#but i now realize that that choice of image might seem...odd haha

[thenightisland]

I have a question: why is your header the Las Vegas sign??????

[philipgirvan]

My review of Afterlife With Archie no longer appears on the Comic Hunter blog so am posting it here:

While drafting this blogpost I wondered if others had this love/hate relationship with Archie Comics so I polled a number of people via Facebook to get their thoughts. Here’s a sample:

I read them as a kid, and I'm embarrassed about that now. (Sexist, demeaning, traditional gender roles, lack of diversity all the way around.) I guess it was mostly because they were readily available that I read them. And maybe it's crap like that, and growing up in the Catholic Church, that helped me to become/realize I was a feminist, which I am grateful for. Better to be awake than in the dark.

I read them and liked them but I always thought they promoted 'the American dream', white Pickett fence type of thing... Also had horrible values for women... Archie would getting loving from the hot evil woman and when she didn't want him he ran back to the girl next door who was waiting for him always... They always made fun of the dumb, ugly and out of town people... Riverdale was a place you had to earn your stripes greaser style and be home in time for supper... Fun to read though haha

I loved Betty & Veronica storylines best, like all the girls. I was reading them probably between the ages of 8-12?? I think they informed my understanding of male vs female roles....hmmmm, that explains a lot!

I never understood a freaking bloody moment of that crap and HATED it....still do. I also hate anyone who read it. Hate.

Loved Archie comics as a kid, and have bought the odd digest as an adult for mindless reading on long flights. I identified with Betty and thought of my older sister as Veronica. I was mostly interested in all of the female characters (B & V, Josie + Pussycats, Sabrina, etc)- their hairstyles, fashion choices, taste in boys, etc. For some even stranger reason, I loved the beach comics the best in a kind of a 'Beach Blanket Bingo' way.

The outright sexist content is too much. recent readings of current issues prove they reinforce negative gender stereotypes, female competition, bad self image values lower class putdowns, and many more negative aspects. The sunny, vintage illustrations hide a truth based out of bad values & sexual manipulation. We have put a stop on them in our house.

I read them and remember thinking at one point how odd it was that I continued to do so despite never really laughing.

Ok so Archie Comics. My best friend … used to read them. She and her sister had dozens and they would be scattered everywhere; piles of them under the bed and being a voracious little reader, of course I checked them out. Yes, I was a kid who would go over to play at someone's house and start reading their books. Ok so I HATED those comics. And I was shocked. How could I hate something my best friend liked? I hated everything about the comics : the story line, the graphics, and the characters. I had a sense that I was supposed to relate to either Betty or Veronica and I had a sense it was supposed to be the dark haired one that I would relate to, but I still hated her. I felt like the stories were about a world that didn't fit with mine at all, and I could sense what the comic wanted me to think and feel but that it Just Wasn't Right. And on some level, it frightened me that there was this Thing in my world that was clearly cool with lots of others, that I wished didn't exist. At that age I was still frightened by being 'a little different' but the evidence was mounting. Thank you for this little morning homework assignment. I still hate Archie.

I never ever touched it, I recall picking one up when I was a kid and thinking how out dated it seemed. Looking back now, the themes are relevant, but it obviously screams of an era.

My friends’ responses encouraged me that I wasn’t being unduly critical of Archie Comics. To me, the most annoying thing about Archie comics is that nothing bad ever happens. Archie’s car might get a flat tire. Jughead’s belly aches from eating 100 hamburgers. Reggie takes a beating. No big whoop. It rung false when I was a little kid and it sure as hell rung false when I actually entered adolescence and learned what kind of horrible bastards fill this mortal void.

Riverdale is a weird version of the suburban white bread American Dream. While we saw the dark side of this in movies like Blue Velvet and Pleasantville, bad things don’t happen in Archie Comics.

Bad things do happen In Afterlife with Archie #1. The worst things you can imagine. Awful horrible stuff, drawn grotesquely, gruesomely, and gloriously. Archie’s still a player, but he’s dropped the bow-tie and the sweater. Reggie’s still a weasel, but, for the first time, has remorse for his craven actions. The story pivots on Jughead, his friendship with Archie, and mainly his relationship to his faithful mutt, Hot Dog. I’m not going further discuss the plot except to say that Sabrina the Teenage Witch features prominently and her aunts Hilda and Zelda are finally portrayed as proper witches and not just a couple of odd ladies in funny hats. Afterlife with Archie #1 is hands down the best Archie comic I’ve ever read. It’s hands down the best comic I’ve read all year. If you haven’t read it, read it. And place your order for #2. These suckers are selling out fast.

[hajimewhore]

Body Swap 👫 (Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader) ➸Rated T, fem!Reader, 1.9k words   ➷✈Part 1, Part 2   ➷Humor, awkwardness involved, if you’re me and I’m you who’s flying the plane?!   ➷Summary: When you woke up at fuck o’clock on a Sunday morning, you cursed yourself for setting an alarm so early on the weekend. Afterwards, you came to realize a few important things: 1. You didn’t set the alarm. 2. Hajime set the alarm. 3. You were in Hajime’s room. 4. Why? 5. Because you ARE Hajime.

A/N: I’m taking forever on this Akaashi fic so I decided to throw this series out here, I hope you enjoy!🥺 Body swap is a trope I find absolutely chaotic and hilarious, so let’s get it! 

♡ ♡ ♡

Releasing a deep sigh, you pull your warm comforter over your face to hide the light peaking in from your blinds.

You're almost positive you closed the blinds and pulled the curtain over the prior night, but the thought doesn't sit much longer as you're lulled back into your slumber.

Hearing your alarm blare, a groan scratches at your throat as you smack your bedside desk, missing your phone entirely. Was your voice always this deep when you first wake up? You chalk it up to morning grogginess, deciding not to dwell on it any longer due to the obnoxious ringtone.

Also, did you even set an alarm? The thought sits at the back of your mind as you fiddle blindly for the sleep button.

It's Sunday, why would you even set one so early? How did you fuck that up?

Sitting upright, you blink blearily. Something feels off.

This isn't even your phone. These aren't your covers either...

The Godzilla posters decorating the walls definitely aren't yours, and this most certainly is not your room.

‘Hajime?’

You think looking around. This is definitely Hajime’s room. You hadn’t been in it in awhile, but it’s unmistakable.

You wrack your brain for the missing details, unfortunately coming to no result or explanation.

Why are you in Hajime’s room?! You didn’t drink last night, so there's no explanation for the missing details in your memory for how you wound up in his sheets. Also, he isn’t here currently.

What the hell?

Shoving the covers aside, you immediately notice your... significantly more masculine figure.

“What the fu—AH!”

Your surprisingly gruff voice startles you. Though, it’s not so much your voice, but Hajime’s.

Stumbling out of bed, nearly tripping over your tired legs, you barrel into Hajime's bathroom to check the mirror.

And despite all the clues handed to you, you're still completely stunned to see who's staring back at you in the mirror.

Your childhood best friend, Iwaizumi Hajime.

Cupping your hand over your mouth to stifle a scream, you pace back to the bedroom.

'It's a dream haha. A hyper realistic, very detailed, dream.'

You attempt to convince yourself as you slip back into the sheets, still warm, cursing your subconscious for forcing this abnormal dream onto your unwitting self.

Squeezing your eyes shut, twisting and turning, willing away your current situation, you realize... nothing is happening.

‘God damnit.’

You don't know who's fault this is, but it's probably Tooru's.

If you're Hajime then, yes you're starting to accept this fucked up situation, that that must mean Hajime is...

Shooting back up to a sitting position, you curse at the ache in your abdominal region. Jesus, how hard did Hajime go at practice?

Also, you can't believe you have Hajime’s abs right now.

Throwing on a random t-shirt and pair of sweats, decidedly not thinking about his abs, and how he was sleeping in briefs only, you jogs downstairs like a mad man.

Completely forgoing shoes, you cross the street and use the hidden key stuck in a potted plant to open the front door.

You're positive by now your parents have left for work, and Tooru is more than likely sleeping in after staying up late last night (no doubt pouring over tournament videos), so there's no chance for interruption from either party.

Not that your parents would question Hajime's presence, but you really aren't in the mood for doing small talk with your own parents while pretending to be Hajime.

You head straight up the stairs for your room, swinging the door wide open.

“That’s... me.... augh, this is so weird!”

You run a hand through your hair, almost startled by the different texture. This will definitely take some getting used to. 

...Also, was Hajime’s hair always this soft?

You physically dash that train of thought from your mind, shaking your head. You remind yourself of the task at hand and your current dilemma, crossing the threshold of your room.

You shuffle over to the bed, climbing on top of the covers.

If that’s Hajime, he’s no doubt gonna freak out over seeing himself wake himself up.

Well, you might as well have fun with it.

“Hajime!”

You shake... yourself, watching your eyes blink open.

“Wha—?”

The physical-You blinks awake, catching eyes with physical-Hajime.

“What the f—”

You cover presumably Hajime's mouth (you're mildly hoping there hasn't been an awful three-way swap between you two and Tooru),

"Hajime! Confess to your sins!"

"I— What the fuck?! I haven't done anything! You're— How are you me! I'm me! Why is my voice—"

Hajime is quite clearly panicking and word vomiting his stress. And while it was a little funny at first, you're starting to feel a bit bad.

"Alright alright, before you go full panic, look in the mirror. I know this seems like bullshit, but it’s me!”

You lean back, gesturing to the mirror above the dresser.

Hajime’s eyes furrow, following your gesture before locking eyes with... Your eyes in the mirror.

But that’s definitely him moving like that, lifting his arms, tilting his head. Or rather, your arms, your head, fuck, this is confusing.

“Why the fuck am I you?” after a momentary pause, “What did Oikawa do?” 

Hajime snarls, and it sounds odd coming from your tone.

“I was hoping you’d know the answer to that. I came here as soon as I woke up.”

“Well, this all better be a really fucked up, disgustingly realistic dream I’m having.”

Hajime sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“I really don’t think it is. I already went through that crisis.”

You pout, and Hajime raps you on the forehead.

“Don’t make faces like that with my face, you’re freaking me out!”

“Me? You have the biggest resting bitch face ever! It’s scary on me!”

His expression softens marginally, after a deep frown.

“Well... I guess we should figure out a way to fix this.”

“How’re we gonna do that!?”

You whine, and Hajime cringes at the way it sounded coming out of his mouth.

“No clue. In the mean time, we should try and keep this a secret and attend classes like normal. Also—”

He cuts himself, frowning deeply.

“What?”

“Shittykawa. Volleyball.”

“Aw fuck!”

You groan, falling back into your sheets at the foot of the bed.

“How are we gonna pull that off?!”

“Just talk to Oikawa like I would, and I’m sure I could... do the same.”

You somehow doubt that will work, and you can plainly see Hajime is going to have an issue conversing with Tooru in your mannerisms. Tooru has known the both of you longer than anyone else, and tends to be perceptive in and out of volleyball. Regardless, you have no choice but to have faith in Hajime's plan, even if it is lacking the finer details.

“As far as volleyball...?”

You tilt your head, chewing at your cheek at the thought of club activities in an entirely different body. Hajime rubs his hair, briefly startled by it being... not his hair.

You bring up very valid concerns. He's the ace of his team, you're a middle blocker for the women's team. Neither of you are especially privy to your respective team's plays or teammates.

“I’m sure we’ll catch on fast. We’ll just have to spend today teaching each other everything we need to know. At least we both know how to play, even if it’s different positions.”

He locks eyes with you slumped in the sheets, trying not to picture it as himself laying back in your bed. Realistically, it is him, but it isn't his mind. But now is not the situation whatsoever to be thinking about the suggestiveness of that image, so he shakes the thoughts from his head.

“Mm, guess you’re right. As far as school goes, our class schedule is pretty similar, so we can just study together. How bout we get ready and practice volleyball at the park?”

The unspoken ‘before Tooru wakes up’ hangs off your lips.

“Alright, I’ll get ready.”

He stands from the bed, before freezing and blushing heavily.

“Absolutely not!”

You match his blush, sitting upright in a flash.

“I-I’ll help you get ready! Just keep your eyes closed!”

You cry out, and Hajime turns his nose with a heavy blush.

“Like I’d open them!”

“Better yet—“

You snatch your uniform tie from your bedside table, wrapping it around Hajime’s eyes.

After tying off the makeshift blindfold, you ponder what transgressions you must have committed in your past life to be here undressing yourself as Hajime.

“God, this is so weird.”

You whine, awkwardly tugging your, Hajime’s, clothes off.

“How do you think I feel?!”

He snaps, but there’s less venom in the tone due to the pitch of your voice. There is a classic Hajime ring to it though, and your mildly impressed he pulled that off with your natural voice.

You make quick work of dressing him in athletic wear, not wanting to suffer in the stifling awkwardness any longer than necessary.

He removes the tie from his eyes, averting his gaze with pink still dusting his features.

“...”

“What now?”

You're worried to hear what he’s contemplating, and you certainly don’t like the sheepish, awkward expression stretching across his features.

“I really have to pee.”

“Haaaajiiimeee! Just hold it!”

You turn scarlet, and he glares.

“I can’t hold it forever! And who knows when we’ll be able to turn back. We might as well break the seal now.”

Ordinarily that kind of wording would be humorous, but you can’t find anything funny about the situation you’re currently in. Hajime stomps towards the bathroom, looking not unlike a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

‘Damn, I really look like that?’

♡ ♡ ♡

“I can’t go with you staring at me!”

Hajime growls out, makeshift blindfold back in place. He has an inkling that he’ll be wearing this a lot now, but he can say for certain he never thought he’d be using a blindfold in this manner.

“You can’t even see me!”

“That’s not the point, I know you’re standing there!”

“Ugh, this is so humiliating! Just get it over with!”

You huff, slamming the door shut and flopping unceremoniously onto your bed, shoving your face into the pillows.

You hear the rush of water, good to know he washes his hands, and Hajime steps out of the bathroom feeling.... new, for lack of a better word.

“You’ll have to deal with it too, you know.”

He turns his nose, drying his hands on his pants, cheeks still hot.

“...I already did.”

You huff, and Hajime cries out with indignation at the revelation.

“What the fuck? And you made such a big deal out of—”

“You’re really packing!”

You stick your tongue out, and Hajime moves to legitimately strangle you and make an attempt at your life, not caring if it’s his own body.

“H-Hajime please, I was kidding, I haven’t gone yet, I swear!”

“Whatever!”

Upon closer inspection, you look way less threatening than Hajime ever did, but you hold back the snicker before Hajime can get too pressed about it.

“Let’s just go back to my place and get ready for practice.”

He huffs, trailing out of your room as you follow, relieved he’s calmed a bit.

Your relief is short lived however, and a panic washes over you when you think about how you'll have to go through Hajime forcing his clothes onto you.  

[Masterlist] [✈Part 1, Part 2]

[andromedarune]

[Vampire!Leon/Witch!Reader] “A Night of Tricks and Treats” (Halloween Fic~!)

A/N: HAHA, I did it! It’s later than I wanted to post this, but it’s here! So enjoy the story that y’all voted for: A Vampire!Leon AU, with cute/fun elements, and a black dahlia thrown into the mix (along with other creative liberties). Thanks to everyone who voted on that poll - this one’s for you!

Vampire!Leon x Witch!Reader - “A Night of Tricks and Treats”

Word Count: ~3k

Rating: Teen (mild blood, reference to death, adult language, spooky stuff)

The third set of feverish knocks on your front door pulled a frustrated groan from your lips. You were finally drifting off to sleep when some rando decided to assault your door at some ungodly time in the night (or morning, since you checked your phone to see that it was a quarter past three). Pouted lips set on your face, you groggily slip out of bed, hardly bothering to grab the cardigan that you kept slung over your desk chair. Another fit of knocks was just starting up when you threw open the door, ready to say a few choice words to your unfortunate visitor.

But unfortunately for you, this wasn’t just any visitor.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Leon gave a cheery smile, oblivious as ever.

Ah. Maybe you should have put on some better clothes. But you’re already this far in - you decide to just play along like nothing’s wrong. Knowing him, you’d at least have a couple of minutes before the awkward sets in.

“Uh, yeah… You do realize it’s three in the morning, right?”

Leon shrugged.

“I’m aware, but it’s so much easier getting here at night. You have no idea how annoying paparazzi can be…” You sink in your hip a bit, watching his eyes flit down past your head for the briefest of moments. He tries to meet your gaze again, but the awkward smile twitching with some odd emotion that settled onto his face cues you in that he most definitely noticed.

The weather’s been oddly warm despite it already being autumn, so you were still wearing your summer pajamas. Which, of course, were a simple set of purple Wooloo PJs. Short-shorts that were baggy and comfy, a tank top that was equally baggy and comfy. Nothing scandalous, but definitely more revealing than what you normally wear.

You can practically hear the dial-up sounds going on in Leon’s mind as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, one hand tangling itself around a strand of that obnoxiously long purple hair, him just desperate to find something to distract himself with. It’s kind of fun to watch, actually.

“Did you need something?” you eventually sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as a hint of self-consciousness rumbles through your gut.

“A-ah, right!” he snaps out of it and lifts up his arm. Carefully pulling back the sleeve of his casual red hoodie, he reveals to you his forearm. A large, dark-colored burn covers most of the arm, even reaching down to his fingertips. You can’t help but wince, leaning forward for a closer look. “I, um, could use some of your help with this, if you don’t mind.”

“Again, really, Leon?” you can’t help but scold him a bit. He laughs, anyways. “This is the third time this month - one of these days there’s not gonna be much of you left to heal.”

He mutters a soft apology, but you’re still playing like you’re irritated with him and spin around into your living room. You don’t make it far before you realize that Leon’s still standing just before the threshold.

“Oh, right - you can come in.”

“Thanks,” Leon sighs in relief, still holding his arm with a smile.

Just like always, you guide him through your house, leading the significantly taller man down the halls towards a dark down just at the opposite end of your little cottage house. Expertly, you unlock the mystical mechanism that you yourself created (probably seven or eight years ago now? Man, how time flies) to reveal the ominous, shadowy basement. The two of you descend down the steps; you pass by a set of candles and light them with a snap of the fingers, a sight that surely puts stars in Leon’s eyes. He’s always been a sucker for parlor tricks like that.

Leon waddles over to the simple wooden chair you have waiting near the center of the room, taking a seat to watch as you tugged on your long black cloak (the one you made a habit to keep hanging down here for these very instances) and began pulling out various ingredients from one of the numerous cabinets that lined the upper walls of the room.

“Wish you’d just commit to being nocturnal, already,” you couldn’t help but sigh, checking the date you had written on the little jar of beeswax you were inspecting. “If you keep getting injured like this, your healing abilities might become permanently disabled.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still champion,” he laughed, seeming more amused by your reaction than anything. “I can’t just step down for no reason.”

“Sure you can.” You climbed up onto a lower shelf to dig further into a cabinet. You left that jar of chamomile here somewhere. “Gym leaders do it all the time.”

“It’s different for champions. We’re the best of the best, the image of the ideal trainer for our region. Galar isn’t known for giving up, so that’s not an option I’m willing to consider.”

You almost settle for the bag of rosemary, only to quickly set it back in the cabinet. That would be bad, using rosemary on Leon. You were trying to heal him, here, not destroy the guy. You decide to check another cabinet.

“I know, I know, Mr. Unbeatable Champion. I’m just saying that it hasn’t even been a year since you’ve turned and now I’ve basically become your primary medical provider. And you don’t even pay me!”

“I pay you!” He whines a bit before pausing, no doubt trying to think of instances of proper “payment”. “I, um… Well, I’ll pay you back this time!”

You finally find the chamomile, and even stumble upon that jar of honey you were looking for earlier today (of course, they were both behind the several jars of cinnamon sticks). So you throw the man a perked eyebrow while walking over to your giant black cauldron, which rested within a rustic brick fireplace.

“Oh yeah? What have you, Good Sir Champion, have to offer to the likes of me?”

“Name your price and I’ll double it.”

You snicker, lighting the fire with a clap of the hands rather than snapping. You can barely catch Leon’s amazed smile from this far away. How is any of that exciting for someone like you, you can help but wonder. Champion, genuinely cool guy, recently-turned vampire… still gets amused at basic baby magic. Same ol’ Lee.

“Hm, that’s a bold offer, young man,” you muse, adding a dramatic raspiness that makes you sound like some aged witch from a shitty Blockbuster horror film. “A wise man would think twice before dealing with a witch~.”

“Please,” he snickered, “you still call me to catch baby Joltiks that wander into your house. Don’t even try.”

A playfully sour look from you spurs a booming fit of laughter from your old friend. You hide your smile by turning away, focusing more on getting some dandelions to add to the mix. A small bag of garlic slumps over in the cabinet, so of course you grab it and reveal it to the man. He instinctively leans back a bit, a nervous grin settling onto his face.

“Hey, maybe this’ll add some extra zing to your salve, huh?”

“Uh, n-no thanks…”

“That’s what I thought,” you cackle, tossing the garlic away. Thoroughly satisfied with what you have, you dump a shit-ton of beeswax into the cauldron, watching it slowly melt before adding in the other items. While all that boils away, you wander over to your other writing desk, skipping past your grimoire in favor of digging into a drawer. There, you retrieve a small glass vial and a bag of jumbo marshmallows; those in hand, you walk back over to where Leon resides.

“Time for the secret ingredient.”

“It’s not really a secret ingredient if I already know what it is,” he frowned.

“Shut up and open wide.”

He rolls his eyes a bit, but does as he’s told. If you didn’t already know the truth here, you might have not seen anything unhuman about his teeth. Overly white from years of meticulous care and likely bleaching or whitening strips (though the thought of Leon walking around at night with whitening strips on his teeth nearly made you choke on your spit), but otherwise normal-looking human teeth. However, you knew better, and peered a little closer to his canines. Sure enough, you could see it; a slight shimmer, something like seeing heat rising off the earth during the summer, wavy and hardly noticeable. You took a marshmallow in one hand, the vial in the other; expertly, you stabbed the treat into one fang and simultaneously propped up the vial against the other tooth. Leon flinched a bit (“It feels really weird,” he had told you one time, following the same procedure the night he needed a quick fix after accidentally grabbing one of his grandmother’s rosaries when cleaning up his mother’s house, “kinda like I’m spitting with my teeth. Yuck.”). In seconds, small spurts of a dark, sort-of maroon-colored liquid fills up most of the vial. You give it a few seconds more before pulling away, taking a moment to drain the liquid from the marshmallow before offering the remains to the champion. He childishly takes it with glee, stuffing it into his mouth with that stupid smile on his face (goddamn his smile was gorgeous, but it’s way easier to just say that it was stupid, instead).

With the last and most important ingredient, you return to your work, carefully pouring the vial’s sibylline contents into the concoction. You pick up the large wooden spoon that hangs over the fireplace and give a few generous stirs.

“Y’know,” you hear Leon’s footsteps creeping up behind you, keeping a slow, leisurely pace as he meanders around the room, “this really wasn’t the future I thought for us when we were kids.”

You exhale a chuckle from your nose. You almost say that you feel the same, but the fear of him inquiring further about what you did envision makes you choose a different set of words.

“Don’t even think about getting all Byronic on me,” you peered over your shoulder. He simply smiles at you - an even stupider smile - hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way towards you. “I’m not going to listen to you moan and groan about your tragic fate for all eternity.”

He chuckles, something surprising soft instead of his regular bone-shattered laugh.

“Of course not. I’m just saying that I figured we’d be, y’know, doing other things.” You try not to think about what he could mean by that. “But I’m not really against this. I don’t think I would’ve found out about your little shop of horrors down here, otherwise.”

He’s got a good point there. Literally the only reason you admitted to your secret life as a decently skilled witch was the night he turned. You could still remember it all; he stumbled into your house, desperately holding his wound with that terrified look in his eye, as if he was looking at Death, itself. You’d never personally treated a victim of vampire’s night out (not a live one, anyway), but you did everything in your power to keep Leon alive. But you knew that it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to wake up the next morning, having survived a night of literal death in slow-motion. Not so many victims were so fortunate to make it through the process, but like hell you were about to let your childhood friend die like that. So now he knew your secret, and you protected his. At least you didn’t have to worry about the two of you drifting apart any time soon, especially with him always forgetting basic vampyric flaws like sunlight all the time.

He settles beside you, offering a soft smile.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really grateful to know someone like you. You’ve got better things to be doing, and yet you always make time to bring me back after I do something stupid again and again.”

You look into his eyes a moment too long before looking back into your task. The gooey mixture, now dyed a deep red, bubbled down below, seeming almost alive.

“You make it sound like I just started doing this. I’ve been patching you up since kindergarten.”

“Fair enough. But still… I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. So, thank you.”

He’s got that look in his eyes again, golden irises burning brighter than ever, and he’s far too close for you to be comfortable. So, logically, you look even deeper into your cauldron, grateful that the darkness of the room likely hides your ever-burning cheeks. Thankfully, the brew looks just about ready. You reach over and grab a small bowl from the table nearby, spooning some of the waxy goo into its hold.

From birth, it had been decided that you would carry on your mother’s family tradition of witchcraft. And you have - with much pride - and it’s become your greatest secret that would spell disaster should it be learned by the wrong people. You didn’t make many friends, but Leon’s dumb smile was so infectious that you were always drawn to him, even if he drove you bat-shit with his innocent antics. The two of you were close for so long, but after he became champion, things became a bit more strained. You figured that it wouldn’t be long before he forgot about you altogether - but then last year’s “incident” happened, and now a whole new understanding unknown to much of the world had formed between you both. You knew it was far too late to ever consider confessing any of your possible feelings for him (feelings of annoyance, you always told yourself - what an unfortunate lie that’s come to be), but now here you were, likely stuck as his clandestine nurse for the rest of your mortal life. And then what? You’d be reincarnated, would likely stumble upon memories of your past lives (such is the fate of those who take on the witch’s mantle), and see the man you once loved (or loathed, as you’d rather say) finding someone else to take care of him in your absence. For him, it’d hardly feel like a change. But for you, it’d truly be a fate beyond that of death or eternal damnation. You should be happy that he has a reason to stay with you for the rest of your life, but instead, all you can feel is a bitter aftertaste that you have no choice but to suffer through.

“I can’t say I believe in fate,” you shrug your shoulders, “but every now and then the stars align in such a way that has us thinking that God has a sense of humor.”

Leon chuckles again, but you don’t really know. He doesn’t really know what you’re referring to. Right?

You shuffle him back over to the chair, sitting him down and resting his arm across the armrest. As gentle as possible, you spread the salve across the burn area, letting it soak in a bit before applying a second coating that you massage into his skin. Leon watches with that dumb, stupid, bothersome smile of his; you make a point never to meet those eyes, not when you’re so close to him like this.

After a few minutes, you give an affirmative nod and pull back, inspecting the injury. Sure enough, it’s already starting to lighten up.

“Looks like we got power in the healing department,” you smirk. “You’re all ready to go, Good Sir Champion.”

“Not quite.” You must’ve made a weird face, because he’s quickly backtracking, rubbing the back of his neck with a laugh. “I mean, uh, I still have to pay you back double, right? You never said what kind of payment you want.”

You don’t like the way he phrased that. No, you hate the way he phrased that. It’s got your mind in all sorts of a jumble, now. So as quick as you can (before you accidentally say something stupid), you make up a response.

“Flowers.”

Okay that’s really fucking dumb.

Leon quirks his eyebrows at you, seeming amused once more.

“I, uh, I mean,” you stumble for words, hoping to dig yourself out of this hole you’ve thrown yourself into with one stupid word. “What I mean is… I’ve been looking for a specific set of flowers for this spell I’m working on, but they don’t really sell them in stores nearby. So, uh, yeah. Get me flowers.”

“Flowers? For a spell?”

“For a spell,” you affirm.

“Okay,” there’s a strange tone to his voice that you don’t really want to try and decipher, “I can do that. What, uh… what kind of flowers do you want - er, what kind do you need? For the spell?”

You run through a mental list of all the most non-romantic flowers you can think of. Unfortunately, you like flowers, so all of them kinda felt romantic. God fucking dammit.

“Uh… dahlia’s? Black dahlia’s - yeah, those’ll be good. For the spell.”

“Right, the spell,” he nods, glancing off to the side for a millisecond. “I think I can do that, yeah. For a second, I was kind of scared you were gonna make me get a bunch of super poisonous flowers. Not sure how I would explain that one to my bank.”

“Y-yeah, right.”

A brief (and awkward) silence settles over the two of you. Eventually, Leon moves to get up; you shuffle a few steps back to give him enough space to stretch.

“Well, thanks again for helping me - I feel a thousand times better. I swear, you’re a better doctor than, well, actual doctors.”

You smirk with a smidge of pride. “Magic is just a science that hasn’t been accepted yet. And it looks cooler, too.”

“Maybe you can teach me a few things, some time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, playfully glaring in such a way that has him laughing just at the sight of it.

“That’ll cost you more flowers, Lee - are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want - any kind you want.”

You wait a minute for him to backtrack, or to say “For the spell” in a rushed manner like always. But that’s it, the end of the sentence. He just stands there, smiling in that stupid way evermore, eyes focused entirely on you.

It’s a look that you can hardly describe, the look in his eyes at that moment. It pulls something from your chest that you had spent years keeping locked up tight.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You don’t know what scares you more - the fact that you said that, or the fact that he grins even brighter.

You’re the witch here, and yet he’s the one trapping you in this terrible enthrallmetn that has you seeing stars with just that stupid-dumb smile of his. It’s hard to blame it on his status or his altered state of humanity when this has always been the case. No, that’s just the kind of person Leon has always been and (hopefully) always will be. And you would likely be stuck with this (gorgeous) idiot for the rest of your mortal life.

It’s got your heart beating faster - you can’t tell if it’s from fear or from excitement. Maybe both. Most likely both.

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Gormless Ch. 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband.  In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England.  Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag.  She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon.  He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok.  Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything.  Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government.  She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

There’s some mysterious force that’s turning the Vampires and werewolves into humans. Alexia is in charge of figuring out that deal, and she is doing a bad job at it.  Her husband is in charge of the Supernatrual Police (BUR) so he’s going to Scotland about it.

There’s a dude named Channing who wants to punch and have sex with Alexia, and Ivy is getting married to some rich slub, even though she’s in wub with Maccon’s servant Tunstell.

Alexia’s hubby told her to go to a hat store for mysterious plot reasons, she brings her dopey friend Ivy.  The hat store is run by a hot lesbian and as they’re chatting BOOM an explosion! GOLLY WHAT’S NEXT!?

Chapter 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

This chapter starts off totally under described.  Basically the explosion shook the hats on their nice dangling hooks, and turned out the lights.  They don’t even describe it as unbalancing Alexia.  So the whole next bit makes so little sense.  She first reacts by feeling around for Ivy.  She finds Ivy has fainted…cause okay? Ivy is whispering about Tunstell though so she’s like, “YEAH MY FRIEND UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR AFTER AN EXPLOSION IS FINE! BYE LOSER!”

She immediately starts scurrying around for that secret passage she thought she saw earlier. Finds it, goes in, and down an elevator. I just…I was so flummoxed that this was her first response?  All it would take for this to make more sense is to write, “It sounded as if the explosion happened below them, and Alexia would bet you 100 pounds that this secret passage would lead her straight to it. And what if someone was hurt down there?”

It seemed so bizarre for her to go, “EXPLOSION? I’M GOING TO MAKE A BEELINE FOR THE SECRET PASSAGE! MY FRIEND OUT COLD? WHATEVER!”

When she gets down there she finds a messy workshop, where a small explosion clearly took place.  She finds LeFoux yelling at a child and there’s a ghost lady just chilling there.  The gist of the conversation is that the child threw a rag soaked in ETHER into a huge furnace which caused the explosion.  The boy is just like, “lol it went bang.”  And Alexia thinks that’s hilarious and reintroduces herself. LeFoux has to remark that WOW ISN’T LADY MACCON SMART FOR FINDING OUT THE SECRET PASSAGEWAY? GOSH I KNOW I CONFIRMED IT TO HER MINUTES AGO! BUT SHE’S SO SMART!  The ghost is LeFoux’s aunt Beatrice, and the boy is introduced as LeFoux’s son Quesnel even though the two do not look related.

I also find it odd that LeFoux, the owner of this establishment, with a shop full of customers, just slips into the passage and doesn’t give a token, “DO NOT PANIC CUSTOMERS I’M GOING TO FIGURE OUT THE ISSUE, PLEASE STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

Alexia praises the child for the explosion.  I can’t help but feel a bit exasperated by the book’s tone for this.  This child could have not only killed himself on a flight of fancy but perhaps a block worth of buildings full of humans in a crowded city, and the story treats it like he stole a pudding out of the fridge he wasn’t supposed to have.  But I mean, my job is to worry for the well-being of children and I have a habit of overthinking this shit so take that paragraph with as much or as little care as you see fit.

LeFoux punishes Quesnel and tells her aunt to take him away so she can have sexual tension with Alexia.  Alexia, you do not deserve the sexual attention of anybody except your dipshit husband. Leave the MacDougalls and LeFouxs for the more-deserving slutty, bisexual hate-readers okay.

Faps you realize you will never be able to have sex with a fictional character right?

Faps why would you want to bang a fictional character in a story you don’t even like?

I HAVE TO FIND SOMETHING TO ENJOY HERE OKAY!?

During some mild flirtation where Alexia first realizes women are hot, LeFoux explains that Maccon commissioned a gift that is ready for her.

It’s a huge ugly umbrella that takes a page to describe just its physical appearance, which was hard to follow.  My favorite detail is,

“The handle looked like something that might top an ancient Egyptian column, carved with lotus flowers---or a very enthusiastic pineapple.”

I don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean but with that line I have decided that the handle of her umbrella looks like this:

(Picture of a pineapple dabbing, while wearing bright red shoes.)

And you cannot convince me otherwise.

We spend a few more pages explaining what her James Bond styled umbrella can do. Which includes:

Shoots poison darts.

Can switch between a silver and wooden tip depending on if you’re stabbing vampires or werewolves.

Can emit a magnetic field which can disrupt steam engines temporarily.

Can spray different kinds of toxic mists which can kill humans, and severely injure werewolves and vampires.  

Okay sure, she gets a proper weapon with a lot of weird uses. Sure good!

So now it’s time for me to complain about some writing choices!

Much to my annoyance, every time LeFoux smiles at all (which is a fucking lot) instead of using multiple verbs and descriptors such as, “She smiles, grins, smirks, beams, looks amused/smug/delighted/etc.” She says LeFoux ~dimples~ 100% of the time. And I’m like nobody verbs dimples that way you fucking weirdo who writes like they’re 12.

There’s also this really clumsy pointless exchange where it’s revealed that LeFoux has made special equipment for Prof. Lyall, and she remarks that he’s a curious man. Alexia says he’s not a man at all (cause he’s a werewolf) and LeFoux remarks, “I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one.”

….This is like super clumsy and not how humans talk at all. And there’s no reason why you need to bring that up AGAIN at all? We can tell she enjoys masculine dress because…she’s described as dressing masculine. Like….why? 

Like I know this isn’t meant to be a complex novel, but like I feel condescended to how often unimportant shit needs to be brought up again and again. UGH!

So they head back upstairs, Tunstell shows up so he and Ivy can stare longingly at each other, and OH YEAH tell Alexia Lyall wants to speak with her.

You gotta do more for me to ship Tunstell/Ivy then like show them cozy with one another and shouting in my ear about how they pine for one another.  Like maybe some dialog besides, “How are you?” “Oh I’m fine”?

So Alexia goes to see Lyall. She struts in swinging her new umbrella like HEY! HEY! ASK ABOUT MY NEW TOY!  Lyall does not.  Lyall has his issues don’t get me wrong.  But I find it so refreshing that he refuses to feed Maccon and Alexia’s shitty little egos.

Lyall says the humanization phenomenon has been ~spotted~ again and it’s moving toward Scotland, a bit ahead of Maccon, who is also heading that way.  Maccon doesn’t know he’ll be meeting the mysterious soul-sucking power soon, which could be a problem since he’s only useful in the sense that he has powers.

Alexia takes note of this, and decides she wants to have Lord Akeldama and LeFoux meet cause that would be cool I guess.  That’s where we leave off.  I’m not sure if the two are going to get along immediately upon meeting or hate each other’s guts. I hope they hate the other’s guts cause I think that would be more entertaining.

Say something nice Faps:

These chapters don’t always end and start on similar notes. So it doesn’t feel repetitive.

Lyall, while not totally free from this writing’s bullshit, helps ground this material by being a voice of sanity. A lot of authors can get caught up in HOW FUCKING COOL THEIR PERFECT FUN CHARACTERS ARE and it’s just kinda refreshing that this author has enough self-awareness to realize how exhausting and irritating their antics/personalities can sometimes be. Or in the very least enough awareness of writing to know when to slow it done and take a breather.

 LeFoux is hot.

Since I have identified her new murder parasol as having a dabbing pineapple handle, all mentions of it conjure hilarious mental images for me.  She was described as cradling it like a baby, and swinging it wildly in order for it to fail to catch Lyall’s attention.

 I also kinda like how despite getting a badass weapon crafted for her, it’s hideous.  Like perhaps it’s for the humor sake, but I appreciate we’re not just going to steamroll how cool and great Alexia is. Even though she got this super rad weapon with all these functions without having to earn it. The item does have the downside of being tacky and heavy. You know?