself attracted to girls, but also enthralled by the idea of boys. Going to school became horrible, I never knew where to look, or how to act, or how to speak.  Through middle school I stopped socializing all together, into high-school I had no friends.  My grades plummeted, I stopped taking care of myself physically, my long hair became matted and full of knots, my clothes I hardly washed.

Discovering the internet was an important turn for me, both the secret and at that time painfully slow world of pornography, and the mild degree of social interaction afforded by chat rooms.  It was here I could express the apparent taboos I had acquired or had been born with without persecution, as my peers had already taken to treating me like a pariah and calling me “gay” or “faggot” at every turn.  With slowly downloaded videos I found myself experiencing pleasurable acts separate from the abuse that had happened to me.  This became important because my malefactor had disappeared from my life nearly overnight, and I didn't have him or his creative assortment of magazines to keep me company.  At first it was men and women, then trans women (whose juxtaposition of genitals and apparent gender amazed and excited me) then in the chats I started talking to young men my age.  I don't remember the first time I had cybersex with a boy, but I do know that it was always “by accident”.  I found myself unable to chat in the main room of the chat rooms, the regulars had too closely knit a group of friends, and even in that digital environment I was too scared to do that.  Instead I'd enter a private chat with all assortments of people, trying to find those that wanted to talk about things of a sexual nature a lot of the time, but also trying to form some kind of social connection, but my life was sorely lacking that at the time.  Upon entering a private chat I'd rattle off the now infamous anagram “ASL” (age, sex, location), and SOMETIMES the person would be male and within my age group.  Those that weren't immediately turned off by me being male as well would then SOMETIMES want to engage in sexual acts.  Keep in mind that these things didn't happen with ONLY males, but with a wide variety of people.  I always had my eye out with a trans person, something that was then a rare find in chat rooms due to stigma.  The advent of the webcam took things up a notch, deep in the midnight hours I'd fine people to display my pleasure too, sometimes men, sometimes women.  I began exploring my body in methods that were taboo among the “straight” led society I live in.  

My first partner outside of the chat rooms was a young woman about my age, but only by happenstance, she pursued me, and if she hadn't it would have been many more years before I found someone.  This is another period of my life I'm going to gloss over, because it isn't pertinent to what I'm trying to say in this piece.  What I will say is that there was a person inside of me that hardly spoke, who I think started in those chat rooms, or maybe just opened its mouth for the first time, and Rebecca, my first love, was the first real person to experience that part of me.  

Gender is a complex subject, or so I'm discovering.  As I said earlier, I was often mistaken for a girl as a child, and there were girlish things that I enjoyed, but I always was keenly aware that that part of me wasn't welcome.  Any deviation from standard male behavior was savagely mocked by peers and family alike. I found little ways of acting out, however, the length of my hair being one of them.  To keep people from mocking me further, as soon as I began to grow facial hair I forsook shaving altogether and grew a long beard, an ability I thought at first a blessing.  In high-school, having a beard meant people no longer took me for a girl, people mocked me less, people kept their distance.  

It was probably that beard that attracted Rebecca in the first place, she used to refer to me as “goatman” as a loving endearment.  However, in private moments together over the phone in the night I began to show a different side of myself, when speaking my voice would become light and go up a few octaves, almost a mimicry of Brains voice from my childhood, but even more so.  It wasn't just my voice, it was my body language, my mannerisms, it was me, or some part of me, speaking out loud for the first time.

Realizing that who I was was fractured wouldn't come for many years, what I did know is that in those private moments, in that identity that I could only share with her, I was truly happy, maybe for the first time since I was a small child. It was, however, one of the reasons she eventually left me for another partner, and that hurt tied itself into the fear of sharing that part of myself, and it would be years before I had the courage to do so again.        

Eventually I graduated high-school, namely because I transferred to an alternate school with open minded staff and a smaller student body.  I found myself then on the verge of life but with two major problems having been recently discovered. I was disabled, physically, and mentally.  I had what the doctors at the time suspected was a form of schizophrenia (they didn't know about my sexual abuse, however) and what would later be determined to be a severe form of PTSD.  I also had a debilitating spinal deformity known as Scheuermann's Kyphosis.  Kept apart from society by the crippling social anxiety from the PTSD and the very literally crippling kyphosis, I started the process of getting disability, and with a few years moved in with my brother with my “own” income.  

The years with my brother stagnated me, kept me locked in place worse than anything I could have done with my twenties.  I was forced to devote every ounce of time an energy to him and had no room for socializing (even if I were able) or self reflection.  It was only when I cut ties with him that I began to, once more, explore myself, but before that, before moving out even, I met someone who changed my life.

In the twilight of my youth, just before the move, I met a woman named colleen in an online chatroom. She was fierce, and strong, and very openly bisexual.  She saw through the many layers of psychosis and trauma that made up my brittle damaged mind and didn't turn away, didn't find me wanting. It wasn't attraction I had for her, it was fellowship I sought from her.  I told her everything, all the details of what I've transcribed here, all the little secrets I'd kept from my family and friends, and she didn't think me gross or damaged, but encouraged me to explore myself.  The years with my brother were bitter for our friendship, as she lived a few hundred miles away, and we were both too scared to meet, but also due to the isolation forced upon me by him.  When I finally got away from him, when I finally cut ties, she was there to support me emotionally like few others could.  

I had few friends after that, Mr. Richards ( a mutual friend of my brother who stopped talking to him in favor of me) was one of them, Rebecca (who remained my friend even after our tumultuous relationship) was another.  Colleen was the unspoken third, the bearer of all my secrets, the one person I could confide anything and everything with.  

She was the first person I came out to, spoke with in depth about my sexuality and my gender and all the glorious weirdness that is me.  Years later I would in turn tell my other friends, and eventually (and weirdly last) my therapist, who should have known all along.  

Finding terms for the parts of me that didn't make sense was a big deal for me, I wanted an explanation, a clean cut reason for the malfunctions I found within myself.  Gender, it turns out, isn't that simple.  I wasn't trans, as I first though, because there WAS in fact a part of me that very keenly wanted to remain male, and I wasn't entirely cis, because there were times when “Binks” the name I gave the effeminate voiced female portion of my mind and gender would speak up and make herself known.  The closest explanation I've found is the term Genderfluid, wherein my gender identity is in a constant state of flux from male to female and back again.  Understanding my sexuality came first, however.  I was deeply afraid of men, it would seem, and apart from musings online and in chat, I was terrified of being... well, different, being gay.  I had associated homosexuality with those terrible early moments of my sexuality with my abuser, even at times thought that he had “turned” me gay somehow.  

I still struggle with who it is I am, and how I want to be with, but its getting clearer ever day, and with that clarity I have hope.  I haven't had much luck with relationships, but I have a DEEP desire to be loved, and to love others.  “Others” in this case being virtually any consenting adult.  My attractions range all across the board, so much that I've found that the closet term to describing me is “Pansexual” or: not using gender or gender identity to chose a partner.  The affect of this is that I'm attracted to basically everyone to varying degrees, though its more of a weird hierarchy of attractions, with cis and trans women at the top, and trans and cis men at the bottom. I don't know if that is “right” for being pan, but its the way it is for me, so maybe being right in this case doesn't matter as long as I'm true to myself.  

One day, it'll all make sense, and maybe even I'll be brave enough to share my secrets with the family I know and sometimes even love.  

#sexuality pansexual genderidenity genderfluid writer poet

[metarot]

Side note – Josh is ambiguously ill – he’s potentially schizophrenic, potentially not; obviously sick, yes, but with? He’s an inherently, intrinsically, fundamentally disturbed man/person; his dreams are more or less play-by-play snap-recollections of traumatic and/or traumatizing events/memories; the death of his mother, sustained and prolonged physical/emotional abuse – a tragic etc.etc.etc – a sort of perfect storm and concoction of various so and so issues that express themselves in a passingly/cursory sadism and machoism that can only be really described as edging; a sort of halfway-gratifying externalization of deeply internalized thoughts and feelings that does, eventually, lead to his ultimate “demotion”

Rye

From: [email protected] (you) To:[email protected] CC:

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Re(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?)

04-19-2004

just because i dont say it dosent mean i dont think it

i feel more than i am on the outside a tired and slow procession of empty emotion and really if I were to choose a word to describe how and as i am it would be that -- tired literally metaphorically fundamentally i am a dead man barley half-way brought back to life (re: Lazarus) very weakly trying to claw his way back into a familiar grave (cliché yes true yes -- if its been said before why does or does it not (?) matter if it’s true?) -- anyway to the real (real? Intended? actual?? what should I say here that i do S(dont) not?) message tucked and buried in this mess (im a mess and i know it – what the wall said) -- i am lost and there isnt a way out and im sorry and no matter how i try i cant and what has so been eloquently described to me as a quote downward spiral endquote (“”) has or has recently caught up to me (the ground at the bottomless pit more like) and i have finally taken the time out of my already very busy day as you know to finally notice and yes what many would call quote giving up endquote (“”) or quote submitting to a self-subscribed fate endquote (“”)  and acknowledge that yes my time here is up and i cannot stay for much longer if any time at all and to punctuate or maybe exclamate(sp?) my point not all who wander are lost but I sure am and what started as a confident march ends in a whimpering limp through a deep dark that i cannot see thru

i wont say goodbye but im obligated to say thanks anyway

Josh’s Word of The Day: -- for you especially:

bit·ter·sweet

ˈbidərˌswēt/, adjective

1. (of food, drink, or flavor) sweet with a bitter aftertaste.

·         arousing pleasure tinged with sadness or pain.

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]  

Subject: daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?) (01-01-2000)

You’ve very prudently (if I can say that about such an early judgement call) asked me to, in your words, “voice in plain language”, as a more-or-less new-year’s resolution, what’s “keeping me down”; it’s not a short listed, and I feel compelled to (at the very least) forewarn you that I’m not a necessarily happy person (but you’re here to help that, so it’s fine(?), I guess).

I don’t like fluorescent light or, even, the word itself -- it reminds me of a pale sick-green tinge and pallor in my skin exclusively; sitting in an office chair, stare-spinning into the chalky, plaster-and-plastine(sp?) ceiling with those admittedly gross bright-yellow-almost-grey god forsaken fluorescent lights that make me and my weirdly-high cheekbones and thin ash-skin look more gaunt and corpselike than they and I already do not withstanding or considering what little, balding black hair I have does nothing to alleviate an admittedly freighting and death-like air that I have

They’re on the bus, the trains, my office and my house -- they’re cheap, not really very technical appliances that need to be oft replaced or serviced but my god do they give me the worst headaches and work more than/as nothing other than a reminder that I’m the primary auxiliary character in some avant-garde art film that pans and zooms and fisheyes a little too close to the face of some glum, doleful, sagging and sad average-looking middle-aged man or woman with shadows cast long over their point, sharp eyebrows and acne-ridden, bony jaws that accentuates this awful feeling of discomfort and hunger and rot that I can’t help but feel that that isn’t the general impression they were going for in the first place

I guess I just don’t like feeling nauseous or uncomfortable (I sincerely doubt many people do at all -- maybe some special color or flavor of masochistic deviant -- but I digress) -- for some reason, physiological or psychological, I think there’s something poking and sticking out of my stomach and my intestines that’s hot and solid yet liquidly-fine like molten iron or steel that seeps in and out of my ulcers (That I know I have for a medically proven fact); I can’t say if its bile or blood but I do know that if I don’t eat for a period of some days (which I usually don’t – food makes me want to violently vomit/throw up and the  thought of anything mildly warm or cold in me, my mouth, or otherwise is enough to reduce me to a manic mess (if im not already one)) it (the bloodbilemetal feeling, that is) gets almost intolerably worse and I honestly only eat or drink anything at this stage to keep me from passing out from the pain and mental malaise of knowing that something is there that I can’t personally account for or take responsibility as to or of; I’ve quite literally almost taken a sharp, pointed needle or small, swiss-army like knife and punctured the little pouch of belly fat that sits over my atrophied once-athletic abdomen to bleed myself of this “bad blood” and restore my “balance of humors” like a  sick and (by modern standards) barbaric doctor from some long- forgotten, dark century where it honestly wouldn’t be the worst thing to have some diseased, plague-ridden piece of dirty metal jammed into you if it meant that you’d at least die in a few months and not physically feel your body suffer through mortal agony for or years or weeks on end knowing that you’d essentially be subject to the same net-effect of nonexistence either way

Im sorry and thanks for your time, I’ll write to you soon

Many more to come, (and yours truly),

Josh

Josh’s Word of the Day:

pipe dream, noun

1.       an unattainable or fanciful hope or scheme.

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]  

Subject: Re:Re:Re(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?)

07-15-2002

Im sorry im sorry im soryr im soryy?

I needed badly to get that out of my system really – this past year and the year before and the year before has been one very large and scary exponentially-progressively worse and worse train wreck that I can’t stop and I don’t think that I can anymore

I dream only of and in words at this stage – anything that is concretely visual or outside of hearing/” experiencing” language is/are very vague and very brief images of what I think I remember my very very late mother looking somewhat maybe like – atmosphere is tense and I feel a very pungent and precise feeling of regret each time I wake up

I’ve noticed that lately my thoughts have become markedly more dark and have assumed what could-be(?) described as self-harming in nature; I’ll blink, pause (for what feels far too long for a normal – is there a scientific standard for a normal, decidedly subconscious bodily function?) and think about jamming a nail under my big toenail and kicking a door or wall very hard or peeling my eyelids off with tweezers or drilling big, metal screws into my shins

i don’t know if it’s because i burn myself with wax or compulsively pick at my skin but I feel a very distinct urge to poke and prod and see how far and much pain I can take all in one go just to make sure that I still feel something other than cold and nothing or a little bit of both at the same time

Sometimes when im on the bus or train I feel like jumping out of a window or running headlong into an oncoming train/bus/both –I wonder honestly what dying might feel like and im afraid that if and when I find out it’ll be more of the same and I’ll have gone through all that pain and effort for nothing and die full of regret and realize ive done and been too little too late and die during my already-underway death from disappointment and a broken heart – i don’t know if very many likeable or normal people think of jumping from windows (which, I feel compelled to and should add my new office’s 6th story has a single thinly-paned sliding-glass-door-esque window situated right over and above the freeway and I can say that from the time ive spent after-hours wandering floor to floor desk to desk wall to wall back-and-back again it’s the only actually functional window I’ve found in the entire 200-foot-something building; its weirdly convenient and more so weirdly alluring)

i look like ive lost more weight and that’s not a bad thing I don’t think – I can almost just see all of my ribs and the grainy sand-like grit and texture of my bones through my beautifully paper skin and each day I feel like im getting closer and closer to what god is and what god has wanted me to be all along; im a little self-conscious about how big and disproportionate my head looks on my spiny, spindly pencil-thin neck and how frail my knocky elbows and knees are but i cant eat even if I try so really why even make the effort if you know that you’re just going to make it more painful in the long run (why do anything if you know none of it matters deep down?)

anyways thanks again and for everything so far – I’ll write you soon I really hope

josh

Josh’s Word of the Day:

ex·fo·li·ate

eksˈfōlēāt/, verb

1.                   (of a material) come apart or be shed from a surface in scales or layers.

"the bark exfoliates in papery flakes"

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: FWD: Concerning Josh Haag -- Incident

09-09-2001

Management,

          As the Chief of California Operations I believe this to be a concerning note for one Joshua Haag, a System Admin of ours. Read full details from our HR department below, but it is in fact my decision to demote him. Our company health insurance would not cover mental health service, but we would strongly recommend it to him if he stays apart of the MC family.

Any concerns, please leave a direct reply.

Lucas Shaw

Chief of California Operations at MiddleCorp™, 12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

----------forwarded message----------

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: Concerning Josh Haag Incident

09-02-2001

Mr Shaw,

          In the company it is our policy to notify management of any disturbing notes from HR. Yesterday the Human Resources Department ran into a rather upsetting matter. System Administrator Joshua Haag was found hanging by his neck on a rafter in the second story bathroom by saleswoman Martha Stein. ([email protected]) Various coworkers of Josh ran in and thankfully saved him. We are not sure as to why he would resort to such drastic measures, especially on company property. This email is simply meant to inform you, as it is management’s decision as for Josh’s future with the company. Personally I do not recommend we keep him on our Administration. Anyone aware of the situation is very uncomfortable, especially those working directly under Mr. Haag.

If you require any more information, please let me know.

Pam Lancaster, MiddleCorp™ Human Resources Department, 12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

From: [email protected] (you) To:[email protected] CC: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Re(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?)

09-03-2001

Im not even going to look him in his (eye??) eyes – hes a disgustingly handsome awfully beautiful awful person and what -- honestly is the comparison and competition between a ratty once-been systems administrator who cant help but feel absolutely threated by “a higher existence”

Its absolutely the last straw – they’re obviously trying to phase me and only me out of their godforsaken system and I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT

Im sorry if I’ve (or, my messages, in reality) are coming off a bit more frantic and disjointed than they usually do – ive been experimenting with a hypno-sedative cocktail-concoction and I have noticed that its more effective at keeping me awake for days on end than it actually is at getting me to sleep (and stay there/like that) in the first place – the stress of potentially, no, not even, not losing my job, no, voluntarily as a screw-you kind of message and metaphorically speaking finger-giving finale leaving this awful awful awful no-good we-only-let-the-pretty-ones-to-be-in-the-cubicles is just too much not EVEN considering that there is a very messy personal element involved now that i NEED with a very LARGE and BIG emphasis on NEED to tell you about

One of the older, huskier, more dead-and-defeated looking edge-of-middle-age blondes of the office (her name is probably some shade of Cheryl or Sherry) – the kind that always makes me wonder that in 10 or 20 or never if I’ll get married or settle down like all these thick-jawed, broad-faced, ugly-but-not men of the universally consistent late 20s/30s or will I die alone burning and melting the circuits of a server like the man-rat that I am – the bathrooms on the 2nd floor aren’t marked, and since today has really been bad enough before the incident I resolved/more like decided to more-or-less hang myself with my already tried and true very strong leather belt that I wear for one reason only – really awful terrible days like today especially

So there I am, the boy genius extraordinaire, hanging from the unfurnished ceiling, tied and strung on and under a steel rafter, in a very very (what you would believe) compromising position when the aforementioned Cheryl-Sherry walks proudly in like she owns the single, poorly cleaned stall (without knocking, I should mention, WHICH IS A CORPORATE POLICY), screams really too loudly, runs out red-faced with streaks (more like streams) of thickly applied makeup and mascara running down and over her pouch-y cheeks and once-pretty knobby double-ish chin and before I know whats happening (I was more concerned with my pants being down near my ankles than anything) im being dragged across this dirty bathroom floor to “safety away from myself” and being crocodile-cooed by all these poorly sympathetic people and I HONESTLY can barely stand the thought of thinking of remembering something as legitimately horrifying as today has been or ever will be(?)

Talk to you soon,

From: [email protected]

(you) To: [email protected]  CC:

Subject: Emails (Sep. 4th, 2001)

Stop sending these to me.

Yours Truly,

Dr. Robert G. Anderson, Licensed (pending) Psychiatric ProfessionalTM at and by the Internet's BestTM  Online Resource for Emotional Counseling - opensourcepsych.org

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: open when alone

09-05-2001

That ratty nerd in the back? I didn’t know he was an admin... LOL not like it matters anymore :P And yeah I’ll see you there, 6pm ;)

Peter Alcazar

Salesman at MiddleCorp™

12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

----------original message----------

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: open when alone

Did you hear about that guy trying to hang himself in the bathroom? Haha looks like he finally figured out that nobody likes him LOL. Anyways, you still on for dinner tonight?

Sigourney Yagey, Saleswoman at MiddleCorp™, 12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

From: [email protected] ( (you) To: [email protected] (CC:  [email protected]  

Subject: Re:Re:Re:(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?) (11-18-2001)

I started dreaming again, on very sudden and short notice, and I can’t say im a fan – there’s nothing there for me at all

Tonight’s episode started just above my chest cavity; cue opening credits and a brief roll of the cast and I can feel the bony knot just above-and-to-the-right of my sternum brush and squeeze against something cold and hard and the smooth ridge and cleft of my leftmost ribs catches on a sharp angle and the pain is something what you’d think literally “bone-crushing” would feel like; its dark, and each shufflestep I take im further and further from where I should be but do not want to and the closer and the louder my everything threatens to break I smell toothpaste and mold in an old air conditioning system and plastic from cheap toys and feel silky warm smokeair move through and over my fingers and cold cold toes and there it is – me and my mom, my mom and I – she’s crying into her arms and hunched back and so is her wife at the counter of the clinic and im too interested in the green-blue-turquoise wall behind them that bleeds numbers to ask or wonder for too long why

I feel like im sometimes-usually drowning in my emotions but thats like drinking too much water when you’re stuck in a desert somewhere in an unbelievably god awful awful place

I should have loved my brother more -- I should have done a lot of things better than I have or have done -- I should have realized that I am short lived but my problems are more so  -- Im done for tonight, I know you’re only contractually and not legally or financially obligated to reply to anything I send you but please please please please just tell me even if you’re lying that things might just be ok

Josh’s Word of the Day:

com·punc·tion, noun

1.       a feeling of guilt or moral scruple that follows the doing of something bad.

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #40: Mall.

Written: 2/8/2017

No matter how many noises she could her around her, useless conversations, ambient music, chatter from wall mounted televisions, dropping and clanking of plates and plastic trays, loud orders, she couldn’t stop focusing on the basket of fries in front of her, and its not like they were interesting or anything, it was just something she had to stare at to think over her problems. When she sat down to eat, she was perfectly fine, it was just a regular day and she was trying to get all of her shopping done so she could get home and lay around, but something happened when she started eating: she didn’t feel real. It was a feeling that had been sitting at the back of her mind for quite some time, and errands usually helped ignore it, but at that moment it had decided to make itself known, occupy her whole mine, and become her world. If she wasn’t real, then what was the point of doing anything? Why eat any more? Why get up and throw the fries away, drive home, continue shopping, or even look around at her surroundings?

She had been sitting with her legs crossed, and her right leg, the one on the bottom, had started to fall asleep. Was she supposed to do anything, would it matter? It was a weird problem to deal with, because it wasn’t really a real problem. It wasn’t something you could, say, search online, there were no tutorials or guides for not being real, no self help books that she could buy and help figure out her situation, so she was completely lost.

After twenty minutes of sitting like this, her phone started vibrating on the table, and even though she couldn’t hear the sound-which was surprisingly loud-she could feel the vibrations on her arm, and she decided to answer it.

“Oh, hey, Tom its me, Leonard. You left your skis in the back of my van, and I was wondering when you were on break so I could bring them over-”

“Wrong number.” She said quickly, after hearing enough, and promptly hung up. Looking around her, finally noticing her surroundings after her temporary distraction, she realized she was bored of the food court, and should probably finish her shopping, but as she was about to stand up, she questioned if there was even any point to it if she wasn’t real. Right back into philosophical paralysis she went.

Tom had been waiting in line for what felt like an hour, but it was actually ten minutes, and he started to cross his arms, tap his left foot, and look around the food court like he had better things to do. He felt that this made him look important, but it really just made him look like an impatient dick, which he was. The people of the food court all looked like animals to him, and he couldn’t help but feel disgusted by the way they chomped down pizza slices so greasy that they dripped, chewed egg rolls with their mouths open while the spewed food everywhere when something made them laugh, the way they drank lemonade so carelessly that it poured down their chins and onto their shirts, picking at salad with their grubby fingers, it made him even more agitated. Yet, when he focused back on the line, which wasn’t even very long since there were two people ahead of him, he wanted to scream, so he had to watch the animals all over again.

Tom was at the mall all by himself, and did almost everything by himself. Skiing was the only thing that let him socialize.

Eventually, he saw a girl who was more refined than all of the other animals, so refined, civilized, elegant, that he could consider her human, maybe even an equal to him. All she did was stare down at the table, and he liked to imagine that it was because she couldn’t stand the people around her either, that she was exactly like him, and he could approach her, bear his heart, and she would look him in the eyes and say-

“Buddy, are you going to order or what?” The marsupial-esque man behind the sub counter shouted to Tom, and the people in line behind him started to gripe.

He scoffed, walked up slowly, studied the menu for a couple seconds, and said, “I’ll have the foot long tuna sub. On that I would like meatballs, garlic, and sriracha.” He couldn’t help but return the sandwich jockeys confused stare with a smug smile. Who was this worker to look down on his taste?

Starving and confused, Barry had been wondering around the food court for quite some time, unable to decide on what he was in the mood for. At first pizza seemed like a good decision, but then he realized that was something he could order at any time, he had to get the unique food court experience right? After all, why would he come all this way just for something he could get back in his home country? Foreign lands never ceased to amaze him, and it was beautiful how all the colors were brighter, the lights more intense, the sounds louder, and the words even were a little blurry.

He had been on a misguided cleanse for two weeks now, and it had left him malnourished, starving, dizzy, confused, shaking, and a little fearful. He couldn’t even remember how he got to the food court in the first place, or that there were supposed to be two more weeks left in his cleanse, or even what country he was in. He actually lived two blocks away from the mall, and had only ended up there after wandering out of his house in order to do something that was long forgotten.

Subs seemed nice, and he was pretty sure that although he could get sandwiches in his home land, he couldn’t get a foreign one, and was interested in how they made them here, what ingredients they put it, but the line seemed very long. At first he was okay with waiting, but it seemed like the man at the front was taking a lot of time. Was that how things worked in this place? It seemed like they were having an argument, but all of their sounds seemed feint, their language was indeed a strange one.

Eventually, he noticed there was a place without a line so he wandered over to it, put his wallet on the counter, and said, “What currency do you use here? I’m very hungry, but I’m not sure if I have the right kind of money.”

The sub maker was starting to get pissed off, and was wondering if he should call his manager, or security. For the third time in a row he yelled, “If you’re not going to pay, I wont give you the food!”

“Look here,” Tom was almost livid at this point, and he couldn’t believe that this horrid little man was trying to boss him around, “if you don’t cough up the sandwich,” he made sure to jab his finger and the sandwich,”then I’m going to give you,” then he jabbed it into the man’s chest, “a terrible review online. The amount of business you lose is going to cost-”

“Oh, the amount of business I lose?”

“Yeah, the amount that you will lose is going to-”

“I’m already going to lose business if you keep holding up this friggin’ line! Get out of here, before I call somebody to get you out.” What really was making him mad wasn’t just this asshole, when you work in the service industry you see more dicks in a shift than a call girl, but it was the fact that one guy had already wandered off already and he didn’t want others to follow suit.

A strange thing happened, and Barry wasn’t sure if this was the way things worked in this country, but his wallet started to vibrate. Was this his currency exchanging? He was almost to afraid to touch it, and at that moment he finally was able to comprehend culture shock. “Shusd siadsh fjairads nas oeura?” the person behind the counter asked him, he wondered what it meant. Maybe he was able to pay now? It was all so confusing, and he would’ve walked away in fear if he wasn’t so hungry.

“I’ll take the number nine please.” That was the safest thing he could say, even if he couldn’t tell what the number nine was, he knew that he’d be happy to eat it.

She really didn’t know how to respond to this, what was this guy talking about? It wasn’t even clear how long he’d been standing there, staring down at her while she stared at her fries, but when his phone started to vibrate Janice became a little uncomfortable by this man’s sudden appearance. And it wasn’t just bad that he had been staring, but he also looked practically dead, or like he was about to be. The man had a way of swaying as he stood, like he was a tree in the wind, and his clothes were much too baggy for his bony, pale frame. She decided to ask again, hoping that he couldn’t hear over the sounds of the court, “Are you going to answer that?”

“Okay, the number three then.” He tried to sound more confident this time, and he really was, because if the menu wasn’t large enough to have a nine on it, it would definitely have a three. Creeping in the back of his mind, there was the thought that this country might use a different number system, but he tried to push that down.

The best course of action seemed to answer the guy’s phone for him, since whoever it was might be concerned about his well being, and he didn’t even seem upset that she was answering for him. “Shit, Tom is that you? My break isn’t for very much longer and I really need to get these ski's out of my car. I was hoping to-”

“Look buddy,” the security guard was walking over so he had to wrap things up quick, show that he was in the right, “You just lost a customer!”

“I lost a lot of customers, but you weren’t one of them. Hey, you, next in line, your subs free, whaddaya want?”

“Hey,” she was surprised to hear this guy again, and maybe he was just an extension of her unreality? She had to push that thought down, though, because if she wasn’t real that was fine, but this guy in front of her might be real and if he was he was in desperate need of help, “I’m not Tom, but he’s in front of me and doesn’t seem to well. I think-” but what if it wasn’t just that she was real, but the whole setting wasn’t real, including the people, including this walking corpse who was unable to give any actual responses, including the one person who seemed to be behind all of the phones, including, well, this kept going and she was unable to move again.

The nice man had taken Barry’s wallet, but he made a couple comments and didn’t give it back, a worrying response. Did he not have enough money? He felt like he should’ve, but maybe there was less than he had brought after the currency had exchanged, since his country’s had been worth less. He had to think quick, he felt like he was about to pass out, and was still a little upset about missing out on the number nine, so he began to take off his wallet and put it onto the counter.

“Hello? What’s going on with Tom, is he sick? Hello? Hello?” It felt pointless to answer, because the watch sitting in her basket of fries felt like a confirmation, like ‘Yes, this is all made up, you will not exist in a short amount of time, or a long amount, who knows. But what really matters is you probably don’t exist now, so maybe you wont not-exist later, because you already don’t and’ she wasn’t very good with philosophy.

Muttering to himself, pissed that that awful little man refused to serve him, which was downright discrimination, Tom decided to finally make a move on that cultured babe who refused to take part in the disgusting exhibit around her, but when his eyes finally found her he was almost dismayed to find some heroin addict swooping in on his territory. He marched over there as quickly as he could, needing to show that guy up, get the girl, and prove to everyone, especially the marsupial (but also not the marsupial, because that guy was below him and not even worth thinking about), that he was better than them.

“Hello? Can you at least tell me where you are? Should I call an ambulance?”

“Do you have a dollar menu if that is not enough? Is enough, enough?” What currency have you?”

Almost snapping back, deciding to speak again, pushing down her worries in the case that this man really needed help and it wasn’t worth it to let him stay like this on the off-chance that he was actually real, a man sat on the table, on the top, almost right in front of her, and proved that none of this could really be real. The guy was wearing some ratty, gray pullover that had the local community college’s insignia on it, black slacks, and had a face that could only be described as punchable. She really couldn’t think of any other word for it. He also had thick eyebrows, that seemed very close to connecting, that he made sure to groom, in front of her, by licking his right index finger and sliding them both back. His hair was short, but incredibly messy. Opening his mouth, showing some of the longest teeth she had ever seen, so long she wasn’t even sure if there was enough room for food to go in, only a small opening existed that seemed like just big enough for a straw, the guy told her eight words that further proved that none of this was real: “I’ve never been with a black girl before.”

“Are you just messing with me? I’m going to hang up if you don’t say something”

It seemed like another person had come up to the counter, maybe it was a manager? Was he in trouble? All he needed was some food, why was this so complicate? Looking around, he was having trouble seeing any other restaurant, maybe they closed, maybe this one was closing and that’s why he wasn’t being served. He turned to the original cashier and begged, “Please, I’m in the desperate need for some nourishment or my body may give out on me. I know I may not have enough money, and you’re trying to run a business, but could you at least spare me something, not out of charity, but for health reasons? Can I at least have the food you may throw away?”

All that really came out was: “Can I… what throw away? Yes?”

“Okay, fuck you pal, I’m hanging up. I don’t even know why I’m holding on to these ski’s in the first place.”

Tom turned around, sizing up this junkie, taking the question as a threat. “Look buddy,” he made sure to jab his finger in the guy’s chest, not because it was a normal behavior of his, but because he wanted the most recent memory of him using it related to him successfully showing how great he was, “I was talking her, so back off, eh?” Apparently it worked, because the guy stumbled back a couple steps.

When the toothy man started touching her hair she was certain that none of this was real, but she knew that she also couldn’t stand it. What sort of fucking creepy reality was this?

“I love natural hair, its so exotic, it really gets me going.” He was so sure that he was about to seal the deal, he just had to drive it home, “Why don’t you come back to my place? I’d really like to see your dark skin on my white-”

Although the punch wasn’t real, the satisfaction of punching him in the mouth was, especially when the asshole fell down, behind the table, and stayed on the ground for quite some time.

Seeing the manager jump over the counter, and land right by him, he was to confused to know what was going on. Just wanting to get his wallet and watch back, he felt around the counter and found what he assumed were fries, figured that his order had gone through, and forgot everything that was happening, his complete focus was on eating.

Tom was startled by this turn of events, and really wanted to yell ‘You’re one crazy bitch’, but soon realized that one of his teeth was lodged into his throat, and he couldn’t really say anything.

Finally getting up from the table, and walking around to the slime bag on the ground, Janice decided that while she may not be real, and her surroundings may not be real, her feelings definitely felt like they were real, so it made the most sense to do activities that-no matter how unreal-kept her in a good mood. Sending her boot heel down onto the guy’s mouth definitely proved to make her feel good, and she made sure to do so several times just to dislodge more of his teeth. There was something about those teeth that made her want to break them, it was the same feeling of satisfaction you would get from throwing a brick through a large glass window.

How long had he been eating? He wasn’t really sure, but he knew that he didn’t want to stop.

Tom didn’t know why, but before he was forced into unconsciousness, he had a full on erection.

#Well Meaning Shut In #Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Mall #February