#he always treated helen with kindness

[spineless-lobster]

Finally finished my reread of the iliad!!!! I am… sad

[wszczebrzyszynie]

Hey!! Could you give a little context about this drawing??: https://www.tumblr.com/wszczebrzyszynie/770499218761711616/brutus?source=share

Btw, beautiful drawing <33

thank you for the kind words and the interest! its a bit long as i went into more detail about the relationships between Kowalewicz family members... thought that might be nice, as i dont really share much about them. peace and love. its under the read more

its Eliza in three stages of her life; childhood, her wedding day and present time (around 1895). "Brutus" is a reference to the song by the buttress because its the song i associate with her (mostly in her relationship with Artur and her former husband). Shes the oldest of the Kowalewicz siblings and the one who against all odds ultimately inherited the palace, even though she seems to stay as far away from it as possible; as a character she doesnt come back until spring, so about halfway of the story, but her presence is always there. The main theme of DNS is loneliness and she as the owner of the palace is kind of the epitome of that; someone who felt sidelined for the majority of her life and even after decades have passed isnt able to feel normal and create what she considers "normal" relationships (the way she treats Stanisława and Artur come to mind; The first one is her lover she leaves in charge of the palace when shes away, unable to stay with her for long periods of time, and Artur is her brother she somewhat hates, mostly for being what she couldnt and for depending on her). Even her child-self is meant to resemble Mika (titular ghost of the attic), as being a "ghost" is the repeated motive for loneliness (all "ghost" characters, so Mikita, Eliza and Jelena are the ones whose loneliness is so central to their character it fundamentally changes them). The blood on her wedding veil is there because she killed her husband (family friend and Arturs artistic mentor). it sounds like a lot but its not very important to the main plot, it happened ages ago but its probably one of the many reasons she doesnt like the palace. but well she would never get rid of it either

since im already talking about the Kowalewicz family i feel like i should also mention Piotr, the other brother; hes not really too important to the story but he does show up and Eliza hates him as well. He got richer through foreign investments. Eliza doesnt really like her brothers in general but with Artur its more quiet and she still respects him, with Piotr its more open and well known among everyone living and working in the palace. which isnt a lot of people. He doesnt like her either and would like to buy off the palace just to spite her. Well he doesnt like Artur either. Artur doesnt care for whatever Piotr is doing but hes slightly hurt about his relationship with his sister, though he is also intimidated by her. Not exactly because of the murder hes always been a bit intimidated by her but well the murder doesnt help? but he doesnt hold that against her either. Stanisława is intimidated by all of them except for Eliza, though i imagine she has a rather lovely relationship with Helene even with the language barrier. Helene and Dominic only know Eliza; she likes them both, though its a pretty distant kind of "like". its just generally positive but nothing deep or special, though she always tends to treat women better, and she also isnt the kind to hate on a 13 year old. also i think i should mention Mikita in the picture? I feel like she couldnt care less about what he does. I wouldnt be surprised if she forgets hes there. Not in a malicious way shes just like that i suppose. Stanisława likes him plenty for her own reasons. He respects both of them deeply and tries not to cause them much trouble

[writhingcreature]

You don’t understand how GOOD it is to me that Benoit Blanc isn’t a hero. He isn’t a savior, he isn’t a vigilante. He is 100000% focus on the law and what is legal and just in the eyes of said law. That’s why it works SO WELL that the people he’s helping are women/ of color and he’s a white man. He just puts the pieces together - the women themselves are who save the day and get what they deserve. He only EVER helps them, and gives them the tools they need. He hates cruelty and selfishness (which of course always pin him against the rich, GOD) and I think it’s really beautiful that when Marta insists she’s being treated well and almost confesses, he stops her, but he doesn’t force her to keep the house. He doesn’t even get Ransom committed - Marta lying about Fran dying got him to confess, and Benoit had NOTHING to do with that. Marta succeeded because of her kindness and follow through and determination, and only almost failed because she was too trusting with the wrong people. The same thing with Helen. When it came down to them failing, Miles winning, the letter burned - he didn’t do anything. He just handed her some liquid courage and turned and LEFT. Everything else that happened was ENTIRELY UP TO HER and she succeeded entirely on her own. He gave her the truth, helped her gather the courage to take what she was owed, and watched her burn down Miles Bron with her own two hands. GOD these movies are so poetic and well done and layeredddddd every detail is so important I’m going to cry

[thediaryofaurora]

It’s ok if you can’t but I would love for the next headcanons for creepypasta character could you do X-Virus.

General HCs

X-Virus/Cody Anderson

Sorry this one is sooooo long. I have so much to say about this nerd.

- Seventeen! Barely older than Toby.

- Roughly 6’0, maybe a little over. He isn’t very toned, since he really just sits in the lab all day.

- White with mostly Welsh heritage.

- He was in foster case from about seven to thirteen. His mom was neglectful and a drug addict so child services inevitably took him away. He was adopted by a pathologist who created and spread chronic diseases that only he knew how to treat, which he profited from since he was the only person who knew how to cure them.

- His foster father had used Cody as an assistant and made sure he knew his way around the lab. They would often test the diseases on animals first and see if the cure worked just enough so that people would continuously come back for medication rather than completely healing. At around fifteen Cody was trusted to be in the lab alone, so he would take the time to test more fatal things on the test subjects. A few years later when he was about seventeen, he was a little too desensitized to fatal infections and death. He thought seeing how animals reacted to his creations weren’t enough to prove the data he wanted.

- With that, he went into one of his lonesome neighbor’s homes in the dead of night and tested one of his viruses on him. He had planned to return home and brush it off, but Slender thought he was too valuable to let him go.

- This dude is a GENIUS, and a massive nerd. Most of the residents overlook it since he’s just a dumb teenager who works in the infirmary, but he’s extremely intelligent. He spends all of his days studying and analyzing data, so it’s kind of a given.

- Mainly gets along with Toby, EJ, and surprisingly Helen.

- Since him and Toby are extremely close in age, they naturally hovered to each other when they first met. They aren’t necessarily similar, but they do have a brotherly connection.

- Him and EJ work together in the infirmary/ lab, so they have to communicate and at least slightly get along. Jack almost sees him as an annoying little sibling, but it’s a nice presence. Cody really looks up to him and that means a lot.

- Helen stops by on occasion to talk to Jack and over time he started talking to Cody. They’re strangely compatible given their age difference and personalities, but Helen’s a listener and Cody can’t help but ramble. Helen does botany in his free time, so he’ll bring by plants for him to study or incorporate into his excitements. Cody always makes sure to track Helen down and give him all the results and notes he took of whatever plant he had brought.

- Germaphobe. His hands are DRY from over washing and using so much hand sanitizer.

- He has a bunch of rodents and other test animals for his experiments. He’s made sure to tell Nina if she ever doesn’t want her guinea pigs anymore he’d be glad to take them.

- Strangely smells like a dentist’s office. With all the chemicals, hand sanitizer, and air fresheners in the lab he’s bound to.

- Allergic to dogs, and cats, and everything ever.

- He’s a pretty big recluse. A perfect day in his eyes is sitting alone in the lab and testing a bunch of random shit, which sounds pretty boring to anyone he tells that to.

- Cyber punk enthusiast to the absolute core. You can’t look at him and think otherwise.

- He rarely goes on missions. Usually he’s stationed in the lab to either cover for EJ or do whatever the hell he wants. In the occasion that he does get sent out, him and Jack make a great pair. Since EJ can sense pretty much anything and everything, all Cody needs is the go ahead to take the kill.

- Straight, but he doesn’t really think about intimate relationships very often. If he’s watching a movie with romance in it he might think on it for a little, but he prioritizes his work over anything. If he had to date someone in the mansion, it would probably be Nina. She’s as hyper as him and doesn’t know anything about science, so she gladly listens to whatever he’s working on. However, in realistic terms he wouldn’t date her.

- He likes musicals, I specifically mention this because Repo! The Genetic Opera reminds me of him and he would absolutely love that movie.

- Listens to a surprising amount of goth music. He thinks it’s the only music that makes him feel more productive, so he puts in his wired headphones and works while listening to it. Massive Siouxsie and the Banshees fan.

- His room is PRISTINE. Absolutely no decorations, just scattered files and white bedding. Since he’s such a germaphobe he tries to keep his room as clean as possible, even if he’s not in it very much. He thrives on energy drinks and the most sleep he gets is a nap, usually in the lab with his head down on his desk.

- HORRIBLE handwriting, definitely adds up with him being somewhat of a doctor. Pretty much only him and Helen can (almost) decipher it.

- He gets soooo giddy when referred to as Dr. Anderson. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does he’s ecstatic, especially because that’s what his foster father went by.

- Wears a lab coat and goggles on the regular. It’s not always necessary, but he feels so accomplished when he does. Occasionally wears scrubs.

- He’s been one of my favorites for like five years.

Thank you for reading! Feedback and requests are welcome.

✧✬✧✬✧✬✧✬✧✬✧✬✧

[flawdchaos]

Spilled Drinks

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1,735

authors note : hello friends, i have never written anything like this before and posted it. i had some free time today and an idea and dreamt this up. it is far from perfect but i hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. thank you!

The muffled yelling of multiple voices was enough to drag Y/N out of the daze she had fallen into. Her workday had started early and ended late leaving her feet and head throbbing - a shower and her bed, more of a cot really, were calling her name. Her venture to the communal showers she shared with her fellow nursing staff was quickly interrupted as Violet and Helen crossed her path.

With a tilt of her head Violet spoke up. “And where do you think you are rushing off to?”

“To shower and get some sleep.” As soon as the final word fell from Y/N’s lips her two friends were quickly shaking their heads in protest.

“You promised! You always say a person is just as good as their word. It will just be for a drink or two and then you can come and get as much sleep as your heart desires. I swear to you.” Violet said, wagging her finger in front of Y/N, like a mother would do a troubled child.

After a brief glare between the two women, Y/N sighed, hung her in defeat, and turned back in the direction of her bunk.

“I don’t even know what to wear to an army base bar. Those men already don’t take us seriously and you think this is gonna make it any better?”

“The more you fight it, the worse it’s gonna be Y/N. Just for once stop living and breathing being a nurse and just be a girl surrounded by a bunch of good looking men.” Hazel spoke up for the first time that night before being met with another glare from Y/N’s direction.

Y/N knew both her friends had a solid point. In the ten months she had been working at Thorpe Abbotts she had never allowed herself a break. She did her best to maintain a positive reputation among the men she treated but her friends, and now even herself, had noticed that the weight of the job had begun to take its toll. A night away from the blood, cries, and medicine couldn’t be all too bad - for her sake.

The August heat was enough to force a light sweat upon the girls as they journeyed from their bunks to the bar. As they stepped inside the building, Hazel quickly pulled her powder from her purse and turned to Y/N blotting away at certain areas of her face.

“You have to talk to at least one man tonight. One. And not someone you’ve treated.” Violet stated and lightly shoved Y/N forward to the bar, shooing with her hand. “Get a drink, enjoy the night.’

“One cosmopolitan, please” Y/N stated after reaching the bar, flashing a smile. She hoped and prayed, as the guy poured away, that the alcohol would be enough to calm the nerves she felt bubbling in her stomach. They only increased as she looked around and spotted Colonels, Captains and Majors. Leaned against the other side of the bar were the now infamous friends, Buck and Bucky. Gale Cleven was nothing but kind and a gentleman but Y/N had overheard talk of a girlfriend back home and John Egan, well, he was John Egan. There was nothing else to say. A few months prior, during a training exercise he wound up hurt and sitting in front of her in the infirmary bay, clutching his elbow with a shit eating grin plastered to his face as she wrapped his arm. Conversation flowed easily with the major but Violet had urged her to speak to someone new.

The bartender brought her from her daze as he placed the drink in front of her and she quickly took a sip. As she pushed back from the bar, she ran directly into a tall frame that had tried to squeeze in beside her, red juice spilling on both of their newly starched clothes.

Before an apology could tumble from her mouth, the man was already grasping her arm to steady her and ushering for his friends to grab a towel from the bar.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ju-” she cut his rambling off

“No, that was all my fault. I was lost in thought and then - oh my god” taking a quick glance down to the tan and brown jacket, her eyes shot open even wider, “your uniform. I can’t believe I got that all over your dress jacket.”

An arm reached between the two of them holding a towel that Y/N quickly grabbed and started dabbing along the man’s chest, steadying herself by grabbing onto his arm.

“This is the first night I ever came out and I just ruined someone’s jacket, oh my god.”

A large hand landed on top of hers, stopping her from continuing her attempts at cleaning up the mess she, well both of them, had made.

“I promise you, ma’am, it was my doing. Let me order you another drink. This ones on me.”

For the first time during this whole encounter, she looked up to the man she had lost her Cosmopolitan to. She was silent as she stood with his hand still over hers, quickly losing her will to deny the drink once her eyes locked with his blue ones, a small smile adorning his face. All she could do was nod. He took a step forward, placing his hand on the small of her back to turn her with him towards the bar.

“A cosmo, right?” he questioned and a small nod was directed his way. “Another cosmo for the lady and whisky, neat, for me please?” The bartender quickly got to work leaving the two strangers standing closely together in silence. The man quietly cleared his throat and stuck out his hand.

“Robert Rosenthal, but most of the guys call me Rosie.” Y/N took his outstretched hand and lightly shook it up and down.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Robert grabbed the drinks the bartender sat before him and motioned his head towards an empty table across the dance floor.

“Would you like to grab a seat? I think you owe me at least a conversation after this.” he said, looking down at the tan shirt that was now stained slightly pink. A small smile made its way across Y/N’s face.

“It’s the least I could do.”

Robert led the way to the table, nestled in the corner and sat the drinks down. In a swift motion he pulled a seat out and ushered Y/N to take it. As soon as he sat down, a wave of confidence overtook Y/N’s once anxious mind.

“So, Rosie, what is it that you do?” she asked, raising the glass to her lips. She had some worry that the appearance of a woman drinking alcohol would be ‘unladylike’ but all of her care went out the window when she realized with everything she had seen and done, it was the smallest token of appreciation.

“I’m a pilot. I’ve been flying for a while now.”

“Are you any good?” she teased.

“I sure hope. I have learned the hard way making impressions isn't all too easy here. I just embarrassed myself in front of those two majors.” He said, moving his head to the right.

“Buck and Bucky?” he answered with a small nod. “Don’t sweat it, Buck is too nice to make fun of you and Bucky will forget about it in about two hours when the whisky finally hits and his favorite song comes on.” Rosie cracked a smile at her, shaking his head at the thought of the once intimidating major belting out show tunes.

“Thank you, that makes me feel better.”

“Anytime.”

Rosie took a large gulp of his drink and leaned forward on his forearms.

“So, Miss Y/N, how did you wind up here in paradise?”

“I’m a nurse. I’ve been here almost a year. I still don’t know what I'm meant for.” She admitted, lifting her glass to her mouth to slightly hide her face.

“How do you mean?” he quipped.

She took an inhale, taking a moment to carefully collect her words.

“It’s not easy. A lot of these guys come here, make friends with their crewmates and drink and sleep their feelings away. I can’t really blame them. They’re fighting a war for Christ's sake. But, us women, see what comes back. The trauma, the injuries - all of it - and we get sideways looks for drinking a shitty cosmopolitan every once and a while.” she laughed sarcastically as she finished the rest of her drink. “I love helping people but it gets hard.” He nodded, looking down at his own drink and giving it a swirl.

“I never thought of it that way. You ladies get the best and worst of us.”

She sat for a moment, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you see those two girls over there?”

“By the bar?”

“Mhm. Those are my friends. They have spent the entire ten months we have been here urging me to come out, get away from the bubble I've made for myself and I fought against it until tonight. I thought it would be a disaster. Then I got here and got a drink and told myself it would be fine, only to spill it all over you.”

“Y/N, it's really no bother.”

“I know, because as crazy as it sounds - I am so glad that I did.”

A small crept across Rosie’s face as he sat back in his seat, downing the rest of his whisky.

“And why’s that?”

“Because, it gave me the perfect excuse to talk to you Mr. Rosenthal.” cheeks turning bright red as she directed her eye contact towards him.

“Well then, I’d be a fool not to ask for a dance Mrs. Y/L/N.” standing from his seat and outstretching a hand, which Y/N gladly took.

Together, hand in hand, they walked to the dance floor where Rosie pulled her close. Y/N settled her head on his chest, watching as their feet moved in harmony.

“Oh, and Y/N,” he spoke up with a small smile perched on his lips, leaving her to tilt her head up towards the pilot “, the next round is on you.”

[shesnake]

just finished watching s2 of the newsreader bc of you and i'll tell you, i think that i might need a rewatch to understand exactly where dale jennings wronged all these people the way i've seen some comments. besides tim, i think that helen was equally to blame at points with him - they just feel like they'd be great friends but bad partners - and the gerry thing is super complex because i genuinely don't see where else the tim thing could have leaked from and it's a shame they turned on each other when dale had managed to get him air time prior to the gossip columnist's calls. and with tim, i feel like the conflict really just maintained itself at the same scale it was at the end of s1. anyway, the only thing dale sees as valuable from himself is his journalistic skills, he's clearly more lost than ever in relation to his bisexuality and i feel for the guy. the day he unlocks it he's going to be unstoppable.

Hey there! Very glad you watched the show ❤ and you've kind of answered your own question with that last paragraph. Everything following is a (hopefully) more cohesive version of this post I made when season 2 finished:

Dale's professional ambition leads him to wronging everyone. Over the course of season 2, we can see him slowly shedding his principles and journalistic integrity, hoping to reach the status of a newsreader like Geoff Walters. His number one priority is to maintain his public image. He no longer fights for The Story, only for damage control.

When he sees a problem coming, he works harder to save face than he does to help fix the actual problem, leaving Helen to scramble around. He prepares a little joke and practices his laughter in the mirror so he can be unfazed when her interview with Lynus about his Aboriginal perspective on the bicentennial gets cut. On a public level it's incredibly racist!!! And on a personal level he's fucked Helen over. He "handles" Helen by dismissing her bipolar swings as "migraines", treating her mental illness the same way every other man has.

And with Tim... it hurts to admit, but Tim is just a very handsome plot device. A pretty vehicle for Dale's bisexuality to enter the plot. Tim exists solely for Dale to fumble. Sorry Tim.

In season 1, Dale's internalised homophobia becomes the story when his shitty interview skills leads to NA6 platforming homophobic AIDS rhetoric. Dale's delivery of misinformation was an accident, then Geoff comes in purposely to deliver the death blow. Dale throwing Gerry UNDER THE BUS was season 2's death blow. Regardless of whether it could've flipped the other way. He's so cold when he finally speaks to the gossip journalist. HE is the one offering HER the deal to stay silent about his bisexuality, because he knows he's made it.

Dale has always felt inadequate, as a journo and as a man. His clothes have always been too big for him. But by the end of season 2, after sacrificing all these personal relationships that made him more vulnerable, he's reached a point of privilege where the benefits of appealing to his public image outweigh exploiting his hidden truths. He is now The Newsreader. He gets on camera and delivers his bulletin, solo, in a black suit that fits him perfectly.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Wherever you find love (it feels like Christmas)

24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!

Prompt from here (but randomized)

[Day 1] [[Day 1] [Day 2] [Day 3] [Day 4] [Day 5] [Day 6] [Day 7] [Day 8] [Day 9] [Day 10] [Day 11] [Day 12] [Day 13] [Day 14] [Day 15] [Day 16]

[Read on AO3]

Day 17: Chocolate

Modern AU, wc 1172

They’re not calling it a date because John fears Gale might fly the scene in seconds if that word was to be uttered in his presence, but to John it’s nothing but one.

What else could it be? The two of them, alone, roaming around the Christmas market the day after John finally fessed up and told Gale, loud and clear, that he likes him as more than just a friend and that if Gale thinks he could feel the same then they should give it a try, or at least go out together to spend some time just between the two of them. And it was Gale’s idea to go to the Christmas market he still hasn’t visited, which counted as a big ass win in John’s book.

“The handcraft stalls are over there, if you still need to buy some last minute presents,” John says pointing to the heavily adorned white cabins on the side of the plaza. “I bought an embroidered apron for my mum last year and she adored it,” he adds before mentally cursing himself because of course Gale doesn’t need to buy his mother a present given he hasn’t seen or talked to her in a few years. He’s about to suggest something else — anything, really — but Gale nods. “It sounds like something Marge could like,” he says.

He ends up buying matching crocheted keychains for Marge and her girlfriend Helen, looking extremely satisfied with his purchase. John sees him glancing wistfully at a knitted blue scarf that’s hanging from the side of the stall, recoiling when he notices the price, and makes a mental note to come back and barter for it with the vendor to get Buck a perfect Christmas gift.

“I’m starving,” he announces once they’ve scouted every handicraft station. “Fancy a hot chocolate?”

Gale snorts, looking at him a bit skeptical. “You’re starving and your first thought is hot chocolate? I figured you were going for someone from that place over there,” he says pointing at another stall that sells hot dogs, roasts, and other fat, savory stuff. John shakes his head. “It’s too early for that kind of thing Buck, that’ll be our dinner. Now it’s hot chocolate time, you want one? It’s on me.”

“No way,” Gale protests. “You’re always paying!”

“And so what? It’s only fair I pay when this is a, erm, something I invited you to,” John answers, catching himself before speaking the cursed word. “Actually it was me who suggested we came here,” Gale valiantly protest.

John sighs. “Fine. I’ll get the chocolate, you can get the marshmallows, ok? It’s a fair trade, I promise. What’s that face, you don’t like marshmallows in your chocolate?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Gale answers, a light flush on his face that’s not entirely caused by the cold. “I’ve never had them. I’ve never had an actual hot chocolate either, I think: my mom used to make those with water, and they never tasted as good as everyone would say, so…”

John looks at him in horror. “With water?! You need milk to have the perfect hot chocolate, Buck! Don’t worry, I’ll treat you to one and I promise you’re gonna love it,” he says, then takes his chance at grabbing Gale by the hand to drag him to the hot beverages cabin. A girl dressed as an elf greets them and, obnoxiously batting her eyes at Gale, asks them what they want.

“We have all kinds of flavors,” she chirps. “Spiced chocolate, with bourbon, with caramel or salted caramel, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white chocolate-”

“I’ll take a salted caramel one, thank you,” John interrupts her, placing himself in front of Gale to shield him from the girl’s attention. “You, Buck?”

“I’ll try a classic one for today. And I’ll get these two packs of marshmallows as well.”

The girl keeps flirting with Gale the whole time she prepares their two chocolates and John would be fuming if it wasn’t for the fact that Gale looks completely oblivious about it, just nodding along with that vacant stare of his that means he’s not actually listening. He also keeps licking his lips, probably for the heady smell of the chocolate; he looks lovely but John also wants to rip his own hair off because he has no right to look so unknowingly sexy.

“That girl wouldn’t let it go, uh?” John teases him when they walk away, stopping to add some colorful marshmallows to their drinks — and if he puts more on Buck’s chocolate, well, that’s nobody’s business.

“Mh? You saying she was flirting?”

“Of course she was, Buck! You really weren’t interested, uh?”

“Obviously no. She’s not my type, and besides I would never consider someone’s flirting when I’m with someone else,” Gale answers, outraged like it’s obvious. It makes a flurry of butterflies swirl inside John’s stomach but he doesn’t say anything about it, he just toasts his hot cocoa with Buck’s and then they drink. John’s is delicious, the salty of the caramel balancing the thick sweetness of the chocolate, and he has to admit the girl was very good at her job because the drink is dense like John could eat it with a spoon.

Gale, slowly sipping his own cup, looks mesmerized.

“You like it?” John asks him with a tender smile.

“It’s amazing,” Gale answers and there’s a tiny smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, so tempting John can’t pull his eyes away from it.

“It’s much better than what my mother used to do, I can’t believe I’ve never had one so good before- John, are you ok? There’s something on my face?” Gale asks, suddenly worried that John’s staring at him with such intensity.

John snaps back to reality, blushing something fierce. “No! I mean, you have some chocolate there, on your lips,” he adds, gesturing frantically for it. Gale’s tongue darts out of his mouth again, its pink tip still tantalizing, and yet somehow he misses it.

“Done?” He asks, and John shakes his head so Gale tries again, and John’s mind screaming to grab him a tissue because he can’t go on like that or he’ll explode. “Wait, let me-” he says and brings a thumb to Gale’s mouth, cleans the chocolate and then instinctively brings the stained pad to his mouth and licks it clean.

Gale stares at him for a split second like a man possessed, then before John can have the time to even process what’s going on he’s all over him, kissing him right there careless of who’s watching. John gasps in surprise but he’s quick to catch up, sliding his free arm around Gale’s waist to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, his mouth suddenly filled with the sweetness of the chocolate.

When he pulls away, Gale looks even more surprised than John for what just happened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he starts but John shuts him up immediately.

“Do it again,” he says, breathless and hoping. Gale obliges him.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Could I get Offenderman, Helen(or puppeteer, I couldn't decide between the 2 so I will let you do that), and Laughing Jack with a dragon hybrid s/o who is bigger than them but is a really big, gentle cuddle bug? The s/o has a pile of clothes in a corner of their room that they cuddle the creeps on that they call their hoard. They also give the nickname of Hoard to the creeps ☺

Really just general wholesomeness w/ a dragon s/o for these three 😌

(And if you want to sprinkle some in, some spicy stuff? Only if you want and its not to much)

.

- 🐺

I wanted to add more spice but it really only came out in Helen for me. I hope you enjoy it regardless~

Offender:

Oh, he absolutely adores you. Fen does very well with this type of partner that's a bit clingy to him, and he adores being your Hoard, and it makes him feel very loved and appreciated, especially considering his neglected middle child syndrome. When it comes to your snuggle spot, you'd best bet Fen contributes to that, purchasing luxurious blankets and pillows for you to add to your collection so it's even more comfortable, and if there are any of his clothes you're particularly attached to, he doesn't mind contributing those to your pile as well. He just thinks you're so absolutely wonderful and incredible, and curling up with you, feeling safe and cared for in your arms, it becomes his favorite thing in the entire world, and when he gets home from work on his busy nights, it becomes a sort of ritual for the two of you to immediately curl up for a little bit while he destresses in your warmth. He calls you his brilliant Jewel, attributing the nickname to the various scales nestled against your flesh in different areas of your body, and he loves the feeling of dragging his fingers over your soft flesh and into your scaled areas, the difference in texture becomes so comforting and familiar to him, and it just makes him relax into you even more. He loves the feeling of belonging, and he's never wanted to belong to someone more than he does you.

Helen (Warning for semi-spicy content):

For Helen, it's a shock at first, the feeling of being wanted so much, as being viewed so strongly as yours, being claimed and added to your collection in a sense. It's a feeling he very quickly comes to find intoxicating, as Helen has always wanted to belong completely and fully to someone, to be treasured and adored, and you give him that feeling so strongly. Helen gets incredibly clingy behind closed doors, and so he spends a lot of time in your arms, in and out of that snuggly pile of yours that just smells so strongly of you. Whether sitting in your lap or curled up in your arms, Helen just gets addicted to being beside you. Helen loves giving up control to you as well, falling eagerly victim to your dominant draconic nature, as he loves just letting go after a long day and allowing you to toy with and play with him however you please, allowing you to use his body for release for the both of you. Helen just loves the feeling of being owned by you, being owned and claimed by someone that actually loves him and treats him with endless love and respect. Speaking of claiming him, when you mark him with those fangs of yours, decorating him in beautiful markings, it makes him so, so happy. As a side note, he also draws you all the time, finding your wings and tail to be enchanting, and he just thinks you're the most beautiful thing ever.

Laughing Jack:

This is absolutely his kind of relationship. Like the others, Jack craves the feeling of belonging and being loved, and just like in those other instances, you absolutely give him that feeling. A big cuddle bug as well despite his size, the two of you are pretty much always cuddling, even outside of that nest of yours. Any time the two of you can be in each other's arms, you're snuggled up, and it's even common for the two of you to walk everywhere with your arms slung around each other. When you start calling him Hoard it makes his mechanical heart skip a beat, and it flusters him every time, and he starts calling you Keeper in return, and the two of you just love the relationship you have. Also??? He makes you dragon plushies in the color of the various scales along your body, and when you add them to your nest it makes him so giddy and excited, and both of you love cuddling up amongst them. The way you tenderly hold him despite both of your sizes just makes him feel so soft and tender and loved and appreciated, and goddamnit he just wants to be with you all the time. It becomes a subconscious thing for him to greet you with "Yours", pulling your hands to his mouth as he peppers your hands in kisses every time the two of you see each other. To belong is to be loved and at peace, and he fully belongs to you, every piece of him, and the happiness that gives him is unmatched.

[prettysweetprettysweet]

you see the thing about Tim is, at the point we first enter the story we don't have any knowledge about how he first met and interacted with Dale and how those first sparks of interest developed. but the first time we see them really interact he's ribbing Dale, probably both because he's jealous of the attention Dale gives to Helen and also because he enjoys making Dale uncomfortable because it's adorable. he was definitely already crushing the first time we see him.

how deep is his affection and to what extent do his actions just come from an innately kind nature? it's so hard to gauge because Tim always keeps his emotions veiled through an amiable and gentle demeanor. he helps Dale whenever he can and offers advice and words of support because he wants Dale to be successful and feel good, he entertains Dale's post-kiss meltdown despite how dehumanizing it was (with Dale suggesting that the adrenaline and alcohol would have made him reach out to anybody he was near, Tim isn't special), because he saw how panicked and upset Dale was and immediately changed his tone from sarcastic to warm and reassuring (even though Dale didn't return any of that warmth), he listened to Dale and gave him comforting words after the immediate fallout with Helen, he took the onus of leaving his job to make things easier for Dale Helen and himself, he immediately recognized when Dale wasn't in a good state and made repeated attempts to take him to a safe space, he gives Dale a heads up about the reporter...all of this even though Dale tries so hard to remain detached, formal, and barely an acquaintance, and never once apologizes for the careless way he's treated Tim despite all of Tim's many kindnesses.

Tim is either baseline deeply kind at the expense of his own emotional well-being, or he is so charmed and enamored with Dale that he will continue to be supportive of him -- or both (I think it's both).

I really hope if there's another season that Chai Hansen will be able to participate because Tim is such an interesting character that I want to get to know better. He has more than enough motivations to be bitter, cause pain or trouble for Dale, or act in his own self-interest, but every time he chooses instead to be tender, generous, and thoughtful, and sometimes even self-sacrificing. I love him so much!

in a perfect world where Dale wasn't so afraid of his identity and so tunnel-visioned in on career success by any means, he and Tim would have been the most perfect sensitive thoughtful sweet gentle boy for sensitive thoughtful sweet gentle boy. a love profusion. 😭

[cheemscakecat]

What happened to the BLU Meet the team

So I headcanon that BLU Team is a lot more distant, private, and professional than RED. Before Scout joined, Medic was the only one who knew Pyro was a woman and had somewhat befriended her. Soldier was the only one who bothered to talk with Spy if he didn’t have a medical issue.

So when the other director rolled up to BLU, Soldier and Medic were the only two who willingly gave an interview. And Scout got shoehorned into it as the youngest member [since Cheryl’s masked].

Soldier’s interview went the best. He basically said they weren’t fighting regular civilians, and weren’t tearing up a country over the gravel; they got to choose to fight without the same consequences of a “real war”.

Scout heard the director stupidly list things about him that he shouldn’t know, like his hometown and details about his early life. Things that he had to provide for his BLU paperwork, but this rando shouldn’t have. Pauling had to beg him to finish the interview since she couldn’t get the rest of the team to cooperate.

Now BLU Scout and Pyro are a developing power couple, and he has no romantic interest in Pauling; so his reason for finishing the interview was not fueled by love. Rather, he didn’t know what sort of punishment awaited her if she failed to get the interviews. He got her call over the phone about her yearly test where Admin sends assassins, and decided it would be better to throw her a bone than let her face Helen’s wrath.

He chose to go with the workplace drama angle since Spy always talks down to him for being the youngest. And kept the details as vague and optimistic as possible.

Medic’s interview was the reason why Admin abandoned the director shtick after this specific BLU team was told they were making a documentary for new hires. BLU Medic was deemed an expert during the respawn failure crisis and had to be present at failure sites, perform surgeries, and document in excruciating detail [per Archibald’s demands]. The director tried to get him to go into detail on the failure drama, and he refused.

“Those cases are classified. I am only permitted to show the footage to a patient’s teammates if there is a new, relevant respawn accident occurring. But the issue was resolved years ago, and I have not received clearance to share the documents and footage. Besides, I do not want to worry the new recruits if the failures are not a risk anymore.”

The director however, was very similar to the one sent to RED team and would not take that for an answer. He kept trying to goad Dr. Ludwig into giving him the gory details on respawn failures and the number of dead patients, to Pauling’s horror. She knew that either Helen or her mother had put that confidentiality policy into place, and it was not wise to break it.

The doctor suddenly looked to his right and jolted like he saw a ghost, and stayed distracted for about a minute before he managed to shake it off and give another curt refusal to defy the rules. That was one of the last things they recorded, the actual last being a forced assurance that times were much better now and the new recruits should not worry themselves about respawn.

Helen was never a good person. She used people for a living, including Pauling and Saxton Hale. But she was not stupid about it. She was good at reading people. And when she watched the footage of the Medic’s interview, it peaked her interest enough to go through her old files and revisit the respawn disaster.

83 mercenaries on both BLU and RED teams died before Jules Archibald and his lackeys were sufficiently threatened pressured into finding the actual solution. 179 other mercenaries were injured in some way by a respawn failure and lived to keep the tale a secret. And from the very first failure, this BLU Medic had been attempting to treat the mutilated mercs.

It was a special kind of person who would stay through Jules hmming and hawing about putting money and resources into finding the solution. With 262 total respawn failures concentrated in the Americas and no other Medics labeled experts and given clearance to operate, there was enormous pressure on this man. And it had cracked him somehow. He’d been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and the hallucination caught on camera was that illness in action.

With the BLU medic being so loyal and so damaged mentally, Helen wasn��t willing to reveal her trick to BLU team as she had with RED. He was too valuable an asset for her to sour his allegiance to BLU and her Administration. There would always be someone like Redmond and Blutarch and Jules looking to cut costs, making a terrible decision like the one that caused the respawn crisis. Helen needed people with the heart and naivety to clean up those messes.

After she had managed to get Pauling to shut up and stop apologizing, she told her she had changed her mind about the rest of the interviews. She would instead rely on the spies around the world that were mining their teammates’ information and sending it to her, as she had been. And BLU team would never know the purpose behind the documentary director.

The director was not wise enough to stop asking Fritz to break his confidentiality contract. He just kept trying to make him spill the secrets. Ludwig hated talking about it, hated it back then and hated it now. He didn’t want to picture the death and gore that surrounded the respawn crisis.

The heartbroken and panicked teammates asking why he couldn’t save the affected patient, the mass departure of quitting mercenaries. Some of them were fearful of experiencing a failure and left before it could happen to them. Others had to quit because their injuries left their bodies scarred and weakened for life.

This director reminded Fritz of Jules’ middlemen that always had their noses upturned and asked endless questions. Stupid, weak men who never lifted a finger to help operate or prepare a cadaver for its funeral. Men who were too uninvolved to see what he’d seen and made excuses not to look upon the carnage with their own eyes.

His blood was about boiling when it appeared. It sometimes did, in the corner of his office, or his bedroom, or just barely in his peripheral view. But he wasn’t expecting it to be sitting so close it could have snatched him up. The demon.

Its skinny, black clad form was surrounded by black smoke, which was not unusual. What was unusual was that it was roiling like an angry sea and whipping in irritation like a cat’s tail. When the demon tried to play “friendly” and lull him into a false sense of security, the smoke was always slow moving like it was meant to look soft and safe to touch.

Even more alarming was the look on the pale, sunken eyed, stolen copy of his face that the demon wore. Its black eyes glittered maliciously with furrowed brows and stared into the director, as though it was trying to burn a hole through his face. Its mouth was set in a deeper frown that Ludwig had ever seen from it previously, jaw clenched in fury.

Fritz nearly jumped out of his seat when he turned and saw it hunching its shoulders like a panther waiting to lunge at the man across from them. Looking about as evil and dangerous as he had always known it to be. He was wise not to fall for its false gentleness.

The thing must have seen him move out of the corner of its eye, because it too smoothly turned its head and looked at him, abruptly softening its gaze. It was very little comfort that he knew it was an act, when that thing could easily get him if it decided to give up the deception and attack. The black eyed demon stared at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before the director saying “Hello-o? Anybody home?” drew it’s attention back towards him, looking surly and cruel once more.

Fritz choked out a final statement for his part of the documentary, trying not to let the pounding heart in his throat jump out onto the floor. By the time he was done, the demon had moved to the right wall and was staring at him with the more docile look. Stupid demon. Thinking I’m going to fall for that.

[crazymcwritesalot]

Trick or treat!

I'm glad you're still at my door waiting for a treat after 4 days... Please come in, have some tea, you must be freezing!

Here's something I've found on an old USB key. It's some Helen whump, don't think I've ever published it. Here you go :) :

It might not be an easy adjustment exactly, but Helen has to admit that having nothing to do on Sundays is somehow less unpleasant than she had first thought it would be when Will had forced her to promise she would drop the habit of working 24/7, bent on controlling everything that was being done in her sanctuary, looking over her employees' shoulder. She smiles. When had her protégé acquired this new self-confidence, she wonders? He had left her with no choice but to subscribe to the schedule he had established, and even Henry had been at a loss for words, his gaze going from his friend to his boss in silent merriment, waiting for her to react according to her standards.

But she had promised Will she would let him be her associate. She couldn't discard his first proof of leadership. That would have put a damper on his mood as well as on their relationship.

So she is there, in the library, one of the only places where she cannot be accused of working, yet a more suited place than her bedroom, where she has always felt it was indecent to be if you didn't want to sleep or write private letters. Can't blame a three hundred and plus woman for being old-fashioned, right?

She belongs in this room like an ancient urn belongs in a museum. She has seen some of the books carefully placed on the shelves in the process of being written, has inspired some even. She understands most of them because she has lived through their context. She has seen the general opinion shift around some of them, as if some authors had been born in the wrong era, a century too soon... She shares that feeling too. Born too soon and now too old. She has never found the century in which she felt right.

She has avoided the History section carefully – living through the twentieth century twice has left her with a kind of allergy to it – moving swiftly towards her own dedicated space in a corner, where an artificial fireplace keeps a small relaxation area warm. The space is intimate, surrounded by curved bookcases loaded with her favorite books: costly signed copies of first editions, mostly, but also old manuscripts, scientific thesis, unfinished novels she had been left with after some of her friends' deaths... More recent things too. Harry Potter is snuggled between Albert's Relativity and H.G's War of the World, and she's sure her two friends would have loved the young wizard.

Today though, she's not exactly there for the comfort brought by her literary friends; from where she sits in her leather armchair, she can watch Nikola work at leisure. She found him a few hours ago when she arrived, looking for a book that could have distracted her from the irresistible itch to go to her office and finish paperwork. She has read Kafka's Metamorphosis once again, thinking she would have taken some pleasure in leaving the man finish his transformation into a freaking Cillobar had she known what a compromising mess his novel would create.

Nikola hasn't moved an inch since page one. He is still lying face up on the sofa in his eternal three piece suit, his head resting in the palm of his hands. She has to focus on his chest to see it slowly rise and fall with each breath he takes, but she knows better than to think he's sleeping. No. He is either trying to break the defenses of her new wine cellar – it had taken her decades to find a suitable system of locks that would resist at least two weeks under his relentless scrutiny – or he was working on an invention.

She knows he is aware of her, peacefully gazing at him. Two world wars and a host of enemies have sharpened his animal instincts. She knows. She has not had a single night of sound sleep herself since the first time she has had to spend a night beyond enemy lines. She was a ninja sleeper, as Henry said.

Nikola is perfectly relaxed. Maybe her presence is as soothing to him as his is to her. He knows she would not let him be throttled while... She feels a thrill travel across her body, from her abdomen to her scalp. She might be witnessing the birth of Tesla's next groundbreaking invention.

“Dear, your thoughts are awfully loud.”

Helen is startled out of her reverie by Nikola's voice, and just like that the silence is broken. He is not complaining though. He is only stating a fact: there's something on her mind and he senses it in the way her heart throbs erratically.

She sighs, and her shoulders relax. Had they been tense? She had not even noticed.

“Sometimes it feels like you know me inside and out.” She begins with a sad smile.

The only movement betraying his attention is the raise of an eyebrow above his closed eyes.

“I know. It feels like we met only yesterday. And yet I know you so well...” He says, half sarcastically, offended by the fact that yes, she just implied that most of the time, she feels like he doesn't know her so much.

Helen is lost in thoughts, and she doesn't realize she has hurt his ego.

“Do you?” she asks, absentmindedly.

“I know you enough to tell that idleness is bad for your mood. You have too much time to think. You should do yoga. Take cooking classes, whatever floats your boat so long as you don't keep on sitting around with your morbid thoughts.”

Helen lets out an exhalation that sounds somewhere between a snort and a sob, and that has Nikola opening his eyes to look at her.

“I'm dead serious. Why do you think churches used to be crammed on Sabbaths back in the good old days?”.

She cracks a smile, albeit a sad one. They are back to their old dynamic as if nothing has happened just before the explosion. Oh he has talked about the kiss first hand, even before she could open her mouth to welcome him to their new home. We didn't have time for a proper goodbye speech and yet I must admit you made your exit really classy. Plus, stealing me a goodbye kiss when I had stolen a hello one from you in Rome? Nice touch. A tad too tragic maybe, but still satisfying from the literary perspective.

That and the way it had made her carefully prepared speech sink at the bottom of her memory had been enough to convince her that neither of them was ready to take their relationship to the next level. Still, she feels a discrepancy quietly lying between how she feels and how she acts around him. It seems like a huge distance is keeping them apart and he isn't even aware of it. Why would he, when he hasn't spent more than a century out of time, keeping away from her as much as possible?

“No one seems to see how much I have changed since I've reintegrated this time-line.” She sighs suddenly.

It's not like her to speak so freely to Nikola, but she desperately needs to let everything out. She only hopes he will understand.

“I don't recognize you. I'd swear you used to work on Sundays. Not that I liked it, it made you boring.” He points out.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, biting her bottom lip, and that's when Nikola understands he cannot brush the subject away with his trademark sarcasm. A shadow crosses his face. He knows what she's been through more than she realizes.

“Seriously Helen, what's a century or two between us?”

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑����𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝒱: 𝒜 𝒱𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝑜𝓃 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: crying, self-loathing, discussion of grief, narcissistic collapse, smut (oral)

Summary: John does his best to console Vincent, who has been shattered by grief and remorse.

Bellwood Mall’s sleeping quarters occupied a Bed Bath and Beyond, where divider walls had been set up to create individual hotel rooms. The overhead lights were switched off in favor of bedside lamps, creating a space of blue-grey darkness above them where the strangely oblong light fixtures and metal rafters of a department store crisscrossed each other. There was even a long-deflated balloon, trapped in the joint between two rafters, its limp body telling the story of some disappointed child who had let it go.

Vincent was similarly deflated. It had been less frightening when he was wailing in the middle of the food court, John decided. Now, he slumped forward on the end of a twin bed - one of two in their room, though John had left the second one entirely to Dog and come to sit beside Vincent. He was exhausted by his fit, staring into space with dead eyes. He bore little resemblance to the poised, collected, arrogant man who had once held unmitigated power over all the forces of the High Table.

For a while, there was no sound except the occasional sniffle. John wasn’t very good at these things, he realized. He had no idea what to say. Maybe there was just nothing to be said. Nothing had been able to reach him, after Helen’s death. He wondered if Vincent loved Chidi at that depth. Or at all. “Did you feel the same for him?”

Without looking over, Vincent shook his head. “No. He was right. I never even considered him that way. Or – “ He let out an exhale of frustration. “I don’t know. He was important to me. But I never - I took him for granted…” He was getting worked up again. “I – I killed him…” John pulled him into his arms. He didn’t hug back, just hung limp against John’s chest, his head draped over his shoulder. It was heartbreaking to see him like this.

“You didn’t kill him. The High Table did.”

Vincent extracted himself and laid back onto the bed, covering his face again. “But I treated him like a thing! I used him! Until he died…”

John wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It was, if Chidi’s letter was any indication, true. And to lie to him would only undermine his trust.

“There are people who wouldn’t even know that’s wrong. At least you do.”

There was a long silence full of slow, heavy breathing before Vincent admitted, “I didn’t at the time. I’m not a good person, John. I try so hard to be what the world wants from me…but it always comes out wrong.”

“…You’ve done bad things. But - ”

“I’m still doing bad things, because it’s a part of me. Some corruption in my soul.”

There was pure despair in his voice. To think that Vincent thought this way of himself was unbearable. John laid next to him and wrapped around his waist, cuddling him, trying to console the inconsolable. He could still feel Vincent’s chest shuddering. He was too broken down to resist an offer of comfort, and rolled over onto his side to curl up against John, who was still searching for words. “You’re not corrupted. You’re hurt, and lashing out.”

Vincent laughed humorlessly into the crook of John’s neck. “God, that’s so pathetic. I’m so pathetic.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he said calmly. “I think you’re really brave.”

“…You’re being so kind to me, and I was thoughtless to you all day. I am, all the time.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes! Yes I’m sorry.”

“Well then I forgive you.”

For a second, the Marquis seemed completely overwhelmed. He took John’s face in trembling hands and kissed him forcefully, before pulling back to search his eyes. “Why would you do that? Why are you so sweet to me?” He shook his head and bowed it against John’s, pressing their foreheads together.

“I just…I just want to. What’s the point of making you suffer more? I forgive you.”

“You say it like it’s so simple. An apology is real only if the one who is apologizing plans to change. And I can’t. You don’t understand how hard this is for me. I’ve never – “ He had to stop to choke down sobs again, and only continued when he had composed himself. “I’ve never had a real friend, John, not since I was a child. I was popular. But I never connected with any of them, I just toyed with them. I can’t treat people well, I don’t know how. I can’t care about people.”

“You just saved Dog.”

“…Only because you told me to. I wasn’t thinking of his safety. I was thinking that you’d kill me if I let him die. And…maybe that I’d miss him. But I wasn’t thinking about him at all.”

“That’s okay. I don’t care why you did it. You still did.” He stroked soothingly down Vincent’s back. “You know what Iosef told me, when I met him at that gas station? He said he loved dogs. And then he – ” John went quiet with anger for a moment. “It doesn’t matter whether you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You have a choice about what you do.”

“What if I don’t have a choice? What if I’m completely out of control and I can’t do it?”

His voice shook with desperation in that dangerous way that made John want to crush the sadness out of his body with sheer physical affection. John got over the top of him again, on hands and knees staring down directly into those swimming pupils, which widened in surprise. Words tumbled out of him, low and fast and coming from some primal core of his being. “Then I’ll treat you as a wild animal that doesn’t have reason right now. My pet lion. I won’t judge you or punish you. I will just stop you from hurting people…or yourself. I will control you, by force if necessary, and take care of you. And I will try so very hard not to hurt you in the process, because at a time like that, you’re completely innocent.” He realized his heart was racing and their eyes were locked together. There was something burning between them, a mutual intoxication at that prospect. He wondered if he’d said too much, if that would be insulting.

Vincent swallowed, staring up at him with devastating awe. “That sounds…safe,” he said, in a small voice. “I think…I think I want that, Mr. Wick.” Not the resentful “Wick” that he often spoke in defiance. Not the tender “John” that had risen up in familiarity. Mr. Wick, whom he trusted to control him in every way, to be his moral compass and his failsafe. Mr. Wick, who was staring straight into the tear-stained, puffy-eyed face of the responsibility to which he had just sworn himself. An intense rush of fondness went through him at being so trusted, at holding Vincent’s very wellbeing in his hands, and he caressed his cheek, brushing away tears.

“I want that too.” He realized Vincent wasn’t the only one who was shaking, and fought for control over his desires.

“You’ll really…you’ll take care of me? When I’m at my absolute most petty and cruel, beyond all help?” His voice was too high, too sugary, brain-broken. He was stroking absently along the front of John’s button down in a way that sent thrills to his core. Stripped of all defenses, Vincent had become boneless and needy. John wondered if anyone else had ever seen him this way, and if so, how they had treated him. As he cupped Vincent’s face, John’s thumb rested tenderly against his lower lip. It occurred to him how soft he really was, underneath everything.

“Yeah. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”

He nodded, placated, subdued…and nuzzled into John’s hand. Fuck. His chest shuddered with rampant affection.

He had to communicate one more message, before allowing lust to overcome him entirely. “But listen to me, Vincent. As much as I want that, I want something else more. I want to love you like a man, not an animal. Someone I can trust with freedom. I believe that the man in you is alive. Okay? You can get better.”

Only one part of that had registered with Vincent. “You want to love me?”

John’s heart nearly stopped as he realized what he’d said. It could not be reciprocated, but…to hell with it. Might as well learn from Chidi, and not wait until it was too late. “…Yeah.”

Even John, in his near-pathological humility, couldn’t misinterpret the way Vincent beamed and let out a little gasp of giddy disbelief. A radiant happiness shone out of that dimpled smile, and he dragged John down against him by the collar, demanding his lips, demanding that the heat between their legs press together. When they finally broke, he was still clinging to the front of John’s shirt. “I want to love you too,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can but I want to.”

The pang of disappointment was swallowed by gratitude. “What you feel towards me…I accept it. It doesn’t matter what it is. I’m lucky.”

“Good. I…I need you. Kiss me again, please.” He was flushed and disheveled and perfect, and angling his lips upward in desperate anticipation. So John pushed his tongue between Vincent’s teeth, tasting blood and salt, until his back arched, wringing a whimper from him as it affected his chest.

“Don’t move.”

“Mmmm…” he whined in some mixture of misery and pleasure, and went limp. His fingers were still wandering listlessly over the blanket so John lifted his hands one by one and kissed each wrist, just above the end of the gauze. He let them fall back to the blanket and moved on to his chest, hiking up his T-shirt over the bandages to kiss just below them, on the arch of his ribcage, moving slowly and deliberately.

Then he went lower. Sliding his waistband down an inch, he kissed the protrusion of each hip bone at the front of his pelvis, and then the sensitive hollows where his hips dove into the base of his cock, already visibly throbbing in deep pink. He gripped the sides of his hips like handles and guided them into a rolling motion, showing him how he could move them in isolation from his abdomen. Vincent pushed against him, moving too far, but John pressed him down into the bed, refusing to let him thrust. He sucked in a breath and didn’t let it out again.

“Breathe, моя любовь [my love].”

Obediently, Vincent forced his chest to rise and fall, and John rewarded him by sliding his pants down far enough to let him stand erect. It was really gorgeous, so flushed with color. His own cock was screaming for relief at the sight of it. He unbuttoned hastily and for a moment, he let Vincent watch him stroke himself to the image of the beautiful, helpless, demonic angel laid out before him, vulnerable and tearful and completely trusting of him. His skin shone even in its tortured pallor, interrupted by slivers of red along his arms and by the purple flowers blooming at his bruised jaw. “You’re beautiful, Vincent. You’re so beautiful.”

Rosiness flooded through those pallid cheeks and he made some little flustered noise of appreciation. “I…I’m…merci.”

“And…” he reluctantly let go of himself to slide his hands down Vincent’s sides and onto his rod, where he took hold of it, “you’re good. You’re so good. You deserve happiness. You shouldn’t have to be trapped in your head all alone. You deserve for someone to take care of you. Someone to help you.”

His moan shuddered its way into a sob and he covered his mouth with one hand to stifle it.

“You’re allowed to cry. You’re safe. The only thing I will do is make you feel good.” And he closed his arms around Vincent’s thighs, sliding his hands underneath him to make him feel held from every side as he planted a kiss on the swollen head of his cock. It twitched in response.

“John –  Putain, s'il te plaît… [fuck, please…]“ he gasped, squirming for more.

John chuckled lightly. “Okay.” And he took him into his mouth, deep. God, he was silky soft, and so responsive. His thighs flexed hard whenever John’s tongue rubbed along a favorite spot. John worked relentlessly and systematically until he found the rhythm that drew the most flexing out of him. Vincent was rolling his hips as he’d been shown, fucking his head softly and slowly. Whenever he got too aggressive, John’s arms tightened around him, pinning him helplessly to the bed. He wondered momentarily whether anyone in the adjacent rooms could hear Vincent’s shuddering moans of ecstasy and decided he didn’t care.

Before finishing him off, he surfaced to see his head thrown back. To admire him, and to give him fuel for the final stretch. “Я тебя люблю.”  he said slowly, this time teaching him. “I love you. Безоговорочно. Unconditionally.”

“I don’t…I don’t deserve you.” He was crying uncontrollably.

“Я тебя люблю,” he repeated firmly, and cradled his hips in his arms again, enveloping him in warmth right to the base until he was breathless. His face was a mess but he refused to break rhythm for anything. In this little time, he had already learned how to bring this newfound treasure of a body to unrelenting pleasure and he did not hesitate. The growing scent of Vincent’s aromatic, animalistic musk drove his own arousal to maddening urgency with every breath. Lust sent him into a daze. Vincent’s breath hitched again and this time he could not restore it. John was growling into the flesh, struggling not to use teeth, as he carried his angel over the edge at last and swallowed every last precious drop of that salty-sweet proof of Vincent’s orgasm.

He crawled back up to his side and embraced him again, not allowing them to lose contact for even a moment. “Я тебя… тебя люблю [I love…love you]” Vincent mumbled clumsily into his neck, covered in sweat, stumbling over the words, and then kissed him. “I’m sorry…if I’m bad at it.”

Impossible. A miracle. He laughed and realized his own eyes were wet. “You’re pretty good at it right now.”

Impossible peace.

Peace all through his body, peace singing something operatic inside his ribcage, something Vincent would like. Peace he thought he would never feel again. No…not exactly like that. Peace more bittersweet, peace somehow crafted out of a white hot inferno, peace made of longing, a longing for continuance, for this moment to never end. For tomorrow to never come to test this fragile bond and steal Vincent’s life away. He pulled Vincent on top of him and held him as if he might never hold him again.

“How do I be better, John? At loving you,” said his perfect, impish angel, some minutes later, as their hearts slowed down together. His face was buried in his chest. “I really do want to try.”

“Umm…” he struggled with the afterglow clouding his brain. This was important. “Tell me when you’re hurt.”

Vincent snorted. “That doesn’t make things better for you.”

“It does. For both of us. Because then…I can help before you get mad. I can figure out what I did and apologize or…just help however you need. I promise I won’t be upset if you tell me.”

“Even if it’s something petty?”

“It’s not petty if it’s upsetting you. Maybe irrational, but…there’s always something behind it and we’ll figure it out together.”

Vincent sighed. “Like when you mentioned Helen earlier.” He cleared his throat, struggling profoundly. John waited. “I was. Um. I was jealous.” John could feel his heart racing. He had gone totally tense with anxiety, waiting for a response.

“That makes sense. I didn’t think about that. You should know that you mean very much to me, even after this short time. I…I have struggled with moving on, but it’s what she would want. She even said so. And what I have with you is something…completely unique. I have never felt this way before.” That was true.

“Well that…wasn’t so bad.”

“See. You can do it.” He could feel Vincent’s cheeks smiling against him.

“Will you tell me about her? You wanted to and I stupidly…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I can handle it. Anyway, I need to do something nice for you. You’ve been so good to me, Mr. Wick.”

“Well…” How to describe Helen to someone who had never met her? “She showed me how to do…this.” He gestured between them. “How to love unconditionally. Before I met her, I was power hungry in my own way. I was a pure nihilist, just angry with the world and stepping on its throat just because I could. I wanted love. Dreamed about it all the time, ever since I was a kid. I was into fairy tales, and then fucking…Victorian novels and shit. But I was completely unworthy of that. A killing machine with no idea how to live a normal life. And then she…just appeared.”

“She was a photographer at the time, doing this project for public awareness about gangs and the mob and all that. Like, telling people’s stories anonymously, to help people understand how criminal activity starts and build empathy, that kind of thing… She saw me sitting alone in a restaurant trying to look normal and immediately knew I wasn’t. Saw right through me. So she asked me for an interview and took photos of some of my old suits for the piece.”

“You did an interview? About being an assassin?”

“Well, no. I didn’t tell her that at the time. I just told her I was involved with the mafia against my will. That I had been trafficked into the business as a child and uh…”

He had to pause to swallow the lump in his throat. There were tears flowing freely down the sides of his face but he had to at least try to keep his voice steady. “Anyway, that was the first time an innocent person was willing to listen to what I’d gone through. She didn’t judge me, she didn’t try to turn me in. Didn’t see any of it as my fault. She just wanted to help me get out. Even after she found out what I was really doing. She was…remarkable. Deeply compassionate. And she spent a lot of time just…doing things with me that I never got to do. Like go to the mall…I was going to show her so many things too, because she had a hard life of her own. Messed up shit. She deserved so much more. But she’s gone, and this yearning…to give to somebody like she gave to me…this desire that she put in me, to take care of people, it’s still here. As grief. And it just has nowhere to go…”

He realized Vincent was lifting up his hand. Nothing could have surprised him more than the soft kiss that he placed on his wrist, mimicking the way John had kissed him earlier. And then he kissed him again, right at the center of his palm.

“Don’t cry, Mr. Wick,” he said. “You can take care of me as much as you like.”

John laughed in wonder. By the time he forced himself to speak, it was ragged and deeply sincere. “I will. I promise. Do you want to tell me about Chidi?”

A long silence. “…One day.”

“Okay.” John kissed the top of his head. “Do you feel any better?”

“Oui. Merci.” He cuddled closer against John, if that was even possible.

“Bien. Fais de beaux rêves. [Good. Sweet dreams.]” He switched out the light and let Vincent sleep on his chest like a curled-up cat, sighing softly from time to time.

They had a hell of a big day tomorrow. John stared into the darkness, his hands tightly around Vincent’s back, and prayed to whatever gods may be.

Don’t take him from me. Please. Don’t take him from me.

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[crystalgastles]

Ptolemaea

This is what I have written so far for my Jeff the killer rewrite, I probably should have wrote this before after the flesh but hey I don’t do things the smart way, anyway enjoy!

I walked on the cement sidewalk while the Florida humidity and heat poured onto me like molasses. The collared shirt and slacks I wore stuck to my skin while sweat poured down my back. I hate summer.

I hate being out here.

My mother pinched my ear, making me come to attention, probably because I was slouching. Even though she had to reach up she still punished me like she did when I was a child.

“Ow mom!”

“Jeff quit slouching.” She spoke through gritted teeth while my brother laughed behind her

“You’re going to have a hunch when you get older”

“I am older”

She glared at me, her lips pursed while I smiled back at her, the church doors coming up quickly. My father unlocking them and getting ready to greet us. The early morning light shining on his powder blue suit, the bright color a deep contrast from the dark wood of the wooden church doors. My shoulders tensed when he waved.

“Good morning” he smiled. He was relaxed and happy this morning but I still had to be careful with what I said or did or acted until his smile fell.

“What’s with the dark colors son?” He looked at me disappointed, but malice dripped from his words as he stared at the navy blue of my shirt

“It’s blue”

“We talked about the goth shit didn’t we?”

My mother stepped in, her hand resting on his shoulder while she spoke quietly. Something she did often to try and calm him so we wouldn’t get into another fight

“It’s all he had, I didn’t have time yesterday to go Dillards”

I sighed, I didn’t really care about being here and I didn’t want to be, it was a waste of time and my mother defending me didn’t make me feel any better. He couldn’t let it go. He could let nothing go. My clothes my hair, the way I looked. Me. The conversation ended there as they went inside. Leaving me and my brother in the blistering heat. My brother, Liu dads golden child who didn’t care too much about staying golden always stood off when I got too difficult. When me and my dad would fight. I don’t think I’d ever seen him even get so much as a scolding. Broken from my thoughts when he pushed my shoulder and tried talking to me.

“I thought you had a white one too?”

“I do, just didn’t feel like wearing it”

“Dude you should just make it easier on yourself”

“Not like he’ll change if I do”

“Right”

My brother didn’t know, hadn’t felt the wrath of my father like I had. He had it easy. It doesn’t matter anyway. We are both here, we both sit in the front pew with my mother, both had to greet people before and after the Service.

It was me and him at the front this morning, my parents did the after the service greeting even though we were also dragged along to say bye to every old lady and nuclear family that came to Abel baptist church of Jupiter Florida.

A southern drawl that had been rung with age and chain smoking called out to me. Some of the first church goers had showed and Liu and I were trapped in the prison of the wooden front doors of the foyer.

“Jeff, oh my stars, gene. Look how tall he’s gotten”

“Hi Mrs. Helen”

“Baby I remember when you weren’t but the size of a pea pod, how old are you now”

My accent seemed to deepen when I was around older folk. Something I had learned after the years of talking with them is that they treat you with more kindness if you sound like them.

“I’m sixteen ma’am, Liu can walk you to your pew unless you want to talk with my father before he starts”

She smiled at me. Her husband hobbling along to walk beside her before she started talking to me again, attempting to gossip.

“You know I can walk myself honey, you and Jane still together?”

I cringed at the thought, my childhood friend had yet to show and she was already being brought up. I pretend to date her years ago because of her girlfriend and her father’s tendencies to not like same sex relationships. I wasn’t sure to lie and say yes to save face for her or tell the truth and save face for me. I figured the ladder would be best for both of us.

“No ma’am we are still friends though”

“They can’t all be the one baby, say did your mama ever get that banner for the summer yard sale done?” her husband interrupted her, his gruff voice mimicked her own in accent as he tried to get her to her seat.

“Ya hairs gettin’ long”

“Yessir.”

“Helen stop bothering it’s hot out here”

She waved to me as he walked inside ahead of her, going to talk with my mother about banners and other things I’m sure that are mundane but just interesting enough to get people talking.

More people showed, one after the other their faces blurred and I was off somewhere else in my mind while I had to hear more and more gossip some the same words uttered in a different way about different people. 9:30 and I was getting anxious. The girl who sat behind me every day and drew crude drawings on the paper programs for that Sunday and passed them to me for fifteen years hadn’t showed. Her and her family were always late no matter what or how important they were to the congregation.

I saw the sedan pull onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, her family’s sedan. One black combat boot got out of the car first. Followed by the florals of a Sunday dress that didn’t match her black hair with bangs that were cut too short in an accident that seemed to always happen every two months.

“You’re late Jane”

“Oh Eat my fuck Jeff”

She said in a quiet voice, her family following behind her at a distance. She smiled and punched my shoulder, smoothing the front of her dress out with her hands, looking behind her.

“The old man is mad. Told me not to wear the boots but I did anyway”

“Mine is too, my shirt is apparently to dark of a blue”

Liu knocked twice on the door, something to let my father know that the Richardsons were here and to get started on the service.

I walked to the pew where my mother sat, Jane right behind me Liu trailing in front, looking behind at me and her every time we said something crude or giggled to see what we were talking about so he could also be included. He’d never know.

I sat, Jane standing in front of my pew while she waited for her family to pile into hers, her little sister, Veronica, ogling at me while she tried to show me a drawing she did at school of me her and Jane at the park we took her to once.

“Aw man you made me look terrifying”

“No I didn’t you look like you”

“Why is my smile so much bigger than all of yours I look like the Cheshire Cat”

“You’re bigger than all of us so I made your face match you”

I held the paper in my hand feigning being scared of the drawing of myself to mess with her. I smiled wide and handed it back to her. “Go sit down it’s a very nice drawing I’ll take it after church and put it up on the fridge in the church kitchen” I looked back to Jane who was now sitting behind me, her hands on the back of my seat while she looked around, shifting her eyes to make sure no one was listening.

“There’s a show Tonight”

My ears perked up at the mention of music, the scene in Miami was better than here and for it only being an hour away it wasn’t hard to sneak out.

“Where?”

“Pfft you know where, fire pit Miami?”

“Yeah yeah, who’s playing?”

“Hell if I know. I just want to do something, say you’re going to block buster and then Randy’s house, he’ll say he’s going over to yours and we’ll meet you at seven eleven. I need you to pick up Mary, she said she’s going to mine and I said I’m going to hers”

“Ok I’ll meet you at three”

“Kay.”

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - “Further Warnings”

Further warnings indeed! Let’s tally them up.

First one: Mr. Grimsby, a friend of his, but a man I very greatly disliked: there was a sinister cast in his countenance, and a mixture of lurking ferocity and fulsome insincerity in his demeanour, that I could not away with. That a man like this is Huntingdon’s friend is a warning sign.

The second one is seen in both Huntingon’s treatment of Millecent’s arts, and his reaction when Helen is actually interested in the Van Dyke painting he shows her, and tries to discuss it with him. He’s not interested in any of her interests or thoughts, or in any kind of thoughtful conversation. On top of it, he’s very disrespectful and unkind to Millicent, and Helen is aware of it though she doesn’t outright admit it to herself; the abrupt transition in I don’t know what Milicent Hargrave thought of such conduct, but I found his conversation extremely interesting, as though she’d rather switch to talking about his conversation rather than give her opinion of his bad treatment of Millicent. And immediately after that, she admits that if his mockery of the rest of the people in the room was written down, it wouldn’t look as entertaining as it felt at the time.

Third warning: he’s actively toying with her by flirting with another woman and then using that to try to get her to say she’s in love with him without having made any committment to her himself. That was not done at the time, and is a power play on his part.

Fourth, which is a bit subtler: in Helen’s conversation with her aunt, she says, “sometimes he says that if he had me always by his side he should never do or say a wicked thing, and that a little daily talk with me would make him quite a saint.” (It’s reinforced a bit by him calling her an angel in the conversation where he’s trying to get her to confess her feelings, right before her aunt cuts them off.) Helen may be, as she says, more thoughtful than the average 18-year-old of her acquaintance, but she’s still a fairly normal young woman, not an angel or a saint, and by treating her like one Huntingdon’s not only putting her on a pedestal, he’s moving the goalposts. If he holds up her relatively normal conduct as angelic, then that means he, a mere mortal, couldn’t reasonably be held to such lofty standards. Which has some implications for what his usual behaviour is like.

Helen’s conversation with her aunt also gives a good display of how she’s rationalized down her previously expressed standards, from needing a man to be actively good for her to love him, to “well, he hasn’t done anything actively wrong,” and from there down to “well, you can’t definitely prove he’s done anything wrong, and if he did it was other people’s fault”. (I want to say ‘she’s treating him like her blorbo’, but that’s trivializing.)

“I know nothing positive respecting his character. I only know that I have heard nothing definite against it—nothing that could be proved, at least”

And from that point, she rationalizes it down even further to, “well, if he’s bad then it’s especially virtuous for me to marry and fix him, it would be downright selfish and self-indulgent for me to marry a good man!”

Minor vocabulary note - Helen’s aunt describes Huntingdon as a “profligate” in relation to his supposed affair with a married woman. I’d always though profligate meant “spendthrift,” so this is a different usage than I’m used to.

I feel awful for Helen - she’s so young and inexperienced, and she’s being ruthlessly played by a man who’s about ten years older than her. It really goes to show where her first conversation with Gilbert near the start of the book - about young women needing to know more about what the world is like before they’re thrown into it headfirst - is coming from. Her aunt is doing her best, but social norms and propriety limit how frankly and openly, and in how mich detail, she can talk to Helen about the dangers.

And I do also feel terrible for her aunt, especially after extrapolating that she’s trying to save Helen from the kind of marriage she herself experiences! We see more of the “friend” of Helen’s uncle whom he wants her to marry, Mr. Wilmot, in this chapter, and he’s old enough to have a 25-year-old niece and is perving on an 18-year-old while drunk. That Helen’s uncle thinks that could be a good match for her says a lot about him! Helen’s aunt is in her worst nightmare here seeing Helen be entrapped; she’s trying her best to fight it, but she’s losing.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

You talk so well about Helen I just hnrnrnrnrh <33

It amazes me how many people were shocked at 187, because Helen’s always been an antagonist, always felt like an antagonist. She’s got neat parallels to Jon (arjrjfhdhrhfhhgg) and she’s not even sure how much of it is real and maybe none of it is but her end goal was always to keep them unsteady, always to, i dunno, treat them sorta vaguely like a friend, and then in their hour of need, when it’s something that could literally save the world, turn them away. Laugh at them.

When Jonah said Jon was marked very deeply by the Spiral, it wasn’t Michael, it wasn’t his escape from kidnapping #2, it wasn’t going back from the north pole — it was Helen.

YES. TO ALL OF THIS.

I could rant about every sentence you wrote here.

(Never mind Elias' bizarre implication here, in MAG 120 - )

(He knows it well, does he? ANYWAY.)

To me, the critical moment that reveals her is MAG 157:

See, up until that point, Helen apologists can be like "oh, Jon was mean to her, so she's just responding in kind, wah wah wah"

Okay. Sure. But she had no reason to be mean to Martin. To leave Martin to a horrible fate.

And right here, she is. With full knowledge she is CONDEMNING him to wander the Lonely forever, in the best-case scenario, or be trapped in the Panopticon as some sort of hybrid monster at the worst.

She's fine with that. Martin - who has been nice to her, chummy. Martin - not knowing about this moment - continued to be chummy with her in the apocalypse.

No, Helen is the worst kind of evil: intentional and deeply clever.

She's fun as hell, and I adore her place in this show - but she is also a true monster, deep down, and should never, ever be trusted.

[fgfirenation]

THE NARCISSISTIC ASSHOLE IS READY!

I tried a ( sort of ) semi realism for this and my knees are weak-

THIS IS MY DESIGN FOR HIM!

I USED TOO MUCH OF MY SANITY FOR THIS! LIKE SRSLY, YUI'S DESIGN WASN'T AS HARD AS HIS- ( JK, Yui's design will always give me a mental breakdown. My OC is a shitshow- )

OK. Firstly, some things about Helen from my universe :

Helen Otis was born on the 1st of October, 1980, in Wisconsin in a small town.

His parents were rich and popular around the area, but manipulative and narcissistic fucks ( mostly... kind of, you'll see ), who decided to treat him like a girl until the age of 7.

The mom and dad were gaslight, gatekeep, but no girlboss.

Helen had a huge identity crisis in his younger years ( and later- ), because of this. And everything else.

The reason why his parents didn't choose to adopt or have another child is, because his mother's health took a sharp decline right after birthing him.

His parents really wanted a biological daughter, but due to the situation and even after visiting dozens of doctors, Ms Otis wasn't able to have anymore children.

Either this or die.

So they decided to raise his son as a girl and named him Helen.

As I said, until the age of 7, because his neighbours were growing suspicious of the situation by a thousand.

After that they tried to change their lifestyle and treat him like a boy, but Helen already was showing signs of lacking some emotions and morals.

Helen had ( and still has ) zero shit how to express his emotions properly.

But he's much better now than when he was a kid.

During his years in junior school he managed to make one friend named Phil, who was killed later by his alcoholic mother by being thrown over the bridge near their town.

Phil's mother went to jail as there was a witness btw-

Hel continued to stay aside from other kids, because of them making fun of his name and his feminine traits.

Unfortunately, his mother passed away a few months after Phil's death, because of a heart attack.

Yeah, Helen had it rough, but surprisingly his father was a decent parent. ( If we don't count the damn ' pretending his son was a girl ' stage- )

But shit hit the fan, when Ban was transfered to Helen's school and the physical bullying started.

Technically Ban was older than Hel and wasn't really in his class, but he loved to terrorise the lonely kids.

Helen would come back home with bruises and one time with a broken nose.

Mr Otis did try to report this straight to the police, but unfortunately for them... Ban's stepparents had the whole police department in their pocket.

Soooo yeah, even tho Helen and his father were from a rich family, it didn't matter. It was a dead end.

Corrupted system and everything-

But Hel wasn't going to be alone forever.

In 1992, a year later after Ban's arrival, four other people were transfered to his school ( one of them in his class ) all the way from Japan.

Helen learned, that they are Ban's siblings, and his blood ran cold.

He thought, that they were gonna be as bad as their brother.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

These four were the TOTAL OPPOSITE of Ban.

And after he was saved by them from another one of Ban's bullyings... well...

You know the meme of the extrovert yoinking the introvert in a bear hug and saying : " You're my friend now! " ?

Yup, that's exactly what happened.

One in particular was attached to him like a koala, whenever they were together.

The names of the four idiots were Keiko (18 years old, the oldest sibling), Michael (16 years old), Victor (11-12 years old) and Yui (10 years old).

The Hasegawa siblings never judged him.

That one in particular, that I was talking about, was Yui.

Yui defended Helen from Ban and even ended once with a broken hand, which caused Hel to faint from worrying so much.

Basically these two were around each other 24/7 like they were glued together.

You could never see one without the other.

The friend group eventually grew bigger.

New people joined in like Judy, Tom, Susan, Jimmy, May, Sonnie, Jonathan, Emra, Riv and one interesting non-human individual (Hobo Heart-).

( If you want to know more about these idiots and how tf they became part of the group, just tell me. Also yes, Judy has more lore in my universe. )

So long story short : Helen at that time had a huge friend circle and even his father liked the group. (Despite half of them being the embodiment of a living tornado.)

That was all until an incident with a huge forest fire, which happened in April of 1994.

The Hasegawa siblings vanished without a trace in it, including Sonnie and Riv.

Having his best friend being ripped from him and other of his friends disappearing broke Helen mentally a lot.

His father tried to comfort his kid, but Helen's brain was blank and not responding, even when his remaining friends tried to speak to him.

The snowball slowly turned into an avalanche, when Tom framed him for stealing Judy's watch.

Judy, the lesbian queen (Yes, Judy here is a lesbian.), was skeptical about the whole situation with the watch (because she's smarter here-) , but unfortunately Ban's bullying upped to a 1000 and the avalanche turned into a huge armagedon. Maggie joined Ban in this too.

And after Tom's accidental death, when he confessed on the rooftops of the school, that he was the one behind the watch thingy.... Helen snapped completely.

And you know what that means.

The massacre on 31st of October, 1994, when Helen killed 13 people and injured 5 others at one party held by one of his classmates.

How did he hurt so many people? His family had a few guns, so he took one of them, reloaded it and took a baseball bat with nails in it to bash some heads.

Susan, Jimmy, Jonathan, Riv, Emra and May weren't at the party, because they moved away in different states 4 months after the huge forest fire incident. Hobo vanished too not long after the fire incident too.

Judy was critically injured in the massacre, along with Ban and Maggie.

Helen was put in a mental hospital after the court trial.

He stayed there for 4 years and was released, because of signs, that he was getting better.

But we all know he wasn't the same after all of this shitshow.

He continued to live with his father until 2000, when he moved away from his hometown to Milwaukee.

You know? In this story his father is very tolerant of his son's behavior. (Man, you're not always supposed to be on his side-)

Helen found out, that he was agender and he didn't care about the gender, when dating somebody... Motherfucker still hadn't dated anybody...yet.

In 2002 and 2003 Helen committed a few murders, the grotesque corpses of the victims portraited in poses like Michelangelo statues, flowers and organs put around them, in the hands or mouths.

The only victim, that didn't have their guts ripped away and only had knife carvings onto the skin like flower markings on a painting, was...

You guessed it. Judy.

Helen couldn't do the same thing to her, because she actually defended him against Ban.

So he killed her as quickly as possible and carved the patterns onto her skin, leaving her in the woods.

(Jud comes back later as a demon, but that's a story for another time-)

Unfortunately for Hel, the police caught a track of him rather quickly and he was forced to flee deep into the woods.

Since then the police hasn't been able to catch him, although there were a few sightings of him here and there around Wisconsin and rumors about somebody helping him to blend again with society.