#and i said this was a SHORT and SIMPLE comic good CHRIST

[todayisafridaynight]

tattoo

[janshu]

In The Shallows...Part One.

Summary: @hanji-is-life more merman!Bakugo and so I shall provide! I was hoping to get this out much earlier, back in may because MerMay but better late than never I suppose! You, a marine biologist, take a scuba dive to see the local fauna off coast and you find more than you ever could've bargained for...

Word Count: 1.5.

Warnings: None but minor curses, mentions of the ocean, an illusion of drowning. Viewer discretion is advised at least.

How did you manage this?

You hadn't walked on the beach, much less roll around in the coarse substance. So how did it manage to get into your pockets? This was a new jacket so how?

A short walk from the parking garage to the pier was all it was, no beach travel involved yet it had wormed its way into your pockets, in between your toes and nearly everywhere else. 

Your team chuckles at your discomfort finding your squirming the funniest thing on the planet as they loaded up the sizable vessel for the day on the water. For the past several weeks you had been cooped up in a lab studying the samples others brought to you but now you were given the green light to head out into the field yourself. Your goal for the day was to gather samples, check on the status of the coral nursery, and a checklist of other menial tasks. A full plate all things considered, much better than getting a migraine staring through a microscope at sea water until you either give up or get sent home. 

Waves battered against the hull of the boat while you and your fellow colleagues suit up in scuba gear. The goal wasn't to go to the bottom of the ocean, far from it, fifteen meters was the maximum for today so simple snorkeling hear wouldn't cut it. You didn't get your diving certifications to be stuck in a lab. The salt spray refreshing against your skin for the few seconds it was vulnerable while you changed from your outfit into the designated wetsuit. Not the full suit that covered your body from head-to-toe, just a body one to keep your core warm when your swimsuit didn't offer much protection.

The boat came to a stop right around where the GPS locator dinged where the nursery site was and the captain gave everyone a thumbs up as you and your fellows attached their fins, tanks, SPG's and all the other necessary equipment. One-by-one each of them held their regulators to their mouths and fell back into the blue ocean below until it was your own, to which you received a wink instead while everything turned upside down.

Ten, twenty, thirty, a hundred. Regardless of how many dives you've had you'll never get over the beauty of the reefs. Each time serving something new, change was ever present in your line of work. Never seeing the same specimens twice to witnessing a rare species and everything in between. The sunshine overhead casting glittering ripples on the sandy floor, catching your eye on the schools of fish that swam by as their scales gleamed in different patterns. This was the closest feeling you had ever come to your childhood dream of becoming a mermaid. When you wished on your birthday candles and shooting stars to holding your breath underneath tub water in hopes gills would magically appear. That's what started this career. Maybe it was a long forgotten portion of your evolved brain from life's time in the ocean but you felt at home, a familiar sense of belonging that you didn't have on dry land. This was where you were meant to be but sadly your wishes had never come true and you were cursed to remain a land-dwelling mammal.

The beeping in your ears ripped you from your fantastical daydreams to remind you of the harsh reality. This is as close as you were going to get but that wasn't so bad, it was better having a little than nothing at all. Looking at the gauge meter it showed that you have roughly an hour left of oxygen which meant you had been in the water for an hour already. How time flies when you're having fun, absorbed in your daydreams, and checking on coral and taking samples.

"Hey, could we switch our tanks out without getting oxygen narcosis or are we screwed in that department?" Your voice came over the radio built in the full face masks everyone in the diving team used no doubt scaring those who were lost in thought as you just were. 

"Y/N...do you really want to stay out here longer? Shitting Christ, you should be glad you're out here in the first place!" The captain's voice responded from the safety of the boat. "Now get your asses back up here n' we'll head on ba-...what was that?"

"What was what?" 

A chorus of responses chimed in immediately after, some crackling from the distance they were from the source and others sounding as if they were a foot away.

"Nothing, never mind, must've been a Manta Ray. Forget about it. Just get your shit and come back, I'm gettin' hungry and its close to lunchtime so hurry up." The static cut off as he put down the radio and looked out into the churning ocean. The massive shadow he had just seen passing by the boat putting him on alert, he didn't want to witness any reef shark's feeding frenzy.

"We can come back tomorrow, Y/N. Nothing's stopping us from that, right?" Another voice, one of your favorite colleagues suggested. That was right, you were there and your boss hadn't explicitly said that this was a one time thing. Another visit would do some good to see if the biometrics have changed in a span of twenty-four hours.

"Alright, okay, we'll come back later for a differential test."

The group had a collective sigh of relief. You were notorious for loving the ocean to such a degree you'd do anything to stay in a while longer, they were all content with leaving now and coming back later if it meant they wouldn't see your sad pouting all the way back to the van. Picking up their equipment and vials everyone began swimming back to the boat now most of them making small talk and discussing their plans for the weekend while you were once again lost in your thoughts.

Something impossibly dark darted through your vision. Blocking out the beautiful view of the turquoise water and colorful life like an angry, ominous storm cloud. A blanket of blindness shrouding all light for a moment but it felt like an eternity as dread sunk in the pit of your stomach, anchoring you to the spot. The warm water now felt cold, goosebumps running up your bare arms and thighs like pinpricks. The heart that had been so calm in the home of your ribcage now pushing adrenaline through your bloodstream, adjusting to a state you weren't acting on. Fear. That wasn't a Manta Ray or a comically large Stingray that was something else entirely. A predator that crashed against the fragile cage of safety, security and believing you were untouchable in shallow depths.

You were reminded of the psychologically scarring and irrational fear of one's ankles being grabbed particularly in the ocean by a shark, the part of your lizard brain firing signals all across your synapses to detach the leg. If only. A fair trade, being left alone at the price of a limb but unfortunately humans couldn't detach or regrow whatever they lost.

That fear was horrifically evoked when something far more firm than a limp leaf of seaweed wrapped around your ankle. Slimey, cold as death and tipped with five sharp points. Reminiscent of a hand, a very large hand. Expanding across your bare skin like a calloused cuff that threatened to break the skin, sink into the meat and tear your foot off entirely. However, that didn't seem to be happening. No cloud of your own blood instead the safety of the boat got further and further away, turning into a speck barely seen in the shallow water.

"Wait, wait no! What the fuck?! Let go! What the hell?" When your brain managed to get over its fear and shock of the situation your fight-or-flight instincts kicked into high gear and your body began to thrash around against the hold. If it was a shark hitting it in the snout and eyes was imperative to get it to release but what if it wasn't? What else could possibly have your leg in its grip with a goal of pulling you away from the boat?

A flurry of indistinguishable voices and noises came over the radio. From yelps, screams and to curses but the thudding in your ears and the furious splashes drowned them all out, everything became topsy turvy, what was the bottom of the ocean and what was the surface became an abstract concept. The primal urge to escape was ripped away when the respirator giving you oxygen was unceremoniously and harshly ripped from your mouth, the hand that had done it orange and black. The water was salty, like you had dumped an entire container of table salt into your mouth and you washed it down with a sip of water. It was invasive, slipping down your throat into your lungs as they tried to gulp air instead. The more you inhaled the harder it was to move. Your limbs becoming as heavy as cement bricks. Unconsciousness began to consume everything, your body down to your mind. The eerie sensation of falling was the last thing before everything faded to black...

[kaissauce]

okay, phucker, do it

ok let's do this @rolli-zolli @ninikins

Horrortale: technically an alternate timeline instead of au. after a neutral run where undyne's queen the core malfunctions and food becomes scarce and people resort to eating humans because sans suggested it. Aliza is the protag. latest thing that happened in the ongoing comic was Aliza agreeing to go with Papyrus to solve his last puzzle. as for the appearance of sans he has a HUGE hole on his head and a red eye. he got the hole from undyne when she got his magic eye which was going to be used to power the core. sans didnt die tho and killed the guards holding him down and just took whatever eye was on the ground and used it as a replacement for his magic eye that's powering the core. i quote first words he said after putting the eye in his socket "who the fuck took my phone?". then the magic eye went apeshit and broke the core again. oh and also he made alphys braindead by quite literally scrambling her brain. yeah this au is rough sans hasn't really eaten anything since the core was destroyed since he decided not to eat any humans.

Dusttale: i think this was originally a korean au? basic rundown: too many genocide runs sans goes apeshit and tries to get his Lv up by killing monsters himself man went fuckin insane kills his brother blah blah blah edgy angsty au the ghost of papyrus haunts him n stuff. sans literally just looks the same except he has his hood on and sometimes artists draw him with papyrus's scarf. the cool artists draw him with his hood on and has the hood completely cover his face so u can only see his glowing pupils. although people call him dust sans he's actually named murder sans

Killer: so frickin similar to dusttale except sans goes apeshit because of the human being like "join me lmao". three different outcomes come from this. i think it was 1 sans joins human 2 sans joins human kills human later on 3 kills human or something. friends with color sans who is basically his impulse control. pretty sure his soul's fucked up and Color sans tries to make his soul un-fucked but Nightmare comes in and fucks up the progress. he has white shorts, his eye sockets are constantly pitch black and leaking tar or something also has a weird target thingy on his chest. OH YEAH ALSO HE HAS BEEF WITH UNDERSWAP SANS ALMOST FORGOT. basically swap sans tried to make killer good and then they had a fight, swap sans lost and was on the verge of dying thankfully swap papyrus was able to save him in time i think

Dreamtale: Dream isn't in the drawing but his brother, Nightmare is. Sooo he used to not look all goooy and have tentacles n stuff but then he ate a couple hundred apples and yeah. he's six years old apparently. Nightmare and Dream are supposed to be guardians of a tree that has 500 golden apples and 500 black n goopy apples. the golden aples are positive and the goop ones are negative. you're not supposed to eat either of them cus bad shit happens. Dream and Nightmare live in a village and for whatever reason they're all dicks to Nightmare because ooughh he's the guardian of negativity that's not baller. he also goes apeshit (do u see a pattern here) and eats a goopy apple n then becomes the goop man he is today. he fuckin eats 999 apples jesus christ. and the last one is eaten by Dream because if u eat all 1000 apples u become unstoppable and immortal. so that would be a bad thing if nightmare got the last one. wop wop wop these dude aren't sanses they only have the body of one if that makes sanse.

Error: manlet. he's literally an error and that's why he's like that. also he's technically not a sans now, the redesign for him was so that he could be in the creator's webcomic named Lucidia. Error sans, aka the destroyer of aus, finds aus to be mistakes so he tries to get rid of them. his process of doing this is simple: get the human soul to the void so that they can't reset, destroy the au. he primarily attacks using his strings which can wrap around one's soul and control them. he like some aus like outertale because of how open and empty it is. he likes to be alone and has haphephobia. if u touch him he'll glitch out and possibly crash. he crashes whenever gets overwhelmed. said crashing causes him to shut down and reboot and he's powerless while doing so. he's actually pretty easy to beat if you know how to push his buttons the right way. in the og ask error blog made by his creator Loverofpiggies he kidnaps Swap sans who tries to help Error become a better person. this ends horribly as error leaves Swap sans in the void who then becomes an error aswell due to being alone in the void too long. Error actually regrets doing that to swap sans

Aftertale: OK FUN FACT THE SANS OF THIS AU, WHO'S NICKNAMED "Geno" IS ERROR. aftertale is a comic made by LoverofPiggies it's been SOOOO long since i last read it so i cant really give a good summary. but anyways Geno is trapped in the loading screen with the human and will die if he leaves the loading screen. eventually from being in the loading screen for too long after the events of aftertale he becomes Error.

OOF WOWIE THERE'S SO MUCH TO GO

Underfresh: he's not even a sans either. "Fresh" is a parasite inhabiting a skeleton. his birthday is on 4/20 which is ironic cus he doesn't like drugs. he censors swears. he speaks 90's lingo and dresses like a neon sign. for some reason he has eyebrows and a gold tooth. the glasses he has can change text but normally defaults to "YOLO". he can't feel anything since he has no soul of his own and just latches onto the host's. instead he learns how to act from the people around him. not being able to feel actually bothers him a LOT

Echotale: Aka Gaster sans. uhhh this one was also a comic if i remember correctly. basically Frisk and G!Sans are the only ones in the au and they're trying to find the core to fix the fucked up timeline that they're in but the core keeps changing positions so that sucks.

Swapfell: originally made by Khhoppang who left social media. Started out as an Alphys x Undyne au so only those two were designed but Kh was planning to design more of the characters. before they could people had a field day with the idea of mashing two aus together and SO many people came up with their own designs for sans and papyrus. Khhoppang left social media because they got overwhelmed with all the art reposters and stuff, pretty sad. the appearance of the sans in that au is the purple one with a scythe (i dont think he has a scythe in the og design).

Swapfell Red: so basically this is the swapfell made by people that isn't Khhoppang. community made per se. Sans's appearance changes constantly because as said before many people made many different designs. typically he just looks like Swap sans but with red high heel boots and his color scheme fits underfell

Fellswap (gold): Au made by blackggggum. so swapfell is underswap turned fell, fell swap is underfell swapped it takes a bit to understand that. his appearance is somewhat similar to Swapfell red. He's kind to his friends but if ur his enemy he'll fucking deck you. he's blind in his left eye, the leader of the royal guard, and secretly into dressmaking. fun fact in this au Papyrus has autism

Xtale: uuuuhhhh so Cross is a complicated one. he's part of the royal guard along with papyrus. has beef with xgaster. responsible for the downfall of his au and then Underverse happens and Ink is all "oh cool someone to mess with" and they became friends for a bit then shit hit the fan

Underfell: OOOOO YES UNIRONICALLY ONE OF MY FAVORITES. So Underfell sans is actually a very powerful mf and constantly has his magic eye activated because he has so much magic. This au is also technically an alternate timeline where monsters "lost their humanity" as the creator put it. so basically trust in the underground is scarce. Sans and papyrus, contrary to many interpretations i fucking hate, are actually on good terms (and no sans doesn't call papyrus "boss" the creator said if he does he'd do it ironically and papyrus would hate it). Fun facts he pays Grillby in socks (grillby accepts the socks as payment and wears them), if u make grillby laugh he gives u a jacket that looks like his and it's heavily implied that sans made him laugh because their jackets are similar

Underswap: ah yes another classic that i love as well. originally made by PopcornPr1nce who fled social media because they hated how the majority fandom treated Underswap (Blueberry and Carrot were popular names for the fanon swap papyrus and sans). Swap sans is constantly infantilized by the community which sucks and i hate it so i draw my own very super cool version of him whom i kin because i am also very super cool.

Outertale: mainly an aesthetic au pretty sure there's no comic of it. basically, instead of underground they in space. outer sans dies in underverse after like minutes of screentime lmao

Epictale: a comic made by Yugogeer. the og comic was retconned and the creator loathes the original version and made a reboot that's much better. Sans actually dies very early in it because Yugo hates how Sans is almost always focused on in aus. also the creator hates how meme-y their sans has become (like him saying bruh every single sentence, using a rubber chicken as a weapon, cookies, etc.) he's friends with Cross but not in canon. He has a purple magic eye that makes him immortal and i think only epic gaster could remove it which is how sans was able to be killed when he fought gaster.

Temmietale: it's undertale but everyone is temmie, don't question it

Trainertale: it's undertale but it's Pokemon, don't question it

Dancetale: it's undertale but you dance instead of fight, don't

Mobtale/Mafiatale: im unsure if mobtale and mafiatale are separate or not but they are very similar. basically undertale but mafia it's self explanatory

Undertale: no clue which au is this one, nope not at all/j

Bittytale or whatever idk: so take sans, make him small. boom. never understood this au

THAT BASTARD INK: HOOO BOY SAVED THE WORST FOR LAST. FUCK THIS GUY/j. THIS DUDE. IS THE REASON IM STILL INTO UNDERTALE AUS. I LOVE EM SO MUCH. also technically not a sans. He comes from an unfinished au and ripped his own soul to escape said au and became an outcode. for so long he was just a soulless husk until someone drew him and he got splashed with paint which let him feel. soon he learned to keep the paint in vials so that he can be able to feel 24/7. And then he learned how to create things with a paintbrush and the paint and spent time alone drawing up his own world until a portal appeared and took him to the multiverse. now he encourages artists to keep creating aus. he's the protector of aus in the sense that he keeps other outcodes from disrupting the script of the au, so if it's pacifist and an outcode tries to kill people he'd stop them, if it's genocide and an outcode tried to help them he'd stop them. no matter what he wants the au to stay on script. fun fact the creator of ink and the creator of error never had them interact with each other in canon, that was all the fandom's doing. Contrary to popular belief he's not really considered "good" his alignment is officially "Chaotic neutral". I personally interpret him a lot more chaotic than in canon because it's fun but he's a pretty chill guy actually. he can just be a bit of an ass sometimes. According to the creator of Ink (who is Comyet) his interpretation in Underverse is not canon compliant. one of the biggest canon things that underverse contradicts is Ink deliberately not taking his vials. if he were to do that in canon he'd become a husk again which is the equivalent of him "dying". he was described as a walking corpse by Comyet, without the vials he can't function anymore. Like Error he's pretty easy to beat if you know his weaknesses. also he has fears of empty spaces and being alone

off topic kinda but i very much love how Error and Ink are opposites yet parallel even though they were completely written without the other in mind. Error believes getting rid of aus is getting rid of anomalies. Ink believes people interfering with aus are anomalies. Error loves emptiness, Ink hates emptiness. list goes on it's funky fresh.

also uhhh sanses missing from that drawing that i can name from the top of my head

Seraphim sans, Insans, Dusttrust, He who shall not be named because he's from an 18+ au, Swapswap (yes. that exists), Storyshift, Inverted Fate (very good au i suggest checking it out), Negatale, Oceantale, Template, Pale, Mafiafell, Farmtale

my phone is at 9% y'all are spared from me going on

[scotianostra]

On January 8th 1697 Thomas Aikenhead was executed in Edinburgh.

So who was oor Thomas, a villain?, a murderer?, a smuggler?, or some enemy of the state? No Thomas's crime was blasphemy who took the lord's name in vain.......this would be comic if it wasn't for the tragic fact that he was executed, unlike the man in Life of Brian, who uttered the words Jehova, Thomas complained that he wished he was warming himself in hell rather than that chilly night walking past the recently built Tron Kirk on Edinburgh's Royal Mile. Well that's the simple story that the tour guides that take you round the Old Town will tell you, there is a bit more to it so I will bore you with a bit more of the detail.

Thomas Aikenhead came from a well-to-do family in Edinburgh, his father being listed as a surgeon but more probably an apothecary, a dispenser of herbs and potions. Both his parents were dead by the time he became a student at Edinburgh University at the age of 16 or 17.

His mother had been a daughter of the manse, and you would think that would have made Aikenhead wary of challenging the established religion of the time, namely the all-powerful Church of Scotland, especially while still a student and under the constant gaze of professors, lecturers and, as it turned out, his fellow students.

These were the dying days of a curious period in Scottish history. Aikenhead would have been four when the ‘Wizard of the West Bow’ Major Thomas Weir was executed in 1670. Weir was by day an extreme Calvinist but by night an incestuous Satanist and it takes no great leap of reason to see that an impressionable young boy might well have been affected by the trial and execution of a local celebrity that lived not far from him.

The 1680s was also the ‘killing time’ for the Covenanters when many died because of they worshipped their same god in differing ways!

Thomas was a keen student and an avid reader, he may or may not have known and Edinburgh bookseller,  John Frazer, who had been prosecuted after admitting either reading, or being in possession of Charles Blount’s Oracles of Reason a book I know nothing about but gather it relates to Deism, which questioned the existence or more importanyly, non-existence of God or Satan, Frazer had repented ad as it was a first offence was sackclothed and jailed in the old Tolbooth for a number of months.

Anyway, Thomas had a friend, well he thought he had a friend, Murdo Craig, but Murdo, on the sly had been keeping notes on Aitkenhead, and his dalliances with blasphemous ideals, we know that because they formed a large part of the indictment against Aikenhead.

“Nevertheless it is of verity, that you Thomas Aikenhead, shakeing off all fear of God and regaird to his majesties lawes, have now for more than a twelvemoneth by past, and upon severall of the dayes within the said space, and ane or other of the same, made it as it were your endeavour and work in severall compainies to vent your wicked blasphemies against God and our Saviour Jesus Christ, and against the holy Scriptures, and all revealled religione, in soe far as upon ane or other of the dayes forsaid, you said and affirmed, that divinity or the doctrine of theologie was a rapsidie of faigned and ill-invented nonsense, patched up partly of the morall doctrine of philosophers, and pairtly of poeticall fictions and extravagant chimeras, or words to this effect or purpose, with severall other such reproachfull expressions.”

That was just for starters. Sir James Stewart of Goodtrees, the Lord Advocate of the day, had taken a personal interest in the case and he decided to throw the whole lot of Craig’s testimony at Aikenhead who was arrested in November, 1696, and charged under the Blasphemy Act of 1661 which carried the death penalty.

He also charged Aikenhead under a more recent act, which made it a criminal offence to ‘deny, impugn or quarrel’ about the existence of God.

The prosecution papers go on to record

“You have lykwayes in discourse preferred Mahomet to the blessed Jesus, and you have said that you hoped to see Christianity greatly weakened, and that you are confident that in a short tyme it will be utterly extirpate.”

For Mahomet, read Muhammad, could young Thomas be an Islam convert in 17th century Edinburgh, I very much doubt it, they just needed to make an example of the young student, and he knew by now that he was in very great trouble and protested in effect that he was guilty only of the sin of being youthful and had been led astray by the books he had read. He also pleaded and repented of his anti-Christian beliefs and was once again a good Presbyterian.

In this way he seems to have thrown himself upon the mercy of the court. There was none. On Christmas Eve, 1696, a jury found him guilty. Sir James Stewart asked for the death penalty and it was granted and “pronounced for doom,” as Scottish judges were still saying well into the 20th century in capital punishment cases.

Aikenhead pleaded for his life to the Privy Council emphasising his youth, his dire circumstances, and the fact that he was reconciled to the Protestant religion. There was some support for the death sentence to be commuted from at least two councillors and two Church of Scotland ministers, but the General Assembly of the Kirk intervened, demanding that Aikenhead suffer “vigorous execution to curb the abounding of impiety and profanity in this land”.

In his last letter to friends, written in the Tolbooth prison in Edinburgh as he awaited execution, Aikenhead at last gave a plausible explanation for his conduct – that he had been a disappointed seeker after truth.

He wrote: “It is a principle innate and co-natural to every man to have an insatiable inclination to the truth and to seek for it as for hid treasure. So I proceeded until the more I thought thereon, the further I was from finding the verity I desired.”

In truth, in a repressed society the student had just gone too far in rejecting the doctrines of Christianity calling it “feigned and ill-invented nonsense”

Aikenhead went to this day 1697, hanged on the scaffold at Shrubhill between Edinburgh and Leith. It is said that before he died he proclaimed that moral laws were the work of governments and men.

In his hand as the noose was placed around his neck was the Holy Bible.

The execution angered some people for many years afterwards. The great English historian Thomas Babington Macaulay wrote an account of the hanging and called the execution “a crime such has never since polluted the island.”

He continued: “The preachers who were the boy’s murderers crowded round him at the gallows, and, while he was struggling in the last agony, insulted Heaven with prayers more blasphemous than any thing that he had ever uttered.”

There was other evidence of church authorities being present as Aikenhead died. He was the last man in Britain to be hanged for blasphemy.

According to Arthur Herman in his book How the Scots Invented the Modern World: The True Story of How Western Europe’s Poorest Nation Created Our World and Everything in It the execution of Aikenhead was “the last hurrah of Scotland’s Calvinist ayatollahs” before the dawning of the age of reason in the Enlightenment.

Now we can all rejoice in The Enlightenment but a full 30 years later in the small town of Dornoch in Sutherland, Janet Horne was put on trial for the “crime” of having a daughter whose feet and hands were misshapen and who had herself given birth to a son with disabilities. She was the last woman in Britain to be burned at the stake for being a witch, her death bringing to an end the “burning time” when perhaps 4000 Scottish women were executed for the crime of witchcraft.

[sparkie96]

It’s ridiculously late where I’m at and I need to sleep, but I feel like if I sleep and not ask this I’ll forget. 😱 But I have an idea a short story if you’d be willing to write it where Leon is giving brat energy to one of the guys (Chris, Dante or Vergil your choice I’m gain for any of them) and it end with smut or almost smut. The brat energy could even be at the wrong time right place etc. This has just been on my mind for a while.

It’s kind of short but it’s Halloweeny and has Leon in a Catwoman costume! I have this headcanon that will forever be one of my go-to’s where Leon is just a dummy when it comes to comics and other nerdy things, so when it comes to Halloween, Chris mentions wanting to do a superhero costume team-up with someone. Chris mentions Captain America or something like that.

Leon, who has a massive crush on Chris and was invited to the party, is like “Catwoman is a thing...and she’s got a nice costume and she’s with one of those hero guys so...I’ll surprise him with that! Maybe that’ll grab his attention!”He’s not very bright in that department, but he’s got the spirit...a shame the costume is riding up his ass and Chris teases him about it. 

Rated T-M for Language and Implied Sexy Times and Mild Nudity. _______________________________________________________ Why Leon decided this would have been a good idea, he didn’t know, but he hoped Redfield liked this...because he probably was never doing this again nor would this costume ever see the light of day after tonight. He had sent Chris ahead to the party, the older man offering to meet Leon at his apartment and drive there together, but Leon had declined the offer. He wanted to surprise the man, but he was having a bit of an issue squeezing into the skintight catsuit. Did he buy the wrong size or was it just the tight leather outfit messing with him? Should he forego the underwear and wear nothing underneath? ‘Cause his boxers felt like they were in the way...but was that really appropriate for the BSAA Halloween Party? Would anyone really care? 

Leon slipped his legs out of the tight material of the pant legs in frustration, throwing the costume back down on the bed before removing his boxers. He did glance at himself in the mirror, noticing that his belly was looking a bit soft due to the drinking and constantly buying take-out. Maybe his New Year’s Resolution would be to cut all that out? 

He scoffed at that and shook his head, “That’s assuming the DSO leaves me alone and the assholes knock it off with the bioterrorism…” 

He really did want to get better...but each year it was getting harder and harder and he was just...so tired. He was getting older and the world didn’t seem like it was getting better any time soon. And he really couldn’t deal with another bright-faced therapist patronizing him about looking at the brighter side of things. Or going to a doctor or psychologist that would prescribe him some bullshit medication from pharmaceutical companies that probably did dealings with the same people who created the viruses. 

But that was most likely his paranoia talking...and maybe he should just swallow his pride and seek help. Not everyone was untrustworthy…

“Jesus Christ, Kennedy…” Leon scolded himself, snatching the costume off of the bed, “Just shut up and put the fucking costume on so we can get drunk at a Halloween Party.” 

Although that was what he told himself, that wasn’t the reason he was going. Chris was there, and Leon may or may not have liked the man as more than just a friend. He had heard from Claire and Sherry that Chris wanted to do a “Superhero Themed” Costume, dressing as Captain America or something. So, Leon got it in his own head that if he dressed up as a superhero himself, maybe a love-interest to the character Chris was dressed as, Chris would notice him and maybe admire him. 

The only problem was; Leon knew jack shit about superheroes.

He didn’t read comic books or any of that, outside of the Batman or Superman Movie that came out once every five years...and had fallen asleep during that one movie with the pilot guy and the warrior princess...maybe Batman was in it? They were fighting some monster. Captain America wasn’t in it...or was he? Wasn’t it all the same? He had Googled it, but none of it made very much sense, so Leon honestly didn’t have a clue. He just went to the Halloween store, saw a costume that looked appealing and like a superhero, it had to have been because the Batman symbol was on it, and bought it. 

Leon gave a breath of relief as the costume fit now that he wasn’t wearing his boxers, the catsuit sliding on with ease. He managed to zip it up to under his collar bone, deciding against zipping it up all the way. He looked over his appearance in the mirror. 

He just hoped he didn’t look too ridiculous.  ______________________________________________________________

The party was pretty loud and Chris was having an okay time. He wasn’t too crazy about the party itself, but he supposed it was better than being out on an assignment and worrying about BOWs. It was a helluva lot better than working on paperwork or watching monitors all night, that was for damned sure. Though, he hated constantly shaking hands with people from the DSO and TerraSave.

He especially hated the selfies and shit, people acting as though he was some damn celebrity. He also hated the girls and even some guys as they shamelessly flirted with him and swooned over him “How Handsome” or “How Fitting” he was in his costume. It made him uncomfortable and had him looking out for Jill or Claire. Hell, even Parker or Sherry would have been better company. 

He wasn’t one for costumes and Halloween, but Claire had told him to stop being a brat and just pick something simple. Or something that he loved. Zombie costumes were banned, so he couldn’t just splatter paint on his uniform and call it a day, so he picked the Captain America costume instead. Captain America was one of his favorite superheroes growing up and the outfit was sort of like wearing his own uniform. 

That and the big ass shield that came with it came in handy when it came to grabby people.

He sighed as he listened to one of the agents from the DSO drone on and on about Wesker and other things Chris really didn’t feel like talking about, looking around at the party goers. To his surprise, or maybe not surprise, he hadn’t seen the Golden Boy of the DSO yet. It wasn’t officially Halloween, so Leon wouldn’t have been at the Presidential Trick or Treat thing they did in DC every year. And he knew Leon was coming because the agent texted him to decline the offer to ride together, saying that he would meet him here instead.

The tapping on his shoulder made him nearly hit the person with his shield in fright, but the person blocked the hit before it could land. He saw black gloves tipped with silver claws on the edges of the shield, leading up to black sleeves and a black cowl tipped with cat ears, goggles covering the person’s eyes. 

“Whoa, Big Guy!” The person chuckled, pulling up the goggles so they could sit on his head, “Easy there. Almost took my head off.” 

Chris’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the sound of the person’s voice, “Leon?!”

Leon S. Kennedy stood before him in a skintight black catsuit with a whip wrapped around his shoulder, a utility belt with a silver cat head as a buckle, black knee high boots, and even had the cowl with the cat ears AND a cat choker..and was he wearing eyeliner? The suit was unzipped slightly, his collarbones exposed. The gloves had silver claws on the fingertips, which were now drumming on the plastic shield.

Leon chuckled, “The one and only. I heard you needed a partner for your superhero costume, so...here I am.” 

Chris gave the agent a once over before giving a little chuckle, “So...you’re Catwoman?”

Leon frowned at that, “Yeah...do I look weird? Too much?” He looked down at himself, looking over his costume.

“No, no, it’s not that!” Chris insisted, “You look great! It’s just, uh, Catwoman isn’t Marvel.”

Leon raised a brow, “...huh? What the hell is Marvel?”

Chris chuckled, “It’s a comic book company that makes characters like Cap, Iron Man, Spider-Man, all of those. But Catwoman is actually Batman’s girl over at DC Comics.”

Leon wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brows, “What’s the difference?” 

Chris offered him an arm, which Leon accepted, “Well...there’s a lot of differences…” 

Chris continued on, the agent he had previously been stuck talking to not even noticing that Chris had left. Leon listened to the best of his ability, not really understanding what the hell Chris was talking about, but it was Chris, so he listened regardless. He did pick at the wedgie he was getting from the ridiculously tight outfit every time it rode up his ass.

“So, Batman isn’t an Avenger?” Leon asked as they picked up punch at the punch bowl, Chris grabbing a plate of snacks while Leon held their drinks, “That’s stupid.”

“How?” Chris asked, “He’s a member of the Justice League so he doesn’t need to be an Avenger.” 

“Now, what the fuck is the Justice League?” Leon asked, making Chris laugh, “What the hell is with all these teams? Why?” 

“Ask the guys and gals who made them, I don’t know.” Chris laughed, trading Leon a plate of food for his drink. 

“So, I wore this tight ass outfit that gives me a wedgie every five minutes for nothing?” Leon asked in mock annoyance, “Fucking nerds.” 

Chris shrugged, “If it’s any consolation, you pull it off really well.” 

“Thanks.” Leon said before sipping his punch, smacking his lips together and then making a face, looking down at the green liquid, “This is spiked.” 

Chris tasted his own drink, swishing it around in his mouth, “...I can barely taste that. How did you?” 

Leon merely raised a brow with a smile, sipping it some more as he and Chris went over to the recreational area where party furniture was set up. Leon received several compliments along the way, Leon thanking or nodding his head toward them in acknowledgement. What he didn’t appreciate was the drunk who slapped him on the ass on the way by, Leon spin-kicking him in the chest. 

The man was sent flying backward, the people there moving out of the way, looking between Leon and the guy in shock. Several party-goers murmured amongst themselves or were stunned silent. Leon blushed in partial embarrassment, but kept his angered glare, muttering curses under his breath as he apologized but then went back to Chris, who looked just as shocked as everyone else. 

“What?” Leon asked, “He slapped me on the ass!” 

Chris shook his head and thus shook himself out of his trance, “Uh...well, he did deserve it...but that…” 

“What?” Leon asked, brow raised. 

“That was kind of hot.” Chris admitted. 

Now it was Leon who was stunned silent, the blush of pink deepening to a shade of red, “...really?” 

Chris nodded, giving a bashful smile, “I’m not gonna lie...I’m both frightened...and aroused. I want to kiss you...but I don’t want you to…!” 

Chris was cut-off by Leon tossing his snacks and drink before moving forward into Chris’s space, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and kissing him. Chris’s eyes widened in surprise, giving a momentary muffled protest, but then relaxed. He dropped his own snacks and drinks in favor of wrapping his arms around Leon’s waist, pulling him into a tight embrace as he reciprocated the kiss. 

They stayed like that for a moment before parting for air, Leon wearing a grin, “What about now?” 

Chris blinked as he breathed a deep breath, blushing himself, “...definitely aroused. Wanna...get out of here?” 

“I thought Catwoman was Batman’s girl?” 

“Fuck Batman. He can have Catwoman.” Chris chuckled, holding Leon’s hand and leading him out, “I got Catman.” 

Leon laughed as he followed Chris out, “Gonna give me a treat, Big Guy?” 

“Definitely ain’t giving you a trick.” 

“Can you do any tricks in the bedroom?” 

“It’s Trick OR Treat,” Chris chuckled as they went to his truck out in the parking lot, “Not Trick AND Treat.” 

“...Can I both?” Leon asked in a teasing tone. 

“Keep it up and you’re gonna get a spanking.” 

“That’s an extra treat.”  ______________________________________________________________

The next morning, Leon woke up with a sore ass and wearing only bits and pieces of his costume, still wearing the cat cowl and claw tipped gloves. He felt a heavy body on top of his own, Chris resting on his chest still wearing his costume minus his boots and gloves. Big, muscular arms were wrapped around Leon’s waist, hugging him tightly even in sleep. The man’s shield was on the floor next to his whip, next to the tattered remains of Leon’s costume. 

Leon looked around and groaned as the sunlight bled through the sheer curtains, but he actually didn’t feel annoyed. He was actually satisfied and felt...happy...and apparently in Chris’s apartment. Movement on top of him and the sound of Chris yawning indicated that the man was stirring from sleep, drawing Leon’s attention downward. 

“Morning, Cap.” Leon greeted softly as tired brown orbs looked up at him. 

Chris wore a sleepy smile, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “Morning, Cat. Last night was…” 

“...last night was fun.” Leon chuckled in agreement, “Best tricks and treats I’ve ever gotten.” 

Chris nodded and chuckled in agreement as well as he carefully climbed off of Leon. He looked down at the floor, apologizing for ripping Leon’s costume. Leon shrugged as he sat up, stretching his aching limbs with a yawn of his own. He smiled, saying that the costume was probably gonna rip at some point during the party if they had stayed. Better Chris’s bedroom than in front of everyone at the BSAA. 

“But you can make up for it by making me breakfast.” Leon teased with a wink. 

Chris smiled and nodded once more, stripping out of his costume and into some lounge clothes, “Only if you’ll stay.” 

“Deal.” 

[cake-writes]

Compromise (Part Seven)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Six / Master List / Spotify Playlist

After what felt like hours, you were the proud owner of a brand new Land Rover.

You didn’t really know the details, other than that the vehicle was in your name. Bucky may have paid for it in cash – or a bank transfer, but you didn’t know for sure because he signed most of the paperwork while you made sure Winnie didn’t get into any trouble in the play area. The only thing you signed was the title. He even offered to handle your insurance payments, because they would without a doubt skyrocket and you weren’t exactly confident that you’d be able to afford them.

It was a weird situation, and honestly, you weren’t sure how it made you feel. You were indebted to him, absolutely, but it made you feel… good, for some reason. Like he was taking care of you. Like he was taking care of Winnie.

Maybe because he was.

The ride back to the compound was short and sweet. Bucky streamed Winnie’s cartoon from his phone to the small built-in TV on the back of his seat, and she was absolutely delighted. Kept her busy while you tried to figure out what to say.

A simple ‘thank you’ didn’t seem like enough, but the smile he gave you in return made your heart pound. You turned up the radio to drown out the frenzied rhythm, but you could still hear it in your ears.

After you dropped him off, for the rest of the night all you thought about was him.

Eight o’clock came around and you realized that something was missing. Mr. Squiggles.

You’d been in such a rush – and such a state – to leave for the dealership this morning that you hadn’t double-checked Winnie’s belongings. You’d probably left some other things at Bucky’s, too, but her stuffed unicorn was the one thing she would absolutely have to have tonight. She’d throw a tantrum otherwise.

So you had no choice but to text him. Not that you minded.

You, 8:03pm Sorry, I think we left Mr. Squiggles at your place. Could you please have a look?

Bucky, 8:04pm On it.

A few seconds passed, and then he sent you a photo of it laying atop Winnie’s lavender sheets. Oh, it was a huge relief that it hadn’t gotten lost during the vehicle trade-in. That would have been a nightmare.

You, 8:05pm Thanks so much! We’ll be around shortly.

Bucky, 8:05pm Already out the door. See you soon.

You stared blankly at his text for a few moments.

Bucky was coming over.

He was coming over right now.

He was saving you the trouble of going back to the compound. It would have been a half-hour round trip, not to mention Winnie’s excitement at making another unexpected visit. The two of you had a very specific bedtime routine that you rarely deviated from, otherwise you knew she’d never get to sleep. This was about to be another one of those nights, but Bucky was really saving you a lot of hassle by making the trip himself.

You, 8:06pm Thank you! I’m getting Winnie ready for bed. Key’s under the mat if you want to let yourself in.

And with that, you set your phone down on the bathroom counter to focus on the task at hand.

“Winnie,” you called out, turning on the faucet to the tub. “Bathtime in five minutes.”

“Okay!” came her response from the living room – sweet, but begrudging. She never did like baths, but you found that giving her a five-minute warning helped a lot.

The tub filled quickly, with you checking every so often to make sure the temperature was alright. By the time you managed to corral her into the tub, more than five minutes had passed – not that you noticed. Lots of bubble bath and bath toys kept her entertained while you washed her hair and combed out all of the knots.

Your voices echoed off the tile as the two of you sang her bathtime song, to distract her from the pain of detangling her too-fine hair. You’d never understand how it got knotted so easily. Even with too much conditioner and plenty of detangling spray, it was still a chore to comb out her hair.

Then there was a sudden knock on the bathroom door, to which you jumped and bashed your head on one of the towel racks.

“Ow, Christ,” you swore, holding your aching head.

Bucky’s laughter was clear as day on the other side. “Sorry, doll. Guess you didn’t hear me come in.”

Winnie’s eyes lit up. “Is Daddy here?”

“Yes, Daddy’s here,” you began, but she hopped out of the tub to let him in and you changed your tune completely. “Winnie, honey, we’re not done with your bath—”

She fumbled with the doorknob for a moment before she yanked open the door.

Now, while you didn’t particularly want her trailing water all through the house, the bigger problem was that you were barely dressed. Just a flimsy tank top, no bra, and a pair of plain underwear. That was all. Bathtime got messy, and you didn’t like getting your clothes wet. You had a spare t-shirt and a pair of shorts sitting on the bathroom counter for when he arrived, but you hadn’t put them on yet; hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

Of course, Winnie wasn’t dressed, either, but she was his kid, for one, and for two, she was covered in suds anyway.

“Hi, princess,” he greeted gently, kneeling down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Look who missed you today!”

When he pulled Mr. Squiggles out from behind his back, Winnie squealed and accepted the stuffed animal from him – and then she took off down the hallway towards her room, naked as the day she was born. Bucky let out a snort of laughter and then, when he finally chanced a look at you, the expression that came over his face made your face flush.

It wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t seen all of it before, but the way his eyes trailed down your body made you feel like he hadn’t. He took in every inch of you, every dip and curve and that made you hotter under the collar than it should have.

After a moment or two, however, he finally seemed to come to his senses.

“Shit, sorry,” he stumbled over his words, quickly turning around to give you your privacy. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you reassured him as you pulled on the t-shirt, but your throat was impossibly dry. “Thanks for coming.”

Water dripped from the faucet in a staggered staccato, the only sound save for the rustling of your clothing and Winnie’s quiet giggles down the hallway.

“You… You shouldn’t keep your key under the mat. It’s not safe.”

You glanced up from tying the drawstring on your shorts to find that Bucky had shoved his hands into his pockets, and he was peering up at the ceiling, as if to make a point that he absolutely wasn’t looking. He hadn’t yet changed out of his clothes from today; that plain black t-shirt was still tight as hell, and damn if his ass didn’t look even better in those jeans now than it had earlier.

You swallowed hard, willing your voice not to waver. “Where should I keep it, then?”

“I’ll have a look outside when I go.”

Well, he would know best about this, wouldn’t he?

“Sure,” you said, pulling a towel from the rack. “Thanks. You can look now, I’m decent.”

You still weren’t wearing a bra, but the t-shirt mitigated that a bit. Putting a bra on was too much of a hassle and you were tired. You also had a bunch of other things to do before you went to bed – namely dry Winnie off (because she definitely wasn’t going to come back to the bathtub now), laundry, and lunches for tomorrow.

Bucky made it a point to keep his eyes above your collar this time, but he seemed more amused than anything, even if his cheeks were tinged pink.

“What?” you asked blankly.

“You’ve got bubbles in your hair,” he said with a grin, automatically reaching up to brush them away. He didn’t ask for permission, but he didn’t need it, either.

Your heart skipped a beat at his gentle touch, and that was when you noticed it – tension in the air, tension so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Your skin burned hot wherever he touched: the crown of your head, a stray lock of hair he tucked behind your ear, and finally on your cheek where his hand slowly, hesitantly came to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

Bucky spoke quietly, then, “I really appreciate you trusting me.”

He didn’t just mean with this, but with everything.

His eyes were soft and so, so blue that you just couldn’t handle it – so you shoved the towel at him, and that broke the spell. He immediately let you go in favour of catching it before it hit the ground.

“Do you want to put Winnie to bed?” was all you could manage with your brain short-circuiting.

“Yeah,” he stammered, “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” you said again, quickly pushing past him to make your way to the kitchen. You could barely breathe, because whenever you inhaled all you could smell was him and he was absolutely intoxicating. “Let me know if you need me.”

Thankfully, he didn’t.

A little after nine o’clock, you finally finished just about everything that needed doing before the morning. Laundry was in the dryer, dishes were done, and lunches were packed – three of them, because you wanted to do something nice for Bucky as a thank you. A couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were nothing in comparison to a six-figure Land Rover, but you did what you could.

Slowly, you cracked open the door to Winnie’s bedroom. Bucky hadn’t yet come out, so you were expecting to find him still reading to her, but he wasn’t. No, he was fast asleep with your daughter curled up into his side. Somehow, he’d wrangled her into her favourite nightie, and a half-open book lay on his chest; he hadn’t gotten very far into it by the looks of it.

It was a comical sight, because Bucky was such a thick, muscular hulk of a man, so much that he took up the majority of Winnie’s big girl bed – baby pink sheets atop a simple twin mattress. It was also incredibly sweet, and you found yourself smiling a little.  

After taking a few quiet steps into the room, you got to the bed and carefully plucked the book from Bucky’s hand. It was another one of her favourites, which you closed and sat on the nightstand.

He’d always been a light sleeper, at least in the time you were together but right now he didn’t seem to be. Even when you pulled a spare blanket from the closet and lay it over him, he didn’t stir at all. You tucked in your little girl, too, and then leaned over her father to press a kiss the crown of her head.

That was what finally seemed to wake him.

His arm slowly slid around your waist, metal cold against the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up, which sent a shiver through you – and then you toppled into bed with him, half on top of him if you were honest with yourself but all you could think about was how good this felt. One of your legs was thrown over his thigh, and the other was wedged between him and the edge of the mattress, holding most of your weight.  

He wasn’t awake at all, you realized. He wouldn’t do this without permission.

“Bucky,” you whisper-shouted at him. “Bucky, wake up.”

But he didn’t. No, instead he grumbled something inaudible and buried his face in your neck. His hot breath fanned against your sensitive skin, to which you grit your teeth at the pleasant feeling.

God, this felt good. When was the last time you slept with someone? Both literally and figuratively. 

“Bucky,” you tried again, just a little louder and with your free hand you dug your fingers into his ribs. Corded muscle jumped beneath your fingertips, but he still didn’t budge.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to your fate – not that you minded, truth be told – and you fished your phone out of your pocket to make sure he wasn’t going to miss any early-morning missions if he slept here overnight. A quick text to Steve would hopefully do the job.

You, 9:11pm Does Bucky need to be anywhere in the morning?

A couple of minutes passed, during which you made yourself a little more comfortable. Bucky’s grip around your waist had loosened enough for you to shift to a less awkward position, but you still couldn’t get out entirely. He had you well and truly trapped – except, well, he didn’t. Not really. 

If you wanted to, you definitely could have woken him up. You could have bit him. Scratched him. Kissed him, even, if you had to. There were plenty of ways to wake him up, but you only made a couple of half-assed attempts.

Why?

Steve, 9:15pm Not that I know of.

You, 9:16pm Thanks!

Steve, 9:16pm Why?

With a yawn, you set your alarm and then dropped your phone down on the bedside table. Bucky could have the honours of explaining this to his best friend. Tomorrow was going to be a mess, but that was a problem for the morning. Not for tonight. Not when you were so tired of fighting.

Maybe you could be a little selfish. Winnie slept like a log, after all, and you always woke up before her.

This was harmless. 

Right?

Your heart was racing, as were your thoughts, but all you could think about was how good it felt to be in his arms again, how comfortable it was to rest your head on his chest, how nice it would be to fall asleep to his steady heartbeat.

And it was.

Interlude #2

[silly-nonny-fics-are-for-fandoms]

Amare Dilictio

Note: This is a gift for @angiezstuff! I wanted to say thank you so very much for always making me laugh with your cute art and comics! I actually started writing one fic, but you posted new things which made me want to write more, and so I have three, including this one! Thank you so, so, so much.

Gift 1/3, this one is Jayphen. 

Summary: Jay loved Stephen more than life itself. He's loved him for years, and he'd gladly protect him from anything. Maybe he was being overprotective, maybe he was insane, but he did not care. He would be there for him. Because the people who glared at them as they walked, perceived them as delinquents, well. They didn't know about the softness behind the frightening edges.  

Read on Ao3 or keep on reading here! 

Jay loved his boyfriend more than life itself. Stephen was absolutely wonderful, a ball of chaotic sarcastic energy that never failed to make him laugh, even if he didn't quite understand his actions. So, of course, whenever Stephen was upset, Jay took it upon himself to make sure the problem was taken care of. The purple-haired man was more of an emotional reaction than Jay, a supernova while he was a black hole. Nothing he could do could compare, that was something he was sure of.

They argued a lot, like any couple. Sometimes it was about silly things, and to the untrained eye, one may think that Stephen took the reins in all aspects of their relationship. While that would likely make Stephen very happy, it simply wasn't true. Jay planned date nights, he did all the cooking between the two of them for the safety of the neighborhood, and he was the one who kept him in line in public. There was a very special corner which he often had to remind Stephen that he belonged in, to the dismay of one of their housemates. 

Hosuh didn't mind so much, but Gavin was a whole other story. Living with one's brother, his boyfriend, and their own boyfriend was a situation that made many people's heads spin in contemplation. Of course, he loved Hosuh, but hearing Jay and Stephen argue about who would be in the bottom corner was something Gavin did not want to listen to on most days.

So they made a chart, no arguments necessary. Day by day, their behaviors were ticked off in a few different boxes, which would decide for them. It saved Gavin's sanity. 

And that made Stephen happy, though he often teased his little brother about it, which made Jay happy. As long as Stephen was kept happy, that was good. No one had to die. There was one rule when it came to that aspect, punishing those who made Stephen cry or upset, and that rule was very simple. Don't touch family or Hosuh. Everyone else was fair game. 

Today, Jay was sure that Stephen was intent on driving him insane. He'd grabbed one of Jay's green hoodies and wore it with tight black ripped jeans, his hair messier than normal. 

"You're so cute," Jay said with a smirk, quickly leaning over and kissing his boyfriend's cheek. Stephen took a step back, hands in the air, and an offended look on his face.

"Woah, woah, woah! I am not cute, Jay!" 

"I mean, have you looked in a mirror?"

"Stephen doesn't need a mirror to know what he looks like."

Jay knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere arguing with him like this. There was absolutely no point to it. So he grabbed his orange marker, heading over to the chart on the fridge, and was about to put a tick mark on one of Stephen's boxes when his hand was grabbed by his partner.

"Oh no, you don't, Jay. Not today." Before Jay could react, Stephen had put a tick mark in the purple marker on the box in Jay's row. "I'm not bottoming today!"

"What? What did I do to get that?" Jay exclaimed, confusion crossing his face, "You're the one acting like a sub!"

"How is he acting like a sandwich?" Hosuh's voice came, still half asleep as he walked into the kitchen. The two of them laughed at him for a short moment, sighing afterward. 

"Oh my god, Hosuh. Go back to bed, or go get Gavin up."

"Gavin's already gone, he has a morning run," Hosuh mumbled, turning on the kettle to make some tea for himself and Stephen, and coffee for Jay. 

"Wait," Stephen said, eyes wide, "That means I can make as many dick jokes as I want! Fuck yeah!" 

"For the next twenty minutes, yeah."

"You're so fucked, asshole."

"That's kind of the point of the chart, baby."

"Don't call me baby! I am not baby! Gavin is a baby!"

"Then what do you want me to call you?"

"My name! Stephen!" 

"Can you not argue until after I get my tea?" Hosuh asked, staring at the couple. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence, "Or just go into the living room?"

"Shut up Hosuh! Don't tell me what to do!"

Stephen grabbed Jay by the front of his shirt, pulling him in close for a kiss. That was his normal way to end an argument, they all knew. Because Jay couldn't be mad at him when they were kissing, showing just how much he loved the man in his arms. But, the problem with such an act, was the fact that Stephen got embarrassed very, very easily. 

They broke the kiss and Stephen's face was bright red. 

"You're so annoying, Jesus Christ." 

"No, you're the annoying one." Jay rolled his eyes, grabbing cups from the cabinet along with his coffee grinds, while Hosuh grabbed the tea, "That's why we're dating, obviously."

"I am not annoying! I am amazing, and you are lucky to date me!"

"Hell yeah, I am." 

Breakfast went by faster than they expected, and the next thing they knew they had to go to school. Jay didn't get a break throughout his entire day until classes ended, while Stephen had an hour free around two before getting to go home. Jay worried about his boyfriend all the time, even though he trusted that he was going to be okay. Stephen could protect himself. He could fight. They both could.

But he wanted to protect him. He wanted to protect him so strongly that it drove him crazy. Sure, Stephen could be a pain, pretending to be upset and then blaming someone else to get him riled up, but it was all in good fun. No one ever died. 

No one ever got too badly injured, to the knowledge of the public. 

Stephen loved Jay. He knew that it was weird to most people, to love someone with such violent tendencies as his partner. They thought he was trapped in his relationship, instead of flourishing in it as was actually true. It wasn't uncommon to hear people he didn't even know mumbling about him behind his back.

But they didn't know Jay as he did. They had never seen him get giddy over video games, watching him design houses on the sims, and they'd definitely never seen how happy he got when Stephen ran his fingers through his hair, laying in bed as they read before falling asleep. None of them knew that Jay got up early so that he could be the one to wake up Stephen with kisses, or that he liked to rub his thumb over the back of his hand when they held hands. 

They just thought he was creepy. How he never opened his eyes unless necessary, and when he did they were such drastically different colors. But he saw the autumn leaves in his eyes, the sunset's shades bleeding into beauty.

Today, it was too much. 

His normal teacher for the last class of the day had been in the hospital for the past month, and her replacement absolutely detested him. She always had to explain things to him slower, embarrassing him in front of the entire class, whenever he had a question. Even if it was something simple, asking for clarification, or just explaining to her why she was wrong. They'd had tests last week and today, they were getting their grades.

A big red F stared him in the face, even though he knew he got at least ninety percent of the questions right. He looked over at the person who always sat next to him, one of the people he'd studied with, did mock tests with, and knew had the same answers as he did.

A plus. One hundred percent. 

Rage boiled in him, glaring at the smirking woman at the head of the class. He knew what she was doing. The head of the department was out for the next week, something he knew because of his outstanding grades made one of his teachers suspicious, so he'd been sent to see them to talk about it. He'd been cleared of any cheating suspicions, but he'd been warned not to cause any trouble until next Monday when he could deal with it.

She'd failed him when he had no out. 

He looked through his answers on the three-page test, but as the paper shifted,  he saw a note fall from between the sheets. 

We can discuss your grade after class, Mr. Ng.

He didn't need to meet with her to know what the reason behind this was, even though he still did. Of course, he was correct. She failed him because of his hair, his attitude, and on her first day there he'd found it prudent to call her out for an incorrect explanation only to be picked up by his boyfriend after class. Now, he knew that Jay had a reputation on campus for being weird even amongst odd people. 

All invalid reasons. All grounds for getting her fired. Except he couldn't go to the head of the department, because of a stupid vacation.

Hosuh and Gavin had a date that night, so when he got home, he was alone. All alone. Normally, the thought of how stupid his grade had been would make him mad, make him want to punch something, but he found himself breathing hastily, tears streaming down his face as he openly cried. 

He didn't expect Jay to get home early, walking into the living room of their flat only to see his boyfriend crying into his hands silently.

"Stephen?" He said softly, "Stephen, what happened?" He asked, rushing over to him and immediately pulling him into a tight embrace, "Who do I need to kill?"

"It's nothing," Stephen whispered, "It's stupid."

"No, it's not. You're crying. Let me help you, I love you too much to see you in so much pain."

Stephen broke. He couldn't stop crying as he explained what happened, dumping all his emotions as fast as he could even if the sentences didn't make sense. He didn't notice Jay texting Hosuh and Gavin, telling them to stay out as long as possible to keep them from seeing Stephen in such a weak state. That was something reserved for him and only him. Jay picked up Stephen as the other dried his tears, not even wobbling as he brought him up the stairs to their room. They had a two-floor, two-bedroom flat, so each couple shared a bedroom to save on space. Stephen was set down on the bed, Jay pausing for a second after putting him down.

"Stay here, I'll be right back." He said, quickly leaving the room and heading over to Gavin and Hosuh's room. He knew that Hosuh had a weighted blanket for his anxiety, used to help him after a panic attack and as a form of therapy, and he would return it after calming down Stephen. Jay desperately wanted to find where that substitute teacher lived and bury her alive, but he had a boyfriend who was infinitely more important, and his sanity was more important.

The blanket was neatly folded in the corner, the soft bunny covered fabric showing on top. He knew there was a pale blue silk satin with clouds on the underside, for some form of texture reason. Not exactly Stephen's ideal, but Jay assumed it would have to do for now. He picked it up, the weight of it a bit more awkward than an actual person. He carried it back to their bedroom, seeing Stephen having curled up in the fetal position near the center of the bed. When he saw the blanket, he sniffled and chuckled softly.

"Is that Hosuh's blanket?" 

"Yeah. I don't think he'll mind, and if he does, oh well." Jay shrugged, unfolding the blanket and placing it atop his boyfriend. Only then did he climb in bed with him, kissing his cheeks. 

"I love you." Stephen whispered, "You know I'll kill you if you tell anyone about this, right?"

"Ha ha, I know. I love you too. Now go to sleep."

"Don't tell me what to do," Stephen grumbled, refusing to follow the order. Instead, he reached over and took Jay's hand in his own, staring up at the ceiling now. As crappy as the world outside was, as dark as it could be, they created their own twisted light to keep the rest of the world safe from the 'monsters' like themselves. Well, if they were monsters, they were the best kind. 

[selfshipstuff]

Love Tropes Asks: Michael

ok that’s it

im just gonna go fucking Ape Shit Feral. no asks necessary BINCH

prompts from this post

answers got long af so the rest are under the Read More

Aborted Declaration of Love

We both just kind of suffer for a while, quietly trying to get up the courage to say something, but he’s really shy, and I’m impatient with myself, so I’m the one mostly initiating it-- and it ends up with a bunch of accidental awkward silences where I’m like, obviously trying to tell him something (even he can tell) but I lose my nerve at the last second and just sort of nervously laugh it off. Eventually, I do confess, and I actually wrote a confession fic here. 

It went well enough!! We’re both just a bundle of nerves and anxiety, so it’s sort of clunky, but it goes well. :)

Accidental Hand-Hold

At first we don’t even notice, probably, because technically the first hand-holding to occur is most likely during a team fight-- when one of us is helping the other off the ground or pulling the other out of harm’s way. In the moment, we don’t think anything of it, focused on the situation and all; later, though? Oh my god, the realizations... the blushy tossing and turning in bed, staring at the ceiling and yearning....

My first purposeful hand-hold is actually before we’re together: I tend to do that thing where like, when comforting someone or starting a serious conversation, you take their hands in yours. It’s just sort of... grounding, and intimate, and like... I don’t know, it just feels right. Once we’re together, I love to take his hand and kiss the back of it at random while we’re holding hands. (He always gets so flustered, it’s adorable!)

The first time Michael moves to hold my hand is probably sometime around the time of the confession. Maybe a little before (during the yearning stage) or a little bit after (during the honeymoon stage) but honestly, it becomes so natural for him to just like... reach over and thread our fingers together that I don’t really know when it started. We both have a fair amount of anxiety, so it’s a simple, quick, easy, and sweet fix for when one or both of us feels it creeping up-- and like, who doesn’t like to feel the touch of their lover every once in a while?

After-Action Patch-Up

This trope happens a lot, actually, given the nature of the source material. I mean, we’re essentially a superhero team, so we’re on the front lines of the action 24/7; in the comic, everybody gets beaten up fairly often and usually to a wince-inducing (occasionally tears-inducing) extent. So you’d think we would be used to it, given the world we (he and my self-insert) live in, but... yeah, that’s not the case. 

When Michael sees that I’m hurt, it sort of depends-- I mean, 100%, he hates it and it’s upsetting to him, and he’s gonna be extra gentle and probably trace the injuries with his fingertips (or his gaze, if the injury’s too sensitive) but if he sees me being actively hurt by someone? Ooh. I’m definitely the more feral one generally speaking, but in this particular circumstance, he might give me a run for my money. Just picture this gentle, angelic dude going full “eliminate the threat and get them out of danger” mode. 

Of course, afterward, he’s immediately landing and rushing over to me (dropping to his knees if I’m on the ground) and frantically looking me over, hands hovering nervously over my skin, voice all shaky and quieter than usual when he speaks. hhh Anyway-- he does have some knowledge of first aid, since he grew up all isolated in the mountains and he had to know how to help himself and his family when things took a turn for the worse; mostly, he’ll patch me up however he can, and if it’s bad enough he’ll leave the fight to get me to safety and/or a hospital (depending on how close to done the fight is). If he’s not too badly hurt toward the end of a fight, he likes to help the paramedics patch up his teammates who are worse-off; if I’m among them, I’m the one he goes to. 

When I see him hurt, there’s... a lot less hesitation and a lot more ass-kicking. I’ll be honest, I’m really protective in general and I can’t handle seeing the people I love get hurt in any way, shape, or form. This fact combined with my feral energy is kind of a recipe for disaster at times, considering we’re supposed to be the good guys-- I mean, I’ve got a feeling it’s not great for the team’s image if I just fuckin’ electrocute anyone who hurts my boyfriend. Regardless, though, if anyone seeks him out (in a fight or otherwise) with ill intent, they better be prepared for the death and/or thorough beating they’ve earned. There’s a particular event in canon that haunts me so much I had a dream about it, and I ended up just... losing control of my powers and just completely fucking destroyed this girl who-- hhhh. Anyway.

When it comes to how I treat him afterward, it’s much the same-- the horror of seeing him like that and the cautious gentleness I treat him with are pretty much exactly the same, and we both do that hand-hovering thing like we aren’t sure if we’re allowed to touch (or we’re scared to hurt our love even more). One thing I always end up doing is just. Brushing his hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ears until eventually I just... ever so carefully bring my hands up to cradle his face-- usually just one cheek at first, and if he leans into it, I starting tearing up on the spot. Then I just... gently bonk our foreheads together because like jesus christ I almost lost you. I’m so glad you’re still here. After the fight, for the long run, I’m very doting toward him when he’s recovering; I’m not the nagging “you have to rest” type, but I’m more softly affectionate and I bring him things, do things for him. 

Almost Kiss

I’m not sure when exactly our first kiss is, although it’s probably during the same scene as the confession fic I linked in the first answer-- but as for how it is? Oh my god. 

He’s not experienced at all, like... I’m his first kiss, and it’s obvious because he’s so clearly anxious about it. Luckily, I do have a little experience, and also we’re both just super gentle-- in general, but especially with each other. It’s soft and uncertain, but we tend to melt into each other in pretty much any scenario because we’re just,, so comfortable with each other. So it’s only uncertain for a short bit before we’re pulling away all starstruck, breathless and giddy, only to go back in for another (and probably several more after that, to be honest.)

Beautiful Dreamer

Hmm. Well, it’s kind of hard to say who falls asleep first? Michael struggles with trauma-induced insomnia, and my sleep schedule is terrible-- plus, if he can’t sleep, I like to stay up with him (even if I doze off a few times while he’s reading) so... I mean, I guess on the nights that he sleeps, he’s the first to fall asleep? It probably helps that like, apparently when I play with people’s hair they get sleepy. (I have... the magic touch...) And I mean, it’s cheesy and predictable, but he is beautiful when he’s sleeping. He’s always gorgeous, but when he’s asleep he just,, relaxes in a way he never really seems to when he’s awake. 

On nights where I doze off first, it probably takes him a little while to notice because, like I sort of mentioned, he likes to read when he can’t sleep; he gets completely engrossed in the stories, and like, on occasion he’ll read something he thinks is cute or funny and he’ll grin and look over/down to share it with me, but sometimes he’s like oh because I’ve just... quietly fallen asleep all cosied up to him. And he just immediately softens and slowly blushes, usually just... pausing to study me for a moment before remembering the book, then he just kinda,, haphazardly bookmarks the page before setting it aside and shuffling around a bit so he can cuddle up to me. Sometimes this leads to him dozing off, too, but not always!

Regardless of the situation, though, we always sleep better when we’re together.

Bodyguard Crush

Okay but like... Michael just being himself is what makes me feel safe?? Everything about him just feels like home to me. He’s so gentle, and sweet, and like... hhh. I just feel like, there’s no question as to whether he would be accepting of me for who I am in my entirety, and that just means,, so much to me, you have no idea-- like I,,, I’m not actually super confident in myself a lot of the time, and I project this confidence anyway because I’m working on it, but I do usually have anxieties and doubts about how people perceive me, whereas with Michael there’s just this... exceedingly rare peace of mind. Like, most of the time, I have to try so hard to convince myself (like, “yeah, they’d totally be accepting, and if not, they can be in your canon” which isn’t as comforting as I’d like it to be) but like, with him it’s not even a question?

And like, I just... like I said, he’s so gentle, sweet, and understanding, and he’s just... like, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, and he’s so careful not to when it’s not necessary. He’s so quietly aware of people, and like... I dunno, I just,, I tend to be that person for people, and often it feels like my own feelings go unnoticed or ignored, but I’m like... actually confident that he would. Notice?? And be good to me???? Which is just,, so wild of a concept but it’s exactly what I need.

And then like. This one’s not great of me, but the fact that we both have trauma to deal with actually kind of makes me feel better. I mean obviously I hate that he’s traumatized and it fucking HURTS that people have treated him like this, but I just-- like, I don’t know, I just. I don’t really talk about it, but sometimes I feel broken, or like I’ll never be good enough, or like I’m actually a horrible person, but then like... with Michael, I just,, it’s so clear to me that like... he’s not broken or terrible or insufficient because of his struggles, not at all, and y’know, I think we’re good for each other and that we make each other happy, and that feeling kind of just... fades? Wanes? It’s not gone completely, and I don’t know if it ever will be, but still, he makes me feel secure. 

Um. I guess one last one!! Michael is shown to be very caring and like... he’s always fighting for people, and he’s got this gentle protective nature-- in canon he’s got this tendency to take on responsibility for others’ safety, and it hurts because he blames himself when they get hurt but it’s also just,, he’s so selfless, okay?? And he just,,, I know he would fight for me and like, put in the effort, and potentially stick his neck out for me, and that’s terrifying because I don’t want him to get hurt but on the other hand like... it means I know he’s got my back. 100%. And I mean... what can feel safer than that?? Because I’ve got his back too, so I’ll be doing my damnedest to make sure he doesn’t get hurt, and I can feel confident that I won’t be taking the brunt of things because he’s doing the same for me. If that makes sense dgjkjkdhgkj

Caught in the Rain

Ah, okay, well... the thing is, I lovvvveeeee the rain, so I would be ecstatic for a second, but then I remember like, fuck, Michael. Because the rain actually makes Michael sort of nervous, and I guess you could say, uh... flighty? See, like, his wings are A Thing and his feathers don’t repel water like duck feathers do-- his just get waterlogged, and then he can’t fly, so he’s grounded until he can dry off and fix them up, which makes him very anxious. Usually, he just freezes for a second and I have to sorta shepherd him into an area where there’s cover from the rain. 

If it takes too long and he gets rained on, he gets fidgety and tense, and I gotta like... gently tug him over to a place we can sit down so I can help him dry off. It’s a really,,, really soft thing, actually, because um. Okay, basically, like, winged creatures like birds usually only let their mates help them preen & stuff. So,,, it’s like,, a trust and intimacy thing. Also, I mean, it’s a cute picture: this lanky winged dude just,, sitting down, totally drenched from the rain, and his doting partner just slowly evaporating the water from his wings with their energy powers (heated hands come in Handy). I mean, come on. 

Grow Old With Me

Uhh... well, I guess we haven’t been together very long, IRL or in-universe. I will say, though, it feels like we’ve been together forever from how comfortable and natural it is. 

Laugh of Love

Okay, well, Michael... isn’t always very good with jokes, because he’s so new to pop culture, but he can be very silly sometimes. Actually, he used to be embarrassed about it, but sometimes he might play up the fact that he doesn’t get it, just to see me try not to laugh. I try not to laugh when it happens because like, it’s not his fault, and I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him, but he’s just so darn cute omg-- but at some point he figures out that I find it a little bit amusing and he just jumps on that because he wants to see my smile skjdkjk

Alternatively, he can also just like. Compliment me too much and I’ll just start laughing out of embarrassment while protesting because like idk how to take a compliment

Love Epiphany

Ah, well, I mean, I realize pretty quickly that I’m crushing on him, because like, he’s so cute and sweet, FUCK-- love, though? Love with a capital L? That takes a little longer. Basically, the timeline is like, I met him and started crushing, then as I got to know the team (including him) a little better, we became fast friends and I tend to appreciate my friends very deeply, so that was another step-- and then just... as we got to know each other I gradually started to note some thoughts and feelings that weren’t quite platonic, and I kinda swept them under the rug at first because I’m an affectionate person and also I’m not straight so my affection lines are sometimes a little blurred. When they got more and more common though, I just kind of... had to admit it. Like, man, I’m a fairly logical being; if the evidence is all pointing one way, I guess that’s the most likely explanation? Plus, the thought of it made me feel really warm inside, which just confirmed things. 

Michael’s realization?? I’m not sure tbh. @astralshipper is especially fond of teasing me with the “love at first sight” thing, but that doesn’t seem realistic to me skjfkdk

Marry for Love

AHAAAHA. HA. hghfhsdbbjs No, we aren’t ... skdnsfdkjskjfk dg we aren’t married-- uhhhhh hahah.  ha. I mean, we just started dating like a month or two ago, what kind of fool would be thinking of ,,,, being with,,, ,, , such a wonderful..  lovely, sweet, perfect guy for the rest of their life JNFDKJNKJS I MEAN.  .   GHJGHGKGJHGKFHFHHHHGHHGGHHH

... We, uh... we haven’t talked about it. ^^;

Post-Kiss Catatonia

answered here

Sickeningly Sweethearts

Uhh, I mean... we’re not huge on PDA, because we aren’t extroverted and we aren’t extremely confident. However, we do hold hands quite a bit, and then when one of us is hurt, or we’re finally seeing each other after a fight, then we kind of just forget we’re even in public and we’re fairly affectionate. If we’re just at the team headquarters, sometimes I’ll initiate more highkey stuff like kisses, and for the most part, the team is chill about it. Katie just kinda grins and giggles, Scout is like “god i wish that was me” skjndkjnknk Hope and Nikki just sorta fondly roll their eyes, and both Nikki and Jack probably tease us over it. Jay is the one who’s like BLUHGGHHH GROSS gnkjnkngk but he’s a dumbass so I just stick my tongue out at him and/or flip him off. 

You Must Be Cold

answered here

Zip Me Up

Uh, we don’t really help each other get dressed. We’re both a little too easily flustered for that, although sometimes I do offer to help with his shirts because his wings can make things difficult for him. We might help each other with neckties if we’re going to a dressier event, or maybe with buttons on occasion. If I’m in a jewellery mood, he might help me with a necklace or something. None of this is super common, though, and by the end of it we’re always sort of flushed even though we’re very respectful about it.

[johnnymundano]

Class of 1984 (1982)

Directed by Mark L. Lester

Screenplay by Tom Holland, Mark Lester and John Saxton

Story by Tom Holland

Music by Lalo Schifrin

Country: United States

Running Time: 94 minutes

CAST

Perry King as Andrew Norris

Merrie Lynn Ross as Diane Norris

Timothy Van Patten as Peter Stegman

Stefan Arngrim as Drugstore

Michael J. Fox as Arthur

Roddy McDowall as Terry Corrigan

Keith Knight as Barnyard

Lisa Langlois as Patsy

Neil Clifford as Fallon

Al Waxman as Detective Stewiski

Erin Flannery as Deneen

David Gardner as Principal Morganthau

Linda Sorensen as Mrs. Stegman

Teenage Head as themselves

Note: If you enjoyed Class of 1984 you may also be interested in the thematic sequel Class of 1999 by the same prime movers, which is much more overtly comedic, and Unman, Wittering and Zigo (1971) a very British spin on the same themes starring David Hemmings.

Also: I took the images from the Internet like the anarchist hell child that I am. No rules! no future! Rip the system!

I remember reading about Class of 1984 when it came out and thinking the review in Starburst made it  sound like an incredibly exploitative and deeply unpleasant movie. Being 12 I immediately made a mental note to see it as soon as possible. Unfortunately the movie wasn’t passed uncut in the UK until 2005, by which time I was no longer 12 and thus somewhat preoccupied by the labyrinth of idiocy which is adult life. But that mental note still niggled, and so in 2019 that 12 year old’s simple ambition was belatedly fulfilled thanks to the UK blu-ray release of the movie. Turns out that not only is Class of 1984 incredibly exploitative and deeply unpleasant, but also (spoiler) my taste hasn’t evolved much since I was 12, because, me? I thought it was a hoot. A hoot and a half in fact.

Class of 1984 asks the old, old question Hollywood loves to ask - how far do you have to push a liberal milquetoast until he starts biting folk’s throats out? Because, as any decent hard working common sense fella with dirt under his fingernails will tell ya, it’s okay to have high-falutin’ ideas about equality and decency and edjumacation but, let’s face facts, when their wife’s blood soaks their corduroy jacket these liberal schmucks won’t hesitate to dip their fists in the basin of other people’s faces. It’s a small-minded, nasty genre that takes unseemly delight in demonstrating that the self-appointed avatars of civilisation have feet of clay. But it isn’t a stupid genre; it also recognises the fact that being a pigeon chested liberal weakling takes some doing against very stiff resistance. Basically, the genre exploits the fact that small-mindedness and mean-spiritedness are universal levellers. To err may very well be human, but to wish for violent revenge is, well, very human. Class of 1984 is one of the smartest of this, uh, cathartic genre; it is simultaneously a Push The Liberal Until He Snaps Movie and an Impotent White Male Liberal Revenge Fantasy movie. Everyone wins. Except women; it was made in 1982 so women get short shrift; being (mainly) either whores or wives to be sacrificed on the altar of manliness. If you are a regular reader of comics I should probably point out that this is not representative of women’s roles in the real world.

But then Class of 1984 is not set in the real world. For a start it was made in 1982 so it is set in the (then) near-future. “We are the future!” is the regular mocking  refrain of the violent urchins, and also of the typically ridiculous Alice Cooper title song, which exists only to remind you just how seriously you should take any of this. (Not very.) This is the near future of every frothing right wingers most secretive wet dreams. The inner city schools are crumbling concrete nests of perversion and lawlessness. Kids carry knives and deal drugs while the feeble faculty fall apart, turn to drink, or turn a blind eye. Feral monsters in torn clothes roam the halls; rulers of the fallen kingdom of academia. This is where weak-kneed liberalism, left-wing learning and the kind word in place of the hard fist get you: a violent hellish maelstrom only the force of a quiet white man pushed too damn far can tame. Yes, Class of 1984 is the kind of movie that makes rightwingers spaff so hard and so often that by the time the credits roll only dust is puffing out. But by the time the put upon teacher is putting the buzzsaw to bloody good use in the woodwork room, effete liberal cheesecakes will also be readjusting their tortoiseshell glasses and getting sweaty under their white collars. Something for everyone, like I said.

There’s little point unfolding the plot of Class of 1984 since it’s familiar stuff, but it is very well done stuff. It certainly delivers the expected multiple frissons as Andrew Norris (Perry King) finds every humane alternative barred to him as he is remorselessly forced down the rat run built from liberal society’s failure to face his inner beast. And there is a lovely build to the finale; in which the hopes and dreams of the normal students, in the form of a concert, is contrasted with the ultra-violent theatre of vengeance unfolding in the corridors beyond. For a movie aimed squarely at the amygdala Class of 1984 is surprisingly wittily and smartly written. it is also surprisingly wittily and smartly acted. Perry King is ridiculously chiselled of chin, but elicits much sympathy as his flailing increases, and you feel a sense of both triumph and loss as he finally grasps the nettle of his inner ferocity. Merrie Lynn Ross has little do as the sacrificial wife, Diane, but she effectively provides the foil of the sheltered person who doesn’t understand how bad things are in the real world. Unfortunately, in a very, very, (very) tough to watch scene, the bad things finally become impossible for her to ignore. The actual class are pretty great too. Really horrible, each and every one of the scrofulous, disrespectful little shits. Special mention, though, for Timothy Van Patten as the sociopathic ringleader, Peter Stegman. A truly nasty piece of work who plays the system and his single mother with even more finesse than the piano he unexpectedly excels at.

(The kids’ convincingly unhinged viciousness is vital since you are supposed to cheer as they fall before the force they have unleashed, a force more dangerous than nuclear fire; the angry white man pushed too far. And you will holler as they drop, because the young cast have done their awful work well. Mind you, you are only able to applaud their painful demises since they all look to be in their mid-20s. Had they actually looked like the teenagers they represent the whole thing would have been too unpleasant for anybody, well, anybody not in the NRA. Movies like this can’t get too near the knuckle; it’s part of the unspoken arrangement with the audience.)

But, unpopular news as it may be, not all the kids are shits. Future star Michael J. Fox plays the thankless role of Arthur, The Good Student, complete with puppy fat. Together with Erin Flannery’s Deneen he represents the kids who get left behind but just might make it. Bit of optimism there, snuck in amongst the eruptions of violence. But… Roddy McDowall! Dear, sweet, Roddy McDowall is a revelation. His slightly theatrical aspect is just spot on for Terry Corrigan, the teacher ground down to a desperate, alcoholic wreck, who cracks in a different way to Norris. His heart-breaking descent, together with Fox and Flannery’s kids are the secret heart of the movie. Class of 1984 flirts hot and heavy with nihilism, but is brave enough to finally put out for humanity. All the sturm und drang pandering to the basest emotions is camouflage for a small sliver of optimism. Which isn’t half bad for what’s basically Straw Dogs (1971) set in a 1980s American inner city high school. But, Christ, that Roddy McDowall. Respect is due, sir. As if kids today even know what respect is. The little shits.

[gdelgiproducer]

What’s been your favorite staged version of JCS? (Non-concert)

First, a list of the staged (non-concert) versions of JCS I’ve seen: two high school productions (about which you’ll hear nothing in this post; it’s unfair to judge them in competition with pros), the closing performance of the 2000 Broadway revival, two performances of the national tour that followed said revival (one of which featured Carl Anderson as Judas and Barry Dennen – Pilate on the original album, Broadway, and in the 1973 film – as Herod), and four performances of a national tour initially billed as Ted Neeley’s “farewell” engagement in the role of Jesus. In total, discounting the number of performances of each, five productions, only three of which we will consider here.

The 2000 Broadway revival had basically all the problems of the video of the same production: I’m sure Gale Edwards is a fine director of other shows, but she missed the boat with this particular iteration of JCS. (Not having seen her original production at the Lyceum Theatre in 1996, which unfortunately never left that venue and was reportedly far better than the one that went wide, I can only comment on this version.) Her direction and the production design that accompanied it were full of the kinds of blatant, offensively obvious attempts at symbolism and subtlety that appeal only to pseudo-intellectual theater kids. In real life, there’s no such thing as obvious good vs. obvious evil (things just ain’t black and white, people), and any attempt to portray this concept on stage or in a film usually results in a hokey “comic book” product, which is kind of what the 2000 production was. 

The first thing Edwards did was draw her line in the sand. “These are the good guys, and these are the bad guys.” The overall production design played into this ‘line in the sand’ feel as well, being so plain in its intentions as to almost beat you over the head with them. There may have been some good concepts mixed in, but for a show that runs on moral ambiguity, they were very poorly executed and did damage to the piece. Some examples:

Annas and Caiaphas were devoutly “evil,” seemingly designed to inspire fear.  It’s easy to see good as so very good, and bad as so very bad; to want to have the evil in a nice little box. But it’s not that simple. As Captain Jean-Luc Picard (and now you know where my Star Trek loyalties lie, curse you!) once said, “…villains who twirl their mustaches are easy to spot. Those that clothe themselves in good deeds are well camouflaged.”  Evil isn’t always a clear and recognizable stereotype. Evil could be lurking inside anyone, maybe even in you, and you would never know. People aren’t inherently evil. Like good, it’s a role they grow and live into. And since history is basically a story of the developments and actions of humans over the ages, maybe it’s a mistake to view the characters who’ve played their parts in it so one-dimensionally. It doesn’t dismiss the evil they did, but it does allow one to understand that this potential to be good or to be evil is in everyone, and that it’s not always as simple as just doing the right thing.

Judas was an almost thoroughly unlikable prick (though Tony Vincent played him a tiny bit more sympathetically than Jerome Pradon in the video); in beating Jesus over the head with his cynicism and curt remarks, any sense of a fully three dimensional person was lost, leaving us with a total, utter dickhead. If the audience is to truly feel for Judas, and appreciate his fall, it’s imperative for them to see his positive relationship with Jesus. More importantly, it has to be readily apparent. It shouldn’t be the audience’s responsibility to assume as much. I never once saw any love, or even a hint of friendship, between Jesus and Judas in the 2000 production. Judas’ interactions with Jesus were a constant barrage of either completely in-your-face aggression, or more restrained (but still fully palpable) aggression. No hint of a conflict in him, or at least none the audience could see, and what use is a conflict or emotion if the audience isn’t privy to it?

And when not telegraphing an ultra-specific view of the story’s events, everything else about the design would’ve left a first-time viewer befogged. Young me liked the industrial, post-apocalyptic, pseudo-Gotham City atmosphere of the set. Older me still likes it (though I am firm in my opinion it works best on stage), but realizes what a mess the rest of it was. We’ve got Jesus and the apostles straight out of Rent, Roman guards that looked (with the choice of riot gear) like an army of Darth Vader clones with nightsticks substituting for light sabers, priests that practically stepped off the screen from The Matrix, a Pilate in generic neo-Nazi regalia, a Herod with showgirls and chorus boys that seemed to have visited from a flash-and-trash third-rate Vegas spectacular, a Temple full of ethnic stereotypes and a mish-mosh of dime-store criminals, and a creepy mob with a striking resemblance to The Addams Family that only popped up in the show’s darker moments. Lots of interesting ideas which might work (operative word being “might”) decently in productions of their own, all tossed in to spice up a rather bland soup. The solution to having a bunch of conflicting ideas is not to throw all of them at the wall at once; you look for a pattern to present itself, and follow it. If no pattern emerges from the ideas you have, it’s a sign you should start over.

You can see what my basic issue was: where other productions at least explored motivation, examining possibilities and presenting conflicting viewpoints for consideration, the 2000 production (when not utterly confused in its storytelling thanks to conflicting design) blatantly stated what it thought the motivation was without any room for interpretation – this is who they are, what they did, why they did it, so switch off your brain and accept what we put in front of you. Which, to me, is the total opposite of what JCS is about; it didn’t get famous for espousing that view, but for going totally against the grain of that.

The national tour at least had Carl and Barry to recommend for it the first time around, but for all the mistakes it corrected about the 2000 revival (swapping out the shady market in the Temple for a scene where stockbrokers worshiped the almighty dollar, with an electronic ticker broadcasting then-topical references to Enron, ImClone, and Viagra, among others, was a fun twist, and, for me, Barry Dennen gave the definitive performance of Herod), it introduced some confusing new ones as well:

For one, Carl – and, later, his replacement, Lawrence Clayton – looked twice the age of the other actors onstage. Granted, Christ was only 33 when this happened, but next to both Carl and Clayton, Eric Kunze (I thankfully never caught his predecessor) looked almost like a teenager. When Ted and Carl did the show in the Nineties and both were in their fifties, they were past the correct ages for their characters, but it worked – in addition to their being terrific performers and friends in real life whose chemistry was reflected onstage – because they were around the same age, so it wasn’t so glaring. Without that dynamic, the way Jesus and Judas looked together just seemed weird, and it didn’t help anyone accept their relationship.

Speaking of looking weird together, the performer playing Caiaphas – who was bald, and so unfortunately resembled a member of the Blue Man Group thanks to the color of lighting frequently focused on the priests – was enormously big and tall, while the actor in the role of Annas was extremely short. Basically, Big Guy, Little Guy in action. Every time I saw them onstage, I had to stifle the urge to laugh out loud. I’ve written a great deal about how Caiaphas and Annas are not (supposed to be) the show’s villains, but that’s still not the reaction I should have to them.

The relentlessness of pace was ridiculous. It was so fast that the show, which started at 1:40 PM, was down by 3:30 PM – and that included a 20-minute intermission. What time does that leave for any moments to be taken at all? A scene barely even ended before the next began. At the end of the Temple scene, Jesus threw all the lepers out, rolled over, and there was Mary singing the “Everything’s Alright” reprise already. How about a second to breathe for Mary to get there? Nope. How about giving Judas and Jesus two seconds’ break in the betrayal scene at Gethsemane? The guards were already grabbing Christ the minute he was kissed. I was so absolutely exhausted towards the end of the show that I was tempted to holler at the stage to please slow down for a minute. The pace didn’t allow for any moment in the show to be completed, if it was ever begun; it was just too fast to really take advantage of subtle touches and moments the actors could’ve had, and as a result, I think they were unable to build even a general emotional connection, because one certainly didn’t come across.

The cast was uniformly talented singing-wise, with excellent ranges and very accomplished voices. (In fact, the second time around, the woman understudying Mary, Darlesia Cearcy, walked away with the whole show in my opinion, and I am incredibly glad to have seen her career take off since then.) But, in addition to some being more concerned with singing the notes on the page just because they were there than imbuing them with emotion and motivation, the cast was undercut by the choices that production made with the music. For one, there’s a huge difference between singing “words and notes” and singing “lyrics and phrases.” When you have a phrase like “Ah, gentlemen, you know why we are here / We’ve not much time, and quite a problem here…” you sing the sentence, and if sometimes a word needs to be spoken, you do that. You don’t make sure you hit every single note by treating each like a “money note” (which you hit and hold as long as you can to make sure everyone hears it), dragging out the tempo to hang on to each note as long as you can. Generally, the actors were so busy making sure every note was sung – and worse, sung like a money note – that they missed the point of singing a phrase, and how to use one to their advantage. Caiaphas and Pilate were particularly egregious offenders. (I’ve never understood some of these conductors who are so concerned that every note written has to be sung. The result suffers from it.) 

And then there’s Ted’s production. Of the three, it’s the one I liked the most, but that’s not saying much when it was better by default. 

The production design was stripped-down, the set basically limited to a bridge, some steps, a stage deck with some levels, and a couple of drops (and a noose) that were “flown in.” The costumes were simple, the sound was very well-balanced, and the lighting was the icing on the cake. Combined, the story they told was clear.

The music sounded very full, considering the pit consisted of a five-piece band relying in part on orchestral samples.

Ted, for being of advanced age, was in terrific form vocally, if his acting fell back a little much on huge, obvious, emotive gestures and choices. (I love him and all, but his attempts at acting were kind of like a “Mr. Jesus” pageant, striking all the appropriate Renaissance poses. The film, through editing and close-ups, allows him a subtlety he just ain’t got onstage.)

And there were some beautiful stage pictures; for example, there was a drop with an image of a coin with Caesar’s head on it in the Temple scene, and it fell on the crowd when Jesus cleared out the riff-raff. In the leper sequence that followed, the chorus’ heads popped out of holes in the cloth, under which they undulated, pulsing to the beat, and rather than being treated as a literal mob scene, the sequence had a very dream-like effect, a mass of lost souls reaching out to Christ. It was rather like a Blake painting, with a creepy vibe in a different manner from the typical “physically overwhelm him” approach. He didn’t interact with them, didn’t even turn to look at them, until finally he whipped around with a banishing thrust of his arm, hollering “Heal yourselves!” Sometimes it was over-acted with annoying character voices (remember, I saw this four times), but when it wasn’t, the effect was chilling.

My main beef with the show was, oddly enough, on a similar line to my beef with Gale Edwards’ production: it drew lines in the sand. But in this case, it drew them with respect to Jesus’ divinity. 

As written, JCS deals with Jesus as if he were only a man, and not the Son of God. The show never suggests that Jesus isn’t divine, but neither does it reinforce the view that he is. Portrayed in detail in JCS is the mostly-unexplored human side: ecstasy and depression, trial and error, success and regret. He agonizes over his fate, is often unsure of his divinity, and rails at God. Not so in this production. Aside from “The Temple” and “Gethsemane,” there was never any room for doubt that Jesus was the mystical, magic man portrayed in the Gospels.

At the top of the show, after a fight between his followers and the Romans during the overture (a popular staging choice I’m not a real fan of, but you’ve got to do something during that moment in a fully staged version, and I understand why it’s an easy choice to make for exposition purposes), Jesus made his majestic entrance, spotlit in robes that looked whiter than Clorox bleach could produce, and raised a man from the dead. Well, where’s the room for Judas to doubt? Clearly “this talk of God is true,” we just saw it! If this guy is actually capable of performing miracles, and more than that specializes in necromancy, good luck telling him that fame has gone to his head at the expense of the message and he’s losing sight of the consequences! Try explaining to anyone that that person is “just a man”!

If that weren’t enough, Jesus went on to have a constant connection with God throughout the show, speaking to a spotlight that focused only on him and often served to distract him from anything else happening onstage, and at the end, during “John 19:41,” his body separated from the cross, which fell back into the stage, and he ascended to heaven. 

Now, though the former was admittedly played to excess (some reviewers unkindly compared Neeley to a homeless man with Bluetooth), there are arguments to be made in favor of both of these choices: a Jesus who constantly seeks a connection with God that isn’t reciprocated, searching for guidance or at least a friggin’ clue, is great foreshadowing for his eruption – and acceptance – in “Gethsemane.” As for the ascension, depending on how it’s staged, there’s room for argument that it could be interpreted more metaphorically than literally, as the moment when Jesus’ spirit is born, as Carl Anderson once put it (meaning, to me, that his message is given life and strength when his body fails him). But this production didn’t have that level of shading and layers to it, and coupled with the resurrection at the start, it defeated the rest of the story.

None of ‘em’s perfect, and I don’t think I could create the perfect one. Thus, concert.

[ununniliad]

Death of Trophy Wife #7: "Return of Angel"

Content warnings: Screwed-up ways of thinking, totalitarianism, and a really gross metaphor involving poo.

----

   "Damn it." Michael K. Hotstuff, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, slammed his fists into the conference table. "Arc.ham Asylum was the ultimate secure facility, containing the most dangerous objects on the face of Planet T-Bone, and someone, we don't even understand who, ripped through it like single-ply toilet paper."

   The table was long, and made of ebony wood. Along it were seated high government officials of the Loonited States of Ame.rec.a; the Secretary of the Interior, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Director of the NSA - all of the people who were cleared to know the secrets stored beneath Arc.ham, or at least, as many as they could get in one room on short notice.

   At the head of the table sat the President of the Loonited States. These days, she was referred to as President Ideal Rosenbaum, but she was once known as the Enemy of Compromise, the Mauler of Mediocrity, and the Defender of Absolute Truth, net.hero Ayn Rand Lass. She steepled her fingers and adjusted her glasses. "It is my theory that this savage attack was perpetrated by the strangest domestic terrorist our nation has ever seen."

   Her VP, Buckminster Psydekik, gasped. "You mean--"

   "Yes. The criminal known as Kid Enthusiastic, and his team of net.villains, the System Corrupters."

   Director Hotstuff stood. "Ladies and gentlemen..." Music started playing in the background.

   "What do we know about Kid Enthusiastic?

    Nice supervillain, colorful suit!"

   Aloysius Netro, senator from Net.ropolis, harmonized nicely.

    "No killing, no looting,

     Anarchy and cookies!"

   President Rosenbaum smirked.

    "One thing I'll say for him--

     Kid E is cute!"

   They picked up the standard-issue maracas lying on the conference table and shook them. "He is ridiiiiiiiiiiiculous~"

   Then they-- ...oh, hang on a minute, I've got a phone call... oh, hi, Kindle! Nice to-- um. Ah. You've been reading, I see.

   Well, no, I hadn't considered it particularly sacreligious to...

   Well, I mean, it's a musical, and the pre-existing Biblical aspects of LNHY mean that...

   Well, I guess it could be considered a bit egotistical to equate a character of my own devising to one of the most significant cultural icons in the world...

   Uh-huh... uh-huh... yeah, okay. Sorry about that.

   Anyway. After everyone stopped parodying Andrew Lloyd Webber, President Rosenbaum stood up, walking to the window and peering out at some iconic Washington.gov monument. "So far, we have been content to allow the individuals who claim superior skill and call themselves net.heroes to chase this band of anarchists. But this has not been effective, and now the security of this nation is in real jeopardy." She turned to the room. "My fellow Ame.rec.ans, colleagues against corruption and evil... we have another option. If we have the courage to use it."

   "...wait," said Director Hotstuff. "You're not talking about--"

  "Yes." She looked over the rims of her glasses at them.

   "They were banned!" shouted Senator Netro, waving his hands. "Banned and locked away where they would never again see the light of day!"

   "Indeed. Because they were being used against everyday citizens. If they were deployed against true enemies of the people, all objection would be silenced under a wave of gratitude." She walked back to the table, leaning on her chair. Her pose was relaxed, but her eyes were hard. "Besides... do we truly have a choice? You know the things that were locked away in Arc.ham. The very existence of the OId Ones... the Ame.rec.an way of life would be shredded."

   One by one, the powerful, important people around the table looked at each other, and saw no answers; one by one, they looked down, nodding in submission.

   She nodded as well. "Then we are in agreement. Reactivate the Seraphim."

----

   President Ideal Rosenbaum returned late to her rooms. She poured herself a fifth of whiskey, settled back, and remembered.

   As Ayn Rand Lass, Ideal had been who she truly was, what everyone should be. Simple. Straightforward. Good.

   She had worn a faceless mask that was perfectly white on one side and perfectly black on the other, and a trenchcoat covered in mirrors, reflecting the light of reason, so that criminals could not fail to see what they'd become. She missed it, nowadays, even though, seen in the sober light of day, she had to admit it was gaudy as fuck. 

   She had helped those who needed it, and delivered ruthless justice onto those who preyed on society. She had been righteous, and and a hero, and...

  Damn. She'd promised herself she'd never go into the Gray. And now here she was, down among the muck and mire.

   But America had needed her. After the Sexagesimal Luthor administration had ended, his former VP, Rich Notanalien, had won nearly unopposed. But Luthor's calculating mind and sheer force of personality were what had held things together despite rampant corruption in his administration, and without that, the economy went into a devastating tailspin.

   Things had been bad. They could have had revolution on their hands, and who knows what socialist nightmare would have taken root? So when Notanalien declined the chance for a second term, Ideal stepped up. She didn't know politics, but she knew the hearts of men. She had enough levers on enough people to get the nomination, and enough courage to propose cutting away the patronage that had lead to the nation's resources bleeding into the pockets of the corrupt.

   Of course, this had not been popular among those whose pockets were now slightly lighter. The power-greedy fools had fought change, but they hadn't been able to stand against her for even one year. Soon they were eager to bend the knee. They were weak and corrupt... corrupt enough to reactivate the Seraphim.

   The Seraphim... relics of the bad old days. When Project Lighthouse had been in full swing and the unbeliever re-education camps were still thought of as a clever way to win the culture wars instead of as an obscenity, the final step was planned to be mass conversion. To that end, the senators and military men who were part of the Project manipulated budgets and personnel to create the tools they would need to force compliance. Giant robots, modeled after angels. Stupid and wasteful, especially after things started to fall apart. In the end, they were deployed only once - against the Iconoclast, as she took apart the camps and freed the unbelievers.

   Heh. Unbeliever. That was precisely the right word to describe Ideal. She did not actively fight against the idea of a god, but she had no reason to believe in a god created by men. The only powerful being she needed to justify her actions was herself.

   And what of those who were so very pious that they got elected on it? Did they follow the strictures of their religion, tending the sick, feeding the hungry? Or did they vomit animal feces from their lips as their hands worked behind their back, weaving a skein of gray wool into a web of lies, catching all worthy and kind people in bondage?

   This had to stop. Good had to prevail against evil. The mediocrity that infested this place had to be swept clean, replaced with real, hardworking people who actually deserved the responsibility of running a nation. And once she had the Seraphim, she could be the broom.

   Ideal finished her drink. If they wanted angels... she would be their Angel of Death.

----

Author's Notes: 

For those of you completely befuddled by the sudden musical number, it's a reference to Jesus Christ Superstar, and specifically the number "This Jesus Must Die". I apologize profusely.

Michael Hotstuff was named after Michael Casper, Clark Gregg's FBI agent character on The West Wing, by way of a Harvey Comics reference.

Sexagesimal Luthor was a compromise between Saxon's use of Hexadecimal Luthor in The Daily Super Short-Short Story #51, and Arthur's noting that we really don't want to use characters we don't have permission for in LNHY. (Arthur came up with "Sexadecimal Luthor" as a name, and I tweaked it, because "sexagesimal" is a really cool word that people should use more often.)

The Seraphim are references to the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion by way of the Sentinels.

[emilyplaysotome]

DTRH - Part 29 - All the Feels

My post got flagged for some reason...thanks to @full-of-obsessions for the heads up. I’m going to change the link on my master post so it’ll link to this one without shirtless cartoon man pics that flagged the algorithm 🤦🏻‍♀️

I noticed that Zyglavis was a bit red upon approach, but couldn’t figure out if the color in his cheeks was from the heat of the bath or some latent attraction towards me that caused him to be bashful. I obviously hoped it was the latter, but with the words of the fortune teller still fresh in my mind, I told myself not to read into things.

He did not seem rustled in the least to be sharing a bath with a woman who wore nothing but a towel, and took a seat next to me a comfortable distance away. He gently splashed water on himself, without a thought as far as to how it could be interpreted, rubbing his chest and biceps while speaking to me unfettered.

“No one at Sanno or Long Island recognized you, nor did they find a girl. How was it at the matchmaking event? Did you stick to the plan?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“No leads.”

I was trying to be as professional about this as Zyglavis was, but unlike him my face was burning and it was obviously not due to the heat of the bath.

I tried to keep my eyes locked on his, and not allow myself to be overtaken by the lascivious thoughts swirling around my head but it was short lived as I found myself glancing down when he finally broke eye contact. It was the moment when he looked away from me, and spoke about what our next steps should be that I gave into my baser instincts and realized that he was as naked as the day he was born.

Upon realizing this, I immediately became dizzy and backed away from him towards the edge of the bath. I attempted to excuse myself under the ruse that I had merely overheated and needed a moment to myself. Even though the water in the bath provided some coverage, it surprised me how little Zyglavis seemed to care, which only hammered home the point that he was so utterly uninterested in me that nothing about this situation was remotely sexual to him.

As I climbed out, I hoped that he would let me leave in peace, but instead he snapped his fingers and got out of the bath with a towel now covering him from the waist down in an attempt to help me. Even though the gesture was sweet, I cursed him under my breath.

For a God he was such a clueless idiot, but not wanting to give myself away, I forced myself to try and play it cool.

“Just let me sit here,” I said fanning myself as I lay down on the marble tile, “I just need a moment. I’m fine...really.”

“You do not appear to be fine Ami Mizuno and I will stay with you until you are feeling better. It is no bother. We have much to discuss.”

“No, no! I think you should go!” I urged. “I’ll get to bed on my own and we can speak about everything in the morning.”

“Absolutely not! I insist.”

I sighed, realizing that Zyglavis truly had no idea what I was thinking or feeling. Despite the inklings I’d had earlier on in the day (where I suspected that he might be aware of how I felt and was trying to let me down easy), at the moment he was insisting on staying by my side. He kneeled down beside me and pressed his fingers to my wrist, taking my pulse which I’m sure accelerated upon feeling his touch.

The room spun thanks to a combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and anxiety, and to make matters worse Zyglavis was not leaving my field of vision. Being blissfully unaware of what I was thinking, he continued to rile me up as let go of my arm and casually went to tie his long hair back up, all the while droplets of water running down his picture perfect body.

All the men in this world had muscular, male model-esque physiques yet somehow I was always caught off guard upon seeing them in the flesh. With Zyglavis, I hated how casual he was about it all, continuing to speak with me uninterested in the fact that our bodies were very much exposed to each other.

The towel that currently kept me decent, covered me starting at my breasts and ended a few inches below my butt. It was shorter than even the shortest miniskirt, and with only a thin piece of fabric around his waist, I couldn’t believe that he was so unaffected by it all. His cavalier attitude towards the situation only made me feel ashamed at that fact that I couldn’t seem to control my lustful thoughts towards him.

To make matters worse, he kept touching my forehead intermittently as he tried to determine if I was feverish or not. Every time his hand came in contact with my bare skin, I felt a my temperature spike once more and my heart rate increase. I felt as if I were being punished for my misdeeds with the men in this world, and after what felt like an eternity, I finally had to put a stop to it.

“Dear God, please stop touching me!” I exclaimed, not being able to endure his platonic touch for a second longer.

I’d meant “Dear God” in the sense of “Jesus Christ” or “Good Lord” as I’d often said back home, but my outburst was interpreted incorrectly by a man who was in fact a God.

His eyes widened and he pulled away, clearly blushing as a result of what I’d said. It was as if he finally saw things the way I did, and with a snap, we were both fully dry and clothed, and with another we were back in his room.

“I apologize Ami Mizuno,” he said standing over me as I lay in his bed. “It did not occur to me that you consider me so dear that my touch would trouble you.”

“I didn’t…”

He ignored my attempt to cut him off and continued to chastise himself, “I’d all but forgotten about your confession the other day. It was cruel of me to toy with you like that but I was truly unaware as to how you felt.”

He bowed before me and I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

My poor choice in phrasing had caused me to accidentally confess my love for him. I figured that since it was out in the open, there was no real point in backtracking. Even if I were to deny how I felt about him, it wouldn’t really accomplish anything. I did in fact like him, and at least now maybe he’d exercise a bit more restraint in my presence, at least for my sake.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I know you’re not interested in me.”

“You’re a human. I’m a God.”

“I know,” I said sadly as he confirmed everything I already knew, “and soon enough we’ll be out of each other’s lives. Let’s just forget this ever happened and we’ll talk in the morning.”

I couldn’t bear to look at him, so I just rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard a snap and the light in the room faded, followed by another snap which indicated to me that Zyglavis had left the room without saying so much as good night.

I couldn’t help but feel a bit lonely knowing that the night before he’d stayed with me until I’d fallen asleep, and in the course of a day I’d managed to ruin everything. It was comical, really, that it had only taken me a day to fall for him the amount that I had. If a day of ambiguity caused me to like him this much, two or three days would certainly have led to heartbreak.

It was for the best that I knew how he felt, even though my stupid heart didn’t seem to know that.

The speed in which this world caused me to fall for the men who inhabited it had me tossing and turning into the night.

Truthfully, my pride was a bit wounded, and I was incredibly embarrassed by my sophomoric behavior towards Zyglavis. I’d handled the situation immaturely, and I tortured myself by replaying the events of the day over and over again in my mind as I forced myself to relieve my own bad behavior. I couldn’t imagine how Zyglavis must have felt when he realized how much of a lech I was. I’d been so overtaken by lust that I couldn’t handle having him touch me (albeit completely non-sexually) while engaging him in simple conversation.

I let out a loud audible groan as I covered my face with my pillow, not wanting to think about how he viewed me, yet unable to escape my negative thoughts.

Finding myself wide awake and wanting nothing more than a distraction from how utterly humiliated I was, I sat up and took out my phone that was in my clutch on the nightstand beside me. I hadn’t checked it for hours, and was surprised to find that I had TalkTime messages from Sakiko and Shunichiro.

Sakiko’s message informed me that Eisuke had been asking about me, and that she had let him know about the event. She apologized in advance, clearly worried that she had caused a bit of trouble for me. Her text also indicated that she was under the impression that Eisuke and I were romantically linked, which caused me to chuckle as I thought about how obviously incompatible we were with each other.

I responded by squashing any lingering ideas surrounding Eisuke and I being affectionate with each other, and let her know that I appreciated the heads up and hoped to see her again soon. Considering it was one in the morning, I wasn’t surprised that my message went unread, and opened Shun’s next.

“How was your matchmaking party? Did you meet prince charming?”

I couldn’t help but smile. If only Shun knew the disaster my night had been.

That said, I obviously wasn’t about to tell him anything and instead wrote, “Boring. How was the rest of your night?”

I was going to open FriendFind, under the assumption that he too was asleep, but saw that he was typing a response and waited patiently, happy to finally have a distraction from the horror film that was currently looping in my mind.

“Boring,” he replied. “I’m selfishly very happy to hear that no one swept you off your feet.”

My deflated ego was starting to recover, and I found myself holding my breath as I waited for his next message.

“I guess that really does make me a bad boss…”

Shun had skillfully left the ball in my court as he danced around what we both knew he was saying.

That message was the kind of message a man sends early in the morning, when his bed is empty and he’s looking for someone to fill it. The ellipse in his message was an open invitation to make him the bad boss he was implying he already was, and admittedly, the part inside me that currently felt undesirable was urging me to play with fire a bit in attempt to feel better about myself.

My impulsive side took over for a moment, and I found myself standing at my underwear drawer looking at the tiny, silk thong Tauxolouve had gifted me a few weeks back. I could change into this, call a cab, and spend the night in a room that was void of the man who moments earlier had wounded my heart.

Conflicted, I stood there holding the thong, and had it not been for that stupid knit hat, I probably would have gone. After all, Shun was incredibly attractive, but seeing that dumb hat I’d brought with me to this world reminded me that I had to resist his advances.

Tonight was simply not the night for that.

Regardless of how bruised my ego was, I’d made myself a promise to try and get home before I resigned to living the rest of my life here. Part of that meant following through with my plan, and if I were to bed Shun it would no doubt distract me from my main purpose.

I still didn’t know if Iori had been the one to find me, nor if the place I’d arrived in this world could help me get home. There were still questions that I needed to answer, and until I did that, I had to behave myself. After all, should it become clear that I was indeed stuck in this world, there’d be plenty of time to engage in a downward spiral with as many men as I pleased.

I put the thong next to the knit hat, so I’d be reminded of what mattered the next time I wanted to pursue a bad idea, and decided to send an ambiguous reply back to Shun that walked the line of flirtatious but also polite.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow? You really will be a bad boss if you don’t get enough sleep...”

I half expected him to reply with some over the top response about how if we spent the night together there’d be little sleeping, but instead he just sent, “You’re right. Very responsible ;) Good night.”

I wished him a good night as well, and put the phone away before I could change my mind.

In addition to not pursuing things with Shun until my future was a bit clearer, I still clung to the one in a million chance Zyglavis might one day feel the same way I did. Since getting home was my first priority, I planned to work with him as professionally as I could with the hope that if I did end up stuck here, I’d have weaseled my way into his heart during our time together.

I had decided that I would not push him to like me, or try and be someone other than the person that I was. I promised myself that if I did end up finding my way home, I would try and remember all of this fondly and settle for whatever the reality was between us upon my departure from this world.

As I crawled back into bed, the worst case scenario flashed through my mind.

I closed my eyes and pictured a life where I was trapped in this world, working at Addison & Rhodes, and using the severance from Soryu in order to move out of the God’s mansion. Being apart from him would help me get over my crush on Zyglavis who (worst case scenario) saw me as nothing more than a friend. As I realized that this potential future didn’t seem that bad after all, I found myself feeling surprisingly peaceful.

It was yet another reminder that no matter what happened, I would be ok and before I knew it, the fatigue I felt earlier in the night returned, and I was fast asleep.

“Ami Mizuno.”

I groaned, not wanting to wake up.

“Amy Mizuno!”

“Go away…”

I kept my eyes shut, as I rolled away from his voice and heard him let out an irritated groan. I listened to his footsteps which came closer to the bed. I opened my eyes a crack and in my peripheral vision watched as he reached out to touch me, before pausing and then retracting his outstretched hand. He sighed once more and his footsteps retreated.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered, “but then I’m expecting you to get up.”

He snapped his fingers, and I knew he was gone.

Even in my partially conscious state, it was clear that Zyglavis was worried about touching me. His actions made my heart hurt a bit, and I felt more grumpy than usual after not getting enough sleep. Involuntarily I found my bottom lip was quivering as it sunk in that I still really liked someone who didn’t like me back.

Using the five minutes of solitude that he’d gifted me, I fought the urge to cry and made the decision that I was going to be mature about the situation. I would be on my best behavior, and would dedicate myself to getting the answers I needed.

I quickly got dressed in the clothes that I’d arrived in, including the knit hat which had acted as an anchor of sorts when it looked as if I were about to lose my way in this world.

Zyglavis returned exactly five minutes later and seemed surprised when I’d greeted him with a cheerful, “Good morning”.

He watched on with a dubious expression as I excused myself to go to the bathroom and freshen up. Upon returning, I managed to keep the charade going, happily accepting another of Zyglavis’ lattes before sitting with him in Operation GTFO HQ as we filled each other in on what had happened the previous day.

Before long I found that I’d forgotten I was pretending, and just spoke with him normally like I had in the past.

I filled him in on Eisuke crashing the matchmaking party as well as the note and check Soryu had left me. I made it clear that none of the liars at the party should have any inclination that I liked them in return, and that I had done as he’d instructed and rejected all of them from the onset.

The last thing I knew I needed to confess was the fact that I’d run into Shun and the other men from Addison & Rhodes. I assured him that while I had in fact engaged in a bit of harmless flirtation with Shunichiro, I hadn’t allowed it to escalate. I even went so far as to offer to show him our TalkTime messages from the early morning in which I’d managed to gracefully remove myself from what was usually a precarious situation for me.

He seemed to be pleased and he expressed that he appreciated the fact that I was cooperating with him to the extent that I was. I was just about to reveal the fact that I suspected Iori Enjo was the key to finding out where I’d appeared in this world when he changed the subject to a topic I was certain he’d avoid entirely.

“About last night,” he said avoiding eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” I said, quickly cutting him off. “I meant what I said though - let’s pretend it never happened. After all, we’re trying to get me home. That’s what matters right now.”

Zyglavis smiled at me in a way which indicated he saw right through me, but appreciated what I was doing nonetheless.

“That’s surprisingly reasonable of you.”

“Hey! I can be reasonable.”

He continued to tease me, but forgetting his concerns earlier, reached out and gently removed my knit hat so he could tousle my hair affectionately. I was happy that he touched me once more without trepidation, and I selfishly knew that even though it would soon come to an end, I wanted just a little more time with him like this.

So with that in mind, I held out my hand and said, “Shall go to Maison du Mont?”

I could tell him all about Iori Enjo and Revance later.

At this point, so much time had passed since my arrival that I found it unlikely a day or two would be the reason I was unable to return home. I would stand beside him, until ever suspect (excluding the men of Revance) was checked off my list, clinging to the hope that he might change his mind about me during our time together.

Zyglavis put my stupid knit hat back on my head with a small smile. From there, he gently took my hand in his, and with a snap we were on our way.

[xtruss]

Page-Turner: The Cute and Horrifying World of Jim Woodring

In “One Beautiful Spring Day,” the cartoonist takes his orders from the imaginary world that he creates.

— By Sam Thielman | August 9, 2022

“I don’t trust my mind for everyday thinking,” Woodring writes.Photograph by RL Rejmaniack/Courtesy Fantagraphics Books

“Where do you get your ideas?” is a question that most authors dread. The cartoonist Jim Woodring has a simple answer, although it’s likely to elicit more and stranger questions. Woodring has published four book-length comics and an enormous collection of short stories that follow the distressing adventures of his hero, a woodland creature called Frank, who lives in a dreamlike world filled with deserts, forests, minareted castles, hot-air balloons, a devil, and the occasional cylindrical chicken. Woodring calls this place the Unifactor, and says that it tells him what to draw, and how. The Unifactor allows him to draw and write about it only in a certain way; if he tries to go against its instructions, the Unifactor may interfere or abandon him. The process is painful, but its results are unique—the Frank stories are both utterly foreign and purely lucid, a set of gnomic parables that always end in a puff of irony or ambiguity. They leave behind not broad moral lessons but the harsh laws and uncrossable boundaries that apply only in a fictional world unlike any other.

In Woodring’s huge new graphic novel, “One Beautiful Spring Day,” each panel is drawn in a style that looks like an eccentric woodcut. The figures are outlined in clean, straight, black lines, but Woodring has hatched in the shadows with a series of perfectly parallel, shallow waves that vary in thickness. Their amplitude, however, never changes—it’s the frequency at which the Unifactor seems to vibrate. The effect is something like Doré meets Dalí: stories of pure dream logic rendered as reverently as an etching of the infant Christ. Every surface emits a kind of otherworldly specificity, both resoundingly weird and as reassuringly solid as a drafting table.

Frank himself could easily be a habitué of an old Max Fleischer cartoon—a cousin to Bimbo the Dog, perhaps—with his rubbery black limbs, white gloves and shoes, and cute, bestial, species-nonspecific features. In personality, Frank is generally childlike, but without parents to keep him in check. If there is a button, he will push it. If there is a vase, he will break it, sometimes by accident, but not always. If something looks good to eat, Frank will at least try a bite. He first appeared in 1991, in the second and final issue of Mark Landman’s anthology comic “Buzz,” alongside strips by the caricaturist Drew Friedman and by Charles Burns, the author of “Black Hole” (and, briefly, an MTV darling). Landman asked Woodring to produce “a comic that looks normal, but isn’t.” Woodring drew “Frank and Manhog,” a silly, queasy story based on a corny joke: Frank, finding part of a worm in his apple, is so devastated by the experience that he builds a statue of the half-eaten creature.

Woodring seems to enjoy baiting the reader’s suspicion that he is compelled against his will to draw Frank, and this heightens the corresponding sense that the Unifactor somehow exists, whether or not it defies laws of physics and logic. In one especially gruesome tale, Woodring writes narrative captions under the panels—an unusual tic in the mostly wordless Frank stories—but, before the action has gone on for more than a few pages, the narrator finds the events of the story so upsetting that he decides to talk about something else. “I wonder how many grains of rice there are in a fifty pound sack,” he muses, as Frank’s occasional nemesis, Manhog, whom Woodring has said is based on his father, flays his leg and daubs silver paint on the exposed gore.

Frank himself often seems confused by the caprice of the world around him, which frequently punishes him for breaking its rules. Frank has two pets, Pushpaw and Pupshaw, who look like the fraternal-twin offspring of a dachshund and a footstool. Although they tend to understand the laws of the Unifactor a little better than their master, the three of them have endured a number of bewilderingly violent escapades, often involving flying, symmetrical creatures who seem to be made out of a sort of flexible pottery. Woodring, who admires Hinduism, calls these beings “jivas,” jiva being the Sanskrit word for “living substance,” or soul, in Hinduism and Jainism; they often grow more complex as Frank beholds them, developing organic-looking flanges and frills and bulges until they overwhelm and chase him. But they are also a part of Frank and his neighbors—occasionally, Frank himself will hit his head so hard that one of them flies out of the wound, like Daffy Duck’s ghost might in a Looney Tunes short. Only Frank and Manhog seem truly disturbed by the jivas and their kin. (Some Unifactor denizens seem to be jivas themselves; others contain them; still others look distantly related to them.) Everyone else, including Frank’s pets, has some sort of commerce with them, often including strange and beautifully inventive magical powers.

In structure, Frank’s escapades have a sort of mathematical precision. The status quo must always be reëstablished at the end of each story, and Frank must never learn anything. (Occasionally, Frank dies.) “One Beautiful Spring Day” is four hundred pages long, a series of narrative nesting dolls that begins and ends on more or less the same note, but with a symphony of uncanny menace in between.

Art work by Jim Woodring /Courtesy Fantagraphics Books

Since he was three or four years old, Woodring has hallucinated. “I’d be lying in bed and I’d see large, silent, rotating faces hovering over the foot of my bed, faces that were very cartoony, actually,” he told The Comics Journal, in 1993. “Big, horrible, grimacing, deeply-lined faces with their mouths open, yelling at me silently, moving their mouths rapidly.” By his own estimation, Woodring has painted one hallucination in particular hundreds of times: “a large, bulbous, rubbery-looking froglike creature,” as he describes it in the introduction to “Jim,” a collection of his early work. The creature first appeared before him in an art-history lecture during his not-quite-a-semester at Glendale Community College. Now it adorns the covers of a book of his charcoal drawings, “Seeing Things,” and several issues of his comics. “I don’t trust my mind for everyday thinking,” Woodring writes, in the introduction, “but I am convinced that it has one very great function, which is to eventually make me aware of astounding things.”

For as long as there has been art, artists have sought to depict astounding things and thus purge them from their troubled minds. Goya expressed his fear of madness through scenes of paranoia, terror, and supernatural persecution in the Black Paintings. In the lifelong depressive Walker Percy’s novel “Lancelot,” about a depressed murderer confined to a psychiatric hospital, the plot advances as his depression recedes, allowing him to recall his crimes. The Frank corpus, for its part, coheres in one hapless creature’s attempts to amuse himself in between horrifying encounters with monsters that are both unknowable and the building blocks of the world around him.

Woodring was the opposite of an overnight success. His family was poor, and his twenties were lost to alcoholism and occasional homelessness. By the early nineteen-eighties, though, his life stabilized: he had met his wife, Mary, and he was drawing storyboards for Ruby-Spears animation, where he worked on “Turbo Teen,” about a kid who turns into a car, and a “Mr. T.” cartoon. It was dreck, but down-at-heel genius was everywhere at Ruby-Spears: among his co-workers were Jack Kirby, who had brought “The Fantastic Four” and “Captain America” to life; Alex Toth, the prolific cartoonist, Hanna-Barbera designer, and Space Ghost creator; and the influential superhero artist Gil Kane, who introduced Woodring to the comic-book editor Gary Groth. The audience for Woodring’s work grew slowly—throughout the nineteen-nineties, his name appeared on paycheck gigs like the “Alien” and “Jabba the Hutt” comics—but his early devotees included Francis Ford Coppola, who wrote the introduction to “The Frank Book” in 1995, and the fellow-cartoonist (and New Yorker cover artist) Ivan Brunetti. “I look at your stuff and I get really depressed because I could never, ever, in a million trillion years do what you do with a brush and paper,” Brunetti wrote, in a fan letter published in Woodring’s “autojournal” comic book (also called “Jim”) that same year. (Woodring uses not a brush but a pen—sometimes a very large pen.)

Though a late bloomer, Woodring managed to avoid a dead-end career in corporate comics, and, by 2010, he’d reached wide acclaim, hadn’t had to write anything set on Tatooine or Dagobah in a while, and had published his first stand-alone book, a hundred-page Frank fable called “Weathercraft.” It was a longer, more complex story—Manhog is tortured by witches who extract his soul remotely, and he learns the true nature of the universe before being kicked back into his place by a satanic creature called the Whim—but it was classic Frank, which is to say, pure Unifactor, and it made several end-of-year lists.

In Woodring’s next book, “Congress of the Animals” (the first of three incorporated into “One Beautiful Spring Day”), Frank’s house falls down; he hires a builder to fix it, but can’t pay him, so he goes to work at a factory, where he must pour a slurry made of crushed-up birds into a machine that looks like a printing press—and then, every day, as he leaves work, he has to hand over his payment to the angry builder. (You could be forgiven for seeing some parallels to Woodring’s time at Ruby-Spears in these pages.) Frank escapes, and, at the end, meets Fran, apparently the female of his species. He has perky ears; hers are droopy and prehensile. He has a rounded tail; hers is pointy. He has chubby cheeks; she has a slightly heart-shaped face. (It’s remarkable how economically Woodring communicates nonhuman femininity; the panel where Fran first appears is viscerally shocking.) Fran changes Frank’s life for the better; they wake up in bed together, and seem to live happily ever after. Until this book, Frank’s pleasures had been carefully circumscribed—a delicious meal, or a ride on a dangerous contraption—but in “Congress of the Animals,” Woodring gave his avatar lasting happiness.

That simply wouldn’t do. In the lidless eye of the Unifactor, it seemed, Woodring was in error. He had planned to draw a graphic novel about Pushpaw and Pupshaw, called “Poochytown,” but he couldn’t—his muse had forsaken him, he said, and now he was obligated to draw “Fran,” in which Frank and Fran break up, and Fran is revealed to be something like a goddess. In this installment, she can now take many forms, not just that of a female Frank. She is more than a person but also, somehow, less—yet another vector of the terrifying and hallucinatory world around Frank, and not even a reliable companion, like Frank’s pets. When Woodring got around to drawing “Poochytown,” he redrew six pages of panels from “Congress of the Animals” in his careful style, with one disorienting difference: on the sixth page of “Poochytown,” Pupshaw opens a different box than the one he picked two books earlier. Woodring also fixed small flaws in parts of the copied pages, in an effort to get the vibe even closer to perfect—as pleasing to the Unifactor as possible. (It was, he told me in 2015, “a pain in the ass, ” but these were “the terms of my employment.”)

Art work by Jim Woodring /Courtesy Fantagraphics Books

For “One Beautiful Spring Day,” Woodring has added a fourth narrative layer and a new character, a travelling magician. The new book replaces and expands on “Congress of the Animals,” “Fran,” and “Poochytown,” adding exactly a hundred new pages of material. Whereas “The Frank Book” simply reprinted old stories, “One Beautiful Spring Day” weaves its component books together into a single dizzying tale: Frank’s momentary happiness with Fran is now one of several picaresque episodes, including an incident from “Poochytown” in which he happens across a steering wheel and a pedal that control the rotation of the planet. (He immediately wrecks it.)

Its repairs complete, Frank’s world—Woodring’s world, the Unifactor—remains ambiguous, ominous, and, more often than not, cute. But its ambiguity is now within the parameters that Woodring’s muse has set for him. Fran is gone by the end of the story. The magician makes most of the story disappear, as part of one of his tricks, then moves on, presumably to do the same to another citizen of the Unifactor. Like most of Woodring’s work, this twist is both charmingly eccentric and very sad. Woodring has become a monumental artist, but Frank can never change. He must always be the same odd little person who was horrified over the half-a-worm in his apple, three decades ago. “One Beautiful Spring Day” contains some of the most beautiful pages that Woodring has ever drawn, and some of the images, like the magician’s giant foot stepping into one vast double-page spread, are indelible. But the Unifactor has decreed that Frank himself may not grow at all. ♦

[scotianostra]

On January 8th 1697 Thomas Aikenhead was executed in Edinburgh.

This is a crackin, if sad tale, and shows you how religious beliefs can be a blight on our history.

So who was oor Thomas, a villain?, a murderer?, a smuggler?, or some enemy of the state? No Thomas's crime was blasphemy who took the lord's name in vain.......this would be comic if it wasn't for the tragic fact that he was executed, unlike the man in Life of Brian, who uttered the words Jehova, Thomas complained that he wished he was warming himself in hell rather than that chilly night walking past the recently built Tron Kirk on Edinburgh's Royal Mile. Well that's the simple story that the tour guides that take you round the Old Town will tell you, there is a bit more to it so I will bore you with a bit more of the detail. Thomas Aikenhead came from a well-to-do family in Edinburgh, his father being listed as a surgeon but more probably an apothecary, a dispenser of herbs and potions. Both his parents were dead by the time he became a student at Edinburgh University at the age of 16 or 17.

His mother had been a daughter of the manse, and you would think that would have made Aikenhead wary of challenging the established religion of the time, namely the all-powerful Church of Scotland, especially while still a student and under the constant gaze of professors, lecturers and, as it turned out, his fellow students.

These were the dying days of a curious period in Scottish history. Aikenhead would have been four when the ‘Wizard of the West Bow’ Major Thomas Weir was executed in 1670. Weir was by day an extreme Calvinist but by night an incestuous Satanist and it takes no great leap of reason to see that an impressionable young boy might well have been affected by the trial and execution of a local celebrity that lived not far from him.

The 1680s was also the ‘killing time’ for the Covenanters when many died because of they worshipped their same god in differing ways!

Thomas was a keen student and an avid reader, he may or may not have known and Edinburgh bookseller, John Frazer, who had been prosecuted after admitting either reading, or being in possession of Charles Blount’s Oracles of Reason a book I know nothing about but gather it relates to Deism, which questioned the existence or more importanyly, non-existence of God or Satan, Frazer had repented ad as it was a first offence was sackclothed and jailed in the old Tolbooth for a number of months.

Anyway, Thomas had a friend, well he thought he had a friend, Murdo Craig, but Murdo, on the sly had been keeping notes on Aitkenhead, and his dalliances with blasphemous ideals, we know that because they formed a large part of the indictment against Aikenhead.

“Nevertheless it is of verity, that you Thomas Aikenhead, shakeing off all fear of God and regaird to his majesties lawes, have now for more than a twelvemoneth by past, and upon severall of the dayes within the said space, and ane or other of the same, made it as it were your endeavour and work in severall compainies to vent your wicked blasphemies against God and our Saviour Jesus Christ, and against the holy Scriptures, and all revealled religione, in soe far as upon ane or other of the dayes forsaid, you said and affirmed, that divinity or the doctrine of theologie was a rapsidie of faigned and ill-invented nonsense, patched up partly of the morall doctrine of philosophers, and pairtly of poeticall fictions and extravagant chimeras, or words to this effect or purpose, with severall other such reproachfull expressions.”

That was just for starters. Sir James Stewart of Goodtrees, the Lord Advocate of the day, had taken a personal interest in the case and he decided to throw the whole lot of Craig’s testimony at Aikenhead who was arrested in November, 1696, and charged under the Blasphemy Act of 1661 which carried the death penalty. He also charged Aikenhead under a more recent act, which made it a criminal offence to ‘deny, impugn or quarrel’ about the existence of God.The prosecution papers go on to record

“You have lykwayes in discourse preferred Mahomet to the blessed Jesus, and you have said that you hoped to see Christianity greatly weakened, and that you are confident that in a short tyme it will be utterly extirpate.”

For Mahomet, read Muhammad, could young Thomas be an Islam convert in 17th century Edinburgh, I very much doubt it, they just needed to make an example of the young student, and he knew by now knew that he was in very great trouble and protested in effect that he was guilty only of the sin of being youthful and had been led astray by the books he had read. He claimed to have repented of his anti-Christian beliefs and was once again a good Presbyterian. In this way he seems to have thrown himself upon the mercy of the court, but there was no mercy.  On Christmas Eve, 1696, a jury found him guilty. Sir James Stewart asked for the death penalty and it was granted and “pronounced for doom,” as Scottish judges were still saying well into the 20th century in capital punishment cases. Aikenhead pleaded for his life to the Privy Council emphasising his youth, his dire circumstances, and the fact that he was reconciled to the Protestant religion. There was some support for the death sentence to be commuted from at least two councillors and two Church of Scotland ministers, but the General Assembly of the Kirk intervened, demanding that Aikenhead suffer 

“vigorous execution to curb the abounding of impiety and profanity in this land”.

In his last letter to friends, written in the Tolbooth prison in Edinburgh as he awaited execution, Aikenhead at last gave a plausible explanation for his conduct – that he had been a disappointed seeker after truth. He wrote: 

“It is a principle innate and co-natural to every man to have an insatiable inclination to the truth and to seek for it as for hid treasure. So I proceeded until the more I thought thereon, the further I was from finding the verity I desired.” In truth, in a repressed society the student had just gone too far in rejecting the doctrines of Christianity calling it “feigned and ill-invented nonsense”

Aikenhead went to his death on January 8, 1697, hanged on the scaffold at Shrubhill between Edinburgh and Leith. It is said that before he died he proclaimed that moral laws were the work of governments and men. In his hand as the noose was plced around his neck was the Holy Bible. The execution angered many people for many years afterwards. The great English historian Thomas Babington Macaulay wrote an account of the hanging and called the execution “a crime such has never since polluted the island.”He continued: “The preachers who were the boy’s murderers crowded round him at the gallows, and, while he was struggling in the last agony, insulted Heaven with prayers more blasphemous than any thing that he had ever uttered.”

There was other evidence of church authorities being present as Aikenhead died. He was the last man in Britain to be hanged for blasphemy.

According to Arthur Herman in his book "How the Scots Invented the Modern World: The True Story of How Western Europe’s Poorest Nation Created Our World and Everything in It", the execution of Aikenhead was “the last hurrah of Scotland’s Calvinist ayatollahs” before the dawning of the age of reason in the Enlightenment.

Now we can all rejoice in The Enlightenment but a full 30 years later in the small town of Dornoch in Sutherland, Janet Horne was put on trial for the “crime” of having a daughter whose feet and hands were misshapen and who had herself given birth to a son with disabilities. She was the last woman in Britain to be burned at the stake for being a witch, her death bringing to an end the “burning time” when perhaps 4000 Scottish women were executed for the crime of witchcraft.

I thought I would add a wee bit more about Shrubhill in Leith, as most of us usually only regard Edinburgh's Old Town, The Tolbooth, and Grassmarket as sites where executions took place. I can't find out why Aikenhead was taken to, at what at the time, was a different town for his executions I did however find records  of several taking place at the site, now student accommodation, but the site of Edinburghs tram workshops and powerstation, but beforehand not many know that it was the site of he gibbet known as the Gallow Lee, literally the "field with the gallows",

Bodies were buried at the base of the gallows or their ashes scattered if burnt. The most famous of those that met their end here was perhaps Major Weir, the Wizard of the West Bow.

1570- Two criminals strangled and burned to death.

1570 (4 October)- Rev. John Kelloe minister of Spott, East Lothian (near Dunbar) strangled and burnt for the murder of his wife

1664- Nine witches strangled and burnt

1670- Major Thomas Weir, the self-confessed warlock, strangled and burnt for witchcraft (almost the only self-confessed witch executed).

1678- Five witches strangled and burnt

1680- Part of the body of Covenanter David Hackston was hung in chains after his execution at the mercat cross in Edinburgh for the murder of Archbishop Sharp in 1679.

1681 (10 October)- Covenanters Garnock, Foreman, Russel, Ferrie and Stewart hanged and beheaded. Their headless bodies were buried at the site and their heads placed on the Cowgate Port at the foot of the Pleasance. Friends reburied the bodies in the graveyard of the West Kirk (St. Cuthberts). The heads were retrieved, placed in a box and then buried in garden ground at Lauriston. They lay there until 7 October 1726 when the then owner, Mr Shaw, had them exhumed and reburied near the Martyrs' Monument in Greyfriars Kirkyard.

1697 (8 January)- Thomas Aikenhead, a 19-year-old theology student at Edinburgh University became the last person to be executed under Scotland's blasphemy laws (and the last in Britain to be executed for that crime).

1752 (10 January)- Norman Ross, a footman, hanged for the murder of Lady Baillie, sister of Home, Laird of Wedderburn. The body was left to hang in a gibbet cage "for many a year" and became a local ghoulish tourist attraction.

Post mid 18th Century the Nor’ Loch was drained and the city expanded to the north by the building of the New Town with stone quarried from nearby Craigleith quarry. In such building sand was needed to add to the lime mortar and Gallow Lee proved to be just what was needed. The owner of Gallow Lee charged the builders to cart away the sand, containing the ashes and other remains of thousands of victims. The sandy mound of the Gallow Lee has gone I wonder how many New Town residents are aware that the very fabric of their building is bound together with the remains of  these poor women convicted of being witches, covenanters and criminals?

[endlesshero1122]

Suiting Up

(Hero Fanfic Chapter 4)

All rights go to Pixelberry. I only own my MCs. Sorry for the long post. Enjoy!

@sceptilemasterr @endlessflame @toglidethroughlife @ladyseaheart1668

“Okay, this is officially the best tech you’ve ever designed!” Kameron declared as he admired himself in the mirror.

From behind him, Dax beamed from ear to ear. “It sure is! I'd like this time to thank my lifetime obsession with science, comic books, and the MCU.”

Kameron laughed. “Alyssa’s gonna love this! Which reminds me, I should check to make sure she got home safely.”

He dialed his sister's number, then frowned as the words ‘Call Ended’ flashed across his screen. That’s weird, he thought to himself. Alyssa never hung up on him, or anyone; she thought it was rude to do so without the caller’s permission. Even more suspicious, she didn't even accept his call before hanging up.

“Is something wrong?” Dax inquired, noting Kameron’s concerned expression.

“Alyssa hung up on me.”

Dax furrowed his brow. “That’s not like her…”

“No, it’s not,” Kameron agreed as he started to dial his sister’s number again. “Hopefully it’s nothing bad…”

He was about to press the call button when his phone began to vibrate as a picture of Alyssa flashed on his screen. He accepted the call and raised the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Alyssa. Did you—”

“Get to the east underpass that leads to the docks, now!”

Kameron frowned; the voice on the other end didn’t belong to his sister. “Wait, who is th—”

“Just hurry!”

The caller hung up before he could attempt to interrogate her. Brow furrowed, he turned to Dax.

“I gotta get the east underpass. I think Alyssa is in trouble.”

***

Alyssa moaned softly as her eyes slowly fluttered open. A blurry figure was knelt down beside her, his face hidden behind a dark mask.

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered as his fingers lightly brushed her cheek “This is why I told you to go straight home.”

She shot up with a start, roughly pushing the masked stranger off of her.

“GET OFF ME!”

The figure stumbled back before reaching out and grabbing her arm. “Hey, wait a sec—”

“Let me go!” Alyssa demanded, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let go of me, or I’ll— ow!”

She hissed in pain, her hand flying to her cheek. Fresh blood stained her fingertips.

“Here.” The masked man reached a hand out towards the wound. “Let me take a look—”

“I told you to stay away from me!”

She kneed him in the stomach as hard as she could, causing him to stagger back.

“AAAAAAAGH! JESUS CHRIST, IT’S ME!”

Alyssa's eyes widened as the man took off his mask.

“Kameron? But… oh crap, I’m so sorry!”

Kameron grunted and gave her a thumbs up. “No problem… definitely shouldn’t have taught you that...”

“I’m really sorry, I just… Wait, where did you get that suit?”

Kameron lips curved slightly as Alyssa looked his sleek black suit up and down with admiration. “Dax made it. Pretty cool, right?”

Alyssa opened her mouth to agree but was cut short as a light blue coupe pulled up to a stop beside the step-siblings. The driver's side door opened and Poppy rushed out.

“Omigod, Lyssa!” she gasped as she squeezed the younger sibling into a bone-crushing hug. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Poppy—”

“Holy crap, you’re bleeding! What the hell happened?!”

“Poppy—”

“Who did this?! I swear if I get my hands on those pigs, I’ll—”

“Poppy, I can’t breath!”

Poppy hastily released Alyssa, allowing the younger girl to gasp for air.

“Sorry! I'm sorry!”

“How did you even know to find us here?” Kameron asked Poppy as he gently ushered Alyssa into the back seat of the coupe. 

“I gave my number to Dax the night you took Alyssa home from the hospital,” Poppy explained to him. “I told him to call me in case one of you got into any trouble... didn’t expect him to call so soon, or about Alyssa. But enough about that, Dax wants us back at the lab ASAP.”

***

Once they had reached Prescott Industries, Kameron and Poppy half walked and half carried Alyssa to Dax’s lab. The young engineer approached the young girl with a first-aid kit in hand as the two gingerly sat her down on one of the chairs.

“Let me see the damage.”

Alyssa obliged, turning her head for Dax to see. She hissed and voiced her pain as he proceeded to clean up the blood.

“Ow, ow, OW!”

“Quit moving, and it won’t hurt as much,” the engineer scolded her.

“Will she be okay?” Poppy asked; her voice was small and shook as she spoke.

“She should be, ” Dax told her as he finished disinfecting the cut. “The scans I took implied that she’s reached peak human regeneration, or in other words can heal faster than the average human. The wound will only take a day or two to heal. She’s lucky she wasn’t severely injured… it’ll be harder for her to recover from fatal wounds.”

“Oh.”

“Which brings up the question,” Kameron spoke up before addressing his sister, his voice turning stern. “What. Happened?”

Alyssa took a breath before reciting what had happened after Grayson had dropped her off on their street, down to the part about the villain from the gala having powers as well. A tense silence filled the room when she mentioned that the goons had taken Grayson. 

“Poor Grayson,” Poppy whispered.

Alyssa clenched her fists tightly. “I shouldn’t have let them take him. I... I should have tried to stop them as soon as they tired instead of waiting to go after them.”

Kameron gave his sister a gentle pat on the back. “They would have taken you, too. Or they might have killed you. Point is, it’s not your fault.”

 Dax, who hadn’t said a word, suddenly cleared his throat. “Okay, I know that this guy is a serious threat that we need to take care of and that we need to save Grayson, but we’ve got to give him a name!”

Kameron and Poppy stared at him incredulously.

“Really? That’s your priority right now?”

“Well, we can’t just keep calling him ‘the leader’!” Dax insisted defensively before turning to Alyssa. “You’re the one who fought him first… what do you think we should call him?” Alyssa furrowed her eyebrows; she already had the perfect name in mind.

“Tombstone.”

Dax nodded appreciatively. “Tombstone; sounds hardcore. I think it fits.”

Kameron shrugged. “I’ve got no problem with it, as long as I know whose ass I'm kicking.”

“Speaking of which, can we actually talk about how we’re going to deal with this guy?” Poppy urged, a tad of annoyance in her voice.

“Poppy, please, he has a name now.”

Poppy shot Kameron a slight glare before rolling her eyes. “Fine,” she huffed. “So, how are we going to deal with Tombstone?”

Kameron narrowed his eyes in deep thought. “Alyssa was the one who followed them… and I found her on the east highway that leads to the bay.”

“And a group that size is gonna need a place with some space to hide,” Dax added.

“Which means they're probably hiding in one of the warehouses near the waterfront!” Alyssa realized.

“Then we’ll start there,” Kameron declared, turning towards Alyssa. “You can come, but only if you hang back unless I need backup. After that, you and I need to review some self-defense techniques, okay?”

Alyssa nodded eagerly.

“Good. Now let's get going before—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dax lept in front of the step-siblings before they could step out through the door. “Where do you two think you're going?”

Kameron frowned, then slapped a hand over his forehead. “Oh, right! I almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

Dax turned to Alyssa and held out his hand. “Give me your glasses.”

Alyssa eyed him warily. “Why?”

“Just give them to me.”

Alyssa frowned, then hesitantly gave her glasses to Dax… only for him to snap them in half!

“Hey!”

“Relax, you won't miss them,” Dax informed her as he led her over to the opposite wall. “I've got something better for you.”

Alyssa watched as he pressed his hand against a hidden panel on the wall, which slid away to reveal a feminine mannequin donning a suit of blue and red. Kameron stepped forward and tapped one of the gold wrist cuffs on the suit, which faded away until nothing was left but a simple gold bracelet with a glowing pink halo.

“Nanites, ” Dax said, unclasping the bracelet before holding it up for Alyssa to see. “They’re programmed to store themselves in inside the bracelet when deactivated.”

Kameron held out his right arm so Alyssa could see the glowing blue halo around the cuff on his wrist. He pressed his finger to the halo, and the suit faded away until he was only wearing the metallic silvery grey wristband and his usual clothing.

“Dax was able to find some traces of the crystal’s energy and inserted it into the bands, ” he told her. “Only we can activate them.”

“Or anyone else with the crystal’s energy in them,” Dax clarified. “Which, luckily, only includes you two and Shrapnel, and I’m pretty sure you won’t have to worry about him.”

Alyssa accepted the bracelet, fastening it around her wrist and gently placing her finger on the pink halo. The nanites wove themselves over her body, forming the suit.

“It’s so light…”

Dax gave her a boyish grin. “The nanites are made with a metallic alloy that I developed. It's stronger than steel and a third of the weight. In other words…”

Alyssa gaped at him. “You created vibranium?!”

A spark of childish excitement flashed in Dax’s eye. “I've been working on it ever since we saw Black Panther. There were a few failed attempts, but now vibranium is officially a real metal… Which only you and your brother have since those suits have all of the vibranium I made.”

“Well, our suits and our masks,” Kameron corrected. He pressed a finger to his ear, and his mask vanished.

Dax snapped his fingers. “Right, almost forgot about that!”

He plucked the mask off the mannequin and handed it to Alyssa. “Put it on.”

Alyssa obliged. Her vision instantly cleared as she looked around the room.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Dax prompted.

Alyssa nodded. “I can actually see better in these than with my glasses!”

“Now raise your fingers to the right side if your mask.”

No sooner has she done so, the mask shifted into a pair of glasses identical to the ones Dax had broken.

“That is awesome.”

“Told you you'd like them,” Dax teased. “Both masks also come with night vision, built-in audio, a camera, and an augmented reality heads-up display. Poppy?”

Alyssa jumped as a holographic Poppy appeared in the lenses of her glasses.

“Hey, Lyssa! How do I look?”

“Like a hologram from Star Wars!” Alyssa replied, grinning giddily. “But how?”

Dax held up his wrist to show her the metallic band with a glossy screen strapped around it.

“I made these wristbands along with hidden earpieces for me and Poppy so we could connect to you and Kameron while you’re both out on the field. The bands can send and receive videos, just like the masks.”

“Dax, you're amazing!”

“I know.”

“Now that you're all suited up, let's get going, ” Kameron said; his suit and mask had already slid back on. “We’ve got some asses to kick and a friend to rescue!”

Alyssa shifted her glasses back to her mask and started towards her brother, only to have her feet get tangled in her cape. Her friends and brother cringed as she tripped and fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“I'm okay!”

“Uh… maybe I shouldn’t have added the cape…”

***

The step-siblings had reached the coastline of the city within a few minutes. Both had started searching the row of warehouses from opposite ends, trying to spot the black van. A few seconds later, Alyssa spotted the van hidden under an extended awning of a decrepit warehouse.

“I found them!” Alyssa told Kameron over the audio. “Second warehouse on the left side, third row.”

“Got it. Meet you there.”

Alyssa landed silently on the top of the warehouse and slipped through a broken window, stepping lightly onto the rafters. A few moments later, Kameron joined her. Below them, the two goons from the gala and the young man in the leather jacket busied themselves by stuffing the stolen diamonds and jewelry into bags while Tombstone examined the Prism Crystal. 

“Any sign of Grayson?” Dax asked.

Kameron quickly scanned the room. “He’s not in here. They could be keeping him in the van.”

“Quite a haul we got here, ” one of the goons chuckled. “Definitely worth the risk.”

“Was it?” the other grumbled. “We’ve got every cop in this city on our asses, and Prescott is gonna have our heads for holding his son for ransom!”

“No need to worry about them,” Tombstone spoke, his eyes never leaving the Prism Crystal. “Those flatfoots won’t try anything so long as we’re holding Prescott’s kid hostage. Besides, maybe pretty boy’s daddy will give us a few pretty pennies to get his son back.”

The man in the leather jacket scoffed under his breath, though not quietly enough to be unheard.

Tombstone shifted his attention from the crystal to the man.“Something funny, new guy?”

The young man didn't even look up to acknowledge him. “I was just wondering… If the cops aren’t a threat to you anymore, why are you still running from them?”

Tombstone snarled at the man as he slipped the crystal into the front pocket of his vest. “You calling me a coward, boy?”

The young man smirked, this time looking up at the stone-skinned man. “I was implying you were a coward. There's a difference.”

Without warning, Tombstone lunged at the man. Alyssa gasped as he pinned the man against the wall, his stony hand closing around the man’s throat. Kameron quickly clamped his hand over his sister’s mouth and pulled her down just as Tombstone’s head snapped towards their direction. He narrowed his eyes but turned his attention back to the man he was currently strangling. The young man thrashed and clawed at Tombstone’s hand and chest, but his efforts did nothing to loosen the villain’s hold on him.

“I’d keep that smartass mouth of yours shut if I were you,” Tombstone snarled as he tightened his grip around the man’s windpipe. “Unless you wanna end up like the guy you replaced.”

The color drained from the young man’s face as his form began to go limp. Tombstone’s lips curled into a snarl as he released the man, letting him drop to the floor. He turned to addressed the other two goons while the man coughed and gasped for air.

“Finish stuffing these bags while I give Prescott a call. I wanna get out of this city as soon as we collect the ransom.”

The younger man began to stand, but Tombstone grabbed him by his hair and hoisted him up.

“You, on the other hand, can keep an eye on our guest. And don’t even think about trying to flinch anything. If a single dime goes missing, I’ll snap your neck.”

He shoved the man towards the van before retreating into the back room. The man threw a bitter look towards the villain but stalked out to the van nonetheless. Alyssa frowned as she watched him go; she could’ve sworn she saw him slip something into his leather jacket.

“It looks like one of the goons has a machine gun and the other has a crowbar,” Dax informed the step-siblings, snapping Alyssa out of her thoughts. “I don’t think the new guy is armed, but I wouldn’t underestimate him.”

“Copy that,” Kameron replied. He turned to Alyssa. “Go find Grayson and get him out of here. I’ll deal with Tombstone’s goons. And be careful.”

Alyssa gave her brother a thumbs up before following after the man in the leather jacket. Kameron watched her go before directing his attention to the goons down below him.

“Okay, Kameron, the key word here is ‘stealth’,” Dax was saying. “You don’t wanna draw too much attention to yourself--”

“Yo, dickheads!”

The goons looked up in surprise just as Kameron dropped down from the rafters. “What the--”

“DEATH FROM ABOVE!”

“... sure, that works, too.”

The first goon swung his crowbar at the young man. Kameron ducked under the weapon and used the opportunity to rip it out of the goon’s hands before flinging it towards the second goon. The criminal yelped in pain as the crowbar knocked the gun out of his hands. He watched as it skittered off into a dark corner before growling at Kameron.

“So, you wanna do this the hard way, do ya?”

Kameron smirked. “Please. I’m self-trained in jiu-jitsu, karate, and taekwondo. Plus, I’m the one with super strength. If this is the hard way, you and your pal are the ones who are in trouble.” 

“We’ll see about that,” the goon snarled as cracked his knuckled while the second one circled behind him.

Kameron shrugged and rolled his shoulders. “Okay... can’t say I didn’t warn you two.”

“Get him!”

The first goon threw a punch at Kameron but the young blond easily caught his arm and redirected the blow at the second goon as he lunged at him. The two collided against each other, their heads hitting with an audible crack, before slumping to the ground in an unconscious heap.

“That was quick,” Poppy commented. 

“I leave these two for the cops. Now, where’s the big boss?”

Dax gulped nervously. “Uh... Kameron...?”

A dark shadow fell over the young man.

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

“Yup... you might wanna take a couple steps back!”

Kameron jumped out of the way just as Tombstone brought his fist down on the spot where the young man had stood only moments ago, leaving a small crater.

“This city’s just crawling with freaks,” the villain sneered.

“Look who’s talking," Kameron retorted. “At least I’m not the walking Tombstone.”

A wicked gleam flashed in the villain’s cold red eyes. “Tombstone, huh? I like it... gonna look great in the papers once I bury you six feet under!”

With a roar, the villain charged at Kameron.

***

Alyssa carefully peeked out from behind the pile of crates she had crouched down behind. She could see Grayson in the back of the van, his hands and feet bound by zip-ties and a piece of ducktape over his mouth, along with the young man in the leather jacket who was taking a hearty swing of a beer. An ugly scowl twisted the man’s features as he glared down at Grayson

“Look at the Prince of Northbridge now. On his knees, in front of the ‘scum’ of the city!” 

Alyssa barely muffled a gasp as the man suddenly backhanded Grayson across the face. Tears stung her eyes when she heard her friend cry out in pain, or as much as he could with the ducktape muffling any sound he made. The younger man’s scowl deepened as he forcefully grasped Grayson’s chin, forcing the blonde to look up at him.

“Do you ever think about how your daddy ruins people’s lives just to make a pretty penny?” he hissed venomously. “Do you even give guys like me so much as a sideways glance?”

Grayson gave a helpless moan, unable to say anything else. The man’s lip curled as he roughly let go of Grayson’s chin and turned away. Alyssa felt her blood run cold as a thoughtful look appeared on the man’s face. 

“You know, my boss warned me against trying to take anything...”

Alyssa jumped as he smashed the empty beer bottle, the glass shattering over Grayson’s head. The young heir gave out a muffled gasped as the young man grasped his hair and yanked back so that he was staring the blond in the eye. He pressed the jagged end of what was left of the bottle against Grayson’s cheek, drawing small drops of blood.

“But he never said I couldn’t send your dad a message of my own...”

“NO!” Alyssa gasped before she could stop herself. She started forward but accidentally knocked over one of the crates. She quickly ducked down just as the young man’s head snapped up at the sound. She covered her mouth with her hand as the sound of footsteps came closer to her hiding spot. She would hear her heart pounding in her chest as she risked a peak; the man was just a few inches away from spotting her. 

Just as he was about to move the crates, a cry --“DEATH FROM ABOVE!”--   came from inside the warehouse.

“What the hell...?” the man muttered before making his way over to the warehouse. 

Alyssa waited until he was gone before making her way over to the van. Grayson’s eyes widened when he saw her, making muffled sounds from behind his gag. 

“It’s okay,” Alyssa told him. “I’m gonna get you out of here. Just give me a minute to-- ahh!”

Alyssa cried out as a hand grasped a fistful of her hair and forcefully pulled her back.

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing dress-up?” the young man in the leather jacket sneered. Turned out he hadn’t gone inside after all... 

***

Kameron and Tombstone became locked in a tight grapple, both of them matched equally in strength.

“Not bad, Boy Scout,” Tombstone sneered. “You’re more of a challenge than your little girlfriend. By the way...” The villain grinned wickedly. “How long did it take you to scrap her off the pavement?”

Kameron roared in fury as he wrestled Tombstone to the ground.

***

Alyssa gasped as she was thrown to the ground, the air knocked out her. She winced in pain as the man in the leather jacket sauntered towards her.

“Little girls who play with fire get their fingers burned, you know,” he leered as he took hold of her hair once again. Alyssa yelped as he pulled her to her feet, their faces inches apart. “Which is a shame... you’re quite the cutie.”

He flung her into the wall, causing her to hit her right shoulder hard. Grayson gave out a string of angry, muffled shouts at the man. Alyssa doubted they were words he’d say in front of her if the ducktape had been removed. The man paid Grayson no mind as he grabbed Alyssa’s right arm and twisted it behind her. A cruel smirk appeared on his face as the young girl cried out in pain. Neither of them noticed as Grayson took hold of one of the glass shards from the broken beer bottle and began to saw at the zip-ties around his wrists.

***

Kameron had just managed to twist himself out of a headlock Tombstone had trapped him in when he heard a cry of pain from outside. 

“That sounded like Alyssa!” Poppy gasped, her face full of worry. 

“She looks like she’s in trouble,” Dax told Kameron. “The new guy isn’t being gentle with her.”

Kameron tried to make his way towards the exit but was blocked by the stony villain.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

Kameron scowled at Tombstone before snapping a command at Dax. 

“Dax, Poppy, you two help Alyssa deal with the new guy. I’ll take care of Tombstone.”

“On it!”

“Right!”

“Should’ve said bye-bye to your friends,” Tombstone crackled. “‘Cause you’re already dead!”

Kameron didn’t have time to react before the villain’s stony hands clamped around his throat.

***

Alyssa gave out a weak wheeze as the young man tightened his grip around her throat. She clawed at his hand and kicked the empty air beneath her, but all her efforts were in vain. The man tsked at her feeble efforts as he continued to force the air out of her. 

“You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that, cutie,” he taunted as he leaned closer to her. “But I don’t think you have what it takes to play with the big boys.”

He brought his other hand up to stroke her cheek, which Alyssa took as an opportunity. The man yelp as the young girl bit down on his hand, causing him to drop her.

“AGH!”

He cradled his hand before snarling down at Alyssa as she rubbed her sore neck and gasped for air. 

“You damn bitch!"

Alyssa didn’t have time to even attempt to block the punch the young man threw at her before she received the blow to her face. She was only given a moment to acknowledge the pain before the man drove his knee into her stomach. Alyssa gasped and sputtered as she sank to her knees. 

“Alyssa!”

Alyssa glanced weakly at the holographic images of her friends that had just appeared on the screen of her mask. 

“C’mon, Lyss! Get up and kick this guy’s ass!” Dax urged her.

“I... I can’t...” Alyssa muttered weakly. “I don’t have anything to fight him with.”

“For the love of... ARE YOU A SUPERHERO OR NOT?!” 

“You have powers, Alyssa!” Poppy reminded her. “Use them!”

Alyssa winced at her own stupidity. How did she forget about her own powers? 

The man in the leather jacket knelt down in front of her and grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.  

“Next time don’t pick a fight that you can’t win,” he whispered mockingly into her ear.

Alyssa snarled up at him. “Next time don’t pick a fight with someone who has powers!”

The man frowned. Alyssa quickly helped him realize what she had meant; she thrust her arm out, using her telekinesis to send the man flying back. The man yelped as he crashed into the pile of crates Alyssa had hidden behind earlier. He gingerly picked himself up, wincing slightly, then snarled at the young girl. 

“That’s it! I’ll kill you for that, you little--”

THUD!

A blank look flashed across the man’s face before he crumbled to the ground. Grayson stood over him with a long wooden plank in his hand and a scowl on his face. 

“Next time pick on someone your own size,” he spat before turning towards Alyssa. His expression softened as he offered her his hand. “Are you okay?”

Alyssa blinked up at him before accepting his hand. “Y-yeah, I’m alright. What about you?”

Grayson gave her a soft smile as he helped her to her feet. “I’ll be okay. I’m tougher than I look.”

“I’ll say,” Dax muttered.

“Thanks for the help, by the way,” Grayson said. 

Alyssa glanced down at her feet. “I think I should be thanking you.” She frowned slightly. “I wasn’t really much help...”

“Well, the first step is having the courage to try to do something instead of nothing,” Grayson encouraged her. He frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know you, do I? You seem kinda familiar...”

Alyssa’s eyes widened. “Uh, no! I-I mean I don’t think so... I mean--”

A loud crash came from inside the warehouse. 

“Kameron!” Poppy gasped.

“I gotta go help Ka-- I mean, my friend,” Alyssa Told Grayson as she glanced nervously towards the warehouse. “You better get out of here. Find somewhere safe and call the cops!”

“Right!”

Alyssa waited to make sure Grayson was a safe distance away from the warehouse before rushing inside. Her blood boiled at the sight before her: Tombstone’s hands wrapped around her brother’s neck, who was slowly losing consciousness.

“And just when I was having fun,” Tombstone laughed as the color drained from Kameron’s face.

Alyssa pounced onto the villain’s back and tried to pull him off her brother. “Get off him!”

Tombstone howled in pain as the girl clawed at his eyes from behind, causing him to stagger back.

“Aaaaaaaagh! You little brat!”

Alyssa yelped as Tombstone grasped her ponytail and yanked her off his back. The band snapped, letting her hair cascade to her waist in loose waves.

“Oh, COME ON!”

“Alyssa, focus!” Dax snapped as Alyssa made a futile effort to pull her hair back. “You can fix your hair later!”

“That was my last elastic band! And don’t give me that ‘fix it later’ crap! You don’t know what it’s like to have long hair!”

“Watch your left!” Poppy warned.

Alyssa sidestepped as Tombstone’s fist slammed down on the spot she had been standing, leaning a small crater in its place. She threw her hands over her head as he prepared to bring his fists down on her again, causing the magenta energy to form a forcefield around her.

“Nice one, Alyssa!” Dax cheered, though his smile faded as the girl began to sway unsteadily on her feet; the shield around her was beginning to fracture with every blow it took from Shrapnel

“Alyssa, what’s wrong?” Poppy asked worriedly.

Alyssa’s whole body began to shake as she dropped to her knees. A warm, wet substance trickled from her nose in a heavy stream; she could taste the blood as it wetted her lips.

“I-I… c-can’t… hold o-on…” she strained as her head began to spin.

Kameron, having regained his breath, watch as the shield shattered and his sister crumbled to the floor, his vision turning red as Tombstone sneered down at her. 

“Guess you didn’t go splat after our first encounter after all. Not that it matters; I can still bash your skull in.”

“Leave! Her! ALONE!”

Kameron lunged at the villain like a missile, knocking him away from his sister. He slammed his fists into Shrapnel's face again and again until the stony layer finally cracked.

“Wait, that’s it!” Dax realized. “Kameron, if you hit him hard enough, you should be able to break through the stone!”

“Oh, that’s not the only thing I’m gonna break!” Kameron snarled as he twisted Shrapnel’s arm; the loud crack was almost like music to his ears as he stomped down on it.

“I can’t watch!” Poppy whimpered, covering her eyes with her hands.

The villain howled in pain as Kameron smashed his face into the concrete floor until the stone shattered away and Shrapnel was skin and bone once more.

He looked up to face Kameron, snarling maliciously as blood dripped from his bruised nose and chin.

“What are you waiting for, Boy Scout?” he rasped, spatting a fair amount of blood at the boy’s feet. “Finish it.”

Kameron raised his fist, ready to crush the man’s heart, but paused when he heard the wail of sirens fill the air as blue and red lights flashed from outside.

“Uh-oh... you guys better get out of there!” Dax advised.

“But--”

“Listen, Kameron: I know you wanna wail on this guy. Believe me, I do. But Alyssa’s hurt, and you busted the guy up enough to let the cops take it from here. What do you care about more, taking care of Alyssa or killing Tombstone?”

“...Taking care of Alyssa.”

“Then get out of there. Poppy and I will meet you two back at your place.”

Kameron inhaled deeply before snarling down at Tombstone. “You’re lucky the cops came just in time to save you from me.”

He slammed Tombstone down on the concrete with enough force to leave a crater beneath the man. Kameron barely gave him a second glance as he rushed to his sister’s side. 

“Alyssa, are you okay?” he asked as he helped her to her feet.

He checked her over. The bleeding had stopped and the blood was beginning to dry, but she seemed to still be weak; her eyes were half closed and she swayed uneasily on her feet.

“I’m fine…” she mumbled, leaning against her brother for support.  

“I think I hear something over there!”

Kameron scooped Alyssa into his arms and took off into the night sky, leaving Shrapnel and his goons for the cops. As he flew off with his sister, he failed to notice a group of squad cars chasing after a certain black van…

***

Kameron touched down on the balcony of their apartment, gently letting Alyssa down. The lights were already on, and he could faintly hear Dax and Poppy’s voices. He checked to make sure no one had seen them before Kameron carefully opened the door and helped Alyssa inside. The two were greeted by Dax and Poppy, whom both helped Kameron lead Alyssa to the couch.

“I said I’m fine. You don’t have to baby me,” Alyssa muttered.

“I’m your older brother, it’s my job,” Kameron stated.

“And you are a baby compared to the rest of us,” Dax added as he took out his portable Geiger counter and scanned her.

Alyssa pouted as Poppy carefully cleaned the drying blood off her face with a damp rag.

“Good news, you’ll be fine,” Dax announced. “Bad news… this might become a normal occurrence.”

Kameron’s eyes furrowed. He did not like the sound of that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, for starters, Alyssa is an inexperienced telekinetic,” Dax began. “Which means her brain still adjusting to being pushed past its normal limits. Simple things like lifting objects and shooting out psionic energy are most likely simple tricks compared to what she’s truly capable of now, but training the brain is like training the body: it takes time to be able to reach new levels of strength. Pushing yourself too far too quickly can cause strain or even damage.”

“But all I did was make a shield…” Alyssa said, frowning slightly. “It wasn’t too different from summoning the energy… or at least it didn’t feel that way until—”

“Until you tried to keep it up,” Dax guessed for her. “Based on the data I collected from the testing we did in the lab, that shield should’ve shattered as soon as Shrapnel hit it. It only lasted as long as it did because you pushed yourself to make it hold. I’d suggest more training to build up your strength—”

Kameron gave Dax a sharp glare.

“I don’t mean right now! Obviously, she needs some rest.”

“Would a milkshake help?”

All eyes turned to Poppy. She stared back at them with innocent eyes, but all three of them could see the gleeful gleam in them.

Kameron eyed her suspiciously. “You just want to go out and celebrate us being ‘superheroes’ now, don’t you?”

Poppy smiled sheepishly. “It’s not like I suggested we go to a bar and get drunk… besides, it’s Monday. It’s been our tradition ever since I tutored Alyssa.”

“Poppy—”

“An extreme milkshake, to be exact,” Poppy purred.

Kameron and Dax’s eyes widened.

“Hey, Alyssa… you feeling better or—”

“YES!”

“Let’s go.”

***

A few moments later, the four friends were sitting in a booth at Poppy’s favorite retro diner. It was completely empty save for them and a few staff members, which was exactly how they liked it. A waitress came by and places towering milkshakes stacked with mountains of sweets in front of them: strawberry shortcake for Poppy, hot fudge espresso for Dax, dark chocolate brownie for Kameron, and chocolate chip cookie dough for Alyssa. Once the waitress had left, Poppy turned to the step-siblings with a bright smile.

“Well, what are you two gonna do now that you’re Northbridge’s new superhero duo? You guys gonna start fighting crime on a regular basis?”

Kameron furrowed his eyebrows, watching Alyssa out of the corner of his eye; she was happily munching on one of the enormous cookies stacked on top of her milkshake. A part of him wanted to say no, that what happened tonight wasn’t going to become a regular routine for them if he had any say in the matter. A selfish as he felt for thinking it, the only innocent he was concerned with was Alyssa. Still, looking at his little sister, who believed in putting others first and helping those in need, he wondered if he truly could turn a blind eye, much less expect her to do the same.

After a moment of internal debating, he let out a heavy sigh. “As much as I’d hate to say it… this might become just another day in the life.”

Alyssa pumped her fist in the air, letting out a muffled cheer.

“But…” Kameron continued, giving his sister a sharp look, “we are definitely going to need to lay some ground rules, starting with you not running off by yourself. Powers or no powers, it’s not safe for you to be alone. I worry about you enough as it is.”

Alyssa gave her brother a slight glare as she finished her cookie. “I can take care of myself, Kameron. You’re being overprotective.”

“Again: big brother, part of the job,” Kameron bit back.

Alyssa was about to retort when Dax suddenly yelped.

“AAAAH! Brain freeze! Also, my hand is shaking, is that normal?”

“That’s just the sugar rush,” Poppy laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“Careful he doesn’t too high on sugar,” Kameron warned teasingly. “If you get him high on anything, and I mean anything, he’ll go on and on about multiple dimensions.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. “Wait, did you say other dimensions?”

Dax nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I’ve been obsessed with the theory of multiple existing realities ever since I was a kid! I could tell you all about it sometime.” He suddenly looked away bashfully. “Unless you think it’s lame, or that I’m crazy...”

“I actually think it’s really cool that you’re so passionate about it,” Poppy told him. “I’d like it if you told me more about multiple dimensions, as long as you’re comfortable with it, that is.”

Dax turned to her, his eyes shining brightly. “Of course! No one’s ever been interested in talking about alternate realities with me. Well, no one except for Kameron and Alyssa and Ha--”

He suddenly let out a loud gasp and pointed at the TV screen hanging above their booth. “Kameron, Alyssa! Don’t look now, you two, but I don’t think you’re the only superheroes in Northbridge!”

Kameron and Alyssa turned their attention to the screen to see a perky reporter and… a young man with gleaming bronze skin!

Alyssa’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute…”

“I’m Katherine, reporting live with Northbridge’s very own hero!”

“What?!”

“So,” the reporter turned to the man, grinning broadly, “you got a name, handsome?”

The man of bronze turned to the camera with a dazzling smile. Alyssa furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully.

“Sure do,” the man said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Talos, The Man of Bronze.”

“Oh, gee, that’s original,” Kameron rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wonder how long it took him to come up with that?”

“To all you criminals causing trouble, I’m only gonna say this once: either shape up, get out of my city—”

“His city?!” Kameron seethed.

“—or we’re not gonna get along. I’m keeping these streets safe, and that’s a promise!”

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you folks, but I’ll definitely be sleeping better knowing Talos is protecting the city!” Katherine beamed. “Especially since he’s already taken care of the thugs who attacked Prescott Industries just last Friday—”

“Wait a sec, did he just take credit for our fight against Tombstone?!” Kameron’s face had turned a dark shade of red, something Alyssa knew that never meant anything good.

“Kameron, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not okay!” Kameron snapped angrily; Alyssa was grateful that he was at least keeping his voice down. “We do all the hard work while that playboy gets all the credit?!”

“Well, at least it’s not just the two of you fighting crime,” Poppy spoke, trying to calm the angry teenage boy. “Plus, he’s really hot.”

Kameron and Dax stared at her incredulously.

“Really, Poppy?!”

“I’m just saying—”

“I know him.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to the young girl.

A faint lavender blush tinted her cheeks as she explained. “The night of the gala, after I blacked out, the last thing I remembered was a man with bronze skin pulling me out of the wreckage. I don’t know what else happened after that but I… I think he saved my life.”

The red had faded from Kameron’s face as he stared silently at his sister, then back at Talos’s cocky grin on the TV screen. Could that man have really saved his sister’s life? But what about…

“The DA’s son… he carried you out of the building,” Poppy said slowly. “We saw him.”

“It’s true,” Dax told Alyssa. “And he didn’t say anything about a man of bronze?”

Alyssa furrowed her eyebrows. “Maybe he ran off before the DA’s son could see him? The last thing I remember was him pulling me away from the fire… we were just at the door when I passed out.”

Dax cast a glance at Poppy and Kameron, then shrugged. “There was less smoke in that area, and the fire hadn’t spread that far yet. He could’ve left her there for someone to find.”

Kameron didn’t reply. His thoughts lingered to the waitress who had saved his life by slowing time; she had been caught in the blast along with him… and Meiko’s son. While he wasn’t entirely sure of his suspicions, he did know this: he and his sister were definitely not the only ones with power. The only question was would these other ‘supers’ be friends… or enemies?

***

Meanwhile, inside the Northbridge prison, Tombstone glowered in his cell. The blood had been cleaned off his face, but the dark bruises remained.

“Damn that Boy Scout,” he growled, wincing slightly as he rubbed his jaw. “Soon as I break outta here, I’m gonna make him and his pretty little sister pay.”

“I might be able to assist you with that.”

Tombstone‘s head shot up to see who had spoken to him. His eyes widened in shock as he instinctively took a step back.

“You?”

Silas watched him with an unreadable expression. “I imagine I’m the last person you expected to see here...” His eyes narrowed. “Especially after you had the audacity to hold my son for ransom.” Tombstone shrunk back at the dark look that had appeared on Silas’ face. It only lasted for an instant before Silas collected himself. “But never mind that. I have an offer for you and will not only pay you handsomely should you choose to accept, but give you your freedom, a chance for revenge… and purpose.”

Tombstone lowered his eyes thoughtfully. After a moment of thought, he looked back up at Silas with a wicked grin.

“Alright, I’m in… Boss”

Silas smiled pleasantly. “Excellent. I look forward to working with you, Mr… what should I call you?”

Tombstone’s grin grew wider.

“Call me Tombstone.”

[my-heart-in-his-teeth]

Mischief and the Maiden(Mature)

Thank God For Fan Fiction!

Maaaan, after seeing Infinity War I felt I needed to resurrect Disney Prince era Loki and walk around in that world for a while so I wrote a whole goddamn short story with the guy. Hope you like it!

Loki x OFC

Author’s Note: A sort of modern fairy tale that takes place a few years before the events in the first Thor- before everything went wrong for our favorite brat prince. There’s plot all up in this smut! (x-posted)

Summary:A couple of Asgardians take an awkward girl for a thief and steal her away to their realm to face justice from the prince himself. But nothing is as it seems when the God of Mischief is involved, it turns out being kidnapped might be the best thing that ever happened to her and her life will thankfully never be the same.

The tree had stood for centuries undisturbed as life rose and fell around it. Birds did not come to it. Animals circled long to avoid it's path and any man that happened to see it grew uneasy and continued on swiftly without wondering why. Moonlight broke through it's leafless branches casting a long. wirey shadow down the steep hillside. No one heard the wind that breathed out from inside of it as it's bark peeled open wide to allow two men to step out from it's shimmering depths.

The larger of the two men produced a small spherical mechanism from his cloak and raised it up in his palm, Light grew from within it and the golden pieces and gears began to move. The man eyed it's workings for a moment before closing it in his hand."We should not have to linger here long. It looks as though what we seek is just East of us."

"I hope you are right Eirik. I remind you that if we are caught on Midgard -" The other man began to chide before being cut off with a dismissive wave of his friend's hand.

"The amount of gold the prince is paying us to retrieve this trinket is far larger than the risk. He assures us this portal is hidden from even Heimdall's sight. Just think, if we finish this simple task , we will be in his favor. It is no small thing to be in the favor of a prince, Ivar" He winked and put the device back into the folds of his cloak.

"Yes, but all this secrecy.... "

"Even princes make mistakes." Eirik shrugged. " Can you blame him for not wanting the Allfather to discover one of his? Besides he made it very clear to me that he strongly abhors those who act in such a clandestine matter, but that at times it is...what did he call it? Oh yes: a necessary evil."

Ivar's eyes narrowed a bit and he nodded. When he'd learned of Eirik's errand to Midgard he had asked to join him and Eirik agreed readily. He didn't care about the promise of gold, his family had more than enough wealth, but he was keenly interested on the missteps of a prince of Asgard. However, he was not a very brave man and knew that Eirik wasn't a very wise one.

Seeing the look of concern on his friend's face, Eirik laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "Come Ivar, let us get on with it. You will see that you can truly trust the word of Prince Loki!"

At that, a touch of dread wafted through Ivar's being. He shook it off and continued on.

~~~

If there had been one thing Elaina could wish at that moment, it was that the world would abruptly come to a fiery end before he could speak again. But she wasn't one for wishing and he wasn't one to dance around what he wanted to say, and so out it came.

"I think we should see other people."

She wasn't really in love with him, but her stomach still dropped and a familiar coldness spread out from it leaving her physically numb yet unforgiveably focused on his words. He said nothing she hadn't heard before, but it still cracked at her heart. It just seemed they wanted different things, moved at different paces, he really liked her and hoped they could hang out soon, and so on and so on.

In her experience, when a guy told her that he wanted to see other people, half the time it meant he was already seeing them , but still wanted to keep his foot in her door, just in case.

He said he would call her next week and she said that would be great. They both knew they were lying, but this was just how these things seemed go.

She leaned against the door that she had both literally and figuratively shut on him and sighed. "Well."

The sudden soft drag of her cat's body against her ankle called her hands they and scooped him up, stroking his midnight fur. " That could have gone worse I suppose, Byron. I'm really getting better at being a complete romantic failure. " He purred and gazed at her through content, half lidded eyes. "Besides, you didn't like him anyway."

No, this wasn't heartbreak, but disappointment. Defeat. Of course she had thought he was different or she wouldn't have bothered trying. But the problem was that she was always the same. She wanted romance and didn't want to be rushed about it. She knew she was weird and too bookish for a lot of people's liking. She knew all about mythology and nineteenth century fairy tales but she couldn't tell you which Kardashion got fat sucked out of or injected into their body that week.

She didn't mesh well with the general public and attracted similar socially awkward types, yet the spark was never there with any of them and the relationships fizzled after a while. She still tried. She was early enough in her twenties that she hadn't given up on finding whatever she was looking for in someone else, but each dead end made her a bit more tired and apathetic about it.

She lowered Byron so he could step on to the green damask sofa where she would likely end up sleeping tonight after some wine and a good chunk of some book she'd already read. She crossed the room that was lined with cheap shelves overstuffed with books, half dead plants and the odd shrunken head and articulated bird skeleton. The books were hers, the oddities she had inherirted from her grandmother, who had owned a little curiosity shop and filled it with the many strange things aquired from her travels. Much of it had been sold off, but what wasn't took up residence here- including a small silver wine rack that always had at least one bottle of red in it.

As she poured herself a glass, she thought she saw light flicker from the shelf above her. She glanced up and it was gone, but there was something odd. Half hidden behind a pair of antique Matroyshka dolls and resting on the spines of a stack of Neil Gaimon paperbacks, a broken bit of carved stone caught her eye. It was nearly oblong, smooth on one side and jagged on the other and the only thing keeping it from being just a bit of broken rock were the reddish runes engraved there. Just then they looked brighter.

She raised up on her toes and squinted. Yes, they looked brighter, as though they had been shined up. But she hadn't dusted in...she had never dusted. She picked up the stone, it's cool weight covering her entire hand. She brought it to the couch and looked at it for a moment more before setting on the coffee table.

"Hmm." She eyed it suspiciously one more time, but as it didn't do anything more interesting than look cleaner, she picked up her book and eventually read herself asleep in the soft glow of a parlor lamp.

Her skin prickled under the cool brush of fingertips down her throat, across her breasts and up her thighs. The heat of breath was just behind her ear as a hand cupped her sex and another gently gripped the back of her neck, long fingers tilting her head towards the mouth that she kissed eagerly, allowing his tongue to slip gracefully over hers as she moaned softly into him. She was burning, the throb of desire between her legs almost painful as she wrapped her leg around his waist and pressed herself tightly against his hand, hips rotating until his fingers found her entrance and began to slide in-

Her eyes blinked open and she groaned in frustration. "Every fucking time!"

"Well, Eirik, this one has quite the mouth doesn't she?"

She made a small scream as she snapped up and spun off the couch and onto the floor. Two tall men dressed like they'd just come from a high end Ren faire were standing just behind the coffee table, inches from where her sleeping face had just been.

They were both tall and muscular, one was blonde and looked to be closer to her age, a greedy smirk sat above a patch of smooth hair that covered his chin. The other was older with reddish hair streaked with white that hung in waves down his back and shoulders He had a long beard of the same coloring with two impressive braids woven into it- he was also smirking, but only with his eyes. Christ- did they just watch me have a filthy dream? She may have blushed if not for all of the adrenaline.

"Get out!" She awkwardly yelled and scootched back until she hit a shelf and scrambled to her feet. The men made no move but to raise their eyebrows

The door to her apartment was open behind them and led directly outside. Her phone was on the table in front of them. She decided she couldn't get close to either quickly enough, so she bolted for her bedroom just down the hall behind her. She couldn't feel her legs as they propelled her, what felt like comically fast, into her door , flinging it wide open with the force of her shoulder before her hands had time to raise themselves in front of her. She slammed it shut and turned the lock on the handle, hoping that would grant her enough time to escape.

The windows seemed large enough to fit through, though she'd never once opened them. From there she could make it to the street and maybe a neighbor's house. She looked down at her bare feet. No time to remedy that. Her black dress dotted with red flowers stopped a few inches above her knee and likely wouldn't hinder her efforts to climb out.

There were two other apartments in her building, but they were both empty. No one was around to hear her screams as was murdered. Or maybe they just wanted to rob the place. Good luck with that, she thought as she unlocked the window and strained to push it open. I'm sure you guys will get loads of cash for my 8 year old laptop. Please enjoy that taxidermied squirrel as consolation for breaking into the house of a poor person.

She just managed to realize that the windows had been painted shut when she heard a loud CRACK. She turned in time to see the door, frame and all, land on the carpet. The blonde man looked down at it and then to his hands, holding them up in mock surprise. He lowered them slowly and met her wide eyes. "Apologies. I forgot that everything is so frail here." he looked her up and down tauntingly. "Come here, girl."

His face was actually quite handsome, but when he beckoned her with a smile, she froze. Nothing about him was friendly, especially that smile. His voice was coated in a strange accent and she started to realize that everything was off about him. The clothes he was wearing weren't just that of an obsessive Tolkien fan, they were completely foreign. What he wore looked more expensive than anything she owned. The fabrics, the boots, the sword- wait. SWORD? Yes, there sitting in a gilded scabbard attached to his belt. An actual sword.

The other man stepped into the room glancing down to the door and then to her. His eyes twinkled ever so slightly and she remembered to breathe. He seemed at least less menacing, but her heart was racing and her mind was trying desperately to rationalize what was happening. Her hands gripped onto the windowsill as though it were the only thing keeping her sanity tethered. He turned to his companion. "Ivar, perhaps we should leave the mortal. we have the stone. She would only be a burden."

"Nonsense, Eirik!" He approached her casually, that smile never fading and his dark eyes locking on to her, proclaiming her his prey. Every bit of her tensed the closer he came. He stopped inches in front of her and bent his face close to hers. "You aren't going to be a burden are you?"

Being that close to him made her skin crawl with his every word. She snapped then and pushed off of the windowsill, diving for the door, knowing she wouldn't make it.

His arm easily wrapped around her waist and she screamed and punched and clawed at him, to absolutely no avail. He laughed. "She's got fight!" And flung her to the bed.

The red-bearded man moved quickly to place his arm across her torso, pinning her in place, and covered her mouth with his hand. His eyes were calm as they looked into hers. " No harm will come to you. but you cannot fight us, and will only hurt yourself trying." His voice was even and slightly scolding. "Now I am going to take my hands off of you, but you must compose yourself or you will force my friend to tie you up." He leaned closer to her, his beard tickled her cheek and he winked. "And he would probably enjoy that far too much."

He released her and she sat up, tugging her skirt which had fallen far up her thighs. Unsurprisingly, when she looked over to Ivar he was watching her, licking his lips. She didn't hide her grimace and that seemed to amuse him.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Mortal. Redbeard-the one the other called Eirik, he had used the word 'mortal'. Who uses that word outside of an Anne Rice novel? Then things began to click together. The door. Knocked off it's hinges at the touch of his hand. They were too strong. Too strange. It was dark out. Holy shit.

"Ohhh," She slid off the bed and stood up cautiously and turned to face them. "...kaaay." Her hands instinctively went to her throat and her eyes quickly went to the wall next to her dresser where she kept her necklaces hanging neatly on several tiny hooks. One of them was a cross that held no actual spiritual value to her, but she began to inch towards it anyway. the men paid her no mind.

"Ivar, let's leave the girl. I'm sure the stone will suffice." Eirik again urged his friend. He held up the broken stone with the now glowing red runes and examined it. " Hmm...I thought it would be bigger."

She stopped inching and her eyes widened with realization. "That stone! I knew it was acting strangely! That's what this is about?"

"Yes" Ivar answered. "We were sent to bring it back," he leaned down toward her and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "Along with whomever stole it."

"What?! I didn't steal anything!That thing belonged to my grandmother." She pointed an defensive finger at him. "And don't think of saying that she stole it either! She was far more Antiques Roadshow than Tomb Raider.' She paused at the mental image. "Look, take the stone, just please leave me here. Alive."

"It's not us you'll have to convince, girl. Besides, we have come a long way and I would very much like to enjoy your company on the journey home." He clapped his hands together. "And perhaps if you are found innocent , the prince will let me keep you."

Nausea rolled into her stomach. Prince?

Eirik regarded Ivar with a knowing smile. "So that's why you were so eager to accompany me on this journey despite you known loathing for the prince. You wanted a wee bit of plunder for yourself."

"Well," Ivar sighed. " I do enjoy my baubles. And this one is quite pretty, do you not agree? Midgardian slaves do still find their way to our realm now and then. No one would even notice or care that she were there. And as for the prince, my opinion on him matters not. The throne will never be his."

The stone disappeared into the fold's of Eirik's cloak and he chuckled. "You seem so certain of that! But I do not wonder why. tell, me how many spies do you have employed to keep a watch on him? What is it you expect to uncover?"

"Oh, don't be foolish! He has been scheming against his brother and the realm for ages. there have been whispers but never proof. My family has employed dozens to gather information to expose him. Once I have that I will go to the king."

"It is no small thing to be in the favor of the king." Eirik said, raising an eyebrow. "But I do hope you will not include this little adventure in your report."

"Of course not, my friend." Ivar's smile said.

She watched their exchange and her abhorrence for Ivar grew. Even she could see he was lying, but unfortunately for her, Eirik seemed to be the more trusting and passive of the two.

Ivar started toward her and she felt a scream involuntarily begin to rise in her throat.

"No , no. Let me." Eirik strode in front of him, holding something small and glowing amber in his hand. "If she is for the prince, then it is my duty to make sure she is unscathed." He held her fast around the waist. his eyes were still calm, and still twinkling as he looked down on her, his face otherwise unreadable beneath that great red beard.

"Wait," she whispered. "Just please tell me..." she swallowed hard and forced her brain to override how ridiculous her next question was. "Are you a ...vampire?"

She saw Eirik throw his head back and heard the start of his bellowing laughter, then the light in his hand grew bright, entering her eyes and enveloping everything in it's glow until there was only silence and the dark.