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confessedlyfannish · 9 months ago

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

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moongothic · 4 months ago

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So a few weeks ago I ran into this, old, old Crocodile meta post from 2015, the OP of which hasn't been active on Tumbr (at least on that account) since 2018. And this post (along with some of the OP's other posts) has been living in my head rent free since then.

There was just something there about seeing these old meta posts, completely detached from the current state of the story, the fandom and the Crocodad Propaganda... It just made for a truly refreshing read, but they also had such great observations about Crocodile I hadn't even thought about or noticed*, and somewhat most importantly... validating my own feelings/observations about things I've been kind of afraid to vocalize myself lest I apper completely delulu. Like I dunno I do worry sometimes if I'm just reading into things too much just to make massive reaches to get The Reading of the character that happens to support the Crocodad theory specifically, instead of trying to get a more objective reading instead. So seeing someone else make either those exact same or similar observations nearly 10 years before I did is so validating, and really just made me want to discuss some of those things.

*(Like this whole post about how "DON!" is often used to add emphasis and show the true beliefs of characters, and how Crocodile doesn't really say things with a DON!, almost like his heart isn't in most of the things he does or says. I dunno it was such a good read)

Sidenote: I do want to quickly comment that I don't agree with the OP on some of their readings about stuff, and more importantly, due to the age of the both the original posts and the OP not being active anymore, I didn't want to, like... Treat them as if they just posted it recently and interact with the posts as such. (I dunno, when people go digging through my decade old main blog and start reblogging shit I posted in like 2014 it just. I dunno, it's just kind of uncomfortable. Like you're allowed to browse my past but I wished people let my ancient cringe stay in the past. But that's just me) Like for example I feel like OP has a fundamental misunderstanding what being "trans" really even means (thus I don't agree with their take on trans Croc), but again, OP's take is old and so I don't want to hold it against them. They could have grown since then and come to better understand what being trans means, and regardless of that they don't have to buy into the theory either. And I absolutely do not want anyone to start trying to pester them about it or anything (again, they posted these things nearly 10 years ago), regardless of if they're still active or not. But yeah, that's why this is a whole separate post rather than a reblog with commentary.

So OP in their post speculated how in this moment (chap 206), based on the face he makes and the serious look he gives to Luffy, Crocodile seems to find the idea of someone being willing to die for someone else's sake absolutely incomprehensible, as if he's trying to wrap his head around the mere concept. That, or he used to know what it was like to hold someone/something that dear to you, but has long forgotten what it was like

Rereading this arc a while back I couldn't help but to take notice of this panel too and that unusual, somber(?) look on Crocodile's face. But because I'm a Crocodad Truther, of course I couldn't help but to feel that this was a face of recognition, of Crocodile understanding Luffy exactly in this moment, that willingness to do anything for a loved one. Especially because I have been speculating Crocodile might've been doing all of this with the goal of nuking the World Government out of orbit to protect his long lost baby boy (it's just that he simply finds Luffy's insistence on protecting this random ass princess from a random ass country he has zero ties to ridiculous, as opposed to like, doing all of this to protect immidiate, close family)

So again, despite the different reading it is validating as hell to see someone else think this panel in particular was odd. But the more I thought about it, I did kind of start leaning towards OP's reading. Now this one was originally pointed out by opbackgrounds, how in this scene (chapter 196) while Crocodile is meant to be laughing and mocking the royal guard for "throwing their lives away" to protect Cobra, he isn't actually smiling. We don't even get to see his full face with his eyes blacked out, so we don't get to see Crocodile's true feelings in this scene

And that does kind of reframe what he says in the second panel. For a long time I wondered if the implication was that Crocodile does actually value people's lives more than he lets on (especially with his seeming willingness to blow up a million people in a violent, orchestraded coup), just having a "small sacrifice for the greater good" kinda outlook (as we know, casualties can't be avoided in war, Croco and Luffy both agree on that) (where as I would IMAGINE Dragon having a more "no sacrifices, we have to save as many people as possible" kinda principle)

But now, looking at these two moments together, and knowing Crocodile has trust issues for unknown reasons, there is also that option that, perhaps... No one has ever shown that kind of loyalty towards him, a willingness to follow him to the grave or support him, to stay by his side? And if so, maybe, in these two scenes, Crocodile does recognize that kind of deep loyalty and trust and love, and has to cope with the fact that he has and may never experience it himself, that he's doomed to be alone, surrounded only by people who "respect him" out of fear (something that could be extra painful while knowing someone had just recently betrayed him by leaking his info to ruin his plans/after figuring out it was Robin, his very literal partner in crime. Like talk about rubbing salt into a wound).

And y'know, that is an extremely sad reading and I feel so bad for my poor little meow meow (that man needs a hug so bad), but also that doesn't really add to pushing The Crocodad Agenda, which is very unfortunate. Especially because I feel like between the two readings, Crocodile recognizing loyalty no one will ever show him (and being hurt by the fact) feels like a more comprehensive and simple reading, than if one is about him showing he doesn't fully believe in what he's doing is right and the other about him relating to Luffy on a deeper level.

But then, as OP pointed out in their post, for the entirety of page 2 of Chapter 207 while Luffy is keeling over from the poison finally kicking in, Crocodile looks like he's fully letting down his walls to express genuine relief, as if the those beliefs Croc had carried and convinced himself were true were just confirmed

What're his beliefs again? That trust in others is worthless, and you can not afford to have ideals if you're weak, great strenght being the only thing that allows you, if not straight up justifies you, in doing whatever you please? Now, maybe it's just me, but if Crocodile was showing relief here over his belief that trusting others is worthless after being reminded time and time again of the love and loyalty the Strawhats have for each other and the Alabastan kingdom has for everyone in it (etc)... I dunno, I feel like that would be kind of weak, if that's where Crocodile's internalized beliefs were wavering. But if Crocodile's whole Utopia-plan had been about destroying the WG to protect his baby boy (and release the whole world from the WG's oppressive rule while he's at it) at whatever cost, while he deep inside knew what he was doing was fucked up beyond belief... Yeah, Crocodile trying to convince himself what he was doing was "justified" would make sense. Him having his beliefs potentially even waver a little bit through out this whole ordeal would make sense. Crocodile in this moment experiencing relief that what he had told himself was the righteous would make sense.

Everybody remember's Doflamingo's speech from Marineford, about how history is written by the victors and its them who decide what is right and what is wrong- the winner becomes "justice" itself. Vegapunk kind of called back to this concept during his broadcast too, and yeah, Crocodile did kind of introduce us to it back in Alabasta. If he had won, he would have been "justified" in what he had done, because it'd be him who'd be deciding what's right and what's wrong.

Now I don't really have anything else to add to that post in particular (though I absolutely love the reading on the Crocodile vs Robin part and now that I've read it I can't unsee nor disagree with it), but OP did make a separate post speculating about some of design decisions Oda made regarding Crocodile, starting with discussing the logo for Baroque Works. And they pointed this out

Bro wrote this in 2015, they have no idea, oh my god, dude had no clue whatsoever

So quickly looking that one up and yeah, wings have sometimes been used to represent the sun (most commonly with the sun, as a winged sun?) and yeah, that actually has a lot of meaning in the current state of the series re: God of Liberation the Sun God Nika. But what's more is that this is actually the SECOND time we're actually finding a way to link Crocodile to sun-symbolism, the other being Crocodile being a reference to the Egyptian god Sobek (protector god, god of military, go to Wikipedia), who has an alternative form (/fusion with Ra) called Sobek-Ra, where he is a sun god. And what was Crocodile trying to do in Alabasta if not falsely "liberate" the country from its original rule. Also worth noting is that seemingly the winged sun was most commonly used in Egyptian iconography, so if Oda ever did research Egyptian mythology for inspiration in Alabasta (which, considdering the sheer amount of Stuff in the story as a whole is more than likely), then it is very possible he could have read about the winged sun and used it intentionally.

But what I do find interesting is that, yeah, wings kinda are a symbol one would considder "heroic" or related to "freedom". And, as I have been going on and on about, if Crocodile's ultimate goal in creating his funny little "utopia" was to overthrow the World Government and "free" the whole world of their rule. Like. That really lines up with the whole symbolism with the sun and the liberation and the freedom and shit, like. Why does it line up so neatly good dear god

I dunno how to end this post, these were just a few little things that I had been thinking about after coming across OP's blog and, yeah, just wanted to discuss them.

Again, OP hasn't been active for years, but if they did suddenly come back please don't bother them or god forbid harrass them/try to get them to change their mind about trans Croco. Just don't start shit, please.

End of post byeeeeeeee

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Sir Crocodile #Crocodad #Me? Writing an actual honest to god Meta Post? For once? It's a bloody miracle #Did not proofread the latter portion of the post I'll probably come back to edit it later #I dunno man sometimes seeing A Fresh (Vintage) Take about a subject just gets the ol' brain running again #Not that I really had that much to add I was just. Resummarizing OP's points and turning it into Crocodad Propaganda

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vynxwave · 2 months ago

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What are your thoughts on the fandom's reaction to the new Earthspark episodes? I feel like so far... it's weird how these episodes are so obviously just the next half of the last batch and there seems to be almost no acknowledgement of that at all? Feels surreal to me. I also think it's interesting how I was dreading people being furious that their headcanons weren't supported but instead while I'm not seeing the furious rage I expected (which is a relief!) it's almost like anything that doesn't line-up is just ignored? I also have seen some of what you expected which is the "This is so much better than the last batch!!!" stuff. Very little analysis so far too, I almost didn't even bother posting the thing I said about Twitch because I initially thought, "Well that's so obvious I'm sure everyone's said it already," only to check and see nobody had! -arceespinkgun

I've definitely seen the same. S3 is so connected to previous episodes it's really a shame people aren't talking about it!

As anticipated, people are still wishing EarthSpark was what they thought season 1 was and this hinders their ability to understand/enjoy this season.

Loootsss of people are angry at how Starscream was I'm seeing. How he is treated makes sense following S2E09 Witwicky because his plan was foiled but he himself hadn't been addressed.

I didn't anticipate him being trapped in Terratronus but it does make sense. His beating on Terratronus's eye reminds me of when he and the other seekers left Swindle and Soundwave behind the anti-energon field that had caught them without pause with Swindle shouting "Starscream! You can't leave us!" while beating on the field — and, most recently, the fact that his betrayal of the Decepticons essentially imprisoned them all again! Of course the Decepticons would leave him up there.

I love that Starscream even made himself a little crown in the tea party shot, making himself look like a king while holding the Cyber Slayer too. He is a far cry from how he was in S2E09 Witwicky when he felt empowered/victorious, and now he acts completely nonthreatening as if it'd help him. He tries to appeal to the Autobots, but because of his very own actions he has nothing actually substantial to offer them; he's hit rock bottom! Him being easily cowed made sense because he's cornered and powerless, unlike the other episodes where he had power/glory in sight, a viable plan, or power actually in his hand. And it is here that Starscream receives some poetic justice — Hashtag using the Cyber Slayer on him.

I've seen some misunderstanding of the Cyber Slayer's ability (not only just now, but since S2)? Mandroid in the S1 finale described it as "For a bot [Shockwave's] size energon depletion is dangerous, for [Terrans] it could be lethal." We see it used on Shockwave, Elita-1, and Optimus Prime in the S1 finale — but it does not kill them. Same with Wheeljack in S2. I was about to add "where did this misconception come from?" but then I reread its name, like ah, that's why.

The direction of the Decepticons is really cool, and it's a shame a lot of people don't like it. Given what Shockwave told Starscream in S2E09 Witwicky I anticipated the Decepticons would be working to get back to Cybertron, so how they were didn't surprise me at all because it's completely in line with how the Decepticons have been built up.

They've been hunted, experimented on, imprisoned, betrayed, and imprisoned again — of course they don't like Earth or want to stay; with Starscream's failure, they have no means of conquering Earth. Shockwave's plan is, of course, the most logical.

One thing I dislike is people's overuse of calling the Decepticons "evil" in lieu of just... not understanding the their motives. Like yes, they are, but people are acting like they have been reduced to black-and-white villains which is so weird. Like, Breakdown was going to offer Bumblebee a hand before Thrash intercepted and helped him up, Shockwave honors the deal he made when Breakdown loses, Shockware doesn't blast Megatron despite him refusing to join the Decepticons, and Starscream reaps what he sows. The Decepticons want to return home to escape the planet they've been imprisoned on, and of course they'll do that by whatever means they deem necessary.

Not too much discussion or analysis of the Quintessons so far, but I reckon that could just be from people not having finished the episodes yet. I can connect a lot about the Quintessons from this new batch to previous episodes, which I'll be posting about probably tomorrow.

I would've thought people would be way more vocal about S1's point about not knowing Cybertron's status being continued in S3 but I haven't really seen it mentioned xD. I thought Breakdown raised a very interesting point!: "You ever think Cybertron might be in trouble and need our help?"

#earthspark spoilers #earthspark season 3 #vynx.analysis #earthspark #transformers earthspark

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mantequillamcwhoremick · 4 months ago

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IM BACK TO ASK IF YOU HAVE ANY BUNNY FIC RECOMMENDATIONS 😭😭

Hiiiii!!!! Omg dbcvhkjabchjbc I'm honored you want recs from me but honestly I'm on the lookout myself😭😭😭😭 I'm either terribly picky or really bad at finding fics so I can give you my faves, but they're probably gonna be ones you've already read-- I'm seriously slacking on the Bunny fanfic consumption maybe

Lock and Key by sp_peppers

This one is more Butters than Bunny but one of my absolute favorites. Wish I knew the author's tumblr because god damn. HEAVY TRIGGER WARNING because this one is super dark, it's an elaborate fic about Butters' canon abuse with the timeline a little rearranged, but it has a happy ending and Bunny is sprinkled all throughout and nicely wraps up the end. But please for the love of god proceed with caution; It's heavy on the abuse

Just Underneath by TrashKat

You might know this one already but it's your classic Mystechaos fic. Love it. Wish the ending was a little less short because it was SO GOOD so if you haven't read it, you're welcome

Midnight Snack by Blame Canada (OneHitWondersAnonymous)

This one's a really cute oneshot <3 Kenny comes over to bring Butters a midnight snack, very fluffy, what more would you need? :3

until the sun comes up by starglitches

another sweet oneshot where Kenny climbs in through Butters' window. I will never EVER get tired of those.

The Night Bound to Come justtothesea, orphan_account, thewordsleep (justtothesea)

a cute but angsty little oneshot where they both find solace in each other's company while having a bad time. I reread it sometimes :>

May Nothing But Happiness Come Through Your Door by boy-thighs (sop)

Probably my absolute favorite, I fucking WISH I could write like this. You probably already know it (it's very popular) but holy fuck, I reread this often. I wanna kiss the author on their forehead and thank them for their service.

So these are ones I have saved to my bookmarks, but I'll keep being on the lookout. Check if I find some that are maybe unfinished but still bangers. And feel free to always go ahead and recommend stuff to me too!!

I'm mostly focusing on writing rather than reading right now, so let's hope I can soon add more to the bunny tag. They're my favorite little guys and, again, I'm very honored you're asking me for recs <3333

#ask #south park #sp bunny #lucio yaps #fic rec

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merakiui · 10 months ago

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hi mera i reread your ceo azul fic and i still can’t get over how well-written it was…i even got an aha moment when i noticed some things that i missed in my first reading

ik there won’t be a sequel which is fine since you’re already writing a lot of other stuff at the moment , but i kinda remember you mentioned before that the fic originally had a smut scene but you omitted that cause it didn’t fit the vibe of the fic which i understand tbh

but i’m curious….kinda like a delete scene of a movie, would you share it if you have already written it? if not, would you share to what was your original idea of the smut scene? if you don’t want to, that’s okay!!!

Hiiii!! :D thank you so much for reading it!!!! I'm happy you enjoyed it!! <3 this ceo Azul is so obsessed... I loved writing his meltdown in that fic the most. Out of every Zuzu meltdown I've written, I think that one is the yummiest. So much emotion and manipulation (from darling) in that scene!!!!!

Aaaa yes!! The fic did indeed have a smut scene planned. 👀 I can happily share what it was going to be. While I didn't write it out, I still clearly remember what it was meant to be. Essentially, Azul was going to knock you up in the panic room-turned-nursery hehe. In the story, he locks you in the room by yourself and then goes off to give you space (which then leads into the meltdown once you wake hours later). But originally (before it was scrapped) he was going to drag you over to the bed and fuck you all while rambling (very delusional and obsessed) about how this will be good for you and him, how you just need time to warm up to this new life, how he's doing all of this for you, how you'll be a great mama to the baby.

But now that I'm dwelling on it, I like the idea of an Azul who can wait for you to gradually soften just enough to allow him to be intimate with you. A Stockholm Syndrome route! Soft, sweet lovemaking with your boss lover Azul. (๑-﹏-๑) hopefully in this unofficial sequel, Azul finally adds more life to the house because in my mind it is the most bleak modernist house to ever exist. orz he needs to put up some artwork or pictures or decorations so it feels less empty and more like a home for two (soon to be three because a baby will inevitably be on the way).

#twisted chit chat

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nalyra-dreaming · 9 months ago

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Heey, I've finished Memnoch, and I'm evidently among those crazy people who enjoy it a lot. Although it would land differently if I didn't read ahead. The further I go, the more this wet cat of a man entices me. PL Lestat did something to my brain, I will probably love all the mad shenanigans now. + The ending made a lot of sense after TVA and Blood and Gold. I kiiind of regret I've skipped this part at first, though, because now I'm curious what the ending would do to me without spoilers 🤣

So, a question. How did Armand's religious frenzy look for you when other novels haven't come out yet? I'm not sure I would have understood it the same way only with his TVL chapter. And what did you think in general with the context of what Anne was saying at the time? It kinda did feel like she didn't want to write about them anymore and wanted to explore something else. So I get why people would be confused.

By now I enjoy it a lot as well!! It grew on me on second reread, which is not that far back actually, and was followed by a pause and then a third. There is a lot in there and a lot that makes one think, and a lot... crazy stuff *laughs*

So this was, by statement, supposed to be the last book. Then. She did not want to write them anymore, indeed.

Which, you might imagine, was devastating, with that ending.

Armand gone up in flames, others, too. Lestat mad, jaded and slinking into obscurity.

I didn't touch the books for the longest time.

I'm not sure I can answer your question wrt to Armand and his religious frenzy. It's... been a while (maybe others want to add on with their experiences here?!) - I just remember that reading it all... was devastating.

Louis, crying and begging at the locked doors. The absolute despair in it all, in the grief of losing Armand.

Lestat saying: "Adieu, mon amour." the last thing in the book.

The whole book screams for some answers. Answers that are still denied in the end. Was it the Devil? Was it God? Was it purgatory? Did Armand sacrifice himself there for anything that is true? Or was it just a futile gesture, which brought only pain, no relief... I can understand the utter shock to the system actual proof had to produce in Armand - him, a child of the Children of Satan, being confronted with the actual proof within this universe.

It must have been devastating as well, emotionally, and for his soul.

So much of what he believed he had left behind and overcome... crushing him now.

Now, TVA followed. Merrick. Blood and Gold. Pandora. Blackwood Farm. Blood Canticle. I picked them up at some point, somewhat disbelievingly.

I did not really enjoy them the first time, after Memnoch the wound was still open, the yearning to get back to Lestat for some kind of resolution for him and Louis quite strong. The blow had been intense, and Merrick promised... and then the other books did not deliver. And Blood Canticle felt absolutely OOC, though I find it has its place now in his arc. Now.

Because back then I could not have dreamed that Anne would finish the arcs. Or some at least. Would pick up the threads for Louis, Lestat and even Claudia once more, reshape them. I had not dreamed that the last trilogy would give them resolution.

Would close so many wounds.

I'm older now. I understand a lot more about trauma, and pain, and loss, and how these things shape us.

I read these books now quite differently. Their voices sound differently in my mind. I know why Anne had to let Louis go, and why she struggled so hard. I can feel the pain of loss and the wish to find a higher purpose in the tale.

So yeah^^. Reading it back then without the other books... was indeed something^^. But I do enjoy rereading it now too. :)

#bark-han #asks #ask nalyra #memnoch the devil #vc #the vampire chronicles #armand #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 18 days ago

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Sorry if u have already answered this or this isn’t really ur blog focus but how do u structure and come up with ideas for such good and lengthy analysis?

Do u read and see the shows contents multiple times? Or interact with other fans/ fandom?

And once u have an idea how do u go about it?

— from a small niche fandom blog

I'm honored that you think my stuff is good! As for how I come up with it, well, I'll answer as best I can, but I don't know how useful it will be? If you wanna ask something more specific, feel free!

Most of my posts are responses to asks, so my general process is to read the ask, think about it as I go about my life, and then write a response once I feel like I have my thoughts in order. Then I add the post to my queue so I can reread it at least once before it actually posts to catch any errors and make sure it reads coherently. I usually find the time to do that, though not always.

The posts that aren't asks are just me talking about random things that I can't stop thinking about, so I need to scream into the void to get my brain to move on. Those ideas come from random thoughts, a trend I notice in fanfic, comments/reblogs in my asks, and a whole host of other places. I've got one post in my queue right now that I'm pretty sure was spawned by my latest rewatch of The Good Place, but I can't be sure about that. I don't try to look for post topics, they just come to me.

I don't watch the show over and over. Not really my thing. I've seen all of Miraculous seasons 1 to 3 once and I've seen most of seasons 4 and 5 twice (once subbed, once dubbed). Origins and Oblivio are the only exceptions. They're my favorite episodes, so I think I watched them a few times back before season four aired and my feeling toward the show started to really sour. When I'm pulling quotes, I just rely on my memory and the fan wiki, which has transcripts for all of the English episodes, allowing me to fact check myself. I occasionally pull up a specific episode to check the visuals in a given scene, but that's really rare and I only do it because I have access to the streaming version. If my SO ever cancels Disney+, then I'll be script only.

I read other fan analysis if it crosses my dash, but I don't go looking for it or follow any super active blogs. While I think there are others with valuable input out there, I already spend enough time thinking about Miraculous for my own blog, so I try to focus my energy in other spaces when I'm not managing said blog. I don't like to endlessly scroll on Tumblr and only follow blogs that don't post much to keep from feeling overwhelmed or sucked in.

I started talking about Miraculous on here because I found it genuinely fascinating how badly it was written. I think you could teach an entire class on basic writing principles using Miraculous as a case study because there are so many things it does wrong and failure really is a fantastic teacher. But the analysis I do for Miraculous isn't a skill that's unique to Miraculous. What you see on this blog is my default state. This is just how my brain works. How I engage with the majority of media. When I finish watching or reading something that I didn't like, I want to understand why I didn't like it and how it could be shaped into something I would like.

It's a honed skill. I've been obsessed with story telling since I was a little kid and my parents sort of accidentally started training me on analysis at a young age. Add in years of voracious reading and several excellent English teachers and I'm able to run this blog without too much mental effort. Talking and thinking about writing are legitimately fun for me. This stuff is my "I'm too drained to write" hobby.

None of this makes me some arbiter of quality or means that I understand every point of view about what makes a story good. All it means is that I know enough about writing to be able to clearly articulate why I like or dislike the way a story was told.

I guess that's the one piece of advice I can give. When you find something that bugs you, really think about why. Was it just a matter of taste or is there something more? Does it seem like the flaw is an intentional writing choice or not? Why? What changes could you make to fix the flaw? Can you make those changes without completely rewriting the story? Those are the kinds of fixes I look for first. There are certainly cases where massive change is needed, but looking for small changes will really hone that analytical ability to improve your writing as it forces you to focus on the fine details of the way stories work.

#anon ask

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widowbitessting · 1 year ago

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Hi! first of all I love your writing! And I was wondering if you have done any drabbles on how the trio reacts to baby feeling down or having a bad day, I have tried looking but i’m very bad at that so I’m just gonna leave this here and hope you can let me know. And if you haven’t I was then wondering if I could submit a request for you to write something along the side of that? when you’re feeling more up to writing it of course!

(PS I haven’t been on here for a bit but I like to come on when i’m feeling down and life is kicking my ass like it is right now but I want you to know I love rereading SM and all the drabbles surrounding it, thank you for bringing us that comfort with your amazing writing even when people are being dicks for no reason❤️)

Hello my beautiful nonnie. Now I won't lie, this ask has caught my eye for so long that I've actually been bickering with myself, over what drabbles fit and what don't😂 So I'll go ahead and tag ones that are similar in a way and then add something under the cut to make sure you're 100% satisfied with my response, I hope that is okay!

So! The drabbles I'm tagging are *insert drum role here*

Who is the softest/kindest dom out of the trio? - a fluffy drabble that I hope makes you feel all fluffy and stuff

Aftercare! - A drabble showing how much the Trio! listen and care for you, especially with safe words.

Unknown/Known Scars - TRIGGER WARNING, please read the trigger warning my love before reading this one.

Coffee Shop & Baby Doesn't Get Enough Sleep - I tagged two in this ask, where Baby is overworked at school and the Trio! are always there to take care of her.

Some Cute Things - Just cute fluff 'cos we love cute fluff around here

And finally, my favourite one on this list - The Sick Fic - it's self explanatory but Baby gets poorly and our Trio! look after her!

Now I'm aware all of these come under the stressed title and not worrying title, which is why I'm gonna add to that under the cut. I hope I can do you justice with it, and I really hope you enjoy this reply.

Much love

Livvy

xoxo

Also trigger warning for this one. Just in case.

When life seems to be kicking your ass, when your brain turns on you and becomes incredibly mean, you push everyone away.

It's a coping mechanism learnt from childhood, one that you need to break, but you can't.

MJ knows it too.

Can see it when you come home and the light in your eyes just isn't there anymore.

It's like you become a shell.

You're there physically, but mentally your thoughts are spiralling.

And MJ, your fabulous best friend, knows that she doesn't have the skills to help.

No matter what she does, you just push her away and burrow until the bad days ease and pass like a wave.

So she calls backup.

Wanda, Natasha and Carol come as quick as they can.

Already on their way to you as you've even tried to push them away.

Even going as far to exit the different dm's you're in with them as the constant message vibrations/notifications grate on you to the point where your brain whispers: they don't need you anymore

MJ leaves when the Trio arrive.

Knowing to give you all space, but makes them promise to message when you're back so she can come home and give you a cuddle, as well as a slap.

When they try your bedroom door, it's locked.

It's the first battle.

Actually getting you to unlock it.

To let them in.

It takes time.

A long time.

For them to break through that first wall.

To convince you that they're here and not going anywhere anytime soon.

In fact, it takes almost an hour.

You sit on the other side of the door, back against it with your head burrowed in your arms.

Fingers clenched so tightly in your hair.

Fighting against your brain to believe them.

When you finally let them in, they don't rush inside your room.

They stay where they are.

Waiting.

For you.

For you to let them in.

And at first, it looks like your brain is going to win and you're going to shut the door on them and everything is going to go back to square 1.

But -

You nod.

A tiny, little nod.

And it's all the Trio! need to embrace you.

For you to vanish amongst three warm bodies.

That tell you how much they love you.

How much they adore you.

How they just want to keep you safe and happy.

You're their girl.

And they're not going anywhere.

Ever.

They tell you this as you cry.

As you scream at them to stop lying.

As you smack them over and over until you collapse in a heap and sob.

It doesn't stop them.

They're still there.

Proving to you, to your overthinking brain that they are not going anywhere.

When you're finally ready to talk, they listen.

Wanda cries.

Natasha nods along.

Carol chews the inside of her cheek.

And once you're done, they thank you for being so open about this side of you; the side you've tried to hide.

And they promise to you that: They. Are. Not. Leaving.

Ever.

They will remind you this when your brain is mean every time.

When you shut them out, they'll wait.

When you vanish, they'll find you.

When you try to push them away with all that you have, they won't move.

They'll stay and prove to you that it is you that they want.

You're their perfect girl.

Their darling submissive.

But most of all: you are theirs.

And they will make sure you never forget it.

You are theirs.

And they are yours.

Forever.

#natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #carol danvers #sugar mommies #reader insert #spiderbites #sugar mommies!asks #natasha x wanda x carol x reader #smu #sugar mommies au #sugar mommies: world building #sugar mommies universe #sugar mommies drabble #sugar mommies suggestions

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alexanderwales · 7 months ago

Text

Book Review: Metropolitan Man

[content warning: sexual violence]

It's been 10 years since I wrote Metropolitan Man, and last night I read it for the first time in almost that long. Since writing it, I've written over 4 million words, and hopefully, grown as a writer. I've also forgotten parts of the story, so was looking at it with as fresh of eyes as possible. These are my overall thoughts.

I should say, before I start, that I've read tons of comments and discussion on this story over the years. I don't know how many of these thoughts are my own, or how much I've internalized things that people have said.

Writing Style

There were lots of changes I thought about making while reading, but people hate change, and this story is about ten years past when I wanted to be making editing passes on it. In many places I kept thinking of little extras I would add, things that would make the dialogue pop a little more, or provide characterization. I had this idea for a line where I describe Lois typing out two letters like she was letting loose with both barrels of a shotgun. There's dialogue to clean just a bit more, a few places where words are repeated or something is just a bit awkward, and where it could have been tighter or more clear.

The biggest thing that stood out to me was how little time got spent on scene setting and how short some of the snippets were, just five paragraphs to get a scene across before we're onto the next thing. I might have webserial brainrot, but those are definitely places where today I would give a little more breathing room and maybe use the same amount of words to describe something in a more oblique and stronger way. One that stood out as a clear example was a private investigator going home with Jimmy Olsen even though she was done pumping him for information, which could have been twice as long and benefitted from it. Another was a brief little thing about a Superman spotter on the roof, where I'd now describe everything he was doing, and only get to the conclusion of "he was a Superman spotter" at the end of the section to let the reader have this mini mystery of what they're being shown and why.

I would describe things more if I was writing this today, trying to get those nicely tight and evocative descriptions and ditch the stuff like "she wore a white blouse", but I often feel that way about stuff that I'm revising from last week, so it's not surprising.

The plot is very tight, which is good. I tend to prefer my plots tight, but it takes work, and webserials aren't conducive to it because it's difficult to know when you're writing a scene whether it's really pulling its weight as far as moving things forward. The initial idea for MM was to move as cleanly as possible through a series of events: Superman -> Superman is invincible -> Superman is Clark Kent -> Clark Kent grew up in Smallville -> the ship is in Smallville -> the ship has a Kryptonite power source -> Kryptonite can kill Superman -> Superman is dead. The only thing that would make it any faster would be if we dropped the Lois Lane subplot, but that's like half the novel.

Superman is OOC

I've gotten tons and tons of comments on this story over the years. If I hated myself, I would go back through my email and count them up, but there are some death threats and "kill yourself"s in there, and I prefer not to reread them. The major thing that people hate is the ending, which I don't care to talk about, but the other major thing is that Superman isn't Superman.

In this, I largely agree, but then, I'm pretty sure I've always agreed. That said, Superman has had a ton of interpretations over the years, and there's a wide range of acceptable behavior from "a Superman", even if we're not counting the really out there variations like Red Son or some of the alternate timelines.

... but I still would probably make him more like a canon Superman if I had to do it all over.

There are a few things that raise red flags at the beginning, which is where I think they're inexpertly placed. Superman takes Lois off the roof and flies her around, making her very afraid, and this is fine, I think, a misunderstanding that might be stronger if we got his insight into what was happening before we got hers to help bridge some of the disconnect there and characterize them both better. But there's a little note after that, where Clark makes a joke about "Superman's girlfriend Lois Lane" that I think is a HUGE red flag, and which probably comes too early in the story. It would be better as a joke someone else made that Clark laughs along with, which raises the red flag to half mast.

The other major moment I would change is when the bombs start going off. Superman pulls back, unsure whether he's actually immune to mustard gas, and I think this is one of the moments that most goes against the character of Superman. Canon Superman would just say "welp, guess I gotta find out whether I'm immune to mustard gas in a hurry". Superman making the argument that he doesn't know the bounds of his powers and so should exercise caution reads as either cowardice or as him being way too bitten by the rationality bug.

This would then obviously have to change the plot of that section a bit, because in the novel as it stands right now, Superman is convinced by Lois Lane that he can't just sit on the sidelines for game theory reasons. Better to either scrap that section or have Lois convince Superman that for game theory reasons he should offer to have testing carried out against him in a way that doesn't harm civilians, which canon Superman might submit to if it saved lives. Then the rest of the plot can proceed as normal, because Superman is immune to everything and that's the whole plot beat anyway.

I'd definitely clean up some of Superman/Clark's dialogue to nail the character voice better, but I don't think it's that bad, and it's mostly a few places where the wording is off. I think in particular the points where he's feeling anger go too far, and are not how someone internally conflicted about the anger might talk.

And then, oh yeah, Superman punches a guy's head clean off, which I think is the biggest sticking point for most people.

I've thought about that scene a lot. I personally like it. But if I were ever trying to sell this story to DC, it's one of the things I would almost certainly change. Superman doesn't kill, except in that one movie that came out just before this story was published where Superman snapped a guy's neck.

The change I am most happy/comfortable with is that Whitman, the governor whose children were [REDACTED], is the one to kill Calhoun. This happens just outside the courthouse with Superman watching and not intervening in the slightest, or maybe catching the bullets as they go through Calhoun so no bypassers get hit.

I don't know, as I type it out, it doesn't have the same weight to it. It's not cool. It's not a watershed moment. Maybe there's a plot thread to pull there, where Superman has tacitly endorsed other vigilantes, and it would be a great time to pull in other mundane street-level heroes ... but that's an entirely different story at that point.

Another option is for Superman to simply fly off with Calhoun and put him away, but that lacks punch too, and gets talky, and ... it's about the rage, right? The feeling of injustice, not just at Calhoun, but at the entire world, and it's not just an unhappy side effect that there's blood everywhere, all over the clamoring press, that's part of the point.

Social Justice

I really enjoy how wide-ranging the novel is, and how many things it touches on. Good job me. There was a line I had completely forgotten about where Lois asks "Why doesn't Superman stop abortions?" that I had completely forgotten I had ever written, and which brought a big smile to my face (but no wonder some Superman fans hate this story).

There are a few other things that I raise my eyebrow at a little bit, at least sitting here in 2024. There's a particular line that Superman gives when talking about this whitewashed mural of the past they're walking by, and he says "It's easy to forget that slavery ever happened, you know?" Now, I will grant you that this is a part of a conversation where he's saying that maybe he should have been a better student of history, and is saying this as a white guy in 1934, but I wanted him or someone else to tear that statement apart. It never really happens.

"It's easy to forget that slavery ever happened [if you and your people have not been affected by slavery]". The novel takes place ~70 years after the end of the Civil War, which means that when Clark was growing up there would have been freed slaves who were in their fifties, probably many of them in Kansas, though Smallville is (notably) small. I don't know, it wouldn't have been historically accurate for them to have a discussion of privilege, but there's way more meat on that bone, and it's all left as subtext.

Also probably the case that if I were writing it now, I would pay more attention to race in general, but that I'm less sure on, because it would mean some major structural changes to be done well. There's a single black guy in the whole thing, who is barely a character and has no speaking lines: the farmhand Ma Kent has before he gets lured away with the promise of being an actor. I have never felt that any novel needs racial balance to it, but if you're going to be talking about slavery and whether Superman would have done anything about it, you start to make black people look like props, which is not a good look.

I mean look, I think it's fine for a given story to not actually take a stance on political issues or have a diverse cast, but this story goes from abortion to the Equal Rights Amendment to Prohibition to Nazis to the death penalty, and then despite being set in 1934 sort of talks around the subject of how shitty race relations were. As a white guy, I never feel comfortable talking about race, but I think it would have been appropriate to have here in more than the cursory way it was handled. But the cast is just not that large, and the way that modern Superman stories handle that is usually making Jimmy Olsen black and then not actually talking about the fact that he's black so it's just a palette swap, which I don't think would work here, especially since Jimmy is such a bit character, and also it's 1934.

Sexual Violence

Alright, I will say it: there's too much sexual violence.

Chapter 7 is when the two Whitman kids get kidnapped. Their driver gets his throat slit, the boy gets dismembered, and the girl gets raped. I knew it was coming and I was still horrified by it.

I would not remove this part. I would foreshadow it better with a few scenes with Calhoun, the brutes, etc., and I might change some of the details to be a bit less awful and gruesome, but I don't think I would remove it. There are a few core ideas here that I think all work:

The better class of criminal has left the city now, and all that are left are the worst of the worst, the people who will not respond to incentives or symbols or rational thought.

If you cannot strike at Superman's physical self, you strike at his mind instead, and one of the ways to do that is psychic damage. In Calhoun's case, this is irrational, a pure desire to hurt Superman in any way possible while his empire collapses.

The amount of evil in the world is enormous. The pain and suffering cannot be comprehended. I love what Superman says, that this isn't really unique, that these things happen to children all the time. He's upset about not being able to save them, but they're a drop in the bucket.

I think you have to be careful with sexual violence, whether it's depicted or hinted at or just briefly mentioned. There are tons of people who are not on board with that in their media, and even of those who are on board, it has to be handled carefully and can feel very cheap, as though you're just going to the worst and most transgressive thing you can think of for the shock value. People will see it as lazy and trivializing and making entertainment out of this horrible thing.

I think the world is shit. I think terrible things happen. I have always felt both oppressed by the weight of evil in the world and powerless to stop it. I think that's the thing that I'm gesturing at here, and it feels weird to me that sexual violence would get put on a pedestal as the one thing too horrible to mention, even though we're mentioning all the most horrible things.

How do Superman comics and shows and movies deal with this? My impression is that they don't. Surely Superman must be stopping rapes from happening, but I cannot think of a single time I've seen it happen. I'm actually having trouble thinking of a time it was implied to happen. I think this is probably a good idea on the part of the people who make these bits of media, but it's absolutely not realistic if you're thinking about how Superman would operate in the "real world". Sexual violence happens, child abuse happens, and I guess we just sort of assume that these things are dealt with by Superman off-screen.

Though ... I mean it impacts the characters, right? Does Superman not have a trauma response? Does he have a superpower where he can bottle it all up? He's definitely too late to stop certain crimes, and he definitely can't make things better for some of the victims, and I guess in the comics when he shows up to a burning building he generally has a 100% success rate and people come out with only minor injuries, but ... alright, this is definitely the sort of thing that led me to write this fic in the first place.

It's a question that the fic doesn't have an answer for: how do you go on living when you know that there's so much evil in the world?

I think dialing that particular scene back is, maybe, fine. But it's the sort of thing that would feel like I was being less authentic in a way, as though I wanted to grapple with the big questions but not that one, wanted to consider ethics and morality but silo myself away from things that actually are on my mind. I see the point of blunting that scene, and I rebel against it because I don't want to be blunted, I want to be sharp.

I would, however, remove a lot of the earlier references, or blunt those, because they didn't need to be sharp. There are, before the Whitman stuff, about five references to sexual violence, and maybe even just using "sexual violence" would be enough, rather than "rape". One of these references is to what crimes Superman is statistically most likely to stop, another is to a plot to besmirch his name, both can be massaged or they can go.

I don't know if I think about these things differently because time has passed or I've had a bunch of discussions about these issues, or whether it's just having the outside view. It's weird to think about what a conversation with myself would look like, if we were working on the story together.

Retrospective

I understand why Superman fans sometimes hate this story. There's the Superman OOC stuff, sure, but there are also a lot of questions about Superman that apply to canon equally well, and people hate that. Superman is a fantasy, maybe the ultimate comic book fantasy. He stops crimes and bullets bounce off him! You're not supposed to think about his stance on abortion rights. You're not supposed to look at the Clark Kent mask and say 'huh, that's strange'. I mean it's media, you can do whatever the hell you want, but if Superman is a fantasy, then there are a lot of questions that are fantasy-ruining.

I stand by the story as written about 80%, which is higher than I thought it would be, though there are certain things that I stand by more than others. There are certain structural changes and many line-by-line changes, and I'm glad that I didn't have the story open in edit mode, because it would have taken me three times as long to read and when I hit "save changes" people would grumble about archives or bad changes or whatever, because you can't please people.

About five years ago, I started writing A Common Sense Guide to Doing the Most Good, which was meant as a companion piece to MM. It ended up being all mechanics, no plot, and the plot that I wanted it to have was divorced from the center questions it wanted to answer. It didn't feel as grand, I guess, and the cats were out of their bags a little too quickly.

One of the Answers that MM gives is that the thing you should do in the face of overwhelming evil is to grind relentlessly, grind until your bones are scraping the grindstone and there's nothing left of yourself. The story does not believe this answer, but it's one of the places I ended up ten years ago, and am still sort of at now. The other answer is to live as best you can, be aware of the evil and do what you can against it without letting the idea of it (or the battle against it) consume your soul.

When I was finished reading, I kind of wanted to write an uncritical Superman comic. Something where Superman can be as his most loyal fans see him, someone who is Good and doesn't often have to grapple with what Good means, where the thorny edges of moral quandaries never come to light and the hero is always there in the nick of time. Where Clark Kent is a bold and noble expression of humanity rather than a deception and a mask. Maybe I will go do that.

#fanfic #metropolitan man #book review #reviews

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zephyra-in-the-house · 11 months ago

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Helloo! I wanted to say that I loved second chances sm, when I found a random chapter last year I read the entire fic in a couple days bc I had to know what happened next, then reread it every now and then while waiting for the updates

I like how we can see both sides of the coin with shadowpeach, how they both care but are still struggling for different yet similar reasons, their struggle with what they went through, dealing with each other's personality traits and habits(their own too) that are still hard to let go of, the glimpses of the consequences of the punishments and their backstory in general

And maybe it's a me thing, but I feel like your Wukong acts like he's a bit aro spec, maybe demi aromantic, and I love that he does, especially while still explicitly loving(and like longing for?) Mac sm

I got that feeling after rereading one of the conversations shadowpeach had in the kitchen when Wukong said something about just wanting to be near Mac, and having him as his best friend was so great kinda like there couldn't possibly be anything better

I know it's probably to show how he grew up, or his personality, and that he's dense (specifically when it comes to reading Mac's feelings towards him) but I feel that just adds to the similarities with the aro experience bc there's a side of the aro community that is blind to more romantic stuff, and romantic-coded gestures or more intimate closeness is just closeness all the same

And your Wukong gives me the impression that he just wanted Mac to be close to him, didn't matter what kind of close, and that he holds the title of "best friend" as a really special thing. Be it BECAUSE of Mac, or maybe since before becoming friends with him, like not just anybody would be his best friend (Also it was maybe to show his trust issues, but still)

I think Wukong said somewhere that he just wanted Mac to be happy to be around him, as happy as SWK was to be around Mac. And I know his inability to put his feelings(love) into words more than referring to a strong or special friendship is probably to show that he's not good with Feelings™, but I like to think that maybe he is enamored in the way a queer platonic love would feel like, so calling it a strong or special friendship kinda does cut it to some degree I think

Also the way Mei (everyone really, but she's more expressive about it, and we see her more than other characters) sees Wukong as a hopeless case, but I think Wukong would see Mac loving him strongly in any way as the best thing ever, as long as it's strong love, he wouldn't mind, love is love, like he just wants to be as special to Mac as Mac is to him

Also I'd love to see them be together even if they don't have the same kind of love for each other, bc the love they have for each other would still be just as strong, and would let them have just as strong of a bond, (in the future, as things are going I have hope, I do hope they end up together in this universe, even if nothing of what I'm saying fits them by the end)

I mean no disrespect to your original idea, or if that's not what u intended, I tried looking through your blog and I haven't found any mention of something similar or headcanons about it

But yeah, idk if u mind ppl putting headcanons on your stories? Some ppl do mind, so idk I just wanted to say that regardless of that hc of mine, I think how you write them is so cool and interesting, and I find that about Wukong really cool even if it's not really where the story is heading and it's been really fun to reread

Also sorry for the weird english, it's not my first language ^^'

First things first:

Thank you so much for reading and commenting!

I absolutely love in depth analysis like this it's so interesting to read and to hear what people think of my story. I 100% love writing this story specifically because it demonstrates how these two are completely different and yet eerily similar people who are just struggling to reconnect with other people despite them both having their flaws and traumatic experiences. It's really fun to write and explore and I absolutely love everything that you said here about it~

Duuude!! I fuckin looooveeee that headcanon! Holy shit that's so awesome! Honestly, I didn't even realize I was writing Wukong that way but now that it's been pointed out I can totally see it!

As someone who is kind of on the ace spectrum, I think I may have just subconsciously made it that way. Just like every other author I know, I have a habit of adding my own traumas/ideologies to my stories so I really shouldn't be too surprised LOL

But don't worry! I don't mind people making headcanons about my story~ In fact, that's my favorite part of writing is seeing how people interpret the story and seeing how they formulate it into drawings or headcanons like this! It's so cool!

Initially, my intention was to write Wukong as being oblivious/in denial about his own feelings and in general just bad with feelings. However, I really love your idea too! It's definitely one of those things where Wukong is just happy to be around Macaque. Macaque is "his person", the one he feels happy and comfortable around, the one he feels he can be open and honest around... and yeah I just realized how much that sounds like the beginnings of a queer platonic relationship LMAO

In any case!

I absolutely love your analysis and I 100% agree that Wukong would be okay with Macaque loving him in any way, shape, or form so long as Macaque feels as safe and comfortable and happy as Wukong himself feels when they're together. ❤❤

Thank you for reading!

#lego monkie kid #second chances #shadowpeach #lego macaque #lego sun wukong #fanfic #lmk macaque #lmk sun wukong #They're so in love #They make me sick #“They're holding hands... I want them dead” /ref

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pseudowho · 10 months ago

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hellooo Haitch, how are you ? Wanted to drop by and tell you that I enjoyed rereading some Nanami pieces from you now that you've been reblogging them with new headers Also wanted to ask you 2 things : 1. Tips for becoming a better writer ? As in how to improve flow, narration, description (without becoming overbearing), how to make characters more human and less unidimensional 2. Favourite books you've recently read and that you'd recommend ? i've been rereading old favourites like Lolita and the Catcher in the Rye and I desperately need something new :( Thanks a looot

Hiii! I'm having a hard week. It's my grandmother's funeral tomorrow, and I'm horribly afraid. I'm getting by, though. Thanks for asking 💕

TIPS FOR BECOMING A BETTER WRITER:

Read more, and read-- I cannot stress this enough-- challenging and variable material. Difficult books. Classics. Crappy chick-flicks. News articles. Thrillers, romances, murder mysteries, philosophy books, fantasy books. Research pieces. All of them add to the reference library in your mind than you can use to compare to. These all help with flow, narration, description, because they all give you styles of writing to imitate.

Onomatopoeia is your friend. Not just, in individual words (crash, plop, honk!) but in sentence structure. Someone who is angry but calm may sound staccato, crisp-- their words, their sentences, should snip accordingly. You're describing a slow-flowing river? Languid, lazy, loose and fluid rolling sounds bring it to mind.

Trust your reader. Show them, don't tell them. If your setting is a coffee shop, with bright yellow walls, sunflowers outside, and wonderful coffee that always wakes them up, at their favourite table by the window? Don't TELL them the coffee shop is that way. Show them through the way your character interacts with their environment. For example: "Kento's hands grazed those sunny petals, always reminding him, curiously, of a Van Gogh piece his grandmother displayed in his childhood. Stepping into the shop, blinded by the sunshine splashed on the walls and the earth-roast aroma, he spotted his regular table overlooking the street, still free; his barista seemed to have anticipated his arrival, sliding his drink to the front of the queue with a smile." See? The story is moved along AND the reader can picture the environment. Trust them to see the things you infer, without having to DIRECTLY SAY "the walls are yellow, there were sunflowers outside, and this was Kento's regular coffee shop". Capiche?

Some idiot once said to keep everything to the point. Whilst this is true, to some extent, your words choices should be luxurious, in that there is ALWAYS the perfect word for a mood, a smell, a taste, a touch, a feeling. Each word you choose being just so makes a story feel rich and flavoursome. The fact is, if you are struggling to describe something and you find yourself piling sentence after sentence of almost correct words...leave it. Come back when the correct word is there.

If you Selfship, SELFSHIP HARDER-- talk to these people in your head. Build scenarios with them. Savour their reactions and their responses, don't see them through rose-tinted lens either. Cross-reference them with people you know, people you HAVE KNOWN, find the perfect words to describe them to other people.

Empathise harder. Empathy is the core of understanding someone's character. Walk a mile in their shoes. It helps, trust me.

FAVOURITE STUFF I'VE READ LATELY:

I adore Natasha Pulley's "The Watchmaker of Filigree Street" and its sequel "The Lost Future of Pepperharrow". The Ben Aaronovitch "Rivers of London" series is also excellent. If you want a great atmospheric, beautifully perfect scene-setting ghost story, go for "The Haunting of Hill House" by Susan Hill. "Pachinko" (I can't recall the author and I'm away from my bookshelf) is another favourite of mine. "The Poppy War" is the first in a trilogy by R.F.Kuang, and although it was her debut novel and there are traces of immaturity there, she is blossoming and I genuinely threw the second book across the room at one point because the angst and plot-twists hit me so hard.

Phew.

I'm no professional writer, so these are just my thoughts.

Mr Haitch lectures in English Literature and Creative Writing, so the "trust your reader" is one that he offered.

Good luck, thanks for thinking I'm good enough to advise you on this.

-- Haitch xxx

#pseudowho #pseudowho answers you #writing tips #jjk #kento nanami

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murderlight · 29 days ago

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Ive been rereading your stuff recently and its always so refreshing and charismatic w/ how well you portray the world of bleach!! grimmichi is a ship with a lot of sauce to begin with but i really think your biggest strength is how you make it feel natural and responsive to the setting that they're established in even when youre writing something funny and out of character. I think you also balance a good job of like, the corny camp bleach is known for and also it's grit, when a lot of writers i think go one way or the other. Bleach is a lot like the SAW franchise of shonen imo and like a lot of gore-y slapstick horror its a really specific note to strike that gets it right. I DIGRESS HOWEVER as the point of this being an ask is i wanted to know; what gives you inspiration for writing the two of them together? Not so much the fic ideas or storyline, but the dumb in-betweens when they're just stuck being people together?

thanks for the great message!! bleach helps me a lot with it's totally weird characters, violence and humour so honestly i'm probably just trying to match kubo's freak as best i can 😂 in a very different way, ofc. i'm glad you think i'm managing to hit the right notes!

as for your question...when it comes to the dumb in-between moments i guess i look at their character traits like two scorecards. they're insanely easy to put together and find complementary ways to make them interact, even if that interaction is a negative one.

grimmjow is an absolute no-lifer where anything ichigo is concerned, he's smart and insightful but also a violent bastard who loves to laugh and get one over his opponent, even if it's only verbally. ichigo will take people exactly as they come and has a pretty unshakeable confidence in himself, so they can clash and bounce off each other really well without taking much personally.

once you add those vibes to the lazy peace of post-canon (pre-epilogue) it's easy to bring the anger down a lot and move it into snark, bickering, hard truths, laughter, even some hard-won compliments. as long as it all ties back to the core of their personalities and what they respect and value in each other, i think it's possible to do pretty much anything with those two dweebos. :)

#that got a bit long sorry lmao

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hiiyyih · 1 month ago

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random letters ! to: @kimsuyeon ↳ thank u for literally being my lord and saviour and my one of my closest friends also. i love talking to you so much and i love our rants and how we can tell each other anything. thank you for helping me and supporting me whenever i need it! i cannot believe it's been less than a year that we've known each other because it feels like we've known each other for years! I remember when you first followed me back, i was like freaking out bc i was literally ur biggest fan back then. i probably annoyed you with the amount of questions i had about giffing LMAO to: @sunmiyane ↳ ik you're taking a break from tumblr and social media rn, but I just wanted to write this for you still!! You're such a sweetheart, and so kind, especially when it comes to my gifs. I love seeing you in my activity all the time because your tags never disappoint! Whenever I'm feeling down about myself of my gifs, I always go back to your tags and reread them because they make me feel so much better!! ilysm wifey to: @taegyunie ↳ even though we don't talk often, i'm so happy to be able to meet somone else who is an ichillin stan! I remember that's how we became moots LOLL. Your gifs r literally stunning and i literally have no idea how you make your gifs so gorgeous (you need to spill bestie) and I love talking to you about different nugu groups like ichillin, and i hope we get to know each other more soon!!! to: @hyeongseo ↳ where to even begin!!! your sharpenings are always IMMACULATE and i am soso jealous of the quality of your gifs (like HOW?). I love seeing your creations in my tag and the occasional talks when we both have time to! You're such a sweetheart and I'm so happy to be able to call you a friend. also birthday month twins!!! I love our talks and rants about school and how easily we're able to connect with one another!! to: @bamgeut ↳ i remember when you followed me i was like HUHHH because ur gifs???? literally amazing!!! ur one of my favourite txt creators and creators in general and even though we don't talk much, i love seeing you in my tag!! it reminds me that i should gif txt and bgs more LOLLL. I love seeing ur creations on my dash and i absolutely love how funny and caring you are!! to: @venompinks ↳ MINIII omgomgomggg we've been mutuals for how long now? i literally love you and your edits so much!!! we haven't talked recently, but i love our talks and yap sessions about random stuff and kpop!!! your edits and gifs are soso gorgeous; they make my eyes turn into heart shapes everytime I look at them! your edits are always so hq and you never miss with any of them!!!! to: @karinaing ↳ to my juyeon hating (loving) bestie!!! I love how sisterly you act, even if you probably don't realize it!! Talking to you makes me feel as if I have an older sister I can talk to always!! You're always so nice and I always feel so happy whenever u add the hearts at the end of your sentences bc it's so cute and it makes me feel so loved too. You're an amazing person and I hope that you know that I love you so much!!! ... letters pt.2 coming soon! if you would like a letter, but i have not written you one, please message/send an ask and I will!!!

#nini.txt #random? yes but also my appreciation to all of my moots must be said #not all of my moots so pt.2 will be needed!!#💞 — love letters

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gigglemugger · 2 months ago

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Shaking With a Deadly Fear.

Fandom: The Evil Clergyman - H.P. Lovecraft, Jeffrey Combs in general.

Pairing: None. Gen.

Synopsis:

Sally Elmer is excited to see her bigger sister Susan Brady again. However, upon arrival, she realizes there's something really wrong with her and that it might have something to do with a certain lover she has taken in the past. Now, Sally must go against the demonic Evil Clergyman for the hope of getting what's left of her sister's soul back.

A.K.A. An entirely TOO long Evil Clergyman, basically sequel fic, that was beamed into my brain after I finished watching the movie the first time.

No comment.

Absolutely not beta read.

THE GIF IS DECEPTIVE. THERE IS NO SMUT HERE. I'M NOT GOOD AT WRITING THAT. IT'S STILL GRAPHIC THOUGH.

Word Count: 12,052.

AO3 Tags: The Evil Clergyman - Freeform, I will gladly go down as the only person in history who wrote a 37 page Evil Clergyman fanfiction, Jeffrey Combs is in this but he's not the main character by far, Yes I am sad as well, I Don't Even Know, Why Did I Write This?Psychological Horror, Family bonding over having a sister possessed by the devil and needing to save her still counts right?, Family, I wonder if this is what H.P. Lovecraft envisioned when he wrote The Evil Clergyman, Of course not this isn't even what the screenwriters envisioned when they wrote The Evil Clergyman, I basically gave the main character a new family and life cause she didn't have any, i don't know how to tag things.

Language: English.

CW: A LOT. This is not my regular fanfic, it's more like an edgier version of what I write nowadays (which is either comedy, character studies, or melancholic horror, or all three) so: Men being gross, graphic depictions of violence, possession, sexual themes, suicide, smoking.

AO3 link.

Work notes (important):

For notes, I'll simply post what I prefaced my word document with, which I recommend reading cause it does clarify some things:

The Evil Clergyman Fanfiction cause why not. I mean, why not. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t write this right now.

Things I’ll add:

1. Name for the main character cause she doesn’t got any.

2. A life and family for the main character. She also doesn’t got any. Poor thing, she just exists, really.

3. Ok, scratch that, apparently she has a husband and her name is… *squints* Said Brady. Is it a typo? Is it supposed to be just Brady, the last name, but they (director? Producer?) said Brady one time and whoever wrote the credits thought that was the first name? Very confusing stuff.

4. Whatever, I’ll keep Said as the name. Anyone who wants to correct me, feel so free to do so. The world is your commentary oyster. Go ham.

5. Oh God, if I keep Said as a name will I have to write “Said said?” Oh no.

6. Her name is now Susan. Said is a nickname. It was the natural thing to do.

7. Ok, apparently no one knows shit about this film, cause I can’t find anything online. Like, what did they intend with this (short) movie other than making an erotic rereading of the original Lovecraft tale? I mean, whatever, works for me.

8. I don’t completely understand the setting of the film. It seems to be a monastery, but also… Not? I’ll just say it’s a tower and that father Jonathan was working at church. At which point does this cross the point of fanfiction to simply just fiction? Who knows?

9. Did Jonathan’s bedroom have a table?? I’m not gonna watch it again to see if it did, I already watched it twice. I mean it’s good, but it’s not that good. The original Evil Clergyman™ has a desk, so I’ll add that. Get rekt Jonathan.

10. Ok. Let’s go girls. *Shania Twain bops in the distance* *Yes this is a songfic now*

I was clearly having a breakdown here and wrote this in three days. Further warnings would be:

There’s a surprising lack of Jeffrey Combs in this fanfiction. There’s possessed-with-Jeffrey-Combs’-spirit-Barbara-Crampton, but nothing too non-PG. I know, I am upset as well. He appears as a character some of the time and he is still very much debated, but unfortunately this is kind of like… Its own thing. Like a weird sequel almost?

Does this still qualify as fanfiction?

This piece is also riddled with original characters I decided to make up for shits and giggles. I don’t know why either, this fanfiction came to me in a vision right after I finished watching the movie and it stuck with me, so I had to purge it. This is also very much NOT beta read, like, at all. I barely skimmed through it after I was done with it, so any mistakes or incongruenties are entirely my fault and likely will never be fixed. I’m sorry.

Proceed with caution all ye that might even read this. You were warned.

(Also, I would like to say that any opinions expressed about Yoko Ono in this fanfiction are not necessarily that of the author’s. Enjoy.)

—

“I became good at pretending. I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction. And sometimes, when I did a really good job of pretending, I even fooled myself.”

Ruta Sepetys

—

When I walked into the room that day, I hadn’t expected to leave as a monster. I don’t know what I did expect, in the cold air of that deadly tower where we made love every day for two months. Maybe to see him again. Maybe to be free. They told me he— I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to see with my own eyes and remember what we had. It is a stupid thought in retrospect, considering what I know now, but you have to understand that those two months were the best thing that happened in my life. I know it sounds sad, but I didn’t have it great, not always. You have to be a peculiar type of person to fuck a clergyman, I guess, to look at that life choice and pretend it’s a good one. But Jonathan wasn’t like other men. Jonathan was perfect.

—

Sally was waiting for her sister to come back home. She looked around for the comfort of the window, anticipating, with an anxious heartbeat, for the car to arrive at the door. She hopped on one foot, then the other, then checked the cupboard for more muffins, then the cooking books her sister kept on the white shelves, beside the potted plants. Nothing was enough. She ended up at the counter again.

At present, the place where Sally stood in was a perfectly suburban kitchen. It was immaculate in its tidying and cleaning, thanks to the matriarch of the house, Susan “Said” Brady, née Elmer, the eldest of the Elmer daughters. Sally was the youngest and Sandra was the middle child, and now was finishing her art course at an university. There was a difference of roughly eight years between Susan and Sally, which would put the eldest at twenty-five, nearly twenty-six and the youngest at a measly eighteen, which she loathed with all her might.

“What’s taking her so long?” Sally wondered, supporting her face on her hand and playing with her brother in law’s car keys, a car that was parked at the garage and that she looked at as if it was some sort of demon “She should be here…”

Sally looked at the glistening metal and at the chipped, black top, that was scratched all over and sighed a dramatic sigh that only someone that had been waiting an awfully long time could make sound so incredibly disgruntled and miserable.

“How you holding up, Sal?” a male voice asked and she jumped in place, making her long ponytail move up at an alarming speed “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare yo—Ouch!” he continued, after she playfully hit his arm. It was just David, her sister’s husband.

Her sister’s perfect husband.

“I’m okay,” she answered with a shrug, “Just worried about Said, that’s all.”

“Oh, she’ll be home soon. She had to go to Betty’s house to help her with the baby, these things take time. Sometimes even a whole night. You know how she gets over that kinda stuff, especially now that Betty’s husband died. Saint Susan,” he joked, looking a tad uncomfortable. Sally wondered what it was about, that uncharacteristic smile, but David’s teeth were perfect, so she couldn’t concentrate on much “She had no idea you’d be arriving today, otherwise I am sure that she would have thrown a party.”

The Elmer family was from California, but Susan lived in North Carolina now and Sandra went to college in New York, leaving poor Sally stranded back home. She usually spoke with her sisters over on the telephone whenever she could, and even if San usually had time for her, Susan was a respectful family woman now, a far cry from the unruly teenager that a five to nine year old Sally admired so much.

“I’m so sorry, Sal,” she’d say to Sally, over the telephone, sounding clearly tired enough to pass out right there “I can’t really talk right now, David is having a situation at work and I need to go there to help him, then to church to assist in the fundraiser that I’m helping the ladies with. It’s all a chaos right now. I’ll call you back, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Sal answered in the present, lowering her head and finding herself unable to hide her discontentment from David. Either that, or not wanting to. He lowered his head to look at her better, which made her smile.

“Don’t worry, Sal,” he said, with a smile “She’ll be here in a jiffy.”

—

A jiffy turned out to be fifty minutes more, which Sally used to unpack her things and occupy the guest bedroom, making sure to put up her posters. It was like preparation for college, if she decided to go. She was to stay for one month, and her parents hoped that one month with her best, most responsible sister would be enough to dissuade her of the idea of a sabbatical year. Shrugging that off, she took the next poster in hands. No way would she forget to pin up her Tears for Fears poster, or her Culture Club one. It was a far cry from the Beatles in the sixties, whom insisted in staying black and white for so long they became a stupid fucking band towards the end, just to break up over a dumb bitch.

At least that’s what she heard her friend Brittany say.

“That Yoko Ono woman is the worst fucking bitch there is,” she’d say in the bathroom of their school, when both were sixteen and Brittany hadn’t graduated and gone off to live with her boyfriend.

“Why?” Sally would ask, shamefully coughing through the drag she took of the cigarette offered, the smoke filling her lungs as her system tried to expel it back out. Brittany pretended not to notice. They were close like that.

“Well,” she turned around, her brown hair swooshing around her in a halo, putting her arm on top of the cold, white sink. “Simple,” Sally, engulfed in a white cloud, passed her the cigarette, which she dragged on without any issues “You don’t cheat on your husband and then steal another woman’s man in the process. It’s not even sanitary, for Christ’s sake. You got a dick and you go after another? She probably got a venereal disease,” Sally chuckled at that.

“Maybe you’re right… I mean, cheating is wrong, obviously” Sally said, adding the last part to not sound so dull. She wanted to agree with Brittany because Brittany was older, but, even though she knew she was correct, it just made her sound pathetically young, a toddler by comparison. When Brittany turned again, Sally pretended she wasn’t looking.

“Cheating. Is. Wrong,” Brittany agreed, putting emphasis on every single word with a swing of the cigarette hand, before taking another drag. She blew out the smoke in a circle, to a starry eyed audience “Remember that,” Brittany continued, tapping the cigarette on the sink “My dad went with that dumb bank cashier and no good came to either him or my mom. Or the bank cashier for that matter. It’s all a fucking mess. If you wanna hear my opinion, you find someone you like and you mate for life. Got it, kid?” Sally nodded.

“Got it,” she said, smiling.

“Good girl.” She turned to look at herself in the mirror, “Now, sex is different of course.”

Sally was aware that Brittany had several sexual partners. In fact, everyone in school was. It didn’t bother her, but they needed to meet in the bathroom, something about both of her reputations being in jeopardy if anyone saw them together. Such as high school goes.

“Of course,” Sally answered. “Of course.”

“Sal?!” David yelled, bringing her out of the trancelike state she found herself in and making her realize she had been staring right at Boy George’s face the whole time.

“Yeah?!”

“I think I see Said’s car turning the corner!” in a moment, Sally nearly jumped over the perfectly made bed (with her favorite bedsheets from home, which she insisted in bringing), and ran out of the room, nearly slipping on her socks before the promised land could be reached.

“Woah, there!” David said, catching her at the nick of time, looking into her eyes “Be careful, kid!”

“Got it!” she said, nearly pushing him away, running the remaining distance and opening the door with such gusto David had been certain it might come off of its hinges.

“Hey Said!” Sally began, all smiles, trying to still her ponytail as much as she could, before taking a glance at the woman leaving the shiny silver car, amidst the illuminated trees. On first glance, all was well – Susan hadn’t forgotten her scarf or purse, like she usually did, being so forgetful. Her hair was in place, her clothes were as if they had been put on at that same minute and her countenance seemed serene. But there was something wrong.

Her sister’s face twitched into a smile.

“Hello, Sal,” she said, and the words were so odd coming out, as if it was the first time they were being said. Sally instinctively stepped back “How are you doing?”

“I’m… fine.”

“I didn’t know you’d arrive today.”

“Yeah. My plane, uh, landed three hours ago. David came to pick me up at the airport.”

“Oh, did he? I must thank him.” Sally observed as her sister seemingly drank in the environment she was in – the other houses, perfectly aligned and white, the lawns, the sidewalk, her own well-manicured hands (Susan was always great at painting nails, while Sally was a poor slob). She looked past her, at the blue door, the living room and David, also standing by the door.

“Said?” Sally asked, finally, but not without some reserve, uncharacteristic to her. Susan looked over.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?” her face twitched into a smile again.

“Of course,” Susan answered and closed the door of the car with an exaggerated bang, which made both David and Sally step back a half inch. That went unnoticed by Said “I’m quite fine, just tired” were her next words.

“I can tell,” Sally answered, determined to seem well-humored in spite of it all. She took to the three steps in front of the house running, even if only in socks, towards her most beloved sister, before opening her arms and engulfing her into a hug. For being in heels, Susan was taller than her at the moment. Sally felt as if seized by a giant.

“You’re so cold!” she exclaimed, feeling her sister’s hand on her neck.

“Maybe you’re too warm; and you shrunk!” Susan joked with a chuckle. That was more like it. Good old Said.

“You’re cheating. I’m not wearing heels!”

“You could be, though, you are a woman now after all,” she smiled down at her, a smile that Sally, quite frankly, had never seen on her sister’s face. She looked into her eyes. Susan’s were blue, she being the only one amongst the three Elmer daughters that had been fortunate enough to inherit their mother’s eyes instead of the “dull brown” of their father’s. Sally hadn’t envied that per se, even though she had grown up hearing Susan get complimented over them. She thought blue eyes made a person look slightly off, maybe evil, which was somewhat of an unpopular opinion she rarely expressed. Her sister, however, wore hers well. It was impossible to accuse her eyes of not expressing anything, they were the very door to her most heartfelt emotions – they spoke when she was sad, they spoke when she was glad. There was nothing she could do to tame such an outburst. It was her very nature to be that way.

That night, however, Sally found her sister’s eyes to be the very cold she never envied.

“Let’s go inside,” Susan said, taking her sister’s arm into hers. She guided Sally there, but the latter made sure to look at the ground instead of Said’s eyes. Her sister’s black velvet heels glanced back at her. Were her stockings ripped? What happened?

“Hello David,” Susan said, breaking Sally’s trance. She was looking at her husband with a smile. “How have you been?” David chuckled, maybe put off by the way that Susan phrased the question. Why so formal all of a sudden?

“Well, I’ve been good! What about you? How’s Betty?”

“She’s wonderful,” was the simple answer. “Dinner?”

While Susan worked in the kitchen, going back and forth amongst the pans, Sally observed her from the couch. She was separated by the dining table and chairs, which made her feel safer. From what, she didn’t know. What she did know was that she should be helping – that’s what good sisters, women, and guests do, after all – but instead she preferred to watch. Almost as if perceiving the fact, however, Susan halted in the middle of the kitchen.

“Is everything okay, Sal?” she asked, not looking at her, but at the sink. Sally turned around fast, burying herself into the couch as if to say she had never known to look in the first place.

“Yeah, of course!” she answered, sounding as casual as possible, completing with “I’ mean, I’m here with you, duh!”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” Susan asked, dutifully resuming her activities. There wasn’t a hint of sweetness in her tone, though. It felt to Sally almost condescending, as if she was looking down on her for being a little girl.

“Uh, there are muffins in the cupboard,” Sally decided to say, even if to hear her own voice being echoed “David and I bought them on the way from the airport.”

“Yum,” was all the answer she got. The pans continued moving and the stove was lit up. After ten minutes of mindless television, Sally lifted her head to look over the cushion behind her head and found her sister looking straight at her.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you set the table, hmm?”

“Sure.” Obediently, Sally turned the TV off and got up from the couch. She went straight for the lower cupboard, having been in the house before and knowing that her sister liked to keep things at reach. From the other side of the kitchen, Susan watched.

“How was your trip, Sal?”

“Good, thanks!”

“Are mom and dad quite alright?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.” Sally put the plain, white plates over the counter, with the shiny glass cups next.

“Hmm,” she hummed “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your graduation. Things were hectic.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. At least we get to see each other now.”

Susan smiled.

“Yes. At least that.” Sally carried the cups and plates over to the table and began to spread them out, when she spoke up again “You know what, I’ll take care of the rest; will you please tell David dinner’s ready?”

“Sure,” Sally said, turning around and going down the hallway. With each step, the typewriter keys banged louder. David was really going at it, Sally thought. Upon arrival, she knocked.

“Yeah?!” The muffled voice answered from the inside.

“Hi David, dinner’s ready!”

“Already? Said is getting quick!”

“Yeah,” Sally agreed, but not with much enthusiasm. She prepared herself to turn around, when a cold hand slowly closed upon her shoulder, each well-manicured finger leaving a different, subtle feeling.

“Is he coming out?” Susan’s voice sounded behind her, a velvety quality having been added to it. Had she walked there? Sally hadn’t heard a thing. She instinctively looked down at her sister’s heels.

“Yeah, I’m coming right out,” David’s muffled voice answered, his chair moving almost immediately afterwards.

“Good. Let’s go, Sal,” she said and steered her away from the door once more.

“Are you sure you are okay, Said?” Sally asked as they crossed the hallway back to the dining room with David’s door opening behind them. Susan smiled; her arm wrapped around her sister’s shoulder now.

“Of course, darling. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re… different.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, Sal, don’t be ridiculous,” Susan continued, changing her tone so fast that Sally’s eyes darted towards her face, mouth slightly ajar “I just had a rough night with Betty, that’s all, and I’m tired. I can’t wait to eat and go to bed!”

“Yeah… But these are the most words you said to me all night. I thought you’d be happy to see me!”

“Oh, I am happy to see you, silly!” she continued, animated, standing in front of her sister now. When Sally looked into her eyes, though, they were still cold “You’re my little sister, I am always happy to see you!”

“Aren’t we all?” David sounded behind them, making them turn their heads “Good little Sally,” he said, flicking her ponytail up. “Shall we eat? I’m starving!”

“Sure, I’ll serve,” Susan said, leaving with David. Sally stood there and looked upon the two of them.

—

Dinner went as all dinners with Said and David usually go. Susan seemed as she had always been: Lively, telling Sally not to talk to Brittany anymore:

“A girl like that is not good. I would know.”

Telling Sally she’s proud of her grades:

“She’s even smarter than Sandra and Sandra was smart! It’s no wonder she’s in early acceptance at—”

Telling Sally she should go to church more often:

“A good relationship with God is essential to all of us, remember that young lady,” but at once Sally noticed her cross was missing. When she pointed that out, Susan looked and stroked her empty collarbone.

“Oh no, I must have left it at Betty’s!” she said, “Oh, I was so afraid the baby might grip onto it and tear it that I had to remove it, you know how babies can be.” Sally drank her orange juice and looked down at her plate.

“You never take that thing off!” David said, his mouth slightly ajar “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, it was a gift from our grandma,” Sally clarified, looking at David “It has “immensurable sentimental value”. It was gifted to her right before she died.” Susan’s smile twitched.

“Yes, well, that is true, which is why I needed to make sure it wouldn’t break, of course,” she took her wine glass and sipped the content of it. Sally nodded. That made sense to her, of course.

“What is Betty’s baby name again? I don’t think you ever told me,” David asked next, finishing her orange juice. Susan finished drinking as well and looked over at him.

“Oh, I think it’s Kayla. Right, sis?” Sally asked, looking up. Susan smiled warmly at her, like a nice hug.

“Yes, of course, Kayla. Little Kay. She’s just two months old, but she’s getting so big.”

Huh.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, Said,” David said, sounding genuine, or as genuine as someone could sound with food in their mouth. Sally could see her sister’s face contorting to that, that despicable display of speaking with one’s mouth full, even if in trace amounts – as if it was a great offense. That was also strange, of course. Said doesn’t usually care about that kind of thing.

“Yeah, great!” Sally decided to add and then immediately ask to be excused. When allowed, she bid her good nights, saying “I had a long trip and I want to get some rest,” before running for the refuge of her bedroom. Once the door was closed and she was “safe”, she allowed herself to think freely.

Betty’s baby’s name was not Kayla, it was Kimberly. It was not a difficult leap to be made and Susan was allegedly exhausted, but her sister would never make that mistake. Not Susan. Betty was too dear a friend.

Looking back upon the doorknob, Sally verified if the key was on the lock.

“Ok, Sal, this is ridiculous,” she thought to herself, but couldn’t help it. She turned it, at a torturous pace, as to not alert the rest of the house, and locked herself in.

–

When Sally opened her eyes again, she wasn’t in the guest room of the Brady house – She wasn’t engulfed in her favorite bedsheets from home or looking at Boy George’s face as she had been, once upon a time. In fact, she couldn’t see anything in front of her, other than the pale spot the moon seemed to illuminate, from over at the only window. The bricks around the place were gray and there were soft, white curtains being gently blown by the air current.

“Hello,” a male voice sounded behind her, making her jump for the second time in what seemed to be the most Sally had jumped in her life. Turning around, she was faced with a small man, almost her height, with soft looking brown hair. He had green eyes and a charming smile… With a touch of something else.

“Hello…” Sally began, her position indicating her mounting discomfort, one hand behind herself and one foot ready to go at any minute “Who are you?”

“Jonathan,” he introduced himself with a small bow “I’m a… Friend of your sister.”

“Said never mentioned you.” He faced away from her and gave a light chuckle.

“There’s a lot of things Said didn’t mention.”

“Sure…” was all Sally could think to say. Was this a dream? “Where are we?”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he said, with some joviality on the “Oh,” which made his voice higher. His voice was interesting, Sally thought. It was almost soothing, but seemed like could go off and become loud at any moment. He had an interesting way of standing too, very straight and almost controlled “You’re Sally.”

“Yes… How do you know that?” Sally asked, but he simply smiled. He wouldn’t take his eyes off of her. Usually, Sally didn’t mind when a beautiful man paid attention to her, she wasn’t stupid to think that any of them were interested, and truthfully she didn’t know if she was interested in them. It was just a pastime. This time, however, she curiously wanted him to stop “Where are w—"

“I already said that isn’t important.” Sally took a step back at the answer, which sounded much more forceful than his words had before. They were at an impasse now, looking at one another “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Sally didn’t believe that for a second, that man was too strange.

“How do you know my sister?” She asked next, looking at his clothes for the first time “Are you… A priest?”

“Yes,” he began, amused, touching his collar reflexively “A servant of the Lord. No more, no less.”

“Oh, so you know Said from church?” he paused, his green eyes glistening and his smile growing ever so slightly.

“Something like that.” He approached her and Sally instinctively went backwards “I, however, am here for you Sally.”

“For me?”

“Yes,” he smiled “You are very similar to your sister, after all. Did you know that?�� he asked, stopping his advances and prompting her to halt too “Except for the eyes, of course, but I feel like you know that. Your sister, she’s… Somewhere else now. Somewhere no one can quite reach. It’s far away. Even I have never been… But I know people who have.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sally asked and Jonathan laughed, making her shrink.

“You really are an ignorant little one. Tell me, did you notice anything strange with Said lately?”

“I’ve only come over from California yesterday or…” she paused, but he picked up.

“…Or was it today?” She couldn’t remember.

“Well, doesn’t matter,” Sally said, finally.

“No, it doesn’t. Time doesn’t mean much anyway. Your sister was stuck here once for a time, but she got out,” he smiled yet again “Oh, she got out alright.”

“I can’t imagine Said being in this kind of place,” Sally said, confident of it.

“You can’t imagine much of what your sister was actually like. She was good at pretending to be something she is not. Tell me, do you trust her?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Yes? Would you trust her even if her skin was a bit too cold or if she forgot her friend’s baby name? Would you trust her even if, against your better judgement, you felt threatened by her presence?” Sally couldn’t answer “Oh, little Sally,” he approached her again and this time she let him “You are still too young, too naïve. One day, you’ll figure it out. You’ll…”

“Sally?” David’s voice spoke through the walls of the strange place, interrupting the other man’s speech. Sally looked around.

“David?”

“Oh, David, David…!” Jonathan said, with scorn she wasn’t expecting, nearly supplicant. He looked at Sally “I must go now. Goodbye, little Sally.”

“Sally?” David slightly shook the young woman and was taken aback by how violently she was brought to her senses, as if terrified of something “Hey, hey, take it easy. Relax. We have breakfast, Said told me to wake you up before going to work,” he looked at her closely “Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Yeah… I’m fine, though.”

“Good… Anyway, get up. Breakfast is getting cold,” he smiled at her and then went out of the room.

Sally got up and took a deep breath. It had been a dream, of course. How else could she have woken up in a stupid… Tower? Is that was it was? Definitely looked like one. Like Rapunzel’s, from the book she had when she was a little girl that Said used to read to her when she was nine. Even an unruly teenager has a soft spot for children. What did Jonathan mean by “Your sister is not what she seems” or whatever it was he said? She could only remember bits and parts now.

“Hi Sal,” another voice sounded from the door and she immediately raised her head. There, standing in full, long white nightgown and robe to match, was her sister Susan “Will you come eat?”

“Yeah, as I told David I’ll be right out.”

“David told me you had a bad dream.” Had he? Sally wondered. He was there five seconds ago.

“Yeah, but it’ll pass.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing a good breakfast can’t heal. Off you go, c’mon.” Obliging, Sally got up from bed and followed her sister.

The breakfast table was full. There was orange juice, what seemed to be more than a dozen fried eggs, a pile of bacon, fresh fruit, hashbrowns, waffles, and French toast.

“Wow, Said,” Sally couldn’t help but be shocked “When did you do all this?” Susan shrugged.

“I got up early, couldn’t sleep. I kept hearing this noise in the walls...”

“In the walls? When? What noise?” David asked, fast enough to sound like it was just one question, and Sally noticed, for the first time, that he had been diligently eating while they talked.

“Sounded like rats,” Susan said, simply shrugging “You know how they like to roam walls.”

“We never had rats in this house,” David said, looking at a fixed point of the table “However, I think the Johnsons said something about mice. I should get it checked, kill them while it’s time.”

“Oh, don’t!” Susan said, looking at her husband fixedly “They’re God’s creatures!”

“Rats?!” David interjected “Rats are not God’s creatures, honey. They’re a plague. You keep filling your head with that bible stuff and look at you now. No, we need to eradicate these rats, if there are any, which I’m not saying there aren’t” he raised his hands defensively, before resuming his eating “I’ll find someone to look at it for you and tell us definitely, how about that?” Susan didn’t answer, but stared instead.

“Great!” Sally did the talking, putting her hand on her sister’s arm and then removing it. Still cold. “That sounds great, David.”

“Yes. Great.”

“Good!” David said next, finishing his food and getting up “I’ll put this in the sink for you.” When he passed them by, he kissed his wife on the cheek. Susan smiled at him warmly, but Sally saw when she raised her hand and cleaned her cheek. “I’m off to work now. You two behave, will you?”

“Absolutely,” Susan said, still smiling. Sally smiled too. With a last wave, David closed the door behind him and made his way to the car that Sally stared at the previous night as if it was a demon. Now, she couldn’t fight the feeling arising in her chest: She wished Susan had never come back, as stupid as that sounded.

“So, it’s just us girls!” Susan said, smiling at her too “Now, you should eat. Sit down.” Sally did so, looking at her sister all the way to her chair, which she occupied “Care to talk about your dream, darling?”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

“I doubt that. You seem very pale.” Sally instinctively lifted a hand to her face while Susan put some eggs on her plate, “You can trust me, you know? I’m your sister,” Sally’s eyes immediately went to Susan. What did Jonathan say again?

“Yes, I know,” Sally began “I just don’t feel like talking about it.”

“That’s okay. Now, I need to go to church today. Will you be coming with me?”

“Uh, do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Ok then,” Sally said, serving herself of a portion of each thing that was at the table “Said, this is a lot of food. What are you gonna do with the rest?”

“Oh, I’ll pack it and bring over to church too. There’s always people there who need it.”

That seemed like a reasonable enough answer.

In a second, everything was over and Sally was leaving the table to change. She took a glance at Susan’s plate before that, though, and saw the eggs were untouched.

“You’re not gonna eat?” Susan looked down.

“Oh, where’s my head, of course!” Good old Said, Sally thought to herself, going from one foot to the other absently, always forgetting things. Always.

–

“Here we are,” Susan said, parking the car in front of the church. Sally looked over her sister’s body. Yep, it was the same as she remembered from her previous visits “Care to help me carry the boxes in there?”

“Yeah, sure.” They stepped out of the car and it was a second to open the trunk, get the boxes, cross the street and enter. The church was truly fuller than Sally had thought, but it was the weekend.

“Hello, hello!” Susan said to everyone. Sally didn’t know anyone there, so she fell behind. Everyone seemed to adore her sister, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Said was incredible, of course.

“I’ll carry some boxes over there!” she said, indicating what she had in hands with her head when Susan turned. Said nodded affirmatively and soon Sally was off to a nearby table.

Putting the box down, she turned her body back to find her sister, but the latter had disappeared.

“What the…?” Sally said.

“What’s wrong hon?” A woman with short, pitch black hair in a bob cut asked. Sally had not noticed her there. She was carrying a baby, wrapped in a pink towel “Wait, are you Said’s sister?”

“…Yes.”

“Oh, which one?! Sandra…? Sally…? Sally? Oh, Said told me all about you!” She was all smiles now, bouncing the baby up and down “She didn’t tell me she was back from her trip!”

“Trip? What trip?” The woman stopped now.

“Well, that trip that Said told me she and David would take, to celebrate their anniversary! Or something like that,” she didn’t seem sure, but continued anyway “She said it was gonna be a long one, that he was taking all of his weeks off; and then she’d be off to see her family. I had no idea you’d be coming over! Did you come back with her?”

“…Yeah, something like that. Are you by any chance Betty?”

“Yes!” Betty said, excited “She told you about me?”

“Oh yes, she did. She told me all about you. Congratulations on the baby!” Betty waved her hand.

“Oh please, this? She’s just the light of my life. Little Kimmie… I can’t wait for your sister to meet her. She was so excited for her arrival, just as much as me.” Sally went mute for a long second, looking at the baby being bounced up and down. The girl slept so peacefully; it was as if she never found a moment of chaos around her. Sally wondered what kinds of dreams must she be having?

“I’m so sorry, Betty,” she began again, with a tentative smile “Will you excuse me? My sister is somewhere around here, and I can’t find her…”

“Oh, darling, absolutely!” Betty, ever the best said, looking at the general direction of the other groups of people “Tell her when you find her that I said hi and that I am waiting for her to visit me! I’ll make blueberry muffins, her favorites!”

“I’ll tell her, thank you Betty. Goodbye!” Sally said, at once stepping away from the gentle woman and rushing, as much as she could in a church without attracting attention to herself, towards the backdoor. If Said wasn’t around the main hall, then she could only be at the back. With some difficulty she opened the old, wooden door. No one stopped her from entering, so she figured it was fine.

The back of the church was a simpler building. The walls were beige, quaint, and the lights were yellow. All were on at the moment Sally took her steps through the hallway.

“Said?” She asked the nothingness. There was no answer, so she decided to keep going “Saaaaid?” The hallway was echoing her footsteps back at her and the place, for being so beige, seemed almost endless. She could feel a certain brand of loneliness coming from the environment itself. How many priests had roamed this place, she wondered? How many nuns, how many boys and girls?

At the end, around the corner, she started to hear noises. They sounded wet, like someone was making out, hidden away from the world, like teenagers. Feebly, she tried:

“Said?” Her words barely left her lips. She kept going, silently this time, masquerading the sounds of her footsteps by gradually slowing her pace, until…

“Sally!” Susan said, at once separating from the man she had been kissing – or even more, considering the motion he made towards his pants – and moving closer to the wall “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, you’re not supposed to be here,” the man said, as if he was in any position of chastising her. Sally couldn’t believe it.

“You can’t imagine much of what your sister was actually like. She was good at pretending to be something she is not. Tell me, do you trust her?”

“I wanna go home.”

“Would you trust her even if her skin was a bit too cold or if she forgot her friend’s baby name?”

“Yes, of course,” Susan said, trying to smile at her, even if painfully. The man looked at her and, coldly, she said a simple “Leave.” As if under a spell, he obliged and went away, looking down and avoiding Sally’s face.

“Betty told me to tell you to say hi,” Sally decided to say, defiantly looking within her sister’s cold, dead eyes “She said she can’t wait for you to meet her baby.”

–

Before leaving, Susan did talk to Betty. All Sally did was stand by the church’s front door and observe them, watch as Said gushed over the child. Who was that woman? It wasn’t her sister, that’s for sure. Jonathan had said… Something about her sister being someplace far away. What the hell did he mean by that?

“Ok, all done,” Susan said, coming towards Sally “We can go now.” All Sally did was nod faintly and turn around, determined to get to the car as soon as possible. Once in, she looked only at the road while her sister dutifully drove, also just as focused, at least at the beginning.

“Sal, what you saw at the church…”

“Spare me,” Sally said “I can’t believe you are cheating on David. It isn’t even…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. It isn’t even sanitary,” instead of scolding, Sally got a laugh back. It seemed so out of place she abruptly turned her head to finally look at her sister. Susan had a wide smile on, with all of her teeth showing.

“Would you trust her even if, against your better judgement, you felt threatened by her presence?”

“Stop that, Said,” Sally began, but the woman kept laughing “Said!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Sal. Did your little friend Brittany teach you that sanitary talk? I bet. You two talked about sex all the time.”

“So what if we did? That’s none of your business!”

“Oh yes, why not? Don’t you trust your big sister?” She was still smiling when she turned to look at the road again “We’re almost home. I’m gonna drop you off and go do some grocery shopping.”

“I’m sure. It’s not like you lied before.”

“My life is no concern of yours, Sal. One day, you’ll be old enough to understand what it’s like to have a marriage like mine.” She pulled the handbrake and the sound startled Sally as much as anything else. “Go out now. I’ll talk to you later, darling.” Sally looked at her sister in mute indignation before resigning and opening the car door. With a last smile, Susan said “Goodbye, little Sally.”

“What did you c—” but at the moment she turned around, her sister had already turned the car back on and driven off.

—

Sally got through dinner somehow. Said did come back with groceries and right at the nick of time: David arrived with her and the two shared a passionate kiss together. When they were done, he seemed a little tired.

“Are you okay, David?” Sally asked, observing his countenance. He gave her a weak smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just couldn’t sleep properly last night. That’s all.” Susan looked from one to the other. Sally could tell that she was afraid anything would come out of her mouth, so she kept it shut and excused herself extra early. For one reason or another, David barely argued against that and she was off to bed.

Once the door was closed, she didn’t mind to hide the locking sound this time. She wanted Susan to hear it. Sally wasn’t a child; she knew infidelity was normal. However, she also thought her sister would never cheat on someone like David. He was the perfect man! She said so herself. I mean, she did, right?

“So, you and your boyfriend are getting pretty serious, right?” Sally asked, looking at Brittany doing her make up at the school mirror. They were extra early this time, to avoid a crowd. Last time they wanted to talk, people kept coming in and out and it wasn’t exactly the ideal scenario. She smiled before answering.

“Yeah. Billy and I are gonna move in together after graduation. He’s got a house behind his parents’ and etc. They’re loaded, but want nothing to do with him, etc. Obviously they want nothing to do with me either.”

“That sucks,” Sally said, but Brittany shrugged.

“It’s what it is, kid. Life’s never perfect.”

“Are you two gonna be okay together?” Brittany looked at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Sally adjusted her jacket and poufy hair a little in front of the mirror, even though she knew it would never stay that voluminous “You have no money together.”

“Oh, we’ll get by. What did I tell you, kid? Catch one and keep ‘em for life. That’s Billy and me. Never one without the other.”

“Hmm…” Sally said “My sister married young too, she was eighteen.”

“Nobody said anything about marrying, but go on,” Sally did.

“Well, she met her husband when they were both in High School. They seem like the perfect couple, but…”

“But?”

“Well…” Sally looked at her friend “One time she called me, Said did, I mean. And she was crying I guess. Something about David.”

“Did she tell you what it was?” Sally waved her head.

“No. It was the last time she ever even mentioned it. I think she regretted calling me. I wish I had the guts to ask what the hell it was all about.”

“Well, I think he was probably a dick to her. He probably didn’t turn out to be what she expected to be. Maybe he cheated. The usual story.”

“Not David,” Sally said, resolute. Brittany looked at her for a second, red lip liner in hand. Sally thought that, like that, she looked like a worse for wear Kelly Kapowski from Saved By The Bell. Like a Kelly Kapowski that had cigarettes burned onto her skin multiple times, but remained beautiful and incredible through gritted teeth.

“Suit yourself,” it was all Brittany said before turning back to the mirror and finishing her lips.

—

When she woke up back at the strange tower from last night, Sally wasn’t surprised. She looked around with little interest until Jonathan showed back up again.

“Sally,” he said, with that usual voice of his. She smiled at him briefly.

“Jonathan.”

“You’re back.

“Not on my own volition.”

“Oh, I’m sure not. You wouldn’t do that, of course.” Sally crossed her arms “How’s your sister?”

“She’s fine.”

“That’s not what I see.”

“What do you mean by see?” Jonathan lowered his head and smiled.

“I can see you. Your head, I mean. I know everything you know when I appear in your dreams. It’s a… Subconscious thing, of course. I’m not really here. Neither are you.”

“Where are you then?” Instead of from right in front of her, Sally heard the answer from right behind herself.

“Somewhere else…” he whispered in her ear, startling her. She rapidly turned around, but he was gone. In his place, there was a shadow of something else.

“What is that?” she asked, looking closer at the floor. There, a dead carcass of what seemed to have once been a rat was, inside a rat trap. She flew back immediately, in time to hear what seemed to be Jonathan cackling.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Sally asked, almost yelling now.

“Don’t you know, you ignorant little girl?” A third voice asked and Sally looked at its direction, by the illuminated window. There, a man in robes was sitting, his face bloody and mashed in, with an air of unsurmountable sadness “You’re just like your sister, oh…”

“What do you know about my sister?” She asked, approaching the man. He didn’t make a move at first, but upon further inspection, Sally realized he was waving his head.

“Unfortunately, I know all about your sister. I know all about what she and that man Jonathan did in this filthy room for two months, about their desire, their consummation, their screams of unbridled passion.”

“What?!” Sally’s face contorted in an ugly frown “You’re lying!”

“Am I?!” He asked, his voice going louder than she thought possible, making her instinctively raise her hands to her ears “Am I?! Wasn’t she doing the same back in the church today? Oh, dead people see it all, little girl. That Jonathan man… He wants you too. He can’t have your body in its physical form though, she won’t let him.”

“Who?!”

“Your sister! He has her body, he has it, but she’s still in there, in their collective head. Oh, she was supposed to be somewhere else. She was supposed to be in Hell!”

“Sally?” Susan asked, gently shaking her sister “Saaally…?” She asked again, singing the name like a siren’s song. When Sally bolted awake, she smiled “Good morning sleepyhead. David has gone off to work already so I came to wake you up. Have you slept well today?”

Sally did nothing but stare at first, before smiling.

“Yeah, I did. Do we have breakfast?”

—

While they ate, Sally took to observing Susan again. She was humming to herself while spreading some jam on her toast, before biting onto it so hard, the crunch of the bread almost made Sally cry. She didn’t realize she had been so on edge until her hands started trembling. She needed to keep it together. First of all, nothing indicated that her dream was true, after all how crazy was that? Just because her sister was cheating on her husband – who may or may not have been an asshole in the past – does not mean that she is possessed by a former lover. That doesn’t make any sense!

“Darling?” Susan asked, looking at Sally’s plate “You have to eat.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sally answered “Right,” but she couldn’t bring herself to “Hey, can I borrow your car?”

“What for?” Sally smiled.

“I wanted to go to church,” Susan smiled at her as well.

“Sure. The keys are in the bowl, but you’re not leaving without eating.”

“Ok, fine,” Sally said, a semblance of normalcy seeping through as she devoured the eggs and drank the orange juice “Satisfied?”

Looking at her, more like leering, Susan smiled.

“Very.”

—

Sally did go to church at first. There, she stood alone, looking at the stained glass windows, the figures of the Lord, at Jesus Christ on the cross. She prayed for the first time in five years and cried to what seemed to be no one. She couldn’t believe she was actually doing what she was doing. What the hell was wrong with her? If she did everything her dreams told her to do, she would have kissed Brittany and told her not to go with Billy, to stay with her. That would have been a bad choice, wouldn’t it? Should she call Brittany now? Would she know what to do? She had before. She always knew what to do. Saint Brittany.

“Saint Said.” She remembered David saying. This was all wrong. He was suspicious of her; Sally knew that now. He had to have known she hadn’t been seeing Betty, that she had been seeing him. Jonathan. She wondered if David even knew Jonathan.

“Miss?” A male voice asked and she turned around. It was a small, old priest, with a kind face. She immediately smiled, but regretted it. She hated priests “May I help you?”

“Oh, no. I’m just… I’ll be right out,” he nodded his frail head and started to turn, when she gathered enough courage to ask “Hey, do you know a priest by the name of Jonathan?” he seemed to stop.

“Jonathan you say?”

“Yeah…”

“Yes. I know a priest by the name of Jonathan, or knew, rather.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” He looked pensive for a second, less confused about the events, but more pondering whether or not he should share them with the young woman in front of him.

“He went up to the tower of a Church a ways from here and took his own life. He had to do so; He had been excommunicated. They found some… Reprehensible things he had been involved in. It’s not really a subject to share with a woman as young as you…” but as he turned to leave, Sally stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Please. I have to know, it’s… Important.” The priest looked up at her.

“What do you want with this information, miss? Wait a minute dearie, aren’t you Susan’s little sister, Sally?” He looked at her closely “Yes, I am recognizing you now. So similar to her except… Yes, her eyes are blue.” He paused, his expression turning to a resigned one as the small priest decided to tell her everything, in light of the new information, perhaps out of pity “He… He had taken a lover somewhere,” he gesticulated vaguely, slowly, gripped by the immobility of old age “I don’t surely recall. She ended in a mental asylum. They also found another one, but she was already in a much better place. He had left her in a deplorable situation, some said “lying in her own blood.” I don’t really recall…”

“Where is this Church you mentioned?” Sally asked, interrupting in a manner that would have seem rude, if not urgent now.

—

Sally took to her car and drove as fast as she could. It wasn’t really a far away drive. The place stood in a town a few minutes from the one they were in now, more deserted too. There were no people on the streets as she slowly drove up to the only church. By the color of the bricks, it looked like the one from her dream alright. The priest told her only one person was at the church at this time, an old woman who took care of the place.

Sally parked and got out of the car at lightning speed, knocking at the door mere ten seconds after getting out of the car. Minutes later, a face emerged. It was probably the old lady that he had mentioned, her hair and make up matched the description she inquired on.

“What are you… Oh. I’m sorry, you’re not her,” the old lady looked at her from top to bottom “Yes. You are certainly not.”

“Hi, I’m Sally,” she said, still breathing with some difficulty, from the running she had done, ignoring the strange introduction, “I’m Susan Brady’s sister.”

“Oh, I see. Her sister.” The old lady snickered “He’s dead, you know? He can’t keep bringing people in like this. It was unethical in life and it’s even more now in death,” she motioned to close the door, but Sally desperately held it open.

“Please, I have to come in. Please,” she supplicated. The old lady looked at her.

“Did he do it to you too?” she asked. Sally couldn’t understand.

“What?” The old lady, however, refrained from answering. Instead, she gave out this cryptic comment:

“You and your sister truly are alike.” Sally stared at her, mute. The old lady stepped away “Go in. It’s all the way upstairs. I’m hoping to not hear anything strange coming from the walls, other than the rats.” Sally, who was going in, stopped.

“The rats?” She asked and the older woman, closing the door, nodded.

“Yes. There were rats in the walls. Curiously, I haven’t been hearing them lately.”

Sally couldn’t hear anything, but Said could. She was hearing rats in the walls.

“They’re God’s creatures…” Sally murmured to herself, like her sister had done before.

“What was that?” the old lady asked, standing with her hands over her stomach, very proper.

“Nothing!” Sally said and took to the stairs “Thank you, I won’t be here long!” once she was gone, the old lady walked towards the vase nearby.

“That’s what the other one said too. They always end up staying too long in that place. Long enough for the worm to get them… That vermin,” she looked up in time to see the door closing and locking. With a snicker, she finished “They never learn.”

—

The tower was illuminated this time and she could see everything. Sally looked around herself and observed the window, the bed, the empty space and the chair, standing at a strange point of the room. The priest had said he killed himself. Had he jumped from there?

Sally took to the bedroom. All there was, upon first glance, was the bed. It was made perfectly, and Sally suspected the old lady had something to do with it. Looking to the side, however, there was a table full of books. She assumed they belonged to the deceased. Why they were still there was the mystery. Maybe the old lady had a soft spot for Jonathan as well? That would make sense. Sally twisted her face into an ugly frown again. Ugh. He was quite the ladies man, huh?

Shaking her head, she started reading the titles and saw that the one time priest had an obsession with the occult. All of these were about demonic encounters, seals to summon specific demons, what they did and etc. She was surprised he hadn’t been thrown out sooner. Had no one stopped to read what he was researching.

“Sally, you’re here!” A female voice sounded behind her, strikingly familiar to her ears – so much so that she turned around at once – but there was nothing there.

She must be going insane.

“…Susan?” She asked the empty room, rubbing her forearm and immediately regretting it “God, what the hell is wrong with me?” was the next question, followed by quite a loud kick to the table, which shook everything on top of it, from candlesticks to books. She was dreaming of real dead clergymen she had never met, dreaming of also dead rats and now she was hearing voices which could only belong to her sister, who was supposedly at her house, far away. What had become of her life? She wondered, madly, if any boys would still like her if she was insane. She also wondered if Brittany would, back at home, with her boyfriend.

“Sally!” The voice sounded again, but this time behind her. Closing her eyes, as if to wish it away, she realized there was nothing she could truly do. She would either leave now, which was inherently unsatisfying, or she would turn around and see if there really was someone behind her. It was that or the mental hospital. Come to think of it, maybe it was the mental hospital anyway.

Slowly, but surely, Sally turned. There, in full display, was a pale reproduction of her sister Said, in her full glory. She was wearing the same clothes she wore on the first day Sally came to her house, the black skirt and white blouse. The scarf was nowhere to be seen, however, and around Susan’s neck, Sally noticed, were grotesque rope marks.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” Susan said and took to hugging her little sister, for the first time in a long time. Sally was shocked that she could even feel her. Ghosts weren’t supposed to be huggable. Right?

“Susan, what is going on?” Was all the thoughts that Sally could voice right now. When they broke off the hug, they locked eyes and she could finally see the emotion back into her sister’s blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sally. It’s so horrible, I can’t…” She looked away briefly and then went back to her face, with a smile “I’m so glad you’re here,” she repeated, but continued “I kind of wish you weren’t though. This is no place for you. How did you even find it?”

“This priest at church told me that Jonathan lived here before he killed himself. He told me you and him…” Susan closed her eyes.

“Let’s not talk about Jonathan. I wanna talk about you. How are you?”

“We don’t have time! Look, this might sound insane, although I’m not sure how much more insane than that you are here right now when you were supposed to be home, but I think Jonathan has your body,” Sally looked at the pale semblance of her sister and wanted to cry “I think you’re still in there with him too. I think you’re not all here. This man in my dream told me something about that. He had this completely fucked up face…”

“Oh my God,” Susan said and stepped away from her sister, looking at a fixed point “Yeah, I remember…” when Sally looked too, she saw her sister’s glance was upon the chair “I… I killed myself, Sally.”

“No!” Sally said, covering her mouth with her hands “No, it can’t be! You’re here!” But Susan confirmed the fact with a nod.

“I was so foolish.” She raised her eyes “I thought that he loved me, I genuinely thought that he loved me. Oh, it was all a mess with David. I thought he was seeing someone else. When I confronted him, he threatened to leave me destitute and then did even worse…” She shook her head and lowered her eyes “When I… When I met Jonathan, I didn’t know anything about him other than he was kind. At least I thought so, at the beginning. He was working at our church, but slept here. I wondered why he drove so far every day for work, but then he told me it was because of me – that he had seen me with David, that he needed to have me. It all went wrong from there. He apparently had these other lovers… I was just the next casualty. And there was this rat…”

“Yes!” Sally said, approaching her sister eagerly “I saw the rat! He had a weird appearance and he was dead. The rat was dead!”

“I remember that!” Susan said, agreeing frantically with her head “The rat was caught in this mouse trap and…! And I saw it bleed out!”

“Can you leave this place?” Sally asked next, but Susan adamantly waved her head.

“No. I tried.” Sally instinctively looked over at the table.

“Maybe one of these books can help us,” she ran towards the skewed contents of the once kicked piece of furniture and picked the nearest one. Luckily, it seemed to be the most worn “Wow, Jonathan liked to highlight his books, Jesus.” Pages and pages of the book had words circled or crossed or writing, on the margins. Susan stopped by her sister’s side and raised her hand to her neck reflexively. She was still wearing the cross grandma had given her as a ghost.

“Well, I don’t know if you should mess with these things, Sal…” Susan said, sounding unsure “I think you should go back to mom and dad. That’s what you should do.”

“Absolutely not!” Sally exclaimed, indignant “I came all the way here for you, I am not going to turn back now, I want to see Jonathan dead in his grave forever!” She read the contents of the book now “This seems to be what he did to summon the rat. Here.” She showed it to Said, who intently read “It states that you need to bring a certain amount of sacrifices to this specific demon, you see? He brought the designated amount for sure… But the rat’s dead, or rather the physical form of the demon. He died in the middle of taking the last one, which means that it was never fully completed in the first place!”

“But how does that help us?”

“Well, if your soul is still inside of your body and Jonathan is also there, that means that you’re in half, just like I thought, but… It means Jonathan is also in half.”

“Aren’t you a clever girl?” A male voice echoed through the tower. In a second, Sally saw Susan’s remaining spirit had vanished, and Jonathan, the clergyman, was beside her where she once had stood.

At once, Sally closed the book and stepped away from the now snickering man “Oh, Sally, Sally, Sally…” he took a step towards her, then another… “You are so alike your sister. You can’t stop yourself from digging, can you?”

“Go fuck yourself, Jonathan!” Sally said, backing away towards the wall. He couldn’t help but cackle that stupid laugh of his. Sally had enough “I’m getting my sister back.”

“I don’t think so. You know, I loved your sister,” he said, close enough now to put an arm over her head and his face close to hers “I did,” he was whispering now, inside her ear “I loved her body, that is why I took it for myself. You are so alike her, but… Smarter. Younger. Fresher.” He then did something she could have never foreseen: Slowly and delectably he licked her cheek from jaw to eyebrow. Sally pushed him away from her, but all he did was laugh “Run little Sally! Save your sister! You could never have saved your brother in law!” that made her turn.

“What did you do to David?”

“Oh…” He paused and walked towards her, stopping half-way there “Did you really think he had gone off to work earlier that morning?” Jonathan waved his head “Oh, he was dead, right there in his office. You went right by it and never noticed it.” Shocked and muted yet again by the horror, Sally could only step away and run out of the tower as fast as she could, darting down the stairs. Even at the door, she could still hear the cackle in her ears.

“Gone so soon?” The old lady asked, but all Sally could do was nod, before crossing the threshold towards the parked vehicle. Behind her, the old lady uttered a measly “hmpf,” before closing the door.

—

When Sally parked the car outside of the house, night had already fallen. She turned her head to look at the house, illuminated only by the lampposts. David car was still parked at the garage and she cursed herself for not having looked before taking off that morning. She wondered if Jonathan was telling the truth, but it was useless. He obviously was.

She opened the door and stepped outside, closing it with moderate strength. She didn’t want to alert the neighbors, but she didn’t care if Said, or whatever the hell was in her body, heard her coming. She hoped it did.

Taking to the trunk, Sally stuck the key in the hole and popped it open. There, she brought out a brand new axe. She couldn’t bring herself to get a gun, she didn’t even know why she had that now. It seemed like a stupid precaution. She was not, in any sense, going to axe her sister. Still, she took it with her after closing the trunk and with a deep breath, she faced the house.

—

Inside, it was dark, as if no one was home. She opened the door, which was unlocked, and entered with ease, closing it back up. She looked at the kitchen, the living and dining rooms, and at the hallway, finally. Darkness there and nothing more.

“Said?” Sally asked.

“I’m here, Sally,” her voice came from David’s office. Soon, the door opened and a single light could be seen, yellow in tone “Come.” She started walking, wondering how she could have ever thought that was her sister. She couldn’t distinguish her cadence between that of Jonathan’s now – it was the same, through and through.

Sally wondered what she would see in that office, getting closer with each step. She wanted nothing more to end Jonathan, but she was still apprehensive. What did he do to David? Goddammit… Why was this fucking happening to her? She called upon God again for any help. She didn’t know if he could hear her, but she hoped so. The Devil was there, after all. Why not God?

When she finally reached the door, the first thing she saw was Said, sitting on the chair, smiling at her. Then, beneath her, she noticed the body of David, head bent away from her. His wrists had been slashed and there was blood all over the floor, in puddles.

“Oh my God!”

“Hello, little sister,” Susan said, waving a hand full of blood “I wondered if you were going to come back.” She looked down and pointed with her head at the axe “What’s that you got?”

“Can’t you see it? Are you blind now, or what?” Susan’s smile faded.

“That is no way to talk to your sister!”

“Oh, but you’re not my sister,” Sally stepped into the room, confident now in her words and stride, gripping the axe with force “I went to see you, at the tower – or whatever was left of you, Jonathan.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about. Who’s Jonathan?”

“Oh, cut the bullshit!” she said, clenching her free fist “I know it’s you in there, Jonathan and not Susan – Or at least not all of her. Did you know that you’re not full? Did you even notice? Or were you incomplete your entire life, so it didn’t matter?” Susan got up from her chair, a frown in place of the usual smile, and approached her sister, who jumped back, axe ready to strike. At that, she halted.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jonathan asked. It was him, through and through. Even if the body belonged to someone else.

“Your despicable familiar, that’s what I’m talking about! He died before bringing Said’s soul to Hell, or whatever the hell! She’s still in there with you.”

“That is impossible!”

“Oh, it’s not!” Sally said “I read your stupid book. You should have taken better care of that freakish rat, might have done you some good!” In a fit of rage, Jonathan darted towards Sally and immediately went for her hair, now loose, trying to grip it. Being faster, she dodged and managed to run away towards the kitchen, with him in her tail.

“Come back here, Sally!” He screamed, “Come back, you bitch!” She turned around to face him from the other side of the counter, where they came to an impasse. They shared a look “Oh, Sally, Sally… You might have read a book, but I’ve read thousands. What are you gonna do, huh? Save your sister?” he snickered, looking more and more like the deceased and less and less like Said “She’s dead! She’s dead!”

“So were you and now look at where we are!”

“Give it up, Sally!”

“Never!” she approached her face to his and said, in a low whisper “You’re gonna go down, little man.” With the small, paused reaction that caused, Sally ran around him, going towards the hallway and straight for the master bedroom.

“NO!!” she heard behind herself, but she was too fast to care about it at this point. At once, she closed the door and locked it, being almost immediately greeted with angry fists begging to be let in, making her back away fast “SALLY!! SALLY!!”

“You’re gonna wake the fucking neighbors, Said!” Sally yelled back as the doorknob was frantically assaulted. She didn’t have time for that. Doing an about face, she examined the walls and the floor closely “Now, if I were a nest of rats, where would I be?”

“SALLY!”

“SHUT UP!!” Sally yelled back “I’m trying to think!” she looked down at the floor. She knew what she had to do. According to the book, Sally needed to destroy any remnants of the familiar there might be. Rats proliferate rather quickly – as a matter of fact, so quickly that anyone would have a rat problem in no time – especially with a demon rat running around like that.

So, Sally took to swinging. First, she tried the walls, which crumbled easily. There was no success to be had there, as she came up mostly empty handed and buried in dust.

“Hope that wasn’t a foundational wall…” she whispered to herself and fixated upon the bed “Wait a minute!” she dropped the axe for a second and used all her might to pull one of the poles away. Surprisingly, the frame wasn’t that heavy, and the years of softball paid off in an immense way. In no time, the bed was out and she could see the scratches, even from the surface “Gotcha.”

“You bitch!” the voice on the other side still yelled, almost sobbed “Oh, I’ll get you for this Sally Elmer! I’ll fucking get you if it’s the last thing I do!” Sally paid no attention to him. He was bitter because he had lost. He had never lost so bad, after all.

She bent down and took the axe in hands, swinging at the floor full force. Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of rats. She swung again and it became louder. The screeching was deafening enough to drive anyone mad, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t doing this for herself, but for Said, for her big sister. That was enough.

At once, she was done. No rats were felt at her feet though, which was strange. When she finally opened her eyes to look at the masterpiece, Sally observed the black hole on the floor. There was… Nothing?

A laugh started at the other side of the door, becoming louder.

“What…? There were supposed to be…” Then she had an idea. Bending over, Sally looked within the hole and, gathering all of her courage, stuck her hand inside. Feeling the darkness, she quickly found what she was looking for and pulled it out.

It was the body of Jonathan’s near lifeless familiar.

He hadn’t procreated, he was barely alive.

“You… Bitch… You whore…” he said, amidst blood gushing out. His throat was barely there.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Are you?”

“Let me in, Sally!” Jonathan said, suddenly desperate again “Let me in and I promise you I’ll love you. I promise I’ll cherish you; I’ll adore you; I’ll fuck you with all my might, every day.” Sally contorted her face in disgust.

“Ew! I don’t think so,” she said and, throwing the rat on the floor, promptly stepped on him, ending his misery and hers.

—

The tower had become cold, or at least the wind indicated so. I couldn’t feel anything in the state I was in at that time. All I could do was sit down and watch the old lady tidy Jonathan’s things up day by day, like a sanctuary. I wondered what she’d think if she knew I was there. Most of the time, though, I wasn’t. I looked through the window and recalled the moments of passion I had spent there with him. It wasn’t worth it, in the end, even if I thought Jonathan was perfect.

When Sally came and went, I thought that I had a chance. I saw her leave and my heart sunk, as much as it could. I didn’t want my little sister to die. I sat in that tower for what seemed like an infinite amount of time – not that before it hadn’t, but it seemed even worse, as if the hours were dragging themselves, behaving like years. Goddammit! Goddammit…!

—

Sally opened the door in a hurry.

“Said?!” She asked, kneeling down to cradle her sister in her arms. She was not responding “Said!! Goddammit, Said, wake up! God…!” she looked up at the ceiling reflexively and then at the dead rat, to make sure. Maybe he was still…? But no. He had turned to mush at this point.

Maybe there was no hope. Maybe Jonathan had fucking won, maybe not the way he wanted to, but the way he could. Maybe he dragged Said to hell with him, leaving her the mess to fix, the dead body in the office, her poor sister…

“S… Sally?” Susan’s voice said, strained, and Sally looked down immediately “What? Where…?”

“Said?!” She exclaimed and hugged her “Oh my God, Said!” she raised her head back again and looked into her sister’s eyes. Yeah, it was definitely her “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alive!”

“Yeah, me too…” Said looked at the master bedroom “What did you do…?” Sally looked back too.

“Oh, I had to do some digging for a stupid rat.”

“Oh…” She looked up at her sister “And David?” Sally’s countenance changed.

“He’s… He’s dead. I’m sorry. Jonathan drove him to suicide as well. I think it was his… Way of doing things.”

“Oh, God…” Susan said, closing her eyes in pain “Will you help me get up?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Together, the two grunted as they made their way from the floor to their usual heights, now completely equal once again. They looked at the mess they were in “It’s not ideal…”

“No, but we’ll figure it out,” Susan said, sounding confident, positive, more than Sally has ever seen her being. She turned to her sister “Thank you so much, Sally. Thank you!” As the sisters embraced again, the rat bled onto the floor and Jonathan, the Evil Clergyman, would never be back again.

He was finally at his final resting place.

#wrote this in 3 days never posted it here #it's the most insane out of my comfort zone thing I've ever written #I'm oddly proud of it #but please read the CW thank youuu~#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #writeblr #fanfic writing #fanfiction writer #the evil clergyman #hp lovecraft #lovecraft fanfic #lovecraft #pulsepounders #jeffrey combs #barbara crampton #horror fic

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