#I mean there isn’t really an upside down for those sorts of cans but you know what I mean

[javelinbk]

John Lennon on the train from New York to Washington DC, 11th February 1964

Yes, he’s a numpty for opening his can upside down, but god he looks good doing it

[unkreativstermensch]

The porch lights are all turned off, so the glowing from the pool is the only thing illuminating the back yard, and it looks a little eery with the steaming water and the dark forest surrounding them. A little magical too. Like mystic healing waters in a hidden cave. He could see a mermaid surfacing, taking him with her on a new quest.

Huh. Maybe that would be a nice plot point for the next campaign.

Steve is sitting on the steps that connect the terrace to the pool area of the backyard, his back turned to Eddie. He’s smoking, judging from the low glow of a cigarette in the dark. Eddie hasn’t seen Steve smoke since like…his first senior year.

His back looks tense and if he heard Eddie opening the door and stepping outside, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps staring into the distance, hardly moving, only lifting his hand to his lips and taking a shaky drag of the cigarette. He seems anxious and fidgety and it sort of breaks Eddie’s heart.

He sits down next to him. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him, just joins him there and stares into the distance too. Steve finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the floor next to him.

“You have really bad memories here.” Eddie states it more than he says it. “Upside Down unrelated.” He turns to look at him. “Right?”

Steve lifts his head a tiny fraction, his jaw tense. He looks over at Eddie. Breathes. Looks away again, breathes some more, eyes glued to the floor. Eddie can see tears forming in his eyes. He can also see Steve desperately trying to hide them, force them back.

It doesn’t work.

Then, giving up, Steve just nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

Eddie just watches him for a couple seconds, then redirects his gaze to the pool and shrugs. “I don’t think we should hang out here then.”

Steve immediately scoffs. “Try telling that to the kids.”

“Maybe you really should,” Eddie says after a pause. Steve’s expression turns a little confused.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “I tried. Were you not there?”

“No, I was,” Eddie confirms. “Which is how I know that you’re not really the best at standing up for yourself.”

Now Steve actually looks a little offended.

Eddie sighs. “Just…Look, I know you can’t say no to the little shrimps, but they love you. And if they knew how serious you are about not wanting to hang out here, I’m sure they’d stop pestering you about it.”

“What…what do you expect me to tell them, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs. “How bout the truth?”

Steve looks at him like he just suggested to paint the moon in a dark shade of pink. “The truth?” he repeats and scoffs again, a little disbelieving this time. “Sure,” he then says, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Sure. Next time, I’ll just tell them the truth. I’ll just tell them, in as much detail as possible, about how my father beat me black and blue in every single fucking room of this house and had me scrub my own blood from the banister after he shoved me a little too hard, so, excuse me, if don’t want to spend more time than absolutely necessary here." His voice breaks. "But I just haven’t saved up enough money to move out because, guess what? Having rich parents isn’t all that great when they don’t give a shit about you.”

He tried to make it a big sarcastic speech, but he’s crying by the end of it and Eddie just pulls him against his side, holding him tight. Steve sobs into his chest, curling his arms around Eddie’s back, holding onto him and Eddie’s heart breaks more for him. The boy in his arms is so, so broken, and he’s way too good at hiding it.

“Well, maybe not in those words,” he whispers into Steve’s hair and tries to blink his own tears away, that come at the thought of Steve, soft, sweet, loving and caring Steve, being hurt and hurt and hurt again, by his own parents. And nobody being there to stop it, unlike his mother and Wayne were for Eddie.

Steve clings to Eddie and Eddie just presses him closer, won’t let him go until Steve decides to pull away, softly stroking his back, trying his best to give him comfort.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Steve,” he whispers and when Steve actually detaches his head from Eddie’s chest, pulls away a little and looks at him, Eddie can’t help but gently cup his face in his right hand and wipe one of the remaining tears away.

“S’not your fault,” Steve whispers and Eddie softly shakes his head.

“No, I know,” he says. “But it’s not your fault either.”

Steve takes a deep breath, dodges Eddie’s eyes again.

“I really think you should try talking to them again,” he then tries. Steve immediately turns defensive. “Eddie-”

“No, I just- I mean this is important, you can’t-”

“Eddie, I can’t-”

“You can’t let them just-”

“Don’t make me-”

“You can’t rely on Robin to fend for you all the time, I-”

“Yes, I can, she would-”

“Steve!”

“No, Eddie, what?” Steve looks at him, desperate. “I can’t do it, what do you- what do you want from me?”

He looks so devastated. Eddie pulls him a little closer with the hand still on his cheek. He looks at him. Bites his lip. “I want you to be alright.”

That seems to shut Steve up.

“I care about you, Steve. I care so much.” His left hand slowly reaches for Steve’s hand, grabs it, squeezes it tentatively. “Maybe...even a little too much.”

It’s as far into a confession as he’s gonna go, but Steve understands. Eddie knows. His eyes open and honest.

They’re just staring at each other. Steve squeezes back.

God, they’re so close.

“Do you wanna know one of the reasons?” Steve asks, eyes glassy, voice exhausted. Why is he even prettier, when he cries? It’s unfair to the world but even more unfair to Steve. It shouldn’t look good to be in pain.

“Reasons?” Eddie frowns.

“Why my dad…” Steve shrugs. “Well…why he…did it.”

When Eddie catches onto the words, he softly shakes his head. “Those weren’t reasons, Steve”, he says, his left thumb gently wiping the last remaining tear off of Steve’s cheek. “Those were excuses.”

Steve leans even more into Eddie’s touch and closes his eyes. He sighs. “Either way.”

Eddie waits until Steve opens his eyes again, looking at him expectantly.

“Why?”

Steve smiles, but it’s still sad. Eddie can see him swallow.

“Because of this,” Steve whispers, his left hand curling around Eddie’s. “Because I like kissing boys.”

For whatever reason, Eddie isn’t surprised. Not that Steve ‘likes kissing boys’ at least. He is surprised, however, at how similar he phrased it. For a second Eddie’s thrown back, to more than five years ago, when he, with tears on his face and an ice pack pressed against his busted lip, confessed to Wayne that maybe the rumors about him weren’t that wrong after all. That it wasn’t true when they called him gay or a fag, not fully at least, because he liked girls, he kissed one just last week and he enjoyed it, he did, he swore.

“But I just sort of…like kissing boys too.”

“Ed, my boy,” Wayne told him back then and pulled him into an awkward but warm hug. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Steve,” Eddie breathes and takes Steve’s face in both of his hands to make him look at him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Steve’s eyes are still glazed and he’s still so pretty it hurts and he slowly bites down on his lip, which- unfair, if you ask Eddie. So unfair.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks and it seems almost as if he’s not asking about the kissing thing anymore. Well, yes, but in a different context. His gaze falls down onto Eddie’s lips and Eddie has to take a sharp breath.

“Oh, I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Eddie replies, his voice barely above a whisper and Steve’s lips pull into a hesitant, soft smile before he shifts a little closer.

“So you…you won’t mind, if I-”

He’s cut off by Eddie kissing him. Steve melts into it, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair and pull him closer, the other fisting the fabric of Eddie's shirt. Eddie kisses Steve deeper, softly hums into it and he can feel Steve letting himself go.

Steve feels safe with him, Eddie realizes.

It almost makes him wanna cry.

When they break apart, they just stare at each other for a second. Still close, Eddie’s hands still cupping Steve's face, Steve’s still in Eddie’s curls and shirt.

“This,” Steve says, a little breathless, which- what? Eddie caused that? “This is certainly a good memory."

[therainscene]

There’s a genre of anti-Byler argument that I like to call But It Was The 80s.

I’m sure you’re familiar with it: Will getting his heart broken would be good rep actually, because that’s just what it was like in the 80s; Mike being queer too would be unrealistic, because there weren’t that many gay people back then; and did queers ever really experience joy prior to 2015 anyway?

...But I think it’s worth taking a look at what the show is trying to tell us about being queer in the 80s. Stories, especially ones with fantastical elements such as monsters and superpowers, aren’t obligated to be perfectly realistic so long as they resonate with our experiences.

So how does Stranger Things resonate with queerness?

Every season so far has given us an iconic moment in which a character tries to stand up to a monster and is horribly punished for it:

In S1, Will loads a gun and faces the Demogorgon in self-defense... but he can’t fight it and gets dragged into the Upside Down.

In S2, Will takes Bob’s advice to tell the Mind Flayer to go away... but it gives zero fucks and consumes him anyway.

In S3, a small act of compassion from El inspires Billy to betray the Mind Flayer... but he’s immediately killed for trying.

In S4, Eddie decides that he’s done with running, so he distracts the bats to buy his friends more time... and succeeds! But at the cost of his own life. A waste, given that his friends’ plan to kill Vecna didn’t even work.

The show even brings this (lack of) progression full circle by paralleling Will and Eddie’s disappearances:

If we read the monsters as metaphors for the overwhelming force of bigotry and conformity in the 80s, it seems as though the show is telling us that there’s no point in trying to fight back, because it will crush you back down every time.

Indeed, we see a more literal but subtle version of this message play out in S3′s rain fight -- Will tries to call Mike out on losing himself to comphet, but Mike defensively lashes out at him, (unintentionally) reminding Will that he doesn’t have the right to question heteronormativity. Devastated that not even his plan to be Best Friends Forever with Mike was an acceptable compromise, Will takes that reminder to heart.

This definitely resonates with what it felt like to be a queer adolescent in the 80s... (and 90s... and 00s...) but it’s an awfully bleak message. Is that really the story Stranger Things is trying to tell?

The rain fight is the lowest moment in Will’s arc -- it’s only uphill for him from here.

In S4, he repairs his friendship with Mike and accepts that this is the best he can hope for, which is exactly the sort of bittersweet note a bleak story about the reality of being gay in the 80s might end on... if Will didn’t have a whole season’s worth of uphill journey left to do.

Let’s take another look at those iconic monster-facing moments. Was there really a lack of progression there, or were they, too, building up to something?

In S1, Jonathan and Joyce aren’t home and the phone isn’t working, forcing Will to face the Demogorgon by himself.

In S2, Will is emboldened by advice from an ally... but that ally, though well-meaning, has no idea what he’s talking about, and isn’t there by Will’s side when the time comes to actually face the monster.

In S3, El’s act of compassion is too little too late, and Billy doesn’t have time to fix his mistakes and team up with the party.

In S4, Eddie ignores Dustin’s demands to regroup with him, and faces the bats alone. The rest of the party are working as a team to fight Vecna... but interestingly, Will isn’t there to help them form a plan.

The problem isn’t that the monster is undefeatable -- it just can’t be defeated by any one person, nor can it be defeated without the guidance of its victims who understand it better than anyone else.

Yes, in S4 they have Max, who provides some helpful insight, but this is her first time dealing with Vecna -- she doesn’t have the level of experience that Will does. Compare to S1, when Joyce reaches out to Will through the lights for advice on how to rescue him -- he provides a little insight, but ultimately, Joyce doesn’t get the information she needs until she teams up with someone with lived experience.

This principle isn’t unique to queerness, of course, but it certainly resonates strongly with queerness.

The 80s may have been a godawful time to be gay, but it’s hardly as though gay pride didn’t exist. The progress that we’ve made since then was only possible because the LGBTQ+ community banded together and fought for their rights -- in the 80s.

And that’s the deeply homophobic core of But It Was The 80s as an argument: that queers shouldn’t remember the work done by our elders or be inspired to do the same, but instead swallow the lie that cishet society benevolently decided on its own to stop being homophobic. That we should be thankful for what scraps they’ve granted us, and wait patiently in the closet for them to grant us more.

Where Will finds himself at the end of S4 -- grateful that at least he’s loved platonically and too beaten down to ask for more -- is precisely where the heteronormative audience expects him to be. His queer arc has satisfactorily resolved itself, as far as they’re concerned, so in S5 he might as well die or become a villain or whatever.

Or, more charitably, he can unlock his powers and be the hero, but only on the condition that it’s strictly a metaphor for coping with trauma and he doesn’t get all gay about it.

But he is absolutely going to get all gay about it.

Will’s story, much like Stranger Things as a whole, isn’t about accepting the bleakness of being an outcast in the 80s -- it’s about staring that bleakness in the face and saying: “Unacceptable. I deserve to be happy on my own terms.”

[puppy-steve]

the seventh son

ik i said 'modern take' in the wip post but that's not what ended up happening, so have a very vague timeline. this was written mostly around midnight and it's unbeta'd so there's bound to be mistakes and incoherence.

Eddie Munson is no stranger to people knocking on his door at all hours, for all sorts of things. During the day it's neighbors needing Wayne's help with a busted pipe under the sink, or a ride into town, or a pack of Camels and a six pack traded for gas money. He and Wayne don't ask for anything in return on these occasions; the trailer park is a community on the outskirts of Hawkins' elite and they take care of their own here, no payment or judgment.

But during the night, when Wayne's long gone and already at work, people come knocking looking for a quick fix with shaky hands and nervous glances over their shoulders. Eddie’ll run them through his (Rick’s) prices, give them a little discount if needed and cover the lost earnings out of his own pocket. He keeps a pocket knife on him in close reach when they’re real shifty and skittish – knock on wood, but he hasn’t had a deal go bad yet.

That changes when Chrissy Cunningham dies in his living room and throws him into the deep end of the Upside Down. No knife can protect him from the monsters he thought only existed in his campaigns. The town turns against him (not like they were on his side in the first place) and brands him a murderer, sends a manhunt after him. When it’s all said and done, hardly anybody wants to buy from him and he loses half his income. He spends most of his free time nowadays cleaning spray paint off the side of the trailer.

All this to say, need for a helping hand and a good high weren’t the only things people came to the Munson’s for.

There’s always been whispers of Satan worshiping, all because he plays D&D and listens to metal music and preaches about the evils of a capitalistic society.

Only a few knew of how close those rumors were to the truth, just a bit skewed to the left.

Eddie Munson is the seventh son of a seventh son. A healing man, as his mamaw would say. He’s never laid eyes on his daddy so that makes him able to do things no other member of his family can.

Now he and Wayne never openly advertised it when they moved to Hawkins when Eddie was eleven. They knew these people weren’t as open-minded as the folks back home were, with their holier than thou attitudes towards the more "primitive" practices of the mountain regions.

Wayne wasn’t normally one to speak ill about people but when he told Eddie, with a not unkind voice, “These are the type of people that get huffy when they think y’ain’t usin’ the book the way the good Lord intended.” Eddie remembers nodding along in the truck’s passenger seat, even though he didn’t really have a firm grasp on what his role in this was just yet. Wayne continued, “but one day these folks are gonna need someone and their medicine won’t be able to help ‘em.”

Eddie understands now. It’s been ten years and he’s seen all kinds of people for just about everything under the sun, from the common cold to warts to colic. He isn’t a man of faith by any means; doesn’t really believe in God in the way most Christians do – he just knows that the religion goes hand in hand with the mountain magic he was taught and it feels like he’s breaking an unspoken rule when he tries to leave it out.

It’s been ten years since people started seeking him out, mostly under the cover of night where prying eyes can’t see, but business has been kind of slow because of the whole murder allegation fiasco, even though his name was cleared and the blame was shifted to a copycat killer.

So he isn’t expecting someone to be pounding on his front door at two in the morning.

The explicative he has on the tip of his tongue dies when he opens the door to a woman carrying a toddler bundled in blankets.

“Please,” the woman says. “She’s sick and I heard you could help.”

Eddie looks at them and weighs his options. He could turn them away and the kid potentially gets worse with whatever she has and the guilt would eat away at him. Or he could be a decent fucking person and help. He opens the door further and ushers them inside.

The kid is awake, he notes, turning on the overhead light in the kitchen. She just looks like shit. Probably feels like it, too. The corners and edges of her mouth are tinged red, a dead giveaway for thrush.

“How’d you hear of me?” He takes the kid from her mother and tilts her head back toward the light. “Can you open your mouth for me, kid?” She does and the back of her throat looks like she went to town on a whole tub of cottage cheese. He winces in sympathy and hands her back to her mother.

“When I went to the pharmacy to pick up Katy’s medicine, I couldn’t afford it out of pocket. So I started asking around and a woman told me of a boy that cured her own son a couple years ago.”

There’s been so many people, Eddie has no clue who she’s talking about.

The woman tells him her name, Michelle, and he motions for her to lay Katy on the couch. He’s getting a rag from the bathroom when his bedroom door opens.

“Wa’s goin’ on, Eds?” Steve asks, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes. “Why’re all the lights on?”

If it were another time, Eddie would coo and pull him close, tuck his face into his shoulder and rock him back and forth until he was asleep on his feet. Instead, he tries to guide him back into the bedroom with a gentle hand on his hip.

“Nothin’, baby,” he says quietly. “Go back to bed, I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished, alright?”

Steve looks like he’s about to agree until a nasty sounding cough from the living room has him perking up.

“Is there someone else here?” he frowns, eyes darting from the end of the hall back to Eddie. He pushes past him before Eddie can even get a word out. Eddie sighs and follows him, detouring into the kitchen to run the rag under cold water and grab a bowl.

“Steve, this is Michelle and Katy,” he introduces as he carefully moves Katy’s head onto a pillow. “Katy’s sick and her mom brought her to me.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You? What can you do?”

Michelle looks alarmed at this but Eddie is quick to reassure her, “You have no reason to worry. Steve here’s just never seen me in action before. Has Katy eaten anything at all?”

Warily, Michelle shakes her head. “Just liquids. She hasn’t been able to swallow anything.”

Eddie nods but gives a warm smile to Katy and feels her forehead for a fever. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” She nods, looking absolutely miserable. “Don’t worry, kid, by tomorrow you’re gonna be feeling right as rain.”

Addressing her mother, “I’m gonna do some things that might look a little weird to you, but I promise I know what I’m doing. You were told to come to me for good reason.”

He starts wiping Katy down with the wet rag and mutters the Lord’s prayer under his breath, does this three times until the rag is warm, and then wrings the water out into the bowl. Next, he holds Katy’s mouth open and blows air into it. Steve and Michelle give him odd looks but he ignores them in favor of getting a lid for the bowl and throwing the rag into the ice box. He and Steve walk her out and Eddie hands her the bowl after Katy is in the car.

“Keep this under her bed and make sure she stays there until the fever breaks. As for the thrush, it should be cleared up by morning.”

Michelle’s brow furrows. “How? You didn’t do anything, how can she be cured?”

“I’m confident enough in my abilities to know she’ll be alright.”

Michelle leaves with a healthy dose of skepticism, as Eddie thinks all people should, but he knows that not all people believe he’s the real thing until they witness it for themselves.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?” Steve asks after they’re back inside the trailer, door locked and lights off as they crawl into bed. Eddie just yawns and does what he wanted to do earlier: pulls him close and tucks Steve’s head under his chin and runs his fingers up and down his back.

“It’s a long ass story that can wait until the sun is up and I’ve had at least three cups of coffee and seven hours of sleep. This shit is exhausting.”

it is said that the seventh son has healing powers that can cure thrush, talk the fire out of a burn, and stop bleeding. for thrush, he blows into the patient's mouth (in some instances, they'll spit into the mouths, as it's believed their saliva holds the healing properties.to cure fever, you gotta stave it out. don't eat anything once the fever comes on. wipe yourself down with an ice cold wash rag and recite the lord's prayer three times. when the rag is warm, wring the water out into a bowl and put the rag in the freezer. keep the water under the bed or couch and lay on it until the fever breaks.

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 17: Corrosion

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE 5 MONTHS!!! Tbh this was probably the hardest chapter I've had to write thus far and it was just not working with me. But honestly combined with the new Warwick trailer, and the amount of people flooding into my account and mass-reading my stuff lately??? Thank you so much for the motivation y'all, it really means a lot <3

So without further ago, have this 3k word chapter!

Masterlist

It had taken nearly an hour just to settle the crowds once the officers had left. An entire mob of people, suddenly panicked and in need of a level head to tell them what to do and how to feel. So, by the time Benzo was actually able to walk into the backroom of the arena, the anger that coursed through his veins had (somewhat) been able to cool down, no longer quite boiling over. Now replaced by anxiety that fought with his typically cool-headed mind that was trying to remind him to be rational. The pain in his side wasn’t helping none, of course. His lungs were already shite, but that Enforcer slamming the butt of his gun into his ribs hurt like a bitch… He took a deep, calming breath, ignoring the burning protest of his lungs.

Emotions are never good for business.

“They’ve gone too far this time.” Silco spat, slamming the door as he entered the room behind Benzo. “I mean, storming in here like they own the place, waving their guns around? That’s a new low, even for them.”

“And Min?” Benzo asked, sliding a hand through his thin brown hair, urging his breathing to remain even. Silco nodded, waving his hand as if she were an additional afterthought. Benzo thought about Min getting arrested, the way they threw her to the ground like she was nothing, and suddenly he felt the need to slap Silco upside the head. Bigger fish, he reminded himself. “They’ve never made this much of a show for an arrest before. Grayson knows we’re important down here, and now she’s aiming to take us out of commission.”

“Min’s been arrested just as many times as the rest of us.” Silco argued. “She's strong, she can handle it. Standard protocol; get some bail money together, we run down to the station at first light-” “Are you seriously that petty?” Benzo stepped forward, facing Silco face-on. His tone was careful but carried a weight to it. “This was a godsdamn army, for what? Arresting one lass? This goes beyond your  fucking ‘protocol’!” 

Silco stepped up, meeting Benzo eye-to-eye. Benzo could see the anger in his eyes, flames of passion, he knew the look well amongst his fellow Zaunite revolutionaries. He only wished that he could believe that any of those flames burned for their missing sister-in-arms, but that would be expecting him to put his own anger aside for the good of the cause, for the good of others. And Benzo knew that wasn’t about to happen. 

Taking a deep, attempting-to-be-calming breath, Benzo disengages from Silco’s fury, centring back his focus to address both of them. Noting Vander was still silent, glaring the same hole into the ground.

For fuck’s sake, he thought to himself. 

“You two are the fucking leaders here, aye?” Benzo barked. “So where’s yer fucking plan of attack? What do we do? We’re gonna break her out, right?”

Silco’s the one to speak up, of course, shaking his head aggressively. “Are you kidding me? If we’re caught anywhere near top-side, we’re landing ourselves in a cell right next to her. We’re too conspicuous, too high-profile, and Grayson obviously has her eye on us.” Benzo made a move to fight against Silco, but Vander finally chooses to speak up.

“He’s right. We go running in after her, even all the cogs in the world won’t be able to pay her way out. Odds are, we get clinked too. Then what good are we?”

“Oh give your head a shake!” Benzo exclaims. “We could fucking try!”

Vander’s jaw tenses. “This isn’t a ‘run in half-cocked’ sort of deal.”  Bento scoffs, eyes practically rolling out of his head.

“So…what? We can do…nothing, then? Is that right?”

Vander takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if he’s focussing on his breath. “Nope. But I think I know who can.”

***

It’s rather unfortunate that, out of all the things you could have inherited from your mother, the recurring habit of getting arrested was one of the more notable.

Also unfortunate that cops are capable of learning.

“Minerva!” Grayson’s voice, practically spitting out your name, had caught you off guard. Your eyes glazed over, looking off to the side. From your spot, seated on the ground with your captured hands sticking out awkwardly in front of you, most of her face hidden by shadows. All the light filtered in through the barred window on the door to your cell, a torch light. The cell was completely lightless, almost a pit of darkness. Dank, dark, and too quiet to be peaceful. But what you could make out from her appearance, you could see wrinkles formed between her eyebrows and a deep sneer. 

“Sorry Commander, I must have dozed off there for a moment.” You finally responded. “Welcome to my humble abode! I’d offer you a drink, but I’m a little…tied up, at the moment.” You lifted your hands, ignoring the cramped feelings in your muscles and joints. The thick metal that encased your hands wore you down, like holding a weight you had no consent in holding, and no ability to put down. 

She didn’t respond to your jest, simply continuing to stare down at you, face like stone but the underlying disgust ever-present. Tough crowd.

“The counsel has been sent the details of your case and are currently discussing further actions.” She explains. “But it’s customary that someone speak with you directly before any major decisions are made.”

“Gonna be a short conversation,” you note, “y’know, on account of the fact that I’ve done nothing wrong. But I suppose everytime something bad happens, us ‘fissure folk’ are to blame, huh?”

She moves on, as if she doesn’t even hear you. “Your nose looks like it hurts.” She notes. Her shoulders are less square than you’ve seen them before, she’s more comfortable here than when you’ve seen her in the Underground. Although you’ve seen her without her helmet before, notably at the apartment when she first introduced herself, seeing her whole face here felt…oddly personal. 

You twitch your nose, feeling the dull pain spike between your eyes. “Pretty, ain’t it?”

“Wanna tell me about the girl who did it? Looked to be a girl by the name of…” she looks down at a file you hadn’t realized she was holding. “Sevika, right?”

Your eyes glance down at the file. Just how many names did they have? “I don’t know, it’s all a little…fuzzy to me. Pretty sure it could have been one of your guys, you know, when they forced me onto the ground and locked up my hands without probable cause.” 

She looks back down at you, eyes cold and unamused. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Do what?” She closes the file and reaches into her pocket. Pulling something out, she shows it off to you with an extended arm. 

“Look familiar?” It’s hard to make out what she’s showing you at first, but slowly you work out the details. A piece of fabric, red cotton. It was wrinkled and stained beyond saving, but there was a darker, fresher stain around most of it that hadn’t been there last you had it. Of course it was familiar, you’d been wearing it-or ones like it-most of your time in the lanes. The bandana that used to be a staple of your wardrobe, now bloody and in the hands of the Chief of Enforcers. 

Your mind flashes to the job just a couple weeks ago, when you’d left the fabric tied around the thigh of that Enforcer you’d attacked. You can feel your heartbeat raise ever so slightly. There’s no way they could have actually linked you to the crime with just your bandana.

“Nope.”

“Really? Cause in all of your mugshots, you’re wearing one just like it in your hair.” She pockets the fabric again. “I notice you’re not wearing one now. Lose it recently?”

You shrug, tilting your head back. “Is changing hairstyles a crime now? I’ll have to let my salon know.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts from three nights ago?”

“You’ll have to ask your mother, I believe I was at her house.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a long, deep sigh. “Minerva,” her tone is calm, but irritable. Like she was scolding a small child. 

You mimic her, rolling your eyes as well, but significantly more dramatic. “Grayson.”

“I am aware that you and your…compatriots may be used to certain lax standards. But I can assure you that physically assaulting one of my officers is not something I intend to easily brush under the rug.” Your hands attempt to fidget within their constraints, your bones buzzing with the need to move them. “I know the man you hurt, he's a good officer. He has a family, a wife and child. Are you really going to allow your anger to blind you so much that you’re willing to take away a child’s father?”

You lean forward, the chains rattling with your movements. “Several of the people your officers pointed a gun at tonight have families too. Those ‘good officers’ you have, they attack and aim firearms at women and children on a daily basis.” Gone was your mocking tone, your light-hearted facade. “You attack our people in our streets, in our businesses, in our homes. But hey, it’s different right? We’re all just fissure-folk trash to you.”

“And that justifies you nearly killing one of my men?” 

You kill hundreds of ours.

Your jaw tightens, biting your tongue. She’s not going to goat you into a confession that easily.

“I didn’t touch ‘your man’.” You finally respond, sitting back against the wall. “And if all you brought me in for was some half-baked story built around a piece of red cloth…well, it’s good to see you’re just as incompetent as your predecessor.”

The room falls silent, both of you glaring daggers at each other. You swear the room grows colder, the cold stone walls looming over you more and more with every passing, silent moment. You tried so hard to focus on the woman in front of you. Maybe if you were more aware, better able to scan her and read her body language, you could find something on her. Find something that you could use against her. But all you could focus on was your bones burning with the urge to use your powers, fanned on by the anger that’s coursing through you. You needed to get out of these damn constraints!

The door to your cell opened again, and another officer poked his head in. This one was much younger, and clearly very nervous. Twitchy eyes looked over from you, to his superior, just as Grayson’s head snapped back to glare at him.

“I gave orders that we weren’t to be disturbed.” Grayson snarled, and you could see the officer practically jump out of his skin in fear.

“Um…I’m sorry Ma’am. But uhh, you see…there’s someone demanding your presence outside.”

“What?” She dug into her pocket, fishing out a silver pocket watch. “It’s not even dawn yet. The doors to the station don’t open for another hour.” 

“There were, um,” his eyes dart over to yours, and the obvious anxiety in his gaze makes you smirk. “Very insistent.”

They? God, please tell me the guys didn’t decide to come…

Grayson lets out a long, heavy sigh of frustration. Stuffing the pocket watch angrily back into her jacket and snapping her folder shut, she begins to storm off out of the room. Just as she grabs onto the heavy metal door, however, her head whips back to stare directly at you. Her eyes, furious.

“We’re not done here, you understand.” It wasn’t a question. 

Lifting your shackled hands to your forehead, you give a mocking-serious face and a curt nod. “Aye aye, cap’n.” 

The door slams behind her, and immediately your mind begins to spiral. The guys can’t have come here, they wouldn’t. Sure, it was basic protocol that all of them would immediately jump to bust the others out of prison whenever one of you got pinched, but this wasn’t your typical riot-crashing or pickpocketing charge. Closing your eyes, you try not to linger on the blurry images of the raid. The white hot shock of fear upon seeing a gun pointed at Narco, Skye, and little baby Vi. The way the frequency of the Enforcer’s guns seemed to scream at you in such large quantities. The fear, all but palpable within the arena as people either were pulled into the fight or ran for their lives. The thought of Benzo being clubbed down, Silco with a knife against his throat and hands raised in surrender, the rage in Vander’s face as they placed you in cuffs. 

This wasn’t like any other run-in with the cops that you’d experienced. This was a whole other level, and you knew that if the guys tried to fight you out or pay anyone off; they’d wind up in cells just like yours. 

You tried not to let your mind linger on that image for too long, either. 

Your throat started to burn with the tears you wouldn’t let yourself shed, your thoughts spinning in and out of control, and you pulled your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. Trying ever so hard to calm your breathing. Please let it not be them out there…

Loud shouting filtered in through the cracks below your cell’s door. You couldn’t make it out, even if you tried, or even how many voices there were, but you could tell it was definitely heated. Were those the guys, fighting tooth-and-nail for your release, only to get shackles placed on them as well? Forced to the ground, kicking and screaming, and arrested in front of a huge crowd with your rage-filled family, forced to watch?

You could only anxiously listen in, your ears straining to hear the muffled sounds as you sat, uselessly, in your stupid little cell. This continues on for what felt like an eternity, but most likely what would have been only half an hour. Until, finally, the door to your cell swings open. On the other side, a very pissed-off Grayson. The flames of her rage practically emanated across the room, getting warmer and warmer as she stormed over to you, keys in hand.

“You got lucky again, Minerva.” She grunts out as she leans down, grabbing your shackles with probably more force than necessary. As she begins to unlock your restraints, your hands slowly begin to regain movement ability, you can feel the energy of your magic slowly flood back into your fingertips. The vibrations of all the metal around you, singing to you like a beautiful orchestra. You could only shut your eyes, the flood of emotions that came with your powers almost overwhelming to your already anxious body. You didn’t even realize that Grayson was still speaking. “-won’t be the last time you’ll be in one of my cells, I can promise you that.”

“What’s going on?” You couldn’t help but ask. You know you sounded pathetic, but this was honestly not how you pictured this going down.

Grayson laughed, but it sounded more like a scoff. “All you Underground folk, all you do is play dirty. Lying and cheating, it comes to you like breathing.”

That didn’t answer your question, but as Grayson slapped a normal pair of handcuffs on you, using them to force you up to your feet, you felt it was better not to ask followup questions. She dragged you by your arm out of your cell and into the all-too familiar main chamber of the Enforcer’s main station. On the other end, however, much to your surprised wasn’t the boys. Rather, two female figures. 

“Minerva!” Not even your mother’s cry was enough to shake you fully out of your shock as she surged forward, throwing her arms around you in a tight embrace. Out of habit, you tried to return your embrace, only to quickly remember your shackles. 

“Mom, what are you doing here?” You asked, quickly pulling away to look down at her with furrowed brows. “You shouldn’t-”

“The boys phoned me!” Her salt-and-pepper hair wasn’t in its usual braid, still down in flowing waves, showing that she had come straight here from bed. Her thick winter coat had been thrown on overtop of her wool nightgown, and her boots were unlaced. 

“They phoned both of us.” The second figure spoke up, Niya’s tone was stern, moreso than you think you’d ever heard from her. Her citrus-coloured hair was messier than how it had been at the arena, and there was a new cut along her lip that she must have gotten during the raid. She looked tired, but more than that, she looked mad. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” You looked back down at your mom. “But, why-”

“Your mother and Ms. Niya have negotiated for your release.” Grayson’s words were heavy, and she wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding her snarling face. With begrudging movements, she reached down, unlocking your handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”

Before you really even have a moment to wrap your head around what’s happening, your mother is pulling you away from the captain, all but dragging you towards the door. “Come on,” she whispers to you, “we need to get out of here.” But your eyes are still stuck on Grayson’s, the rage flowing off of her body in waves. 

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon, Minerva.” She spits.

With all the confusion swimming around in your mind, you try to think of something to say; one last quip to gain the extra hand. You’ve held your ground for so long here, and yet, the only thing you can really think to say is, “looking forward to it.”

[captainfantasticalright]

Hello!

How are you? Hope you're well ☺️ sorry for being a nuisance but......

I have a really random costume question and thought of you! You always produce the most wonderful, detailed analysis of set pieces and costumes amongst other things 💖 so I thought you may have some thoughts or insight please?

So basically - in Dead Boy Detectives, the Night Nurses' hero colour is an orangey golden burnished brown. For the entire season she wears various shades in that colour, until the scene at the end of ep 8 with the Principal. NN can be seen talking to Edwin where he asks how to address her. At this point her jacket is a much darker colour than we've previously seen her wear - possibly navy or black?

Given that with other characters, colour changes to their outfits can have significant meaning - do you think that's the case here too? I mean, she's taking on an entirely new job role, a departure from the familiar.....

I don't know, maybe it was that colour all along but it just looks darker in the final scene 🤔

Sorry if it's not ok to ask 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Oh hi! You’re not a nuisance at all, don’t even say that.

I am doing well! Quite busy at the moment, but well! Thank you for asking. And thank you for this beautiful message! Wow, that really made me smile so much. Truly appreciate it. 🥹

Definitely think that the color change is meaningful! According to this very insightful interview from Tudum:

It’s not only Esther who wears clothes with a gilt, old-gold color �� Cat King and Night Nurse also do as a nod to their villainy.

So her color tones are always within those very earthy, orangey color palettes. With a sprinkle of gold or just in general mixed in with the orangey to add to her “villainy”.

Kelli Dunsmore also: wove the story into the fabric of the clothes, because there are things that she foreshadowed in the clothing that happened episodes later. Or, if characters start to get in some sort of relationship with each other, that will be reflected in the clothes that they wear or the colors that they have. Or, if they're feeling any type of emotion, the same way we dress differently, the characters are dressed differently..[..]

So going from that and the indication of some type of villainy, although she isn’t truly a villain here, but more in the position of an anti-hero (literally Night Nurse was just fulfilling her duties), the change to a suit (which to me looks grey to be quite honest, my eyesight might be not the best to trust here) either tells me that because she thought she had wrapped things up, she changed from her usual colors into something more “neutral” or because she went through so much, especially with Kashi, she might have adapted some of his colors from the turmoil into her attire.

Even Edwin’s connection to her might be somewhat reflected in the dark color tones she wears (similarly to Edwin’s darker color palette). Which as we see by the end, her whole world has been turned upside down by having to join the agency, so definitely her clothes are poignant, but as to to journey they are predicting, jolly, possibilities are endless.

But also important to note that the color change does not only happen by the last episode, but she is also wearing a darker suit when she is in the Lost and Found department running errands and stops to talk with the Devlin girls. Maybe grey is to assume a mask of “right now I am not being as evil as I present myself to be other times”.

I don’t know if this helped, but I agree with you saying a departure from the familiar. Most definitely.

Also her suits were heavily inspired on Vivienne Westwood’s patterns! Super “over the top”.

[zerolostwalks]

OMG ALL THOSE PROMPTS ARE SO GOOD (and I finally caught one of your lists before it's six days old lol). Laying on the floor so hard you wish they’d invent lying down 2 is an Alex Mood to me.

Maybe the chairs on the ceiling were less of a stylistic choice and more of a storage thing. After all that one was hung fairly low and if Alex knocked it, it would swing. Threatening to fall right on top of him.

He didn’t really like the thought of that. But it always occurred to him every time he caught even the slightest glimpse of the polished wood hanging from the ceiling. 

Perhaps he has a death wish since Alex was now laying on the studio floor below them. The steepled ceiling, fairy lights, and new potted plants hanging closer to the ceiling added a surreal level he wasn't really expecting.

Is this what Alice in Wonderland felt like falling down that hole? All disoriented and floaty? 

Which, honestly, he really shouldn’t be feeling all floaty like this. Not with how itchy this particular patch of carpet is. Another train of thought he would really rather not venture down, but is unstoppable now. 

Why was it itchy? He knows it gets regularly cleaned out here. It’s on the rotating cleaning roster. Though considering the last three individuals who were in charge of it were Reggie, Luke, and Carlos and Alex isn’t sure if any of them would have even considered the rugs. 

“Comfy?” Flynn’s voice came out of nowhere, quickly followed by her face leaning over his. Upside down. Her braids reach out towards him. That does not help him stop feeling like Alice. 

“Not really.” Alex says simply. Focus split between talking to her, keeping his breathing steady, and not spiraling into one of the many chasms his brain felt the need to create for no damn reason. 

Flynn hums noncommittally before disappearing from his view. Though she doesn’t go far, he can hear her settling on the floor next to him. “There are better places to lay down.”

“I am aware.”

“Do you like feeling uncomfortable?”

He can’t help the huff from his throat. He doesn’t like it, no. He can’t ever seem to escape it, just has to settle for which discomfort was more acceptable and today that means, “It’s quieter here.”

“Wow.” Flynn says through a disbelieving laugh. “What kind of chaos are they up to if the studio is the quiet option?”

Alex shrugs though he’s not sure if she can see it. “Don’t know about now but when I left, Carlos was unsuccessfully showing Luke something called Guitar Hero, and Reggie had been ranting for nearly an hour about how the Star Wars on the Disney app thing was completely wrong.”

Flynn quietly giggles, “Where was Julie in all this?”

An uneasy heaviness twists in Alex’s chest with the question. Or rather with the answer he gives, “She and Ray went to the Wilson’s.”

“Ah,” Flynn thankfully leaves the topic there. “This is the weirdest ceiling to lay under.”

“Right? Like, do you know why they hung the chairs on the ceiling?” 

“Not really,” Flynn says but doesn’t really sound sure herself. “But is it weird that I want to see if there are weirder ceilings out there?”

It’s the first train of thought in a while Alex feels sort of willing to wander down. “How would we do that?”

“Dear sweet Alex,” The statement and her haughty tone both make him slightly regret his decision. “That is what Google is for.” 

“Okay, please never call me that again.”

“Happily.”

He finally sat up and could finally see Flynn laying down on the floor. Her head next to where his was but feet pointing in the opposite direction. 

She smiles up at him, “Want to go see what we can find?”

“Yeah, all right.” He says with another shrug, following her to the couch. Tries to keep the thought splintering in check as he watches her use her phone in ways he’d only ever seen in sci-fi until a few months ago.

Admittedly, there are definitely some bizarre ceilings out in the world. But the Molina’s seem to be the only ones they can find so far who have chosen to mount chairs to theirs.

[veronicaleighauthor]

In Defense of Fanny Price

“I was quiet, but I was not blind.”

Back in April, I wrote a post called “Which Austen Heroine Am I?” and I explored which of Austen’s heroines I was most like. I always viewed myself as an Elinor Dashwood from “Sense and Sensibility.” I did one of those Myer-Brigg’s tests and came out as an INFJ-T and according to a friend’s blog, my closest Austen match was Fanny Price, who was an INFP. I was surprised and in a little bit of denial. Fanny Price is generally everyone’s least favorite Austen heroine. She’s not a bad character, or badly written, nor is there anything really objectionable about her. In comparison to Austen’s other livelier heroines, she is meek, she cries a lot, she’s really religious, and she loves a pedantic, unlikable doofus, who throughout most of the book is chasing after someone else. Often in adaptations, her personality and motives are completely altered to make her more interesting to modern audiences. Many, including myself for the longest time, couldn’t understand why Fanny refused accept the charming Henry Crawford’s marriage proposals.

 I recently re-read “Mansfield Park” and paid close attention to Fanny. Her disposition, her beliefs, her entire history. Oh my, oh my, oh my. It was like meeting a 19th century version of my teenage self…well, except for her history. My history is completely different; I had a very normal, loving, and supportive family, but you understand what I mean. Like Fanny I was shy/meek, I cried A LOT, and I was really religious. Thankfully I never fell in love with someone who chased after another. I’m not sure how I could have missed it, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m a Fanny Price and upon closer inspection, I believe she is one of Austen’s strongest and bravest heroines. She may be meek, but she is not weak.

 Early on in the novel, Fanny is taken from her impoverished family – who don’t seem to care that she leaves – and brought to live with her aunt and uncle Bertram, and her cousins at the grand estate of Mansfield Park. Though she is brought up alongside her cousins, she is continually reminded by everyone that she is not on their level, and that she is lucky to be there, and to never forget her place. From Austen’s descriptions and Fanny’s words and demeanor, we can see she is beaten down by life and her relatives, others fight her battles for her, and from her nervousness, it’s debated if she has an anxiety disorder – another thing I have in common with her. At least, from 21st standards, it appears she might. In other scenes, her health doesn’t seem strong. She is not a walker; her only form of exercise is horse riding; the heat overwhelms her; physically she is limited. She becomes a companion of sorts to Lady Bertram, and though her aunt cannot do without Fanny’s devotion, love is not exactly extended. Fanny has her own place of refuge in the attic, away from the rest of her family, where she can read, reflect, and pray.

Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram are not bad people, but they are not great parents. They give their children everything they need except for sound moral instruction. Only the younger son Edmund finds the right path, chooses to become a clergyman when he is older, and he is the only one to show Fanny true kindness and friendship throughout the whole of the book. Fanny falls in love with Edmund…who in turn falls in love with the fashionable, witty, and morally bankrupt Mary Crawford. Mary and her brother Henry come to live in the neighborhood and everyone likes, respects, and adores them. Except for Fanny. Quiet, meek, submissive Fanny isn’t fooled by their niceties or their behavior. She knows they’re bad news and while Sir Thomas Bertram is away in Antigua, the Crawford siblings turn Mansfield Park upside down with their enthusiasm for participating in a questionable play. Henry Crawford shockingly flirts with the Bertram ladies, including the newly engaged Maria Bertram.

 Everything is set to rights when Sir Thomas Bertram returns to Mansfield Park. Maria is married off to a wealthy but foolish man…and Henry sets his sights on Fanny. Originally, he plans to make a small hole in Fanny Price’s heart, but soon believes himself in love with her. Despite her rejections, he is determined to marry her, going as far as to enlist his sister, Edmund, and Sir Thomas Bertram’s assistance. Mary Crawford hopes that Fanny will “fix” Henry; reform him; be his moral center. The Bertram’s believe marriage to Henry will be a step up socially for Fanny. Henry helped her brother William; he could help her other siblings and parents, taking the burden off of the Bertram’s. Henry’s former bad boy behavior /flirtation with Maria is forgotten – he is that well-liked. And you know what, as a reader, it can be easy to be taken in by Henry Crawford. There is a part of me that hopes he will turn his life around and become a better man, and be worthy of Fanny. It is believed that Jane Austen’s sister Cassandra wanted this too, that she wanted Fanny to end up with Henry and reform him. But Jane Austen was adamant and way more astute than I am at times. I’m sure she encountered her share of Henry Crawfords in life, enough so to accurately portray such a charming man on the page.

As I mentioned above, Fanny is criticized for not only refusing Henry Crawford. Henry is likeable, charming, thoughtful, and wealthy. He notices Fanny’s self-worth when others overlook it, he helps promote her brother William advance in the navy, he claims he is willing to change for her and become a better man. How could she not like or love, or be willing to marry him after all he did for her? Fanny tells her uncle, “I—I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him.” This line struck a chord with me. I’ve lost count the number of times people have tried to set me and I’ve refused. Why? He’s nice, he's good looking, he’s kind, he’s a Christian…Why won’t you go out with him? Like Fanny, people think because I’m nice, polite, and a Christian means I should be willing and perhaps grateful to go out with So-and-So. It’s harder when So-and-So has perhaps done something nice for you. Just because Henry Crawford (So-and-So) did something nice for Fanny (me) or treated her with kindness, doesn’t mean she (I) owe him marriage (a date). Obviously, I’m projecting my own struggles onto this 19th century heroine/situation, but I get it. Fanny doesn’t like Henry, she doesn’t trust him, she doesn’t love him, she doesn’t want to marry him, she doesn’t owe him herself no matter how charming or kind he is. She shouldn’t be condemned for telling a man “no.” If we applaud Elizabeth Bennet of “Pride and Prejudice” for telling Mr. Collins – a man she doesn’t like, respect, or love - no, then we must applaud Fanny Price too.

Something I noticed in my re-reading of “Mansfield Park” – Henry Crawford does help William Price, for Fanny’s sake. He was being thoughtful and generous, however he did so to be able to publicly show off how kind he was being and to make Fanny feel obliged to him. He told everyone and their brother what he did for William. Contrast that with Mr. Darcy in “Pride and Prejudice” – when Darcy discovers Lydia in London and arranges it for her to be married to Wickham, then pays off Wickham’s numerous debts and gives Wickham 10,000lbs to marry Lydia, it is done with no strings attached. Darcy has no plans to ever tell Elizabeth or the Bennet family what he did. He did it simply because he loved Elizabeth and he wanted to spare her and her family from suffering. It is also disturbing that Henry Crawford does not take Fanny’s no for an answer. “No” does not mean “I must persevere and change her mind” – no means no.

 To remind her of where she came from, and perhaps reconsider Henry Crawford’s proposal, Fanny is sent to her parents’ home in Portsmouth. She is astonished by how the Price’s live, and though she attempts to help, and guide her younger sister Susan onto a better path, she yearns for Mansfield Park. However, even when he visits at one point, she doesn’t regret turning down Henry’s marriage proposal. Despite all opposition and all arguments, the meek and mild Fanny stands firm. No one supports her decision, she has no friends outside of her family or their social circle that try to understand her position, and even the man she loves tries to cajole her into marrying Henry. Fanny is alone yet determined to follow her conscience. Which is why I consider her one of Austen’s strongest heroines.

 Through a newspaper, Fanny and her parents learn that her married cousin Maria leaves her husband and runs off with Henry Crawford. Fanny, with Susan in tow, returns to Mansfield Park. Edmund finally sees Mary Crawford for what she really is and in a very short and unfulfilling romance (which is like a paragraph long), he and Fanny marry.

 I will never understand why, or how, Fanny could love Edmund Bertram and it’s not because of them being cousins (still ewww). Edmund, though kind to Fanny, loves and pursues Mary Crawford for most of the book and at the end, we’re left with the impression he “settles” for Fanny. Fanny and Edmund’s romance is never shown, we just know it happens. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons generations of readers find “Mansfield Park” unsatisfying. We think Fanny deserves better – she deserves someone who adores her. Then again, I suppose we can’t help who we fall in love with. Fanny loved Edmund and in the end after years of struggle and pain, she got her happy ending.

So, I have come away with a new appreciation for Fanny Price. She’s still not my favorite Austen heroine, but I can respect her and can accept the similarities of our personalities.

 Thanks for reading my rambling defense of Fanny Price.

 Until next time!

[puppetoffthehook]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

—————

“And why do I have to do this?” Max’s voice held that same tone it always had when she really didn’t get why someone was trying to get her to do something. Even without turning around, Billy knew she had her arms crossed and that look that always pissed him off.

Things are different now since that summer. He’s really trying to keep the anger down and be better to Max since her mom let him live with them even after his dad took off. Susan’s long hours and all the drinking means Billy needs to get his head out of his ass and be the big brother he should’ve been from the start. Which is why he has a punching bag he got second hand.

“Because, Max. You need to be able to keep yourself safe if you’re alone or with those wimps you call friends.” The blonde reasoned. His curls were pulled back in a ponytail and he was finishing wrapping his hands the way a gym instructor taught him to. “The Upside Down isn’t the only threat to humanity; humans are a big enough threat as it is. Especially to women and kids.”

He watched as the younger teen sat in one of the lawn chairs Susan had picked up to make the trailer feel more “homey.” She didn’t look convinced but Billy hadn’t expected much. Slow and steady takes a long fucking time when you’re sorting out family ties.

“Okay.. So you wanna teach me how to hit people? Like I don’t already know how?”

“If you’re confident then punch me as hard as you can.” He can see her gaze drift to where there’s a mess of scars under his shirt. “It’s been months, Max. I can take your boney hand making contact. Now, c’mon. Hit me with your best shot.”

Max gave a loud, obnoxious sigh like she didn’t want to knock him on his ass but she got up quick enough. It was obvious her dad never got a chance to teach her to throw a punch properly. Either that or she’d forgotten over time, because her thumb was clenched under her fingers and her feet weren’t planted correctly. The connection barely even made him flinch.

“Okay no. First off, you want your thumb on the outside of your fist. Balling it up inside means connecting with a hard surface, like some asshole’s skull, might break your thumb. Second, your stance is too loose. You want your dominant leg forward, the other a bit behind, and pivot that back hip forward into the blow. You’re also gonna rotate your fist when you punch so the first two knuckles contact the target first and won’t break your hand from the force.”

Billy demonstrated a few times before letting Max try. It took no time at all for her to get the skill down. She just needs to work on putting more power behind a blow. He told her so when they went inside so he could make them sandwiches for lunch.

“I don’t remember you ever fighting like that. Before the Mindflayer, that is.” Billy pauses in sipping his beer before he sighs.

“Because before that I didn’t care if I won or lost. Just wanted to feel the pain. Tell myself it was better if I caused than if he did.” They were both quiet a moment before he broke it again. “I also had no fucking idea how; I learned that from a guy at the gym a few weeks ago and told myself you needed to know it. After all, you’re in high school now and high school boys are pieces of shit.”

“Takes one to know one.” Another tense moment of silence filled the kitchen before Billy snorted. Their laughter could be heard beyond the walls of their trailer. Max would be fine, he’s sure of it. Even if his head and body hurt so badly sometimes. Even if there’s sometimes a freaky clock that wasn’t there before. Max will be fine because Billy is going to do better.

1986 is gonna be a hell of a year.

[samglyph]

oh so the Fae like. Change the seasons? (Pixie hollow) cool! What sort of abilities do they have? Are there “castes” or just different types/species of Fae?

1. sort of— the courts help the seasons function in the fae realm to keep everything running “naturally” (in a scene in the original comic, Halys (winter) mocks Pieridae (spring) for being ‘late as usual’ which is meant to be a dig at them being irresponsible and not doing his job) What’s important to understand is that unlike pixie hollow, the fae realm in Woodward isn’t technically a place on earth. You can’t just hop back and forth between the two easily— it’s closer to narnia/wonderland, or maybe the upside down, in the sense that the two places are connected but it’s more of another dimension then another country (unluckily for Steller)

2. I’m gonna answer the last one first because it will make things a little easier. Sort of both, but the caste system is really just The Queen, high fae (fae that She made/her children), and minor fae, which is essentially everyone else. There are also beasts, which technically aren’t fae but are still magical. There are a lot of different categories of minor fae that Steller has made a note of, (mushroom folk, bug fae, changelings, trolls, etc etc) but the fae care less about those distinctions.

3. All fae have minor magic abilities but that can depend on their role or species. The court you belong to often influences what type of magic you have. High Fae have more magic than any other fae. I’ll give you a run down of their abilities.

- Halys can control ice and snow, he also has intense hunting abilities (and I mean magical hunting abilities- think a high level dnd ranger)

- Hespera can control storms and other summer weather phenomena. She can also influence plant growth, but not much. She can also speak to non magical animals, which is not actually a skill all fae have.

- Psyche is a shapeshifter, and also has better powers of persuasion than any other fae, save the queen. As I’ve mentioned before, Psyche’s mind control really just leaves people very suggestible, but they don’t use it for anything nefarious, because most people will do what they ask anyway.

- Pieridae is often considered the weakest of the four, though not because her power is bad, but because they lack good control. Pieridae can control plant life ie. Poison ivy, and has some control over non living matter as well, but only in small amounts (ie. He can make a small rock a different shape)

- All fae also possess name based magic, which is simply a power of persuasion over people whose name they have, but it only works if the other person actually believes you have some power over them (for instance, a random minor fae couldn’t go up and demand that Pieridae hop on one leg. Dae would laugh at them. If Halys told Dae to though…. This will also be explored further in comic. Some fae share their names freely, most do not.

Boy that’s a bunch! Like I said, all this will likely be reiterated in the comic! Thanks for asking!

[theknightofpansies]

So sorry if this was already really obvious to American readers but I’m a Brit so this idea has just completely changed the way I imagine the landscape of Westeros. But basically it seems to me that Westeros isn’t an analog for medieval Europe, as it is often said to be, but rather it’s an answer to the prompt of what if Europeans discovered America 500 years earlier.

Obviously there are the surface level similarities in history - colonisers from the east showing up and genociding the natives, with the region to the south (Dorne/Mexico) having a different cultural background because it was colonised by a different group of people (Rhoynish/Spanish). As well as the fact that Westeros has access to crops/livestock originally from the americas in the real world - most obviously corn but the Dornish have peppers and I think turkeys are also mentioned at points.

However there are also massive similarities in geography, far more so in my opinion than Britain, which Westeros is most often compared to. Obviously there’s the size similarities, both Westeros and North America are massive continents, but also the landscapes and the locations of those landscapes roughly correspond to one another.

The North - Canada; obviously Canada is an absolutely massive country but then again so is the north, and this would allow for the large variety of geographical landscapes we see in the north, from the more temperate regions of the south near the neck to the seemingly arctic conditions at the wall.

The Riverlands - the states along the Mississippi; Iowa seems to be the best fit landscape wise though the swamps around Louisiana and Mississippi would work well for the neck. This one is admittedly the least strong comparison wise as you kind of need to flip the map upside down for it to work.

The Vale - New England + The Great Lakes; this is a fairly one to one comparison, the east coast below The North/Canada, and the landscapes match up very well in terms of how The Vale is described.

The Westerlands - California + Oregon; again this is pretty obvious one, both are mountainous regions on the west coast and are more temperate than the east coast mountains, plus both areas are known for their gold mines. (Also this makes Cersei a literal real housewife of Beverly Hills and honestly I can’t think of anything more perfect)

The Reach - Central states; the reach is huge so obviously this covers a lot of land, but if you imagine Oldtown is in Texas and Tumbleton is in North Dakota then I feel this is a fairly solid comparison geography wise, with the Rockys sort of standing in as the Red Mountains of Dorne. (Plus this means I can lots of fun imagining all the Tyrell’s with outrageous southern accents, you can’t tell me Mace Tyrell isn’t definitely the type of guy who’s wearing a cowboy hat at all times, even to bed)

The Stormlands - South east coast; I mean it’s literally called the STORMlands, I can’t think this wasn’t at least a little bit intentional on Grrm’s part, plus I feel like all the swamps in the area would make for a great Rainwood. (and let’s be real, if anyone was going to be the Florida men of asoiaf it was going to be the Baratheons)

Dorne - Mexico; I’ve already kind of mentioned this one, and again, I feel it’s a pretty obvious comparison both geographically and also with the distinct cultural divide.

The Crown Lands - Central east coast; this is the one I struggled with most as I feel like I have the least clear idea of what the crownlands look like in my head, but if The Vale is the north east and The Stormlands are the south east this is about the only place that makes sense, plus it puts both Washington and King’s Landing in pretty much the same place which works nicely. (Plus it makes Brienne’s feast chapters worth the read purely for imagining all the beautiful scenery she’s grimly trudging through)

The Iron Islands - So this is the only one that doesn’t really work in this comparison. Though, if you were going purely of relative geographical locations then that would probably make the Iron Islands the Westerosi Hawaii, which they definitely aren’t, but it’s still very funny to think about Victarion in a Hawaiian shirt sipping on a pina colada so I’m going to go with that for now.

So yeah, whilst there are definitely some ways in which the comparison doesn’t work, I still feel it fits much better than just saying Westeros is mediaeval Britain but bigger, plus it gives the landscape of Westeros a far more unique feeling when compared to most mediaeval fantasy.

[uptoolateart]

If I Let Myself Love You - Ch 9

My fic for @mlbigbang 2022!

PREVIEW from Chapter 9:

He moved on – ducked under the platform her bed rested on and leaned an elbow against the wall – touched the collage of photographs she had pinned to a corkboard. ‘These are all cut out from magazines.’

‘Um…fashion ideas that have inspired me.’ She stared down at her feet, waiting for the inevitable.

‘Oh! That’s me!’ She looked up and saw him point – touching his own photograph, as if feeling that he was real. ‘I got the impression you didn’t like those pictures. Isn’t that why you asked for a real one?’ He twisted at the waist and looked to her for an answer, half his face covered in shadow, making the green of his one visible eye leap out like a lantern.

‘I, er…no, I cut out that picture for the outfit. The waistcoat, in particular. I like the, um…shape of….’ Oh god, was she about to tell him she liked his shape? Stop talking, Marinette – stop talking!

He stepped out of the shadow. ‘I like it too. Fun fact – that’s one of the only items of clothing I’ve modelled that I asked to keep after the shoot.’

Her embarrassment vanished. ‘Really?’

‘Mm-hm. I mean, I don’t wear it much, but…special occasions, that sort of thing.’ He walked back to her, stopping only a foot away and reaching out his hand. ‘May I…?’

She had no idea what he meant. Before she knew it, he was touching her forehead – her cheeks – brushing them with his fingers, his touch warm and gentle. Too late, she realised he was…dusting flour off of her.

Oh my god. And I’m still in the apron.

She let out a nervous giggle. ‘I, um…completely forgot about this!’ She stripped off the apron and dropped it to the floor. She would have stamped on it and maybe burned it, if she could.

His mouth quirked into a smile. ‘I kinda liked it.’

She couldn’t breathe.

Keeping Reading at Ao3

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again. How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. Half funny / fluffy and half heavy but with a happy ending. Please read tags. *** Rating: Teen and up

[moonchild-things]

Chapter Ten: A New School Term Starts! The Melancholy of Nendou

Summary: Being a psychic is not an ideal life, at least for Saiki Kusuo. Didn’t you read/watch The Disastrous Life of Saiki K to know that? Still, this isn’t about him, not really. Instead, let’s focus on his one and only friend, Akari Watanabe, who is also quite abnormal. You might not believe that Saiki would actually have a friend, but that’s what fanfictions are about, right?  

Word Count: 3594

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---

AKARI WASN'T THAT HAPPY SINCE NOW THAT their school break came to an end, and now she had to go back to that annoying place. She didn't miss the gossip, bullies, or idiots that she had to see every day. Sure there were some good parts of school, but those were outweighed by everything else that gave her a headache. Her best friend also wasn't that happy with it either. He stood next to her glaring at their academy with his eyes filled with irritation. 

'A new semester starts today.' Kusuo mentally sighed, 'I have to see them again.'

Akari bumped his shoulder with her own in a way to lift up his spirits. Though both of them were going to need some cheering up. Considering they both disliked school, they both weren't looking forward to actually going. However, they have no choice and Akari is going to try and make the best of their situation. 'Come on, it's not that bad, Ku-kun.'

Kusuo just looked down at her through his green-tinted glasses boredly. However, even if he looked unaffected by her words, deep down, I think we all know that isn't true. No matter how much he would want to hide it, but he appreciated Akari's attempts. She is the upside to his day. Well, she's the upside to everything for him, for the most part. Kusuo doesn't do emotions, as we all know. So even he doesn't necessarily know what he categorizes Akari as or why he reacts certain ways around her. I mean, we can all make a pretty educated guess about what it is. Though it wouldn't be a good fanfiction if we didn't have some good slow-burn romance, am I right?

Kusuo rolled his eyes, 'let's go.'

The duo headed into the building and readied themselves for the day. After exchanging their shoes, Akari and Kusuo finally made it into their classroom. Their teacher had yet to come in so everyone was excitedly talking with each other about their breaks. The girls gossiped with each other, the boys boasted about the cool things they did, and Akari and Kusuo sat quietly at Kusuo's desk. Akari gracefully sat on top of his desk while twirling her long black hair with her fingers. As they waited for class to start, they listened in on the not-so-quiet conversations between their classmates.

A few students walked up to the class representative, who looked noticeable different from how he looked before the break, "Hairo, you're so tanned."

"I was a volunteer lifeguard at the beach," He explained with a toothy smile.

"Amazing!" A forgettable student exclaimed at the unrest that their class representative had. They all knew that Hairo wouldn't take any sort of break during their break. He is always up and about, a busy-body. Honestly, it's a bit admirable yet terrifying how firey he actually is.

At the other end of the classroom, there were a plethora of boys surrounding the perfect pretty girl like starved animals. It appears that after even a short time away from their Goddess, they were in desperate need to be even within a few feet of Teruhashi. Simps.

They were firing questions at her from left and right, "Did you meet someone special?"

"Really Teruhashi?" An unimportant boy asked urgently.

A different, nameless student jumped, "Who?"

The blue-haired beauty looked away bashfully with pink cheeks, "We met during the break." In her mind, she was thinking of the pink-haired psychic himself. Which annoyed Kusuo to no end, to have to listen to her go on about how she knew that there was no way he could have just seen her as an illusion or vice versa. Akari noticed his plight and placed a hand on his head to pat down his hair in a comforting gesture. Akari knew that he isn't usually one for physical touch, and she respects his wishes to not be touched. However, from time to time, she provided minimal contact with him for a few reasons. Comforting him is one of those reasons. Teruhashi raised a finger confidently, "I believe the date was August 6th."

"I saw you that day," one of the boys said with his squeaky voice, "That's right, you were with....” Everyone was on the edge of their seat ready to hear what he had to say. Except for Teruhashi who thought her little crush on Saiki was going to be exposed. “Nendo."

"Not that one!" Teruhashi raged with her hair mimicking snakes around her head. The boys all backed away in fear as their perfect pretty girl showed her true colors for just a moment. However, she quickly calmed herself down, "Well... not that one. You know? At the world Championship..."

'Goodness,' Kusuo thought. 

Akari shook her head, 'I don't understand how they can worship her so much.'

Sure, Akari couldn't deny that Teruhashi was beautiful. She would be a fool not to admit that. Not only that, but she also had this god-given aura around that attracted people to her no matter what. So Akari couldn’t lie about that, it was just her personality that she couldn’t understand. 

To be completely honest,  Akari and Teruhashi were complete opposites. Wow, what a surprise it’s like they were made that way for a specific purpose. That’s sarcasm by the way, you can’t really tell through text, but it’s there. Anyway, back on topic. Terhuhashi craved attention as if it is what gives her life. Meanwhile, Akari detested just about any and every form of attention that could be pointed at her. While Teruhashi is bright, Akari is dark. The perfect pretty girl is full of herself and masks her true intentions, but Akari was honest and blunt for the most part. The shadow-manipulator isn't necessarily an open book(except maybe to Kusuo) but she certainly isn't as fake as Teruhashi can be. Some could argue that they were two different sides of a coin. Well, two different sides of two different coins. The only thing even remotely similar with them was that they both attended PK. Well, that and they always wanted to be around Kusuo. Though Akari never wants to admit to that last one out loud or even in her mind, lest Kusuo finds out and then bully her about it.

Their blue-haired friend then slid over to the pair as they watched the smips in front of them. "Hey, Saiki..." Akari then cleared her throat, making sure that he knew she is also there. Kaido jumped and blushed at her "sudden" appearance, "a-and Watanabe. Don't you think Nendo is being weird today?"

Kusuo eyed the other boy's appearance, "You are, too." Kaido, for some reason, was wearing an eye patch,  a choker, and parts of his hair was in a braid. No doubt a part of his little fantasy. It was a bit of a strange look, even for an anime. Akari certainly thought that Kaido looks far more deranged than usual, and questioned why he even decided to style himself like this. How had his mother even let him walk out of the house like that?

Despite that, the trio looked over at their idiot friend to see him looking dramatically upset. What could possibly upset Nenod this much? As much as people would think that this buffoon was nothing but stupid, Akari felt like there is more to Nendo than that. Well, she didn't think that he is a totally complex character with many, many intricate parts to him, however, she knew that he was a tad bit more than an idiot. That includes having something to upset him like this. She didn't know what it is, but it was probably something a bit bigger than simply being upset by a stupid thing.

"Normally he would be all, 'Let's go get ramen! Yes!'" Kaido said while trying to intimidate Nendo's voice.

Kusuo hummed slightly in consideration, "That's true. He is acting strange."

"Stranger than usual," Akari commented with her wispy voice.

"Oh, this?" Kaido started, thinking that they were referring to his new look. Which they certainly were not. He really just wanted someone to ask him about his strange look. "Don't worry about this. Something had happened."

"I didn't worry about that at all. You don't have to tell us." Kusuo rolled his eyes, more focused on Nendo. They watched as Nendo hit some dramatically depressed poses before sighing heavily. "I'm getting annoyed."

After that, Nendo stood up and lumbered out of the room with his head hung low. Now that was quite concerning for Akari. She has never seen Nendo act like this before, and it was freaking her out just a little bit. He's always so happy-go-lucky, to an annoying degree, though this was even far more irritating. At least with him being happy, Akari could easily understand why he was acting like that. However, this was so out of left field, that Akari has no idea what is bothering him.

"This is fishy," Kaido commented as they watched him go.

Kusuo nodded his head, "It does make me worry."

Akari looked down at her friend with wide eyes, "I've never heard you say that before." Though Kusuo just ignores her and her surprised expression. He certainly wasn't willing to acknowledge that he had even said something like that. Though, aren't we all a bit surprised that he even said he's worried?

"Are you talking about this?" Kaido jumped in motioning to his get-up, once again. "It's..."

Kusuo then snapped, "Stop. I couldn't care less about that."

---

Once school let out for the day, Akari, Kusuo, and Kaido started to follow after their idiot friend. It was quite easy for Akari to hide in the shadows as they trailed after Nendo. Kusuo is also pretty good at it as well, since he could teleport around corners and hide away from Nendo. Kaido was the only one in the trio who actually had to put a bit more effort into his stalking. That included putting on a baggy brown coat, some dark sunglasses, and a hat to try and hide his identity. He jumped around from one corner to another to poke his head around as they followed Nendo down the street. Kusuo and Akari trailed after Kaido, Kusuo appearing from thin air while Akari gilded around through the shadows. The blue-haired boy hadn't even noticed that the supernatural teens were using their powers like this. He is far more invested in his stalking of Nendo than to pay attention to them.

"That's not the way to his house." Kaido commented as they all peered around a corner. "Something is definitely going on."

"Why are you so excited?" Kusuo asked with a slight tone of distaste in his voice, "Why are you so used to following people?"

It was true. Seems like Kaido has done this before, and that is quite concerning. Akari was slightly put off by the fact that their blue-haired friend was far too accustomed to stalking. Makes you wonder who else Kaido could have stalked in the past… Knowing him, it probably has to do with dark reunion stuff.

"What?” Kaido whispered as they peered around the building to find Nendo staring at something. “What's he looking at?"

The big brute appeared to be looking at a small girl walking on the sidewalk with her father. Though due to Nendo’s misleading face, the trio misinterpreted what it meant. The three bristled, "Creepy!"

Kaido jumped, "Does he like little girls?"

"I don't know, but we should report him," Kusuo said.

Akari cringed at the thought and tried to be optimistic about this.“Nendo doesn’t seem the type…?” Though her attempt wasn’t that good since she sounded more like she was questioning herself about if it were true. She knows that Nendo is really a good guy, but considering not even Kusuo could read his thoughts, she couldn't be 100% certain.

They then watched him heading into a shop, "He's going into the store. A flower shop?” Nendo then came out of the shop with a bundle of sunflowers. “Did he get a girlfriend?"

Kusuo instantly answered alongside Akari, "No."

"No way," they all simultaneously agreed. There was no way that he was actually gonna get a girlfriend. Not unless there was some sort of miracle.

They continued to follow their friend down the, and once again witness him smiling creepily at a young girl and her father. They still had yet to see what he was actually smiling about.

The three shouted, "Not again!"

"Is he serious?" Kaido asked out in disgust as they all started to sweat.

Kusuo just suggested, "Let's report him first, and ponder later."

"No, it's too soon to tell.” Kaido started, “Lots of people like sunflowers. It's normal to feel like smiling when you see a child." Wow, look at Kaido being the rational one of the group. 

Kusuo placed a hand on his chin in consideration, "That's true. We shouldn't be hasty."

"Another store?" Kaido commented as the trio watched the brute walk into yet another small store. This time it seemed to be a bakery, "Cake! Cake is sweet and women and children love sweets. Women plus children equals little girls!" Forget what I said about being the rational one.

Akari sweatdropped at his enthusiasm with the situation, "That's a bit of a stretch."

"Now who's being hasty?" Kusuo commented. 

"He doesn't eat things like that. He's clearly going to give the cake and the flower to someone.” Kaido said quickly, “But he doesn't have a girlfriend to give them to. That means they're bait.” He cried out as he imagined how Nendo would use his “bait” to lure a little girl. Which is seriously disturbing. “He'll use sunflowers and cake to lure in a little girl!"

Kusuo shook his head, "His plan will never work on a sane girl."

Just as Kaido was having his little breakdown and the other two watched him, Nendo came out of the bakery with a box. "Gosh, they are out of shortcakes. Oh, well." His expression then grew unsettling as he chuckled lowly, "It's not for eating anyway."

Akari, Kusuo, and Kaido all blanched, "Which means it's bait."

"Nendo!” Trying to be a hero, Kaido ran over to the large teen with his fist raised. He was going to stop Nendo from enacting his nefarious plans of snatching up little girls if it was the last thing he does! As the Jet-Black Wing, he has a duty to protect those who need protection. If only he was actually strong though. “I misjudged you, Nendo!" He then tried to punch Nendo a bunch, though they sounded like small bubbles popping each time his fist hit Nendo. It also looked as though they were as weak as a feather. "How dare you hurt weak little girls!"

Akari and Kusuo watched him from the sidelines with raised eyebrows. The shadow-manipulator blinked, "I'm pretty sure those girls are not as weak as him."

"Listen to his fists making that sound." Kusuo commented.

"Hang on,” Nendo said, unaffected by Kaido’s assault, “I think you guys have the wrong idea."

---

Apparently, the trio had jumped to conclusions. Not a surprise. Considering that we all knew they did. Anyway, Nendo had led them to the cemetery while explaining what he had been doing since they left school. Kaido tilted his head, "So, you're visiting..."

"My dad's grave,” Nendo nodded his head as they now stood in front of a grave, “Today is the day he died."

The blue-haired teen now seemed to understand, "So, the flowers and cake..."

"Obviously, they're offerings." Nendo chuckled, "You bring flowers and sweets to a grave. That's common sense."

"Hearing common sense from Nendo…” Kusuos commented to Akari as the two stood behind the others. He then thought back to what they had seen earlier. “I see now. He wasn't leering at those little girls. He was thinking of his father. But he sure looked suspicious."

Kaido asked softly, "When did your father pass away?"

"Before I was born.” Nendo explained, “He died trying to save a little girl who ran into the street. Maybe my old man had a lolita complex."

Kusuo blinked, "It hurts my soul."

Kaido then placed a hand on his chin, "But if it was before you were born, he must have been pretty young."

"Yes, he was 18 or 19 years old.” Nendo said before pulling out his wallet, “I have his picture. Do you want to see it?"

Kaido's eyebrows furrowed as Nendo showed them the photo, "This is a picture of you."

"We look alike." Nendo explained with a chuckle, "My mom says I look more like him every year."

"It's on a different level," Kaido exclaimed at the uncanny resemblance between the father and son.

Akari took a glance at the photo as well and furrowed her eyebrows, "It is a tad bit unnerving."

"I've seen the picture of Nendo's father before.” Kusuo commented to Akari as he could see the slightly freaked out expression creeping onto her pale face. “The resemblance is striking. The only difference is whether the scar is over the right eye or the left.” he glanced up at the grave to see just the person had described sitting on top of the grave. The dead man was casually eating some of the cake that Nendo had brought to his grave. “Yes, just like that.” He paused though not realizing that he was looking at a ghost. Nendo’s father then poofed out of thin air and disappeared. “I'm imagining things."

Unbeknownst to the other three, Kusuo had been able to see the ghost of Nendo’s father. It was quite the shock to Kusuo. "Hey, let's go get ramen!" Nendo called, breaking Kusuo out of his stupor.

Kusuo just walked back over to them as they started to head to their usual remen hangout. Kaido and Nendo may have not been able to notice, but Akari saw that there was something bothering her best friend. "Are you ok, Ku-kun?"

Her soft, chilling voice calmed Kusuo down a bit as he shook his head in an attempt to brush off what he had just seen. "I'm fine."

Akari stared at him for a long moment before shrugging her shoulders, "If you say so." If he didn’t want to tell her what was bothering him, then she wouldn’t pry. She certainly can’t read his mind like he could read hers, but she knew what he was feeling for the most part. They've been friends for so long that Akari could read Kusuo like a book. Even if he’s usually so expressionless and emotionless. She’s the great Kusuo Whisperer!

After being forced to hang out with Nendo and Kaido, Akari and Kusuo were able to walk back home. It was perfect out, at least for Akari. It was night time already and she was content with how dark it is. The only real thing that she wasn’t looking forward to was having to do her homework. Maybe if she bribed Kusuo with some coffee jelly he could help her out with it.

"I may not be very realistic myself, and Akari may also be a piece of fiction, but I don't believe in spirits or ghosts.” Kusuo explained still hung up on the whole ghost thing from the cemetery, “Let's just forget about what happened today.” 

Akari tilted her head as they got closer and closer to their homes. “What’s so wrong with believing in an afterlife?” She asked, “I think it can be comforting to imagine that there’s something after death.”

Wow, bit of a heavy topic, let’s move on.

The pair finally made it in front of their houses. Though the Saiki mailbox caught their attention. There was a letter in it, now that isn’t unusual. What is strange is that it had Kusuo’s name on it. Kusuo grabbed the letter, “For me? That's unusual."

Kusuo Saiki,

I know you have psychic powers.

Akari’s eyes widened at the simple letter. How had someone figured out about Kusuo’s abilities? Everyone is usually too stupid to notice them! "That's concerning. Who could this be from?"

Kusuo just put the letter into his pocket, "Don't worry about that."

"Of course I'm going to worry, Ku.” Akari blinked, a small bit of concern in her golden eyes. “Someone knows about your powers, what could that possibly mean?"

"Kari, it'll be fine.” Kusuo never addressed Akari by her little nickname. The only reason he ever did was when he could see her getting upset or worked up about something. This moment seemed to be a time to use it. The affectionate name seemed to calm her down at least a little bit. “Just head home and don't worry about it. I promise you, everything will be fine." Since it was so late, they agreed that they would just head to their separate houses for the night, even if they usually hang out together for a bit after school. However, Kusuo was even more certain that he wants Akari to stay out of this. If this is a letter from someone with malicious intent, he didn’t want her involved. How sweet.

Akari stared at him for a moment, contemplating if she should leave. Though then she remembered that Kusuo has the powers of a god, so if someone was to try and hurt them, they wouldn’t get very far. "If you say so…” with a tad bit hesitation, Akari backed away to head into her own house across the street. “Night, Kusuo."

---

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[mineofilms]

DOOMED...

As long as each side claims to be the good, the right, and the just. Always painting the other as wrong, bad, and evil. Things will only get worse for us all. But none of it really matters in a reality where this is all some sort of simulation or video game; where the plot is so fixed that any choice we make has no impact, imprint, or evidence on the outcome of the game. That no matter what you do in the game; you end up at the same boss fight at the end, with the same life, the same weapons, the same treasures and the same everything. It's these types of environments where the lack of realism is felt and where we eventually realize that something is not right with said reality. Some of it seems real, some seems normal and then you see a giant clown head with a spider tattoo on its forehead in the sky where the Sun should be. Eventually, the brain will tell us what is real and what is not real. It is when our realities are flipped upside down and inside out, like a tesseract, that feelings on reality become existential horror.

Real Terror…

There is an idea of freedom for all—some kind of abstraction—but there is no real freedom—only an empty thirsty void—something illusive, rich as fuck—and though we can hide our cold gaze—and we can shake our heads—and feel love—hate—and maybe—we can even sense our values may actually be comparable in some random and insignificant way: we simply—are not there. We are not—listening—We—simply—do not—care...

Apply all that to your common sense. How does reality feel right now? Something ABSOLUTELY does not feel right here… Yeah, we mean nothing. God cares not for you, me, your kids, your freedoms, their suffering, your suffering, and mine. With all that... All we have are those moments of love with those we love the most. Become obsessed with that!!! Not this Bull-Shit. It doesn't matter who we vote for. We all lose… By the time ‘right now’ impacts the future, I'll be dead. Some of you before me. Most of you shortly after me, again, it means nothing in the bigger picture. Why would I care about that in which I cannot alter, control or have input on? My vote makes zero impact. Why waste that by which I cannot ever get back? The energy and time? Once used they cannot be given back. The current landscape of politicians are not qualified to be politicians. As long as we look at Americans as us versus them or them versus us. We are all going to be trapped in this vicious cycle.

This is why I no longer give much time and energy in my headspace anymore. I will comment here/there, make fun of both sides but I am not interested in fighting for either side. It's not about community, politics or right or even wrong. It's a philosophical question. Most if not all politicians cannot do anything that has anything to do with bigger, deeper philosophical questions and concepts of any kind. It's why most of them talk in circles and never actually say anything when they talk. It’s just Charlie Brown’s parents lingo. How many times did we hear either one of the candidates actually answer the questions without going on with tangents and on with other subjects, complicated word salads that say nothing by both and/or makes claims about the other that have little to no actual meaning or substance? Post after post, after comment, after meme, it is all the same. Most Americans hate both these people. This is why ‘Crazy Ralph’ is correct; "we're all doomed."

I'm already dead… My brain and body just don't know it yet. Enjoy the moments, stop thinking about the future, because there isn’t one for you or me. Your kids, perhaps, but I chose before I was even old enough to have sex, that I never wanted kids of my own. I was then and am now even more severely against procreation for myself.  There is no grand future, only now, and the foreseeable future which is how foreseeable exactly? Just enjoy the time we have left. Work towards things that make you happy. Stop trying to think you control these things in the macro-world or even impact them in any ‘meaningful’ way. Keyword, “meaningful.” You are not that important. What exactly can I do right now to help and/or make a real sharp change in the landscape? Nothing… I, personally, can do absolutely nothing. With all my issues by the time I have time to think about such things it's time for bed and do it all over again, so no. I cannot do anything about anything and stopped pretending I actually could after my near-death experience. I am much better off for it. I cannot say happier or good. I tend to say ‘less bad.’ Because good doesn’t really happen with me. I understand I am not that special, beautiful, or unique in any macroscopic way.

“You are not special. You're not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We're all part of the same compost heap. We're all singing, all dancing crap of the world.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

With that said, laugh at the memes… If you get triggered by this stuff this much it’s time to pull back and think about yourself, because “they” are going to do them first and do you last, if at all. That is what politics is in the 2020s. Love your country, but hate your leaders, because they do not lead, they dictate…

23 years ago the country stood still, and our hearts sank as the Twin Towers fell, smoke rose, and lives were forever altered. We remember where we stood, who we held, and the stunned silence that followed. It was a day that cracked the soul of a nation, and from those ashes rose a storm of uncertainty, fear, and division. Yet, in remembering that day, we honor the lost and the brave, a reminder to never let our differences overshadow our shared humanity. Let us never forget, not just the pain, but the unity we once sought. We need that desire for unity again…

Doomed… by David-Angelo Mineo 9/11/2024 1,069 Words

[fandomficsnstuff]

Redemption For All - 6

(Warnings: Some fluff and honestly this isn’t a horrible chapter, it’s a bit more wholesome lol)

Notes: I do NOT speak spanish but I think it is a very beautiful language and sadly all I can say in spanish is ‘I can’t speak spanish’, so I used google translate, sorry. Some words are in Italic, which is the translated words, and others are just straight up spanish.

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Leah was quiet as she read one of the books Hosea had lent her while sitting near her tent, enjoying the warmer air at Clemens Point, already half-way through Hosea’s book. Most of his books were crime novels, but she didn’t mind, she was actually enjoying this one when Dutch sat down next to her “so, Hosea…” he began, Leah smiling at him softly “I suspect it’s just asthma” she stated, closing the book and placing it on the table, turning to face Dutch. “The lungs are sort of like an upside-down tree, I guess” she got out a set of dominoes, laying out a long line, gesturing to it “that’s your throat, both food and air travel this way. Then, two tubes branch off,” she proceeded to lay the dominoes like two stretched long bubbles one on each side of the line at the end “and there are the lungs. Asthma makes these,” she gestured to the small lines leading to the ‘lungs’ “narrow, and it makes your body produce more mucus - snot and such, to make everything smoother. It can also cause a shortness of breath as we need air to oxygenate our blood and a lack of this can cause fatigue, which is why when you’re strangled you pass out. Anyway, asthma causes the airways to narrow, making it harder for air to pass through. It can also make you cough or wheeze. It can also be helped by the weather, or made worse by it. The cold air up in those mountains wasn’t good for him, that’s for certain, but this air is much better. I really don’t think you need to worry about him dropping dead because of it. He’s most likely had it since he was a child, maybe even when he was born. Or it could have appeared in his younger years and not when he was a child. Either way, he’s managed it remarkably well so far, I trust that he knows his own limits, and by that I mean that I don’t think he’ll run a triathlon” she stated the last bit jokingly, her smile fading when Dutch didn’t laugh “it’s a really long exercise thing. You, like, run a certain amount of distance, then swim that distance or twice that distance, then all other kinds of things” she explained briefly, Dutch frowning “why?”

“Uh, sometimes it’s just for fun, sometimes it’s for a cause, like charity, sometimes it’s just competition, other times it’s just to push the limits of what you can do, see how far you can get” she admitted with a shrug, Dutch humming as he nodded “so, I don’t need to worry?”

“No, no I think Hosea will be here to nag you for a lot more years to come” she teased, Dutch chuckling hoarsely as he leaned back in his chair “thought so, that man could con the devil” he muttered, Leah chuckling “I bet” she hummed before picking her book back up, sighing softly as she stared at the cover before looking at Dutch “will you teach me all this?”

“Teach you what, dear?”

“All of this. The-... conning, the robbing… okay maybe not the robbing… or the conning… just-”

“I thought Charles was teachin’ ya how to hunt?”

“He was! And then all of this happened and I don’t know…”

“You really wanna learn all of this? It ain’t a pretty way to live” Dutch warned with genuine concern, Leah hesitating before shrugging, looking down with a small frown “it’s just-... Herr Strauss arriving with a gunshot wound, it-... god, Dutch, it made me feel so much like I was home” she admitted with a huge grin “I mean, I know it’s something you all could have done and I’m grateful that you let me handle it-”

“You’re the actual doctor out of all of us” he reminded her with a smirk and she chuckled lightly, nodding “yeah, I just-... I feel like I could be doing more, you know? I want to do more…”

“You really want that? You know what it’ll mean?”

“My name on a poster with a drawing of my likeness that they got horribly wrong?” she asked half-jokingly, Dutch chuckling with a smirk “if you really want to…” he trailed off, Leah leaning her arms on the table, subsequently a little closer to him “I do… I have been with you guys for almost seven months now…” she muttered, Dutch studying her before nodding “alright, if somethin’ comes up, I’ll let you know-”

“I want this, Dutch” she interrupted him, a stern look in her eyes that made Dutch smirk a little more “I know, sweetheart. If something comes up, I promise, I’ll rope you in, deal?”

“Deal” she said quickly, a smile forming on her lips “thank you, Dutch” she said softly before sighing “there’s also another thing…”

“What?”

“I don’t know who the hell Colm O’Driscoll is, or what happened between the two of you, but meeting in some desolate, isolated place… it sounds perfect for an ambush… that’s all I wanted to say” she said softly, getting up and walking to the lakeside, placing Hosea’s book by his bedroll as she passed by it, her arms crossing over her chest as she watched the water ripple, the gentle waves, the insects buzzing about just above the water.

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Leah was grinning as she placed the stethoscope against Abigail’s chest as Jack was wearing it. “Now, listen really closely, you’ll hear a thumping” Leah spoke softly, letting go of the stethoscope once Jack held it in place, his mouth open in a grin as he waited and he giggled when he heard the thump, looking up at Abigail “mama! I can hear your heart!” he exclaimed with amusement and joy, Abigail chuckling as she looked up at Leah before looking back at Jack “well, would you look at that! What do you say, doc? Does it sound healthy enough?” she asked with a smirk, Jack’s brows furrowing as he listened intently before he nodded and grinned “it does! Doesn’t it, miss Riverra?”

“Leah’s a doctor, honey-”

“It’s okay. And hey, since we’re fellow doctors now, you can call me Leah if you want” she said with a grin, Jack beaming up at his mother before giggling “I wanna listen to uncle Hosea!” he exclaimed and you grinned, Jack about to run off when Abigail caught him “hold on now, that thing belongs to Dr. Riverra, remember?”

“Sorry… Can I borrow it?”

“If you promise to be really careful with it, I only have that one. And remember what I taught you, those buds in your ear, that round thing on the upper chest, and…?”

“Be quiet!” Jack exclaimed and Leah smirked “exactly. Go on” she urged, Jack giggling as he ran off, Abigail looking up at Leah “thank you for doing this, John’s a miserable father… it’s good that Jack has some adults who actually care about him” Abigail stated softly, Leah sitting down next to her on another box, shrugging lightly “maybe he just needs time?”

“How much time? The boy is already four” she pointed out, Leah sighing as she nodded “fair enough… a DNA test would be wonderful right about now, to make him step up, I guess, even though Jack’s his. A DNA test could maybe help bang it through that thick skull of his.”

“A what?”

“A DNA test. It’s a test that matches one set of DNA against another. Your DNA is everything that proves you’re, well, you. We all have a specific genetic makeup unique only to us. Like a single shirt, the only one of it’s kind. Your DNA can be taken from your hair, skin, any bodily fluids including blood and saliva, nails, everything like that. It’s the same as your fingerprints” she said with a shrug, Abigail scrunching up her nose a little, looking at her fingers “what’s that mean?” she asked, expecting Leah to roll her eyes at the uneducated woman but Leah just leaned closer, gently taking Abigail’s hand, holding her fingers and pointing to her forefinger and the tip of it. “If you look really closely, you can see these almost sort of rings and swirls. These sort of swirls and patterns are your fingerprint. No fingerprint is the same, not even on the same hand, so let’s say you… well… broke into a house. You touched the window or the door, then later the police can apply a layer of something like powder over that surface and use it to get a print of what that pattern looks like, so if they caught you, they could look at your fingers, take prints, and match them” she said calmly, Abigail looking at her with wide eyes “ain’t never heard of a thing like that!” she gasped, Leah smiling softly yet with a hint of sadness to it. Abigail was the only one who actually believed her, looking at the evidence instead of how improbable traveling back in time was. “It’s not that far away here, I think… so uh, don’t commit any crime in the next decade” she joked, Abigail laughing briefly, shaking her head “ain’t plannin’ on it” she said through her laughter, just as Jack came running back with a grin and the stethoscope around his neck “mama! I listened to uncle Hosea’s heart” he beamed, handing the stethoscope back to Leah who took it with a smile, Abigail grinning “and how was it? Is he healthy? What’s the verdict, doc?”

“He’s healthy” Jack decided, Leah chuckling along with Abigail before nodding “then we’ve got nothing to worry about, Doctor Marston is here” she teased, Jack giggling. The sweet moment was cut short at the sound of horse hooves, everyone lifting their heads to see who had arrived. Dutch and Micah saddled off, Leah approaching with a smile “so, you didn’t die” she stated shortly, Micah smirking, hands on his gun belt as he took a step closer “you worried about me, sweetling?” he asked with a creepy smirk in an attempt to be charming and alluring, Leah doing everything in her power to now cringe and gag “you? Not particularly, no” she admitted before turning to Dutch, taking in his sour expression “didn’t go as planned?” she asked, Dutch just glancing at her before leaving, Leah nodding “that’s a no, then…” she muttered, looking behind them before looking over her shoulder at Dutch “what about Arthur?”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout old cowpoke, he’ll be around” Micah stated with that same creepy smirk and this time Leah cringed and glanced at him up and down with disgust, casting a final look over her shoulder at him to make sure he stayed in place and didn’t follow her as she went over to the fire, sitting down next to Charles, smiling at him and he smiled in return.

Leah was gently patting Pru, one of the unnamed horses that she'd chosen a name for, when she noticed the horse approached, a slouched figure on top, her eyes widening. “Dutch! Miss Grimshaw!” she called, running up to the horse, stopping it, catching Arthur as he fell off, lessening his descent to the ground as he kept mumbling about the meeting being a set-up. “Help me get him to my tent and on my cot” she ordered, the men arriving to help lift Arthur, helping him to that exact location. “Miss Grimshaw, my bag.”

“Got it.”

“Abigail?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. Swanson?”

“I’ll get the morphine-”

“Lots of it” she ordered before hurrying to Arthur’s side the second she could, examining the wound with a frown “holy shit, Arthur!...”

“What? What is it?” Dutch asked with worry, Leah just staring at the wound before finally tearing herself from the wound to look at him “he-... jesus christ!”

“What, Leah?!”

“He cauterized the wound with some sort of fire or miniature explosion!” she snapped, Dutch’s eyes widening as he looked at Arthur “oh, my boy” he mumbled with despair as Miss Grimshaw arrived. “Alright, everyone but Miss Grimshaw, Abigail, Swanson and me, OUT” she ordered, Miss Grimshaw chasing the others away and closing the flap of the tent, Abigail already having lit the lantern to light up the area, hanging it up on a small hook that was there for that very purpose in the tent, hanging it over Arthur and the cot. “Reverend Swanson, administer a dose of morphine. Miss Grimshaw, I think I’ll actually need another lantern… Abigail, I need you to get a bucket of hot water and a cloth” she ordered, the women running off to get what was ordered as Swanson was about to give Arthur the morphine when he grabbed his wrist before he could get to it. Leah frowned and leaned over Arthur so he could see her “Arthur-”

“I need to tell Dutch-”

“It’s okay-”

“He would’ve used me, as a trap, I didn’t let ‘im, I didn’t” Arthur mumbled, his words slurring together and Leah sighed “Reverend Swanson will go tell Dutch that, so you can relax” Leah said softly, looking at Swanson who nodded and put his morphine tools down. “There. You’ve been through enough pain, Arthur… will you allow Reverend Swanson to administer morphine to you?”

“No-”

“Arthur-”

“NO!”

“Arthur, your wound has some burnt flesh that has to be removed… I’ll be prodding and poking in that wound… was it a gunshot?”

“Shotgun” he muttered, Leah nodding “what did you use to cauterize it with?”

“Shotgun shell… opened it… gunpowder and a candle…”

“Jesus, Arthur” she muttered, her hand on his shoulder “you really have a thing for pain, you know” she joked lightly as Abigail and Miss Grimshaw arrived with the hot water, cloth and new lantern, Miss Grimshaw lighting the lantern and hanging it, barely, on the hook with the other lantern, making sure they were steady as Abigail put the hot water by Leah’s right side on the grass. She sighed softly, looking at Swanson who appeared again, closing the tent and once again getting out his morphine tools “please, Arthur… you’ve been through enough pain. Let us take care of you” she spoke softly and Arthur shook his head, making Leah sigh as she looked at Swanson, hesitating before forcing herself to nod him outside the tent “I don’t have the patient’s permission for the morphine, I’m sorry, Swanson… Arthur, will you at least allow a regional anesthetic? It’ll numb the area” she offered, Arthur nodding as Swanson left the tent and Leah sighed “Miss Grimshaw, find the small bottle with what I used on Strauss and the same needle, did you see the dosage I gave?” she asked, Miss Grimshaw nodding and Leah nodded in return “then get it. Remember to shake the vial first, stick in the needle, then hold it upside down, get the dosage, put it down, needle out and then give me the needle, handles first” she ordered, Miss Grimshaw doing as told flawlessly and Leah took the needle, doing the same as with Strauss, injecting the area around the wound. “It should work soon” Leah said softly, looking at Grimshaw who already had out the rubber gloves, having blown in them and Leah put them on before turning to Abigail “gently wash the area, wash away the dry blood so I can see what I’m working with” she ordered softly, Abigail nodding, doing as told and Leah turned to Miss Grimshaw “I’ll need the forceps again” she spoke softly, Miss Grimshaw quickly finding them, handing them to Leah who leaned over Arthur again, gently poking the open wound “feel that?” Arthur shook his head, Miss Grimshaw and Abigail sharing a brief shocked look before looking back as Leah gently used the forceps and her fingers to examine the wound, her brows scrunched together in a frown. “There’s a pair of scissors in there with a curved blade” was all Leah said and soon Miss Grimshaw presented the right scissors, Leah taking them without a second glance, lifting up a burnt piece of flesh, cutting it swiftly, Abigail wincing a little at the sight, watching the dead flesh be carelessly thrown into the bowl with water by her feet, at least two more pieces following before Leah seemed somewhat satisfied. “There… Arthur? I’ve removed some tissue just to be on the safe side… I didn’t want to risk them dying and turning necrotic… they probably wouldn’t have, but-”

“I got it, doc” Arthur mumbled quietly, nodding ever so slightly and Leah sighed softly, nodding “Miss Grimshaw, gauze and bandages. Is there anything else that hurts, Arthur?”

“My side…” he admitted, Abigail helping Leah undo the sort of… bodysuit, opening it down to his hips and Leah studied the bruises, gently pushing, taking note whenever he winced “you have a bent rib, you’ll be fine but I still want you to be weary of it, you might have internal bleeding if it’s worse than it looks. You won’t be able to feel that particular area of your chest for a few hours at least where I injected you, what I gave you is also called a nerve block, for obvious reasons. You should be fine. You’ll have one hell of a scar, though, but I think removing the burnt tissue will make it less-... gruesome” Leah muttered, Arthur scoffing with as much amusement as he could muster, Leah smiling at him “you can have my bed, I won’t drag you all the way to your own.”

“People might talk…” he rasped jokingly, Leah rolling her eyes “talk is cheap, Arthur” she joked back, smiling at him before leaving, pulling off the rubber gloves, Abigail taking the used instruments to clean them while Swanson walked into the tent to help Miss Grimshaw bandage Arthur’s wounds, Leah exiting the tent to see pretty much everyone waiting, her eyes a little wide as they all looked at her. “Well?” Hosea asked, Leah frowning “what? He’ll be more than fine” she stated the obvious but it still made them erupt with joy, uttering their thanks to her and she nodded awkwardly “well uh, he’ll need a lot of rest, though. And no visitors! Not even you, Dutch. Or you, Hosea” she stated sharply, looking over her shoulder at Swanson as he exited the tent “Miss Grimshaw will look over him for most of the night, I promised to take over around midnight” he admitted, Leah nodding with a smile “good. What most to look for is mostly if the wound gets infected but I highly doubt it. He did quite well on his own, what we did was more to make it easier for his body to heal faster” she admitted, Swanson nodding as he walked off, Abigail returning with the cleaned instruments, giving Leah a smile on her way into the tent, exiting soon after with the bowl of water and the cloth, as well as about three pieces of floating, burnt flesh no bigger than a penny each.

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It was night when she heard groning, her eyes moving from the book Hosea had lent her and to Arthur as he was laying in her tent, a smile forming on her lips at the sight of him awake “good morning, sleeping beauty” she teased lightly, remembering what page she was on before putting it away, turning to fully face him as he tried to get up. She quickly got up and placed her hands on his chest, being careful around his wound, gently pressing him to lay back down, sitting by his side on the cot. “Easy, easy. You took a shotgun to the shoulder, Mr. Morgan” she soothed softly, Arthur reaching up, taking her hand in his, an attempt to lift it so he could get up but Leah felt warmth shoot through her at the touch, though it wasn’t enough for her to let him sit up “Arthur-”

“Gotta tell Dutch, it-”

“Was a trap. We know, it’s okay” she soothed, Arthur looking at her, slight confusion evident in his tired, exhausted eyes. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I remember Colm… he was gonna use me… ‘ter get to Dutch…” he mumbled, eyes closing as he relaxed again, but he didn’t let go of her hand, her heart racing at the feel of it on top of hers, holding it. It was massive compared to her own hand, covering it almost entirely. “It’s okay, you escaped. You got back to me- us. You got back to us” she corrected herself quickly, hoping and praying he was too exhausted to notice the slip-up, which she hadn’t even expected herself. “You’re okay” she added in a whisper, Arthur groaning quietly and she frowned, edging a little closer to him “are you in any pain? Arthur… if you’re in pain, please tell me. I can give you something for the pain but you have to let me-”

“No.. no, just-... sit with me” he slurred, probably too exhausted to really think things through and trip over his own brain, as he sometimes seemed to, holding himself back from being soft or caring, putting on a tough facade, btu the way he squeezed her hands, the way his slurred words made their way past his lips, somehow clear, it made her heart melt. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise… I’m staying…”

“Mary said that too” he slurred, his eyes closed and Leah frowned deeply. “Who is Mary?...”

“You’re nothin’ like ‘er… ‘s soft ‘n warm… too good ‘fer me, married another guy…” he continued to slur and Leah frowned even more, her mind racing and she quickly rolled up his left sleeve, finding the crook of his elbow and what enraged her more was that she found a needle mark. “Son of a…” she was almost shaking with anger but she sighed heavily, turning to look at Arthur with sad eyes “it’s okay, go to sleep. I won’t leave you, not until you want me to” she whispered. She’d taken over watch from Swanson around midnight, Arthur having apparently fallen asleep while Swanson was watching him, despite being in pain all night. “Bastard… I should’ve known” she muttered bitterly, clutching the hand that held hers, reaching over and gently brushing some of Arthur’s hair out of his face “you’re okay, Arthur…”

“‘M okay” he slurred, making Leah nod “yeah, you are…” she muttered to herself before staying put, keeping watch over him for the rest of the night, even when Grimshaw came to take over, Leah insisted that she wouldn’t mind taking the watch so that Miss Grimshaw could get some sleep.

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“Well hey there, doc” Leah turned around at the greeting, smiling at Arthur as he walked over, a chuckle escaping her as he tried to roll his shoulder but stopped and winced “easy now, Mr. Morgan. You’re a good patient, one of the best, but I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to reattach a limb or dig a bullet out of you any time soon” she teased, Arthur chuckling a little as he stopped next to her on the small pier, looking out over the water “I wanted to thank you… for saving my life-”

“You don’t have to, and I didn’t. I didn’t save your life, you did that all on your own… I more or less just helped with cosmetics.”

“Sure as hell felt like you saved me, cosmetics or not” Arthur managed to get out through an amused scoff, making her smirk and blush a little “thank you, but all I did was make things easier for your body to heal. It’s good to see you up and about, I’m guessing you’re not taking a break before going out there again?”

“Ah, you know me, doc, I’m a sucker for pain” he joked, Leah chuckling lightly “masochist.”

“Ma-what?”

“A masochist is someone who particularly enjoys pain, usually in a sexual way” she described with a smirk, her smirk only growing wider when his cheeks got beet red “well, ain’t that somethin’” he mumbled under his breath, Leah chuckling lightly before looking out over the water again. There was a small silence and Arthur studied her, a small frown forming on his brows “you okay, Leah?” he asked softly and she frowned, her eyes locked on the water and she hesitated before speaking “I-... ever since my mom died, I haven’t really felt-... content…” she admitted, turning to look at Arthur, the same frown on her face as her eyes studied him “but I think I am now…. with you… with Abigail and Jack and John and Charles and Javier and-... all of you… except Micah” she stated with a grimace, looking back out over the water “I wouldn’t even piss on him if he was on fire” she muttered, Arthur breaking out in a laugh, coughing a little, making her frown yet smile at him, placing a hand on his shoulder “easy, Arthur. Are you okay?” she asked through a laugh of her own, Arthur nodding as he held up a hand to signal that he was fine “I sure as hell am after that” he muttered through a chuckle and Leah laughed briefly before looking out over the water. “Rest a few more days, then I’ll sign off on you running around with the big boys” she teased, turning to look at him and he nodded, smiling at her, the two of them almost just-... getting lost in each other…

“Uncle Arthur! Uncle Arthur!” Jack called as he ran over, Arthur turning to look at Jack, as did Leah, as he ran over with a dog hot on his heels “look what I found!”

“A dog?”

“A dog!!” Jack confirmed with utter joy, making Leah chuckle lightly. She placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder as she passed by him “just a few more days” she reminded him, ruffling Jack’s hair before walking away, Arthur watching her leave and Jack watched Arthur watch her leave, frowning. “Why are you looking at her like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like mama she looks at pa when she’s not mad at him” Jack stated and Arthur’s cheeks turned red as he cleared his throat, gesturing to the dog “where’d you find this one, anyway?” he asked, desperate to change the topic.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Warlock: The Armageddon (1993)

Like its predecessor, I can’t quite call Warlock II: The Armageddon a good movie. Plot points go nowhere, the special effects are unconvincing - even when we consider the film’s budget - and the performances are bad. Once again, I still find myself enthusiastic about the film despite its flaws. The dark sense of humor and occasional cleverness make it a film you alternatively make fun of and enjoy legitimately but either way, you remain entertained.

Since ancient times, Druids have stopped the birth of Satan’s son - an event that happens every 600 or so years - with six magical rune stones. In the present day, the order of druids has all but vanished, enabling the Warlock (Julian Sands) to be reborn. He has six days to gather the scattered stones and use them to bring his father to Earth and begin the end of days. Only Kenny Travis (Chris Young), Samantha Ellison (Paula Marshall) and their estranged fathers (Steve Kahan and Bruce Glover) - the last remaining druids - can stop him.

As you might’ve gathered, this film is a sequel to Warlock in name only. In fact, Julian Sands’ character is called a Warlock, but he isn’t one. He’s the Anti-Christ and I’d attribute his supernatural abilities to being from Hell, not from studying magic. It’s not the only bit of dodgy writing. I mean, why would druids be the ones keeping Beelzebub Jr. at bay? Shouldn’t that job be for a secretive order of monks or priests or something? Finally, it’s a bit comical that the Warlock is given six days to gather the stones and bring about his father’s ascension. Why the deadline? I know within the film it’s because he's born during a lunar eclipse and has to complete the ritual before the incoming solar eclipse, but from an audience’s perspective, this makes stopping him seem really easy. Can you imagine if all of the magic rocks weren’t located in the United States, for example? Good luck orienting yourself to the modern day, obtaining a passport and making your way to every continent within less than a week, buddy!

Warlock II is filled with missed opportunities. We’re repeatedly told that Kenny and Samantha's neighbors distrust the druids and think they're Satanists. They’re looking for ANY excuse to burn them at the stake and not helping is her father, who became a priest and has been holding a grudge towards Steve Kahan’s character for… reasons? I guess it’s because he didn’t believe the whole druid thing was legit after his wife died? Anyway, in a scene towards the end, the Warlock has crucified a woman upside down - the ultimate sign of evil. Everyone is gathered around her in disbelief but once Kenny and his dad show up… they just disperse, never to be seen again.

You’re wondering why - since I’ve done nothing but criticize this picture - I can still manage to sort of recommend it. Simply put, because I enjoyed the first one, this is more of the same in many ways. Born spontaneously from a woman who had no idea her jewelry was actually one of the rune stones, the Warlock proceeds to peel off a chunk of her stomach and use it as a map. To fulfill his quest, he uses his vaguely established powers to trick people into giving him what he wants in scenes reminiscent of the best the Wishmaster and Leprechaun films have to offer. It’s sick and twisted but the film isn’t trying to be classy. It is exactly what it wants to be. Julian Sands is clearly having a great time with his role and you are too.

Maybe Warlock: The Armageddon is a guilty pleasure. Maybe it's a film that’s “so bad it’s good” but does enough things well to make you occasionally consider whether it’s just merely flawed. The important thing is: there’s fun to be had if you choose to sit down with this film by Anthony Hickox. Everyone besides Julian Sands may be as convincing as the pipe that impales Kenny during the film’s big climax and the story might be as sloppy as the Warlock’s birth but if you enjoyed the first film, those aren’t bugs; they’ll be features. (July 22, 2022)