#I can’t believe we’ve had this show for two decades

[floq]

happy dannypocalypse!! (20th anniversary edition)

[ID in alt text]

[maaybepresident]

Дэнни Фанта

[reiding-writing]

HI LOVE UR WORK ESPECIALLY COLD READER IVE BEEN BINGING THEM AND I NEED MOREE

Soo speaking of i think prompt 15 could be a really cute cold reader prompt for something and I WOULD LOVE IT

HOMETOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˌhəʊmˈtaʊn/

15. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

WARNINGS: fem!reader, mentions of spencer’s bullying, made up childhood bully (sorry spence <3), swearing as per, typical cold!reader antics

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff?? || 3.0k || event masterlist!!

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

a/n: great minds think alike huh? the fact that both these requests specified for it to be cold!reader as well is insane to me 😭😭

There’s that saying that the worst people in school always end up going into jobs that provide for others; The idea that petty school bullies take up careers in hospitality or community service despite all of their obvious social flaws.

Honestly, Spencer always found the idea ridiculous. They had just as much of a chance as going into a hospitality job as they did a 9-5 office job.

Their attitude didn’t have any causational impact on their future career whatsoever, people just focused on the people that did end up in those fields and then generalised it to the larger population with no reasonable backing.

But he’d be lying if that wasn’t the first thing that ran through his head when he walked into station 14 of the LVMPD and ran right into somebody from his middle school.

Somebody who fit that god awful false idea to a T.

“We’ll get you set up asap, Robinson, DeGaris, show the agents to 22B will you?”

Spencer knew the second he turned around. Some people’s faces never really mature through puberty. The bone structure doesn’t change and they just end up looking like a taller version of their child self.

“Would you look at that? Looks like we’ve made it to the big leagues,” Officer DeGaris nudges his partner with a raise of his eyebrows, and Robinson shakes his head with a short laugh in response.

“More like we’re doing such a bad job they had to call in the big leagues,” Robinson pushes DeGaris’ head away with the palm of his hand before clasping his fists together at his waist. “Welcome to Las Vegas, land of casinos, neon signs, and… serial killers apparently— Uh I’m Caleb, this is Will, chances are you’ll see a lot of us over the next however long you’re here,”

“Pleasure,” Hotch holds out his hand to shake the two officers’, who promptly move to shake hands with the rest of the team afterwards.

By the time the two reach you and Spencer stood at the back of the group he feels like he might throw up his heart from how fast it was beating, and he swerves the shakes with all the awkwardness of his usual evasions as he excuses himself to walk ahead of the team.

It was stupid really. It had been almost two decades since what had happened, yet even just being in his proximity was making Spencer sweat like he was a final girl in a horror movie.

“Excuse us,” Your words hold no social grace as you slide past the two officers to follow after Spencer. He wasn’t the best with meeting new people, but he never left the conversation before it could even start. “Reid-”

Although mildly confused, the two officers don’t seem all that disheartened as the two of you disappear into the meeting room, their attention turning back to the rest of your team.

“Well,” Caleb claps his hands together with a politely awkward smile. “We’ll let you guys get settled in, if you need anything at all come and find one of us and we’ll do our best to get it for you,” He gestures between himself and Will stood next to him, gazing half-blankly into the open shutters of the window into the room with furrowed eyebrows at yourself and Spencer like he’s trying to put puzzle pieces together in his mind.

“Thank you officer, we will,” Hotch gives the two a small nod before gesturing the team into the room and leaving the two policemen outside.

—

At least the station had a coffee machine. Spencer’s one saving grace in the fact that he was not only working on a case in his own home city but also in the same town he grew up in, a town with some very familiar faces.

The scent of the caffeinated beverage was enough to bring him back to his right mind a little as it hit the ceramic mug with a burst of steam, and Spencer watched the liquid flow aimlessly as he waited for his drink to be made.

Coffee solved all his problems.

“Hey,”

Most of the time.

With a slow breath and his eyes shut to compose himself, Spencer turned around slowly to greet the voice, hit lips pressed into a straight line as his eyes opened once more, greeted with an all too familiar sight.

“I thought I recognised you Spencer, or sorry, it’s Agent Reid now right?” Will raised an eyebrow slightly, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

There was no real malice behind his tone, no sarcasm or taunting, no twitch in his facial expression that could make Spencer think he was trying to get under his skin. But he did. And it made Spencer feel like a 9 year old all over again.

“It’s uh, Doctor Reid actually,”

Will gives a short laugh and a nod, like Spencer’s title was something he’d expected. “Right, right, of course, so you’re not an FBI Agent then?”

“I am,” Spencer answers shortly, hands wringing together behind his back as he leans against the kitchenette counter. “But the title of Doctor outranks the title of Agent,”

He could see that familiar glint in Will’s eye as he explained the reasoning behind his official title, like he was looking at some puny know-it-all rather than a person of his own age.

“Very impressive,” Will gives him a slow, almost animated nod, and Spencer has never been more grateful for the shrill beeping of an automated coffee machine as he tears his eyes from Will to pick up his mug, cradling it between his to hands.

“Well, it was uh, good— to see you again Billy I’m glad you got where you wanted to go in life—“

“I don’t go by that name anymore,” Will crossed his arms over his chest with a shake of his head, his expression cordial despite the way his fists clenched like the mae had caused physical discomfort to him. “I go by Will now.”

“Right, Will, I should get back to my team now,”

“I’m sure they can wait a few minutes, we should catch up, for old time’s sake,”

—

“Where is Reid?” You exhale exasperatedly, biting your tongue to keep yourself in check as you turn towards Morgan and Emily with a show of your hands.

“Maybe the coffee machine was broken,” Emily shrugs nonchalantly as she sorts through the scene photos, occasionally passing one over the table towards you to hang up on the board.

“As if I needed any more reasons to hate those pieces of shit,” You groan exaggeratedly, dragging your hand down your face.

“Calm down lover, being away from the pretty boy for an extra few minutes won’t kill you,” Morgan rolls his eyes at your attitude with a short laugh, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Oh shut your mouth,” You scoff as you walk down the length of the table, pushing the heel of your hand against Morgan’s temple as you pass him as an extra form of chastisation which he promptly laughs at you for as you leave the room in search of Spencer.

“Oh to be young and in love,” Morgan laughs to himself as he clasps his hands together, leaning his head backwards over the chair to look at Emily with a knowing look.

“$50 on less than a year,” Emily doesn’t even look up at her proposition, and Morgan laughs with a shake of his head.

“Oh no no, they’re playing the long game, it’ll be at least another two,”

“Deal,” Emily holds her right hand out in Morgan’s direction, and he grasps it in his own with a firm shake.

“Deal.”

—

Spencer is still standing by the coffee machine, a steaming mug in his hands. It does not take eight minutes to make a single cup of coffee.

Well it wouldn’t if he wasn’t stood talking to one of the local police officers.

More like the officer was talking at him.

And if the way he was fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve was any indication, he was not enjoying the conversation.

If it weren’t for the harsh fluorescent lighting, the furrow of his eyebrows would be imperceptible from where you were standing, but the way he rolls his ankles and shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet would be noticeable from a mile away even in pitch black darkness.

Time to go and save Spencer Reid from his own social ineptitude. Again.

He doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach despite you clearly being in his eye line, his sole focus on the man in front of him even as you near close enough to be able to hear their conversation.

“…were quite the character weren’t you Pick?”

Spencer purses his lips together uncomfortably at the nickname, and you take the break in the conversation as an invitation to get between the two.

You clear your throat with crossed arms, eyes flickering between the two of them as they turn their attention away from each other and towards you instead.

“You’re needed back in the meeting room,”

Spencer nods at you a little too eagerly, clearly ready to rid himself of his new companion. “Right, good bye Bil- Will, sorry,” He doesn’t make eye contact with the officer as he all but power walks past you to head towards the meeting room, and your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as your glance wanders from Spencer to the almost smug expression on the officer’s face.

“Is something funny?” Your question is enough to bring Will’s eyes away from watching Spencer scurry off with his tail between his legs and towards you with horribly feigned innocence.

The look in your eyes is less than savoury, and it’s enough that small glimpse of condescension simmers in his irises to break through his pleasant facade.

You don’t stick around to have to speak to him any further, and with a final look over you leave him by the coffee machine to rejoin the team in the meeting room.

—

“You can’t avoid him forever you know,”

Your voice stirs Spencer out of his focus, and he straightens himself up in his chair as he looks at you, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

You hadn’t really said anything since you re-entered the meeting room, not even bothering to defend yourself against Morgan’s musings about how much you were complaining about Spencer not being present to help you with the profiles, yet less than a minute after Morgan and Emily left, your conversational battery had suddenly returned.

“I— What do you mean?”

“Officer DeGaris,”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve read his diary without his permission.

He forgets just how observant you are sometimes, how easy it seems to be for you to distinguish between Spencer’s general dislike for small talk and meeting new people and when his discomfort is specifically aimed.

You look through the meeting room’s glass window with roaming eyes, Spencer presumes it’s to find the Officer in question. “He acts like a glorified man-child so I can’t blame you for resenting him,”

“Did he say something to you?” He sounds almost afraid at the idea that Will might’ve said something distasteful to you, his face scrunching up in concern, but you dispel the thought with a quick shake of your head.

“No, he didn’t say anything to me,” Spencer can physically see the moment that your eyes catch on Will across the station in the way that your micro expressions change, the way your arms cross tighter over your chest and your nostrils flare. “He was more than distasteful to you though,”

You sigh in mild frustration. “You’d think that people would mature once they reach adulthood, but there’s always a few that cling to their childhood relevancy like their life depends on it. Pathetic really,”

he doesn’t know whether he should even be entitled to being surprised that you knew Will was character from his childhood. It doesn’t stop him. “I never said I knew him when I was a child,”

“He called you Pick, and you called him Billy,” You deadpan like it’s obvious. “You’re not exactly hiding it,”

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” You can see the genuine befuddlement in Spencer’s expression as you relay the cluing details into his past, like he seemingly can’t comprehend that you were actually paying attention and storing Spencer’s divulgence into his childhood in your memories.

“Believe it or not Reid, I do actually listen,” You sound almost offended at how surprised Spencer seems, and he back tracks immediately with a surrendering wave of his hands.

“That’s not— I didn’t mean to insinuate that, I just meant—” Spencer sighs exasperatedly at his failure to string together a coherent sentence. “I only mentioned it offhandedly is all, it’s not something people usually dwell on,”

“It’s not difficult to listen when someone confides in you Reid, it’s basic human compassion,” You move away from the window with a start, stopping just shy of the door right as it opens.

“Can we help you?” The small amount of empathy in your tone vanishes immediately as you meet Will’s eyes, your head cocked in obvious impatience despite the fact that he hasn’t even spoken a word to you yet.

And although mildly deterred by your expression, he follows through nonetheless. “I need to speak to— Agent Reid, it’s something about the case.”

You’d wager it’s definitely not about the case.

“Doctor Reid is busy, if you have something important go and find SSA Hotchner,”

Spencer can’t see your expression as you stand with your back to him, but if he had to make a guess based off of the way that Will’s face falters he’d say you were probably glaring at him. That signature glare that you never hesitated to utilise when deemed a necessary reaction.

He’s half glad he can’t see your face, because it means that you can’t see his, and the way his cheeks redden against his will at not only your intervention between him having to have another conversation with one of the nightmares of his childhood, but also how casual you were in correcting his use of Spencer’s official title.

“I can’t find SSA Hotchner,” He responds like he’s got you beat, but you barely so much as acknowledge it at all.

“Email him then, your chief supervisor has the details.” You take a small step forward to motivate him to step backwards out of the doorway, and you uncross your arms only to grasp the edge of the door. “Now if you’d please excuse us, we do our best work without distractions.”

You don’t give him time to reply before you close on him, but there’s just enough time for Spencer to see the astonishment dawn on Will’s face at your dismissal before he’s shut out completely.

Your frustration is still present on your face as you turn to walk back over to the whiteboard, and Spencer presses his lips together in an awkwardly endearing fashion before muttering out a soft “thank you,” in your direction.

“I don’t tolerate bullies Reid, it’s nothing to be thankful for,” You shake your head to dismiss him, a much lighter—much friendlier— dismissal than you’d awarded Will.

”You didn’t have to do that though,” Spencer sighs softly, playing with the sleeves of his sweater. “Let me buy you a coffee at least? There’s a cafe a few minutes away from here that I used to go to when I was younger, and I think I need the break,”

You can’t really blame his sudden want for fresh air, and you’d rather not slave away on the profile without him to filter your thoughts through, so you don’t really have much option but to join him.

“It’s not one of those ridiculously expensive coffee places is it?” You raise your eyebrow at him warningly and Spencer shakes his head with a soft laugh, one your happy to hear as a sign that Will hadn’t knocked him off his game too much.

“No no, last time I was here it was $3.49 a cup, perfectly normal,” He brushes a strand of hair from his eye with a small smile. “So you’ll join me?”

You let out a small exhale and a shrug of your shoulders, and Spencer knows that you’re feigning more begrudgement than you’re feeling. “I guess I could do with a break,”

Spencer’s smile seems to get just that little bit brighter at your response.

“But I’m buying my own coffee.”

“Okay—” Spencer gives you a small nod, joined by a laugh, and you wait until he’s got his back to you before letting a small smile invade your mouth at the sight.

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 10: Pride

Word Count: 998

Rating: G

Pairing: None

CW: Language

Summary: Corroded Coffin plays a gig at a fundraiser in Hawkins and Eddie understands what it's like to really make it. Part of my As You Wish universe!

@corrodedcoffinfest

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Jesus, have we ever played in front of this many people before?” Gareth asks as he shakes out his wrists to loosen them up. 

“Have we ever performed in front of kids before?” Jeff questions in response.

“Have you guys ever played in front of your own kids?” Frank follows up, being the only one in the band who doesn’t have any children yet. 

“Not like this,” Eddie says, fiddling with the knobs on an amp. 

Somewhere out in the crowd of around two hundred are Ryan and Luke, anxiously awaiting their father’s rock star moment. They’re standing somewhere with Brittany and Wayne, and more than likely, Gareth’s and Jeff’s families too. 

At first, Eddie was surprised that Brittany actually followed through on this event and didn’t invent a last minute excuse. But then it occurred to him—this is a family event, this fundraiser for the Hawkins Police Department. If she didn’t show up, then it wouldn’t look like the Munsons are the idyllic white-picket-fence family that Brittany likes to pretend they are to those who don’t know any differently. 

Brittany probably felt obligated the moment Jeff’s wife Nicole, an officer with the Hawkins PD, asked Corroded Coffin if they’d perform at the fundraiser. Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to believe she was here out of the goodness of her heart or because she wanted to see her husband play music onstage. 

“I can’t believe after all the times I had to deal with you guys as punk kids, I’m now about to introduce your band onstage.” Chief Hopper shakes his head and tosses his stub of a cigarette down on the ground, the toe of his boot digging the bud into the dirt. 

“Aw, come on, Hop,” Gareth says, letting his hand land heavily on the taller man’s shoulder. “It was just a few noise complaints when our rehearsals went on too long.”

Hopper flicks the brim of his hat up and raises his eyebrows at the drummer.

“Yeah, with you. Caught Dawson here speeding almost every other week,” the police chief says, nodding towards Frank. “And Munson…well, shit, there’s not enough time before you guys are due on stage for me to get into that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie mumbles, a small smile on his lips, “Jeff’s the golden boy. Still is.”

“That’s because his wife has a gun,” Gareth stage whispers, making Frank and Eddie laugh. 

The applause coming from the crowd out front signals that whoever was entertaining them has finished, meaning the guys are up. 

“Ready boys?” Hopper asks, looking around at the band members. Once he’s satisfied with their nods of confirmation, he heads out onto the stage to make the introduction. 

Feedback crackles before the chief’s deep voice booms over the speakers.

“Up next, we’ve got a band that’s been playing together in Hawkins for well over a decade now. You may recognize them from The Hideout or have even called into the station with a noise complaint about them.” There’s a rumble of laughter from the audience. “And one of the members is married to our very own Officer Nicole Samuels. Please welcome, Corroded Coffin.”

Hearing their band’s name being announced still gives Eddie a thrill, the blood in his veins buzzing with excitement, even after all this time. 

The moment his boots hit the stage, Eddie can hear two particular cheers above all others.

“Yeeeeeah! Corroded Coffin!”

“Yay, Daddy! Go Daddy!”

It’s by far the best welcome he’s ever gotten whilst making an entrance. 

As Eddie adjusts the microphone at the front of the stage, his eyes scan the crowd, and he sees a cluster of familiar faces. Two with extra enthusiasm make his mouth spread into a wide grin. 

Ryan is sitting on Wayne’s shoulders, small black Corroded Coffin t-shirt on, throwing his fists in the air and cheering for his father. Luke is in Brittany’s arms, squirming around like crazy as he waves to Eddie on stage. To Brittany’s credit, she’s grimacing against all the movement Luke is doing, but she’s still holding him up so he can see.

Around them are the other guys’ families, along with Steve, Nancy, Max, and Lucas. 

Eddie gives a wave to his boys as his bandmates get situated behind him. It’s impossible to wipe the smile off his face as he takes everything in: being back on stage, having a crowd of more than five, most of them actually sober, and having so many people he cares about in the audience. Especially his sons.

A surge of warmth crashes over Eddie and he can’t explain it any other way than pure happiness and pride. 

“Hello, Hawkins,” Eddie says into the mic, receiving another round of applause in response. “How we doing tonight?”

“GOOD!” 

Luke’s sweet, loud voice echoes above everyone else’s and Eddie can’t help but chuckle into the mic.

“We’re Corroded Coffin and we hope you’re ready to have some fun.”

They open with Metallica’s version of Whiskey in the Jar. It’s his boys’ favorite song of the iconic band’s because of the fun lyrics that sound like nonsense when you sing along. Eddie knew right off the bat that this is the song he wanted to kick the show off with. 

As the part of the song that the boys like comes closer, Eddie finds them in the crowd and keeps his gaze locked on them.

Yeah, musha rain dum a doo, dum a da, ha, yeah

Whack for my daddy-o

Whack for my daddy-o

There’s whiskey in the jar, oh

The joy on Ryan and Luke’s faces brings Eddie a sense of rightness that he’s never felt before. It’s like something clicked into place within him that’s been waiting all these years to find where it belongs. 

I’ve made it, Eddie thinks to himself. Fuck a record label or a world tour. They don’t mean shit when his playing draws so much joy out of his sons. Nothing can top that. 

This is what making it feels like. 

[ashs-cardboard-box]

The Sin of Envy

~ Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Child!Arthur Morgan/Child!Male Reader

~ Familial (found family)

~2.7k words

Request :3

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You owed it all to the Van Der Linde gang. Having lost it all as a mere boy, you grew up on the streets for most of your life. Just a few months after you had turned thirteen, two co-founders of said gang picked you up and treated you like their own flesh and blood.

You thought of the two of them as your fathers. Hosea was a gentle, patient individual. He took over as your primary caretaker. Feeding you, teaching you to read, write, and pick apart safe from toxic herbs. As such, you were a lot closer to him, though that’s not to say you didn’t care for your other father figure.

Dutch was a more stern, focused man. He kept you in line should you disobey either him or Hosea. While he wasn’t as open about his affection towards you, his protection and observations over your well-being showed he had a heart.

Living with them for the next three years of your life were nothing short of great– as great as life on the road can be. Dutch and Hosea were slowly attempting to gather members for a gang, with little success. The two would always praise you for the fine young man you’ve grown to be, starting to teach you your way around a gun.

However, when another, younger, orphan boy was picked up in the same manner you were, you couldn’t help but feel a little off about it. Stubbornly standing a ways off to the side with your arms folded across your chest as your father figures feed the boy at one of the few tables around a newly formed camp.

You didn’t know his name, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. You wanted to march right up to them and ask Hosea to teach you again the proper positioning of your weaponry, but you didn't. Instead, you stand and stare as silently as possible.

Much to your dismay, Dutch is more observant than you thought. He looks over towards you and away from the new boy, that same blank expression on his face. “Boy. C’mere.” He beckons, pulling Hosea and the boy’s attention over to you as well.

Feeling awkward with their eyes on you, you shuffle over to the poorly constructed, wooden table. Slowly dropping your arms back down to your sides, your shoulders slouching forward slightly. “Ah, Y/N! I don’t s’pose we’ve introduced you to Arthur here!”

Hosea seems excited about the new addition to your family. A wide grin spread across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You and Arthur don’t say anything to one another. Staring at each other as if trying to read what the other is thinking.

Arthur looks away from you and turns back down to his food in front of him on the table. Stuffing his face as if he hadn’t eaten in a long while– a statement you could fully believe. He was scrawny, but you couldn’t deny the height the other boy had on you, only serving to make you more envious.

“He’s gonna stick around for a while. Found him the same way we found you, y’know.” Hosea points out with a chuckle as Dutch merely nods, turning back to his conversation with Arthur, almost seeming like a promise of a better life if he joined the gang.

You look back towards Hosea with a small sigh. Muttering a quiet “okay, papa” and giving your father figure a subtle smile. Accepting that as your agreement, Hosea joins their conversation once more, shutting you out.

You can’t deny the pang of resentment and jealousy building in your chest. Taking your leave and heading back to your tent to find something to do. You weren’t really used to being on your own anymore. After having to fend for yourself for the first decade of your life, you assumed you wouldn’t feel this way. Unfortunately, you got attached.

You’re not sure how long has passed of you sitting still on your bedroll, staring blankly at the floor, deep in thought, but you get caught off guard by a short “hey.”

Lifting your head, you find Arthur standing at the entrance of your open tent. The sun casting his shadow across the floor. You’re not sure why, but his presence just upsets you further. Your fingers beginning to fidget with one another as your hands rest in your lap.

“What’d’ya want..?” you grumble, trying to keep your harshness under wraps. He’s only two years younger than you, at fourteen, but that fact makes you feel worse. You’re scared. The last thing you want to be is an old toy your father figures toss aside for something new. Someone younger and much different from you.

Arthur shrugs with a hum of “i dunno.” While you got passed down some of Hosea’s old clothes as a hand-me-down, Arthur’s clothes are dirty and torn. The hems of his pant legs are frayed, the fragile strings flicking with each slight gust of wind.

“You wanna play dominoes?” He asks hopefully with a small tilt of his head. You don’t really want to be so mean to the new boy, but you can already feel that urge mounting. You take a deep breath before responding with a curt “no.”

“Well why not? You got somethin’ better to do?” Arthur asks curiously, but to you, it’s just plain obnoxious. Pushing yourself to your feet and crossing your tent. Walking right passed Arthur without another word to him.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you just didn’t stop walking. Right out of the small camp and heading wherever your feet took you. Slowly shuffling through the dense woods, brooding as your boots step over leaf after twig, crunching under your weight.

It wasn’t until you made it to the nearby town that you realized just what you had done. You were forbidden from leaving camp without either Dutch or Hosea until you could learn how to properly handle your gun. They just cared for you, after all.

Unfortunately, you had the bright idea to prove yourself to them. If you could prove you were strong, maybe they’d like you over Arthur again. You wanted your family to yourself again. You refused to be replaced.

Waltzing right into the budding city with nothing but false confidence keeping your head held high. Your mind darting over what you could possibly do to show you’re a strong man. The civilians didn’t bat an eye, seeming to not even notice you among the many other individuals.

Taking what little you’ve gathered from Dutch’s schemes with Hosea, you settled on pickpocketing. It seemed easy enough, and you could make a lot of money depending on who you choose.

Now looking at the surrounding people like nothing more than their wallets, you spot a shorter, older man waiting for the train with a newspaper held between his fingers. Perfect, you thought. Taking it upon yourself to take a seat next to him on the old wooden bench. He doesn’t seem to care about your presence; he’s far too enamored by whatever’s happening in the region.

Slowly, you slide your hand across the unsanded wood, feeling prick after prick of splinters threatening to pierce your skin. You’re too focused to care. Your eyes rapidly flicking from your hand, to the man, to something mundane in front of you to avoid seeming like you’re staring at him.

You make good progress. Getting as close as caressing the man’s pocket jean with your pinky, before you hear a ruffling of the newspaper, followed by a rough grip around your wrist, causing you to hiss in pain.

“The hell you think you’re doin’, kid?” The man demands, tugging your wrist away from his body, but not letting go of it. His face contorted into one of frustration at your audacity. You don’t respond, and that seems like the wrong choice to make. Staring doe-eyed at the man with a small grimace, wanting to be strong and not show pain nor fear, though you feel it all.

The man grunts in disapproval, giving your wrist a sharp tug and sending you down onto the floor of the train station. Propping yourself up on your elbows as you stare up at him, but you don’t run away. You’re not strong. You’re terrified.

“Someone oughta teach you a lesson, boy.” He spits coldly as he stands up, reaching down to tug you up by the collar of your shirt and drag you to your unsteady feet. Letting go of you and taking a step back putting up his fists, glaring at you to tell you to follow. “Be a man. Fight me for it.” he challenges

Feeling that false, stubborn confidence return, you put your fists up at the level of your eyes, copying the man. The man has both an experience advantage, and a physical advantage over you. He might be short in stature, but he’s bulky in his old age– seeming in his late fifties. You, on the other hand, barely hold your own when fake sparring against Dutch, only meant to be a teaching lesson.

Instead of letting you try and strike first, the man cocks you in the first hit. Your head knocking back as you take a right jab straight to the nose, causing your eyes to water. Your form curling into itself as you whine in pain. Your nose dripping blood down your lips and chin. The crimson liquid staining your hands.

Not giving you time to brace yourself, the man takes you by your shoulders and knees you in the gut, knocking the wind out of you as your knees give out. “Your daddy would be disappointed. You ain’t a man. Might as well become one of ‘em two dollar whores.” he scoffs a laugh, glaring down at you as if you’re the scum of the Earth.

All you can do is clutch your stomach with your entire forearm as your other hand clasps over your mouth. The blood from your nose dripping down the back of your hand and hitting the train platform with a near silent splat. Looking up at the man through watery eyes, choking back tears.

The man pays you no sympathy. Palming your forehead and shoving you backwards, causing you to land awkwardly on your back. Groaning quietly from behind your blood stained hand. He stares down at you coldly for a long moment before stepping away from you. Bending down to pick up his newspaper from off his spot on the bench before taking his seat again, acting as if nothing happened. “Get outta here, kid. If you know what’s good for ya.”

As soon as you regain the ability to breathe properly, you scamper to your feet and run off with your tail between your legs to go lick your wounds. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you retrace your steps through the town and back into the woods. Blood staining your face and shirt.

You’re reluctant to go back to camp. What were you supposed to say? That you were jealous of their new favorite and decided to go get your ass kicked? You stumble slowly through the woods, massaging your sore abdomen. Each time you sniffle due to your tears, only swallowing more blood than you should.

Staring at the empty clearing around twenty feet away, signifying the entrance of camp, you stop. You’re a mess. You feel completely emasculated, hurt and jealous. Wondering if the stray boy they call Arthur could’ve done better than you. You’re mostly silent. The only thing heard from you are small sniffles and pained whimpers.

Hearing a cacophony of different, yet familiar, voices all calling your name into the void of the woods, you feel even worse. You don’t want to be seen like this. Your face stained with blood and tears, dripping down the front of your shirt. 

Before you can even consider heading inside on your own, you hear two sets of footsteps rapidly approaching you from your left. Quickly turning, you spot Arthur and Hosea– both seem terribly worried about your sudden disappearance, only made worse when they see the state you’ve been left in.

Arthur is the first to get to you. Gawking at you as if you’ve grown three heads, only causing you to turn away from him. Your tears continuing to shamefully roll down your cheeks. He’s the last person you want to see right now. Hosea, however, is a different story.

Hosea sighs heavily as he approaches, reaching forward and pulling you into a tight hug– just like he used to when you were younger. Resting your bloodied chin on Hosea’s shoulder, you wrap your arms around his frame tightly. Your fingers balling tightly around the back of his shirt.

“What happened to you, son? You know you ain’t s’posed to run off like that..” He chides gently, running a hand up and down your back soothingly. You mumble a meek “‘m sorry, papa” in response. Sounding more like a timid boy than a young man.

“It’s alright, boy.. You’re okay..” Hosea murmurs into your ear, letting you try and compose yourself despite the soreness of your body. A much harder task to accomplish with Arthur’s bright eyes on you. “Where’d you go? Why’d you leave?” he questions, not wanting to force you to respond.

“Th- The town.. Just nearby. I–” you pause, swallowing the uncomfortable concoction of saliva and metallic blood pooling in your mouth. “I- you just…” you’re not sure if you want to be honest or not. On one hand, Hosea could help with what’s weighing so heavily on your chest. On the other, he could ridicule you for getting into trouble over something so stupid.

“You ‘n Dutch got along with Arthur so well.. ‘n I got scared that y-you were gonna leave me for him. Wanted to prove I was strong so you wouldn’t think he’s better..” you sob, feeling it all come crashing down at the admittance of your envy. Arthur is taken aback by your statement, but Hosea seems unfazed. Only focused on making you feel better.

“It ain’t a game of favoritism, son. Dutch and I care for you boys equally. You’re real damn stupid for runnin’ off ‘n getting your ass beat, but that don’t mean Arthur’s any greater or lesser than the man you’re growing up to be, you understand?”

You nod slightly with another small sniffle, slowly pulling away from the hug. You wipe your eyes with your fingers on your clean hand, not keen on the idea of getting blood near your eyes. Hosea sighs as he inspects your face. You’re grateful he’s not upset with you, but you still feel guilty. You hadn’t even considered what a fuss you would’ve caused.

“Arthur,” Hosea starts, looking over towards the other boy, prompting him to look at Hosea with a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “Take Y/N back to my tent. Clean him up a bit, will you? I’ll let Dutch know he’s back” He lays out, leaving no room for disagreement.

Arthur copies you and nods, shuffling around you awkwardly and beginning to make his way back to camp. Tentatively, you follow behind. You’re not sure how you feel. It feels like a weight has been pulled off your shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier weight of guilt for your jealousy.

Not a word is spoken between you two as you follow the younger boy back to Hosea’s tent. Your boots scuffing against the ground below until you slink down onto Hosea’s cot with a heavy sigh. Arthur wastes no time soaking an old washrag in alcohol and approaching you again. Carefully wiping the blood off your face.

“Sorry for..y’know- makin’ you jealous ‘n whatever. Never meant to..” He mutters quietly, focused on getting the dried blood off your skin. “It ain’t your fault.. Was just- scared, I guess..” you respond quietly, trying not to speak too much so as to not disrupt his work.

It felt uncomfortable to be getting cleaned up by the younger boy, but you can’t complain. Your leg mindlessly bouncing against the floor of Hosea’s tent. Sighing heavily from your nose as you let your sore body actually relax under Arthur’s care.

“You still up for that dominoes game?” You mumble quietly, a small smile spreading across your blood stained lips as you look up at Arthur hopefully. He stands up a bit straighter at your question before he rolls his eyes and gets back to helping you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

....................................................................................................

finished this on 2%

Hope you like it !! :3

[lithiumcreepblog]

Steve Harrington & Jonathan Byers’

The Great American Road Trip

Day 1. 07/21/1993. Chicago, IL to St. Louis, MO.

Day 1: Jonathan and I are on the Route 66. Finally. We have been planning this trip for a while, and we’re going from Chicago to Santa Monica the whole way through, then visiting Argyle. I’ve been wanting to go on a cross country road trip for a long time, so it’s great that we get to go now. We stopped by a vendor at the pier first and got some sunglasses for the road. Jonathan said I’m too obsessed with sunglasses. I don’t think so though. It’s not my fault I look incredibly cool in them. He looks really good in them too, not that he’ll ever admit it. He wouldn’t let me take a picture of him with two sunglasses on at the same time, but he looked pretty silly. We drove for a few hours to Springfield where we stopped for a quick lunch at a diner. Actually, Jonathan drove and I provided meaningful commentary the whole way. Jonathan also won’t stop filming everything he sees with his video camera… he’s making a film later of our trip. Robin told me I should keep a journal too, write down stuff I find interesting along the way. Which I saw a lot of. One of which is this big statue called The Gemini Giant in Wilmington. He had an astronaut helmet that looks more like a mask for welding, but it was pretty cool. My favorite stop of the day was the detour to the old brick road which is part of the original stretch of the Route. We’re already out of Illinois and made it to St. Louis even with all our stops. But it was already dark when we arrived so we’ll have to see the Arch tomorrow. I’m absolutely wiped because I took over the driving role after Springfield, but today was more fun than I even imagined.

“Do you really have to record everything?”

“Oh yes, this is very important. We’re capturing the essence of Americana… gorging yourself on a hamburger with bacon. Pure American decadence.”

“Give me that, I’m not being the only one with my mouth open on camera.”

“Alright, alright. Here you go, get a shot of our milkshakes together.”

“So, Jonathan. Tell the camera, how have I been as a road trip companion so far?”

“Hmm, very distracting.”

“What? I’m offended.”

“Don’t look at me like a kicked puppy, I mean it in a good way. I’ve just never seen you this lively or taken with anything, that’s all. This is about fulfilling your dream as much as it is about mine. It is like being a kid all over again, isn’t it? Going places we’ve never been before and seeing new things. It’s just hard to focus on the road when your eyes are lighting up beside me with every weird landmark we pass.”

“Nice save there, Jon. I am glad we get to do this together. It’s already some of the most fun I’ve had, and you are a great partner to go on a road trip with.”

“Likewise, Steve. I can’t believe we’ve never done this before.”

“And why don’t you give us something from that book of yours as parting words for anyone who might be seeing this?”

“I don’t think we’ll be showing this to anyone but sure… let’s see… okay, here. ‘What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?—It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.’”

“Alright… I think I understood what that means… now, back on the road!”

Steve & Jonathan listen to this on repeat for about 5 times before they both grow tired of it. Steve then wonders if there are any other songs about Route 66 to which Jonathan goes on a 15 minute long lecture about the origin of the song, from Nat King Cole to the other renditions. Steve listens with a fond smile as Jonathan becomes more animated behind the wheel, and plays the tape again just for the fun of it.

Souvenirs obtained: one fridge magnet that says Route 66 Illinois for Joyce, one miniature car to put on Steve’s shelf, one postcard set for the memories.

[kcnevijay]

JJBA Fan Fiction Post-Golden Wind and Pre-Stone Ocean

I wrote this March of 2022, but got discouraged because well, fan fiction is fan fiction right? Everyone writes it, because we're all so passionate about our shows/manga/etc. Anyhow, here's an idea I had in my head. If you think I should continue, let me know.

Part I: Title TBA 

May 2007 

Morioh, Japan; Rohan Kishibe’s residence, 10:30am 

“It would appear that I’ve stumbled upon something quite bizarre.” Rohan rifled through two months worth of mail; he’d been away in Italy investigating some recent events, and had just returned home the night before. A particular letter in the pile had caught his attention. “A round envelope? I’ve never seen something like this, and no postage or return address, how odd. Someone must have dropped this is my mailbox. It’d better not be from that damned Josuke... though I doubt that. I’m not even sure if he can read or write. Hmmm... Well , let’s see.” Rohan perused the outside edge of the envelope for an opening. “A round envelope with no visible openings, how truly bizarre, oh here it is... and I see it opens into an origami of a crane. How traditional, and... unsatisfying. Hopefully this actually leads to something worthwhile” he groaned as he opened up the crane into a rounded flat sheet of paper. “Ah, here it is, after 5 years of wading through endless folds, we’ve finally reached the POINT of this letter. Let’s see what it says” 

Master Rohan, 

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out because I need your help! I can’t reveal much, but I am a profound admirer of not just you work as an artist, but your part in the exposure and demise of Yoshikage Kira. As I’m sure you’re aware, his death and villainous reputation are by no means public knowledge, so hopefully this is enough to get you to meet me tomorrow at Cape Boing at 2pm.  

Regards, 

Godspeed  

“Godspeed? Who the hell is this? Originally I thought this was some kind of prank, but those two knuckleheads Josuke and Okuyasu Nijimura couldn’t put two sentences together even if I gave them the words with Heaven’s Door. No, this is someone else. Alright, whoever you are, you’ve peaked the curiousity of the Great Rohan, I’ll meet you at Cape Boing. But first, I need to see an old friend, it would be unwise to meet some rando on the fringes of town without some sort of backup.” 

Church of St. George; Eastern Ain Shams, Cairo. A group of nine Heliopolitan Priests gather in a hidden basement room, dimly lit by torches, wearing ritualistic robes. 

“It is not without knowing the gravity of our power that we gather our flock here, in the place where Rameses once stood; in the land once cursed by the 10 plagues, and yet we stand; alive after all these centuries. It is for this that we gather here, nine priests, one for each god of the Great Ennead. And it is with us that we ask them to show themselves as we say their names”. The group chanted in unison “the sun god Atum; his children Shu and Tefnut; their children Geb and Nut; and their children Osiris, Isis, Set, and Nephthys. We call to you, oh great gods, so that you may bless our priesthood with your knowledge, wisdom and power.” 

The room shakes. One by one, the torches brighten, until there are nine bright flames, lighting every crevice and hole in the ancient brick that line the room. It is here when a booming voice proclaims: “WE ARE THE ENNEAD, AND IT IS ATUM WHO SPEAKS. WHO IS SPOKEN FOR AMONGST THE BELIEVERS?” The lead priest responded, “It is I, Asim”. “HIGH PRIEST ASIM, WHAT IS IT YOU REQUEST?”. “Great god Atum, as you know, almost two decades ago, your offspring Horus was killed in a deadly battle, enslaved by the vampire Dio Brando, who was masquerading as a god himself. It is also known that your offspring, Anubis, was banished to the bottom of the Nile under similar circumstances. Several other men brought shame to the Ennead, using the names of the nine to represent Dio’s campaign of evil, despite not having even a mere endorsement from the great gods”  

“WE KNOW THIS, WHY REPEAT IT?” “My god, it is our genuine concern that this campaign of evil was only paused for a time, but there are clear indicators that it has begun again”. “AND OF WHAT CONCERN IS THAT TO THE GREAT ENNEAD? ANUBIS AND HORUS MET A JUST FATE FOR THEIR TRANSGRESSIONS” “My god, it is not a requirement, but a humble request that you help us bring balance back in the battle against these evil doers who have risen again.” “AND WHAT, MAY I ASK, IS YOUR REQUEST?” “On January 16th, 1989, a man was reported dead to us, a great follower of yours, a true seer. He had been swallowed into a void created by the one who murdered him in the name of Dio, leaving only his arms behind, and though we know it is beyond your power to revive every soul lost in the battle between good and evil, we need this man. We need him to fight, and to win so that we may continue to prophesy and preach in the name of the Ennead”  

“HMMMM. MANY KNOW THAT MY GRANDSON OSIRIS IS THE GOD OF RESURRECTION, BUT AS YOU KNOW, MY GRANDDAUGHTER ISIS WAS THE ONE WHO RESURRECTED HIM WHEN HE WAS SLAIN. SHE SHALL ADDRESS YOU NOW”. A woman comes forth to address the nine high priests “YOU HAVE MADE YOUR REQUEST SO I AM SURE YOU ARE AWARE OF WHAT THIS ENTAILS?”. Asim gestures to one of the other high priests who then retrieves several items wrapped in sheets, “Yes my god Isis, we have brought the bones from the two arms we recovered” “BRING THEM TO ME” The priest in charge of the bones hurriedly rushes to the center of the circle and unwraps them. “ASIM, HIGH PRIEST OF HELIOPOLIS, FOLLOWER AND TRUE BELIEVER OF THE GREAT ENNEAD, TONIGHT WE GRANT YOUR WISH TO RESSURECT THE SOUL OF OUR FALLEN DISCIPLE, MUHAMMAD AVDOL, SO THAT HE MAY FIGHT ALONGSIDE YOU AND DEFEAT OUR ENEMIES ONCE AGAIN”.  

The flames start flickering slowly, picking up speed like pistons on a train until they flicker so fast that they almost burn in unison, and it is here where they begin to spiral to the center of the room, as if they were being sucked into a black hole, while not burning a single high priest. Faster and faster and faster, the room is a engulfed in a Kaleidescope of light from the flames, and then... darkness. Silence fills the room. The presence that was felt before is gone. Asim reaches for his lighter, and clicks it on. He looks around, to see that all eight of the other priests are knelt in prayer and astonishment, and there, at the center of the circle is a single pair of eyes staring back at him, flickering with distinction in the flames. The eyes of Muhammed Avdol. 

Jotaro Kujo and Josuke Higashikata sit mid-flight in a Bombardier Global Express, w/ Okuyasu Nijimura in tow. 

“Josuke, I was pretty explicit that you be the only one to meet me, so why is Okuyasu here” Jotaro said annoyed. “Jeez man, honestly I didn’t think it’d that big of a deal. Plus, it’s not every day you get to skip school and ride on a private jet” Josuke retorted. Okuyasu, “Yeah Jotaro, just relax. We’re just a couple of kids, taking in the good life”. “Be that as it may” Jotaro said, “This trip isn’t a social call. Josuke, the reason I wanted to talk to you alone and in person is because I have some bad news.” “Huh?!” Josuke said, “What do you mean” “Well, if you’d let me tell you” Jotaro said, seemingly more annoyed. Okuyasu is playing with the seat controls and the tray function. Star platinum intercedes. “Like I was saying, I have some bad news, and now that both of you are here, you’ll both have to bear witness... The old man is dead” “WHAAAAT?!” Josuke and Okuyasu exclaimed in unison. “He died suddenly in his sleep last night. To be honest, the old man wasn’t in the greatest shape to begin with, but the Speedwagon Foundation was keeping an eye on his health, so his sudden demise seems anything but ordinary to me.” “Seems kinda bizarre” said Okuyasu. “Yeah, I mean I just talked to the guy last week” said Josuke, “he seemed fine to me, even said he was coming to visit Morioh soon”. “Glad you both agree” Jotaro said, “And that’s why we’re on our way to New York to investigate.” 

Morioh, Japan; Koichi Hirose Residence. It’s 10am the following morning and Rohan Kishibe is waiting impatiently for someone to answer the door. 

“What in god’s name is taking him so long. I mean I know he’s married now, but is it too much to ask for someone to answer the door?” Rohan thought. The door opened, it was Koichi’s wife, Yukako Yamagishi. “Ah, Rohan, Ko told me you were coming over. Sorry for the delay, but you know, kids.” She says as her hair stand Love Deluxe holds a 5 year old upside down by his ankles while his 3 year old brother clings to his mom’s leg. “Come on in, Koichi will be right down. Now, as for you two” she gestured to her children, “Today is not the day to run mommy and daddy ragged, now go in the other room and play with your toys. PLAY NICE PLEASE. You know what happens when mommy catches you misbehaving”. Rohan passed the threshold, “You know I’m not surprised you’re such a good mother, that mean streak is a sight to behold”. Yukako laughed “Oh, they have no idea about that, but maybe one day they will. It’s nice to have Love Deluxe to help me though. It’s like having a free nanny. Anyways, how are you Rohan? It’s been a while”.  

“I suppose It has, and especially as the older one’s Godfather, what’s his name again?” “It’s Rohan” “That’s right, well I’m sorry to say I don’t visit as often as I should, but these Pink Dark Boy deadlines don’t exactly hit themselves. With that being said, once I get this business solved with Koichi, I’ll definitely come by and spend some time with the boy. Does he draw?” “Well he’s five Rohan, so he draws like a five year old.” “I see, so not very good, but maybe if I use Heaven’s Do-” “You will NOT use your stand on my children Rohan, we already went over this the last time you baby sat” “Yes yes, you’re right, ok well I guess his mediocre drawing abilities will have to do. God forbid someone named Rohan can’t draw”. “Yes... God forbid” replied Yukako, “KO! Are you coming downstairs or what?!?!”. A voice echoed back “Coming!”. A small slight man bounded down the stairs and met his wife’s gaze at the landing. Yukako remarked, “If you weren’t so cute, I’d be incredibly annoyed right now, so fair warning, don’t let Rohan do anything that may risk you harming that handsome face, or you’ll come home to divorce papers”.  

They kiss, “Love, you know you fell for way more than just my looks” responded Koichi. “That may be true” Yukako replied, “but nonetheless, PLEASE BE CAREFUL! Also, if any of this gets serious, I want in! It’s been too long since we got to go on an adventure and my mom’s long overdue to take care of the boys”. Koichi glanced at Rohan “Rohan Sensei, hope you have room for 3”. “Yes, yes” Rohan uttered, “we’re all one big happy family, solving crimes and riding around in a ugly colored van w/ ascots and a great dane. Fine, fine, Yukako, I will go investigate this letter with Koichi and when we return, IF, and I mean IF it turns out to be something, you may come along.” Yukako exclaimed, “YES! I can’t wait! I’ll be sure to make us all bento boxes”. “Yes, yes, bring a buffet for all I care. Koichi let’s go, I want to figure out who the hell this Godspeed is before we do anything” “Yes sensei, let’s go! Ok, bye my love! Bye kids”. Koichi kissed his wife and waved goodbye to his sons Rohan and Jotaro. 

Koichi and Rohan walk through Morioh, making their way to Cape Boing for the 2pm meeting with the mystery man 

“So I did some light reading. Godspeed comes from the middle english “God spede”, a phrase uttered between 1150 and 1500 AD to wish success as a result of God, specifically “May God cause you to succeed”. Now Godspeed is a part of the modern lexicon with hardly any religious connotation, and it just makes me wonder. What kind of person would write such a thing as their pseudonym?” “Well-” started Koichi, but Rohan kept on, “It would stand to reason that this is some sort of code, so perhaps we should separate the words and disregard all this middle English nonsense. Hmmm, unless the person IS english? God, speed, possibly english. What does is mean Koichi?” “Well, I think that-” Rohan interrupted again, “Perhaps this is a cult and whoever this is intends to use us as a blood sacrifice over the edge of the Cape Boing observation deck” “Well, I hope not. Yukako would probably kill whoever did that.” “Be that as it may, to get something like this out of the blue... And they know about Kira. No one knows about Kira” “Maybe they’re connected to Mr. Jotaro or someone outside of Morioh?” Koichi said. “Perhaps” retorted Rohan, “It would align with the use of middle english. If this person were Japanese, the word Shinsoku would suffice”. “Maybe” said Koichi, “I guess we’ll see”. “We shall, and if it’s that damned Josuke again, I swear, there will be a world of pain awaiting him” 

Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu, Hawaii, 11:30am 

“PLEASE, can we stop for some poke?!” pleaded Okuyasu. “No, and I’m not going to repeat myself. We’re here to fill up, and then we’re on our way to our final stop”. “Please please PLEASE”, “Good grief, give me a second”. Jotaro picked up his phone and called an undisclosed number “Yes, sorry to trouble you, but I’m traveling with a couple of children disguised as grown men who’d like some traditional Hawaiian Poke. Can we get some delivered to the run way in the next 30 minutes? Yes... uh huh... sure... And yes we’re straight away to New York from here so have an escort at JFK ready for us... Yeah thanks”. Jotaro hung up “Ok, you satisfied”. Josuke and Okuyasu proceed to do a happy dance, to which Jotaro looks away, shaking his head. 

Cape Boing Observation Deck, 1:56pm. Rohan and Koichi approach. 

Rohan starts in, “You know Koichi, you would think that if you sent some creepy vague letter to someone with a specific meeting time, you’d at least have the class and dignity to show up early”. “I agree Sensei, but we still have no idea who this is. Maybe they have a good reason?” As Rohan and Koichi walked by a very familiar pay phone, it rings. Rohan and Koichi stop, Rohan looks around suspiciously, then reaches into the booth and grabs the phone, “You this this is a game Josuke?!?!?!?”. A voice on the other end responds, “Rohan Kishibe, this is the operator, please step away from the phone booth and await further instructions”. “What?! Who the hell is this? You bet-” The phone booth begins to rumble and Rohan back away. “What’s going on?!” yelled Koichi. “I guess we’re about to find out” responded Rohan. The ground shakes. Outside of Rohan and Koichi, the area is deserted since it’s not summer yet. As the ground continues to shake the phone booth lowers into the ground. A hole forms revealing several steps. The ground stops shaking. Click... clack... click... clack “Well this can’t be Josuke, he’s certainly a pompous ass, but he’s not one for grand entrances” Click.. Clack.. Click.. A man emerges from the shadows, an older gentleman. We recognize that upright bearing and that scar, but Rohan and Koichi have no idea. “I bet you don’t know who I am. Well allow me to elucidate ya”. 

Queens, New York, USA; JFK Airport, 10pm EST. Jotaro, Josuke and Okuyasu exit their plane and enter a van chartered by the Speedwagon foundation. 

“I’m soooooo hungry. You know, Josuke, Chef Tonio said New York has some of the best pizza and culinary delights, even though he said it’s not exactly the most authentic Italian food” “We don’t have time for that right now!” Jotaro retorted, “Driver, take us to the old man. We’ll get you guys a pizza once we do some investigating”. “Awww maaan” Josuke chimed in “I don’t know why we can’t at least get some grub first, it’s not like the old man’s gonna come back to life”. “No, we’ll get something to eat after. Now shut up you two, we have work to do” 

London, England; Midnight, in the catacombs beneath a street so aptly named, “Ogre Street”. Cloaked individuals meet beneath the light of kerosene lanterns 

As each kerosene lighter is placed, a circle of 12 individuals is formed. Each places their lantern on the floor, and proceeds to walk along the same path, in a circulatory motion. Murmuring ensues, but not from the souls who walk the path, but rather the souls who dwell in these catacombs. The murmuring gets louder and louder, the 12 cloaked individuals remain quiet, continuing their motion and pace. The murmuring has now turned to yelling, bickering and in-fighting, and then... a loud CLAP is heard. The pacing stops, each individual turns and faces the center of the circle. “Let’s begin.” 

Back in Morioh, in an underground bunker just beneath the Cape Boing obervatory, a mysterious man with a pilgrim style buckled hat looks out through a one way mirror that gives the illusion of being a cliff on the other side. 

“Would you two like some coffee, tea?” 

“Sure” uttered Rohan, “but never mind that, so you are the world famous Robert EO Speedwagon? I thought I recognized you, but that’s impossible. You died in 1952 at the age of 89. That would make you... 140?! How is such a thing even possible?! The oldest person to ever live in the age of modern medicine was Jeanne Calment, who died at 122.”  

“Well, in my defense” started Speedwagon, “I thought we’d have flying cars by now, but I suppose an artificial heart and the key to living over a century without becoming a blood sucking vampire was enough for me”. Anyhow, I didn’t come here to chat about the secret medical advances of the Speedwagon foundation, I-” 

“ENOUGH TALKING, HEAVEN’S DOOR!!!” yelled Rohan 

Speedwagon collapsed into a leatherbound chair. “Ok...” Rohan said perusing through the pages of the man’s soul “Yes, yes, oil tycoon... Born in London to a poor family... very Bohemian Rhapsody... Met a young Jonathan Joestar in 1888... mourned his untimely demise... It says here that he’s-” “NOW STOP RIGHT THERE, I forbid you from uttering any more of my personal information aloud!” Speedwagon uttered, the book in the middle of his face still wide open. “Oh, you’re no fun. FINE” said Rohan, “So if you’re not going to consent to me reading our reason for being here in the pages of your mind, perhaps you might tell us?” “Certainly” said Speedwagon, “Mr. Hirose, perhaps you could hit the lights?” “UM, sure!” Koiche said with a slight delay. “Don’t worry Koiche” said Rohan, “At 140, I have my doubts this man would have the strength to murder us or bring us all this way” “I have no intention of killing you two! Now if you could stop with the foolishness, time is of the essence!” 

Flatiron Building, 5th Ave, New York, NY, Jotaro and company enter the penthouse suite where Joseph Joestar’s body was found 

“You know” Jotaro began, “I know facts and trivia are lost on you two. You’re too busy thinking about your next meal, but you may find it interesting to know that the building we’re standing in was completed in 1902, and at the time it was considered one of the tallest buildings in New York City. In 1940, after moving to the United States with his wife Suzi Q and his mother Lisa Lisa, Joseph and his wife purchased this very property, and not long after that, my mother was born.” “Well, that’s cool” uttered Okuyasu. 

“SHUT UP. Ever since we left Morioh you two have been on an unscheduled sabbatical, cackling about food and free loading. Now that we’re here, you need to listen to me” “OKAY” both said in unison, “Sorry Jotaro”. “Ok whatever, anyhow, this building had two architects, Frederick Dinkelberg and Daniel Burnham. What’s funny, this penthouse suite originally belonged to Daniel Burnham, but what’s most important is that his initials are D.B.” “D... B... I don’t get it” said Josuke. “Well” started Jotaro, “I wasn’t planning on teaching class today, but I suppose I also wasn’t planning on the old man being murdered” “MURDERED?!” Jotaro paused again, “...so I’ll just put it this way. There’s only one man who was the plague of the Joestar family for the better part of a century, and his name had the same initials. Dio Brando”. “But isn’t Dio dead?” said Josuke. “He was. He is. I mean, I definitely killed him, inherited his stand the World, me and the old man even watched his vampiric essence disintegrate into the morning sun” 

“But it’s too much of a coincidence for the old man to have died so suddenly. That and, to be frank, I’ve been doing some investigating of my own lately. Here’s what I’ve found” 

Morioh, Japan. Back to our friends and their new elderly associate. 

[thebrotherscurtis]

“Imposter”

Links: AO3. FF.net. Wattpad. Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns all characters. Summary: Two years after the accident, Darry still can’t reconcile his roles as brother and parent. Post-book, Darry-centric fic.

Don’t kill him, don’t kill him, don’t kill him.

No, death might be too merciful for whatever Pony’d done to get suspended an entire week. Worse yet, the secretary wouldn’t tell me why. Just said it was a conversation best had in person.

Well, here I was now face-to-face with Principal Brown for the first time since junior year. I tried to suppress the memories, but sitting across from that stoic face sent me back to age sixteen. Lord, was I a dumbass. Cutting class with Paul, hiding behind the football bleachers, passing a joint between us, taking swigs from his old man’s flask … We wasted two hours before a janitor caught us and chased our asses straight to the principal’s office.

Maybe I was meant to remember, though. Humble me. Remind me whatever Pony’d done couldn’t be worse.

“Always nice to see you, Darrel.” Mr. Brown flashed a phony smile.  “I hope you’re doing well.”

He hoped nothing , the way his eyes widened real big when I walked in. He was anticipating someone put together, someone professional, someone who was going places, the very someone I was back in senior year. Anyone but me. Decked in a tattered uniform, reeking of tar and sweat, I’d aged a decade in two years.

“Doing fine, sir.” I forced a grin and extended my hand to shake his.

He grimaced, staring me down like I was some kind of disease,  and kept his hands neatly folded atop his desk. “Glad to hear,” he said, phony smile returning.

“All right, what’d he do?” I demanded, no longer able to maintain a polite facade. “It’ll save us both time if you cut straight to the worst of it.”

“Darrel Curtis, I may no longer be your principal, but you will still treat me with respect.”

“Yeah, there’s a funny thing about respect.” I looked him straight in the eye, refusing to let him think he’d humiliated me. “It goes both ways.”

“Indeed, I’ve shown you respect, and now I expect the same in return.” He combed through a stack of papers for a few moments and glanced up. “For starts, should we ever need to conference again, show up in clothes that aren’t soiled. This is a school, not a barnyard.”

“Well, excuse me, your highness, for not having the time to change into a tuxedo,” I snapped. “I didn’t realize I was having a meeting with the king.”

“Cut right to the worst of it, huh?”

I nodded. “I’m missing an hour of work to be here. Make it worth my time.”

“Mrs. Morris caught your brother writing another student’s paper last week.”

"That all?”

“Surely, you understand the severity of academic dishonesty.”

“Of course, I do. Just seems harsh for one lousy paper.” The urge to defend Pony grew stronger and stronger with each passing second. “You suspended him an entire week for that?”

“Believe me, I wish it were one paper. Here.” He pushed a stack of papers in front of me—dozens and dozens of them. “Take a look and see for yourself.”

I glanced down and back up. “He wrote all of this?”

“Most of it, yes,” he explained. “His scheme involved many students, or should I say, customers. In short, your brother was making a business out of completing other students' work.”

“C’mon, this ain’t even his handwriting.” I sifted through the so-called evidence and held up a paper with penmanship worse than Soda. “This.” I shook it and slapped it back down on the desk. “This proves nothing.”

"Mimicking handwriting was part of his business plan."

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

"No, I have it on good accord he was advertising his ability to forge handwriting.”

“Look, I mean no disrespect.” I meant all the disrespect in the world. “ It just sounds far-fetched, like something out of a movie.”

“Believe me, I know,” he acknowledged. “Let’s just say in my twenty-five years in education, this is the worst case of plagiarism I’ve ever seen. We’ve been investigating it all week. Must’ve been quite the lucrative business given a grand total of twenty-nine students admitted they paid him to do their work. Well, twenty-nine that we know of. I wouldn’t be shocked if we uncover more.”

“So that’s your schtick—encouraging kids to nark?”

He snatched the papers back from me and tucked them in a folder.  “We interviewed several students, and yes, out of necessity, we offered a plea deal of sorts. In exchange for information, a chance to redo the plagiarized assignments.”

“That sounds shady,” I concluded. “If I were failing a class and you told me I could redo the assignment, I’d throw a kid under the bus, too.”

“I don’t think you understand how serious this is,” he rattled on. "The English department is having a heck of a time cleaning up the aftermath, and I wish I could tell you English was the only department impacted. He was writing lab reports, history essays, you name it."

"Christ, that’s ridiculous." I raked a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to storm right out of the office. “I know plagiarism ain't a laughing matter. I know you could justify flunking him if it's true, but we’re talking about a kid who can barely remember to brush his teeth or put on his shoes before he leaves the house. There's no way. You expect me to believe he single-handedly pulled this off?”

“I’m not sure what to tell you other than all fingers point back to him.”

“Because you bribed everyone to rat him out.”

“We had to,” he insisted. “With so many students implicated, we had no other choices. Now you can chew me out all you want, but it won’t matter. He already fessed up this morning.”

“Probably only because you had him framed. What kind of plea deal did you offer him?”

“Suspension instead of expulsion.”

Expulsion. Fuck. The word settled in my stomach like a bolt of lead and knocked the bravado right out of me. “So, suspended a week?” I sat up a bit straighter, wishing I were dressed more like Paul’s father than my own. “This ain’t gonna affect his grade or nothing?”

“We considered failing him for each class in which this occurred, but when we did the math, it would amount to failing two grades of high school.”

Might as well expel him at that point. I swallowed the remainder of my pride and spat out the sincerest apology I could muster. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have lost it with you. I’m sure you have his best interest at heart.”

He didn’t and never would, but if my outburst tipped him over the edge, if my outburst dared him to flunk Pony, I’d never forgive myself. Pony would graduate. I might fuck up parenting in every other regard, but I wouldn’t fuck that up.

“I assure you, we all do,” he told me, tone anything but genuine. “His teachers are furious, but none of them, not a single one, wants him to flunk out of high school. We’re making an exception. Suspended one week starting today and a month’s worth of detention upon his return.”

“So his grades won’t be impacted? His As will remain As?”

“If he had As, then yes,” he agreed. “Completing everyone else’s assignments doesn’t leave much time for your own.”

“Thank you, sir. I mean that. Thank you for not flunking him.

“I couldn’t justify it when he has such a bright future ahead of him, and thank God for that, considering what he came from.”

What he came from. God, he’d said the same thing to me junior year—that I had a chance, one I shouldn’t squander—and I’ll never forget how he read me the Riot Act and let Paul off with a light tap on the wrist.  Out of concern, he’d claimed, concern my old man didn’t care about my academic future.

“I’m worried about him,” Mr. Brown continued, voice oozing in feigned concern, “and what kind of home environment he’s coming home to.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. He’s in good hands, I promise.”

“I want to trust you, but you hadn’t the faintest clue this was happening. What else are you missing?”

“You don’t have to worry,” I repeated. “If anything, I’m too hard on him.”

“Not hard enough, I’d say.” He shook his head firmly. “If he were my kid, I’d put the fear of God in him before it got worse.”

And here came the unsolicited parenting advice.

“Keep closer tabs on him, and do something about that attitude,” he suggested. “Pony was anything but remorseful with me this morning, and he’s been lipping off to his teachers, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” I assured him. “I’ll shape him up so good you won’t even recognize him when he returns.

“I hope you will.” And with that, Mr. Brown stood up and shooed me to the door. “That was all we needed to discuss today, Darrel. Now if you’ll excuse me now, I have a meeting in five minutes.”

“I’ll handle it,” I reiterated as he closed the door. “Don’t you worry. I’ll handle everything.”

I’d handle it all right, but how?

“Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Darrel,” Mr. Brown’s secretary said. “I’ll call Ponyboy down to the office, and you can take him home.”

I said nothing. Just gave her a slight nod, so she’d know I’d heard her.

My mother used to tell me if I had nothing nice to say to say nothing at all, and I should’ve followed that advice with Mr. Brown. One call to the state would land us in hotter water than we’d ever been in. I knew that, and I knew our caseworker would believe any lie from his lips before she’d listen to me.

I knew that, and my temper still got the best of me.

xxxxx

The drive home was dead silent. Mom used to fall quiet like that when we’d really pissed her off—keep us in suspense until the punishment felt like mercy. Maybe that was what I was going for, but truth be told, I didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or how to punish him.

“Go to your room,” I ordered the moment we set foot in the house.

“Ain’t you gonna yell at me?”

“I dunno yet.” I shrugged and stabbed a finger at his door. “Go. Now.”

“Fine.”

“And wait for me,” I added, trying to sound intimidating, but that brat still slammed his door three times. “I heard that, you little shit.”

“Good.”

“Jesus, what happened?” Soda asked before I could even sit down.

“None of your business.”

“What happened?”

“I said none of your damn business.”

“Look, if you won’t tell me, I’ll march right into his room and ask him myself.”

“I’ll tell you later.” I hurled myself facedown into the couch. “Let me take a nap first.”

“Or you could tell me now.” He took a seat on the coffee table and poked my arm until I sat up.  “I ain’t bluffin’. You wanna tell your side of the story first, you better start talking.”

“For the love of all that’s holy, little buddy,” I hissed. “Give me a break. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How ‘bout the beginning?” he pressed on. “Seems as good a place to start as any.”

“Sometimes you piss me off even more than him.”

“Right back at you.”

I gave his shoulders a light shove and tried to walk away, but he pushed me back into the couch twice as hard.  “Start talking, Superman.”

“Fuck this.” I chucked both throw pillows across the room. “Fuck him, fuck you, fuck everything, but fuck you especially. Go ask him. I’m tired.”

Soda retrieved the pillows and hurled them at my face one by one. “Too bad. I’m only asking you now.”

Fuck off, I muttered under my breath yet relented. “He’s suspended a week and has detention for an entire month after that. Happy now?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And you’ll never guess what he did,” I said. “Not in a million years.”

“Well, If I had to guess, I’d say shit finally hit the fan on that business he and Curly were trying to run.”

“Curly?!” I scoffed. “I mean, yeah, they nailed him for plagiarism, but I didn’t hear shit all about Curly.”

“Yeah, he recruited the customers,” Soda stated as if it were front-page news to everybody except me. “That was their agreement. Curly found the students, Pony did their homework, and they split the profit 50/50. I told ‘em both it was a stupid idea.”

“And when were you planning on telling me this?” I demanded. “I can’t believe you knew.”

“I thought I’d convinced him not to go through with it,” he continued. “Told ‘em it was dumb and Pony agreed, but then he started staying up later, claiming he had all this homework. He said it was all his, but I knew better. For a smart kid, he’s kinda a dumbass sometimes, huh?”

“Nah, not this time at least.” I sighed, finally admitting I was impressed. “It’s brilliant, honestly. Damn, I could’ve made a killing if I’d dreamed up something half that wild. You know how many football players would sell their left kidney for someone to write their English paper? I don’t know if I should kill him or congratulate him.”

“Y’all talking about me?” Pony piped up from the corner.

“I thought I sent you to your room.” I shot him a stern look and pointed back at his door. “Get your ass back in there.”

“Yeah, well, I heard you hollering at Soda and had to see what was up.”

“Nothing’s up,” Soda lied. “Go back to your room.”

“If you’re both gonna yell at me, you might as well do it now.”

“Fine,” I said. “Tell me about Curly.”

“Soda already explained it,” Pony replied. “I told Mr. Brown it was all my idea, so he’d lay off him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Soda laid into him before I could even open my mouth. “You should’ve saved your own ass and told him it was all Curly’s idea. I thought he dropped out anyway.”

“Nope. Tim made him go back. Figured it’d keep him on the straight and narrow and out of juvie.”

“Hey, not a half-bad idea.” I glanced at Soda. “I oughta send your ass back to school. Keep you out of trouble.”

“Shut up,” Soda growled and turned back to Pony. “Look, I know you ain’t the type to rat out your friends, and I respect that, but I’m begging you just this once…”

“Nope.” Pony shook his head in staunch refusal. “Not a chance in hell. Besides, I couldn’t blackmail him if I did that.”

“Blackmail him?” Soda asked.

“Yeah. I told him he had to give me half his portion of the profits, or I’d tell Tim.”

“Tell Tim what?” I asked.

“Beats me.” Pony shrugged. “Just said I’d tell Tim, and that’s all I had to say.”

And what I wouldn’t give for him to fear me like that. What I wouldn’t give to live in a universe where I’ll tell Darry meant something to him.

“Don’t get too excited,” I said. “You’re putting all that cash in a college fund. Every last cent.”

Without a word, he rolled his eyes and started walking toward his room.

“I’m talking to you, Ponyboy Michael,” I called after him. “Get back here.”

“We ain’t even close to done,” Soda added.

“You both sent me to my room, so I’m going there.” And with that, he slammed his door a fourth time.

Soda stared at the door for a moment and turned back to me. “You asked me if you should congratulate him or kill him … I say kill him. Definitely kill him.”

“Yeah, whatever.” I planted my face back into the couch cushions and shoved the pillows over my head. “Tomorrow,” I mumbled into the fabric. “Tomorrow, I’ll kill him.”

[bishopsbelova]

I have literally sat on this for about 18 hours (and spent the entirety of my work day thinking about it. I’m impressed I got any work done or that no one asked me what was wrong). 

At first, I hated that apparently Liv and Amanda haven’t talked. I mean, we can at least assume that they have physical seen each other in a while considering Amanda is obviously pregnant and Liv didn’t know (course though Amanda was probably like 5ish months when she finally told Liv about Jesse and who knows how far along with Billie bc that whole timeline is just a mess that I don’t want to dig through). I refuse to believe they haven’t at least texted or talked on the phone. 

But atlas, if we’re to believe that they really haven’t spoken since Amanda left or if they have, it was probably terse and short. To an extent, I can get it. 

These are two women who have been through so damn much, taken advantaged of by men, groomed in Liv’s case, assaulted (Amanda was raped by her fucking boss), kidnapped, shot at (actually shot twice in Amanda’s case and probably actually shot in Liv’s case if that promo says anything), had crappy childhoods, toxic family environments, had everyone walk out on them (parents, partners, relationships) and they’re fucking traumatized and don’t like to deal with the root of their traumas with their therapists. (I need Lindstrom and Hanover to stage an intervention or something) 

Amanda and Liv are easily one of the most, if not the most important relationships in each other lives and is one of the strongest and realistic portrayals of female friendships that I’ve seen in media. They care so deeply about each other but it wasn’t always like that; they had a rocky start and have come a long way since season 13. Sure things may be rocky again right now; but that doesn’t change the fact about how loyal they are to each other at their cores. 

We’ve seen how Liv reacts when people leave her; she’s shuts down, closes herself off and doesn’t reach out. So yes, she’s happy for Amanda and understands that Amanda had to make that decision to leave; but it doesn’t change the fact that it was just another person who walked out on Liv (and then didn’t reach out when she said she wouldn’t just disappear).

Shit, Stabler walked out on her, didn’t even have the balls to tell her he was leaving (she found out from Cragen) and then he shows up a decade later and blows up her life, they spend the next year and half in a weird fucking whiplash nonsense. Liv never dealt with Stabler leaving - she as much as tells Amanda that in the hotel room and then he shows back up and things are weird. Liv doesn’t reach out, doesn’t make contact because a part of her still thinks she’s gonna open up to him again, get close to him again and he’s gonna leave again. 

I can see Liv at first not reaching out to Amanda to give her time to settle cause even Liv knows Amanda doesn’t like change; but at the same time, Liv is still an NYPD Captain and has an entire precinct to manage - communication is probably gonna be slim pickings; but a few weeks go by, maybe a month. Maybe, just maybe, Liv is transported back to that June day in 2011 when Cragen told her Elliot put his papers in, she goes back to those days, weeks, months, years following of no contact. 

Liv roughly knew Elliot and Amanda for the same amount of time before they left (the only major difference in how they left is that Amanda told her) and maybe Liv thinks she’s re-living that same thing again and she can’t do that again.

And so in true Olivia Benson nature, she closes off and doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t make that first move because she can’t be hurt again by another person she cares about even though she wants to and she misses her best friend but there’s also something that won’t let her break the communication barrier, so Liv does the next best things and asks/gets updates about Amanda through Carisi - still waiting for Amanda to make that contact. 

Similarly, we know how Amanda deals with trauma - she closes off and she deals with people leaving her by lashing out. Choosing to leave SVU was probably the hardest fucking decision Amanda Rollins had to make - because this squad, these people, became her family over her tenure there; Liv and Carisi were the ones who broke down her walls and are the reason she started letting people in. When you let people in, you get attached and then change is a bitch. 

There was nothing keeping Amanda in Altana, so leaving there was probably easier; but Fin and Liv and the familiarity - they are reasons to want to stay at SVU - but Jesse and Billie and Carisi are the reasons to leave. There’s gonna be a pull about what’s the right reason and what’s the wrong reason and even now, especially now, Amanda probably feels guilty about leaving; because she feels like she abandoned Liv.

Hell, barely a month after Amanda left, Liv got jumped in the fucking street. (And you know Amanda heard about that from Carisi)

There’s no doubt in my mind that Amanda wanted to reach out to Liv - she was just so scared of letting Liv down, this woman who she looked up when she first came to svu and who has become such an important part of her life and is her children’s godmother. She loves and respects Liv’s so damn much and I think it terrifies Amanda that she could be letting her down by doing what’s best for herself - (even if Liv would never hold that against her)

Amanda is also probably busy as hell what with a new job and new baby on the way, maybe even apartment/house hunting - and then time goes by and suddenly it’s been too long and reaching out probably feels like the wrong decision because you waited too long. Maybe Amanda also tells herself that if Liv cared, she’d reach out herself. 

Also Amanda’s spent her entire life knowing that being independent and not relying on people is the only way to live. Yes, she’s been working past that - but a couple of years of therapy are not gonna just undo decades worth of trauma and damage that go as deep as Amanda’s. There’s gonna be back pedals too. A lot of them. 

That scene at the end of Organized Crime says so damn much even beyond the words that Amanda and Liv say and Mariska and Kelli play it so fucking well. You can tell they still love and respect each other, you can tell Liv’s happy for Amanda (and Carisi) but still hurt at the lack of contact, you can tell Amanda fells guilty for not reaching out. (And you even have clueless third wheeling Stabler)

So that leaves Amanda and Liv in this weird limbo of what do we do now. And it’s gonna take some effort, but they’ll get back to where they were because at their core that love and respect isn’t going anywhere. 

[yokasaris]

Just me rambling (a lot), but I want to have it for posterity’s sake. Just in case.   tldr: pet illness/death, overly dramatic ramblings, maybe goodbye finally, doesn’t mean much to nonfriends so feel free to not read on

I mostly just use this blog for myself these days, and even then only half hearted (I did Rae’s yearly little drawing for his nameday! but no one will see it because... what’s the point, i already have it for myself i guess). So, even then a lot of my reblogs have just been related to black cats. Rae only became a fluffy black-furred miqo because of my own cat, and my efforts in RL trying to help people overcome prejudices about these animals (because I live in an area that’s like 50 years behind the rest of the USA most of the time). I love this cat so much. The shelter called him Elvis, but I changed it immediately to Ellis (my own birthname is “related to music” and my social anxiety can’t stand it when people I barely know start serenading me unprompted in public). I’ve never had a pet I’ve bonded with entirely because I’m just... a cold feckin robot that can’t connect with anything. I mostly adopted him because I felt bad for him. He was consistently ganged up on by the other cats at the shelter and no one wanted him because he was one of a handful of fully grown black cats and had the “worst” personality of the bunch. As soon as I brought him home it became apparent that he was sick. He had hyperthyroidism, and it was... a lot considering I was working minimum wage. I don’t even go to the doctor myself anymore because of the expenses unless things progress to the point where I have to go. A few years later, he developed an insulin resistance as well. Both endocrine diseases and one of his medications all had side effects that make him sick off and on, and of course balancing everything means frequent vet visits. There have been many times where I wasn’t sure what to do in regards to his healthcare and I didn’t make the best calls every time, but we’ve pulled through with the help of his awesome vet. And he got so... comfortable. For the first few years he mostly kept to himself, but over time he started getting more confident and affectionate. I was lucky that he takes pills and the shots like a champ because he has to take them twice a day every day. He learned how to play! I can pick him up and give him little smooches between the ears and he’s okay with it! He’ll curl up with me to watch cooking shows or when I play vidya games! He started purring! With so much shit happening over the past half decade, this little dude has been my reason to keep going. He’s the reason I get out of bed a lot of the time (also literally because he wakes me up for his meds now). A while ago (maybe a year or two?) the vet said he believed he had either lymphoma or a non-life threatening bowel issue. It was impossible to tell which it was without an invasive biopsy, which was out of the question due to his other health issues. So, I’ve known for a while that it was possible he didn’t have much longer to live. A few months back he really started having issues stemming from this problem. And yet... I chanced to try giving him a different food about a month ago and! suddenly! he got better! I thought that meant he definitely didn’t have cancer and it was the irritation instead. Besides, he was gaining weight now! It’s always been hard for him to put on weight, but he was looking healthier than he has in a very long time. Yet a couple weeks ago I started keeping a closer eye on him due to a few reasons (I had to leave a few XIV events early because of this, and I apologize).

This past weekend he started deteriorating.

What I thought was healthy weight gain was fluid build up in his abdomen due to, yes, lymphoma. So, at least it’s finally a concrete diagnosis. All the vets present agreed there was nothing they could do, so they removed as much of the fluid as they could and gave him some meds to make him feel better. Thursday his vet will back in, so we’ll be taking him in to be put to sleep. Took a shower as soon as I was home because can’t be sad, no one’s allowed to be sad and at least no one would notice the feckin horrid crying. I don’t know when I’ve actually cried like really cried last. I’d been ready for the possibility he’d die for so long, but I’d discarded that mentality when I naively thought for a moment that I knew better than the vet. But, he’s getting all the cuddles when he doesn’t want to be left alone, and he’s going to get his favorite treat meals these last couple of days (tuna Tuesday and chicken+ rice Wednesday). I’ll bring him one of my blankets when we finally have to go, and I’ll hold him as the sedatives put him under before they actually put him to sleep. Because this lil furball is the only thing tangible that reminds me there’s something good here, and I want to try and make him as happy and comfy as I can. After... I’m not sure. There’s nothing else here for me. The farm’s gone. My last link to anything and anyone tying me here is about to be gone. I want to go, but I don’t know where and there’s no place that I can fathom thriving. There’s no prospects, no ambitions or dreams. It’s something I’ve had on the mind for a long time, ever since I was first told Ellis was possibly terminally ill. I’ve just been... coasting through life ever since knowing I’d have to find some kind of purpose eventually. I can’t make any decisions right now because I don’t think this is the proper state of mind to decide anything, though. But, I don’t know. Maybe this is finally how I can let this blog go. I don’t know if I can handle all these lovely droves of absolutely amazing black cats I am so lucky to see on my dash every time I log in. Sometimes they’re funny, sometimes they’re cute. But, they’re fantastic every time. It pains me that there’s going to be one less of these lil critters around, but at least I can know that Ellis was one of the lucky ones who managed to find a loving home. So, maybe for the final time... black cats are good cats.

[twistedtummies2]

Year of the Bat - Number 20

Welcome to Year of the Bat! In honor of Kevin Conroy, Arleen Sorkin, and Richard Moll, I’m counting down my Top 31 Favorite Episodes of “Batman: The Animated Series” throughout this January. We’ve reached the Top 20 of the countdown! TODAY’S EPISODE QUOTE: “Why couldn’t you just let me make-believe?!” Number 20 is…Baby Doll.

I had a hard time deciding between this classic episode and “The Clock King,” our previous entry. Both are episodes that debut new villains for the show, and in both cases, they were villains with very few appearances, but who have developed a noticeable following in years since. However, I think Baby Doll – in regards to both the character and the story – hits harder on an emotional level, which is why this takes precedence over the Clock King. The plot focuses on Batman trying to stop a series of mysterious kidnappings going on across Gotham. The perpetrator of these crimes is a childlike supervillainess called Baby Doll. It’s eventually revealed that Baby Doll is one Mary Dahl; a former child actress. Dahl suffers from a condition called systemic hypoplasia; while she ages mentally, emotionally, and so on, her physical body forever remains trapped in the form of a little girl. Mary got her start in a sitcom, where she played a character called “Baby Doll,” which made her a star. Since she couldn’t age, she was able to play this adorable little girl for a full decade…but things changed when a new character was brought onto the show, and ended up upstaging Dahl’s own.

Jealous and infuriated, the fame having gone to her head, Mary quit the program. However, her childlike appearance, combined with her being typecast as Baby Doll, led to her being unable to find a stable career, and her whole life fell into a downward spiral. Her mind eventually snapped; she could no longer fully distinguish fantasy from reality. As the supervillain Baby Doll, the name taken from her old character, Mary tries to rebuild the fantasy life she always wanted and loved so much, kidnapping her co-stars and trying to recreate the perfect world she believes she once had.

While I can’t prove it for certain, I feel this episode MUST have been inspired by the horror film “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” That film’s titular antagonist was a former child actress. Her career tanked at some point, and her younger sister became a bigger star than she was, leaving the once-spoiled-with-success Baby Jane jealous and bitter. Over the course of the film, Baby Jane’s sanity deteriorates due to various things, as it becomes harder and harder for her to separate fantasy and reality. It all sounds disturbingly close to Baby Doll in this episode; even the name is similar! About all that’s difference is the twist about aging: in the movie, Baby Jane is depicted as an old hag by the time she becomes the villain. Baby Doll’s plight, however, is partially the result of her being UNABLE to physically age.

Regardless of inspiration, Baby Doll is an episode that combines so many great elements together, particularly when it comes to the matter of tone. There’s a lot of different levels and layers, tonally, to this story: as you might imagine from its title, and from the basic setup of the title character, there’s a nice big dollop of campy silliness involved in the story, and it does take full advantage of the humor that come from that. However, the episode can also be quite creepy in places, with the visual and story-based motifs of innocence lost and being trapped in an endless childhood, two wonderfully clashing ideas. On top of that, it’s really quite a heartbreaking story: while Mary’s fall from grace was at least partially her own doing, you can’t help but feel sorry for her. Through no real fault of her own, she’s trapped in an inescapable position in life, and it’s easy to sympathize with someone whose entire scheme stems from a place of wanting to go back to happier, simpler, better times.

This is also another episode – much like the two Riddler stories I covered earlier in the countdown – where a big part of what makes the story great is how it ends. The climactic finale to Baby Doll is widely regarded as one of the most disturbing and sad in the entire series. It’s a big part of why the character is so highly revered, and why the episode is a fan favorite. It’s genuinely surprising that, with the following Baby Doll has, she’s never been adapted into comics. Unlike the Clock King, the DCAU is where she got her start…but unlike characters such as Harley Quinn and Lock-Up, Baby Doll never really went anywhere after the fact. She’s made a few cameos and been homage in other media and mainstream comics, but this and her other appearance in B:TAS (“Love is a Croc,” where Baby Doll teams up with Killer Croc, of all characters) remain her only major stories of note. Considering how strong this particular episode is, maybe that’s not such a bad thing: sometimes, one great story is all it takes.

Tomorrow we move on to Number 19! Hint: “Hit me, Riley! Maybe I’ll wake up and be a millionaire, too!”

[simperator]

Haeresis Dea - Chapter 5

A03 Link

Secrets. Everyone has them- Sister Imperator knows all of them.

“Oh Nihil, would you calm down? You are not losing your honour!” 

“Come osi insultarmi questo modo!?”

Primo, Secondo, and Terzo all exchanged glances before indulging in an almost synchronous sigh. If anyone in the Clergy ever wondered what the elusive, shadowy, and secretive meetings between Sister Imperator and the Emeritus family looked like- well, it looked a lot like this. Nihil loses his temper, Sister Imperator refuses to placate him which infuriates him more, and his sons sit there to witness the trash fire. Only this time, the stakes were much, much higher. 

Often in meetings that got this heated, it was about the status of ordination, administrative errors, or handling quarrels between Clergy members. This time, it was about a total upheaval of what everyone had gotten used to for the past couple of decades. No one really likes change that way, especially Nihil, especially when it was about him swallowing his pride for once.

“I have done nothing but push our cause and now people all over the world believe in our doctrine!”

Sister Imperator let out a long, frustrated sigh. She knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy, and she understands Nihil’s upset. Although everyone under him sees him as a pompous playboy and his own family sees him as an idiot, his little Ghost project did put the Unholy Church on the map. The three brothers look to Imperator, desperately hoping to get him to stop having a fit. 

“With all due respect, Papa, that was almost thirty years ago. Our numbers are dwindling, the amount of people converting is at an all-time low, and our numbers are going to continue to plummet if we don’t do something soon.”

Nihil slumped down at his desk, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wood. These meetings were painful for countless reasons, but any of the brothers could tell you the tiny chairs they are held hostage in across from their father was up there. Sister Imperator raised her head to look down at Nihil, and both of them knew she was right. Ghost, as strange and campy as it was, did bring them a lot of attention. The church has not had publicity like that in a very long time- partly because Nihil was busy not raising three kids and Sister Imperator was completely AWOL for almost 10 months not long after the pair returned to Italy, and partly because the high Catholic population in the surrounding areas they, figuratively and literally, would be crucified galavanting Satan-ing all over the place. 

“Well,” the Satanic pope growled. “What have we got?” Imperator excitedly clapped her hands together, falling back into the uppity, professional air she was so good at exhuming. “We’ve got them!” She glided past the brothers, showing them off like they were infomercial products. “Your sons! The heirs of papacy! Don’t you think they should be of use?” Terzo scowled, not bothering to hide his contempt. “Oh yes, that’s what we are, something to be used.” Primo rolled his eyes. “Quiet, fratello.” he never meant to be condescending, but unfortunately patronizing is what Primo did best, and Terzo did not ever take kindly to that. 

“Quiet? Why should I be quiet? If we’re the so-called heirs to this fucking papa thing shouldn’t we get to have a say in something? For once?!” Imperator sighed heavily as the eldest and youngest began a very on-brand spat. “Maybe you could make some decisions if you didn’t act like such a child, there’s order to these things Terzo, you’re a cardinal now you should know that.” Secondo just stared at hands folded hands, trying to tune out the bickering. Funnily enough, Nihil was doing the exact same thing. 

“And one of these days you’re going to be papa.” Imperator interjected, pointing to Terzo “And so are you, and you.” She gestured to the other two. “You three have to find a way to work in harmony if that’s ever going to run smoothly, if you can’t compose yourself with your own brother how will you lead a church.” Secondo tapped his knuckles as he thought about the prospect of papacy. Sister Imperator had a point. Primo has the knowledge but absolutely no social skills in order to be a well-liked and respected leader, Terzo had all the charisma of a great papa but absolutely no drive to do anything about it, and Secondo…

“Who says we have to be papa.” 

His voice was low as if mistakenly saying it out loud, as the lot of them stopped in their tracks to stare at him. Nihil was the only one who spoke. “What?” Secondo swallowed a dry throat, beginning to regret saying anything. “I mean, if we’re not fit to be papa, why be papa?” Secondo tried to make himself sound as unconfrontational as possible, a task similar to defusing a bomb with this family. Nihil’s eyebrows furrow, Imperator, Primo, and Terzo all fearing what would fly out of his mouth next. 

Surprisingly, it was sympathy. “Secondo… how could you say such a thing.” Primo and Terzo’s shoulders relaxed at the older man’s tone. “The bloodline has taken up the role of papa for millennia.” Sister Imperator walked past the boys to stand next to Nihil as if she was standing in for the role of their heartbroken, disappointed mother. Nihil relaxed his arms, looking at all his progeny. “Are you saying there is anyone in this Clergy with enough skills to be papa? More than any of you?” The Emeritus brothers looked in all directions, uncomfortably. They would never let Nihil or Imperator know it, but there absolutely was. Cardinals that have dedicated their whole life to Satan, their belief unshaken. Sisters of Sin who have raised countless children to be pious and loyal to the church. Deep down, the brothers were really not that important. And honestly, not as qualified as they have been led to believe their whole life. 

Imperator glared knives at Secondo for talking out of turn whilst Nihil looked, for the first time any of the boys could see it, visibly hurt. He didn’t let his sons believe he had emotions for too long, his face dropping into one of disdain. Pushing on his hands, Nihil stood up, his form looming over everyone else in the room. Terzo swallowed, not wanting his brother to get the verbal (or physical) lashing of a lifetime alone he piped up. “Secondo does have a poin-” “Are you ashamed to be an Emeritus?” 

The question hung heavy in the air, the tension unrelenting as it pierced through Nihil’s sons. Sister Imperator looked at him, wondering where he got this strange familial panache from. She shook off the feeling of worry for the boys and looked at them, expectantly. Primo, Secondo, nor Terzo dared speak for a good couple of seconds, Nihil staring straight through them. Secondo decided that he was going to let him have it, even just for this once, even for honesty’s sake. “You do not give us much to be proud of.”

Primo and Terzo were stunned, their brother sharing the very thought the two had been saddled with all of their lives. They felt a weight off their shoulders, and with it, a silent note in both of their minds that they are forever indebted to Secondo for this. Nihil clenched his fist, his face twisting into that of an unreadable form of fury. Imperator put one of her hands on his shoulders, attempting to calm whatever storm was about to devastate the room. “What he means to say is that we have been in a rut, Papa.”

A lie so obvious even Nihil knew it, but having someone fawn to his needs was just the trick for him to sit back down with minimal emotional and property damage. Imperator, ever the emotionally detached, continued on with the meeting as if a massive familial overhaul did not just unfold in front of her. “Now, I think it would be best if we heard from you three! What do you think we should get our numbers back up!” Her stiff-upper-lip chipperness fell entirely flat on the silent men. 

Nihil spoke again. “If the three of you are so sure on your judge of character, perhaps Secondo and Primo should be made cardinals today, and then all three of you can ordain or excommunicate whoever you like.” Secondo was dumbfounded, he was only a priest, and now he’s a cardinal? Whether or not Nihil was being petty or these were his true thoughts was completely lost on everyone, so Imperator decided for him. “What a wonderful idea Papa! A strong family foundation of a papa and his 3 cardinals! You’ll all get a taste of the life!” 

“Wait-” Primo piped up. “Terzo is the only one of us who was a diaconate, how are we going to catch up that quickly?” Despite their status and Primo’s dedication to the church, neither of them has completed the process of being a deacon, Terzo only weaseled his way through out of Imperator’s spite. He wasn’t just blowing off clerical duties because he was a problem child, he was blowing them off because he didn’t believe in it. His love of secular music was one thing, but soon he started to directly reject some Satanic teachings. He spoke out against the subtle misogyny of Prime Mover rituals, the way the church spends more on papal robes than giving to the needy, Terzo was en route to leaving the church entirely.

So what does a good father do? With the help of Imperator, forcing Terzo through the process as quickly as possible from priest to cardinal. All while ignoring the fact he way way too young and skimmed over the process of being a bishop and archbishop and letting it slide because, well, he’s Papa. This chapped Primo’s ass for years and still does up to the time of the meeting since he was still an archbishop. Primo, outside of the shock, was actually rather delighted to be ordained as a cardinal early. For Secondo, this was a waking nightmare. 

“You can’t be serious.” Secondo pleaded. Nihil nodded slowly, knowingly. “If you are not proud to be an Emeritus it’s simply because you’re not reaping the benefits of being one.” Terzo was the last one to speak up against this sudden, petty, hasty decision. “You mean we can excommunicate whoever we want?” Cardinals had the power to ordain and vote on whether or not a Sibling could be excommunicated. But, what Nihil was implying is that at the drop of their biretta, they could just kick someone out. Injustice and favoritism were obviously rampant, but that was going much, much too far. 

“Sister!” Nihil’s voice spiked cheerfully, it was kind of sweet how when he spoke her name he lit up, but creepy as hell contrasted with his borderline abusive nature. “You’ve spoken to some of your subordinate Sisters earlier today, we will prepare a Rite of Dedication for Primo and Secondo!” Sister Imperator was beaming, but no compassionate joy was behind her smile. It was the kind of smile that mirrored animals baring their teeth when they know they’d got their prey trapped.

“Oh! Happy day!” She sang. Primo let the information sink through his skin, straightening his back with pride and smiling slightly. Terzo looked scared, not a primal fear but knowing something is coming, and it was not good. He looked to Secondo, utterly stumped on how to help his brother. Secondo’s thoughts were equally hopeless.

Copia’s hour and a half of trying to calm the stood-up and shaken-up Novitiate were all in vain. Of course, spending time with her friend was able to keep her from having a nervous breakdown, but her brain was still reeling. The poor girl had been walking so fast that she and Copia made it back to the cathedral from deep through the cemetery trails in half the time it normally takes.

Secondo only knew this because as he was outside of his father’s office, head in hands, he heard a soprano voice sprawling and a tenor accented one meekly following, he couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Thank Satan, Secondo knew that seeing her face would calm him, she had already seen him cry (sort of), and she was just the person he needs right now. He doesn’t care if Copia is watching and will gossip about it, he smiles a smile of relief in her direction, rehearsing an apology for abandoning her on their walk. “Sorella!”

She deliberately strides right past him. Not just that, she was sniffling wildly, her face reddened with her cheeks tear-stained. Secondo’s heart breaks, even at the sight. He doesn’t care about how his life is going to change forever against his will, he just wants to hold the Novitiate as she held him.

“Sister! Come back!” Copia called after him. Secondo’s head whipped towards him, stepping toe-to-toe with him. Secondo did not revel in intimidation tactics, but he knew how his stature loomed over everyone he met, and if Copia was behind any of this, he wanted him to be fucking scared.

“What happened while I was gone.” Such a calm tone surfaced a world of pure, unabashed fury. Copia turned white under Secondo’s shadow, face dropping. “Nothing, Father. Just, frustrated at her status, that’s all.” He got the words out surprisingly smoothly, but he knew Secondo had no time or patience for sputtering.

Secondo straightened up, standing down from Copia. As much as a bumbling fool Secondo thought of him as he was an honest bumbling fool. He looked towards the direction the Novitiate went- and noticed she was completely gone. Secondo’s eyebrows furrowed with concern, oh how we longed to take away this pain. Well… 

With his newfound title as cardinal… he could. Ordain or excommunicate anyone he wants, the Novitiate’s dream could come true at the snap of his fingers. This fact dawning on him was the one good thing to come out of his status, seeing her smile and finally feel at home will have made it all worth it. Then, maybe when he is papa, he could make her…

“Cardinal.”

He wasn’t even looking at Copia, who was glancing his eyes in either direction. “I beg your pardon?” Copia knew what the conversation was about, him and his roster of fellow priests have been the smallest in years- and it's not like Papa Nihil was getting any younger. Sister Imperator often relays this to him, giving him a strange sort of connection to the Emeritus family.

“Cardinal… Emeritus.” Secondo turned to him, an expression entirely unreadable spread on his face. Copia let the words hang in the air before responding, an unsure smile spreading across his still-white face. “You said you’d do it?” Secondo nodded. “Oh! Congratulations! You know, your family has such a fascinating track record, three cardinals before reaching the age of thirty-five! It’s unprecedented! It’s-“

Secondo did not care for pleasantries. “Where did she go?” Copia was glad to drop the routine, his face along with it. “She’d be in her quarters if she was anywhere…” Secondo turned on his heel without thanking him and stalked down the hallway, leaving Copia with the tension and weight of knowing Secondo is fast-tracking, cheating.

Going against his gentlemanly upbringing, Secondo would feel bad about intruding in the Sister’s quarters later. Right now, he wanted to comfort and be comforted by that wonderful woman. Paying mind to the sound of his footsteps, he looked on either side of the hallway of dormitories, he finally reached one towards the end of the hall, closed shut. Secondo pressed his ear towards the door, expecting muffled sobs, but instead heard the scratching of pen onto paper.

He knocked twice, at a volume almost inaudible. It began to dawn on him that he could possibly be intruding on her, and how selfish it seems to thrust one’s own problems onto another person clearly upset. Conflict and Secondo are like oil and water, more than anything he would bust the door down, sweep her off her feet, and cradle her, telling her everything will be alright. 

But he can’t always have what he wants. 

Swallowing defeatedly, Secondo begins to creep away from the door, waiting for a beat to make sure the door doesn’t fly open as the Novitiate begs for his embrace. A few moments pass and there is nothing. Secondo lets out a disappointed exhale and hesitantly leaves, the sound of his heavy footsteps muffled by the carpet. The sound of lighter, more pointed, footsteps came clopping closer towards him, the sound is the thing that snaps him out of his slump.

Much to his chagrin, it was Sister Imperator, no doubt coming to scold him for his behaviour at the meeting earlier. Surprisingly, she was sprightly, not only acting like nothing was wrong but seemed actively excited. “Ah! Secondo! Come to tell the Sisters about your promotion!” She chirped. God, Sister Imperator was hard to read. On the outside, she was a well-to-do administrative head of the ministry, but an air of unease emanated from every pore. Sister Imperator was like an omen that something bad is going to happen. 

“No… I was just checking on one who seemed upset.” Secondo, as much as he was put off by Imperator, knew better than to disrespect her. Imperator’s lip twitched as if Secondo has used the wrong dialogue prompt, but kept her attitude light. “I see. How kind. Well, you mustn’t be loitering around here, you must reconvene with your father and brothers, there is much to prepare!” 

Secondo nodded wordlessly, walking directly past her. No one, especially him, was particularly keen on spending a lot of time with Sister Imperator, especially when it seemed like she had been scheming. Imperator watched as he left, taking notice of the one closed door. The Novitiates. 

She approached the door, knocking twice with a firm hand. ‘Novitiate? Aren’t you supposed to be on housekeeping duty today?” She waited for an answer but instead, the door flung open in front of her, with a very panicked Novitiate standing before her. “Yes! I finished the laundry and I was just coming back from a walk with Copia and these allergies are just making me look so-” the words fell out of her as if she haphazardly rehearsed them before seeing Imperator. 

“Right, well, you must clear out our dining hall of tables and chairs, we’re going to be hosting an event soon.” Her voice was unsympathetic, calculated, and agonizingly neutral. The Novitiate wiped her nose before seeing speedwalking past Imperator, who did not even bother to watch her leave. Instead, Sister Imperator stood at the Novitiate's open dormitory, tapping her nails on the door frame. 

With absolutely no regard for privacy, Imperator began to scan her dormitory. Outside of the unmade bed, everything seemed to be in order, as Imperator demands everything to be. All except the scattered paper on the desk that was shoddily covered by a spare habit. The paper under it lacked the ministry’s watermark and did not look like the handwriting of anyone Sister Imperator had seen before. Having such a high-ranking position that involved administration Imperator had grown very accustomed to handwriting, the type of paper, and the formatting of letters in the ministry. For once, this piqued her interest.

Glancing towards where Secondo and the Novitiate left Imperator decided to let herself into the dormitory, inspecting the papers. It was a letter between family members no doubt, whoever the Novitiate had been writing to did not know the formatting exclusive to the ministry. Imperator was just about to let it go because she read the words “come home.” in cursive red ink, and decided that it was a matter that deeply affected her. 

Sister Imperator picked up the letter and began reading it. 

My Baby,

I understand that this place means a lot to you, that you have spent countless hours learning their beliefs and acquainting with those Satanists. But darling, please, come home. If you have not been ordained in their church it is because God has a better plan for you, a plan where you can follow in his path and be saved from that horrible place. 

It was my biggest regret letting you stay there, I could’ve raised you myself. But instead, I was a fool, leaving you in the hands of those hedonistic Satan-worshippers. You are an adult so I cannot force you to do anything. I know how much this place means to you. But sweetheart, I beg of you, do not fall for their tricks any longer. 

You are having these doubts for a reason because you know what path is right. Do not let yourself be ordained, come home. You have a real church and a real family who loves you very much, we have all been praying for you. Please, I beg you as your mother, come back to us. It is God’s will, do not fight it any longer. 

Please write back soon,

Your Mother.

Sister Imperator was surprised, but this was not her first rodeo with the Christian families of converts writing to the ministry, calling them a slew of obscenities and demanding them to return. However, this was the first time the word “doubt” was brought into the picture. Doubt. The word seared at Imperator’s head. Is the Novitiate having doubts about the church? About everything she has sacrificed her whole life to build? Doubts about the Olde One’s plans? 

She swallowed her revulsion and let a subtle disappoint wash over her instead. Imperator had grown a fondness for the spunk of this Novitiate, and to think she would be leaving so soon when she could of been of great use to the ministry… for Imperator’s plans. 

“What a shame” Imperator whispered to herself, straightening the letters all into one neat pile. “She was so promising, too.” Folding the habit gently next to the papers, she quietly left the dormitory, closing the door gently behind her. Taking a deep breath in, she set forth to enact the next phase in her little plan. Giving Primo his first ex-communication. 

[heavenlyakin]

Part 14: I Just Don't Believe You Have Got It In You

Summary: Your life is forever changed when your most trusted advisor arrives home with an engagement treaty. As Queen of your Kingdom, you knew there would be sacrifices but little did you know how much the cost of these sacrifices would be. What do you do when your mind wants one thing but your heart longs for another?

Characters: Reader (some descriptions may apply), Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, Haku (Reader's child)

Warnings: none! Unless you hate children and peace.

Length: 1k

Navigation | Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

Three years later 

As you sit reading, Haku walks into your rooms. He’s grown up so quickly, you realize as he stands there in his new attire. He’s just returned with his father this morning, an unbelievable amount of clothes in tow. 

“Momma, what do you think?” He asks, spinning once, his grace just as Satoru’s. “I have dresses for my sisters too. They all match, For our next big ball, we shall wear them.” 

“My handsome boy,” you smile, caressing his cheek. You lean down, kissing his forehead. “I can’t believe how grown up you look.” He’s nearing double digits now, the next ball will be to celebrate his first decade of life. 

“Father says I can have more if I like this one,” he laughs, tugging at the hem of his shirt. 

“We mustn’t order too many. You’re growing too fast for that. But, I think you should get a few more. You can wear them as you begin to learn what it is to rule.” 

You laugh, kissing his forehead once more. “Go, find your sisters and show them the gifts you brought them.” 

“Even Momoka?” He asks about your youngest and most rowdy. She just turned three.

“Yes, just call for the nurses if she starts destroying your room again.” Last time she destroyed a painting of your mothers that Haku really loved and that you’d finally allowed him to have… the joys of motherhood. 

He nods and runs out of the room, down the hall towards the other wing of the castle. Satoru begins walking down the hall where Haku just ran off. He must have been speaking with one of the girls. 

“Satoru!” You call for him and he grins. 

“Wife,” he smiles, kissing your cheek in greeting. 

“Haku was showing me his new clothes. He looks more and more like you as he grows. To think I labored with him all for him to look nothing like me.” You tease as he laughs. 

“At least we have a girl with your hair.” 

“Ah yes, one of four. My consolation for years of discomfort!” He laughs, placing a hand on your shoulder. “How are things back home? Did Haku enjoy being alone with you for once?” 

“He did. Things are going better. There have not been any raids in the northern villages since we’ve stationed more men to guard them.” There had been unrest two years ago, so sending forces seems to have worked. “I am grateful to be back here, honestly.” 

The shared castle on the borders of the two kingdoms has been a joy. The court has dwindled to only those who lived closer to the castle, and those who are loyal to you and Satoru. You’ve only gone back to your castle a few times a year to show face. Everything else has been manageable from here. 

“I’m glad to hear it was a successful trip.” You smile and then sigh. “Care to join me for tea?” 

“As long as Sebastian brings those delightful lemon cakes, I’d do about anything you ask.” He holds his arm out for you to place your hand. 

He guides you to the tea room, speaking to a few of the lords on the way. You also engage, but leave the decisions up to him since they are from his Kingdom. You have both learned to keep boundaries over the years, and only help when the other is asked. 

Sebastian brings the cakes and the tea, giving you a short report of the dinner plans later. Something Satoru has requested is dinners together regularly with the children. He’s been such a good father to the kids, so much so no one has brought up the issue of their parentage to the court. 

What they may whisper at home, you cannot control nor do you want to hear. 

“How is Camilla?” You ask after the room has cleared. 

Satoru smiles, the kind you remember from years ago. The light in his eyes is something you also recall. He’s found happiness for himself. 

“She is well. She sent her wishes.” He pours himself some tea and hands you the pot. 

Camilla and Namami, Satoru’s advisor, switched places after she had her child. Satoru wanted to protect her from scorn and you agreed. She may have become distant in the years you were having Suguru’s children, but that does not take away from how she helped you all the times before. You owed her this, her happiness and protection. So, when Satoru proposed she and Nanami switch positions so he’s been serving in your Kingdom. 

“I would like to see her soon. Perhaps after she recovers from her labors. I miss my friend,” you tell him and he nods. 

“I will write to her soon. She would like that too.” He tells you. “How is Suguru?” 

“Well,” you smile, looking away. “He’s been well.” 

He looks around, then smiles. “You have no reason to still feel guilty.” He places his hand on yours. “Truly. I am happy for you. If we could not have happiness together, we deserve it apart.” 

You sigh. “I am truly grateful to have a husband as good as you.” 

He smiles, one of the genuine ones that makes his wrinkles apparent. He has not aged much, but years of smiles have given him fine lines. He’s had a happy life despite the tragedy early on and the unsuitable match of a wife he’s had of you. 

“We may not have the love story our Kingdoms believe, but we do live lives full of love. May we continue to be blessed this way.” He bites into a lemon cake and you continue to have a peaceful tea.

[libertyreads]

Book Review #91 of 2023--

Between Us by Mhairi McFarlane. Rating: 3 stars.

Read from July 18th to 19th.

Before I get into the bulk of my review, a quick thank you to both NetGalley and the publishers over at HarperCollins for giving me access to this ARC in exchange for an honest review. I read my first Mhairi McFarlane earlier this year and when this showed up as available to request I just had to. I enjoyed the other novel so much and this one sounded so different to me. In this novel, Between Us, we follow Roisin whose long term boyfriend has a show coming out that all of their friends are excited for. This is his second tv show as a writer and he’s been given permission to take chances in a way he didn’t get to with the first show. But Roisin is thrown when she realizes that Joe stole parts of her past, private and intimate things she’s shared with him and him alone, to make an exciting and risky show. She breaks up with him and moves back with her mom to help run the family bar for the summer. But help comes in the form of a close friend who she probably shouldn’t be getting these butterflies for. Between Us comes out on August 8th and is available for preorder now.

I want to start by saying that the premise on GoodReads and the premise I’ve given here are both somewhat misleading. I would say this is a Mystery novel about Roisin and Joe’s relationship and trying to find the truth buried in his lies rather than a romance between Roisin and her friend Matt. The romance is there, but it doesn’t really start until 71% of the way through the novel. It made it so the romance felt too fast when it finally did happen since no romantic feelings or attractions appeared in most of the novel. I wanted to feel more of the romance/attraction between Roisin and Matt since this is the couple we’re supposed to be rooting for in the end. But the author spends so little time discussing their relationship and their interactions with one another before the last 30% of the novel. I get that technically they were both in relationships at the start of the novel and Roisin takes longer getting out of hers. But once the romance finally started going I think we needed more romantic moments between the two of them to really feel it. And maybe it wouldn’t have felt so sudden if Roisin had voiced a thought like, ‘I can’t believe I’m feeling this for a friend I’ve know for a decade.’ Just some sort of incredulity from the couple that it was all happening so quickly. Because then we can all share some sort of disbelief before letting suspension of disbelief kick in. Am I fully making sense? Probably not. Let’s move on.

Things I liked: 1) the first part of the novel giving us a glimpse into Rich People Drama. I’m a girl who loves some Rich People Drama. Keep it coming. 2) When we got down to the nitty/gritty of who Roisin and Matt were, I could understand their coupling and how they could end up dating. I don’t know that I like the going from zero to ‘I love you’ in 6 seconds but with some more dialogue I could possibly accept it. 3) The fact that this feels new and fresh. We’ve all read the Romance novels where the main characters goes back home to hide from a fresh heartbreak/drama and discovers love again with a friend from their past. But this felt fresh and new because we had Roisin who wanted to get to the bottom of her deeply unhealthy relationship with Joe. It felt like a Mystery novel that turns into a romance when there’s 30% left. But that’s kind of also what I don’t love about it. I like the Mystery, I like Roisin finding ways to get answers, I just wish the author had managed to throw in a little more romance before the 50% mark? Also, this ends up feeling like the conflict is something between the two main characters we’re supposed to be rooting for where I usually like Romance third act breakups that happen due to circumstance. I want the two main characters to have to face an external conflict together in order to make the relationship work.

So, now I’m so conflicted because I enjoyed reading this while I was reading for the most part. I liked the mix of genres. I didn’t totally buy the romance. But also I read the whole thing (over 400 pages) in two days while also having work. So? I come in at a 3 for this one because I’m really torn about this book.

[bollywood143114]

People start calling Farah Khan an old lady, gets married at 40 and gives birth to 3 kids, gives befitting reply

Farah Khan Family and Kids: Farah Khan, who won the title of Bollywood's most popular choreographer and director, is 58 years old. Farah has contributed a lot to the Bollywood industry over three decades of her life. Farah Khan is very happy in her personal and professional life, which she often shows through her pictures on social media. In this case, did you know that Farah Khan had to face severe taunts from people for not getting married till the age of 40? People taunted him for never marrying Farah Khan didn't get married until she was 40 years old. In such a situation, Farah Khan had to listen to many taunts from people. She herself mentioned this in one of her interviews and said how people used to taunt her for not getting married till the age of 40. That time was very difficult for him, he faced many harsh words from people. Farah cried after seeing Samantha Prabhu's ad In fact, recently Farah Khan posted an advertisement of Samantha Ruth Prabhu on social media. In it, Samantha is seen saying – Big problem in the world with girls… After that, she is seen in the video as a bride. Seeing Samantha, the two women talk to each other and say – women should get married on time. While sharing this video of Samantha, Farah also told the world about her ordeal in the caption. In this caption, Farah Khan is seen addressing those who got married late and trolled her. Farah wrote - While watching this film I remember how many times bad things have been said about me. The comments attempt to denigrate me not only as a successful choreographer and dancer, but also as a woman. After this, Farah taunted them about their outfits and said- you don't dress like a choreographer, you are too young for this field… women can't do action films… He also wrote – People told me, you are old… you are not old enough to get married and have children… but whatever happened, I did it all. I did all... Please tell me that Farah Khan is 58 years old and a mother of 3 children. Farah got married at the age of 40 and at the age of 43 she became a mother of 3 children through IVF. Anupama 23 May Episode: Maya will again play a new trick between Anuj and Anupama, Banraj will be the father again DISCLAIMER Thanks For Visit Our Site www.bollywoodofindia.com . We’ve taken all measures to insure that the information handed in this composition and on our social media platform is believable, vindicated and sourced from other Big media Houses. For any feedback or complaint, reach out to us at bollywoodofindiaa@gmail.com Read the full article

[duncneydivorce]

This did NOT happen 😭😭😭

That’s what I get for putting so much faith in Orlando 🤦‍♂️. Instead we are getting more HOM revisionism, more character assassination and more scapegoating. Why are we regressing Pietro to a state that was never even in character in the first place? Why are we rewriting Wanda’s entire characterisation? Why are we straight up lying about their relationship with Magneto?

I don’t mind when the twins fight but it’s frustrating that half the time it’s not even in character and says absolutely nothing of value about them at all! They’re fighting over shit that didn’t even happen because for as much as everyone loves talking about HOM no one has seemed to have even read the damn story.

I don’t understand what Orlando is trying to say about Wanda here.. no she doesn’t think her brother is a manipulative sociopath, no she didn’t give a shit about Magneto and I find it hard to believe she would do something like burn the letter in the first place. It’s just so unlike her she’s never done anything like that before, I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe it could work but the writing completely missed the mark for me. Why are we adding flaws that are ooc to Wanda instead of talking about the ones she already has?

It’s not like Wanda doesn’t have flaws and hasn’t made hurtful mistakes with her brother but breaking a boundary like that is more in line with Pietro’s past tendencies. Doing something like this, especially after confronting Pietro over it and the two of them have meaningfully reconciled already, just makes her seem like an unnecessary hypocrite.

Wanda’s problem was that she would try to placate him and wouldn’t take his side when he was the one being wronged in the scenario and was rightfully critical of it.

This was a matter of projecting her self destructive and repressive coping mechanisms onto Pietro, whose restlessness already made himself into a social pariah and was a threat to the very precarious position they had assimilated into. Wanda’s history struggling with repression is the reason why she struggled the way she did with her powers, and why she often lost autonomy to greater mystical forces. Why did Wanda struggle with repressing herself? Because she was FORCED to in order to protect herself. While the Busiek run is flawed in its execution it shows that a Wanda who has the space and means to openingly celebrate her identity and grieve on her own terms is a Wanda who is confident, in control and fully capable of mastering her abilities against all odds.

If you want to talk about Wanda’s greatest character flaws, her struggle with her powers and her missteps with Pietro then you absolutely MUST understand this.

The most frustrating part about all of this is that we’ve already told this story. HOM set the twins backwards so badly that they have to go through character arcs they’ve already been through decades ago, and yet somehow, more than 20 years later people STILL can’t get it right.

The upcoming Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver series includes a promising bit in the preview that I have a lot of thoughts about:

“Above all, they are twins who look out for each other. So when Wanda receives a letter from the recently deceased Magneto that would upset Pietro, she burns the letter before her brother can read it.

But her choice drives them apart at the worst possible time”

It seems this series is going to take a more unconventional route where Wanda creates conflict between the two. Not that I think this is OOC, on the contrary, I think it’s a very interesting and often overlooked part of their relationship.

Pietro was always more imposing and vocal about it, but Wanda is equally as protective of her brother as he is of her. And she has made mistakes for this too just as he has.

But before I can go any further into that we need context.

After surviving a childhood of extreme racism and their saviour’s indoctrination (who also turned them into highly profiled criminals), the twins find themselves at the mercy of public opinion. Cap’s Kooky Quartet may have saved them from being convicted, but it’s not enough for them to simply do superhero work, they must earn the mantle of superhero (the idea of what makes someone a superhero and who get the be the verdict is already a very loaded notion that I won’t expand on but it’s worth being conscious of this here). In order to be accepted the twins are essentially marketed as the ‘American Dream’; a couple of impoverished immigrants who worked their way up to success, a pair of misguided misfits who needed the guidance of the all American Captain America. Their relationship with Steve IS meaningful and important to their ability to become heroes but it’s not because he ‘turned them around’, rather by simply giving them accommodation, resources and opportunities they’ve never had access to in their lives. But that’s not what the majority see, to them the Maximoff’s are a rehabilitation project that’s a testament to their society’s benevolence. It's a similar kind of rancid vibe as those mission trips in Africa. They are tokenized and tolerated only when the narrative forced on them feeds the white superamcist ego.

And most importantly, this tolerance is completely conditional.

While the two do have genuine fondness for their time on the team, their livelihood as Avengers cannot be divorced from this groundwork. In fact, multiple Avengers stories from their early days delve into the complicated relationship they have with this fact (and no this is not an ‘Avengers are cops’ rhetoric, joining the Avengers literally saved them from a more punitive judgement from the criminal justice system).

When Pietro voices very real concerns about this we see Wanda undermine him. When he learns of his wife’s infidelity her first reaction is to convince him to forgive her and move on. There’s another moment and for the life of me I can’t find the panel but after some brief reflection Wanda admits she may have been rash to dismiss Pietro as fanatic.

All of this does come from her love and protectiveness for her brother but it also comes from a very real trauma and fear.

Before I go on let me clarify, Wanda has never been a self hating minority. I mean the whole reason she called herself Scarlet Witch is because she was reclaiming a stereotype her persecutors used against her. Nor has she ever been an obedient damsel without independence. Since her very debut she has been a character with agency, while Pietro can be chauvinistic at times her relationship with her brother has always been the one of equals, and fighting for her autonomy (usually against literal demons) is one of the major recurring themes in her evolution.

That being said, it’s worth examining the conflicting self-repression that’s followed Wanda since the very beginning. She and pietro both understandably reacted in extremes and where he grew abrasive and restless, she could show a tendency to something akin to a model minority complex at times (remember her livelihood literally depended on advertising her as one at a certain point). There is room for a longer and more thorough analysis on this but to keep it brief and to the point I want to highlight specifically the way she has projected this onto Pietro. Again, the both of them have made their own mistakes, hurt themselves, each other and others for this, but while we have seen stories allow growth for pietro’s mistreatment towards Wanda over this, the inverse has been mostly forgotten. Until now it seems.

Wanda and Pietro have come a very long way and I trust Orlando to treat Wanda as a character who has made mistakes and who’s flaws lie in her compassion. His run was heavily dedicated to acknowledging the harm her actions have done to others in the past without letting it hold her back and acknowledging how she was victimised in those situations. What I’m more sceptical of is his understanding of where that trauma comes from, because there was no meaningful examination of this so far. Wanda is a displaced refugee with violent experiences of racism and poverty. The Avengers was more than a team to her, it was a sanctuary. An extremely precarious one. She was also like.. a teenager when this was thrusted on her. It’s completely reasonable that as she grew into herself she would struggle with respectability politics and would project this onto her brother who’s indignation often isolated himself.

I’m not expecting Orlando to write critical race theory or anything but since it seems an important part of the story will lie in addressing this particular contention between the twins then personally I feel what will make or break this series will be whether Orlando can communicate this. We know he’s AWARE of their heritage and origin and is consciously trying to include it in how they are represented in his work so I’m choosing to be optimistic but I guess only time will tell.