#he wakes up later to a corpse retriever screaming about payment

[thereallycoolmonsterithoughtup]

i feel like if surja and kabru met while The Island Dungeon™ still existed surja would kneel down on both knees n try to scam/steal from kabru but also worship him like a god and he would be like "haha thanks but youre kind of weird and i see right through your act. " and then kabru beheads him and his head rolls lmaooo

HELPPPP his negative rizz has devastating consequences

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

Cooking

Pairing: Luke Harper and Leah Ironfurnace

Summary: Leah tries to cook a Meal for Luke

Rating - Appropriate for all ages

Taglist - @princess-geek @secretaryunpaid @schnitzelbutterfingers @cts-tj1@daddytyrilstarfury @choicesficwriterscreations

Within the swirling vortex of moving, meetings, and matrimony, the newly dubbed Leah Iron had very little time or even inclination to consider the mundane particulars of her soon-to-be-life. Upon arriving in Harper Manor , her primary energies had been spent on winning over the dour, suspicious faces of her beloved’s kinfolk, and, once achieved, had moved on to planning and preparing for her nuptials.

But several weeks into wedded bliss, after the church bells had faded into far-off echoes and the soft, pink petals of her bouquet had withered to brown, crunchy flakes, she knew it was time to get down to brass tacks: grocery shopping, laundering, sweeping floors, and cooking quaint, home-style dinners for Four.

Luke was quick to contest the final point. Rather vehemently.

“I didn’t marry you so you could become my servant!” he exclaimed. “I don’t need a maid, or a cook. Especially not a cook,” he said with a small shudder.

Leah looked confused. “Then what shall we eat? Shall you cook? Are we to hire a cook? Will we just go out for all our meals?” She frowned. “Won’t that get rather expensive?”

Her protestations rambled innocently along as Luke stood mute, struggling for answers. Little could his dear wife have known that the bulk of his modernity concerning the allotment of household tasks had little to do with progressive ideals and much with his unfortunate experience with her suspect and far from esculent cooking abilities. But at the moment, with Leah’s severe eyes demanding explanation, he knew the truth would never answer, and decided this clash of wills would best be resolved by flight. With one quick kiss to Leah’s cheek he fled hastily out the door, a weak “I’ll see you after I take care of some things, love!” issuing from his wake.

Leah huffed about as she cleared away the breakfast things, disregarding her husband’s concern and strange behavior. After all, he was just being silly! Almost insulting, really, thinking she, Leah Iron, could not get her hands good and dirtied. Stopping mid-scrub, she set the mug in her hand into the basin of sudsy water, gazing soulfully out the window with a rather bold profile. She was no longer the dainty miss of her youth, oh no! She was empowered. She was free. She Was Woman.

It was with this slogan in mind that she made her way to the local market that morning, traversing the loud and crowded lanes by herself for the very first time. Looped about her arm rested an adorable wicker basket with which she would carry home her purchases, much like the butcher’s wife or baker’s daughter she recalled from her adolescence, those capable woman who strode about Grantham village with aplomb.

Her first stop was at the vegetable stand, where with great care and little acumen she picked out a batch of semi-wilted green beans. Surely their lack of vibrancy must mean some kind of reduced cooking time, and it seemed perfectly acceptable to her mind to consider them as practically cooked already. Settling the bundle into her basket, she applauded herself for her foresight. Efficiency, yes, that was the key to being successful in this new life!

With considerable pluck she next elbowed her way through the roving masses towards the distinct sound of clucking. A half-lidded lady missing roughly three-quarters of her teeth stood behind a makeshift counter with several rows of caged birds squawking behind her.

“I’d like a chicken, please!” Leah sweetly requested, but with the authority of command hanging in her voice.

The purveyor dispelled a grunt and moved to fulfill the order. Sybil stood patiently by, expecting to be handed several pieces of neatly butchered and precisely trimmed meat, perhaps even already cooked – that would have been quite the bargain! – but with visible shock outlining her face was instead presented with an actual chicken.

Alive.

Not dead.

“Heavens!” Leah cried. “What ever am I supposed to do with this?”

The reply was as succinct as it was helpful:

“Kill it. Cook it. Eat it.”

Leah doled out the payment and hesitantly accepted her purchase, uncertainty clinging to her brow. She held the writhing beast aloft as far off from her person as her arms would enable her as it flapped furiously and its talons plunged painfully into the fleshy meat of her palm. Biting her lip, she worried over the first point of instruction.

Kill it.

“What do you mean kill it?” she tremulously asked. “Do you mean right here, right now? Am I to throw it against the wall? Crush it under my foot?” A less apathetic shopkeeper might have laughed or scoffed at such naivety, but the lady simply gave a sleepy smile as she retrieved the chicken from her confused customer. Leah leaned in, curious, when a sharp thwack sent her careening back, narrowly avoiding a direct hit with the lobbed off chicken head now sailing through the periphery of her vision.

The decapitated bird was promptly handed back to Leah, whose mouth hung open in a word of silent horror. A delayed spurt of blood erupted from the severed neck clenched in her fist, and over the gurgling sounds of gore and her own belated screams of dismay she could just discern a toothless, “That’ll cost you extra!”

The senior Mrs. Daly was known around the neighborhood for her small yet tightly run seamstress business which she operated out of her little house on Edgewater Estate. Punctuality was key to her success, and what kept her customers coming back time and time again. With only herself and her ten tired fingers to keep things running on schedule, she had little margin for error, and even less time to spend on a  dopey-headed daughter and her husband who serendipitously just happened to live a mere three blocks away – a perfect distance for dropping in whenever the bread refused to rise or lighting the stove became too much to bear.

She heard several petit knocks in the middle of bustling a wedding train, and opened the front door to see Leah bearing a sheepish look, a plethora of feathers sticking out of her lustrous, aristocratic hair.

Mrs. Daly pointed to a limp object weeping with blood.

“Dearie, is that a chicken you’ve got there?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Sybil nodded seriously and lifted the pathetic beast to eye level. “You see I wanted…well, that is to say….I’m not quite sure…”

Mrs. Branson heaved a sigh.

“Come on inside, dearie, and we’ll get it cleaned up.”

There were feathers everywhere.

Peppering her hair, tickling her nose, troubling her tongue, and she was fairly certain that downy feeling beneath her stays had not been present five minutes ago. Indeed, the only area in which feathers could not be found was the now naked, glistening chicken corpse.

“Well that’s that,” Ms.Day declared. Leah sighed with relief. The ordeal was finally over. “Now for the butchering!”

A half hour later Leah’s apron was markedly more blood-splattered. Her face was splattered as well, though with a different substance: fat dollops of tears stained her face, rimming her eyes with the telltale signs of sorrow.

“I’m a healer, not a killer!” she wailed into the gizzards.

Mrs. Daly sighed – “You’re being dramatic again…” – and continued wrapping up the chicken portions in paper and placing them neatly into her  wicker basket. She shooed Leah out the door, and on her way back home Leah pondered the macabre turn of her day. If she’d known part of the requirements for living a common life would be becoming adept at portioning recently slain animal products she might have….

Leah stopped and took a mighty sniff, glancing down to the band on her left hand, the chain that would forever gird her to a life as a slaughterer. Well. It was far to late to consider that. She would just have to prove them and herself wrong. Yes, she would prove them all wrong!

And prove them wrong she did, six hours later and leaving behind her a path of destruction in what had once been called the kitchen. Piles of pots wobbled, brown splotches of grease speckled every vacant surface, and she prayed that the hazy layer of smoke circling above would dissipate by the time her husband arrived home. But despite all these drawbacks, there on the table sat a steaming hot supper, freshly prepared by her own hands with ingredients she purchased herself.

Now all she needed to do was wait. Wait and listen.

In due time she heard the familiar jangling of keys and jumped to her feet, assaulting her husband with vigor before he was barely through the door.

“Darling, look, look! Look what I’ve done!” Luke was immediately accosted by the sight of his wife, filthy, frantic-eyed and with trickles of dried blood adorning her once spotless frock.

With a crash the contents of his arms landed on the floor and he rushed forward, pulling her unwillingly into a chair.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Luke nodded.

“Yes.”

He placed a concerned hand over her brow.

“Are you feverish?”

“No.”

He stared intently into her eyes.

“Did someone attack you?”

“No, no, no! Don’t be silly, !” She shoved him away and rose again, gesturing to the chaotic splendor of their kitchen. “I’ve just been cooking dinner!”

Luke immediately relaxed – that explained everything – but was soon beset with a consuming dread. If she’d been cooking that meant soon they would be eating. The food she’d been cooking.

Luckily Luke had seen this scenario impending for some time, and had spent a good amount of his break time in front of the washroom mirror of his office, trying on new and hopefully sincere-looking expressions for the moment when a forkful of her hideous creations entered his mouth.

That moment was now nigh, and husband watched in trepidation as his portion was meticulously laid on a dish and set carefully before him, a pair of hawk like eyes trained expectantly on his face as he took his first, painful bite.

His fears were justified.

Leah’s “chicken” (he rather generously dubbed it) left much to be desired, such as seasoning, moisture, and the ability to be digested. Although the practice sessions had been helpful, Luke’s expressions were naturally incapable of displaying anything but the perfect truth of his feelings, and at the moment they spoke plainly of thorough disgust.

His mouth attempted to speak otherwise:

“It's…it’s really good.”

“Really?” she asked, aflutter.

He grimaced. “Really.” A few beats of silence passed wherein Luke stared anxiously at the plate, no other bites forthcoming. Leah’s joyous features began to wane.

“I’m not sure,” she said, her tone distrustful. “It seems as though you don’t really like it.”

“Well. You know. Chicken.”

“But I thought you loved chicken. Your mother went on and on about how it was your favorite and if I had any intention of being a good wife then I had best remember what you liked and –”

“Leah, please. That’s not what I meant. I only mean that…well…”

“You think it’s terrible, don’t you?” she asked quietly. Leah appeared petrified.

“I think you worked very, very hard.”

“And yet…and yet all my work was for nothing?” At this point she quickly shoveled a portion of her masterpiece into her mouth, only to instantly spit it out with a strangled noise. That noise was quickly followed by another, a hollow, dispiriting wail as the strong, the brave, the indomitable Leah Iron burst into an uncontrollable bout of tears.

“It’s terrible!” she wailed. “It tastes like old dishwater and it’s as dry as sand! Mrs. Daly said I’d never amount to much in the kitchen and she was right, she was absolutely right!”

What words could soothe such pitiful outpourings of melancholy? None that Luke could think of, and he found himself inexplicably in want for words, substituting vocal comfort with a sure hand that stroked fondly down her shaking back. Presently she mastered her emotions enough to look back up to him with a rueful smile, her kind eyes shining.

“I’m a failure, aren’t I?” she asked in surrender. Luke had never before seen his Leah look so defeated, and this time was fully capable of summoning a defense.

“Of course you’re not! I’m not going to sugar coat things. You did fail, quite grandly, at cooking dinner.” He cupped her chin and smiled. “But it doesn’t make you a failure.”

“I know you’re right.” She wrestled away from his grasp and smeared the last of the drops in her eyes against her sleeve. “And of course I won’t get everything just so right away…but I’m not ignorant. I know what they must be saying about me back home, and what they’re saying about me here, and I wanted so desperately to show them…I don’t even know what, but I wanted to show them something.”

“You’re here, with me. You went to the market and bought food and butchered a chicken. That’s so much more than anyone would think you capable. And maybe it’s not perfect, but you’ll get there in time. And in the meantime we’ll just have to make do.”

She shook her head. “But how?”

Luke patted her hand and rose from his chair with that familiar, infuriating smirk.

“I’ve been a bachelor for most of my life. I don’t promise to be a whizz in the kitchen but I’m not completely useless, either.” And a fair sight more useful than you, he added, but with the foresight to do so silently. Rummaging through the icebox for a few moments, he emerged with several white, oval shaped objects, and grinned.

“How would you like some eggs?”

[thecomicsnexus]

SWAMP THING #29-31, ANNUAL #2 OCTOBER 1984 - JANUARY 1985 BY ALAN MOORE, STEVE BISSETTE, RICK VEITCH, JOHN TOTLEBEN, ALFREDO ALCALA AND TATJANA WOOD

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)

Abby Cable reunites with the Swamp Thing, after he had sent her away in a rage weeks before. Despite having yelled at her about it the last time they met, he allows her now to call him Alec. Prior to this, after his revelation about his true identity of not being Alec fundamentally, he feels that he should not be referred to as such. She had been afraid that he hated her, and that she would lose her good friend, but they embrace, as good friends as ever.

Later, she and her husband Matt go for a drive, and he announces that he has three surprises for her. After some playful teasing, he reveals that he has made a down payment on an enormous mansion. As he gives her a tour, she is overwhelmed by how great it looks. However, in the bedroom, she catches a faint odour of burning insects, but it fades.

He takes her for a second surprise, showing that he's found a job at Blackriver Recorporations under a man named Eric Loveday. Inside, she has visions of Matt's coworkers as disgusting, decaying corpses, but a moment later, they appear normal. She doesn't mention what she saw to Matt, nor does she ask what "recorporations" means. Instead, she asks what the third surprise is. Matt opts to save that one for later.

She was happy to go back to the mansion, and was pleased (albeit somewhat suspicious) of the change in Matt's personality. They went to the bedroom, and made love. Afterwards, she went to the library to look up books on autism for her job. In the psychology section, she discovered a book about one of Matt's coworkers suggesting that she was a murderer. She returned home, and read it frantically, discovering that the woman called Sally Parks had killed 15 people for no reason at all, and was finally shot dead by police 22 years ago.

Abby recalls that Matt had been different since the strange events at Elysium Lawns, her workplace. In fact, he had been acting strangely since they were last in West Virginia. Suddenly, she realizes what the significance of Matt's job is, and who he really is. She understands, finally, that for months she has been married to her uncle, Anton Arcane.

After this disturbing revelation, Abby tries to burn her clothes, and uses up all of the soap trying to wash a horrible stink from herself. Finally, she turns to a steel brush used to scrape potatoes, and uses it on her own skin, eventually passing out from pain and blood loss after 20 minutes.

She wakes naked in the kitchen, and searches for her clothes, trying to get out before Matt returns. Unfortunately, he discovers her, and along with all of his 'coworkers'. They drop their facade when Anton Arcane mutters to her, “Just say uncle,” as he grips her by her hair.

Anton Arcane, having possessed the body of Matthew Cable uses his new found reality-warping powers to incite acts of evil and violence all over Louisiana. After thinking on all of the carnage he's causing, his thoughts return to his niece Abigail, who he is holding captive.

Arcane explains to her how his soul was hurled into the region of “bodiless men” after his death in combat with the Swamp Thing. He fought free of that plane, and began his plan to inhabit Matt's body. He explains that Matt was not free of corruption, squandering his reality-warping powers by attempting to satisfy his own insatiable lust. Arcane had then incited a young autistic boy named Paul's late parents to summon the Monkey King, thus luring Abby and Swamp Thing away, and leading Matt Cable into his fateful accident. After the accident, he had easily taken the opportunity to possess Matthew, with the dying man's consent. Finally, he declares to Abby that he is Arcane, as hands drag her down through the floor.

In outer space, the Monitor is notified by his assistant Harbinger to the strange happenings in Louisiana. Rather than intervene, they simply observe. At Arkham Asylum, Jason Woodrue screams in a deranged state about something coming out of the bayou. In his own cell, the Joker has stopped laughing.

In the swamp, Swamp Thing is confused by a sudden snowfall. Suddenly, Arcane attacks. It doesn't take Swamp Thing long to realize that his old adversary has returned. Arcane mocks him, baiting him by stating that he has Abigail. Lured by Arcane to his mansion, Swamp Thing enters and then emerges with Abigail's lifeless body, demanding to know how long she has been dead.

Possessing the body of Matthew Cable, Anton Arcane reveals to Swamp Thing that he has not only killed his friend Abby Cable, but he has also sent her guiltless soul to Hell. He chases Swamp Thing with a plague of abominations, but he is lured back to the swamp by his prey.

From outer space, the events in Louisiana are being observed by Harbinger and The Monitor. Despite Harbinger's concern about the dramatic levels of supernatural activity going on there, The Monitor refuses to intervene. He is, however, unable to tear his eyes away from his viewer.

Arcane believes that his power gives him control over the swamps, but it is there that Swamp Thing reveals to his foe the new power he has gained from communion with the world of flora. Arcane is taken aback, unaware of the fact that Alec Holland and the Swamp Thing were never one and the same. Swamp Things' elemental power is able to hurt Arcane, and weaken his hold over his host's body to the point that he is forced into an internal struggle with Matthew Cable's consciousness.

Matt wrests some of Arcane's control away, and decides that after what happened to Abby, he would give up the extension that his life was given in order to send Arcane to Hell. Arcane's soul is condemned to Hell, leaving only Matthew's battered and broken body - the wounds from his car accident returned to him. He admits to Swamp Thing that it was his own weakness that allowed Arcane to kill Abby.

Swamp Thing suggests that Matthew could use his reality-warping powers to heal himself. Matthew doesn't want to live, however, and instead, decides to help bring Abby back to life. Though he is weary, Matthew is able to regenerate his wife's cells, making her blood flow, her heart beat, and her lungs breathe, but he fails to return her soul before dying. Swamp Thing then gathers Abby into his arms and walks further into the swamp, leaving Matthew's body to be found by police.

Following the death of Anton Arcane, Swamp Thing is left with the living but soulless body of his friend Abby Cable. Knowing that her soul has been condemned to hell, he swears that he would follow her if he could. Suddenly, he realizes that he may be able to do just that, by casting his consciousness into The Green.

He traverses The Green, and finds himself tempted to simply let himself be lost within it. Fortunately, he regains his drive, and moves beyond The Green, and beyond life itself, into a new plane. He finds himself in a strange place, which seems to be empty and constantly changing. A woman appears, wondering where she is, and looking for her son. Before he can say anything, the boy appears, and leads his mother into a bright light, leaving Swamp Thing alone.

Moments later, a voice catches his attention. It is the voice of Boston Brand, also known as Deadman. He explains that Swamp Thing has found his way to the Region of the Just Dead, a place where those who have just died end up before passing on. Swamp Thing inquires after Abby's soul, and Deadman admits that having died the day before, it is likely she has already passed on into the lights.

Deadman can go no further, but they are suddenly startled by the appearance of the Phantom Stranger. The Stranger leads Swamp Thing through the light to a green place that seems like paradise. He explains that it is an aspect of Heaven, one of an infinite number. This aspect belongs, as it turns out, to Alec Holland. Alec thanks Swamp Thing for finally burying his body, and allowing him to pass on to Heaven. He lives there with his wife Linda, and they are discussing reincarnation. Alec invites Swamp Thing to meet Linda, but he declines.

Having explored the two nicer options, the Stranger and Swamp Thing are left with no choice by to go to Hell, and seek out Abby. Before they can gain entry, however, they must ask permission from The Spectre. The Spectre refuses permission, claiming that Abby's consignment to Hell is by the decree of God. The Phantom stranger argues that if she was unjustly condemned, then Hell has no reason. Contrarily, the Spectre responds that being able to return from death would similarly render life meaningless. The Stranger shrewdly asks what that means for Jim Corrigan - the man whose body the Spectre currently inhabits. Bested, the Spectre lets them pass.

At the gates of Hell, the Phantom Stranger states that he cannot enter with Swamp Thing. Fortunately, Etrigan appears, and offers his help since the Swamp Thing helped him defeat the Monkey King. However, he requires a fee: a flower that the Phantom Stranger plucked from the western slope of Heaven. The payment made, Etrigan leads Swamp Thing into hell.

As they wander through hell, they encounter some demons who are using General Sunderland as a slave. When he recognizes Swamp Thing as the one who killed him, the demons rip out his tongue to keep him quiet. Realizing that these demons will be of no help to them, Etrigan leads Swamp Thing deeper.

Next, they encounter Anton Arcane, condemned to have the eggs of insects hatching inside of him for eternity. He mocks Swamp Thing's attempt to retrieve Abby, warning that he won't want her once he sees her. Before Swamp Thing leaves, Arcane demands to know how many years he has been in hell. When Swamp Thing responds that it has only been one day, Arcane screams in horror.

Finally, Swamp Thing and Etrigan discover Abby's soul being tormented by a group of demons. Angrily, he attacks them, pushing them aside. The demons become angry, and Swamp Thing is forced to grab Abby and run. Desperately, Etrigan tries to open an escape route out of Hell, while they evade the demons' attacks. However, Arcane bites into Swamp Thing's ankle, gripping with his jaws. He complains that without Abby's soul still in hell, his revenge is moot, and he suffers without any satisfaction. With time running out, Etrigan loosens Arcane's grip with a kick and sends Abby and Swamp Thing through the exit.

Back in the swamp, Abby awakens with no memory of what happened to her. She is puzzled to see that Swamp Thing is crying.

REVIEW

Sophisticated horror. That is honest advertisement.

Alan Moore was known around this time for his revisionism of whatever was broken. It is strange that he ended up “fixing” Swamp Thing, as it wasn’t really broken (wasn’t a best-seller either). But with this, he made comic-book history.

But he is not alone, as usual, Moore is paired with amazing artists that put something of their own in the art. You can see it all over, culture and pop-culture references, shadows and reflections that tell a different story, sad gazes. This story has all of that.

There are a lot of horrible (in a good way) moments, and a lot of sad ones as well. The sequence where Swamp Thing meets Alec Holland and sees Linda in the distance. There are no thought balloons here, but it is evident that Swamp Thing still has false memories of loving her.

Moore pretty much closed most of the loose ends he received, showing the final fate of the villains souls. Poor Arcane thought he was fighting Alec Holland, that was a great moment.

I couldn’t recommend this story enough. There are many collected editions, but you can also find digital copies on Comixology (I would wait for a bundle sale around the time the tv show comes out).

I give this story a score of 10