#Venom when he shows up might call him Adam or even be on last name basis (The last name which I had to make up

[faroresson]

While I was doing research on russian naming and nicknaming conventions for the It Takes A Village AU, I learned that Adamska is not actually a name in Russian. The name would be Adam, Adamska is the affectionate diminutive. And since in Snake Eater, Ocelot introduces himself as Adamska, I have to assume that that’s what he was called by whoever ended up raising him. Like, it would make a lot of sense if the Sorrow or the Joy had some letters or a recording or something and “Adamska” was what recorded because an informal note/conversation doesn’t have to be formal... and somewhere down the line whoever got their hands on him had to have assumed that was just his name.

Because the other option is that his parents, or if they didn’t name him whoever did, gave him a finnish (Or polish, I can’t remember which) girl’s name and while that’s funny I doubt that anyone would play a really vague prank like that on a baby

Anyways the decision for the au at least was his name was Adam, but everyone important for the next while calls him Adamska because the important speaking characters thus far are... The Polycule and his parents

[nobeliumoxygenoxygenmisc]

Fighting with the starters HCs (Genshin Impact)

Got into genshin impact real hard and actually have other happier headcanons written but they’re all unfinished except for these ones, so here! Although, what could be scarier than fighting with amber, kaeya, lisa??? I guess in a way it’s kind of fitting for halloween 😅 i am not 100% sure on characterisation but pls enjoy and thank u for reading!!

Amber, Kaeya, Lisa, gender-neutral reader (pretty vague, so you can imagine if they’re the traveller or not!), slight angst, ~1.1k words total 

--

Amber

Storms off pretty quickly once she’s got the last word - if you stormed off before her, that would’ve hurt Amber all the more but it hurts either way 

She takes up more missions and patrols, almost throwing herself into them to distract herself. The other knights notice and Jean makes it a subtle point to make sure she’s given low-danger tasks until she’s cooled off 

During fights with hilichurls, Amber can’t help but let out her pent-up frustration as if the hilichurls could understand why the flying bunny knight is more aggressive and loud than usual. She kind of, sort of, completely takes her anger out on them and their camps

Hilichurls: ya!

Amber: why do you-- *kick* --have to be *duck* so stubborn? *punch* you’re the one being completely unfair! *arrow shot*

Hilichurl: ya?

Kaeya might want to steer clear - not only cause Amber’s ready to chew him out of his suspicious activity, but she’s not going to be having his witty ways regardless and even an innocent mention of you is enough to get her glaring at him (and even Kaeya recognises that there’s more heat than usual in this glare) 

Privately she cuddles Baron Bunny more than usual, pouting and fighting back tears because she hates hates hates this!!! But Amber’s stubborn and if she thinks she’s right, then she’s going to believe in herself (even though she’s not sure how long she can keep this up)

If it turns out she was wrong, there is no end to her moping--until she quickly resolves to fix this because she’s not going to let anything like this come between you and her again! 

She practically hunts you down wherever you are (provided you’ve stayed in Mondstadt--if not, Amber’s back to moping and pretending she’s not moping until Jean sends out Kaeya to bring you back somehow) and has a whole speech ready and the moment she sees you--

Amber starts crying, even though she’s not meant to cry damnit!!! Her apology comes through a blubber of tears and poorly-suppressed sobs but it’s clear what she’s trying to say and you’re going to have to be a monster to not accept it, or at least consider it and hug her whilst she composes herself 

Amber spends a lot of time afterwards making up for it and promises to never fight with you again (which is a little hopeful but she’s got all the confidence in you two that she believes it wholeheartedly)

Everyone in Mondstadt gets a little happier seeing their outrider once again holding hands with her partner and smiling 

(Kaeya and Lisa under the cut!)

Kaeya

Is quite infuriating in the moment 

Kaeya doesn’t mean to instigate and stoke the flames more (ironic, considering he’s a cryo user) but since he’s so sure of himself, he doesn’t like what you’re saying and how you can’t seem to see his side

It really doesn’t help that his personality is just like that; for once, you find yourself hating his witty remarks and retorts, rather than laughing at them and you wonder if this is how Kaeya’s enemies/rivals feel

Even more absent than usual in the time you’re apart, to the point even Jean notices. He doesn’t mean to make himself hard to find, but naturally finds himself gravitating towards his own secret spots and unconsciously avoiding all the taverns and usual hangouts he frequents because they’re all places he’s been with you

If you and Kaeya happen to run into each other during this time, which is unlikely because Kaeya keeps himself informed to avoid that, it’s an awkward interaction--which is to say it’s hardly an interaction at all; you barely talk to him and he also seems to act like you’re hardly even there, if there are other people present

If the fight is long enough, even Diluc finds himself involved - not that he’d admit it, but he’s informed of the minute you two make-up, unconsciously letting out a mental sigh of relief (he’d never show that much concern… but he feels it nonetheless) 

If it’s Kaeya that’s wrong, he kind of laughs a little self-deprecatingly, wondering how he’d let that slip past him and then immediately wondering how he’ll make it up to you 

He doesn’t rush into it though; he finds out whether you’re still smarting from the fight or would be more open to an apology. He’d wait if you weren’t, but if it took too long he’ll swagger right back into your life (not that he ever really left) with a genuine apology and a really hopeful smile that’s not very Kaeya like at all--it’s a little fragile and desperate, without that full Kaeya confidence because he’s not sure what he’ll do if you don’t accept it but the absolute and utter relief he gets when all is forgiven and well is worth all the alcohol in all the taverns of Mondstadt 

Lisa

She becomes quite icy (much like a cryo slime), especially if she’s sure she’s right--and more often than not, she is because Lisa is both intelligent and composed enough to see the bigger picture

She doesn’t let herself go in the heat of the moment, becoming quieter if you do, but no less firm and stone-cold with her tone; doesn’t see the point in escalating it because she knows she must maintain her composure but the air seems to get heavier with electricity and the sparks in her eyes might not be entirely imagined…

During the time apart, she seems more distant and a lot of the others can tell. She seems to laze about more because of this but also hunts down books overdue by even only a day and though she doesn’t take it out on those poor unsuspecting citizens, she’s more adamant than usual about deadlines 

Offered to take out a hilichurl camp when it came up in a meeting and pretty much everyone there was surprised--the Lisa offering to do such a high-effort mission??? But when it’s given to her, passerbys later stare in awe at the pure destruction left at the camp

If you two see each other during this time, the atmosphere is very clearly tense to those who know you two - and even those who don’t. Lisa calls you cutie and honey and dear still but the words are forced out, with venom and you almost tell her to just call you by your name because of it

If she finds out she’s wrong, there’s no end to the twisting gut guilt until she finds you and apologises - she can accept when she’s wrong, especially if it means ending this fight with her cutie 

Apologies are more subtle with her, but no less genuine; it has all the heart in her soft spoken explanation and her promise to be more attentive so that this doesn’t happen again, her hopeful, apologetic smile so sad and desperate. She hates the twisting gut feeling even when she is right and it was you in the wrong and regardless, absolutely loathes fighting so will make sure it does not happen again by remembering the warning signs 

It’s a learning experience for the both of you, but one Lisa does not want to repeat 

A lazy morning just isn’t the same with her cutie 

[oss-crime]

Chapter 4-Project “Ma” –Seth–; Scene 4

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 167-175

Let’s take a little walk down memory lane.

.

I first met Adam when he had only just been born.

As Miroku’s steward, I had been given the order to take the twins Queen Alice had birthed and discard them in the river.

They were both quite adorable babies.

Though, well, I didn’t get attached to them over that or anything.

But I did wind up having a fairly interesting idea.

I had wanted “friends”.

I had been carrying out several efforts for that purpose.

And my endeavoring to save those twins was also part of that.

.

I met Ceci Vaju through Miroku, and under his patronage I became head of the Royal Research Institute.

At the same time, I also began to meet with other people I viewed as appropriate “friends” and built up a network.

Venom was an extremely useful drug, and so now and then I would also use it when increasing my number of “friends”.

Only, it’s not like Venom was a cure-all for my problems. It also had several downsides, so I had to hold back from using it too much.

When things had calmed down to a decent degree, I decided to go check on how those twins were doing.

But…around then I ended up having a bit of a problem.

That is, I was in “poor physical health”.

Which meant that I couldn’t just go around places willy nilly.

So I decided to entrust one of the twins to a “friend” of mine. Raiou was a considerably skilled man, and so, though he had founded the organization “Apocalypse”, I gave him the order to leave it and go collect one of the twins.

I went to the beach and found the other one—Adam—and took him up myself.

…Ah yes, and there I wound up reuniting with an old colleague. Well, that didn’t matter to me so much. She’d always been a rather stupid woman.

All that aside, it was my first time ever raising a child, so it was fairly novel for me.

I did my best to raise him to grow into someone with my favored “emptiness”.

It was a busy time. My “friend” network was expanding, and I was kept occupied with my work at the institute as well. I also couldn’t forget to go to the castle and dose Miroku with the drug, too.

And then there was something else I had to do—to solve the source of this “poor physical health” problem.

For that, I needed to conduct research somewhere where I wouldn’t be seen by the public.

The facility called “Lunaca Labora”…That was where I had been born “as a human”.

My body at the time was an inferior product, and aged at a rate much faster than that of a normal human.

I needed to create a new body that would be sturdier, and last longer; prodigy that I was, I overcame this difficulty quite readily.

I was quite keen on my completed work, and so while I was at it I decided to create two more “ghoul children”—that is, clones.

It was also part of a new test to give me more “friends”. If I were to implant a fake personality based off of my own mind in the clones that I created, they would make ideal “friends”!

Or that’s what I thought…Well, even prodigies have failures sometimes.

One of them went flawlessly.

But the other one was a miserable dud.

Still, I could probably still use it as an emergency spare…Thus, I wound up keeping the failure in cold storage for the time being.

I named the “ghoul child” that had been successful “Pale Noel”. And then I entrusted him with the “Apocalypse” that Raiou had fled.

Pale is still doing excellent work even now. He is my clone after all, so I suppose you could say it’s only natural. 

…Only, he was doing a little too well, and as such it started to cause problems for my public position.

After all is said and done, Pale, a man who has the same face as me, was causing havoc as the leader of an anti-government organization, so obviously this was putting me under suspicion as well.

It’s not like Miroku could deal with all of it. I had to take care of it somehow before it got too troublesome.

First I ordered Pale to avoid showing himself in public any further, and to just work behind the scenes. Then I had all of the documents on Pale erased from the information bureau, and after that went to “Apocalypse”’s founder, Raiou, and erased his memories pertaining to my physical appearance.

Even then, doubts about the “head of the Royal Research Institute, Horus Solntse” hadn’t completely gone away.

I figured that this inferior body had begun showing its age about then anyway.

I decided to have the man named Horus retire from this world.

I went to “Lunaca Labora” and swapped my consciousness into the new body I had completed.

…Truthfully I did wonder if I should make some adjustments to my flawless features…

But! It would be an unthinkable sin to alter this handsome face!

--And thus changing my mind, I left it the way it was.

Well, I decided that if I ever got pressed on my similarity to Pale I could just tell them we were “twin brothers” or something like that to smooth it over.

It was actually true, in a sense.  

.

The new body was more comfortable than I had thought it would be.

I felt so good that I decided to stop using false names, and went by my true name of “Seth”.

I ended up staying in “Lunaca Labora” until all the excitement surrounding Pale could die down, working hard on making new “ghoul children”.

Though I couldn’t afford to cause another problem like the one I’d had with Pale by making clones that were exactly like me.

So I went on a bit of a venture with my third “ghoul child”.

I would make even the gender different, not just the face…A completely brand new “ghoul child”, that was a clone but also wasn’t!

And this, surely, would be a great enterprise on par with the “god creator of mankind’s bodies, Behemo” himself!

My “old friend”’s face came to mind.

Ha ha…That one would surely be stomping his feet in a rage if he knew about this!

.

…I’ll say it again.

Even prodigies have failures sometimes!

No! Rather, to be a prodigy is to be made up out of one’s failures!

It probably was a bit of overkill to implant in an “inheritor” power on top of changing the gender.

The moment I put in the pseudo-personality the girl took on a rebellious attitude, and as soon as my back was turned she escaped from “Lunaca Labora”.

I was unable to grasp her whereabouts for a while—but eventually I received word from Pale that he’d found her and was taking care of her.

It seemed that she showed quite the obedient side towards him.

…Why!? Pale is a clone of me!

--Well, whatever the situation, I decided to entrust her care to Pale.

.

I grew tired of making “ghoul children”, so I decided to go play with Adam again.

He’d seemed very rattled when we reunited at that bar, but the sight had also been quite pleasant.

Yes, at present, Adam was the one I could enjoy myself with the most—that was what I had thought.

.

I would let slip certain details to get Adam to hate me.

He soundly got on board with the idea, and so started plotting to have me killed.

Gosh, that had been fun…

Though, as you might expect I was a bit upset that my third “ghoul child” had genuinely tried to kill not just the other researchers but also me, in direct opposition to what we had arranged previously.

.

--Adam.

One of the “Twins of God” that had been abandoned right after he was born.

He had been most enticing as raw material.

I wondered how I might change him into one of my “friends”—that is, “evil”.

It was elegant sport.

.

He’d been superb at being “evil”.

And yet…or rather, because of that, perhaps.

Adam withdrew from the stage, and left.

.

For, to cast aside the role you are given, and run away—

That, too, is a type of sinful “evil”.

.

--And then there’s Eve.

Let me say it quite plainly here…the death of “Cain” and “Abel” was absolutely not my fault.

I wouldn’t have minded at all if those twins had been born properly.

For I had the suspicion that a new, altogether different story would have started there.

Simply put…their blood had been too dense.

The survival rate of children born between blood siblings isn’t all that high to begin with.

.

And another thing.

There is something Adam was mistaken about regarding Eve.

And something Eve was hiding from Adam.

.

The explanation I gave to Adam on Venom.

I did tell a few lies in that.

My extracting the genes from an “Inheritor of Levia”—

It wasn’t from a corpse.

It was from a newborn baby.

.

At present, there is one “Inheritor of Levia” in this world.

And her name—is Eve Zvezda.

Adam’s twin sister.

.

Venom has some drawbacks.

The drug was created based on the genes taken from an “Inheritor of Levia”.

So, while it might sound obvious—

On one who has the antibodies to it—that is, an “Inheritor of Levia”, it has no effect.

Venom doesn’t work on Eve.

.

Naturally…I have no obligation to tell any of that to Adam.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[improving-the-truth]

Envy is a Nasty Thing

David pities Sarah because Sarah likes Jack. At least, that's what he tries to tell himself.

~~~

Jack came over for supper that wintery night for good reason. Or maybe David goaded him into it, nobody could ever be quite sure. But Esther did know that Jack always looked rather glad to spend time with their family, to be indoors, to have food on the table when he wasn’t always so sure he’d get any at all, especially now when it was harder to come by than ever. Sometimes Esther didn’t know if they’d have enough to feed everybody herself, but she refused to turn away a child in need. She was even more adamant on this stance when that child was a friend of one of her own. In this case, all of them at once.

She noticed Jack looked more exhausted than he usually did as soon as he came in, used to the youthful brightness in his eyes after enough nights of sitting across from him at the table.

Jack looked ill, Esther decided, tactfully recruiting Sarah to go convince him to stay the night once the boys had all left the table. It would do him good to rest by the fire rather than end up walking all the way back to that lodging house of his through the sleet and snow pelting their foggy windows. It was coming down much harder than it had been at the start of their meal. Esther had been watching, building up a basis for her firm decision that Mayer promptly agreed with.

Sarah accepted the challenge, any enthusiasm she might have had for Jack staying over after weeks of barely seeing him at all masked with perfect rationality. It was a practical decision, anyway. If Jack was coming down with something, it would come down on him full swing as soon as he stepped foot out there.

Sarah turned towards the wood stove Jack was gathered around with Les, David hurrying off to fetch something from his room. Les was showing Jack the new box of little wooden soldiers he’d gotten for his birthday.

She went over to sit down with them. Jack smiled at her, and she really wished it hadn’t snowed at all despite how much she loved the winter, so they could go up to the rooftop and be alone.

Esther calls David over to help her clear the table in Sarah’s place. Jack only glances at him once before Sarah grips his attention again. David noticed.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Sarah was being absolved of her turn to help out. It didn’t take David very long at all, piecing it all together with the final stinging indicator in the form of his mother’s fond smile down at the water basin.

His lips turned into a strained frown, looking over his shoulder at the corner of the room. Sarah and Jack were talking with their heads close together like they were sharing some kind of secret. Her hand was on his knee.

David ruefully turned back to the sink as his mother piled up dishes beside it.

Maybe taking a much needed tumble down the icy fire escape would do him some good today, knock some sense into him since nothing else could seem to do the trick. There was no reason for him to resent his sister like this. For what, anyway? Jack’s attention? Sarah had a nasty habit of writing in surnames for herself on one too many pages of her diary. There was good reason for that this time, though.

Jack was a good guy. Handsome and tall and clever, in a sensible, practical way that David nearly overlooked one too many times. The only reason Jack didn't already have a girl to occupy his attention was probably because none could stand him long enough for it to count. David knew firsthand how difficult it could be to try and get close to him, pry away the protective barriers that sealed his feelings about the most mundane things behind closed doors. He was difficult and stupid about being difficult. David was getting better at reading him, not his expressions but the natural lies he would make up on the spot in response to certain questions. Jack was too talented for him to tell all the time, but he could differentiate when he was being genuine about something and when he wasn’t. Like when he talked about his birthdate (which David still didn’t know for sure, there were still several potential days in the running) or his family (which he claimed to simply not have at all) or such common things that made absolutely no sense to lie about, the things that genuinely made David’s blood boil. There was nothing malicious in David for Jack to be worried about him spreading his business to anyone else, but to lie about his favorite color? What the hell was the merit in that? What was so awful about David knowing his favorite color?

David didn’t like calling people names. That was for kids taunting each other in the schoolyard, for when he was so outrageously angry and he wanted to hit Jack right where it hurt, jabbing at the broad difference in their lives in that David had the opportunity to go to school and Jack didn’t. He thought that Jack could act really damn stupid sometimes, but he never said it aloud, because saying that and letting Jack know he meant it was a good way to make Jack disappear for days and days until David begrudgingly went to apologize himself.

Finally, David identified the constriction in his chest as pity. Pity for Sarah, because someday she would have to deal with the side of Jack he was already working at, and then it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. That was for the best, anyway. She’d get him all to herself like she deserved, because the best of Jack outweighed the worst by a longshot. The worst made it all the more rewarding when they had those nice moments up on the roof, or at the harbor, or drenched in sunset gold talking about things they normally wouldn’t talk about. Seeing Jack smile and laugh and shine in his own skin like he always should, the present occupying his torrential mind more than the past ever could before it all came crashing down again.

Jack unveiled the worst in people, and the best. He would make Sarah crazy like he made everyone who fell under his spell crazy, inclined to say and do insane things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Inspire venomous envy when anybody else went near him, threatened to encroach on claimed progress, picking up the axe where the last person had left it, made to start chipping away all over again.

Not that David would know anything about that. He scrubbed the plate he’d picked from the stack harder. Poor Sarah.

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 2

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/622991219538214912/the-long-way-around-ch-1

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2210

Warnings: None

Jasper’s POV

Before we even get close to the house, a high-pitched, agonized screaming makes Esme and I both flinch. She had insisted on coming along, though Carlisle, Edward, and I had all warned against it. Newborns can be feral and deadly, and none of us want Esme to get hurt. But she was adamant, and we all respect her too much to deny her a choice. Personally, I think Esme wants to be there so the girl can have someone less intimidating to interact with. I can’t blame her. If I had to wake up in an unfamiliar place after experiencing trauma and indescribable pain, I would much rather see Esme than me.

We enter Carlisle’s study, the smell of bleach strong. Esme tsks upon seeing the state of the girl’s outfit. The bloodied parts of her dress have been cut away and, I assume, burned. What’s left doesn’t do much to protect the girl’s modesty, but someone had the decency to cover her with a towel. Esme flits away and returns within seconds carrying clean clothes. Wordlessly, Carlisle, Edward, and I exit the room. 

The girl’s screams die into fearful whimpers, likely in response to Esme’s cold, unfamiliar touch.

“She thinks she’s in Hell,” Edward mutters, looking at the floor. “She’s terrified.”

That much I know. I can feel the waves of agony, fear, and horror rolling off of her. It makes me want to flinch away. But instead, I merely clear my throat and try to ignore these emotions. “We’ll need to be careful when she comes to. She might not be willing to listen to reason, and that will be dangerous with her newborn strength.” 

Carlisle and Edward nod. 

When Esme calls us back in we find her sitting in a chair near the girl’s head, stroking her hair. “What’s her name?”

“Y/n, Y/l/n, according to the license we found on her,” Carlisle responds, adjusting the morphine levels in the drip. Based on the girl’s--Y/n’s--screams, I doubt it’s doing much, if anything. 

Edward nods almost imperceptibly, confirming my suspicions. Of course we would never tell Carlisle. It would break his heart. As it is, I can feel his intense self-loathing. I do what I can to ease it. 

Y/n briefly opens her eyes to see who is touching her, and I can see, as well as feel, her fear. When she gives into the pain and closes her eyes once more, I move to stand on her other side, opposite Esme, and use my ability to try to calm her down. 

While she’s consumed in whatever hell she’s enduring, I study her. She’s in great distress, obviously, and it pains me to see how young she is. She can’t be more than twenty. Such a short human life. Then again, a rueful voice within me taunts, you had less. Physically, I’m frozen at nineteen, but I feel so much older...Probably because I’m actually a hundred and seventy-six years old. Inwardly, I scoff. If she’s careful, Y/n has a very long life ahead of her. 

We stay like this for many hours. Y/n alternates between writhing and screaming to whimpering pitifully. Her emotions are hard to bear, and I can only guess as to what Edward is experiencing. Esme and I do our best to make her feel better, but with little success. The transformation is a truly terrible process. Eventually, Y/n’s skin becomes too hard for the needles, and Carlisle puts away the drip. A few hours later, Edward perks up. 

“Shouldn’t be long now. The pain is starting to recede from her fingers and toes.” 

‘Shouldn’t be long’ is relative, and it takes four long hours until her heart starts beating frantically in its last effort to survive. 

“Esme, back up,” I advise, knowing that, any minute now, the seemingly harmless girl on the cot could jump up and become a deranged killing machine. 

Esme goes to stand at the back of the room with Carlisle. Edward moves to block the door, and I plant myself directly in front of the cot. Hopefully, if she does become violent, the four of us will be able to catch and subdue her. 

“No sudden movements,” I remind them. “She’s scared enough already and it’s only going to get worse. Once the thirst hits, we’ll be virtually unable to communicate with her until she feeds. It’ll be the only thing on her mind.” My voice is grim, and I can’t help the flashbacks to my many years surrounded by vicious newborns, as well as my own time as one. 

My family stills, a sure sign of stress, as Y/n’s heartrate skyrockets for five tense seconds, and then stops. 

No one breathes. 

Y/n gasps, opens her eyes, and sits up in the span of half a second. I feel her fear, shock, and confusion. 

“What…” She looks around the room, taking us in. When she sees me staring directly at her with my hands clasped tightly behind my back, I feel her fear intensify. It’s a natural reaction to both my intimidating stance and the scars covering my body, and I wish it didn’t bother me so much. 

“Where am I?” Her voice is breathy, eyes wild. I send waves of calm her way. 

Carlisle takes a slow step forward, his palms open in a show of harmlessness. “I am Dr. Carlisle Cullen. This is my wife, Esme, and two of my sons, Edward and Jasper.” He nods at each of us. 

“You’re very safe here, Y/n,” Esme reassures. 

I can tell it does little to ease Y/n’s suspicions, but it was kind of Esme to try anyway. 

Carlisle’s voice is calm and soothing when he continues. “You are at our home, which is about fifteen miles outside of the main town. Your friends brought you here three days ago. Do you remember that?”

“I…” Recognition dawns on Y/n’s face. “I was stabbed. But I was dying, I…” She gulps, a new bout of fear consuming her. “Am I in Hell?”

“No,” Carlisle says firmly. “I’m sorry for the pain. Unfortunately, it’s the only way to enter this new life.” 

Her confusion deepens. “New life, meaning…” She trails off in a question. 

“You’re a vampire,” Edward states simply. 

It’s then that she decides to bolt. 

Edward is on her in a millisecond, having heard the warning from her thoughts. 

“Edward, no!” I lunge forward, trying to all at once keep Y/n from escaping and Edward from getting hurt. 

But it’s too late. The new vampire has already given into her instincts and bitten Edward, hard, in an effort to get him to release her. 

He does, of course. Vampire venom hurts like a bitch. 

Edward howls and falls to the floor; Esme is at his side in an instant. Carlisle quickly guards the door, while I work to force the crazed newborn into the corner of the room. She snaps and throws her arms around, but I easily dodge her predictable movements. 

“Listen to me.” My voice is harsh, commanding, just like it had been all those years ago. But what can I do? It’s the only way they’ll listen. 

Y/n’s eyes dart wildly around the room. I hit her with every ounce of calm and lethargy I’ve got. Thankfully, she soon becomes much more subdued. 

I continue. “We don’t want to hurt you, but if you attack us again you’ll leave us no choice.” I let her mind fill in the blanks of what we’ll do if she does try to attack. Of course we wouldn’t actually hurt her, but she doesn’t need to know that. A little dose of fear will be useful in controlling her. 

“You say I’m a vampire.” Her voice shakes slightly, but she stands tall, defiant, almost. She’s trying to project confidence. I know her true emotions, so I know her exterior is a facade, but I have to admire the effort. She looks at me then, straight in the eye. “Is that why my throat burns? Why I’m so thirsty?” She spits the word out, and I can feel her desperation and dread. She so badly wants to be wrong. I honestly think she would feel better if we laughed at her and said no, we were just playing, that we had actually kidnapped and drugged her instead. 

But of course, we can’t say that. This is her new reality. So my voice is even and honest when I respond. “Yes. You’ll need to hunt soon.” 

Carlisle appears at my left shoulder. “Our coven is different from others. We feed only on animal blood.”

At the mention of blood, her emotions change. Suddenly, she becomes ravenous and hyper-focused. She sinks to the ground and claws at her throat. 

None of us are shocked. Esme, Edward, and Carlisle all went through this process with each other and with Rosalie and Emmett. I went through it with the myriad of newborns I helped train. But still, it’s unnerving to see how one can go from human-like to animalistic, the true predator coming out in a split second.

Having recovered, Edward joins me on my right side. I can feel his annoyance, but that won’t fade until the sting from the venom does. 

“Jasper’s right, it’s all she can think about right now. She’s starting to wonder if we’re threats standing in the way of her obtaining a meal.” 

I nod, feeling her growing suspicion. “Are there any humans nearby?” 

Edward pauses, then shakes his head. “I can’t hear anyone. I’ll let you know if that changes.” 

I steel myself. “Okay. Esme and Carlisle, you go ahead and wait in the forest. Be close once you pick up our scents, but don’t follow, just try to keep a perimeter. She could easily misinterpret us as a threat and decide to attack.” 

They nod and rush to the woods. 

Y/n is now growing restless, and I can feel her indecision. 

Edward looks at her, his gaze hard. “Patience. We’re doing this to help you, so calm down.” 

Y/n lets out a light snarl, showing her displeasure. 

She’s not going to understand that, I think at Edward. She won’t be able to listen to reason until she feeds. 

His annoyance grows, but he doesn’t push Y/n further. 

Once I’m satisfied that Carlisle and Esme have a good head start, I decide it’s time to go. “Come with us, we’ll take you somewhere with blood.” 

Y/n’s emotions flare with excitement and anticipation at my promise. 

Stay at her side but don’t get in front of or behind her unless it’s necessary. She could interpret that as a challenge. Once Edward nods, we take off. 

Y/n obediently stays between me and Edward, knowing we’ll take her to where she can satisfy her thirst. If you promise a newborn blood, you can get them to do anything, I think ruefully. I feel Edward’s sympathy for me, and I shake off my past. Right now, we have a job to do. 

Not two miles into the forest, we catch the scent of deer. Edward and I hang back, letting Y/n’s instincts guide her from here on out. 

She’s messy, but swift. Within minutes, all ten deer are drained. 

I feel Y/n’s dissatisfaction, and hold back a chuckle. Even without tasting human blood, it’s easy to be disappointed by the animal blood. Thinking of drinking from a human again stirs up temptation within me, and I crush it down. My self-control now is much better than in the past, but I’ll always remember the taste of human blood, and that makes it hard to enjoy the eternity facing me of drinking only from animals. I idly wonder if Y/n will choose to stay with us or go her own way, and if she does leave, will she continue drinking animal blood or switch to humans? But now isn’t the time to think about that. We still have to keep a close eye on the situation in front of us.

“Better,” I ask, approaching Y/n slowly. 

She purses her lips, still crouched on the ground. “Sort of.” 

Edward smiles in understanding. “You’ll get more used to it in time. It takes a lot of practice, but you can do it. We’ll be here to help you as long as you need.” 

Esme and Carlisle’s scents reach us, and Y/n crouches, a growl rising in her throat. I do my best to calm her. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just Carlisle and Esme, whom you met earlier. They won’t try to take any food from you.” 

Placated by both my words and ability, Y/n straightens, but a residual amount of suspicion remains. 

“I expect you have a lot of questions.” Carlisle’s voice is steady as he addresses Y/n from a few hundred yards away. “Come back with us to the house, we will answer them all.” 

With a sad-sounding sigh, Y/n nods. I feel for her. She’s got a long, hard road ahead. 

And so do you, a voice reminds me. I hold back a groan, knowing the next few years are going to be tough for us all.

A/n Hello, thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623116614605357056/the-long-way-around-chapter-3

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora

[littlebitoffanfic]

The Bear Or The Deer - part 5

Fandom: Frankenstein Characters: Adam (Frankenstein’s monster) Relationship: Adam/reader

Support my writing by buying me a Kofi here

Part One: https://littlebitoffanfic.tumblr.com/post/188773179104/the-bear-or-the-deer

Part two: https://littlebitoffanfic.tumblr.com/post/188934080699/the-bear-or-the-deer-part-2

Part three: https://littlebitoffanfic.tumblr.com/post/189399728489/the-bear-or-the-deer-part-3

Part four: https://littlebitoffanfic.tumblr.com/post/189673351479/the-bear-or-the-deer-part-4

  You felt uneasy as you walked about town. For the last few weeks, someone had been following you and it was making your stomach turn. You had seen him in the woods by your house, in the town and even on the roads. A man, in a long dark cloak. He had a top had and kept it low so you couldn’t see his face. You had been walking around the market when you saw him again. But this time, he was only about 30 feet away from you. You immediately left the market, and kept looking over your shoulder. You didn’t want to walk home on your own, so you had went to Lisa’s. The children were staying with her sister, so you were glad they weren’t around to see you so worked up. You sat on their sofa, your head in your hands as you tried to think of what to do. “I can take you home.” Laurence says as he stands, going to sort out the horse and hook her up to the cart. “Thank you.” You smile gratefully as Lisa takes your hands and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He walked out the front door, then you heard him yelling. “Get off my property!” Laurence sounded angry, and you had never heard him shout like that, not even when James had nearly taken his foot off with an axe. Running to the window, you saw the same man speed walking down the path, his head ducked. “Is that him?” Lisa asked, her voice shaking slightly. “Yes.” You breathed, feeling less safe than you had done. “Can Laurence and I come and stay with you? Make sure you and Adam are okay?” She asked, rubbing your back. Lily and James were staying with her sister for the weekend, so it would be easy enough. And you were truly thankful for the offer. “Yes, please.” You nod, your eyes lingering as the man disappears out of sight. Lisa packed a bag and when out to tell Laurence, who had apparently had the same idea. Once at your home, Adam greeted them with friendliness but you could see the worry in his eyes as to why they had came to stay the night at such short notice. So you told him about the man. You had mentioned about him before, and every time, Adam seemed to shrink back into himself, to the point he no longer went outside at all. “That man again. He actually followed me to Lisa’s.” You told Adam as you unloaded the bag. You saw Adam faulter out of the corner of your eye. Looking up, you saw him deep in thought before he turned on his heel and quickly went upstairs. You looked to Lisa and Laurence, who were just as puzzled as you. But you followed him upstairs. “Adam?” You walk into the bedroom, your voice shaking slightly. “I wont put you in harms way anymore. I shouldn’t have stayed, it was selfish.” Adams voice was shaking as he went to his side of the room. “Lisa and Laurence will keep you safe. I will try lead him away from you.” Your eyes trailed to the bag on the bed and your heart stopped. He was leaving? “No, please don’t do this.” You race forward, grabbing his arm to stop him pulled out a shirt. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you feared the worst. He glanced at you and immediately recoiled. “Dont look at me like that.” He breathed, his eyes falling shut as he backed away from you. “Like what?” You stepped closer, unsure what else to do. “like I am breaking your heart. I am doing this for your own good. To keep you safe.” He shakes his head, unable to raise his eyes from your feet. “Adam?” You reached up and placed your finger under his chin to draw his gaze to your eyes. “This man, do you know him?” Adam nods, and you can see the pain in his eyes. “A ghost from your past?” you ask, your fingers tracing the scars around his jaw and he nods again. “then let me stay by your side. I’ll fight your monsters with you, Adam. You don’t need to live in fear anymore.” Your words broke him as his arms locked around your waist and you were pulled against his chest. Adam sobbed like a child, clinging to you as he shook. “Shh.” You soothed, running your fingers through his hair to calm him. “I do not deserve you.” He breathes. “You deserve to be happy. And you seem happy here.” You pull back. “I am.” He nods, closing his eyes. “if you get hurt, I would never be able to forgive myself.” “I wont. I can defend myself. I lived by myself before you came along. I can still wield a knife if I need to.” You giggle and immediately Adam chuckles, the tension lifting from the air. “I am here for you, no matter what.” You press your forehead against his own as if sealing the promise. But the moment was interrupted when you heard Lisa calling up the stairs. “[y/n]! Theres people coming up the lane!” She yelled before you heard the door open and her and Laurence stepped outside. Racing to the window, you saw people coming up the road to you house. You counted 6 people in total. The bishop Marcus, the butcher whos name you only knew as Henry, the town doctor Green and the towns law enforcement (a single officer) Mr Jones. And the man who had been following you. He rode on the front with the butcher Mr Jones. The carriage they had was one used for transporting criminals, with a lock and iron bars encaging it.  Dr Green and Bishop Marcus rode up in a normal horse drawn carriage, although neither were speaking. Adam staggered back from the window, seeming to gasp for air. “Stay up here.” You told Adam, trying your best to quickly calm him. “I’ll deal with it.” You heard Mr Jones greet Lisa and Laurence but with a tone of uncertainty. You had to leave Adam, but you made sure to close the bedroom door behind you. Rushing out your front door, Lisa and Laurence already stood on your porch. “What is going on?” You felt a deep sense of dread as you watched the group approach your house. “Fear not.” The man who had been following you stepped forward and you had some incline to slap him. “I am here to help.” “you can help by getting off my property!” You call back, not bothering to hide the venom in your voice. “[y/n].” Marcus stepped forward, his hands raised to calm the situation. “This man has come to us worried for your safety. He speaks of an evil which haunts you.” “Yes; him.” You pointed at the man with a shaking finger from anger. “He watches my home at night and follows me around!” You glare at the man, fighting every urge you had not to spit on his feet. “Its true. He followed her to my house this evening. My husband had to tell him to leave.” Lisa placed a hand on Laurence’s chest as he nodded. “Please, may we step inside?” Marcus askes, and you couldn’t say no but you did want to know something. “Why so many people?” Your eyes dart to the people you had known all your life. “Witnesses.” The man spoke with arrogance. “For what?” Lisa asks, stepped forward from behind her husband. “The demon.” The mans eyes darted past you into your house. “The only demon I have known is the one who follows me like a shadow then turns my town against me.” You snap at him. “I aint against you. Just making sure you’re safe.” Henry puffed out his chest. “And you didn’t say you’d been following Miss [l/n] around.” He turns on the new man. “Please, I have some information you might find useful about the beast.” The man steps away from Henry and walks right up to you. You instantly back away from fear. But Laurence steps in front of the mans path, stopping him from proceeding. “My name is Victor Frankenstein.” He stands tall, pressing a hand to his chest as he introduces himself. “What do you want?” Laurence says, his voice dripping with annoyance. At least you weren’t the only one to take an instant disliking to the man. “He came to us with a journal. And he says you have a man living here that he bought to life.” Mr Jones walks up. your mouth fell open as you stared at the man. “He has a journal he claims proves it.” Dr Green walks past both of them to you. “Perhaps we better step inside.” “Okay.” You nod, unable to refuse the good doctor. Everyone filled into your sitting room where the fire was roaring. “So, wheres this journal?” Lisa asks, shooting Frankenstein a dirty look. “Right here.” He produces a black, leather journal from his inner breast pocket. “Firstly, is there a man living here?” Marcus asked you, and you felt embarrassment rush over you. In truth, you and Adam lived in sin, but you didn’t care until you came face to face with someone who held such a high seat in a religious structure. “Yes, there is. But hes a good man.” You immediately defend yourself and Adam, but you saw no hint of disgust or judgement in Marcus’ eyes. He simply nodded and gesture to Frankenstein. Again, Frankenstein tried to walk up to you with the journal in his outstretched hand, but Laurence blocked the path and took it. He then passed you the book and you saw the worry in both his and Lisa’s eyes as you took it. walking to your table, you placed the journal down and, with shaking hands, you opened it. You never expect to see what you saw in the book. You flick through the book and you felt sick to your stomach. How the parts had been taken from graves and used in ways not known to man. The procedure was documented in horrific detail. Every body part, every organ, every blood vessel was accounted for. It even had a diagram of a faceless body showing where the stitches were to be done. They lined up with most of Adams. and then, it documented how he had bought the body to life again and how he had abandoned it when it followed him. He had created a creature, something which was not of this world, and ignored it. You thought of Adams lack of knowledge for things you considered basic, like the inability to use a spoon. It made sense. What Frankenstein was saying was true. The man upstairs was his ‘monster’. You shook the words away. Adam wasn’t a monster. You knew that. But if the world knew he was what Frankenstein claimed, not even you could protect him. Adam deserves a chance. No, he had had his chance and he had shown you he would do anything for you and for the life you had together. Adam had only known pain and rejection, and you weren’t going to let it ever touch him again. You knew what you had to do. You had to protect him. Firstly, you needed to discredit small things. “You truly are a sick man, Mr Frankenstein. And wrong. My Adam is not who you are looking for.” Your words cut through the silence of the room like butter. “Doctor.” He snapped at you, making your eyes snap up. “Its Dr Frankenstein.” “No, you said yourself you were a university student. You hold no doctorate. You cannot simply pick up a title you have not earned.” You shoot back, letting your eyes fall to the journal again.   “regardless, the monster you have in your home was created by me. By my hands.” He raised then as if it were some kind of proof. “And when was that?” You asked, simply trying to buy yourself some time to think of your next move. “4 years ago. 4 years this has haunted me and-“ He started to dribble on, apparently about to go into a monologue but Lisa suddenly cut him off. “Then it cannot be Adam. We have known him for 6 years.” She suddenly said, stepping forward. You were completely confused as you looked at her. She was backing you up in a lie. The room looked to Laurence to confirm. “No, my love. You are mistaken.” He places his hand on her lower back and you felt like you will faint, until he continues. “Its 7 years. Remember? He helped me convert the attic for James when Lily was born.” You felt an overwhelming gratefulness as Laurence looked up and smiled at you. They were trusting your judgement even if they knew Adam was this creature. “Then why haven’t the rest of your town known of his existence?” Frankenstein asks, the anger building in his voice. “Adam was in a dreadful accident when he was younger. He has a lot of scaring and disfigurations. He was an outcast for a long time, chased and beaten for his differences. When I found him, he was timid and terrified. It took a long time for him to trust me, and then to trust Lisa and Laurence.” You gestured to the couple who nodded. “But he was terrified of people.” “And your children?” Mr Jones asked Lisa. “James use to cry when Adam was around. So he stopped seeing my son till he was old enough. But Lily adores him. I shouldn’t trust either then with time. They think I am 10 years old and Laurence is 100.” She giggled, looking to Laurence with a smile at their childrens lack of understand of years. You smiled, grateful for their support and help. But you needed to move this quicker. “Mr Jones, have you read this?” You asked the deputy, gesturing towards the book. “I only glanced through it. I wasn’t given that much time.” He confesses, seeming a little annoyed and embarrassed to admit it. “Its rather disturbing. He admits to digging up peoples graves and taking body parts.” You frown, looking back to the book. “Does he?” All eyes fall onto Frankenstein who was now in the hot seat. “Bring my monster down here. See how the markings line up!” He points to you, then to his book. Perhaps he hoped that if everyone saw Adam, they would forget his own crimes. You looked to Mr Jones, whos sympathetic eyes told you that yes, you would have to. “Okay, I will speak to him.” You nod in defeat, heading to the stairs. You felt a dread build in your chest as you walked to the bedroom. How could you force someone to face the person who could have caused them so much grief? You didn’t know what to expect as you stepped inside and closed the room behind you. Adam was in front of you in a heartbeat. “[y/n]?” Adams voice sounded broken as he fell on his knees at your feet, clinging to your skirt. “I am sorry. forgive me?” You felt your heart break at his pleas. He had heard almost everything and knew that you knew how he was created. “Forgive you for what? You have don’t nothing wrong.” You shake you head, combing your fingers through his hair to sooth him. “I should have told you long ago. I am a monster, a curse. I never meant to deceive you.” He was shaking violently, his voice breaking. You fell to your knees in front of him and cupped his face. Before he could do anything, you kissed him. Slowly and passionately. You didn’t care. You didn’t care what he was or how he came to be this way. You loved him, and that was all that mattered to you right now. You feel his shaking hands leave your skirt to grab your arms just above your elbows. Not aggressively or painfully, but more for reassurance. “I don’t care.” You pull back, keeping your forehead pressed against his own as he nudges closer to you, desperate for the contact. Your arms gently wrap around his shoulders as you hold him close for a moment. But you needed it too. Pulling back, you take his hands in your own and hold them on your lap. Keeping your voice low so if that creep had came up the stairs, he wouldn’t hear the plan. “You need to come downstairs with me.” You see him flinch at the thought of coming face to face with his creator again. You felt a fresh wave of anger towards Frankenstein but you needed to ignore that for now. “Its okay. We’re going to protect you. Now, you are 32 years old and came here 7 years ago. You were in a dreadful accident when you were a child and youre an orphan. You’ve known Lisa and Laurence for 7 years, but James use to cry at you when he was a baby so you didn’t meet him till you had met the others. Everything else is true. Is that okay?” You give his hands a reassuring squeeze and offered him a soft smile. Adam nodded, his eyes falling to your hands. “I promise you the truth when this is over.” He whispers to you, the fear and pain in his eyes apparent but he looks at you with a newfound conviction. “Okay, but it doesn’t matter to me. You do, not your past.” You smile, giving his hands another soft squeeze as you rub your thumbs in small circles on his skin. Adam lets out a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, preparing himself. You gave him that moment, keeping your hands in his own. When he opened his eyes, he nodded to you. The two of your rose from the floor and, taking his right hand in your left, you lead him downstairs. Every step seemed to make your heart stop as you felt Adam was still shaking. leading him towards your living room, every single set of eyes were on you as you guided the giant of a man into the room. you could feel the hate from Frankenstein as if it were burning a hole in your head to get to Adam. You honestly didn’t know what to expect. “Sorry to bother you this evening, but we have some questions, Mr…” mr Jones trailed off. “I have no last name. Adam will do.” Adam spoke to Mr jones with a surprising amount of calm. “And why is that?” Mr Jones asked, more out of curiosity. “I was orphaned at a young age.” Adam offered the explanation with ease, as if he had already thought of it. “Very well, Adam.” He smiled and then introduced everyone around the room. Henry the butcher, Dr green, Marcus the Bishop then to himself and finally Frankenstein. “Do you know this man?” Adam looked at Frankenstein for a moment and shook his head. “I created you. I sew your flesh together and bought you to life with my very hands, you ungrateful monster!” Frankenstein growled at Adam. You stepped forward, your fists clenched into tight balls but Lisa grabbed your arm. “Knock him out after he’s dug himself a hole.” She whispered in your ear. “Or I might.” Laurence muttered and you noticed his own hands were clenched. You were like a sister to Laurence, and he had became very close to Adam. “Your, umm, scaring.” Dr Green steps forward, offering out his hand to take Adams free one. “An accident. I fell down a cliff edge when I was a child.” Adam gives Dr Green his hand to examine. You squeezed his other hand. “And you survived?” Dr Green glanced up over his spectacles. “Yes, but I remember very little from the time. The doctor who saved me pushed me out when I could stand.” Adam says, his voice wavering but it could be passed off as pain. “And your parents?” the good doctor asks again, inspecting the scars. “I do not remember them. My mother died giving birth and my father…” Adam faltered and swallowed. You felt your heart sink until he continues. “He was the reason I fell.” You almost jumped up and kissed him there and then but you kept yourself grounded, not allowing the relief to show in your features. “I see.” Dr Green offered a smile before turning to the group. “The scaring is old but I cannot tell you a time. The boys story is entirely plausible. I, myself, have treated children whos parents have blamed them for the death of a partner. I believe his story over this ‘doctors’ drivel any day.” You smiled as Dr Green spat the word at Frankenstein. You didn’t know if he entirely believed the story, but Dr Green had a strong sense of ethic and that idea of grave robbing for ones own personal trophies would be enough to make Dr Green (and anyone) sick. “You protect a monster? Why?!” Frankenstein suddenly shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at you. Adam immediately steps in front of you, standing at his full height, somethgin you had never truly seen from Adam. He was always hunch over in some way, so seeing him fully straighten up showed how far he had came. You rub his arm as you step out from behind him. You were not afraid of Frankenstein. “The only monster in this room is you.” You speak calmly and clearly as you glare at him. “You stupid, insane bitc-“ Frankenstein starts to come towards you, but Mr Jones grabs his arm as Henry grabs his other arm and yanks him back. Laurence and Lisa move to your side, Lisa looping her arm in your free one as Laurence stands shoulder to shoulder with Adam. “Where do yah think you’re going?” Henry growls. “Speaking to a lady like that?” “She’s bedded a monster! A common whore!” His tongue lashes at you as he struggles against the men holding him back. However, he is stopped when Henrys fist connects with Frankenstein’s cheek and he fell to the floor. “Mr Boneback? Was the necessary?” Mr Jones sighs, but sounds as though henry had just tapped the man. “Aint no need to be calling woman those names. Especially someone who’s been nothing but good to this town. I don’t care much for outsiders anyways. And, as far as im concerned, good old Adam over heres as much part of the town as [y/n]. as long as he buys his meat from me and not the butcher in the next town.” Henry shoots Adam a wink which makes you giggle. “I think the judge will want a few words with you in the morning. In the mean time, some time in the cell might help you reconsider his actions.” Mr Jones pulled Frankenstein off the floor and towards the door. “It’s a Sunday tomorrow. The judge doesn’t work a Sunday.” Marcus called to Mr Jones. “Oh well. Some more time to think things over then.” Mr Jones smirks and him and Henry haul a rambling Frankenstein out of the door. “That man should be locked up for good. Claiming to playing god.” Marcus tutted, shaking his head in disapproval. Both Mr Jones and Henry shout goodbyes through the door, but one Frankenstein is in the back of the enclosed cart then Mr Jones comes back. “Oh, before I forget. Mary asked me to invite you, Lisa and Laurence to dinner on Friday night. And, of course you have a plus one, [y/n].” He smiles at you. His wife was incredibly sweet if not for her inability to keep a secret. You glance to Adam, silently asking if he was okay with such a thing. But Adam seemed confused at the invitation. So you deicide to take a risk. If he decide against it later, you were sure Mr Jones wouldn’t mind. “Of course.” You smile. “Will she be making that apple pie?” Lisa bounces on the balls of her feet, clutching her hands together in a prayer style. “I can put in a request, if you like.” He chuckles. “we will be there.” Laurence chuckles as he puts his hand on his wife shoulder to calm her. With that, Mr Jones ducks out the house with a wave. Dr Green stepped before Adam, his eyes linger on the scars. “my dear boy, I have some oil in my office. I use it on those who have deep scaring and it helps. It doesn’t make the scars invisible, mind you, but it does help to heal the skin. Its yours in you want it?” Dr Greens offer took Adam by surprise, but he nods. “I would greatly appreciate that. Thank you.” He couldn’t help the shaking in his voice at such kindness. Dr Green smiles, his eyes filled with warmth. “Come by my office when you are in town. [y/n] knows where I am.” Dr Green looks at you and you nod to confirm, looking up at Adam to show you did. Dr Green bows slightly before picking up the journal and turning it in his hands. “Once this is all over, I think this will be burnt. We don’t want anyone getting any ideas from it.” He stuff the book ungracefully into his jacket pocket. “I agree. Although I highly doubt he will face much punishment here. Frankenstein will probably be sent back to his family in disgrace. And I do not think it would be wise to show his face around here again. Henry is a nice fellow, but he does have access to a lot of knifes.” The bishop smirks at Dr Green and the two chuckle. “How is your granddaughter? I heard her arm is healing nicely.” Dr Green and the bishop walk to the door. They had grown up together in this town, and always looked for a chance to catch. “oh!” Marcus turns back to you. “should you wish to give your last name to Adam so that he might have a last name, I would be more than willing to conduct that service.” You felt your cheeks lite up as you realised that would mean marriage. He chuckled before turning back to Dr green. they walked out the door speaking, their own horse and carriage awaited them after Henry and Mr Jones had left. That left you, Adam, Lisa and Laurence. The room felt empty and a lot larger now. “What does that mean?” Adam asks, tilting his head to the side looking after Marcus. “Well, you know how I have Laurence’s last name? normally the bride takes the husbands last name, but I think they would make an exception for you two.” She smiles widely at you. “only if I get to be the maid of honour.” You swat her arm playfully at her arm as Adam chuckles nervously. “Do you still wish us to stay?” Laurence asks, and you were a little surprised. But then you realised that he would know that right now, Adam and you needed to be alone. “I think we will be fine. Thank you.” You wrapped your arms around Lisa and held her close, grateful for her support. both her and Laurence stayed for half an hour or so, letting everything die down before heading home themselves. You waved from your porch having offered to walk them out. You walked into the sitting room and saw him sitting by the fire, staring off into nothing. “Adam?” You drew him from his thoughts. The moment his eyes found your own, you saw an undeniable happiness about them. You walked up and offered him your hand to help him up. Adam smiles and accepts, then takes both your hands in his own. “I promised you an explanation.” He started, his eyes lingering to the seats by the table, but you shook your head. “when you are ready, you can tell me. For now, I think we both need some sleep.” You reach up and cup his cheek, lovingly caressing the man before you with a soft smile. He leans down and into your touch, his eyes falling close as he revels in the intimacy. You guided him to the bedroom, and he watches as you change. No in a lustful way, but admiring how strong and smart you were. In a world which he had learned to never trust anyone, you had came to him with acceptance and love. Furthermore, you had been willing lie for him to have a better life. Lisa and Laurence had been willing to lie. He felt a worry set in his stomach. By morning, everyone in the village will know if his existence. Yet, he didn’t feel the familiar worry of if they would come with pitchforks and torches. No, he felt nervous to meet them. The butcher had said he should come into his shop, Dr Green had offered him remedies that might help with the scaring and Mr Jones invited him, you, Lisa and Laurence to his home for dinner with his wife (the town gossip from what he had heard from you). Sure, he wondered if it were some elaborate trap but, for the first time in his life, a louder voice told him it wasn’t. To be not only apart of your family, but now of your community? Adam wanted nothing more. “Would you share your last name with me?” He suddenly asks you as you pull on your nightgown. “Why, Adam, are you proposing?” You giggle, trying to make light of the situation. Adam immediately goes all shy, ducking into himself. “Im kidding. Im sure you can change your last name without marriage. We can look into it, if you’d like.” Adam followed as you climbed into bed and immediately cuddle into him. “I would like to marry you.” He whispers to you, as if it were a secret he didn’t want anyone else to know. You look at him and see him gazing at you with adoration. “I’d like that too.” You smile, cupping his jaw and kissing him. But you pull back with a yawn. “Its been a long day. We have a lot to talk about in the morning. Perhaps that can be on the agenda. I am sure you have quite the story to tell me.” Adam smiles and nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. As always, you fell asleep first. Adam didn’t need as much sleep as you but would never miss out on the chance to have you in his arms. For the first time in a long time, he thought about the first few dark days of his existence. He thought of the moments he realised how people saw him and the moment where he felt completely alone in this world. He had always felt an anger towards his creator, but that flame had been snuffed out when you entered his life. Tonight, it had reignited for a moment, but not because of the pain and suffering Frankenstein had caused him but because of the way he had spoken to you. you, who had been nothing but warm and loving to him. You; whos character was so trustworthy that the people who knew you riled behind you. You; whos kindness had changed him completely. You; who he loved unconditionally. Adam ran his fingers through your hair as you drifted off onto a dreamless sleep. He wished he could read your mind, find out why you had done what you had done to protect him. He wanted to know what you saw in him that no one else had until you stood by his side and gave him a chance. He would never work it out or understand you, but as he lay in bed, smiling at your sleeping form, he felt his chest swell with pride and love. And perhaps, a marriage to you? He could now walk along side you, hand in hand. Not a monster but as a normal man.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Pietro x Reader Part 1/2

Warnings: Stalking, asshole can’t take no for an answer

It started with a “Hey baby, can I get your number?” 

He was tall and tanned, green eyes like you’d never seen before and a blinding smile that made you sick. Maybe it wasn’t the smile so much as the black, grainy mist around him that seemed to suck the breath from your lungs. Going out into public was hard enough when you had to deal with people’s auras bombarding you every time you took a peak in their direction. All you’d wanted was some damn cheeto puffs. 

“U-um sorry, I have a boyfriend,” You finally choked out, averting your gaze and trying to mentally block him out. You’d been getting a lot of help to ease you into being around others without it getting overwhelming, but this man was sick, rotten to the core and you weren’t strong enough yet to block him out. 

“Where is he then? You can’t tell me he’d let a pretty little thing like you out all on your own?” I’m not a thing, asshole. You thought venomously, looking around at the convenience store surroundings. He’d backed you to the corner of the store while you’d been looking at the sodas. Damn your need for fizzy drinks. You looked up and could hardly stop yourself from wincing. Your stomach turned. He was bad news and you wanted to get the hell away from him. His aura felt like it was leaving a stain on you. 

“He’s in the bathroom, he’ll be out in just a moment, I’m sure,” You lied through your teeth trying to shuffle to the side to excuse yourself. 

“I’ll keep you company then,” He persisted, stepping along with you. You were going to scream. 

“I’m alright, thanks,” You said ducking under his arm as you bolted from the store. No cheeto puffs and no soda. How disappointing. 

Three days later you were walking your dog in the park. It was a sunny day and you felt great. You’d had a great breakfast after sleeping in, the first day of the weekend was rejuvenating. You walked at a slow pace on a trail surrounded by trees. Angel sniffed at everything she passed and it made you even more fond of her. She always stopped to smell the roses, and the grass, and the lost children’s sock, and some other dog poop, well the point was, if she stopped to notice the beauty in things, so could you.

As you slowed for her however you couldn’t help but catch something out of the corner of your eye that caused your heart to drop. That suffocating black aura was jogging around the bend and you tugged at Angel’s leash. “C’mon sweetheart, lets go,” If he caught up to you, the roses would wilt and so would your mood. “Angel, come on!” You hissed, feeling bad as her ears flattened to her head but you were already feeling sick and you needed to go. 

“Hey cutie! Fancy seeing you again,” You heard him call out and you froze, limbs tense and you wondered if you could start walking again and pretend you hadn’t heard him. You decided too late and he was beside you, Angel wagging her tail. Traitor. If only she could see what you could. Your shoulders raised in defense. 

“Yeah... crazy,” You said noncommittally. Your legs wanted to take you as far away as possible.

“I didn’t catch your name last time, you ran off,” He stated, taking a step forward. You took a tentative step back onto the grass behind you but kept one foot in front to hopefully put some distance between you and his sickly smile. I want to leave, i want to leave, i want to leave. Your mind chanted. 

“O-oh yeah sorry, had to get back home to my boyfriend,” You fibbed.

“I thought he had been in the bathroom.” He said coolly, like he’d known you were lying before.Of course he did, you’d mentioned a significant other and then left the store without one look back. 

“W-well-” You began.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” I’m not your sweetheart, “I’m not mad.” He stated with a smile, tugging his phone from his pocket. “You can make it up to me by giving me your number. Lying doesn’t suit pretty girls,” You could gag. You were choking. His aura darkened the more you stood around him and it seemed to curl around him while reaching out the things around him. Poisoning his surroundings. Poisoning you. 

You knew you were safe from harm, at least from the colored mist that originated from him. Yet the hair on the back of your neck stood at attention and you couldn’t help but fear this man. His persistence was alarming and even more so, the fact that he remained unfazed by how you responded was frightening. Couldn’t he just get the hint? 

You cursed yourself that night as your phone pinged with a notification and you jumped. You hadn’t known what to do. Just to get him to go away you’d given him your number, saying you needed to take Angel home. It had seemed to be the only way to get him off your back and for the past couple hours you’d been sick and nervous, pacing about and trying to distract your mind but you weren’t sure how you were going to respond to him when he did text.

Peaking at your phone you were relieved to see it was a text from Wanda. 

Coming over tonight? She asked.

You let yourself feel some relief. You were going to the tower to have a movie night with your friendly avengers. It didn’t happen as often as you wished, you cared for all of them and their busy schedules kept you from being kept up to date with their lives but they did still find the time to keep in touch when they could and tonight everyone would be home and you were ecstatic. 

Absolutely! Give me 20. You quickly responded, kissing Angel’s head as you got up from your spot on the couch.

 You threw on a jacket and touched up your makeup. You didn’t have to impress anyone there, but you wanted to. Looking nice for the world’s protectors seemed like the thing to do but you were especially happy to see Pietro. He was your sunshine and you were in desperate need of some. He had the most beautiful aura you’d ever seen. All yellow and bright and sunny, hence the nickname. After dealing with that black cloud hanging over your head you were more than happy to be around him, he was your peace of mind. You shoved your phone in your pocket and stepped out of your small apartment, locking the door behind you. 

The air was cooler than it had been all summer and you could nearly smell the seasons changing. The air was damp, like it might rain and the leaves rustled gently as mother nature set to turning them and setting them free from their branches. But for now it was still warm and the leaves were vibrant green. Showing off before they were blown away and forgotten for a few months. It was relaxing and you let your guard down as you walked down the few blocks you had to cross before arriving at the tower. 

But tonight the walk seemed longer. The streets seemed oddly bare too. And yet you didn’t feel like you were alone. Stop being silly, you’re just spooked from earlier you big baby, you’re fine. You scolded yourself. You peaked over your shoulder and nothing jumped out at you but you couldn’t get rid of the feeling like you were being watched. Your pace quickened and the air seemed to bite at you now. You only slowed suddenly for a moment. Maybe you could fool them, hear their footsteps. Stop it Y/N! There is no them. 

You nearly sobbed when you saw the tower come into view. You safely crossed the street and walked up to the front doors, light shining down around you. You breathed in relief and opened the door, letting the feeling of safety bring your limbs back to life, chasing away the numb fear that had been spreading steadily throughout your body. 

Yet as you entered the elevator, turning around to press the number you couldn’t help but notice a pair of bright green eyes beyond the entrance. Your blood ran cold and your eyes widen. The elevator doors closed slowly even as you jammed your finger against the close button. He just smiled, lifting his hand to wave at you. Your breath was caught in your throat, like you’d forgotten how to breathe. The only thing that snapped you out of it was the sound of your phone going off. 

Assuming it was a text from Wanda you happily sought out the distraction. But what you saw made bile rise in your throat. A text from Adam, the mystery man. Tears sprung up into your eyes and your hands shook, that fear creeping back in. You felt like you were being swallowed whole, like his aura was in the air, following the distance between you two as you rose up, up, up in the elevator. 

Glad you made it safely, walking at night can be dangerous. 

Your eyes were glued to the screen even as the doors opened. It was only Friday’s voice asked you if you were leaving at this floor that snapped you to the present and you managed a quiet yes, stumbling out of the elevator while you tried to turn your phone off. It took a moment, your hands shaking too badly but you managed it. 

You had to take a moment to breathe and realize that you were in the safest building anywhere probably and you were with gods and assassins but most importantly you were with friends and they would never let anything happen to you. 

[hexlikesramennoodles]

32 please :)

32. A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.

Author’s note: this one got away from me! Writing unnecessarily long fic is my brand, I guess.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve’s voice demanded.

The bathroom door swung shut behind him with a metallic scream of hinges. In the corner of the mirror, Billy caught sight of him: stalking forwards with his hands bunched at his sides, his hair a ludicrous, flopping bouffant. He was wearing a new sweater: a deep navy blue, luxurious and soft-looking. The Ralph Lauren logo was sewn onto his breast, its stick man arm raised. His mom had bought it for him, Billy guessed. Steve rarely chose any of his clothes himself, and it showed—he always looked awkward, conscious of his body and how you perceived it.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Billy zipped his fly, then stepped away from the urinal. He let the faucet run, taking his time on purpose. If Steve was going to come in here and harass him while he answered a call of nature, he could wait until Billy had washed his hands.

“Uh-uh,” Steve said. “Don’t do that. I hate it when you do that.”

“Harrington, I’ve got a date waiting for me, so if you’re gonna—”

“Oh, a date, huh?” Steve’s eyebrows arched high. “A date with Stella, of all people? Since when was she your type?”

“Since yesterday,” answered Billy. “Time is money, Harrington. I’m gonna miss my movie.” He smiled nastily. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get to second base before the credits roll.”

He didn’t doubt it. Stella Delgado was one of those girls whose clinging insecurity was as loud and obvious as the cheap perfume she wore. She was every small town cliché wrapped into one: an alcoholic father who beat her bloody on the regular. An absent mother, dead or eloped with another abusive deadbeat. Three runty, snotnosed siblings under the age of ten of whom she was the unwilling primary caregiver. She looked at Billy the same way Karen Wheeler looked at him: with moist, lip-wobbling hope. Billy imagined that she’d already written the names of their children in her lockable diary, using neat, curlicued handwriting; two of them, a boy and a girl with his hair and her eyes.

Steve stared at him, red-faced and irate. A loose thread dangled from the sleeve of his sweater. Billy was seized by a strong impulse to pull at it. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Don’t,” Steve was suddenly snarling. He took a step towards Billy, long and darting, then seemed to stop himself. “I hate it when you act like there’s nothing wrong. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re fucking doing. It drives me crazy.”

Good, Billy thought. That loose thread was starting to piss him off; everything about Steve was starting to piss him off.

“This is about Nancy, isn’t it?” Steve went on. “Who told you we were going to the movies? Fucking Carol? I knew it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Billy said venomously. “You think you’re that important, Harrington? Huh? You think I pine for you?”

“Stella’s really nice.” Steve’s voice was deliberately calm, rigid. “You’re gonna break her heart. Does she know you’re g—”

Billy lunged at him. Steve must have been expecting it; he rapidly backpedaled, raising his arms as he did so. “What was that?” Billy said loudly, putting a hand to his ear. “You wanna repeat that for me?”

He hated that he knew which of Steve’s clothes his mom had picked out for him, and which ones Steve had chosen for himself. He hated how looking at Steve made him feel: tight and hot and uncomfortable, as if he was covered in a layer of clay that had set wrong and was starting to buckle at the edges. Brittle, too close to snapping. Most of all, he hated Stella Delgado, and how vulnerable she was. How trusting.

She should know better by now.

“Look, it’s whatever, alright?” Steve said. “Just stay away from Nance. I mean that.”

His sneaker squeaked on tile; in the bathroom mirror, Billy saw him turn to leave. “You think she loves you?” he called.

He shouldn’t have said it, should’ve known when to leave well enough alone, but that required more foresight than he was capable of mustering. It was too gratifying to watch the words land, the impact they had on Steve’s posture: a visible rippling down his spine, as if he’d passed close to an electric current. He was so easy to read. There was a hole in Billy’s chest, a hole with ragged, eroded edges that went all the way through him. The sickly rush of gratification filled it right back up, made him believe—for one brief, terrible moment—that he wasn’t so hollow inside.

“Nance fucked Jonathan Byers,” he said. The faucet was still running, the sound seeming to come from right between his temples. It was thunderous, relentless; the sound caught him, swept him up, and he didn’t know how to make himself stop and so all he could do was keep going, descending towards his inevitable doom. Billy’s mother had been an alcoholic, too; self-destruction was in his blood.

“We’re past that,” Steve said quietly.

Billy licked his lips. “No. I mean—I mean she fucked him again. On Memorial Day. Ask Carol if you don’t believe me. She doesn’t love you. She’s just waiting for something better to come along.” He licked his lips again, then showed Steve his teeth. It felt more like a grimace than a smile. “Looks like she found it—”

But Steve was shaking his head. “Jonathan’s my friend, Billy. Why would he—Christ, do you even hear yourself sometimes?”

“She doesn’t love you,” Billy repeated. “Ask Carol. Ask anybody. Half the town knows by now. You’re the only one who’s not with the program, pretty boy.”

He was paraphrasing what Carol had told him, if only to spare Harrington’s ego. In reality, Carol had drunkenly mimed the story using a popsicle stick and the middle of a jelly doughnut—splat!—laughing while she did it. Her grin had been wide and stupid, her laughter snorting and pig-like. Billy had wanted to throttle her.

“What are you saying?” Steve sounded tired, not outraged. Billy hated that, too. Wheeler made Steve so fucking weak. Billy had been expecting a shove, maybe even a punch. He deserved as much. But no—Steve was good for Nancy, perfect princess Nancy. “It’s Nancy, it always comes back to Nancy. Are you trying to tell me that I’d be better off with you?”

Billy opened his mouth. He had the words, all the bad nasty evil words that he knew would hurt if he decided to unleash them. You think I’m some kind of fucking queer? When Stella had bounded up to him in front of the concessions stand, her mud-colored hair pushed behind her ears and her unremarkable mouth stretched into an even more unremarkable smile, she hadn’t even noticed the lipgloss Billy was wearing. Maybe she’d told herself it was a trick of the fluorescents, that she was seeing things, silly girl. People always see what they wanna see.

“Billy,” Steve said. His voice was much closer. “Do you love me?”

His reflection had become a smudge on the glass of the mirror. It hurt to look at him. It made Billy’s eyes prickle. His hands were frozen around the edge of the sink, the water streaming from the faucet ceaselessly. Its spray wet his face and his eyelashes, but he could hardly feel it.

“Yeah, right,” Steve muttered. “Like you’d even know what that is. People are just disposable to you. Just—”

When his sneaker squeaked again, it was accompanied by the sound of the door reopening. Billy looked up. Steve’s sweater was shrinking, vanishing into the hallway outside, its loose thread fluttering.

They had entered an arrangement based on a mutual understanding of three things. One, that Billy had a cock. He wasn’t like Nancy, or any other girl Steve had been with before her. Two, that he wasn’t soft, delicate, or malleable. He would never fit into whatever Steve’s ideal for a life partner was. He didn’t want to. Three, that Steve didn’t want him, either. Steve liked his body and his face, but he was always telling Billy about the things he didn’t like. Always telling Billy he was too much, too intense.

Fine. Crystal fucking clear. Or so Billy had thought.

“I’m goin’ away for the summer.” Steve was holding the door open with his foot. He always had to have the last word. “With my parents. To Spain, then Portugal. Might visit the grandparents while we’re there. Do some … soul searching. So.”

Billy felt himself blink. “So?”

Steve’s Adam’s apple was a slow roll. He shrugged, and pushed the door wider. He was leaving. Billy watched him go, his hands gripping the sink uselessly. Faucet still splashing, but the sound wasn’t inside his head anymore. It was far off, unimportant. Steve was leaving, and Billy wasn’t doing anything to stop him.

“I’ll miss you,” he blurted.

Steve sighed.

The door slammed shut. Two, three steps: Steve was moving faster than Billy had ever seen him. He yanked Billy by the collar, kissing him with such force it jarred his neck. Billy’s hipbone was crushed against the sharp edge of the sink, but the pain was the sweetest he’d ever felt. Steve kissed him hard enough to make his jaw ache, then soothed the ache with a touch of his fingertips. He kissed the lipgloss from Billy’s mouth and moaned at the taste. He kissed angrily and with teeth, like he had a bone to pick, an itch to scratch. That was nothing new.

“I miss you all the time,” Billy said.

“Shut up,” Steve whispered. “Don’t talk. Everything you ever say—you never mean it—”

“I do. I do. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s fingers were still touching his face. Billy didn’t open his eyes. He could feel Steve there, a closeness that bordered on claustrophobia. His spine was pressed up against the sink, running water soaking the back of his shirt. The stillness, the intimacy of being this close to someone without doing anything about it, was unbearable. Exhilarating.

“God.” Steve exhaled harshly through his teeth; his breath surged over Billy’s face. When Billy willed his eyes open, Steve was standing in front of him, looking like a middle schooler faced with a complicated math problem. His eyes were scrunched shut, and his teeth worried at his lower lip. Billy could see where some of the glitter from the gloss had smeared on him, pink and little-girl pretty. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached across and wiped it off with his thumb. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open. He looked at Billy almost wonderingly. “You wanna get out of here?”

What about Nancy? Billy wanted to say. I’m gonna miss my movie, he wanted to say, like a smartass. He wanted to kick and scream and give Steve hell, send him flying straight back into Wheeler’s bony arms. Instead he lowered his head, meek, and let Steve entwine a finger around his pinkie. Stella was better off without him.

They left the bathroom together. Walking past the concession stand and the claw cranes, the squashy chairs where you could sit and watch the trailers for every movie that was coming out for the summer. Steve’s finger stayed curled around his pinkie, because he couldn’t outright take Billy’s hand. Not while they were in public.

By the time they reached the escalators, they were running.

[vintagegeekculture]

You once said that Captain Marvel's Golden Age popularity tends to be overstated. Could you please elaborate?

I was specifically referring to the idea that “CaptainMarvel was the best selling superhero of the 1940s,” which I have seen a fewplaces, and is untrue. Though Captain Marvel was very famous and tremendouslypopular, the best selling superhero of the 1940s was exactly who you’d thinkit’d be: Superman.

A closer look at the era shows that our concept of the era,with Captain Marvel/Superman as this Gobots/Transformers or N’Sync/Backstreet Boys rivalry is untrue, because the reality is that there were several tremendously popular charactersthat were second-banana to Superman in the comics world at different points inthe 1940s: Sheena, Queen of the Jungle, Nedor’s Black Terror, and mostextraordinarily of all, the Blue Beetle, who is a pretty good candidate for my“dead fandoms” series in that at one point, he was in the top three ofsuperheroes, a radio phenomenon with a coast to coast fan club.

The narrative that Captain Marvel was the biggest hero apartfrom Superman hides how huge these other characters were, and it’s moreinteresting to talk about how, say, Black Terror was huge but vanished, or howthe best selling female adventure comics character of the 1940s wasn’t WonderWoman but Sheena, Queen of the Jungle.

(You’ll probably note the absence of a few characters thatwere only big in retrospect: Batman comes to mind. In the Golden Age, he was in  the top 10 of superheroes, sure, but his popularity wasn’t that great until thehit TV show of the 1960s made him a semi-rival in popularity to Superman. Anycollector can attest to this: it is truly rare to find any Batman merchandisebefore 1966.

If this was Snopes or something, I’d call the “Captain Marvel was the top selling superhero” as partially true, because it is: the origin of this misconception is the totally true claimthat Captain Marvel’s comic was the top seller at certain points in thedecade, certainly, but (and this is the key part) from what we can tell, he wasnot consistently the top seller,which I think is an important distinction. Part of it was the astounding dropof interest in superheroes after the war, but part of it was also that CaptainMarvel just plain ran out of gas creatively at a certain point.

In other words, Captain Marvel had what we today call a“shark jump” point, Simpsons Season 9 style. And that point is, rightly orwrongly (mostly wrongly), associated with the introduction of Mr. Tawny theTalking Tiger in 1947, a Jar-Jar Binks-esque character of unclear purpose.

Let me be absolutely clear: Mr. Tawny the Talking Tiger wasnot the reason later Captain Marvel comics lacked the pizzazz and charm of theearlier ones, just like Jar Jar Binks is notthe reason a lot of people didn’t connect to the Star Wars prequel movies.The issues were a little more fundamental. But like Jar Jar Binks, Mr. Tawny isidentified as the point at which dissatisfaction crystalizes.

Captain Marvel until 1946, might just be some of my favorite comics ever. The Monster Society of Evil was easily one of the creative highpoints of the Golden Age, the first time 23 or more issues in a single comicwas dedicated to a sweeping story, the first time all villains of a hero cametogether. It was easily one of the most ambitious and memorable stories of the Golden Age. It’s had a lot of trouble getting reprinted in modern times, due to racially insensitive, caricature-esque depictions of Asians and blacks. The story nonetheless should be reprinted, with such depictions relevant for their historical importance. 

For those who are unaware, in a time before serial storytelling, close to 2 years of Captain Marvel were dedicated to a single over-arching story. All of Captain Marvel’s enemies, from Oggar and Black Adam to the Crocodile Men, the robot Mr. Atom, Goatman, and Captain Nazi were unified by a mysterious cackling voice on a speakerbox, into the Monster Society of Wvil, by a creature called Mr. Mind, who’s identity was totally unknown. At the end, after two years of battle, Captain Marvel finally unmasked the mysterious voice on the speaker box - only to reveal the sinister Hitlerian genius that threatened the world was actually just a tiny worm.

But in a few years, perhaps because the comic was done by a single creative team, as inevitably happens, they started to run out of ideas. This  makes sense to me – if “anything can happen,” nothing is eventful. One exerciseI do with stories and settings is to identify three things that can’t happen – if they can’t identify three things that won’t happen in thestory, their setting doesn’t have a unique identity.

History has a way of eliminating our sense of the passage oftime completely. To someone born after the Golden Age of Comics and looking back,the introduction of Mr. Tawny, the Talking Tiger, happened at the same time asMonster Society of Evil and the other legendary Captain Marvel stories; unlessyou read them in the original order, or read them in reprints in the DC 80 PageGiants, they’re a big undifferentiated mass that came out simultaneously. ButMr. Tawny came several years later after the truly great Captain Marvel storieswere told, and did not participate in them. Reboots scrambled things up evenfurther, some of which have Mr. Tawny there from the beginning (like Ordway’sPower of Shazam! Mini where Tawny was Mary’s stuffed toy who came to life).

There are some people who defend the later Golden Age Captain Marvel in much the same way that there are people who defend Star Trek V: the Final Frontier. More power to them if they see something of value. Personally, I never hate anything when it comes to fiction, even the bad things you can learn things from (never, ever hate a movie…and never forget that disliking things is not a personality trait). The internet being the internet, however…well, I can’t help but wonder if a lot of modern Mr. Tawny fans like him because they want to fuck him. 

Just like with Jar Jar, it’s better not to forget him – he’sthere, use him somehow. I rather liked how he was used in the Captain Marvel/Shazam movie that came out last April, not as a character, but as a Kubrick style visual motif that keeps showing up in Billy’s life to reflect his desire for a realhome, on his backpack and everywhere (notice that his costume has tigertoken cape claspers). I also liked the idea in Ordway’s Power of Shazam series that Mr.Tawky was a friend of Mary Marvel, not Billy, a friend who gives her emotionalsupport and who is a semi-father figure. And there was an absolutely wonderfulissue of Astro City clearly inspired by Mr. Tawky, where the Astro City version was kind of a sad-eyed drunk and failure chewed up and spat out by the venomousculture of showbusiness.

It was so funny to me that this year, they had two CaptainMarvel movies come out from competing studios within weeks of each other. That’s such an asshole move that I kind of admire it, and I seriously doubt the timing is a coincidence. I am100% sure that some ultra-competitive alpha dog studio executive said, “hey,can we have them come out the same weekend?” It reminds me of how Golan and Globus after they split, both simultaneously made movies about the Lambadadance craze, and released them the exact same weekend to spite each other, with one named “Lambada”and the other named “The Forbidden Dance.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 18, 2020 (Sunday)

Heather Cox Richardson

Today reinforced some of the developing storylines of the 2020 election.

Last night, at a rally in Michigan, Trump once again attacked Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer for locking down her state in the early days of the pandemic. When the crowd started to chant “Lock her up!” Trump responded: “Lock them all up!” Just ten days ago, the FBI arrested eight men plotting to kidnap Whitmer and put her on trial for “treason.” Whitmer called Trump out for “inspiring and incentivizing and inciting this kind of domestic terrorism.” She told NBC, “It is wrong. It’s got to end. It is dangerous, not just for me and my family, but for public servants everywhere who are doing their jobs and trying to protect their fellow Americans. People of goodwill on both sides of the aisle need to step up and call this out and bring the heat down.”

Lara Trump, who is married to Eric Trump and is a senior advisor to the Trump campaign, disagreed. She told CNN’s Jake Tapper, “Well, look, he wasn’t doing anything, I don’t think, to provoke people to threaten this woman at all…. He was having fun at a Trump rally.” The Trump campaign then insisted that a small “8645” emblem on a table beside Whitmer during her television interview was “encouraging assassination attempts” against Trump. (To “86” something is slang for getting rid of it.) While observers have noted Trump’s use of gaslighting—making someone believe something that is not true—another abusive pattern is “DARVO,” which stands for “Deny, Attack, and Reverse Victim and Offender.”

Today, Dr. Anthony Fauci said that political officials in the Trump administration have restricted his media appearances. He also explained that he now has federal protection because of threats to his life, and to his wife and children. “That’s sad,” he told Jonathan Lapook of CBS’s “60 Minutes,” “The very fact that a public health message to save lives triggers such venom and animosity to me that it results in real and credible threats to my life and my safety.”

The editorial board of the New York Times today ran a special section of the Sunday Review to explain to readers in thirteen essays why Trump “is unfit to lead the nation.” The essays cover his corruption, incompetent statesmanship, attacks on women and minorities, rejection of science, and so on. The editorial introducing the issue begins: “Donald Trump’s re-election campaign poses the greatest threat to American democracy since World War II.” What follows is a blistering litany of the actions of the man who is “without any real rivals as the worst American president in modern history,” the editors say. He is conducting “an intolerable assault on the very foundations of the American experiment in government by the people.” The editorial concludes: “Mr. Trump is a man of no integrity. He has repeatedly violated his oath to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States…. Now, in this moment of peril, it falls to the American people — even those who would prefer a Republican president — to preserve, protect and defend the United States by voting.”

More Republicans who have appeared to move in lockstep with the president are distancing themselves from him. Senator John Cornyn (R-TX) needs independents to swing his way in a tight race with Democrat MJ Hegar, a retired Air Force combat pilot. On Friday, Cornyn told the Fort Worth Star-Telegram Editorial Board that his relationship with Trump was “maybe like a lot of women who get married and think they’re going to change their spouse, and that doesn’t usually work out very well.” Cornyn claims to have stood up to Trump, but privately.

In all this there is nothing really new.

But there is a story that might have new information in it.

Last Wednesday morning, October 14, the tabloid New York Post ran a complicated and unbelievable story about Hunter Biden dropping off three laptops at a repair store and never going back for them, the FBI subpoenaing hard drives, and the repair shop owner making copies before turning them over and then giving the copies to Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani, who gave them to the New York Post. Allegedly, the material on the laptops was incriminating.

The story was pretty transparently bogus from the start, especially since Giuliani has been hanging around with Andrii Derkach, a Ukrainian lawmaker who, according to the Treasury Department, is a longtime Russian agent. According to the Treasury, Derkach has been working to promote “false and unsubstantiated narratives concerning U.S. officials in the upcoming 2020 election.” Giuliani was an eager listener.

Today, Katie Robertson at the New York Times reported that the New York Post article was so suspect that its lead author refused to put his name on it. The two main sources for the story were Stephen Bannon, Trump’s former advisor who is under federal indictment for fraud, and Giuliani. Giuliani said he took the story to the Post because “either nobody else would take it, or if they took it, they would spend all the time they could to try to contradict it before they put it out.” One woman whose name finally appeared on the story is a former associate producer for Sean Hannity’s show and has been at the newspaper only since April. The other did not work on the story and only discovered her name was on it after it was published. The New York Times, the Washington Post and the Wall Street Journal have all said they could not verify the story.

The startling new “revelations” about Hunter Biden mirror classic disinformation campaigns in Russia, and look a great deal like the last-minute “revelations” about Hillary Clinton’s emails “discovered” on a laptop in Fall 2016, all of which later came to nothing. Former CIA officer Evan McMullin tweeted: “For weeks, there’s been awareness in intel circles of Russian plans to return (with Trump) to their bogus Biden-Burisma narrative and, as I’ve warned, their plan to expand that to include bonkers pedophilia and human trafficking allegations against the Bidens. Don’t fall for it!”

And yet, certain Republican lawmakers are running with the story. Republican Representative Lee Zeldin of New York tweeted that “Joe Needs to answer some questions ASAP about this dirty $ setup.” Senator Ron Johnson (R-WI) went onto the Fox News Channel to suggest that the computer at the center of this story, allegedly belonging to Hunter Biden, had child pornography on it. This prompted intelligence specialist Malcolm Nance to tweet: “Whoa. The Republicans tried to tie Hunter Biden to child pornography. This is a 100% FSB [Russian Intelligence Agency] tactic. The FSB ALWAYS claims/plants Child porn on their opponents.”

For at least a year now, intelligence officers have warned us that Russia is interfering in this election, trying to swing it to Trump. Despite the fact that Trump’s polling numbers are abysmal, our Electoral College system means that the swing of relatively few voters in key states could enable him to eke out a victory, just as he did in 2016. It is worth remembering that Trump’s plan in 2020 has never been to win a majority; it has been to win by gaming the system. It seems to me also worth remembering that Trump has consistently refused either to criticize Russia or to acknowledge that Putin’s agents are working to help him get reelected.

While many Trump campaign officials are already trying to blame each other for their candidate’s apparent weakness, Trump and his loyalists remain adamant that he is going to win. They are allegedly taking names of those whom he considers insufficiently supportive. He is mad at Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY), who has rejected the president’s plans for a coronavirus relief bill and who publicly criticized the White House approach to the pandemic. He has gone after Senator Susan Collins (R-ME) for her coolness toward Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney Barrett, and Senator Ben Sasse (R-NE) for his condemnation of the president in a phone call with constituents. Senator Mitt Romney (R-UT), who has made his dislike for Trump clear in recent statements, is also on the outs.

Tim Murtaugh, communications director for the Trump campaign, says, “President Trump won in 2016 without the vocal support of the political insider crowd, and he’s going to do it again. The President enjoys the support of over 90 percent of Republicans….”

It is certainly possible that the Trump campaign is putting a brave face on the terrible polls, but the ham-handed attempt to dump disinformation about the Bidens is an excellent reminder that foreign operatives have been trying to influence our elections since 2016, and they have not gone away.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

Heather Cox Richardson

[caiminnent]

dawn’s first light [Adam & Malik with implied jensard, T]

Prompt(s): missing and presumed dead (@badthingshappenbingo​, 3/25) + 14

Summary: Adam survived Panchaea. Not everyone knows that.

Fandom: Deus Ex

Tags: Not Black Light Compliant

1.7K. || Also on AO3.

It’s not the best bar she could sneak her way into, but her glass is more booze than ice, the music doesn’t make her ears bleed and people don’t stare at Augs too hard—three things she couldn’t say for anywhere else she’s been to in Prague.

Not that she’s been doing a lot of bar-hopping. Her time in Sarif Industries—and isn’t that a name she wasn’t dying to think of tonight—has done a good job of training a regular sleep cycle out of her; but the streets of Prague at night are nothing short of a horror movie. She’s only out here tonight because the thoughts inside her head were worse.

At least Sarif hadn’t minded the fuel she wasted on the nights she needed an escape.

That was a different time, though. A different life.

She was a different person, too.

Maybe.

She shakes her head, stabbing her short straw at the melting ice at the bottom. Getting maudlin on herself—always a good sign to call it a night. Except that she doesn’t want to. Calling it a night means walking back to her hotel room, alone; it means checkpoints and barricades and power-drunk police officers getting in her face about half a dozen different documents that she needed to get forged to “prove” her improved synapses don’t make her a criminal.

She signals the bartender for ještě jedno, who gives her a careful look-over but takes the glass anyway, leaving her with the coaster. It’s an ugly brown that blends with the counter, worn and peeling at the edges, the bar’s name written across it. The internet says it means brave.

A sign, if she’s willing to take it that way.

Holding up the coaster between two fingers, she snaps a quick picture and types: Drinking alone. Join me.

---

Two drinks in, Adam is more relaxed than she ever remembers seeing him: shields off, sleeves pushed up, his new too-expensive trench coat piled up on the stool next to him that no one dared take. He’s been talking, even—about everything and nothing; she’s lost the thread somewhere between an asshole colleague and the coffee machine at work.

Work that he’s been very careful to talk around. A couple drinks every few months doesn’t make them the best of friends; but they should’ve been above half-truths by now, considering. Guess not.

Around them, the track finally dies down, something faster and even more intelligible replacing it. He taps along to the starting beats—almost an exact match—before folding his forearms on the counter, leaning forward. “You never told me what brought you to my city.”

His city that won’t ever accept him as its own. “Life,” she says simply, shrugging a shoulder. “Work. Money. Take your pick.”

He gives her a dry look. “I’ll take the truth, thanks.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly; she is here on business. A scheduling conflict left her on paid leave; but two more days and she’ll be back on a chopper to Detroit.

The choice of Prague for a layover wasn’t random, though.

She pokes at the lime slice on the edge of her glass until it sinks into the liquid and rises again. “It’s Pritchard.”

His eyes cut at her. Without the shields, he looks naked, in a way—all his feelings written across his face for everyone to see. Longing and regret and fear she can spot before he reaches for his drink, swirling the last of it around and tipping it down in one smooth motion.

An odd guilt curls in the pit of her stomach, like she just took a good look at his bedroom.

His expression schooled back into the usual wall, “Is he here?” he asks, glancing at the mostly empty bar behind them as if Pritchard could jump out of some corner any moment.

She shakes her head. “Still in Detroit. I told him I was going to visit an old friend.” Which she is. What Pritchard doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

If she repeats it enough, she just might start believing it.

The lines of his shoulders relax minutely, just visible enough without his usual layers. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

If only.

She runs a hand through her hair—too long by her standards; she should get it taken care of once she’s back home—and leans closer. He’s already grimacing. “Adam—”

“Please don’t.”

“—he deserves to know, too,” she pushes on. Not an argument she expects to win, not after all the times they’ve treaded over it; but she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see him. After Panchaea—”

“We all lost something after Panchaea,” he bites out. “Things we can’t get back. It's time to move on.”

To move on. “Like you did with TF29?”

He stills—surprisingly noticeable. “You’re not supposed to know about that,” he says carefully, his gaze sharpening.

Her sensors remain passive. No CASIE, no trespassing.

“I’m not supposed to know a lot of things,” she pipes up, flashing him her best fake grin even as frustration starts to thicken in her chest, spreading into her lungs. “You didn’t mind it when it helped you, Spy Boy.”

“It’s not the same thing,” he snaps—she’ll eat her headset if this is not a man trying to convince himself first. “You don’t have Sarif to buy your way out of trouble anymore. If the Interpol catches you—either of you—flying over too close—”

She can’t help a bitter laugh. “See the problem now?”

He flinches, his eyes widening—finally starting to get the picture. “You’re not implying—”

“No, Adam, I’m telling you that Pritchard is going after TF29,” she says bluntly, honestly, the way she should have from the beginning. The way she should have been with Pritchard when she got that call from Alaska. “I don’t know how close he is, or what he already knows; but we both know he’s going to find out more than he’s looking for. He’s going to find out everything—and when he does? It won’t be pretty.”

“You’ve got to stop him.”

As if. “You think I didn’t try?” she asks—lowers her voice at the bartender’s side glance, the casually cautious way he’s holding himself now. Aug-friendly or not, the last thing they need is more attention. “You know how he gets when he’s on a trail; I would have more luck talking to a rock. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat—I’ve been mixing vitamins in his caffeine pills and he hasn’t even noticed.” She meets his gaze, shaking her head. “If anyone can stop him, it’s not me.”

A new shadow settles onto his features as he contemplates his empty glass—flags down the bartender. Bad idea, if you ask her. He doesn’t.

Even as impulse demands so, she doesn’t press for answers, allowing him the space to think it over. If she’s being honest with herself—something she hadn’t been often enough, she’s finding—she hadn’t expected to hear more than hard dismissal; it’s already something that he is giving it thought.

Whether that’s a good thing, they’re going to find out soon enough.

When the bartender shows up with Adam’s new drink, she pushes away her mostly-full glass for him to take. The walk is looming large even without the risk of tripping over her own feet.

Rubbing at his forehead, “I can’t come back, Malik,” Adam sighs at last. Another glance down and he’s pulling at his sleeves like they’ve personally offended him, dragging them as far down as they go. “It’s too dangerous. They’ve barely stopped doing background checks on people I brush past on the way to the store; I can’t risk getting him in the Interpol’s radar.”

“Pritchard is about to get himself in their radar,” she points out, frustration starting to get the better of her. Adam is a smart man; how can be so willfully blind? “And if he gets caught…”

And if he gets caught, Adam will be the one coming to his rescue.

Is that it? Does he plan to play the white knight when the time comes and hope Pritchard will be too grateful to get angry?

No, it doesn’t make sense. Adam can be reckless; but not where Pritchard is concerned. The time it took the two to get anywhere is proof enough.

What is this really about?

“You didn’t jump from Alaska into the waiting arms of the Interpol, Adam,” she says—softly as she can while still hearing herself over the music. Closer to noise now, long as the night wore on. Hard pill to swallow, but she might be getting old for the scene. “You had both the time and the means to reach out to him. Why didn’t you?”

The corners of his lips twitch; the only sign that he’s heard her. He’s quietly frowning down into his thus-untouched drink like it’s both the source and solution to all his problems. Which would explain things.

She didn’t come all the way here to talk at another rock, though. “Adam—”

“He won’t believe me,” he mutters, effortlessly audible. She suppresses a wince at the flatness of his tone—the surety of it. “You know that. He’ll call me counterfeit, a liar—hell, an experiment.”

That’s… probably not wrong, is the worst part. Francis Pritchard is many things and cruel is one of them, especially when he feels justified in it. He doesn’t even need to believe any of it to spit his venom on Adam’s face.

“I believed you,” she reminds him. She had no reason to, aside from desperately wanting it to be true; but that didn’t stop her from risking her job to change her route. Would’ve done it again in a heartbeat. “I can vouch for you.”

His lips twitch again, this time to curl up in a wry half-smile. “Then he would call you a fool and a traitor.”

She doesn’t say don’t care—she’s not the lying type and he would see right through it anyway. “Worth it.”

He raises his eyes to her, slowly, with a new emotion shimmering in them. Gratefulness doesn’t fit that face any better than regret.

Maybe she’s doing something right for once after all. Maybe it all won’t end in disaster.

[antihero-writings]

The Only Fight--Young Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Star Wars Sequel Trilogy fic, Chapter 2 (full chapter!)

Fic Title: The Only Fight

Fic Synopsis: Waking or sleeping, Ben Solo has been fighting the darkness within him ever since he was a child

Chapter 2:

All he knows is he has to kill.   The young man’s breathing is tempered, the cold threatening to bite into him, but he fends it off. Doesn’t falter. The darkness around him is his ally, cloaking him from the light and all things within it which would expose his faceless appearance.   He does not know how long he has been in this snowy woods, searching, hunting. All that is real is this dark intent consuming him, and the blacker faith that set in there.   He is not a patient person. He will not wait for his prey to come to him. He stalks it from shadow to shadow.   Finally, he hears it: breathing. 

The short, frantic gasps of his prey, as if the thing is pleading with the air to rescue him, begging for some coin of relief from this cold, this endless winter chase.

The sound is so small, so pitiful, shallow and without real resolve or reprieve...just the act of inhaling, exhaling, nothing entering his lungs.    And then the breathing collapses, falls into the snow, crashing like a tree wondering if it made a sound when there was only the night to hear it.

The night did hear it.   Now, now that his prey is within is grasp, now that his prey is heaving defenseless on the ground, now the shadow makes his move, stepping before him as if from behind the curtain of this grand show.    His prey is a little boy, feeble and shaking on the ground. His form is so clear; the only thing in this blurred universe that is completely real. His black hair playing monkey in the middle before his eyes, infected with fear, tears tugging his lips.   Hatred surges like a squall. His mind foggy, his reasons clouded behind a wall called yesterday. But when that hatred shoots through him and he knows it is real, even if nothing else is.   This boy is nothing. Nothing. Nothing to him. Nothing at all. Young, afraid, powerless. He could destroy him now, and he would never become anything. Just a broken puppet of fear twisted and mangled on the playroom floor.    But, try as he might to deny it, he isn’tnothing. To the host of darkness he means too much. This is more of a feeling than a knowing too. His presence makes him so angry, so disgusted, so…

So lost. So afraid. So alone. As if this wretched thing’s emotions are ebbing and flowing into his own mind.

Ben Solo.   Just the thought of that name makes his hands curl into gloved fists, his jaw clench behind the mask. He hates the faceless name as much as he hates the face that goes with it, a tag team of disdain and contempt.   He will destroy this boy. That name. He must. If he doesn’t, Ben Solo will surely destroy him.   The darkness stands at his side like soldiers awaiting his command, a finely tuned blade.   He ignites his real blade, the sound of the lightsaber rending the silence like a piece of paper. The red crackles, as if it too is unsure, as if it’s angry like its master is, scared like Ben is, singing a cracked, unfinished aria about lonely heroes falling to the dark, princes chained to thrones, scoundrels saving the day in war-struck empires, all hoping they’ll see light again.   Black. White. Red. The only colors he knows now.

There was a time when he could see other colors. He named them, scribbled them messily on tablets and pages, along with stick-figure drawings of a mommy and daddy who weren’t there for him anymore.

He’s forgotten the hues now.    He could ask Ben how and why he found himself in this snowy woods, he could demand that he leave him alone. He could leave him in the snow to freeze him out. But that wouldn’t be enough. He’s come to break his fragile heart while he still has a chance, in attempts to harden his own. It’s all he must do to become what he is meant to be, all he can do to free himself from the torment in Ben’s eyes.

It’s simple enough.   Ben shuts those eyes, tight, doesn’t let go of the breath he’s holding, as if his own lungs are capable of keeping it safe from the fire.   But after everything, the resolve strumming his heart, the shadows humming beside him, the saber singing sweetly...he finds he can’t just…do it. He can’t just raise the lightsaber and strike him down. Staring at his pitiful face, hatred piercing through him, even so, pity, empathy, and something… else, something like memory, keep him from his goal.

No. That’s not it. It can’t be it. No, it’s just too…easy. That’s all. He’s going to play with his catch before devouring it. Killing him right away is no fun.   “Ben,” he taunts, trying to make the word contain all his hatred, sound as ugly as it tastes. and Ben is so small, so young…or maybe he is just too old, “Oh poor little Ben,” the words drip with a mocking pity, “who will save you now?”   The shadow watches, watches the boy as he rifles in his mind for something to save him.   “My father will come. H-He’ll come to save me.”   The feeble words thrown into the snow catch the shadow by surprise.   He laughs at how ridiculous, how childish, such an answer it is.   And the answer he did provide…well, it’s a child’s answer, to be sure. Still. As much as he tries to deny it something pangs in the back of his chest.   The hatred and resolve redoubles itself. There it is again; this boy’s ability to rummage around in the depths of his soul and bring out the parts of himself he thought he’d disposed of long ago. 

He wants to take this boy and make him feel all the pain he causes him before running him through. Some call it revenge. He calls it destiny.   He powers down his saber now, the red, commanding glow dissipating from the air.

The shadows around demand why? He tells them it won’t be long.   He puts his hand on the boy’s cheek, as if checking he’s real, checking for a pulse, as if checking that he is the thing he was looking for. He doesn’t want to pollute himself with the boy’s fragility, yet he must, he must do this, must hang horror over his head like hypnosis.

There is something barely noticeable that does contaminate the sting in his words, gets in to the gaps in his mask, when he says;   “Poor little Ben…all alone in the world.”   He can see the boy’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a game at at the fair— this may be a game, but I’ll never let you back up for air—   And at last he can no longer take the feeling of touching this thing    “You think Han Solo will come to your rescue?” He tries to make the name as venomous as when he spoke Ben’s name, and this time he feels he accomplished that. “You think that arrogant wretch will be your savior?” he laughs, a silly notion after all, the smuggler coming to save this pitiful thing—

—Well, is it funny at all a father would save his son? …Or at least try—

“I am sorry to say”—and he isn’t sorry at all—“he will leave you on your own…everyone will. Han Solo can’t save you.” The words are an echo of something he said once.   The boy’s hands are trembling in their fists, his nails digging into his palm, and the shadow feels a shot of anger go through him at the cry “N-No! NO!” the resolve in his voice almost mirroring his own.    —(If that means he barely has resolve at all.)—   “You’re so sure…why?” and this is the first question he’s actually curious to hear the answer to. Because why would this boy, all alone in these dark and snowy woods, powerless before a monster, hold on so tightly to something so breakable as the light?   “Because…Because he’s my father—”   He instantly regrets the question. He’d been hoping for some real, interesting answer, not some circular, childish reasoning. He snuffs out the conversation before he can continue.   “And that’s what fathers do? Just because he is your father doesn’t mean he’ll always be there. There are some darknesses we must face alone. Best to realize this earlier on…it’ll save you the pain of betrayal later.”   Sometimes he wishes someone had warned him. That he knew what was coming to him. That even those he held most dear would never regard him as something human, rather as a monster to be tamed, appeased, dealt with, sacrificed to. Then again, if someone had told him at Ben’s age…he probably wouldn’t have believed them anyway.   Ben is still shivering, but he knows now the cold and the fear have nothing to do with it. That anger is so familiar to him he almost doesn’t recognize how overwhelming it must feel in the boy’s small frame.   He reaches back and tilts Ben’s chin up, trying to make him feel as weak and powerless as possible.    “You cling so tightly to the light. Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in?”   “U-Uncle Luke says—”   He wants to hit him and say strike two. To wring his neck for even speaking that name in his presence.   “Skywalker.” The last thread in his venomous chord. “I should have known…Did he ever tell you of your grandfather?”   Because that’s who matters in all this, the only one who really matters.              Ben’s silence betrays him.    “What if even your uncle Luke”—there’s that venom again—“isn’t the perfect hero everyone claims he is? If even he were to turn against you one day…what would you do?”   “No…NO! Uncle Luke would never do that!”   Ben is wrong. So very wrong.    But that isn’t what matters anymore, because the shadow’s indecision may have led him to folly. He thought he was alone with Ben in these woods and all the time in the world, but now he feels another presence.

“Quiet!” He paralyzes his prey with the Force, keeping him locked where he can still strike him down, igniting his lightsaber again, the tongues of fire licking the boy’s terrified face.   The figure steps before Ben, trying to shield him from the darkness’ offer. Their face is obscured, but their presence is familiar to him.   “You’re the one who shouldn’t be so chatty.”—And they’re probably right about that—“He’s jut a boy. What do you want with him?”   “What use would you have for him? He is just a boy.”    “Use?” they sound offended, “He’s not a tool, or a toy! He is a person!”   He twirls his lightsaber in the air as if that’s enough of a threat. “He has his grandfather’s blood in him. Someday he could become something great. But not like this; not sniveling on the ground.”   —(And that’s what he wants to kill; the part of himself that’s the thing sniveling on the ground)—   “He could be something great. He will be. But not led by you. Go. Leave him alone.”   “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

They draw their own lightsaber—such a bright song, one about heroes, and hope, and never giving up—the blades clashing, creating fireworks in the night, their sound reverberating through the silence, and when Kylo Ren feels the lightsaber drill a hole in his chest…Ben Solo falls too.   Kylo Ren awoke in his quarters, drenched in a cold sweat and heaving for breath. He tried to get up and fell off the bed to the ground.   He had forgotten about the dream.

He’d had many nightmares like this one (long ago, now), and everyone always told him they didn’t mean anything.   But he knew they were wrong.    If he had remembered the dream from back then, he would have tried to forget it, as he did everything to do with Ben Solo. To pretend he never was that little boy crying on the ground, begging his parents to save him from the monsters in his head.   And what was he now?    Thirty years old, crying on the ground. The only difference was this time he didn’t have any parents to run to anymore. He was far far away from them, a lost boy trapped behind the second star.   Rage surged like a living thing, infecting his breath, curling his fingers into fists.   He wanted so desperately to destroy Ben Solo, to eradicate the sway he had over his heart, the ability he had to make him feel lost and scared and lonely, the child’s voice inside telling him this isn’t right.   As much as he tried to block them out, deny they were ever real, fragments of memories fell apart in his head and cut his thoughts.    He had killed Han Solo. That thing that caused him so much pain, so much torment, so much guilt. That thing tying him to that boy on the ground—the boy’s hope at rescue, still aching inside him—cutting off his ties to the life boat, ensuring him that nothing and no one would take him back to shore. Assuring him that the dark, the wind, and the waves were all he was, all he could turn to.   And now guilt was an ever-present specter rotting away his chest like maggots. Memories like banshees, screaming, undead in his head.   He sat up, leaning against the bed, telling himself it was only a dream.    He didn’t believe it.   Here he was, the shining, war-struck legacy of Princess, General Leia, Han Solo, of Luke Skywalker, and Ben Kenobi, and Darth Vader…sniveling on the ground. Trying to be everything at once and failing to be one thing at all. Trying so hard to fulfill a destiny…yet coming back with the pieces of dreams. Trapped behind sheens of lies, the ones others told him, and those he told himself.

If only he’d grown up.

If only he’d stopped believing in the light.   If only he could have forgotten, destroyed that boy in the woods.   Then maybe he could convince himself he’s not still Ben.

[crypticbeliever123]

MFU (The Marvel Fanfic Universe)

I have an idea to create a multi-fic multiverse based off of Marvel characters that will honestly be quite the undertaking but I personally believe would be well worth it if I can actually finish it and below are some ideas I had for it with character names (and a couple major things) bolded so as to make it easier to find info on more preferred characters

This Marvel Fanfic Universe or MFU as I call it, starts not with Iron Man like the MCU, but instead with Spider-Man

in this Peter Parker is Tony Stark’s biological son but they aren’t all that close and Tony is not a mentor to Spider-Man at all and may or may not find out Peter is Spider-Man until his college years

Hawkeye is deaf in his first appearance and all subsequent ones except for a prequel giving his origin story that involves the loss of his hearing that I have already titled Hawkeye and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week (that title is based off Clint’s brother Barney going behind his back to work with Hydra and SHIELD chasing after him and the general craziness that ensues NOT because he goes deaf in this story) (also that title is just perfect for Clint’s character. Let’s be honest if there’s any character with worse luck than Peter Parker, it’s Clint Barton)

Loki and Thor have a better relationship in this wherein Loki was given the assignment of Agent of Asgard by Frigga when they were younger so that Loki could have an important role and help bring about more stability between the 9 realms especially on the Frost Giant front and Loki’s first appearance as a “villain” is really just him trying to accelerate the lesson his brother’s supposed to be learning on Midgard and every instance of villainy later on is just the two of them trolling the Avengers in a (totally not at all a real threat) prank where Loki plays up the part of malicious trickster god rather than the not malicious but just mischievous trickster god that he is in this (Odin rolls his eye every time Heimdall tells him of their shenanigans)

Wolverine and Professor X meet in the Korean War (Charles Xavier canonically was drafted to the war and Canada fought in the war and I thought it would be fun if they met there when Charles was young and for him to be kind of a spoiled rich kid until Logan figures out he’s a mutant and takes it upon himself to turn the kid from a kind of stuck up 19 year old to more the kind of person we know Professor X to be) and Charles later refers to Logan as the greatest man he’s ever known and credits him for inspiring the creation of the Xavier Institute as Logan was the first mutant he ever met and made some good points about how important it is for young mutants to be properly taught and nurtured so they don’t turn out evil

Because Charles Xavier is 19 in roughly 1951 and the X-Men stories will (unless I get sidetracked and can’t start the MFU this year) start in 2020 that means Charles will be 88 years old at the start and might die of old age at some point along the way assuming the X-Men story arcs don’t kill him first. Might kill him off in the Apocalypse arc and have it done by either Nightcrawler (the Horseman of Death) or Archangel (the Horseman of War)

Spider-Gwen and Miles Morales will probably get stories of their own after Spider-Verse

In Miles’ universe Doc Ock will be based off the Spider-Verse movie as that version is just freaking awesome and I might go with the punchclock villain trope that one other post talked about (if anyone has a link to that post I’d love to edit it in here with a link)

Might also do a Spider-Man 2099 story but would have to read his comics first to get a feel of what that character and his enemies are like

Agent Venom will get a storyline as well as some alterations to his family history involving his mother and his birth in general

Captain America will be cloned by Red Skull in order to create Captain Hydra who will convince Bucky, Falcon, and Black Widow that he’s actually Steve and that he’s always secretly been working for Hydra until he torments Bucky so much that he isn’t sure what’s true or not anymore and checks himself into a mental institute (yes, Cap’s clone really is an evil dick)

Fallout from a Superior Spider-Man story arc will actually show Peter dealing with grief from Ock ruining his relationship with MJ and upending his life as well as quite possibly coming to terms with the fact that none of his friends or family noticed that he wasn’t himself for over a year

Might do a Defenders story if I read more comics with those characters in them so I know how to write them

Wiccan and Speed from the Young Avengers will be clones of Wanda and Pietro respectively (with Billy being a trans boy since a gender-swap generated clone only really works with female clone of a man where you can say you just copy-pasted the X chromosome rather than built an entire Y chromosome from scratch or stole one from her brother thereby technically making the clone kinda sorta their genetic lovechild which... ya know... ew) rather than Wanda’s magically created twin sons whose souls were pieces of Mephisto that were taken back by Mephisto and yet SOMEHOW managed to reincarnate despite the fact a lack of existing souls should have made that impossible because clones of Wanda and Pietro makes a hell of a lot more sense to me as to why one of Wanda’s sons would have the appearance and powers of her brother even though they’re supposed to be Vision’s kids too than the comics canon version of events that just. Do. Not. Understand. How. Reincarnation. Works. If the souls were taken back and reabsorbed by a demon then there is nothing left to reincarnate! (as you can see I have some strong feelings regarding this topic)

Because I’m setting the first stories in roughly the present day (2020, hopefully) and the Infinity Saga closer to 2035 and the Guardians of the Galaxy play such a big role in making the rest of the characters aware of the threat of Thanos, Peter Quill may have been born in the early 2000s and thus his taste in music is a result of his mom playing a bunch of music she liked as a kid and that music reminding him of her, rather than music from his own generation

Adam Warlock, in a very convoluted plot line that I may change or keep as is to match the weirdness and insanity that is the comic book industry, will exist as some sort of mutant alien teen clone of Peter Quill with the Soul Gem embedded in his forehead (multiple jokes will ensue about how he’s physically as old as Peter is maturity-wise and yet is somehow less childish than him)

Deadpool is a recurring character in most if not all of these stories

The Fantastic Four don’t show up until near the end of the MFU arc during the Infinity Saga because they’d spent the entirety of all this travelling the multiverse and other dimensions as a family

Might have “With great power there must also come great responsibility” being a recurring theme in the MFU with Logan learning the line from Steve during WWII and then passing the line onto Charles Xavier and perhaps to Richard Parker (Peter’s stepfather in this) who makes it his signature line that Ben Parker keeps alive as he and May raise Peter (Tony is terrified to death of becoming his father and abusing Peter and refused custody because of this but still pays ample child support) and have Peter start the very first line of the first MFU story with the line and end the last story with a repeat of that line while saying something about how every hero lives by it either knowingly or unknowingly

[comingupforblair]

The reception of Venom really raises a lot of questions about the reception of DCEU films, particularly Batman v Superman.

Both films had a similarly negative reception. Their Rotten Tomatoes scores are almost identical. Both were seen as further proof that only Disney and the MCU should be making these films. But the reception and treatment of Venom hasn’t been anywhere near as intensely or vocally negative as was the case with Batman v Superman.

I should note I have don’t have any strong feelings about Venom. I don’t think it deserved the reception it got and was a fairly entertaining film, which worked largely due to Tom Hardy who can make anything better.

The people who hated Venom have, for the most part, forgotten about it. No one is out there leveling the kind of ugly personal attacks towards Ruben Fleischer that were standard in the weeks and months following BvS’s release where Zack Snyder was treated less as a director who made a film people didn’t like and more as someone who had done something unspeakably awful, who was an active detriment to the characters, comic book films and film making as a whole, someone who needed to be removed from the equation completely and any trace of his original vision or involvement purged from memory before the films could ever hope to begin the long, difficult road to winning back the approval of people who saw Batman v Superman less as a film they disliked and more as a personal affront that required nothing less than the most extreme response to make sure no one ever thought of doing something like it again.

Venom has been allowed to continue to exist. There have been no calls for Sony to completely reroute the creative teams or toss aside the whole film and start again. There has been no onslaught of articles and videos about what went wrong or how to “save” Venom. No one is demanding that the sequel be an extended apology for the first film. Hell, some of the people who were so vocal about hating BvS have been openly enthusiastic about Venom.

It would be weird if you were to encounter someone who hated Venom so much they derailed any positive posts about it or harassed and insulted people who liked it or felt actual anger when they say any defenses of it or hated the film so much they mocked the people involved experiencing personal tragedy, all of which has happened with Batman v Superman.

So what’s going on here?

I have a few theories as to why that is and all of them undermine common criticisms towards Batman v Superman or at least show that the criticisms have more context to take into account than people saying them have been willing to provide.

- The first and most logical explanation is that there were no real expectations for Venom. Batman v Superman was less a film than an event people had been dreaming about for decades. It was the culmination of nearly a century of hoping and wishing. People had never gotten to see George Reeves and Adam West or Chris Reeve and Michael Keaton or Brandon Routh and Christian Bale. It was a film people had been wanting for years and years and they had very specific ideas about how these characters should be portrayed. This was a film they had planned out in their heads to the last detail and they couldn’t wait to see that vision translated to the big screen.

As such, they did not react well at all to Zack Snyder choosing such a major event, a historic meeting of two icons, to tell his own kind of story with them, one that deviated massively from what they wanted and expected from such a film and comic book films in general. Much like The Last Jedi, BvS was a film that either didn’t know or didn’t care about the expectations surrounding it and did it’s own thing instead. That’s not good or bad. It’s just how things played out.

By contrast, there were no major expectations with Venom. People might have hoped to see a Venom solo film but it wasn’t an event eighty years in the making and not something they had been dreaming of for as long as they knew about these characters. They didn’t have an idea of how this film should be that they were furious at not getting nor did they care enough about the character to get all that angry.

In addition, Sony’s track record with Marvel films and films in general over the past few years has already taken a lot of hits in contrast to Warner Bros who have made extremely successful and acclaimed DC adaptations both in the past and concurrently with Batman v Superman’s release so people expected a lot.

- The second is that Venom was a lighter film overall in contrast to the common complaints about BvS being “grim/dark/grimdark/hopeless/nihilistic/etc” so people were more forgiving which in turn undermines common responses people have that BvS didn’t get such negative reviews because it was too serious but entirely due to it’s quality.

- The third is that Batman v Superman looks and feels like a Zack Snyder film to it’s very core and the last few years have shown just how intense and personal the hatred is for him as a director and person and how eager people are to paint him as a fundamentally terrible person who is unable to understand the very idea of heroes and altruism. By contrast, Ruben Fleischer’s name has been mostly separate from the criticism towards Venom. There’s no basically personal contempt towards him. Shit, I imagine a lot of people don’t even know who the director of Venom was and that’s at least partially because he doesn’t have a specific and personal style that people love or hate. You can spot a Zack Snyder film from a mile away but probably wouldn’t know Ruben Fleischer directed a film unless you saw his name.

- The fourth is that Batman v Superman was simply an incredibly ambitious film and people were harsher towards it for failing to reach the lofty heights it set for itself. BvS wasn’t just trying to be a superhero film. It set out to be one that defined the genre, that framed iconic heroes in a new way and opened up new possibilities for storytelling both with these characters and comic book films as a whole. People will forget a film that aims low and hits it’s mark but will be a lot harsher to one that aims high and misses and I think that’s something we need to examine closer, lest we end up in a situation where ambition is discouraged which I fear is where we are already.

- The fifth is that Venom is better than it’s critical reception would imply which means that DCEU fans should be afforded similar opportunities to speak out against what we see as unfair criticisms and enjoy our films regardless which we haven’t been given.

- The sixth ties into the first which is that people have been portrayals of these characters that they consider to be definitive and they expected that from BvS as well as expecting characters to be on screen as fully formed entities in contrast to Venom who, due to being an anti-hero, was given space to be portrayed as an imperfect character who was afforded time to grow into a hero and was never expected to be a paragon or ideal hero at any time (This is also a major reason why ideal heroes have lost so much ground to anti-heroes over the past few years and why writers say they would be hesitant to tackle a character like Superman).

I’m not even strawmanning or speculating as I’ve seen people outright say they expect Superman to be that perfect hero right from the moment he shows up. He isn’t allowed space to grow nor is he allowed room for error or for moments of weakness. His fans want him to show up on screen fully formed and they will not accept any less, no matter if Zack Snyder makes it clear that the traditional characterization is the endgame. Again, I’m not speculating. I’ve seen people say even the promise and end goal of Superman being as they want him to be wasn’t enough for them to ease up towards the decisions made.

Maybe I’m missing something and I’m happy to hear from others with their own views on the subject but I don’t think you can look at this situation where two films in the same genre with similar comparisons made to the MCU are seen as virtually the same in terms of quality yet one has inspired three years of outrage and vitriol with people still saying the films can only succeed once both it and it’s creator are completely removed from the equation while the other is given basically a free pass and not see a problem with it or fail to understand why DCEU fans would be angry at how our film has been treated compared to another.

[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 10

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This was why Crowley enthusiastically strode towards his front door and opened it, completely forgoing the peephole or any other means of identification of his visitor… s… “Crawly,” croaked an unfortunately familiar voice.

Or, anger, relief and other feelings.

Chapter 13 of 20 Ongoing 2375 words Romance/Humor

It was ten o'clock on Monday morning and Crowley was standing in his bathroom in his boxers and a well-worn A Day At The Races World Tour t-shirt*, his toothbrush dangling lazily from his mouth. He gently dried Adam’s hair with a soft towel as the boy sat on the edge of the sink. Adam had seemed especially reluctant about bath time this morning. However, once his rubber duckie got involved, the boy was on top of the world and there had been no further complications. After all, getting dressed before putting a baby in the bath would be terribly inefficient, and Crowley was nothing if not efficient.

(*Note for observant readers who may be noticing a pattern by now: while t-shirts don’t belong in the wardrobe of the epitome of fashion Crowley tries to be, he collects Queen tour t-shirts in his free time. His niece and sister frequently call him out on how weird it is that he wears his most prized collection to bed every night.)

“See? Sat wasn’t so bad, was it?” Crowley slurred around his toothbrush as he finished drying Adam and putting him in a diaper. There was knocking at the door and Crowley’s heart leapt. “That’ll be Ezra,” he mumbled, wrapping the towel around Adam, picking him up and spitting his toothbrush and adjacent toothpaste into the sink. “Wanna go see Ezra?” he asked Adam.

The boy’s face lit up at the sound of the shopkeeper’s name. Of course he wanted to go see Ezra. These last few days he must’ve come to associate that name with good food, stories, adventures and softness. What kind of child could object to that?

This was why Crowley enthusiastically strode towards his front door and opened it, completely forgoing the peephole or any other means of identification of his visitor… s… 

“Crawly,” croaked an unfortunately familiar voice.

Where Crowley previously felt his heart soar, he now felt it do a deep dive through five storeys worth of apartment building, the foundations below it, and several layers of the Earth’s crust, and his blood ran awfully cold. The smell of, among other things, tobacco filled his nostrils. And where a week ago that exact smell would have been very enticing to him, it had now lost its charm altogether. “Hastings, Liggett. I didn’t know creative made house calls nowadays. And… I have a phone, you know that.”

“Enough with the pleasantries. Where were you last week?” Hastings demanded.

“You were supposed to pitch to the board of directors in Ferguson’s absence,” Liggett added, in case Crowley had forgotten. He hadn’t.

The pitch had been on Wednesday and it was about an expansive direct marketing campaign that Hastings and Liggett had, to their credit, worked very hard on despite not really being ‘of the time’ anymore. And since the two combined had the charisma of approximately a single toad, Crowley had been selected by Lucy to pitch while she was away, as he was more on the level of a snake, to stick with the cold-blooded fauna motif. Once they caught him up to speed, he knew the presentation forwards and backwards and would be five steps ahead of each member of the board of directors and their hang ups at all times. The plan was foolproof. 

This was before the babysitter had flown to Cambodia.

After the whole my-babysitter-ran-off-to-south-east-Asia-to-rediscover-herself-after-a-particularly-bad-breakup-so-I’m-giving-you-time-off-to-look-after-my-baby debacle, they needed a solution, which presented itself as the intern known as Newton Pulsifer. His presentation skills understandably lagged behind Crowley’s and couldn’t begin to catch up with Lucy’s, but the main difference between interns, who are doing all this for the first time, and creatives who had been doing the same thing for thirty years and somehow still held their positions, was that you could still teach them a thing or two, and they would be eager to learn, too. So that fateful Friday afternoon, Lucy and Crowley had gone over the presentation with Newt for what felt like upwards of a hundred times. They gave him every note they had and hadn’t stopped until both of them were confident that the boy could successfully run the pitch by the board.

So… Hastings and Liggett standing here, in the hallway of his apartment building, didn’t bode well. And Crowley quickly figured it wouldn’t be wise to tell them he spent that entire day reading Miffy books to Adam in his crush’s bookshop. Instead, he told them, “Yeah, we told you I wouldn’t be there because I’d be taking care of Adam. We told you Newton would cover for me, too. Hell, we even asked you if you’d rather present your pitch yourselves instead of having the intern do it. Whatever happened, it’s out of my hands.”

A frustrated grumble escaped Hasting’s throat. “We thought you might say something like that,” he said.

“Then why are you here?” Crowley asked.

“To take you back to the office with us, where you’ll explain to the board exactly what went wrong. Now, put on some pants,” Liggett commanded.

Crowley stepped back when a hand grabbed his arm. He shook himself free and Adam whined at the jostling. “I can’t,” Crowley insisted. “I won’t. I have to look after Adam.”

It was then, that Hastings stepped forward, glowering at Crowley and towering over him. Compared to Crowley who, himself, erred towards the taller side, Hastings was enormous. “I think you misunderstand, Crawly. We are your seniors. You are only an assistant and you will not disrespect us in this way.”  

The words oozed with venom and Crowley instinctively faced Adam away from them. It was bad enough that Lucy and Crowley had to deal with the pair of them on a regular basis. The less young Adam saw from them, the better, and the same went for Crowley, he reasoned. He took a deep breath and asked them with a boldness he had long forgotten he had, “And what have you lot ever done to earn my respect?”

“I suggest you choose your words wisely, Crawly,” Hastings said as he bowed down over Crowley, only inches away from his face.

“It’s Crowley,” he asserted. “And why should I respect a pair of out-of-touch, middle-aged creatives who always pull rank because they clearly have nothing else going for them? Who terrorize interns and intimidate assistants by showing up at their fff— bloody houses to call them names and make them take responsibility for something that wasn’t on them? Surely, I should be reporting you two to some kind of authority, but we all know that won’t do anything, so how about I make this easier on all of us and just announce that I quit.” He huffed, and without another thought he pushed the letter on the dresser by the door into their hands and promptly slammed his front door shut. That was about enough of them. “And newsflash, A-holes, unsolicited direct marketing** has barely worked on people under the age of thirty-five in, like, a decade, so your campaign was doomed to fail from the start. There’s some free fucking advice for you.”

(**read, the ones that get stuck in your spam filter and/or the ones that immediately go into the paper recycling.)

*

It wasn’t even an hour later by the time Ezra came knocking on the door. Crowley had only just finished getting dressed and he wasn’t proud of it; wearing the same t-shirt he slept in along with yesterday’s jeans and jacket as he opened the door. Meanwhile, Ezra’s outfit, worn as it was, was soft and pristine.

“Hey angel,” Crowley said.

“Good morning,” Ezra said softly, eyes flitting down to Crowley’s outfit.

Meanwhile, Crowley felt like he might as well have been naked. He coughed, bringing Ezra back from whatever fantasy he’d found himself in. 

“Run into any unsavory types on your way up?”

Ezra glanced around the hallway. “No. Was I supposed to?”

“No. Just… we don’t have to deliver the letter. They came to pick it up.”

“Came to pick it up?” Ezra frowned, almost protested as Crowley ushered him inside. “My dear, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Poltergeist, more like. Two of them,” Crowley said flippantly, but the hand he carded through his messy hair shook.

*

Now, Ezra wouldn’t say he enjoyed seeing Anthony as shaken as he obviously was. In fact, he didn’t enjoy that at all. The idea that two men from the office would come over to his home to intimidate him was appalling to him. It wasn’t right.

But.

But there was something about seeing Anthony like this. Seeing him less put-together. It was endearing. It made him, for lack of a better word, relatable. After all, it was reassuring to know that even the most perfectly beautiful man who always dressed sharp and snazzy, could look like a mess. Specifically, a mess he wouldn’t mind too much waking up to in the morning. 

Ezra made a point of it not to stare at him too much.

“I’m sorry this happened, Anthony. I wish I’d come by sooner, I might have been able to— to—” Truthfully, he didn’t know what he would have done. But he knew he would have done something. It wasn’t right, coming to someone’s house to tell them off for something they didn’t do, and Ezra was nothing if not righteous.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Ezra, but I’m fine,” Anthony sighed. “And so is Adam, I think.”

“Did they…?” Ezra trailed off.

“Who? Adam? Didn’t lay a finger on him. I’ll give them that, at least.”

“Then, did they…?”

Anthony shrugged. “Grabbed my arm, that’s it.”

That’s it?

*

There was a fire in Ezra’s eyes that Crowley hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or flattered.

“But even that is unacceptable!” Ezra said when he spoke again. “They still trespassed on your home, on the one place you’re meant to feel safe, on you, and that should never have happened.” He took Crowley’s hand and looked at him with angry, watery eyes.

“I’m fine angel, I swear. Moreso now that my knight in shining armor is here.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair in a way he hoped Ezra would experience as tenderly. Like in an out of body experience, he felt himself bend down to kiss him, but caught himself just as he realized what was happening.

That was, until he felt the lapels of of his jacket pull him downward and a pair of soft lips pressed against his own.

Oh.

*

"You care about me…" Anthony said a few hours later at brunch, as if the idea still felt alien inside his head.

Adam watched them from his high chair like a tennis match.

Ezra laid down his menu and tried not to sigh as he looked up at his friend. "Of course," he said. "One might go so far as to say that I quite fancy you."

This seemed to make Anthony choke on the breath he was taking. "Well yes, but since when?" he asked with an urgency there was really no need for. The wait staff had already picked up on the cues at their table and were avoiding it like the plague until the air around it cleared.

Now, if Ezra were about to admit his own superficiality, he would have said 'From the moment you set foot in the bookshop,' but he wasn't, so he didn't. Instead, he said "Ten years, give or take?" which meant pretty much the same thing and shrugged his shoulders.

"And it never occurred to you to tell me?"

"Did it to you?"

"Every day," Anthony squeaked. "For the last ten years and a few months."

Ezra blinked hard. The choice of words did not escape him. He wanted very much not to be so surprised, after all, Anathema had told him so outright, but to hear it from the man himself, the implication was all that was needed to send him reeling.

"Anathema told you, didn't she?" Anthony asked, finally breaking the silence.

Ezra nodded.

"She told me at dinner last Friday." Anthony let out a breathy laugh. "I swear, that girl is going to be the death of me."

"And me," Ezra said. Anthony smiled at him brilliantly and Ezra averted his gaze as a feeling of shame washed over him. "I'm sorry, by the way. About running out on you that night at that cafe."

"Angel, that was two years ago."

"I know! I just… we were both drunk, I didn't want you to get the wrong idea. I didn't want you to regret it."

Anthony choked on his orange juice and slammed the glass down on the table. "Regret it?! Are you joking? We could have been going out for years and you thought I would regret it?"

"Well, it was more like I didn't want you to think I was taking advantage of you."

"But… Ezra, I started it…" Anthony said, gesturing wildly.

“Well, you could have said something, too!”

A groan escaped Anthony, his face buried in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair. “In conclusion, we’re both cowards and we’ve been miserable for much longer than strictly necessary?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say miserable…”

“Okay, so maybe that was just me, but at least we both haven’t been as happy as we could have been.”

“I would agree with that…” Ezra mumbled. He glanced at the menu but he wasn’t sure he was all that hungry anymore.

Anthony followed his gaze and smiled that snake-like smile of his, that only looked charming on him. “Go on,” he said. “My treat.”

That second, Ezra decided he was famished.

*

A weight had fallen from Crowley’s shoulders. It had been replaced with the slightly less hefty weight of having to figure out their relationship anew, but it had to count for something. For these first few hours, Crowley found very little had changed between them at all. He still stole glances at Ezra as they ate. They still talked unreservedly and laughed at each other’s jokes. They fed Adam who, at this point, was ravenous for everything his little fingers could grasp on to.

What Crowley also found, was the pleasant heft of a warm hand in his.

[aggressivelyclueless]

Ichor

prompted by @hauntedjoanns "After a freak lab accident, the Fentons bury Maddie.  But she comes back." Warning: death, horror, gore Words: 6186

      He couldn't believe it.  Less than two weeks ago, he would have said it was ridiculous - now here he stood, over a square marble marker that bore his mother's name in ornately carved letters.  Ten days, he thought numbly.  The fresh earth over her was still soft, piled high with hundreds of flowers, but his stare had gone beyond them.  The accident turned over in his mind a thousand times       (Maddie, hold on - !) and his stomach twisted.  The numbness parted, just for a moment, to sorrow.  His breath hitched into a sob, and tears burned at the corners of his eyes.  Mister Fenton, the paramedic had said, I'm afraid it's bad news.  The memory was still clear in Danny's mind; it was one of the only things that was still clear to him.  We did all we could.       Your wife didn't make it, Mister Fenton.  I'm sorry.       Jack had bawled more than anyone.  He'd kept himself locked in the bedroom for days, and Jazz had been the one to make the call to the funeral home.  That had been eight days ago.  Everything since then had become a desolate void.       He hadn't been to school at all this week.  He'd spent it, instead, at home.  He'd told Sam and Tucker what had happened, of course, and asked them to come to the funeral.  He'd never thought he'd say something like that out loud.  Mom's funeral.  That was something only older people should have to say, he thought.  He was fourteen.       Inside, he had all but shut down.  The panic and horror from the accident       (Danny, keep your hands on - slow the bleeding - !) had lain waste to him, driving him to void.  The numbness provided no solace; he might never find that, and only as he stood and stared down at the mountain of flowers and her name carved into a majestic headstone did that thought begin to solidify in his mind.  The void abandoned him, and he wept.       He'd never see her again, and it was too much.

     (The explosion made the entire house shudder.  The first thing to go through his mind was a startled what was that?  He dropped his homework and dashed out to the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing and peering downwards.  Seeing nothing, he trotted partway downwards, hoping for a look into the kitchen.  "What was that?" he called into the house, "You guys okay down there - ?"       Jazz appeared in the doorframe, white-faced.  A single panicked sob wracked her.  Her hands shook.  "Danny, come quick, it's Mom - "       "Mom - ?  Why, what happened?"  He darted down the remaining stairs, skidding around the landing in a one-eighty that pointed him toward the kitchen.  His eyes were still on Jazz, and he saw that one of her hands had come away from the doorframe stained a dark red.  Panic began to claw at his mind and at his gut; a shriller "Jazz - what happened?" escaped him.  Not waiting for an answer, he threw open the door to the lab and barreled downwards.  "Mom?  Mom!  What's going on - ?"       The thing in the lab was not his mother.  Blood, organs, and viscera lay scattered, and in the middle of it all a still-beating heart)       (Danny)       He bolted upright, breath caught in his chest, his own name echoing through his mind.  Panic still gripped him.  He couldn't focus, and everything blurred together in the dark.  The grotesque remains of Maddie Fenton were burned into his thoughts; his stomach turned over once and then seized up.  His mouth had run dry.  Everything around him seemed to lean in closer, as if daring him to move a muscle       (or a still-beating heart)       All at once, he stumbled to the window, threw it open, and vomited.  He was covered in a clammy sweat.  His head spun.  He forced his breath out       (ghost) and coughed once, dashing the back of his hand across his mouth.  The bitter acidity of bile stung the back of his throat, and his senses began to return to him.  The damp night breeze swept in from the window, making him shiver.  His hands grasped the windowsill, and he tried to make them stop shaking.  The void abandoned him; the weight of his loss crushed down on him, and the harder he meant to force it away the more relentless it became.  I miss you, Mom.  He wept.       Please, just let me go numb again.       It wasn't until he'd cried himself dry that the void answered him.  It hollowed him, putting everything he felt to sleep, and he stared outwards at the darkened streets below.  Everything was grey in the dark.  He turned, numb again, and shuffled down the hall.  He stepped into the bathroom, guided only by the night-light over the sink that had been there since he and Jazz were little, and paused in front of the mirror.  He stared tiredly back at himself; in the dark, he may as well have been a ghost.  "You look like hell, kid."  Between the dark grey circles under his eyes, the splotches of red across his face from when he'd been crying, his death-white skin, and the flecks of vomit on his tank, he very much looked like hell.  He felt like it, too.  He held his own pained gaze for as long as he could stand it, finally turning downwards in adamant refusal to admit he was already starting to feel again.  He grabbed the empty glass by the faucet, watched it slowly fill up, and then drained it in three enormous gulps.  Some small part of him expected to feel better.  The only feeling to creep back into his mind was longing.  I wish I could see her just one last time.       Something downstairs rattled, and Danny froze.  What was that?  Did someone get into the house?  He whirled around, turning himself to shadow, and stared out into the hall.  Apart from his heart, which had leapt into his throat,       (still-beating) everything was silent and still.  He tiptoed, unseen, down the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs to listen.  Had someone gotten inside?  Aware of exactly which floorboards creaked, he stepped off the edge of the stairs and drifted downwards.  Flighty idiot, he scolded himself.  Surely there was nothing here.  He had imagined it.  Still - his gut insisted he was missing something, and he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep until he put the feeling to rest.       With the nightmare still in his mind, he might not get back to sleep at all.       The living room was vacant; moonlight streamed in from the front window, lighting up bright rectangles across the carpet and the corner of the coffee table.  He waited silently, searching for any disturbance or trace of movement, and slowly made his way to the kitchen.       The door that led down to the basement hung ajar.  Danny's breath hitched.  He floated, wide-eyed and paralyzed, his gaze affixed to the thin line of shadow.  Who could set foot down there?  No one had been in the laboratory since the disaster       (He held a wadded-up kitchen towel over the gaping wound in her side.  It had bled through and stained his fingers minutes ago, but he didn't dare let go.  "Mom - hold on, Dad's calling the hospital - "       "Danny," she said faintly, running one trembling thumb over his cheek, "I'm so proud. . .look at you, growing up so fast. . .I love you, Danny. . ."       "Mom, no!  Hold on - !") and his father had locked it up afterwards.  He'd even shut the power down - not even the portal worked anymore.  What reason would there be, after all this, to have a ghost portal?       Danny hesitated.  He'd be the first to go back to the lab - by himself in the middle of the night, no less.  It felt like a betrayal - to who, his father?  His mother?  Perhaps it was just blind guilt.  I'm sorry, he said to no one - perhaps to himself, even - and went ahead.  He phased through the door itself, unable to bring himself to touch it directly, and hovered over the metal steps for a moment before descending.       He could still hear her working downstairs.  There wasn't a day when the lab sat empty; to creep down to the darkness was unnatural, and he nearly turned back.  You're not supposed to be down here.  He knew he wasn't.  No one was.  He wished more than anything to find her, some new ridiculous thing in her hands, beaming.  Danny, you're just in time to see this! she'd say, Won't you let me show you how it works?  Her voice echoed in his mind, and it pulled at the guilt in him.  Danny, go back upstairs.       (Danny)       The wreck of the laboratory was almost completely dark.  One emergency bulb in the corner ran on auxiliary power, casting a pale yellow light that was inadequate to fill the space.  The portal on the far wall was inactive; it served now as nothing more than a hulking shadow that stood sullenly over the room.  Most of his parents' tools (they were really just his father's now) were strewn about, and pieces of shrapnel and debris littered the floor.  It couldn't be seen in the dark but he remembered with macabre precision where the bloodstains were       (He ran down the stairs to find her in Jack's arms.  The prototype of their latest weapon, still smoking, lay discarded on the floor by the worktable.  Blood spattered the surface of the table itself, as well as the wall behind it - it misfired, Jack stammered, disbelieving.  He ran to get something to hold over the wound) and where his mother had died.  She hadn't even made it upstairs, much less to the hospital.  He'd known the second she was gone; how couldn't he?  He knew life and death better than anyone.       Danny just floated, afraid to set either foot down as if that somehow validated the fact that he'd come down.  It doesn't count, he told himself in a vain effort to feel less guilty about it, I'm not really here.  The room was empty except for him - then why was the door left open?  A tingle of dread crept down his spine.  What in the hell was happening?       One of the shadows across the lab melted into another, making Danny start.  His head jerked upwards.  He saw it: a shadowy void, slick and oozing, and for a moment it just hung, motionless, in the air.  It appeared as if it was slowly melting; its form was only faintly coherent, and blackened droplets of venomous liquid flesh dripped onto the metal floor.       Danny froze up.  His mind screamed, in a panic, what is that?  His breath hitched, and his whole body began to tremble.  Paralyzed with terror, he saw two furious white eyes slide across the surface of the ichorous mass as it turned to face him.       He fled in a panic, tearing up past the kitchen, through his room, and out the window.  He flew faster in the open, only pausing once he had spotted the park by the edge of town.  He circled once around it and then dove underneath one of the empty play structures.  That was far enough, right?  It hardly mattered.  Every time he shut his eyes he could see it - he was certain it had known he was there.  It saw me.  His mind was clouded with fear, and he couldn't think.  What am I gonna do?

      The time was three eighteen in the morning.  All of Amity Park was asleep except for Tucker Foley, it seemed.  The familiar buzz of his cell woke him.  Not morning already, he groaned internally, reaching over to smack the offending device into silence.  His first swipe missed; his second knocked it off the bedtable entirely.  It landed on the floor with a hard clonk, vibrating more angrily now that it was against the hardwood.  It was stubbornly out of his reach, mocking his discomfort.  "Fine, you win," he grumbled, turning over so that he could stretch a little further without actually having to chase the stupid thing out of bed.  His fingers brushed against it once; he grabbed it and pulled it back to him.  Although dim, the screen still made him squint.       Danny was calling.       Tucker started, grabbing blindly at his glasses and shoving them haphazardly onto his face.  He nearly stabbed himself in the eye with one stem, but he didn't care.  The cell in his hand was still vibrating; he smashed at the screen with his thumb.  "Danny - what's going on, are you - ?"       Danny had all but dissolved into tears.  Everything poured out of him at once, and Tucker's still-tired brain struggled to keep up.  He parsed as much of it as he could as quickly as he could, but he knew it wasn't enough.  Something about his mother - something about something - but that was the most sense he could make out of it.  "Danny," he said helplessly, "Danny, listen (there's something down there, Tuck!) you gotta slow down (I thought I heard Mom) look, I'm coming (I shouldn't have gone down there) hang on - " already he had scrambled out of bed and found a pair of jeans to throw on.       "Tuck?"       Tucker paused.  "Yeah?"       "Can I come over?"       He sat back down on the edge of his bed, worry almost overtaking him.  "Yeah," he said finally, "I'll leave the window open for you."       Danny appeared a few minutes later.  He looked like he hadn't slept; he floated in the open window and crumpled into a vaguely-sitting heap on the floor.  His arms hugged his knees; his stare went for miles.       When Tucker spoke, it was just a whisper.  "Bad, huh?"       Danny's tired eyes met his.  "I shouldn't have gone down there, Tuck.  I know I shouldn't.  I just - I guess part of me thought I'd see her."       "You saw something else."       Danny's gaze fell.       "That's what you said, wasn't it?" Tucker pressed, realizing afterwards that he really hadn't wanted to.       Danny shifted.  "Yeah.  I don't know what it was.  I was thinking about Mom - I heard her voice, Tuck! - I found the lab door open.  I know Dad locked it up after the accident, I swear I found it that way - "       "Dude, slow down," Tucker slid off the edge of the bed and sat next to Danny against the wall.  He put one hand on Danny's shoulder.  "No one's blaming you.  This is just about the roughest stuff you're ever gonna go through, man.  Tell me the rest.  You said you saw something."       Danny, face reddening, nodded.  "I - yeah.  It was this big dripping thing - I don't even know - I shouldn't have even been there - "  His voice gave out, and he burst into tears.       Tucker slid one arm around Danny's shoulders.  He didn't have the faintest clue of whatever it was Danny had seen in the basement, and if he was being really honest with himself he didn't want to know.  Between them, he was always the weakest whenever ghosts or the paranormal was involved.  Hearing Danny this shaken about it somehow made it worse.  If Danny couldn't hold himself together, what the hell was Tucker supposed to do about it? Quit it, he snapped at himself.  He was Danny's dearest friend, after all - he had to stick with him in times like this, no matter what.  He steeled himself.  No matter what.  "Danny, listen.  I'm right here with you.  I promise.  We can deal with whatever kind of ghost that is - "       "It's not just some ghost, Tuck!  I don't even know if anything could affect it!  It didn't even set off my - "       (ghost sense)       Danny halted mid-sentence.  His face blanked.  That feeling - you're missing something - twisted inside him.  He remembered back through the haze of woe that had overtaken him after the nightmare.  It had triggered his ghost sense.  (He'd woken, breath caught in his chest,) and he'd only let it out after he'd clamped down on it for too long and it had made him sick.  His head had cleared afterwards, he remembered.  His ghost sense had gone off, and he'd missed it.       "Danny?" said Tucker, "Danny, what is it?"       "What am I doing?" Danny asked, more to himself than to Tucker, "This is ridiculous - I'm so stupid - !"       "Danny - " Tucker started, hoping to catch him before he spiraled back into despair.  He was too late.  Danny was crying again.       "I didn't - I didn't even know it," he said in between hiccuping sobs, "My ghost sense - god, I'm so useless!"       "Danny, you're not useless," said Tucker helplessly, "Look.  Why don't you stay here tonight, okay?  You can tell me the rest in the morning.  It's Saturday, remember?"       Danny nodded, swiping at one eye with his palm.  "Okay, Tuck."

      It was midday when Danny returned.  He'd slept better at Tucker's than he had at home, and the events of the previous night had blurred somewhat in his mind.  He knew he'd owe Tucker a big favor for that - appearing at his house in the middle of the night?  Idiot, what were you thinking?  Something was still nagging him about it, even though Tucker had said it was alright.  It wasn't really.       The front door opened just as he was shuffling up the steps.  He looked up; it was Jazz, and she looked almost as tired as he did.  "Danny," she snapped with a frown, "Where were you?"       "Tuck's," said Danny, and offered no further explanation.       Jazz waited expectantly for one anyway.  Her frown deepened.  "And?  You didn't call?  Danny, I was worried about you!  I've been practically by myself up here, you know!  Dad hasn't eaten in days, and he won't come out of his room at all anymore.  Now you just disappear in the middle of the night - what am I supposed to think?"       Danny stared downwards.  "Look, I'm sorry, okay?  Some stuff happened, and - "       "You went down into the lab, didn't you," said Jazz.  Her arms were crossed, and the look on her face was unreadable.  "I know it was you.  Dad hasn't been downstairs, and the door was open."       Danny met her eyes.  "You - "       "Danny, what were you thinking?" Jazz cried, unable to maintain her composure any longer, "Going back down there by yourself?  In the middle of the night?  After what happened - what's wrong with you?  You know Dad locked it up for a reason!"       Danny flinched as if struck.  Don't do it.  New tears burned the corners of his eyes.  Cried enough already, don't you think?  "Jazz, I - "       "Danny, would you just quit it," Jazz snapped, "I know you miss her - I do too! - but sneaking down into the lab after what happened?  Are you out of your mind?"       "I saw something down there," Danny's mouth blurted, before his brain could tell it not to.  He froze like he'd just been caught setting the house on fire.  Now you've done it.  Idiot.       "You what."       Danny faltered.  He wanted to take it back - too late for that - and he stammered over himself for a second as he tried to find the right thing to say instead.  "Well, I thought - maybe I saw - I don't really know - "       "Danny, that's enough," Jazz announced, "I can't deal with this.  I just can't - not on top of everything else.  I left the basement locked up.  Don't go down there again.  Just don't."  She turned and went back into the house, leaving the door open.       "But I - Jazz, listen!" Danny exclaimed, following her into the living room and absently swinging the door shut behind him.  He was suddenly desperate - for what? for that horrible thing to come out again? - and he grabbed Jazz's hand as she turned to go upstairs.  "Jazz, please.  You have to listen to me.  I thought - I thought I heard Mom down there."       Jazz stiffened, fighting back tears.  "Danny, stop it.  I don't want to hear it.  Mom is gone."       "I - " he couldn't bear it.  He was crying again.       Jazz realized what she'd done too late.  "Danny, I'm sorry," she said, although she knew it was painfully inadequate.  Now look at this, Jasmine.  You've really gone and done it this time, said the nagging voice in her head that had gone increasingly off the rails over the past eleven days.  "I really miss her too.  Now you're saying there's - what, a ghost? - maybe something else?  What can I do, Danny?  I can't even stand to be down there at all right now."       "You don't believe me, do you?" said Danny quietly.  Both of his hands had curled up into fists, but he couldn't find it in himself to be angry.  Despite what he felt, he had lapsed back into calm - just tell me no and be done with it, Jazz.       Jazz was silent.  What could she tell him?  Yes, the portal's been shut down but I'm sure there's ghosts in the basement - of course something's down there - why didn't you say so before, Danny?  Did she even believe him?  Of course she didn't - but it doesn't matter, Jasmine.  You're his sister.  Guilt smacked her back into her senses.  You're his sister, Jasmine.  Just look at him - what kind of sister are you, if you tear him down like that?       Finally she let all her breath out, and nodded.  "Danny, I'm sorry.  I don't really know if I do or not - but if it's this important to you, I'll back you up on it.  I promise."       "You don't mean that," said Danny, without anything behind it.       "Of course I mean it," Jazz insisted, "I know you, Danny.  You're going back into that lab with or without me.  I want to go with you.  If there is a ghost down there - I couldn't let you get hurt."       "Quit it," said Danny, shifting uncomfortably, "I already have no idea what it's capable of.  I don't know if I can even do this, okay?  Just tell me I'll be fine."       Jazz relented.  "I believe in you, Danny.  We'll show that ghost who's boss."       "Jazz?"       "Yes, Danny?"       Danny hesitated, just for a moment, before throwing both his arms around her.  "Thanks."

      The sun had gone down an hour prior.  Jazz descended the stairs, turning to the sofa upon which Danny sat.  "Dad's asleep," she reported, "I don't think he'd come down even if he wasn't.  I've got a spare thermos.  You ready?"       "No," Danny admitted, doing his best to shove his uneasiness out of his mind, "But we have to do this, right?"       Jazz nodded.  "Right."       "Then I guess - I'm going ghost," Danny rose from his place on the sofa, hovered for a moment, and then transformed.  Instantly, everything shifted to grey - he hadn't missed that - but at least he could feel his abilities strengthening to their full potential.  It didn't make him confident but he supposed he'd settle for better.  The voice in him yawned to life - oh, doing this again, are we? - but didn't have anything harsher to say than that.  Danny turned to the kitchen, although he kept his voice directed at his sister.  "Stay behind me - I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you."       "Back at you, little bro.  You'd better be careful."       He floated without a sound through the kitchen.  The lights in the living room had been left on but the ones here were dark; only a long rectangle from the open doorframe was lit.  Although he hovered in it, Jazz was the only one to cast a shadow as she crept up behind him, thermos in hand.       The lab door stood unlocked and ajar, the same as Danny had seen it the previous night.  The knot in his stomach returned.  Let's get this ghost was much easier to say in the daylight; now that the sun had fallen, the nightmarish memories crept back into his mind much more swiftly and mercilessly than he'd expected.  Tried to brush this off, did you? the voice in him chuckled, and he stamped it down before it could mock him further.  He hated it, but he forced himself to ignore it.  He glanced instead over at Jasmine.  "Here goes."       The second he floated down the steps, he could feel the alarms in his head begin to ring.  This time, he was ready; he exhaled       (ghost) and paused a few steps short of the landing.  The bulb in the corner had gone dark, having run out of auxiliary power, but the lab itself was still dimly lit.  Elongated shadows of tools and materials flickered on the walls and across the floor - the desktop computer had been turned on and left open, and the screen glowed a soft green.  Ghost powered, he thought to himself.  With Jazz still behind him, he scanned the darkest corners of the room.  He knew that it was down here.       Something flickered across the glow from the screen, and Danny jolted.  What took form was not what he expected but was what he found he'd been longing for.  Only a partial silhouette was visible; a flash of muted teal and the glimmer of two bright violet eyes was all he caught, but it was unmistakable.       Maddie Fenton was here.       Something twisted in Danny's gut.  His very own mother - a ghost?  His breath hitched, and the back of his throat burned as he forced himself not to burst into tears.  He only floated in stunned awe, unable to bring himself to say a word.  He watched as she formed somewhat more fully - her head, the tops of her shoulders, and the outlines of her hands - and turned and wafted over to the worktable in the corner.  Just for an instant, he could smell her, and it overwhelmed him.  This was his mother, no matter the circumstances.  Maybe she's just not that strong yet - maybe she's still getting the hang of things.  One hiccuping sob wracked him.       Maddie Fenton vanished.       Danny reeled as if his mind had been plunged into cold water.  Where is she?  He felt desperation rise in him, and he stepped down onto the steel floor of the lab.  His voice cracked.  "Where - "       The poltergeist stood, seething, before him, an ichorous mass that exuded darkness and hatred.  Just beholding it nearly made his head spin, and he struggled to keep his vision in focus.  Sharp static clawed its way into his mind, making him dizzy; its infernal white eyes slid around to burn into his own; its flesh melted like boiling tar and yet it held its shape.  The static that had paralyzed him shifted, becoming screams.  It raised one limb and pointed like the passer of some ancient and damned judgment.  Its mouth - near-formless, but it had a mouth! - gaped, and above even the screams in Danny's head it roared,       (GHOST!)       It skittered at him in three quick crooked zaps, striking him before he realized it had moved at all.  It threw its formed limb at him, slugging him in the mouth, and now that it had him it hoisted him off his feet.  Its grip melted over him, burning his skin and his suit; he grabbed into where its wrist should have been in an effort to make it drop him, but its ichorous flesh slipped through his fingers and ensnared them.       "Danny!" Jazz cried, panicked.  She held the spare thermos in her hands, and pointed it outwards at the poltergeist -       It howled, raising another limb, and sent Jazz flying back up the stairs.  The lab's reinforced steel door slammed behind her, and it turned back to the kicking Danny in its grasp.       Danny couldn't breathe.  Panic blurred his vision and scrambled his mind into a senseless cacophony.  He couldn't pull his hands away, much less free himself, and he could feel it beginning to sap his energy       (HATE!) but was powerless to stop it.  He struggled for focus; an ectoblast formed in one of his hands, and he forced it to grow big enough to detonate.  The explosion separated them, and he slammed against the wall, landing a moment later in a bruised and burned heap on the floor.  His head still spun.  He coughed, finally breathing, and fluorescent ectoplasm spattered the floor before him.  He brought the back of his hand to the corner of his mouth, wincing, and slowly began to catch his breath.  His mind ground back to a coherent state.  He realized, not concretely but at least on some level, that the poltergeist had tricked him.  Mom is gone, Jazz's voice echoed.       Eleven days.       He rose up off his feet again, turning to face the ichorous poltergeist that had moments ago masqueraded as the ghost of his mother.  Liar! the ghostly voice in him cried in delight, deceiver!  Crush it!  For once, they were on the same page.  Fury filled him.       (OUT!)       The poltergeist screeched, clamping down again on his mind.  It swiped at him, missed, and swiped again.  It exuded loathing and terror, and the closer it came to him the more it warped his mind.  Its burning eyes were fixed on him; it steadily drove him back, cornered him, and grabbed with both limbs so that it could tear him in half.       At the last second, Danny vanished and bolted over its head, tossing two ectoblasts into the space between where he assumed its shoulders would be if it had any.  He did his best to keep his space; the knot in his stomach wrenched if he let it get too close to him.  The ghost voice in him was simply giddy - fight! destroy! burn the place down! - but he began to doubt if he would win this battle.  He'd never seen such a blindingly furious ghost before, much less one that could dizzy him with a look alone.  What does it want?  He was painfully aware of how alone he was; it had discarded Jazz without effort, and it seemed to deal out an array of effects without even touching him.  It could send him into a blind panic with a glare; its own hatred seeped into him if they touched; even across the lab he could feel its anger.       The poltergeist remained still but its eyes slid around the side of its head so that it could face him.  Its mouth opened and it screamed, (GET) vanished, (OUT) reappeared behind him, (OF) swiped him off his feet, (MY) stood over him, (HOUSE) and planted one foot on his chest.       Danny's mind reeled.  The paralyzing static had faded, but venomous loathing clouded his thoughts and plunged him into despair.  (You deserve this,) it told him, (you did this to yourself!)  Despite himself, he began to believe it.  (This is because of me.  It's my fault.  I did it to myself.  I deserve this.)  No, I don't!  "Please, let me go - "       The poltergeist lapsed, just for a moment, but it was enough for Danny to escape.  He disappeared through the lab's steel floor, still reeling, and hid.  The poison had left his mind directly but he still felt it; he knew he was losing this fight, and he hated himself for it.  Why can't you do this?  What kind of useless ghost are you?  How could he win, even now?  It burned wherever its melting ghost-flesh had touched him - his hands, wrists, it had grabbed him around his mouth and melted down onto his shoulders.  Every time he moved, pain screamed in him.  How much more of this could he take?       Fumes from the ichor on him made his thoughts swirl, and he did his best to force them still.  What kind of ghost - what kind of power is this?  He had met a shadowy ghost called Spectra not too long ago.  She fed on despair - was it possible for him to block out the poison from this ghost, even as it exuded its own hatred -       It hates itself, Danny realized at once.  It hates itself - and it hates me?  It had attacked him on sight, even though they'd never met.  He wasn't a particularly famous ghost - had it heard of him?  Had it been sent to fight him?       Get out of my house.  ��    Danny paused, desperately shoving away his own doubts and clinging onto that thought before it disappeared.  That's what the poltergeist had screamed.  My house.  Danny tried to make sense of it; self-loathing still hung over him, mocking - you can't win, you know - but he tried to focus.       The answer hit him and crushed him all at once.  It doesn't just hate me.  It hates ghosts - she hates ghosts.  She hates being a ghost.       Mom?       He was pulled upwards before he could think anything else, and terror gripped him.  He pushed against it - Mom, it's me! - but her unbridled hatred overwhelmed him.  She'd grabbed him through the floor and hauled him back up into the lab, and he knew she'd destroy him.  She slammed him into the wall over the inactive ghost portal and melted; she was draining him, pouring her loathing into him, and       (TAKE IT AND DIE, GHOST!) he couldn't take it.       He screamed, clinging desperately to the last of the ghostly energy he had, and transformed back.  Returning to the living after having been beaten to death took almost everything he had.  The shift was excruciating - and still she had him pinned.  He couldn't move.  He clawed at the blind panic in his head, forcing himself to meet her stare.  "Mom - it's me - Mom, please..."       The poltergeist of Maddie Fenton screamed and vanished in an instant.  Danny fell, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.  His head still spun in disarray, and for a moment he just lay panting, grasping at his consciousness and doing his best not to pass out.  Eventually, his mind began to settle not into comfort but at least into clarity.  He pushed himself up onto his hands, despite everything in him screaming not to.  He was still horribly burnt; one of his eyes had been nearly melted shut; the side of his mouth had gone from bleeding green back to red; he was exhausted and empty; he couldn't stop himself from shaking; it even hurt him to breathe, and still he kept coughing up blood.       But you made it.       He stared out at the darkened lab.  He was certain she hadn't left.  His voice was just a hoarse whisper: "Mom...?"       The lab was silent, but her bright white eyes appeared under the worktable.  She was hidden in shadow, and her gaze shifted uneasily.       Danny's heart leapt.  "It is you..."       (Danny...)       He took a moment to push through a coughing fit, and calmed himself down.  He could feel her aura even now - no longer anger but regret poured from her.  He felt the same.       (I didn't know)       "I missed you," Danny whispered, in tears.       (I'm so sorry)       Danny turned slowly, wincing from the pain.  "I love you, Mom."       (what have I done)       "Your best," said Danny, a little too forcefully.  He collapsed into coughing again, and this time left himself on the cold metal floor.  "You - I think you make a better ghost than me..."       (Danny, I'm scared)       "That's just - just because you're dead," whispered Danny, fighting back another coughing fit, "I can show you the ropes, right?"       (I'm scared for you)       Danny forced himself upwards, cringing.  He waited for the dizziness in his head to pass.  "Help me upstairs - please?"  A weak smile flickered across the corners of his mouth.  "Jazz isn't gonna believe this."

     Four days later, Danny was back at home.  He sat up in his room; he had the window open since the weather was good, and although he was supposed to be asleep he stood and stared out at the streets.  A sudden chill swept through him; he took a deep breath, exhaled,       (mom) and turned.  She stood by the foot of his bed; she was still made of darkness but she was starting to develop a form, and her eyes had shifted from blind-white to their previous lavender.  An air of guilt and uncertainty hung about her, but at least - at the moment - she had stopped dripping.       Danny brightened.  "Hey, you've gone back to purple again."       (Have I?)       Danny nodded.  "I like that better.  Pretty soon you'll look more like your old self."       (Danny, can I ask you something? and be honest)       Danny hesitated.  "Ask me what?"       (Well, I guess it's just that something's not sitting right with me.  Promise you won't think it's stupid?)       "Mom, I've got all this ghost stuff figured out already," said Danny, "Okay, well, not all of it, but most of it, I think.  Maybe.  Shoot."       (I keep thinking - is it silly for me to want to see where I ended up?)       Danny didn't quite follow.  "What do you mean - ?"       (Can you take me to where you buried me?)       "Well, I - " Danny faltered, not entirely sure where this was coming from, but then nodded.  "Yeah.  I guess so."  He turned back to the window, transforming and offering her a hand.  "I'll take you - and I can even show you how to fly on the way."