#i know i am. i know nothing can change that. but it feels phony

[dewgongs]

not only that but i feel like sometimes i accidentallyy gfind myself mimicking behaviors thta other people do that may be seen as rude y=but i dont mean for it to be... )8

honestly maybe im not supposed to understand others or other people... like maybe some people are just on a diff frequency from me that i just cant tune into??

[love2write2626]

Forever In The Shadows of Oz

Summary: Elphaba and Fiyero, no longer fugitives but forever on the run now far away from Oz, live in seclusion, their love unshaken but haunted by loss and sacrifice. Fiyero, transformed into the Scarecrow, hides his struggles behind a smile, while Elphaba obsessively studies the Grimmerie, desperate to undo the spell that altered him. As hope begins to waver, When hope begins to fade, a new spell offers an unexpected opportunity to reclaim what was lost. However, the spell’s outcome is unforeseen—both awaken in their past lives. Now faced with the chance to rewrite history, can they change the past and heal what was once broken?

CHAPTER 2 HERE

Chapter 1

A lot has happened in the past 6 years – it feels like a lifetime. First, I went to Shiz, A dream come true… or so I thought. It was a rough start but then it changed for the better. Getting an Invitation to meet the Wizard, was my lifelong dream, a dream that quickly turned into a nightmare once I learned the truth about The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He wasn’t wonderful at all he was nothing but a phony. In some ways I am grateful I learned the truth about it, but it led to a long 5 years of being on the run.

In a moment of desperation, tired of running, I returned to the wizard hoping to make amends. Hoping I could convince him to do the right thing… but how wrong I was. He turned out to be worse than I could have ever imagined.

The only good thing that came of that day was him – Fiyero – My Yero. I had secretly had feelings for him when we were at Shiz and part of me hoped he cared for me as well… but I knew it was crazy to even think that way. Why would He want to be with the green bean, it was crazy to think it was even a possibility… until it wasn’t. Until he stood in that room and told everyone he was going with me.

Then came Dorthy – Don’t even get me started on her.

The people of Oz rejoiced when they received the news that a human child had Melted The Wicked Witch of The West. They danced, they sang and cheered. They quickly went on with their lives.

It didn’t hurt when they cheered about my death… the hardest thing was knowing that Fiyero and I will forever be on the run. My heart breaks that… that he is the way he is. It’s my fault. Just like Nessa Rose being unable to walk.

It’s been a year and even though we were able to find a small abandoned cottage far, far, far away from Oz. He says he’s happy, but it breaks my heart into a million pieces every time another attempt to change him fails. The way his face falls only for a second, then he smiles again and pulls me into his arms and whispers

“I love you. I don’t care how I look. As Long As You’re Mine, I’ll always be happy, Scarecrow or not”

I know he is not lying, but it doesn’t stop me from noticing the frustration he faces almost every day when there are things he cannot do.

I cannot tell him that I hear him at night, when he thinks I’m asleep and he talks to me telling me all the things he wishes we could do together. The longing in his voice.

“I wish I could kiss you”

“I wish I could simply hold your hand, and not worry of causing you to get a rash from this damn material”

“I wish I could actually feel you when I hold you in my arms”

“I wish I could make love to you Fae”

I remember the night he had said that and it hit me like a freight train. It terrified me – not because I didn’t want to. But the truth was I never thought I would be in any kind of romantic relationship with anyone so the thought of someone wanting to make love to me is scary. I know Fiyero doesn’t care that my entire body is green. But even with how strong I have had to become I still have my insecurities and doubts.

I sigh deeply, sitting on the ground with the Grimmerie, my fingers tracing over the edges of the book I’ve been studying for the past 6 years… and I still don’t understand anything in it. I wish I could figure out something, something anything to give me answers. But, it seems the words just begin to blur together after a while and I hate to say as the days go on my hope is starting to waver.

“Fae?” I heard Yero call

“In the bedroom” I said back

“Hey” He greeted me, sitting down next to me on the ground

“Where did you go?” I asked

“Went to get you some more firewood… while you were in here ready that dusty old book this poor old scarecrow was dragging wood. Literally” He chuckled. I know he was joking but I looked at the ground

“Oh, Fae. I am sorry I was only kidding. You know I don’t mind being this way” He placed his scratchy hand under my chin and raised it up so I am looking him in the face “I love you so much. I don’t mind being like this”

“Ugh, Yero you keep saying that, but I can see how unhappy you are”

“I’m not unhappy… a little frustrated at times. Never unhappy”

“I should have never let you run off with me. You should have stayed in The Emerald City, married Glinda and”

“Stop!” He said “If I had married Glinda. The I would have been unhappy”

“Fiyero…”

 “Do you know what I thought the moment I met you?”

“Maybe the driver saw green and thought it meant go” I said with a small smile

“I only said that because I was thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t. I was a prince; I had a certain status to keep. So, I always kept my eyes open for women like Glinda… but when I locked eyes with you. Oz Fae, I was already gone. I quickly pushed those thoughts aside because again I’m…. was a prince. It sounds so fucking shallow when I think about it now. If I could re-do it, the day I met you I would have asked you to go with me to the oz dust ballroom… not Galinda. I would have kissed you, and held your hand, and loved you over and over again.”

“Yero” I mumbled

“And I would have never let you get on that oz forsaken train” I walked over and wrapped my arms around him “I love you Fae”

“I love you too Yero my Hero” he chuckled at my nickname for him

“Did you figure anything else out today” He said pointing at the book. I sighed

“I wrote out a new spell… not sure if it will work. Do you want to try it?” he nods and stood up. “Take my hands” I said “I thought maybe physical contact might help” he grabbed them without and hesitation and I took a deep breath before starting the spell.

“Eleka Eleka A Tume Nahmen, A Tum, Eleka Nahmen” I opened my eyes and saw green smoke surrounding us. There was a different feel in the air and suddenly I fell when there was a horrible pain in my chest.

“FAE” I heard Fiyero cry out. He reached for me and then suddenly he collapsed.

“NO” I screamed fighting the feeling in my chest. The burning. I crawled over to him grabbing his hand “Don’t you dare leave me Yero. You can’t” The pain got worse and as hard as I tried I couldn’t fight any longer…

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2

[luhafraser]

"love is a meeting of souls" - Sam was never and never will be that deep. He's as shallow as they come. Nothing more than self-absorbed, money and fame hungry. You've been fanning a total phony.

I believe you are quoting something @outlanderskin posted. Anon, you don't know anything like the rest of us. I don't think Sam is everything you said, but I understand why some people think that and are spiteful when saying what he is or isn't. Although, I don't think that kind of feeling is necessary.

I believe Sam is deep (listen to him reading his letter to the Lyceum). But I think he doesn't show who he really is. This Sam that you consider as "self-absorbed, money and fame hungry" is just a guy who now has the means to not go back to the difficult times he's already been through in his life... Who thinks about ensuring a comfortable future for himself and his loved ones. I don't think much differently about Caitríona... Although I have my reservations about C allowing her family and friends to get involved in this circus, like they did.

Do I agree with everything Sam does? With this shitshow? Definitely not!!! But I also know that this won't change anything. And if I fed this anger that you carried in your words (because you seem to take this seriously), I would evaluate myself and not who Sam is or isn't. I can't change him, but I can change who I am and what I do. 😉

[holdens-baseball-mitt]

In my mind, Holden is one of those characters whose in such a downward spiral, he needs some horrible accident/near death experience to realize just how much he wants to live.

On that note, it's been long enough that I think it's finally safe to post that narrative continuation of Catcher I had to write. Here is your grocery list of trigger warnings.

Major character (like the main character) death

(accidental) drug OD

car crash

implied child abuse

just... pain? general pain?

Holden's POV, 3 months after the end of the novel

One more day in this goddamn place, then I’m out. More like one more minute, at this point- I’ve been told my parents are on their way. Not that I want to see them. They keep saying they put me here to fix me, but I hate that goddamn sentence. “Fix me”. It’s not even my fault I was broken, was it? Sure, I was depressed as hell, but it’s not like I woke up one day and decided to be. Everyone always says you need to be fixed- what a bunch of phonies. They probably need to be fixed too. My parents went heavy on the “getting fixed” thing. And Old Phoebe- oh, I feel bad. And man, she really is old now- almost as tall as me… time really flies when you’re stuck in a mental asylum against your will, I guess. She came the other day with my mother- you should have seen my mother. She was crying, crying like hell. Talking about how I was ‘hurting’- and she never even visited me before that. And for the record, I wasn’t ‘hurting’. That’s what they always say. That you were hurting. Anyways, Phoebe came with her, and man, was she upset. She kept crying about how she missed me. I guess I missed her too- but seeing her made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t tell you why. 

The adults here suck. They keep asking you dumb questions, like “Are you going to apply yourself?” and “Are you gonna get more involved?”, just like I said. They act like I know. For once, I don’t. And they’re irresponsible as hell- I’ve been scared that one day they’ll give me the wrong meds, and  I’ll just drop dead on the goddamn floor. I’ve heard of it happening. 

I’ve been asked a lot today: “are you excited to be going home?” To be honest, I’m not. My father’s been a bastard lately- he hasn’t come to visit me either. I still hate him a little bit- he’s the first truly phony person I ever knew, and he never changes. The last thing he said to me was something about how he hopes I stay here for the rest of my life. I’ll bet he wishes he never had me- in his defense, I don’t know anyone who would. I’m also kind of scared of him, to be honest. Adults are goddamned idiots- the minute they think you’re sick, they give up on you. And they have full control over your goddamn life, so there’s nothing you can do. But nobody gives a damn what I think- they never did. 

“Caulfield? Your father’s outside.” 

Goddamnit. 

Well, what the hell do you expect me to do? Pretend I’m deranged? According to everyone here, I already am. So even though everything in me is screaming that I should do something, I drag myself towards the car, with that stupid nurse in tow. I don’t even know why they call her a nurse- she probably doesn’t even know basic first aid. Discharges here aren’t fancy- I’m not sure if I’m relieved or angry at that fact. Anyways, I get in the stupid car, and let me tell you- my parents are goddamn hypocrites. They always used to yell at me, Phoebe, and DB for even thinking about smoking. Well, this goddamn car smells like an entire box of cigarettes. 

I get in the cigarette-smelling, stupid goddamn car, with my phony, stupid goddamn father, and sit down without a word. He’s still in his work clothes- his dumb suit and all. You’d think he would say something to his son, who just got out of the hospital mind you- something like a nice “are you okay?”, or “I really missed you!”, or even a goddamn “Hello”, but he won’t even look at me. Eventually, after pulling out of the parking lot, he speaks 

“Holden.”

Well, now I know I’m in trouble. His voice sounds calm- but it has that edge to it. The one where you know he’s pissed. Forget the mental hospital- in a few hours, I’ll have to be put in the real goddamn hospital. “Yeah?”

“We cleaned out your room.” He says calmly. I hate when he goes all eerily calm like that- that’s how you know you’re screwed. He gets eerily calm, his eyes go cold, and he smiles like nothing is wrong- even though you know you’re about to get slapped. Although this time, I will admit, I’m less scared of that, and more scared of what he found in my room. 

“We found the baseball mitt.”

Goddamnit.

Goddamnit, Goddamnit, GOD. DAMNIT. 

I may have forgotten to mention that they didn’t let me take Allie’s baseball mitt into the hospital with me. They said it was “unhealthy” or something stupid like that. So I hid it under my bed. Yes, in hindsight, I know that was a stupid goddamn place to hide it. But I know my parents. They would find it anyway, no matter where the hell I hid it. They’ve been hounding me to get rid of Allie’s baseball mitt for years- they said it isn’t healthy to hang onto it. They’re as stupid as the doctors. So all things considered, the fact that they found it is very bad.

“...What did you do with it?” I ask, trying to sound casual. I just sound sheepish. Now, I’m not a sheepish person- I swear, I’m not. I may not have the guts to outright punch someone, but I know not to be a goddamn doormat. But I’m terrified as hell. 

“What the hell do you think we did with it, Holden?! We threw it out. We’ve been over this- it’s not healthy for you to keep…” He keeps talking, I swear he does, but I’m not hearing any of it. Can you blame me? They just told me, a fresh out of the mental hospital patient- not that I needed the hospital or anything- that they threw out the one goddamn thing that’s been keeping me sane the last few years. And don’t get me wrong- I’m not some psychopath whose only will to live consists of a baseball mitt with some poems on it. But goddamnit, I need that thing if I’m going to live. 

“WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” That comes out louder than I intended it to. But I don’t give a damn. Not anymore, I don’t. I know somewhere in the back of my mind that my father is going to kill me if I keep yelling- but hell, if I’m going out, I’m going out loudly. I don’t give a damn if he tries to punish me or not. I see him clutch the wheel like he was scared it would disappear. Suddenly, the silence he’s giving me as a reply is far too loud. Everything is too goddamn loud- the raindrops on the windows, the mindless droning on from the car radio, the distant beeping of car horns. The way my father’s eyes are practically burning a hole through our windshield. The way his jaw is clenching, his knuckles turning white. The smell of goddamn cigarettes filling our goddamn car.

“Holden… I’m going to give you three seconds to apologize.” 

He loves doing that goddamn thing. As if I’ll suddenly feel sorry for what I did because I have a time limit. Well, normally it does work, but this time I feel nothing. I hate how calm he looks. He’s so calm- it makes me so goddamn angry. 

“NO!” I don’t even register what leaves my mouth until afterwards. But I don’t really care anymore. 

“HOLDEN CAULFIELD, HAVE YOU LOST ALL OF YOUR GODDAMN RESPECT?!” And there it is- my full name. Adults love doing that, too. They think it’s scary. 

“YOU KNOW WHAT? MAYBE I HAVE! MAYBE I DON’T RESPECT ASSHOLES ANYMORE!” My voice is shaking. Maybe it is scary. Man, am I angry. I’ve almost forgotten who the hell I’m talking to at this point. But whoever it is, I want to scream until their goddamn ears burst. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” 

Whenever people talk about things like how they survived being shot, they always say that they felt it before they understood what was happening. I think they’re all a bunch of phonies- survivor stories usually are. But they did get one thing right. I feel myself slam into the side of the car and hit my window before I understand what’s happening. There’s this horrible screeching noise. I swear, my soul just left my goddamn body, all within an instant. That’s when I see my father still in the driver’s seat next to me, with the wheel turned sharply, his foot on the brake, and pure rage in his eyes. I think I hit my goddamn head- I can’t even tell which way is up anymore. There’s something sharp digging into my side. We both sit in silence for a long, terrified moment. I feel this weird sinking feeling in my chest- I think I might start crying. Now my father is talking… I can’t really tell what the hell he’s saying. 

“-stupid baseball mitt! Now it's your fault I had to…”

He just keeps going on and on and on… I would say it depresses me, but I’m too shocked to feel anything now. I think I’m dead. Could I be?

“HOLDEN CAULFIELD, YOU ANSWER ME!”

…On second thought, I think I’m alive. Goddamn it. 

“...What?” 

He gives me that disappointed, agitated sigh most adults do when you don’t listen to them. The phony, stupid one that you just know they’re faking. “When we get home, you are going straight to your room, and I’m going to talk to your mother. Understood?”

What happened? Why am I not dead? I look up, and notice the window first. My father must have hit something, because it’s shattered. The car’s still standing upright, but there’s broken glass strewn across the seats. I think a piece of it is digging into my ribs. Everything smells like those goddamn cigarettes. My seat is stained a little bit red. Goddamnit, my mother will kill me for getting blood on the car seat. Am I bleeding? And goddamnit, it’s raining- I’m soaked. I look back to see if we left a skid mark on the road, like in the movies- and we did. It was long- maybe fourteen feet. I would have thought it was cool as hell, if I wasn’t convinced we should both be dead after that.

“Holden!” His goddamn voice. I hate his goddamn voice. It’s cold, and sharp. 

“Right. Understood.” I manage to choke out. “...How are we alive?”

“You’re lucky we are.” He sighs, looking at me all sympathetic all of a sudden, as if he didn’t almost just kill us both. It pains me- he’s phony as hell. “I’m sorry, Holden.”

I know he doesn’t mean that. 

“Goddamnit… Can we just go home?”

“Watch your language.” As if I would. He deserves every curse in the goddamn, stupid, phony world. He’s the worst thing in it. “Yes, we can go home.”

Good. 

Well, thankfully for me, home isn’t too far, and we get there fast. I instantly try to run right up to my goddamn room. But my Dad stops me to throw some stupid medicine at me. He tells me how many to take, but I don’t hear a word of it. I just decide I’ll take some of it later and hope it’s right. To hell with it.

I run up to my room, slam the goddamn door, and start sobbing. I look at the dumb meds that my father gave me. I’m too lazy to read the packaging. The dosage for most meds is three, right? I think it’s three. I’ll take three. I take three- I think it was three, anyways- and toss the bottle aside. The rest of the meds spill all over my floor. I don’t give a damn. I’m still thinking about the car. I feel numb- it’s weird. I’m so goddamn scared, that sinking feeling in my chest never went away. But at the same time I feel nothing. It’s not even me I’m scared for- I’m fine. Mostly. I could have died, sure, but I don’t give a damn. What if Phoebe was in that car? Or Jane, or… or Allie? They might have died. And it’s all my fault, because I don’t know how to keep my goddamn mouth shut. What’s wrong with me?! I need to shut up. I need to shut up! I need to shut up!

Anyways I change my clothes- I find that piece of glass that was stabbing me. It has my blood on it. I hate seeing my blood. I want to scream.

I need to shut up.

I decide that the only thing really to do after damn near dying is lay on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I feel the sudden urge to talk to Allie. I want him to tell me it’s okay. It’s okay, right? I know it’s okay.

I need to shut up.

“A-Allie? Allie…?!” I ask. I wish I wasn’t expecting a reply. I know he can’t answer. But I keep talking anyway. I want him to answer me. I need him to answer me. I know he can. I know he’s there. I can feel it. Just like how I can feel the tears running down my face. How I can feel my side aching from where the glass was. How I can feel my head throbbing and my chest starting to ache with an indescribable, awful pain that I’m not even sure is real. “Allie, I’m scared. I’m scared, Allie. Allie, where are you?”

I need to shut up.

My head is spinning. My chest hurts like hell, it really does now. My heart is pounding out of it, faster than I ever thought possible. For some reason, I’m laughing like  a goddamn maniac while I talk. Sobbing too. I can’t feel the bed under me anymore. Still, I keep talking. “A-Allie… Allie, help me! Please, Allie! Help me, please! Wh-Where are you, Allie?” Is that really my voice? It’s so goddamn shaky. It’s all raspy and weak. I swear to god, it doesn’t feel right. It feels like I’m whispering. Or maybe I might actually be yelling. I can sort of hear a lot of footsteps running up the stairs. Or maybe I’m not even talking at all. I can’t tell, goddamnit. 

I need to shut up.

My chest is starting to hurt so bad, I think it’s splitting open. My head hurts more- I feel nauseous, but not like I’m going to throw up. The room is spinning, but I’m standing still. Everything aches, and is useless when I try to move it. I’m freezing, but my entire body is burning- I feel like I’m being buried in a pit of hot sand. My heart stopped beating so damn fast, but my chest still hurts. I can’t feel my heart anymore- it’s like I don’t even have one at all. I’m scared, but also weirdly happy. I hear banging and screaming- I can’t understand what they’re yelling anymore. One more minute. Just one more minute, and… I think I’m going to hell. It’s getting dark. It feels like I’m falling, falling down, down, down…

“Allie… I’m falling… I’m falling, Allie… Why aren’t you coming to catch me?”

[primatechnosynthpop]

Ok since @urineedward asked here's the vision I have so far for my Mel Venkman au (that's what I'm calling it even though that wouldn't actually be her legal name in this concept... also despite me calling it an au it's not not canon compliant, technically)

Mel's mom realized too late after having a brief relationship (or possibly just a one-night stand) with Peter that he was kind of a creep and a jackass and generally not good father material, so she didn't tell him she was pregnant (he didn't reach out to her again either; if he had she might have told him) and generally wants nothing to do with him

Mel starts asking if she has a dad and if so who and where he is basically as soon as she's old enough to grasp that most children have two parents. Her mom is pretty evasive, but that only drives Mel's curiosity further

When the Ghostbusters' commercials start airing on TV, her mom would always sigh and change the channel, which got Mel's attention (she'd be about 5 or 6 at this point). She feels oddly drawn to one of the men in the commercial, and would loudly protest that she wants to see. After finally getting the chance to see their commercial in full, staring right at the screen totally blissed out the whole time, she proclaims that she has a crush on Dr. Venkman and wants to marry him. Upon hearing that, her mom is like ohh ok I need to nip THAT in the bud before things get really weird around here, so she finally sits Mel down and explains the situation

Of course as soon as she knows the truth Mel immediately insists on meeting her father. Her mother argues with her about it, but Mel ~always gets what she wants~ and so her mom reluctantly agrees to take her by the firehouse to meet the ghostbusters-- but acting like Mel is just a random kid who happens to be a big fan, NOT telling Peter or any of the others the truth

It's kind of a secret test on her part to see if Peter is worth giving another chance, not romantically but in terms of being a part of Mel's life. Unfortunately he fails this secret test miserably by A) not remembering Mel's mother, and B) smoking and making rude jokes around the small child. Mel's mom vows to never take her back there again, but for Mel it's one of the best days of her life

Just as Mel and her mom are leaving Janine comes in and says "aww who was that Dr. V? Your niece?" and when Peter says no, it's just some strange weirdly clingy kid, Winston narrows his eyes and is like [mystery fan mode engaged] "y'know I wasn't gonna say anything but she does look a lot like you" at which point Ray gets a worried look and goes "uhh yeah Peter I think I recognize that woman, didn't you go out with her once?" And ok I've seen conflicting headcanons on this but if Egon knows about Callie at this point he's sweating through the whole conversation. And when Peter goes "what, no, if we had a kid together the lady obviously would have told me" Egon kind of wants to strangle him

Over the next several months Mel keeps trying to meet her dad again any way she can, from making phony calls saying her house is haunted to trying to jump out of her mother's car and run after the Ecto-1 if she sees it on the street

Between GB1 and GB2 when they're shut down, Mel's mom tells her something like, "see? I told you he wasn't a good person. He and his friends were just scammers trying to take advantage of people" but Mel is NOT having it because in her father-stalking efforts she's seen them at work and knows they were legit. During this time she watches World of the Psychic religiously

When Mel hears the former ghostbusters are available to book for birthday parties she jumps at the chance. When Ray and Winston show up instead of her dad she's sooo pissed off and tries to blow them up with her mind, but for them this basically confirms the theory that she is in fact Peter's daughter or at least really thinks she is. They tell him to try talking to Mel and her mom but Peter is like "what am I supposed to do? Show up at this woman's house unannounced? Or would you prefer I tried talking to her ten-year-old daughter in private, on the schoolyard maybe?"

...Alright I haven't really nailed down how it would go from here-- maybe after the events of GB2 Mel's mom finally comes around after seeing that Peter really has grown and changed; maybe something happens to Mel's mom (possibly even orchestrated by Mel herself) and she ends up in Peter and Dana's care; or maybe nothing changes aside from Mel slowly gaining more freedom as she grows up. One way or another, they form a more reciprocal father-daughter bond over time, but it always stays a bit messy (because really, how could it not)

Mel came to resent her mother for keeping her away from her dad (willfully ignorant of her mother's very valid reasons) and latches onto Dana as a sort of replacement mother figure in her teenage years, although not quite to the extent of a full-on stepmom. She doesn't really form a familial bond with Oscar, but she does babysit for him a fair bit, and is jealous of him getting to have her father as a stepdad

I feel like this goes without saying but Mel studies psychology because she's inspired by her dad <3

Peter gives her tips on how to seduce people which she uses on Doug when she meets him. When he gives her these tips he does not realize that Mel has her eye on someone considerably older than her and is not happy when he finds out. He never really gets over this and continues to hope that Mel will wisen up and leave Doug eventually

Mel talks to her dad on the phone about the conchords like "...and one time I snuck into their apartment and went through their cupboards and guess what? Bret has a mold collection <3 isn't that sooo cute? Just like Dr. Spengler!" And Peter is like *melancholy slightly bitter sigh* "yeah just like Spengs huh... well listen, if those kiwi boys of yours ever start going on about how the world's going to end, you get the hell out of there, okay sweetie?"

It's absolutely imperative that Jemaine and Bret have no idea who the ghostbusters are. Mel introduces them to her father and they're just like "??? Who's this guy?" Both Peter and Mel are obviously scandalized; Mel is like "umm excuse you he literally saved New York in the 80s!!" to which the conchords point out they weren't in New York in the 80s, they were in New Zealand

(Murray thinks he knows who the ghostbusters are but he's actually got them mixed up with the men in black. Dave absolutely knows who they are though-- Dr. Venkman was his idol growing up-- and he's almost as scandalized as Mel that the kiwis don't know about him)

Idk exactly how close Mel would be to the rest of the team especially since this is movie verse and the ghostbusters as a business were never around for all that long in the movie timeline the way they were in the cartoon or the comics... but I think she's at least enough of a figure in their lives and vice versa that she convinces Ray to attend a FotC concert at some point. He ends up loving it and becomes their second biggest fan

[faithlesscompanion]

are you scared? are you sick? i'm not scared. are you good? yeah, can i have a moment, please? just fuck off. i just need a... moment. i wanna think. okay. uh, think about what? whether you want us to keep the company, or hand it over to tom and that piece of shit who killed our dad? uh, i might have changed my mind. what the fuck? i'm good for this company. i-i’m good for us, you know, we all vote, we keep control. if we don’t, everything’s over, forever. uh-huh. here’s the thing. i am like a cog built to fit only one machine. like, if you don’t let me do this…. i mean, it- it’s the one thing i know how to do. well, it’s not all about you. i know. yeah, you are not the most important one. i- i don’t think i am. yes, you do. you do, you do. you fucking do. you do. but, shiv, honestly, it’s so fucking crazy not to just let me now. i mean, it- it’s stupid. we, we all get something here. i mean, you’re voting against yourself. you realize that? shiv, listen. please, i beg you.

i can do this. i don’t think you’d be good at it. what? i don’t, i don’t — i don’t even believe you. i don’t. i don’t think that you would be good at this. for fucks sake, shiv! i mean, for fucks sake! this doesn’t make, like, logic. where’s the logic? no, i just don’t think you’d be good at it. i feel like, if i don’t get to do this… i feel like… that’s it. like, i might — i might… like i might die. shiv, can we go in that room? can you just vote? please. please. you can’t be ceo. you can’t, because you killed someone.

what do you - which? which? wait, what do you mean “which”? like what, you’ve killed so many people you forgot which one? that — that’s not an issue. that didn’t happen. wait, it didn’t? as in what? it — it’s just a thing i said. it’s a thing i said. i made it up. you made it up? i- it was a difficult time for us, and i think, i — yknow, whatever, mussed up something from nothing because i — i just — i wanted for us all to bond at a difficult moment. wait, it was a move? no, not — there was a kid. there was that kid, but —- so there was a kid? i had like, a toke and a beer and not… i didn’t even get in the car. it’s not…. hold on. what? the fuck? i felt bad, and i false-memoried it. like, i’m totally clean. i can do this. wait. did it happen or did it not happen? it did not happen. it did not happen. i wasn’t even there. it did not happen. dude. fucking vote for me. just please. vote for me. shiv, vote for me. no. yes! no. shiv, don’t do this. you can’t do this, shiv! no. no. absolutely not, man, absolutely not. no. why? no — why? i love you. i… really, i love you, but i cannot fucking stomach you.

this is fucking disgusting. it’s disgusting. it’s disgusting? you’re disgusting! you’re fucking heartless! what? it’s fucking nuts! it doesn’t even make any sense. i’m the eldest boy! i am the eldest boy! you’re not. and you know, it — this — it mattered to him. he wanted this to go on. well, she’s the bloodline though. what? i’m the bloodline, we’re all the fucking bloodline. no, i just mean if you’re gonna play that card, dad’s view was yours weren’t real. what the fuck did you just say? well, just not “real” real. rome… well, that’s just what dad said. i’m just saying what dad said. well, don’t say it, you fucking cuck. they are a pair of randos. one is a buy-in, the other is half rava, half some filing-cabinet guy, right? what the fuck? let go of him! the fuck did you say? the fuck are you doing? the fuck did you say? fucks sake. you have no kids. shiv, no, don’t do this! shiv, don’t do this. okay, hold on a second. get the fuck off me! she’s fucking pregnant, you piece of shit. get off me. jesus christ! are you fucking kidding me?

shiv, no! wait. shiv, wait! fuck you. can you just fucking leave her? fucking child. let’s hit, let’s hit frank. we can still do this. bullshit, man. come on, it’s fucking nothing. stop. no, there’s something here, there’s an angle. no, no, it’s fuck-all, man. it’s bits of glue, and broken shows, fucking phony news. come on. we have this. we can still do this, man. oh my god. man, it’s nothing. okay? it’s just nothing. it’s fucking nothing. stop it! no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. yeah. hey, we are bullshit. we are not bullshit. we are bullshit. you are bullshit. you’re fucking bullshit, man. i’m fucking bullshit, she’s bullshit. it’s all fucking nothing, man. i’m telling you this because i know it, okay? we’re nothing. okay. okay.

[trials-of-apollo-my-beloved]

Who I Am Is Not Who You See

Trials of Apollo fanfiction

Apollo and Zeus have a conversation. Every moment Apollo wishes they didn't.

"I did do it.”

“Can you?”

“Yes I did.”

“Based on your previous behaviors Apollo-”

“I did it.” Apollo held down his fiery indignation with cold realization after realization reminding himself of his father’s manipulation, of how, no matter his claims, his father did not know him. His father did not care for Apollo and right now he wasn’t calling him out, out of genuine concern, but the wish to center control over him when Apollo had so thoroughly distanced himself from his family.

The strategy was flimsy and Apollo could feel himself slipping into old habits as the argument progressed.

“Can you?”

“I can. I assure you father I have everything planned out. I am committed. You can trust me to-”

Zeus looked down his nose at Apollo. His expression was that of an amused adult looking at a child who insisted they didn’t steal any cookies while chocolate stained their cheeks.

Apollo felt the thin rope tying his anger together begin to fray. He had to finish this conversation fast. He had only planned to come up to Olympus to make his report for five minutes, but already his father had made him feel like a mortal child lying about doing their homework.

“I have the reports on paper if you wish to see them.”

“Oh please, go ahead.”

Apollo summoned his evidence of his daily trips on the sun chariot. He brandished them at his father, marks on every day of the year showing he completed his journey across the sky.

Zeus raised an eyebrow and an amused smirk started to play around the corners of his lips.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because you asked.” Apollo’s eye started to twitch and he swallowed down his anger, “I am aware that trust has been lost between us father and that if I did not show you this you would not believe my diligence.”

Zeus took the papers in his hand, eyebrow still perched up on his forehead, “And I still don’t believe it. I am your father Apollo, I know you. You haven’t had this perfect of record, ever, that I could recall.”

Apollo himself could recall many years, many consecutive, that his record had stood but he stopped himself from commenting on that. This was Olympus, his father’s word was about as true as the stars in the sky, mostly even more so.

Apollo took a step back and concentrated on his breathing. “Again, I assure you father, those documents are not fabricated. I can take you to the sun palace to confer with the sun chariot’s horses if you’d like.” Apollo loathed the idea of letting his father anywhere near where he lived, even if he still more considered the place Helios’s than his own he didn’t want the memory of his father to linger there as he knew it would.

Zeus scoffed and dropped the papers. “I think we both know that would be a waste of my time Apollo. I’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. I’ll have to give you more assignments again. I hear there’s some disease going around in Florida this time of year. Maybe you can do something about that.” Zeus mused and inexplicably Apollo felt tears prick at his eyes.

He felt like a bug, an incredibly daft bug that couldn’t even bug correctly. He hated it, he hated this, he hated his father and he wanted nothing more than to yell and shout at him. To bring him to the sun palace and shove his father at the sun horses so they could provide him with evidence that Apollo did do something right, that he wasn’t lying!

But he couldn’t do that. His father would never allow it for one, but it would also just be a continuation of the illusion. No matter how satisfying it would be to yell, to get his father to listen, it wouldn’t change anything. Gaining his father’s approval would be as phony as Zeus was accusing him of being now.

There was no way Apollo could win in this interaction. He could leave with his father’s shame, or gain his fleeting approval. Apollo wasn’t sure which would be worse.

This wasn’t a single battle he could win, it was but a moment in a war inside himself.

In front of him Apollo heard a chuckle. He looked up to see Zeus smiling down at Apollo with a jovial expression that seemed out of place next to the conversation they were just having.

“The god of truth lies! Who would have thought. Domains are funny like that.” Zeus patted his middle and his chuckling died down. “Well my son you are dismissed.” And Zeus waved Apollo off.

Apollo found himself turning, but his gaze fell on his records on the ground.

In a moment of anger and disappointment all wrapped into one sour bomb, he exploded them into dust on the ground. Then he teleported out of the room, removing himself from that world as fast as he possibly could.

[treadmilltreats]

What Are You Grateful For Today?

What Are You Grateful For Today? So with Thanksgiving behind us and Christmas right in front of us, it makes us think of what we have and what we are grateful for.

If you follow me you know I am not a believer in "days" to do certain things.

Why can't we be grateful every day? Why is there one specific day that we must do it on? It is way too much pressure to be perfect, to come together, and for many to pretend we like each other. Come on let's be real here, with the holidays, we will be getting thrown together with family we may not care for. We all have that one relative that just gets under your skin. That has asked you for years why you're still single or why you haven't lost weight while you're trying to swallow your turkey and keep that fake smile on your face while you're doing it.

Or that one cousin who always is bragging about what they have, always trying to make you feel like a loser. Yes, one day a year puts too much pressure on people to have to pretend that they are grateful.

I am grateful each and every day, but it hasn't always been this way. I had to teach myself this. I had to actually dig and find things to be grateful for as I was in such a miserable place in my life. I remember when Oprah started her gratitude journal, and she wanted all her viewers to do this as well. I thought I'd try but there was nothing besides my girls that I was grateful for. Yes, it was that bad, so I started with the basics that most of us already have.

I was grateful that I woke up.

I was grateful for a home.

I was grateful for having food.

I was grateful for a car.

I was grateful for my and my girl's health.

I was grateful I could walk.

I was grateful I could see.

Look, I was really reaching here because there wasn't much else I was grateful for.

But each week I added something, being grateful for a walk on the ocean. Seeing birds in the sky, a warm cup of coffee on a chilly day, and before I knew it, I started being grateful for everything.

Every morning on the way to work I give thanks for the life I have now. I cry because I am so grateful.

Being grateful opens you up to other blessings and it's not just me saying this. "In positive psychology research, gratitude is strongly and consistently associated with greater happiness. Gratitude helps people feel more positive emotions, relish good experiences, improve their health, deal with adversity, and build strong relationships" says Harvard Health.

Even scientists know this is a real thing, having gratitude changes your life. So then why do we only have one day to be grateful? A day that is so stressful for so many to have everything perfect, to come together with relatives you don't like, with people that drink too much or never shut up, and now you want us to be grateful? It seems so phony to me. I don't care about Thanksgiving, in fact when the girls were young and I was divorced I did Thanksgiving on Friday so they could spend the actual day with their dad and didn't have to feel like they had to pick or be without the other parent.

Did it matter that it wasn't on Thanksgiving for me? No, I am grateful for having dinner with my girls and my friends every single time we sat at my table. And so what if it wasn't on Thanksgiving what did that mean? That I wasn't as grateful? No, because having to do something and wanting to do something are two very different things.

I chose to be thankful, not just on Thanksgiving or during the holidays when they tell us to, but every day. Sometimes every moment because I know how precious life truly is these last few years.

So today my friends remember we don't need a day to remind us to be grateful. We need a life to do that, a life that we are grateful for at all times, a life that we take nothing for granted, and no matter what happens we can always find something to be grateful for.

"Be the change you want to see"

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[secondfuckingguessing]

Not April's fool

I feel like so much has changed recently. I feel so different. It's easier to let go. Easier to choose what to focus on. Now the halo effect of last week's concert is gone, but I still feel fine. Not all is lost. Not everyone turned into a drag. Not every friend turned out weird. I had to give up everyone I felt was part of my identity. And yes, I was fun. I wasn't always hurt or had to be judgemental. I have it in me.

Things that used to consume all my thoughts and provoke visceral reactions don't hold as much power over me now. I know better than to let myself go without trying to stop it. It never led me anywhere good anyway. I lost some weight. I'm more accepting of my reality, my flaws and my mistakes. They happened. I've dealt with people who hurt me and that impacted my life a lot over the last decade. Yes. That also made me grow a lot and I'm finally reaching a point where the growth is greater than the resentment. I don't miss those people anymore. I let go of ana quite peacefully, my last strand of thinking i couldn't afford to lose the few friends I had (even though I didn't even identify with them that much anymore). Quite honestly, it didn't change much in my life. It turns out I was putting in all the effort once more. She might not be doing it on purpose,but still. It has been going on for far too long. I was completely shut off from her life. It's quite clear now she's on her trip I knew nothing about. I was silly to think it was my duty to keep the whole thing going while she healed or whatever. She's doing that through other people. I was feeling let down much more often than happy about the relationship. I felt sensitive and judgy and I honestly thought there's something wrong with me. I can't like my friends. I can't accept the way real relationships work. I'm delusional and I should care less. Maybe I'm finally learning what reciprocity means. Bia showed me that. Even though we hadn't seen each other in probably 10 years, it felt more natural than with people I thought I was close with. Am I resenting ana right now? No. But I don't exactly miss her right now either. Our good times, of genuine fun have not been recent. It was becoming this heavy weird friendship with lots of things unsaid and a lack of will to really show up to the friendship. Getting older sucks when you groe in different directions. At least I am growing, i can't say what she's interested in besides pokemon. She seems a bit too passive for my liking.

I'm letting go even of the illusion of f. I'd like to have what we had. I feel more openness in me to live that, but it's not about him. He never made me feel special. He never seemed too committed. He was just going with the flow. I know i have so much to give to someone who shows he really wants to be there, here with me. I just never felt that from him. I'm starting to think he's with someone new. I'm not sure why. If that's the case, I know I'm never seeing him again. He won't make the slightest effort to and it's not like he was even before. I'm not sure I care anymore. I truly feel I deserve better. It's his loss, honestly. I'm not that invested into chasing him just to make things right inside. If he's that big of a loser, I'll let him be.

Also, giovana. I'm not that pisssed, I'm not that hurt. She is kinda phony. She's kind of too invested in her own image, her persona. That's kinda lame, doesn't matter how many international travels she does a year. That's lack of character. Even when she thinks she's saying the right things, it feels empty. She's pretending to be this, but really she's investing in what she feels brings her more value. It's transactional in the end. I don't admire this kind of behavior, she can go fuck herself. It's good to see I'm not that hurt anymore. It's not about me being rejected anymore. These people around me really are more than what i thought previously. I don't exactly like this other side of them. Genuinely. I wouldn't choose them based on that. Julia feels childish in a way. She's deluded by parties and going after what she wants like the world is opening up to her more than 10 years later. Even after I talked to her she refuses to see anyone else than her. Funny that the only person she gave herself to was her ex, and it wasn't a great dynamic either. I wish her luck on her maturing.

I feel less lonely, even though not much has changed. I feel kike bia is someone I could on if I needed. Not exactly a shoulder to cry on, but on practical things. Like if i needed company to get a dress. I don't know why that's the thought that popped into my head. I don't want to be this heavy person always hurt and complaining. I can deal with my own sorrows. I do feel different and I hope it stays and expands and turns into something even greater and more beautiful. I feel less insecure. I feel better. Healing rocks and I'm glad to know there are good people still around, even for me.

I hope this leads me great places and that I bump into good people.

[diamond-coral]

The Heist- Part Two

Steve x Reader Chapter Summary: Steve sees you working at a club. Now Steve wants you...and he’ll have you.

Series Warnings: dark, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stripper themes, swearing, crime

Chapter Warnings: male masturbation, swearing, stripper themes, kidnapping, crime, mild violence, threats of rape/non-con, creepy crazy stevo

Steve had begrudgingly went to the strip club with Bucky and Sam because, as Sam said, ‘Modern women are somethin’ else compared to the 1940’s.’. Bucky was much more enthusiastic to see how much things had changed as a once been ladies’ man from the 40’s even if it meant having to go with Sam who bickered with him every five minutes. And while Bucky’s enthusiasm remained as they entered the club, the blaring music, flashing lights, and women in skimpy outfits had Steve remaining unimpressed.

Until he saw you.

You weren’t on the stage but rather talking to a coworker in the back of the room, a tray of drinks in one hand and a smile on your face that could light up a room. An honest, genuine smile that stood out in a room filled with nothing but empty sultry smiles given by dancers. Your coworker said something, and you threw your head back and let out a laugh that Steve could’ve sworn he had heard ringing all the way across the club over the blaring music.

You were perfect.

While you were still scantily clad in nothing but a light pink shimmery sheer top that showed your bra perfectly cupping your breasts, a pair of barely their black shorts, and black heels that had his eyes dragging up and down your legs, your demeanor and posture was more relaxed, and that’s what he loved. You weren’t sticking your tits out in front of you or pushing your ass back, but were rather slouched a little, eyes shimmering with excitement as you talked. What Steve saw of you was raw and authentic, and he loved it.

Sam’s voice interrupted Steve from his daydreaming, and Steve shot him a look of irritation causing Sam to raise his hands in defense.

“Woah there loverboy,” Sam chuckled. “I was just gonna suggest, you should ask for a dance from that girl you’re ogling over.”

“And before you go over and court her with your righteousness and whisk her away to waltz like prince charming, he means a lapdance, punk,” Bucky says while taking a sip of his drink.

“I- I was’t ogling,” Steve sputtered, but let out a sigh of defeat at Sam’s raised eyebrow. “I’m not gonna ask for a lapdance. Besides, she seems to be just waiting tables. I wouldn’t wanna interrupt-”

“You’re hopeless,” Sam teased as he brought his fingers to his mouth to let out a shrill cab whistle. You turned, and Sam caught your attention, beckoning you over with two fingers.

“Hiya fellas,” you said, and Steve frowned a little at the sultry voice you put on. “What can I help you with?”

“Just another round of drinks, sugar. Oh- and-” Sam leaned to whisper something in your ear and Steve noticed your eyes widening a little before your gaze snapped to him, a small smile on your painted lips.

“Of course,” you responded to Sam. “I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.”

As you turned to leave, Steve frowned at Sam. “What did you tell her,” he asked.

“Oh nothing much. Just mentioned that THE Captain America was looking for a little bit of fun tonight.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a groan. “Sam you dumbass.”

“Hey, he’s doing more about it than you,” Bucky interjected. “Sometimes it’s just sad watching you when you just sit and do - oh shit here she’s comes.”

“Alright, and I’ve got another round of drinks,” you said cheerfully while distributing the glasses. “And you, Mr. Rogers…” You sat on one of Steve’s thick thighs while placing your hands on the collar of his button up shirt and smoothing it down. “You’re friend told me you’re lookin’ for something… special tonight?”

Steve’s throat was dry and he was sure you could feel his heart practically beating out of his chest. “Oh well...I um-I.”

“What Mr. Womanizer would like to say is that he accepts your offer,” Sam offered, and Steve shot him what was probably the one-hundredth dirty look of the night.

“Well then.” You got off his lap and tugged on his arm. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

________________________________________________________________

Half an hour later, Steve returned a mess. The first few buttons of button up were undone, his hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed, and his heart hadn’t stopped racing.

“Good time?” Bucky inquired with a smirk.

Steve could barely form any words other than ‘where’s Sam’ to which Bucky pointed to the crowd of sweaty dancing bodies where Sam was shamelessly grinding on some woman.

“Oh God, I need a drink.” Steve fixed his hair with one hand while the other dipped into his pocket to retrieve a flask of Asgardian liquor Thor had given him.

“Was she that good?” 

“Well yes, but it wasn’t just the dance. It was her,”  Steve answered while burying his face in his hands. He felt like the scrawny kid from Brooklyn again. Completely flustered as he chased after a girl totally out of his league. “I don’t know Buck, she’s just-she’s just perfect.”

“Stevie, look around you. Every woman here is practically perfect. And they’re goddesses. That girl is just a girl.”

“No it’s just- you don’t understand. She’s just…” Steve let out an exasperated sigh and Bucky’s eyes softened.

“Wow you really like her don’t ya?” Steve just nodded in reply. “Well what if we came back again when she’s working?”

“No that wouldn’t work,” Steve said. “But...I think I have an idea.”

“And am I involved in this idea at all?”

“Maybe.” Steve laughed at his friend who groaned.

Steve then continued to explain his plan. He pointed out the coworker you had been friendly with when he first saw you, and asked Bucky to get some information out of her since he was the less recognizable out of the two. Steve needed to see you again. Not just that...he needed you. You were just so perfect for him, and Steve knew that the moment he laid eyes on you. The genuineness of your smile and laugh, just the way you were so authentic amidst your surroundings just showed you didn’t really belong in this environment or even this time period of imitation and phonies. But you belonged with him. And he’d preserve that authenticity. 

Bucky just simply nodded, and at first Steve was nervous that his best friend was going to call him crazy, but after a bit, Bucky got up and snatched Steve’s flask while flashing him a grin.

“Bout time we got you a girl, huh pal?”

Steve sighed in relief, and as Bucky trotted off, he went to find Sam.

Steve explained to Sam that he was gonna go home while Bucky worked some “wingman magic” and Sam started letting out fits of laughter at how THE Captain America was ‘down bad’. 

Finally, after Sam had finally calmed down, he wished him goodbye and headed home.

He had some things to take care of.

________________________________________________________________

As Steve guided his hand up and down his shaft, all he could think about was you.

Your tits, your ass that had ground on his crotch at the club, your red lips around he imagined on his cock. You’d probably use your skilled hands as well, not being able to fit his entire member into your mouth. 

Steve’s thoughts didn’t stop there.

He thought about how your hips moved while in the private dance room. He thought about how although you were undeniably sexy, you were also so kind to him, once in a while asking if everything was okay and if he wanted anything else from you. He thought about how you simply smiled and let out your angelic laugh as Steve fumbled and stuttered, simply putting your hands over his and telling him everything was okay and he could sit back and relax, not having to take charge after a long day of commanding people. The light pink color of your lingerie was so beautifully innocent as your body moved lewdly in contrast. And he loved it.

Steve came with a shout to the image ingrained in his mind.

________________________________________________________________

A few minutes after Steve had cleaned up and taken a much needed cold shower, he received a call from Bucky.

“You’re right,” Bucky’s voice spoke through the phone. “Two drops of that Asgardian shit and she was completely mentally clocked out. Told me everything about your girl.” 

As Bucky told Steve your name, Steve tried it out on his tongue for himself.

“Also told me a little bit of a little side job they got goin on. Your girl’s a bit of a criminal, Stevie. Sure you still want her?”

“I’m sure she has her reasons.”

“Well you’re right in that actually. According to...Bella-yeah I think that’s her name-,” Bucky recounted. “They steal from people to pay for rent and art school. And I just so happened to tell her about some skeevy old timer government worker who happened to be loaded from scamming low income taxpayers. Who also happens to live at your address.”

“Wait, you want her to rob me?!” Steve exclaimed.

“Will you just let me finish?” Bucky took Steve’s silence as an opportunity to continue. “I told Bella no one would be home while your girl does the job, but obviously you’ll be home so she can’t get away. She’s literally coming to you on a silver platter pal. Could it get any better than that?”

Steve took a moment to consider the situation before replying. “You’re right. Thanks pal. I really owe you one.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well I got one hell of a blow job so I’ll say we’re almost even. Anyway, she’ll be comin in a week, so that’ll give you plenty of time to prepare.”

_______________________________________________________________

You awoke slowly to sunlight streaming through your apartment window, your bed feeling more comfortable than usual, and a warm arm wrapped around your-

What the hell?

Your body thrashed as you jolted awake and flung yourself away from the body next to you in the bed that very much wasn’t yours in the apartment that was always not yours. Steve Rogers just sat up on his elbows and gave a groggy smile at your frazzled state.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.”

You recalled your memory, trying to see if this was some sort of drunken hookup, and it all came back to you. The heist, him coming home early.

“Didn’t mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?” were the words he had said before he had grabbed your hair in an iron grip and smashed your head on the near coffee table. Everything was black after that.

“Oh my God...you,” you began to back away from him.

“I what, sweetheart?” he mused. “Last time I checked, this is my apartment, and you were the one breaking and entering.”

You scrambled backwards off the bed, but just as you were about to reach the bedroom door, something cold and hard pulled against your ankle causing you to topple face first onto his carpet. Turning your head, you observed a metal cuff secured around your ankle with a chain leading back to the foot of the bed. 

Steve used the time you took panicking and hyperventilating to get out of bed and leisurely stretch his arms as if this was a normal occurrence. He approached you cautiously as if you were a wild animal and bent down to softly cup your face with a large hand.

“It’s okay, doll, I didn’t hurt you. Just let you sleep a bit before I caught you up to speed today.”

“Did- did you…,” you sniffled at the thought of what that man could’ve done to you while you slept.

“No. God no!” You nerves calmed a little bit as you were reassured that America’s hero was still the gentlemanly golden boy you met at the club. That was before he tilted your chin to meet his sinister gaze. “I wanted our first time to be while you were awake.”

Your heart dropped. This man was crazy.

You began to frantically yank at the chain on your ankle and your breathing became shorter.

“Hey. Hey! Stop it!” he urged before grabbing both of your hands and holding them in a steel grip. “Listen. I know this is all..new...but you need me. And I need you. When I saw you at the club, you were just so perfect. You’re not like those other women. You don’t belong there. You don’t belong in this life. I can take care of you. I will take care of you.” A tear slipped from your eye at his words but he just brushed it away with his thumb and continued. “You just don’t understand yet. When I saw you, I just knew you were meant for me. You’re perfect, doll.”

All you did was stare at him in disbelief and mutter, “You’re crazy.”

He went to soothe you again and brush a lock of hair away from your face, but you thrashed and said it louder.

“You’re crazy, you’re fucking crazy!”

“Doll, you don’t understand. I love you. And you’ll love me. I promise just give it some time and-”

“No you’re deranged. You’re FUCKING DELIRIOUS!!” you screech as your hand shot out and slapped him across the cheek.

The room went dead silent. You froze, and so did he. You had just slapped Steve Rogers across the face. You slapped the pure muscle mass six foot super soldier and called him delirious, and he looked hurt. His face was painted with a heartbroken look of regret, disbelief, and sorrow. But not from the slap. It’s like your words had hit him like a ten-ton truck, and for a second you saw doubt flicker across his eyes as if realizing that everything he imagined was in his head. And in that doubt was your hope. Your hope that this man would come to his senses and let you go.

“Steve...please, you have to realize this is wrong,” you said softly as he gave you a broken look. In that look you saw the scrawny kid from Brooklyn in the 1940s who only knew rejection, and your heart broke just a little bit. “What you’re feeling...it isn’t love.”

All of a sudden his demeanor changed. Any doubt in his eyes was wiped away in a nanosecond and replaced by a fierce look of determination. His face contorted into a snarl as he yanked you up with him by your hair and spun you around to press your front against the well.

“You dumb bitch,” he growled into your ear. “You think you don't need me when you’re a pathetic thief who whores herself out every night.”

You writhed in his hold but he just gripped your hair harder and let out a breathy laugh.

“You know...for someone like you to stoop so low as to work at that club...it makes me think. You wanna be treated like a whore?” he seethed. “Fine. I’ll treat you like a whore.”

a/n: don’t worry I don’t think working at a strip club is “low” at all. just some classic sexist bs from our good old 1940′s fav

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 12

Cult girl deals with an unexpected and unwelcome guest.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: pregnancy, emotional manipulation, emotional abuse, infidelity, threats of violence

Step three: kill Anna

So maybe there was an understanding that the pregnancy was to be kept secret from Anna.

The withdrawal of Archie and Max from the picture left a hole in the plan. Just when it looked like you had secured that much-needed victory, it shriveled up and died right before your eyes. That much was certain. Everything else was a big question mark.

Ever since he felt the baby kicking, Hannibal became even more hopelessly enamored with the idea of being a father. He never mentioned it, of course, but it was there. It was there in the way he cooed at your stomach and how his hand lingered after he felt a kick. He was in heaven.

For a few days, it looked like the downward trajectory was beginning to flatten. Then you remembered your favorite line from Ryan Reynolds' Deadpool:

"Life is an endless series of trainwrecks with only brief, commercial-like breaks of happiness." You repeated to yourself as your phone flashed Theresa's call icon.

It took you a minute to remember that Theresa in your phone was actually Anna, because you hadn't bothered to change it. In a way, it was symbolic. Theresa was the head you cut off, and Anna sprouted up in her place. All in the pursuit of making your life unbearable.

You pulled the toothbrush from your mouth and placed it next to the sink. Lazily, you brought the phone to your ear. "What?"

"Hey pretty girl!" Anna said, using her most transparently fake cheery voice. "How's it going?"

Then it clicked. You felt kind of stupid that you didn't see it coming. In the world of cults, this was known as 'lovebombing'; a manipulation tactic in which the cult leader showers their target with affection, compliments, validation or anything that would make them associate good feelings with the group. In any other context, it would be called 'ass-kissing'.

You narrowed your eyes in skepticism. "What do you want?"

"Jeez, who crapped in your corn flakes?" She scoffed. "Can't a girl just call her little sister to say hi?"

It would have been one thing to say 'cousin', which, despite your bad blood, would have been technically accurate. But 'sister' was crossing a line. The blood that binded you and Anna together was thinner than water.

"We're not sisters, Anna." You corrected. "Why are you calling?"

"I just wanted to let you know that all is forgiven." She said, slipping back into that phony cheerful tone. "That little fiasco at the funeral, it's water under the bridge."

What Anna didn't know was that the water under the bridge was never water, but gasoline. Every drop that flowed under that bridge only created a more dangerous blaze for when you finally burned it down.

"Awesome." You said, flatly.

"I also wanted to say, 'may the best woman win'." She jeered. "I don't want to alarm you, but Liam and I have been fucking like bunnies."

You gagged. "I'm not alarmed but I certainly didn't need to know that."

"I've been keeping track of my ovulation," She disregarded your objection and continued the conversation she wanted to have. "And I even put child locks on the computer so Liam can't watch porn. Can't spare even a drop, y'know. It's too crucial."

"I will literally let you have the entire inheritance if you please just shut up right now." You said through gritted teeth.

"Oh?" She perked up. "Come on, don't give up. Don't make it too easy. Winning is just more fun when someone else loses."

She was growing into her Theresa shoes quite well.

"Seriously, though," You raised your eyebrows. "If it means I never have to see you again, by all means. Take the damn money."

"You know I love you, right?" Anna blurted out, pretending to be offended. "You may not think so, but I love you like a sister."

Again, you fought the urge to feel bad for her. Her model of sisterly love was Theresa. She could use the word to invoke sympathy, but would never know what it meant. It hit your ear exactly the same as when fundamentalist christian strangers said they loved you and that's why they were harassing you. Just an empty annoyance.

You rolled your eyes. "Goodbye, Anna."

"Wait!" She shouted as if she was about to die.

You threw your head back in exasperation. "What?!"

"I wanted to give you a little good-luck gift." She said.

You were slightly interested. "Oh?"

"Yes." She answered. "Can I swing by and drop it off later?"

You sighed. "Whatever. As long as you make it fast."

You were most certainly noticeably pregnant, but a fluffy robe obscured any misplaced curves just enough. You just hoped she wouldn't ask why you were wearing a fluffy robe in July. Anna arrived at the house, with Liam, who was holding a small basket of colorful jars and bottles.

You waited a minute to see if she would just leave the basket on the porch, but she didn't. You resignedly opened the door.

"[F/N]!" She shouted with that hyper-enthusiastic smile. You cringed, trying not to let her presence trigger your morning sickness.

The smile disappeared from her face. "Jesus H, you look like hell."

You desperately wanted to inform her that it was the strain of growing a human inside your body, but you held your tongue and thought of an excuse.

"I'm hungover." You said. Yeah, that would work.

"The usual, I see." Anna snipped at you under her breath.

You eyed the basket. You didn't even bother to mask your disappointment when you realized it wasn't food. "What's this?"

"Oh, this?" Anna said as if she were starting a sales pitch. "This is my olive branch. My exclusive DoTERRA fertility rejuvenation kit."

Your brain refused to process that Anna had been sucked in to an MLM, as it was really only a matter of time. You just didn't think it would take this long.

"Dude, you're twenty-nine and I'm twenty-six." You narrowed your eyes at her. "What on earth are we rejuvenating?"

She pointed to a collection of little bottles. "So these are for the initial cleanse. Put a few drops of this in your food, and some of this in your bathwater-"

She rattled on with practiced certainty about the fictitious health benefits of thyme and geranium oils, how they promote fertility and whatnot.

"Thanks, Anna." You cut her off, reaching for the gift basket. You didn't intend to use any of it, but you could pawn it off on some struggling hunbot for less than they would buy it new.

Anna pulled the basket out of your reach. "Oh. I wasn't giving it to you."

Nothing surprised you anymore, and this was no exception. "I thought you said it was a gift?"

"Oh, god no." She shook her head. "This whole kit costs, like, five hundred dollars."

You grimaced. "So you came here to show me your snake oil collection?"

"I came here to tell you in person about this amazing business opportunity." She said, returning to her fake smile. "For just $1000, you can be part of this amazing company-"

"Anna, what am I studying right now?" You cut her off.

She looked at you with round, clueless eyes. She looked back at Liam for help. He tapped his head to give her a hint.

"I want to say..." her voice trailed off. "...brain surgery?"

You shook your head. "No. Liam?"

"Clinical psychology with a specialization in cults." He answered. "You want to be the next Steven Hassan."

Anna didn't deserve Liam.

"So you're saying you're too smart for me?" Anna said, crossing her arms. "You're too busy going to your fancy college, living with your fancy boyfriend to support your own sister's hustle?"

"I'm saying you're in a cult." You countered. "A pretty obvious one, at that."

"Oh, when your only solution is a hammer every problem looks like a nail." She scoffed. "You think everything is a cult. Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"I'll be happy for you when you accomplish something that isn't built off the backs of people you fucked over." You said, allowing yourself to finally snap.

Anna's jaw hung open. "Do I even need to gesture to this house? Those clothes? That degree? All paid for by your rich boyfriend."

It's time.

You stepped on to the porch and shut the door behind you. "Liam. I have something to tell you."

Liam handed the basket off to Anna and approached. "Alright."

"No she doesn't, Liam." Anna objected. "Don't listen to her. You know she's a liar."

"Liam." You said, looking into his eyes. "Do you remember Nathan Sparks?"

"Anna's ex from college?" Liam folded his arms and looked at his wife. "Vaguely."

Anna gritted her teeth at you. "I swear to fucking god, [F/N]-"

"Anna, stop." Liam cut her off. "Let her speak."

"Anna continued to see him for two years after you got together." You smirked.

Liam's dial-up internet brain sputtered to life.

"Oh my god." His mouth hung open. "...is he 'pineapple'?!"

"Nope." You said. "You are."

"Is this true, Anna?" Liam said, in the overlap between denial and anger. "Did you keep seeing Nathan after we got together?"

Anna threw the basket on the ground, jars shattering, releasing a noxious cloud of concentrated snake oil. She was too busy glaring daggers at you to answer her husband.

"Fine. Don't tell me." He spat, turning back to you. "I'll hear it from you, [F/N]. You're the only one in this family who's been honest with me."

"She only wanted to get with you because your uncle is CEO of that publishing house." You added. You felt bad for essentially rubbing salt in the wound, but he was right to assume he wouldn't hear it from anyone else.

He placed his hand over his head as if to nurse a migrane. "How could I be so stupid..."

"Liam-" Anna said, her voice jumping a few octaves.

Liam put up his hand. "I don't want to hear it."

"I'm sorry, Lee." You offered. Even though you loved seeing Anna caught, you felt bad for every person she victimized along the way. Liam was no exception.

He dropped his shoulders and sighed. "Thank you, [F/N]. I'll be out of your way, now. Anna--"

He stopped himself, presumably to avoid saying something he would regret. "...find your own way home."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving Anna with you.

"Thanks for coming." You sneered at her, feeling around behind you for the door handle. "I'd call an uber if I were you."

"You twisted bitch." She scowled, hands hovering in your direction. "You just get off on ruining people's lives, don't you?"

"Oof, that's some serious projection, Anna." You said, unconsciously untying the belt of your robe and pulling it off your shoulders.

"You're-" She sputtered, her eyes growing to the size of personal pizzas. "You're fucking pregnant?!"

Shit. You thought, cycling through whatever braincells you had left for an idea of how to play this off as if you meant to do it.

"Surprise." You shrugged. Yeah, that would work.

"That's impossible!" She stammered. "You're- you're not even married!"

"Grandma never said anything about marriage." You grinned.

Anna struggled to find her words. "That is unfair!"

"So now that you're not winning, the game is unfair?" You raised an eyebrow.

She pursed her lips and pointed at you. "You aren't going to get away with this."

"Just like you didn't get away with cheating on your husband?" You taunted.

"I'm serious, [F/N]." Anna said, backing down the porch steps. "I will destroy everything you love just like you did to me."

For a half a second, the voice in your head told you to beware, that the threat should be taken seriously. Upon remembering it was coming from Anna, you pushed the thought from your mind.

You shouldn't have.

[puckrph]

‘NOT YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE’ SENTENCE STARTERS

taken from garbage’s 2012 album. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

AUTOMATIC SYSTEMATIC HABIT

‘ you love those lies. ’ ‘ you love those lies, you tell them straight to my face. ’ ‘ they feel so right. ’ ‘ they keep you safe. ’ ‘ you’re so good at it, it comes automatic: lies. ’ ‘ i can see right through, you have see-through eyes. ’ ‘ i won’t be your dirty little secret. ’ ‘ not for you, not for me, not your other lover. ’ ‘ men like you keep me up at night. ’ ‘ you want your woman at home and your bit on the side. ’ ‘ you’re so good at it, a systematic habit. ’ ‘ i’ll tell your mother, tell your brother, tell your friends, tell your teacher. i won’t be your dirty little secret. ’ ‘ i won’t be knocked down. ’

BIG BRIGHT WORLD

‘ we are difficult to understand. ’ ‘ it was hard to make the simple plan work. ’ ‘ that’s what made it burn. ’ ‘ you’re a satellite around my heart. ’ ‘ it’s indescribable, and that’s what makes it you. ’ ‘ inside this big, bright world, we rage against the dying light. ’ ‘ you’re mysterious, you make no sense. ’ ‘ i love you because you’re innocent. ’ ‘ magnify the best inside me, fill the parts that you can’t find, the parts that won’t give out when things get hard. ’ ‘ i’m with you. ’

BLOOD FOR POPPIES

‘ i’ve been sitting here all night long. ’ ‘ duty calls, but it’s way too late, i’m too far gone. ’ ‘ i miss my dog. i miss my freedom. ’ ‘ i don’t know why they’re calling on the radio. ’ ‘ i know i’m right. ’ ‘ i hate the things i think about you when i’m all alone. ’ ‘ i know you’re tough, but i’ve been gone for so long. ’ ‘ i play the memories of you inside my head so all those pictures of us burn and radiate. ’ ‘ i’m falling through the cracks. ’ ‘ i’ve got to take a chance and keep on moving. ’ ‘ i see your light from miles away. ’

CONTROL

‘ the world might end, the night might fall, rain on down and cover us all, and drown us with the burdens of our sins. ’ ‘ i’ll look you in the eye, tell you “you don’t wanna die.” ‘ ‘ maybe i’ll hold my breath and jump right in. ’ ‘ your autograph would really buy me time. ’ ‘ if you think you are the reason, give me something to believe in. ’ ‘ it’s always darkest right before the dawn. ’ ‘ i confess: i’ve lost control. ’ ‘ i let my guard down. ’ ‘ i let the truth out. ’ ‘ flip a coin and see which way i fall. ’ ‘ the charlatan is singing. we love to watch him killing. ’ ‘ i can feel i’ve lost control. ’ ‘ i was trapped like a prisoner in my skin. ’ ‘ i was bound, and i was caged, and i was tricked. ’ ‘ i was suffocating. ’

NOT YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE

‘ we are not your kind of people. ’ ‘ you seem kind of phony. ’ ‘ we don’t see eye to eye. ’ ‘ i don’t want to be like you ever in my life. ’ ‘ when you start talking there’s nothing but white noise. ’ ‘ running around, trying to fit in and wanting to be loved. it doesn’t take much for someone to shut you down. ’ ‘ you can’t sit still, and you don’t like hanging around the crowd. ’ ‘ they don’t understand. ’ ‘ you dropped by here as i was sleeping. ’ ‘ you came to see the whole commotion. ’ ‘ the joke’s on me for not believing. ’ ‘ we see through your lies. ’ ‘ we won’t be cast as demons, creatures you despise. ’ ‘ we are extraordinary people. ’

FELT

‘ i felt sure you felt something. felt sure, but it really was nothing. ’ ‘ you’re only guessing. ’ ‘ they’re only feelings, baby. ’ ‘ i felt i’d left you hanging. felt sure i’d stopped myself caring. ’ ‘ you felt that i’d stopped believing. ’ ‘ what is real? is real reason? ’ ‘ i still get you. do you still get me? ’ ‘ i felt my skin on your skin. it felt sure, sensations like raining. ’ ‘ you felt. no logical thinking. ’

I HATE LOVE

‘ your words are pretty but i already know who you are. ’ ‘ i knew you before you met me, long before we would part. ’ ‘ you tricked me and laid on my bones. ’ ‘ you kissed me and buried my hope. ’ ‘ you stole my spirit. ’ ‘ they lay all their dreams on you. ’ ‘ they let you in, and you start to believe you’re soft as a miracle. ’ ‘ i was new and unfurled: innocent and open as any lamb, and hoping for paradise. ’ ‘ i hate love. ’ ‘ love leaves you desperate and feeling a fool. ’ ‘ love makes you ruthless and love makes you cruel. ’ ‘ love makes you crazy with nothing but lies. ’ ‘ love promises nothing, and then your love dies. ’ ‘ it’s 2 am, where are you? ’

SUGAR

‘ give me sugar, give me something sweet. ’ ‘ i’ve spent a lifetime feeling incomplete. ’ ‘ if i sound bitter, or if i’ve come too late, please reconsider. ’ ‘ i don’t need much on my plate. ’ ‘ don’t come close. please keep at a distance. ’ ‘ look, but don’t touch till the light goes on. ’ ‘ don’t touch the glass till the curtain calls. ’ ‘ don’t make me wait. ’ ‘ give me something deep. ’ ‘ i don’t make a habit of crawling on my knees, but this is different. ’ ‘ can’t you see i’m in control? ’ ‘ this is the moment where all your dreams have flown. ’ ‘ oh, won’t someone love me? ’ ‘ won’t someone love me? like you? ’

BATTLE IN ME

‘ look at you: an accident of drinking. ’ ‘ what a mess, a train wreck of lipstick. ’ ‘ what a joke, but do you hear me laughing? ’ ‘ get out of my face before i lose my patience. ’ ‘ let’s cut this party. ’ ‘ it takes a lot to shake me. ’ ‘ it’s a bloody war of attrition, let’s see which one of us is going to last the night. ’ ‘ “white rabbit” plays right when the room starts spinning. ’ ‘ i want something to happen, so make it happen. ’ ‘ let’s take a torch to the past and the future. ’ ‘ let’s make out. i won’t tell your girlfriend. ’ ‘ see how it feels with a passion burning; we’ll be damned when we’re done. ’

MAN ON A WIRE

‘ i looked into the mirror, what did i see? there was a big black beast looking back at me. ’ ‘ you looked into my eyes. what did you see? ’ ‘ like a man on a wire, i set myself on fire. ’ ‘ i’m the destroyer of a dream, trying to find a spark, desperate for love. ’ ‘ i was like a volcano just waiting to explode. ’ ‘ i have been resurrected, reborn, and i have been transformed. ’ ‘ i was a green eyed monster. ’ ‘ could you tell i was afraid? ’ ‘ i sat myself down and shot my fear in the face. ’ ‘ i see you sitting around with your wristwatch and your white collared shirt. ’ ‘ i see you hoping to watch me fail. ’

BELOVED FREAK

‘ you’re not certain when you feel hurt. ’ ‘ get violent when you deal with how the world drags you along. ’ ‘ you’re not alone. ’ ‘ nothing good was ever free. ’ ‘ no one gets it. no one sees. ’ ‘ here you stand: beloved freak. ’ ‘ sometimes we get so tired and weak, we lose the sky beneath our feet. ’ ‘ every comet throws an arc and scars our vision ‘cross the dark. ’ ‘ when we’re gone, we will remain. ’ ‘ people lie and people steal. they misinterpret how you feel. ’ ‘ we doubt and we conceal. ’ ‘ don’t worry for me. just think of yourself. ’ ‘ the world is at your feet. ’

[yandere-sins]

Dear Valentine,

POV: You are finally getting ready to move out the next week, but on Sunday - Valentine’s Day - you find an adorned letter in your mailbox.

Dear Valentine,

Today is a lonely day for me, as I cannot spend it closer by your side.

Whether we only exist in my mind or not doesn’t matter to me because I know we are meant to be together. Other people need proof like kisses and rings, but it’s enough for me that I know it in my heart, and so should you. Never forget that I am but a blink of an eye away from you, to catch your tears, caress your lips, or fill in your loneliness.

Every night I reflect on the things you do, the words you say, and the gestures you make throughout the day. I remember the gentle embraces and touches of your hands you did to me a while ago. It might have slipped your knowledge that I climbed into your bed and held you all night long, but not my memories.

I will never forget.

But if I end up forgetting, I hope you can forgive me, for I’ll come and visit you again. Next time, I want to kiss and touch you, more dearly so than I did before. But it takes courage, Sweetheart, and I hope you can understand that locked doors and shut curtains don’t help me soothe the anxiety I feel. I know you are waiting for me inside your apartment, and I am doing what I can to reach you. To let you know, I am here. I adore you still, even if the world tries to tell you otherwise, Dear.

I know what the people say. I hear their whispers. They think I am no good, that I will hurt you, but let me tell you that when you are with me, you are the safest you will ever be. My love can move mountains on your order, and I shall carry you on my shoulders like Atlas carries the world. With me, no feather in your pillow will sting you, no tea burn your tongue. No matter how long, how hard, or how tedious the work will be, I will do it so you can experience true bliss through my acts.

Every morning I shall wake you, massage every aching you might experience. I will prepare the bath for you and smooth every inch of your skin with my hands. I would adorn you with my kisses, affirm you with my words. You’d never leave the bathroom without knowing how precious you are. My hands are yours, waiting for you to tell them where to go and what to do. There’s not one thing about you that would raise any questions in my mind, induce any change in my love. Only I can love you like this. Completely. Truly. Unconditionally. There is nothing more important for my whole existence than you are. All those worries, social pressure, and expectations. Do. Not. Exist. in my arms. I am a herald, a doting worshipper, and a firm believer of you. No matter who you are or what you do, I am the safe harbor you can always enter. No judgment or rebuke will find you where I am.

You don’t have to ask for anything, for I know what you like even if you don’t speak loudly. I’ll feed you, and I will provide for you, fulfill all your wishes, and I ask for nothing more than for you to be with me. I will make sure you feel my love much more than this nasty, little piece of shit that lays beside you at night, pretends to love you. They don’t even hold you in their arms as they sleep, whereas I wouldn’t let go of you for a second my entire life. We both know that they aren’t who they claim to be; that their words are empty bullets shot at your sweet, loving heart. Their love is nothing but a pretense to gain your dedication to them. They don’t love you! They don’t care about you!

But I care. I care so, so much. So much that my heart feels like bursting just thinking of the smell of your lotion or the breath-robbing sound of your laughter.

And I am right here, you’d just need to let my name fall off your sweet, tender lips, and I will whisk you away before the next dawn, never to return to the place that brings you so much sadness and heartbreak. Your family doesn’t like me, for I will bring you happiness - something they could never. I know how much you suffer, following their instructions and what they think is good for you. Even though they think I could be dangerous! As if I ever could! But I... I’d much rather catch your words with my lips before you’d even finish uttering them instead of what other people curse. Through my caress, I would let you feel my passion and dedication to you, and you’d KNOW that I love you. You’d know you are finally where you’re meant to be. Times are rough and unsure, but as your knight, I will shield you from the evils of this world which are hunting you down. No phony lover, no fake family, bribed doctors, and careless judges are to bother you ever again once you are here by my side and in my arms. I will defeat the bad dragons that spewed their evil words onto the village you create inside of yourself, for I cannot stand by idly as they eat away on your selflessness and kindness until there’s barely enough left to get you through your day. Instead, I will lift you up and help you to become the empire you deserve to be! With me, humbly, as the servant at your disposal.

That’s how much I love you, my Dearest, and I know - I know, heartbreakingly so - words are so shallow written on a piece of paper, folded and sent to your home. But if those are not enough jotted down, I’ll be glad to repeat them in person! Just give me the sign; open your window and unlock your doors for me. Please, please, please, please, let me in again! Don’t keep me outside while you are lonely and scared! I will protect you from any and all you fear, and I swear that the last time was just a misunderstanding! I didn’t mean to upset you, didn’t mean for it to happen, didn’t want you to realize my presence at all! I wasn’t prepared, you weren’t prepared, but look, I’m not upset at all! Not one bit! It hurt when you slapped me, but I know you didn’t mean to harm me with it! And I am sure you knew I never wanted to cause you pain, never wanted to scare you so hard you’d cry! I couldn’t stay to wipe your tears this time, but this memory burns like a branding on my soul. It wasn’t my intention, so please let me back in, don’t keep me waiting here outside… I beg of you! I need you! I need to see you! Need to know you’re alright and miss me as much as I miss you! Because I know you do, you cry every night, and I listen to it helplessly… If only you’d stop barricading yourself in, we could talk about it! We could make it right-- I could make it right!

So please, tonight, on Valentine’s Day - our first, but certainly not last :) - take heart, my Love! I’ll be there, you’re not alone; you never are. If you open the door yourself, we can have Valentine’s Day you and I deserve.

Either way, I’m coming.

I don’t care about court orders or that you are in the progress of moving away. I don’t need a table, I’ll eat from your hands if you feed me, and promise to do the same. Nothing should stand in between us. We belong together.

I will be there for nothing, and no one can keep me away from you.

Never forget that I adore you more than anything in my life.

My whole existence circles around you, like the earth around the sun.

And no one will keep your love from me, either.

Not even you.

Forever and always in love with you, and never leaving your side,

♥

[arkus-rhapsode]

MHA Chapter 315 Discussion-An Almost Great Conclusion, But Misses It’s Mark

Hi guys, Rhapsode here and it’s time for another MHA discussion. I haven’t really done one in a while, but after reading 315, I had a lot of thoughts I was working through. And before I start I want to say, I do not think this chapter is overtly bad. I think there’s a lot of good ideas to it, and overall nothing objectively bad. However, as the climax to this Deku vs Lady Nagant fight, I felt it didn’t quite hit its mark (pun not intended).

If you want my brief opinion of this current arc of “solo Deku”, I actually enjoy it quite a bit. I’m happy Horikoshi refocused on Deku after such a long war arc. As well as Deku FINALLY be proactive in his hero duties. No longer on the rails of the school setting. And I have especially enjoyed his current fight with Lady Nagant.

In terms of sheer action, it’s got a tried and true set up of a sniper battle, but then adds to it by taking the fight into the air. The action is hectic in all the right ways with the unpredictable bullets cutting up Deku as he dodges them with Danger Sense. As well as the introduction to a new quirk of OFA.

But where this fight really shines is Nagant and her origin. Lady Nagant was hero assigned to maintain the illusion of order by getting rid of potential threats and heroes up to no good for the Hero Safety Commission. Until being told to kill in the name of improving society and any of her activities being covered up finally weighed on her and she killed the then president of the Commission and placed in Tartarus. While she’s only hunting down Deku because she’s assigned to, she says that even if AFO wants to rule the world, it’d be more transparent than a return to the status quo.

It’s honestly a great reveal as it finally puts out in the open the actual corruption in the system that’s hinted at, but was never really delved into. But now it also finally has Deku confront the problems of the status quo that he’s grown up in. This isn’t an ideological battle like with Stain on the definition of hero or reaching people who have fallen through the cracks of society like Gentle. This is real flaws with the system that people have had faith in from the mouth of someone who has done their dirty work.

It’s something I think a lot of people have wanted to see. And I’m glad Horikoshi finally did dive into it the structural problems of hero society.

So how does this all get resolved in 315? How does all this end? Well after Lady Nagant targets Overhaul and shoots at him to make the situation harder for Deku to focus, Deku without hesitation goes into trying to save Overhaul (despite knowing Overhaul is a villain), Deku homages All Might and then shatters Nagant’s arm, and finally Deku makes an observation that Nagant wasn’t really going to hit Overhaul and that if she seeing the darkness of society, she knows where to expose it as she still has the heart of a hero. Nagant should join Deku.

But then AFO activates an explosive power right as Nagant is coming around. The blast fries her as Hawks arrives and we’re left on the cliffhanger of “is she going to survive.”

Now after reading this, my feelings have been… mixed. Let me get out this out of the way there is nothing with this chapter I disagree with: I have no problem with Deku making an emotional appeal to Nagant, I have no problem with AFO acting like a heel, and I have no problem with Nagant not being fully evil and never intending to kill. I know that last one has upset some people, but given Nagant’s backstory of killing innocent people for others because they told her so is the reason she fell off her path in the first place. So it makes sense she never intended on killing anyone.

And I know some people have nitpicked how it’s the female villain who isn’t fully evil, but that honestly doesn’t matter to me. As narratively, this arc started with the attack by Muscular and Deku couldn’t reach him. So it’d make sense to potentially end this mini arc on an example of Deku reaching and reforming a villain. It also helps that Nagant has actual layers to her motivation that could actually allow her to be swayed away.

Now my real issue with this chapter is honestly a problem that I was afraid Hori would do after he introduced just how messed up the Commissions back dealings, it’s that Deku doesn’t really take any concrete stance on what should be done about this status quo. Instead, Deku focuses more on telling Nagant she is a real hero and he ultimately wins her over after showing how much a real hero he is.

While Nagant uses the term “fake”, “sham”, and “phony” when discussing heroes and hero society, it doesn’t address the bigger issue. Namely that she feels this way because of the corrupt and unheroic things the Commission has done to maintain faith in it. Deku offers no actual answer to the very real and very hard question she poses.

And his only real response is this:

(I’m being generous as there can be something lost in translation here and it’s a bit on the flowery side )

While Deku did acknowledge this world isn’t Black and white and he’s saying she can expose corruption if she works with them, he dodges actually offering a solution to her concerns about the status quo. Instead more time is devoted to the same kind of “I will save anyone” appeal he always does.

And while one could argue Nagant’s only on the side of AFO because his reign would keep the Commission from having the power they did, even if she doesn’t fully believe in him. She still poses why being ruled by AFO has its appeal to her and Deku doesn’t actually counter that. No pointing out the obvious anarchy that could result from this or how AFO uses even the people he claims to love like Shigaraki. Deku doesn’t rebuff anything and once again passes the tough decisions onto other people. With Hawks appearance here at the end and his baggage about killing Twice, I can very easily see cleaning up the commission as becoming his motivation going forward. Once again resolving Deku of actually needing to make hard calls or form stances.

This is compounded by the fact AFO just blows Nagant up. It really doesn’t matter if you rebuff anything that AFO has said or offered to convince Nagant to join you, there’s no way she’d work with him after he attempts to kill her. Which feels like it undercuts this conversation about morally gray society.

Look we all know that AFO is evil. The audience knows and this is absolutely what he would do, but if you’re trying to give all of the illusion that we’re finally confronting issues with society and bringing this up and why we would get people loyal to AFO or people like the liberators or people like stain. And trying to sway someone away, then just having him nuke them for having a change of opinion. then it undercuts any actual ambiguity of a clash built on addressing moral grayness. Which I feel is always been one of the strengths of MHA.

I was not expecting Deku to have a thesis on how he plans to dismantle the shady parts of society. Or go full Eren Yeager and become his own revolutionary. But when confronted by a villain who isn’t like Shigaraki or Toga or Twice, who fell through the cracks in the system and needed a safety net like Deku wants to be, Nagant was a part of the system. The corruption of society runs deep in her motivation and Deku doesn’t really address it beyond acknowledging its flaws. And yet his actions of “true heroism” are enough to sway her. It just feels incomplete. There is a brief line that you can interpret of him wanting to clean up the system, but it feels way too short for a moment like this. Deku being confronted by all the darkness of a system he admires should cause him to make some kind of stance.

And no, I’m not going to speculate on if Lady Nagant is actually dead and this will finally forced Deku to take a firmer stance or what have you. I do want to keep these discussions at least relative to when they are released and in this moment the thing that wins over Nagant is the same “save everyone”/“inspiration by example” Deku usually does. Which doesn’t feel as satisfying a conclusion as it could be.

Not helped by a good chunk of this chapter being taken up by explaining all the bits and bobs of OFA’s power system and finally explaining what exactly his third quirk does. This feels like padding when I wanted the space could’ve been used for character dialogue or a continuation of their conversation about the status quo.

I do want to repeat though that there is nothing outwardly bad with this chapter. There is no real objective failure in the writing. It’s just a case of, “ this could be stronger.” And that’s the frustrating part.

Tl;dr there’s a lot of things that are good about this chapter from a technical and narrative level. The natural progression of characters and the switching of allegiance makes sense.  however it’s just all shy of really living up to a lot of the stuff it sets up about society and going back to the status quo. As Deku doesn’t seem to have any real concrete stance beyond his usual.

And because a lot of the things around it are very good it makes it a lot more noticeable when it doesn’t quite stick the landing. Not helped by what feels like nothing more than padding with the explanation of quirk ability instead of character introspection about this very legit and difficult revelation. There is nothing outwardly bad, it’s one of those cases of something that could be an 8-9/10 ends up more as a 5-6/10.

That’s my opinion at least. But I am extremely interested in seeing where Hori goes with this. Thanks for reading and I’ll see you next time.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: The Flash (Wally West)

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Wallace “Wally” West, also known as the Flash. Session One. So, Mr. West, how are you? 

Wally: Let’s go over the situation I’m in, shall we? My wife and I visit your creepy, Gothic asylum-perfectly legally, by the way- to make sure that Bruce Wayne is okay, and you get us arrested on bogus charges of trespassing. Then you pull strings to get me stuck in Arkham Asylum while I’m awaiting trial, and now you’re trying to have me declared legally insane so that you can lock me up in here for good. How the heck do you THINK I’m feeling? 

Hugo Strange: Your hostility is unnecessary, Mr. West. I am trying to help you. 

Wally: If this is your definition of ‘helping’ me, I’d hate to see what you do to people you want to hurt. Seriously, did you go to the Zoom Academy of Making Things “Beeetttteerrrr”? 

Hugo Strange: I am nothing like Mr. Zolomon, Mr. West. 

Wally: I’ll say you’re not. Hunter...he’s sick. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But you? What’s your excuse? 

Hugo Strange: I do not need an excuse, Mr. West. You may not realize it yet, but you-and all the other costumed vigilantes-are doing more harm than good. 

Wally: What do you mean, more harm than good? I’ve had my powers since I was ten years old, and since then I’ve done my best to hold to the promise that I made to Uncle Barry: to use my speed only to help those in need, to combat evil-and never for my own personal gain. I haven’t been perfect at it-I’m not as selfless as Uncle Barry, and I’ve got quite a temper-but I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried. 

Hugo Strange: Let’s talk about your Uncle Barry, shall we, Mr. West? 

Wally: Why? So you can twist my words and use them to make him out to be some sort of misguided lunatic? Not gonna happen. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, I assure you I bear no ill will towards Mr. Allen. Obviously, you bear a great deal of affection for him. I simply wish to know why that is. 

Wally: Because he’s a hero! He’s brave and loyal and honest and kind and good. He cares about everybody. He uses his powers to protect the weak and help the poor and defend the helpless. He became friends with Albert Desmond when nobody else would’ve given him a chance and got him his job at S.T.A.R. Labs, and he’s tried to help Mick Rory get the treatment he needs for his pyromania, too. He’s raised billions of dollars for charities, and he’s helped to save the world more times than I can count. (Pause) And he does all that while also working for justice as a police scientist! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, the exploits of Mr. Allen are well-known. I was asking you why you, in particular, are so fond of him. 

Wally: Well, he did marry my favorite aunt. (Pause) More importantly, though...as a kid, I really needed a hero, and he….he was my hero. My parents barely knew I was alive, except when I did something that inconvenienced them. When that happened, my dad would call me names or hit me, and my mom would wail and cry and guilt-trip….and then they’d go right back to obsessing over their own problems or arguing with each other. I...I felt like I was all alone, except for Aunt Iris. She was the one person in my family who really seemed interested in me, and she also had this awesome job as a reporter in a big city. She was really cool, but because I lived two hours away from her, I didn’t get to see her very much. (Pause) When Uncle Barry first became the Flash, I didn’t know who he was...but I idolized him. I was his biggest fan! I was even the President of the Blue Valley Flash Fan Club. (Pause, laughs) President and only member. The other kids thought he was cool, but they weren’t as invested in him as I was. To me, he represented freedom. 

Hugo Strange: It sounds as though you were a rather lonely little boy, Mr. West. 

Wally: Yeah, I guess I was. (Pause) That’s why I was so excited when my folks sent me to live with Aunt Iris in Central City during the summer when I was ten. And that’s when I first met Uncle Barry. Like I said, I didn’t know he was the Flash yet, so at first I thought he was...well, honestly? Kind of a dweeb. But then he told me that he knew the Flash and could introduce me to him. I was so excited, I probably could’ve inhaled an entire shoe. Anyway, Uncle Barry used his super speed to change into the Flash and act like he’d been waiting for me to arrive, and that’s when I met the Flash. He was everything I’d dreamed he would be. Even though I had been a little bit of a brat to him as Barry Allen, he treated me with respect; like he was happy to meet me and have me around, and it put me over the moon. Eventually, he started to explain how he’d gotten his powers, and that’s when it happened: lightning struck twice. I was doused in the same chemicals he’d gotten his super speed from, and I gained access to the speed force. It was the best day of my entire life. Besides the day I married Linda, of course. I became his sidekick, and from that point on, he was like a second father to me. He laughed at my stupid jokes, got me ice cream, took me on field trips, played games with me….all the things I dreamed of having my dad do with me. Eventually, he told me his secret identity. It was shortly before he and Aunt Iris got married, and I was ecstatic to learn that my favorite aunt was going to marry my hero. I was the ring bearer at their wedding, and from that point on, Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris basically raised me. They helped me through my parents’ divorce. Uncle Barry taught me how to balance a checkbook and apply for college scholarships; Aunt Iris helped me get my driver’s license and taught me how to really notice when other people were in need. (Pause) If it hadn’t been for them, I...I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. Maybe I’d be one of Captain Cold’s strays right now. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, let me posit a question to you. If your uncle loved you so much, why did he put you in a costume and allow you to fight dangerous criminals? You became the so-called Kid Flash at ten years old, and by the time you were eleven, you had already faced the Weather Wizard, Captain Cold, and the first Mirror Master-to say nothing of your garden-variety gangsters and thugs. Surely, a responsible adult would have ensured that you stayed far away from such violence...and yet Mr. Allen seemed to almost thrust you towards it. 

Wally: (Annoyed) Thrust me toward it? Are you kidding? If Uncle Barry hadn’t allowed me to be his sidekick, I’d have struck out and done superhero work on my own. I wanted to be just like him, remember? If anything, I thrust him into letting me fight criminals. (Pause) Besides, it wasn’t like he was just letting some random kid fight crime. I had super speed, remember? The chances of my getting shot were virtually nil. And the Rogues have a thing about not hurting kids. I wasn’t in any particular danger, especially not with Uncle Barry watching out for me. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, you obviously are unaware of this, but your uncle is a very sick man. 

Wally: Have you been listening to anything I said? Uncle Barry is the best man in the world. If that makes him crazy...well, I don’t want to be sane! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, I understand that this is difficult for you, but you must face reality. Your uncle was a very eccentric, very lonely man. He had few friends; most of his life was absorbed in his work. He always wanted to be someone special, but he knew that slow, lazy Barry Allen was no one important. Like you, he idolized a superhero-in his case, the Mystery Man known as Jay Garrick, and, like you, he wished that he, like his hero, was special. When his metahuman powers were activated by the lightning strike, his mind, already fragile from years of being mocked and looked down upon by his peers, shattered. He decided to use his powers to emulate the hero he had read about and idolized as a child, so that he could finally be special. Eventually, his antics drew the attention of other, even more damaged individuals, thereby indirectly inspiring the debut of all the costumed oddities that both you and your uncle spend so much time playing cops and robbers with. And then he met you. Another lonely little boy who wanted to be special. When you got your powers, he saw a chance to expand his fantasy world; recklessly endangering you. He may have been deluded enough to call you a sidekick, but what you really were was a child soldier. No wonder your life was sent into such a tailspin when he was temporarily lost in the speed force five years ago. Without him around to help maintain the fantasy that he had indoctrinated you into, you were lost, and the only solution you could think of was to take up the role that he had once filled. You are not a hero, Mr. West. You are a sad, deluded child; just as your uncle is a sad, deluded man. But I will see that you get the help you need. 

Wally: (Furious) That’s a load of bunk, and you know it! I don’t know what your game is, Dr. Strange, but you’re not going to get away with dragging my uncle’s name through the mud! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, your loyalty to your uncle is misguided. He is a dangerous vigilante, one who took advantage of your innocence and loneliness to turn you into yet another costumed freak. What he did to you was wrong, and it is my duty to make sure that you, and the rest of the world, realizes that fact. 

Wally: (Very loudly) Don’t you talk about Uncle Barry that way, you filthy liar! (Stands up rapidly; knocks over the chair he was sitting in) 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, I would advise you to refrain from such open displays of hostility. Otherwise, I will have to recommend that your children not be allowed to visit you, for the sake of their own mental health. 

Wally: And how do you think it affected their mental health to have their parents locked up on phony charges, huh? 

Hugo Strange: Neither of you were fit guardians for them, Mr. West. I understand that having them separated from you was upsetting, but it is for their own good. You and your wife obviously love them, but you are too ill to properly care for them, and your wife was only enabling your behavior. It was simply not a safe environment for the children, so they have been removed from your home until such time as you have been cured and can properly care for them. Two generations of costumed vigilantes is quite….(Hugo Strange is frozen solid) 

Capt. Cold: And he’s got the nerve to call us crazy. Really, accusin’ you an’ your missus of being bad parents? I seen how you dote on those kids, West. Only a nutjob could think you were unsafe for ‘em. 

Wally: Captain Cold? 

Capt. Cold: The one and only. You ready to bust outta this joint, kid? 

Wally: Are you seriously asking me to help you escape prison? 

Capt. Cold: Sam got Lisa and all the guys out already, and I’ve pretty much already escaped, kid. Just figured I’d be nice and get you outta here, too-before the Doc decides to give you a lobotomy. (Freezes and breaks Wally’s metahuman power dampener) Besides, Central City is furious over what happened to you and your missus. They ain’t exactly gonna expedite you back here. 

Wally: All right...but as soon as Iron Heights gets rebuilt, I’m taking all of you Rogues straight back there. 

Capt. Cold: I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Pause) C’mon, kid. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.

[thatslikely]

Fred Weasley’s Day Off (Part 1) - F.W.

Fred Weasley’s Day Off- Fred Weasley x Gender Neutral!Reader [Ferris Bueller’s Day Off AU]

Warnings: only occasional mild language

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this is Part 1 of my new 5 part series, Fred Weasley’s Day Off! You can find the series masterlist here. This part is going pretty similar to the movie, but as the story unfolds, I promise it isn’t a carbon copy of John Hughe’s masterpiece. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name, Y/L/N is Your Last Name, and thoughts are in italics.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @probably-peeves @horrorxweasley @weasleywh0r3s​

if you want to be added to be added to my general (or this series!)’s taglist, send me a dm or ask!

If you haven’t seen Ferris Bueller’s Day off or just need a refresher, HERE all all the scenes included in this part in chronilogical order! I HIGHLY reccomend giving these a watch, for they make the situations a lot easier to understand (and they’re hilarious).

----

It’s a beautiful day today, temperatures in the upper 70’s. You can expect plenty of sun and not a cloud in sight. Right now, it’s 75 at lakefront, 74 at Midway, 73 at the O’hare.

“Arthur!” Molly Weasley screeched, beckoning her husband to Fred and George’s messy bedroom. The walls were plastered with large posters of their favorite bands and sports teams (mainly Fred’s), and an expensive computer sat on the desk in the corner. The door to the room was ajar, a frantic mother feeling a haggard Fred Weasley’s forehead.

“What's the matter?” Arthur asked, briefcase in hand.

“It’s Fred, for Merlin’s sake look at him!”

Fred laid slumped under the hand-knitted quilt like a corpse, his hair tousled and his chin unshaved. She continued, “he doesn’t have a fever, but his stomach hurts and he’s seeing spots!” Fred peeled his pained, umber eyes open, his weak gaze pointed to his suit-clad father.

A sympathetic Arthur reached for Fred’s cold and clammy hands, feeling them with a shudder. He’s got a bad cold, he thought, poor boy needs to stay home and rest.

“I’m fine, I’ll get up. I have a test today.” Fred leaned up slightly, his stuffy nose attempting to breathe. His baggy eyes drifted around the room, glazing the empty bed parallel to his’. “No!” Molly and Arthur Weasley stated firmly in unison, pressing his aching chest into the soft bed.

“I have to take it. I-I wanna go to a good college, so I can have a fruitful life.” Fred kept attempting to get out of bed, only for Molly’s gentle hands to guide him back down.

“Oh fine, what’s this? What’s his problem?” Ron leaned against the untidy bedroom’s door frame, his arms crossed, his face donning an unamused expression tinged with jealousy. He was looking daggers into Fred, who reciprocated nothing but a wink.

“He doesn’t feel well,” Molly stated, not pleased in the slightest with Ron’s distasteful demeanor.

“Yeah, right,” Ron rebutted with a scowl. The tips of Ron’s ears seared with resentment for his brother and anger at his naive and biased parents.

“Ronnie? Is that you?” Fred asked, his blurry vision making the outline of his brother near indistinguishable from the rest of his room. “Ronnie? I can’t see that far.” Fred leaned up in an attempt to see his brother, before falling backward with a dramatic moan.

“Dry that one out, you could fertilize the garden,” the younger ginger spat, tapping his toe furiously.

“Ronald, you get to school!” Molly demanded, vehemently gesturing for him to leave.

“You’re letting him stay home? If I was bleeding out my eyes you’d still make me go to school! This is so unfair.” Jealousy oozed from Ron’s clenched jaw like venom.

“Ron, please don’t be upset with me. You have your health, be thankful,” Fred said coolly. His eyes remained glinted with mischief, causing a furious Ron to storm off in a huff.

The concerned mother and father turned back to a wheezing Fred. Molly tucked him in tighter, cooing, “Now listen, I’ll be showing that new family some houses today, so I’ll be in the area. The office will know just where to find me if you need anything, okay?” A wave of gratefulness swept over Fred’s face.

“It’s nice to know I have such loving, caring parents. You’re both very special people.” Molly caressed Fred’s ashen cheek before planting a compassionate kiss on his warm forehead.

“G’bye champ,” Arthur said to his son before carefully shutting his door and walking to the garage.

They bought it.

Incredible. One of the worst performances of my career, and they never doubted it for a second. Fred peeled back the curtains blocking the beautiful view from his large windows with a smirk. He looked out the panes, admiring the gorgeous weather. How could I be expected to go to school on a day like this?

This is my ninth sick day this semester; it’s getting pretty tough coming up with new illnesses. If I go for ten, I’ll have to barf up a lung, so I’d better make this one count. Fred carefully adjusted his extortionate stereo, his fail-proof plan slowly piecing together.

Fred then stepped over to his desk, reaching for an old, hefty soccer trophy of his and some rope. The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. He started knotting the rope around the shiny golden award methodically. A lot of people’ll tell you to go for the old ‘phony fever’, but if you’ve got a nervous mother, you could wind up in the doctor's office. That’s worse than school.

“It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.”

He scrupulously placed the trophy contraption behind his door with a satisfied nod, proceeding to the bathroom dressed in his grey and maroon striped bathrobe. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Fred undressed and stepped into the steamy shower, quickly shampoo-ing his ginger mop into a spiky mohawk. He gave some thought about his plans for the leisurely day before removing the showerhead, gripping it like a microphone, serenading an imaginary audience, “I recall Central Park in fall. How you tore your dress, what a mess, I must confess…”

----

“Spinnet?” A greasy Mr. Snape drawled, spectacled eyes darting around the dingy classroom, illuminated with corporate fluorescent lights. “Spinnet?”

“Here!”

“Smith?” Silence. “Smith?”

“Present.”

“Weasley?” Snape asked, scanning the room for any signs of the irresponsible redhead.

“Weasley?” he repeated, uninterested and monotone. “Weasley?”

“Um, he’s sick,” a perky Cho Chang cut through the tense silence with a smile, “my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy, who knows this kid who saw Fred pass out at Florean’s last night! I guess it’s pretty serious.”

“Thank you, Cho,” Snape said impassively.

“No problem, whatsoever!”

----

A robotic ring emitted from the phone next to Lee Jordan’s bed, disturbing the perturbed ambiance of the inert bedroom. The hypochondriac occupying the sheets clicked the silver ‘answer’ button with a shallow sigh.

“Hello?” George Weasley asked, his voice deep and groggy.

“Georgie, babe, what’s happening?” Fred’s exuberant voice questioned from the other end of the line, starkly contrasting his twin’s nonbelligerent energy.

“Very little,” he responded in a trance-like state, eyes spacing out at the blank ceiling, his mind nearly detached from his aching body.

“How do you feel?”

“Shredded.” Half-empty pill bottles and antihypertensive drugs lined the bleak nightstand to his left.

“Get dressed and come on back home. I’m taking the day off,” Fred imposed. He sat in a lounge chair, next to the turquoise pool, soaking in the bright morning sun, which starkly contrasted George’s dark atmosphere. He held a Brick to his ear, sipping an iced Hawaiian drink from a swirly straw. The only thing covering his body was a pair of floral swim trunks; plastic sunglasses rested in the ginger nest atop his head.

“I can’t stupid, I’m sick. I think I got food poisoning from Lee’s awful cooking.”

“It’s all in your head, George, come back home,” Fred said more firmly, taking another sip of the fruity drink in the souvenir cup.  

“I feel like complete shit, Fred. I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now come on over here so I can have a fun day off!” Fred demanded, hanging up the phone promptly. “Sheesh.”

George remained stiffly on the sheets, still as a statue, muttering, “I’m dying.” The phone chimed again with another call. Click.

“You’re not dying, you just can’t think of anything good to do!” Fred’s voice echoed through the dimly-lit room before the tone of an ended call took its place.

“Pardon my French,” said Fred to no one in particular, “but George is so tight, that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks, you’d have a diamond.”

Fred quickly abandoned the pool deck, instead continuing random antics around the vacant house, whether it was (horribly) playing his centuries-old clarinet, or prank calling gullible freshmen claiming he had an impending kidney transplant. This was the life.

“I’m so disappointed in George. Twenty bucks says he’s sitting in his car debating whether or not he should go out.”

Fred had hit the nail on the head. George sat in his four-wheeled hunk of junk for minutes, muttering to himself, “He’ll keep calling me. He’ll keep calling me until I go home. He’ll make me feel guilty. This is ridiculous! Okay, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.” He turned the key of the run-down car, only for the engine to cough and heave. “Goddamn it!”

----

“Molly Weasley,” Molly introduced herself to the caller from her desk at the local real estate office. She held the landline phone in one hand, the other scratching numerals and figures onto some spreadsheets.

“This is Dolores J. Umbridge, Dean of Students. Are you aware that Fred is not at school today, Miss Weasley?” she asked punctually, her voice laced with irritation.

“Yes, I am. Poor Fred is home sick.”

“Are you also aware that Fred does not have what we consider an exemplary attendance record? He has missed an unacceptable number of school days.” Umbridge looked icy and collected on the outside, but deep down she was fuming with anger. “I have no reservation whatsoever about holding him back another year.”

“This is all news to me,” Molly replied, taken aback by Umbridge’s blunt threats.

“It usually is.” Dolores turned her attention to the hunky computer opposite her, ready with Fred’s academic profile, scanning the pixels signifying his number of absent days. When she finally opened her jaw to announce the number to Mrs. Weasley with a devious grin, she was horrified to see the number of days slowly ticking down to two.

“I asked for a car, I got a computer,” Fred said with an unamused but smug smirk as he typed lines of code into his computer back at the Weasley household, “how’s that for being born under a bad sign?”

“I can appreciate how this time of year, children are prone to taking the day off. However, in Fred’s case, I can assure you, he’s a very sick boy.” And with that, Dolores hung up on a sympathetic Molly, her tight brunette curls gradually frizzing from aggravation.

“I don’t trust this… Fred Weasley,” Umbridge confided to her secretary, Augustus Filch. “What’s so dangerous about a character like Fred is that he gives good students bad ideas. The last thing I need is fifteen-hundred Fred Weasley disciples running around these halls. He jeopardizes my ability to effectively govern this student body.”

“Well, he makes you look like a bitch is what he does, Dolores,” Filch said with a smirk.

“You’re wrong,” Dolores asserted, fiery gaze piercing through Filch’s soul.

“Well, he is very popular. The sportos and motorheads, geeks, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads, they all adore him. They think he’s some righteous dude,” Filch said astutely.

“That is why I’ve got to catch him this time. Show these kids that you can’t just skip school nine times a semester like he has and get away with it!”

----

Mr. Binns, a prehistoric-looking man with novel-thick glasses, stood at the head of the classroom, giving his usual dull lecture. While he etched utter nonsense onto the chalkboard, you couldn’t help but release a bone-cracking yawn.

After years of sitting in your uncomfortable plastic chair, drowning out Mr. Binn’s boring babble, your saving grace arrived in the form of a grave Nurse Pomfrey.

You quickly slipped on your pale, leather jacket and stuffed your blank notebook into your backpack at the sight of the frail woman donning white scrubs like a dove, eager to escape class. Nurse Pomfrey had on a solemn face as she quickly whispered something into Mr. Binns’ ear before announcing to the uninterested class, “Y/N, Y/L/N, may I have a word with you?” You painted a look of surprise on your face before stepping into the hallway with the disturbed grey-haired woman.

“My dear, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings,” she said sorrowfully once out of the earshot of the small lecture hall, “your father called. Your grandmother has just passed.”

Your eyes welled with artificial tears, face drenched with heartbreak.

----

The landline echoed through Umbridge’s dreary, pale pink office.

“Dolores Umbridge,” she said pseudo-cheerfully into the handset held by her thulian claws.

“This is Phil Y/L/N,” a middle-aged man said, his voice slathered with a thick Chicago accent.

“How are you today, sir?” Dolores asked suspiciously.

“Well, today we’ve had a bit of bad luck. It’s been a tough morning,” he croaked, “now if you wouldn’t mind excusing Y/N, we have a lot of family business to attend to.”

“I’d be happy to, just produce a corpse and I’ll release Y/N. I want to see this ‘dead grandmother’ firsthand.” She peeled the phone away from her face, smiling valiantly at a mortified Filch, saying slyly, “It’s okay, it’s Fred Weasley. I’m setting a trap for him.”

“Dolores, I’m sorry, did you say you wanted to see a body?” an ill-tempered Mr. Y/L/N questioned in disbelief through the speaker.

“Yes. Just roll her old bones up here and I’ll gladly retrieve Y/N for you. That’s school policy.” Dolores looked so pleased with herself, a devilish smirk resting on her lips. The telephone in Filch’s office chimed, and he quickly dashed to answer it.

“Hello, Dolores Umbridge, Dean of Students’ office,” his gravelly voice answered.

“Hi. This is Fred Weasley. Can I speak to Miss Umbridge, please?” Filch’s mouth went desert-dry in horror, his aged, grey eyes bulging out of his skull. He dashed to a taunting Umbridge, jumping and waving for her to shut up.

“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t like my policies, you can come down here and kiss my-”

“Fred Weasley’s on line two, Dolores!” Umbridge’s eyes went as wide as saucers; her whole face, even her bright fuchsia lipstick, turned as white as a sheet.

She was quick to switch to line two, listening to Fred Weasley’s voice which filled the otherwise silent room.

“Miss Umbridge, I’m not feeling too well today,” Fred started, a smug and valiant grin on his face. He adjusted his clean and gelled hair, which perfectly complemented the perfectly-tailored suit he donned. “Would it be possible for Ron to bring home any assignments from my classes? Have a nice day.”

The only sound left in the office was the droning disconnect tone.

The ‘line one’ buttoned flashed bright red like a siren. With a shaky, wrinkled pointer finger painted with a coat of magenta nail polish, she hesitantly pressed the button, sucking in a breath.

“Mr. Y/L/N, I-I think I owe you an apology,” she said, mortified.

“I should say you do!” the deep voice on the other line boomed. Umbridge peeled open her lips for an apology, only to be cut off with, “Well I think you should be sorry for Merlin’s sake! A family member dies, and you insult me! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“W-well I really don’t know. I didn’t think I was talking to you, I thought you were someone else,” Umbridge barely managed to spit out. “You know I would never deliberately insult you like that!”

“Find out where she is!” Umbridge hissed to an idle but nervous Filch, her palm covering the phone’s mouthpiece. He promptly scrambled around the surrounding metal filing cabinets, reaching for various binders and manilla folders.

“This isn’t over yet, do you read me?” The infuriated voice’s threat yelled into the frantic principal’s ear.

“Loud and clear, Mr. Y/L/N!” she responded while scouring the various sets of drawers for Y/N’s schedule.

“Call me sir, goddammit!”

“Yes sir!”

----

“That’s better. Mind your P’s and Q’s buster, and remember who you’re dealing with!” an exasperated George Weasley shouted into the kitchen’s phone, his voice at least an octave lower than usual. His look of fury was soon replaced with a smile from ear to ear, quite proud of the convincing-ness of his impression.  

A dashing, suit-clad Fred Weasley soon strutted into the lemon-yellow kitchen, charismatically introducing himself, “Weasley, Fred Weasley.”

George held his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone, asking, “I’m scared. What if she recognizes my voice?”

“Impossible. You’re doing great.”  

The self-conscious redhead brought the phone back to his ear, shouting “Umbridge!” furiously. Groaning echoed from the other end of the line. “Umbridge, calm down!”  

“I don’t have all day to bark at you, so I’ll make this short, and sweet. I want my child outside of the school in ten minutes by themself!”

Fred gave George a harsh tap on his shoulder, hissing, “That’s too suspicious! She’ll think something’s up!”

“You do it then!” the other twin whispered back.

“Talk.”

“You!”

“Talk.”

“Fine!” he fizzled. “Umbridge! Pay Attention!” The magenta-suited principal was scuttering around her office, frantically searching for your schedule and something to repair the escalating situation.

“Umbridge! Changed my mind. I want you out there with them, I’d like to have a few words with you!” Fred swiftly slapped the phone from George’s clutches, causing it to fall on the tile carelessly. The identical gingers both scrambled for the phone, ending up in George’s grasp once again.

He yelled to the mouthpiece rapidly, “On second thought, we don’t have time to talk right now! We’ll get together soon and have lunch!”

Fred kicked George’s rear hard, causing a small yelp to escape George’s lips. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he spat at Fred, who quickly slammed the phone back to the base.

“Where’s your brain?” he harshly asked his irritated brother.

“Why’d you kick me?” George retorted, hurt.

“Where’s your brain?”

“Why’d you kick me?”

“Where’s your brain?”

“I asked you first!”

“How are we gonna pick up Y/N if Umbitch is out there with them?” Fred rhetorically asked, seething.

“I- I said for them to be alone and you freaked,” George stated, reverting back to his timid tendencies.

“Now, I didn’t… I didn’t hit you. I lightly slapped you.”

“You hit me.” Tension sliceable with a butterknife filled the kitchen.

“Look, don’t ask me to participate in your stupid antics if you don’t like the way I do it. You make me get out of bed. You make me come over here. You made me make a phony phone call to Dolores Umbridge? That woman could expel me, expel us, and then, you deliberately hurt my feelings!”

“No… I didn’t deliberately hurt your feelings,” Fred said, his words tinged with guilt. “What’re you doing?” George grabbed his red hockey jersey and keys that previously laid on the island.

“I’m going back to Lee’s, Fred. I need some rest. Have a nice life.”

“No, no, c’mon. Don’t do that, George,” Fred pleaded ruefully, “George, come back. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m sorry.”

“You serious?”

Fred gave a slow and sincere nod. George swiveled back around, setting his belongings back on the counter, his face lightened slightly.

“Now, to fix the situation, we’re gonna have to do something you’re not going to like.”

----

Fred and George peeled the sliding glass doors of the luxurious garage apart, revealing the interior, which was mainly lined with thousands of dollars worth of vintage car memorabilia, save for the treasured vehicle in the center.

“The 1961 Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe,” George said, his eyes pointed down at the prized pompadour blue car resting idly in front of the duo. Fred's eyes were also fixed on the vehicle, though his’ were illuminated with awe and mischief.

“Dad spent 3 years restoring this car,” he continued, hands behind his back, not daring to leave fingerprints on its shiny surface, “it is his love, it is his passion…”

“It is his fault he didn’t lock the garage,” Fred smirked, sauntering around the exterior of the automobile, slobbering all over the surface like a dog with fresh meat.

“Fred, what are you talking about?” George asked nervously, already knowing what Fred was plotting, “Dad loves this car even more than he loves you!”

“Fred, no.” Fred swiped his fingers over the perfect coat of paint, occasionally posing with the car as if he was a model on the front cover of a magazine.

“Que Bella!” he said with a chef’s kiss, still drooling over the car’s magnificence.

“Remember how insane he went when I snapped my retainer? And that was a tiny piece of plastic!” Fred paid an anxious George no mind, instead continuing his admiration for Arthur’s most valuable possession.

“George, I’m sorry, but we can’t pick up Y/N in that piece of scrap. He’d never believe Mr. Y/L/N would drive something like that!”

“It’s not a piece of scrap.”

Fred opened the driver’s side door, slowly sitting down in the comfortable cushioned seat, his umber eyes never breaking contact with George’s identical ones.

“He knows the mileage, Fred.”

“Look, this is real simple. Whatever miles we put on, we’ll take off.” Fred said, barely giving George the time of day.

“How?”

“We’ll drive home backwards.”

“No,” George said firmly, almost like a mother. Fred turned the key of the Anglia, its restored engine roaring ten times better than George’s hunk of junk’s.

“How about we rent a nice Cadillac, my treat!” He yelled as Fred slowly drove away, the revving of the vintage engine drowning out his voice. George stood frozen in disbelief, before Fred slowly backed up, beckoning George to join him.

With a heavy heart, George warily climbed into the back seat of the vehicle. And with that, Fred floored the gas, speeding off towards the Shermer High.

----

“I had a grandmother once,” Umbridge awkwardly stated, in an attempt to soothe your heart overcome with (fake) grief. “Two, actually.”

The suburbs outside of the Windy City lived up to their name today; Umbridge’s frizzy brown curls swayed in the strong breeze. The temperature today was the best it had been since last Autumn; it was a given that Fred would skip.

You patiently waited on the concrete steps outside the school, Umbridge continuing her “comforting” words, attempting to stitch the wounds caused by your grandmother’s staged death. You weren’t focused on the thulian tyrant, however, instead, your eyes waited on the road for the sight of a ruby-red-haired boy.

“Between grief and nothing, I’d take grief,” Umbridge said flatly.

“Great,” you replied softly, eager to shut the toadish old lady up. She opened her magenta-tinted lips to add something else, but she decided against it, promptly shutting her mouth without a sound escaping.

The stentorian roaring of the engine residing in cerulean Ford Anglia filled the silent air and idle parking lot, lightening your spirits instantly. While you didn’t doubt that Fred would’ve shown up eventually, his timing was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that he showed up in a killer ride, either.

A tall, lanky man drenched in a long beige trench coat, horn-rimmed sunglasses, and a businessman-looking fedora, which masked his fiery orange hair, emerged from the car, leaning against its body.

“Oh Y/N honey, hurry along now,” the stranger in disguise bellowed, his voice slightly higher pitched than ‘Mr. Y/L/N’s’ from the phone, a thickly-slathered Chicago accent present nonetheless.

“I guess that’s my dad.”

You grabbed the annoying principal’s wrinkly, cold hand, reciting, “Miss Umbridge, Dolores. You’re a beautiful woman, I wanna thank you for your warmth and compassion.”

A furious Ron watched from the scene play out from the large front windows of the school, immediately recognizing Fred and his infuriating antics with a scowl. Why should he get to skip while the rest of us have to stay? I’ve gotta catch him.

Umbridge looked near disturbed at your counterfeit words on thankfulness, before you eagerly stepped down to the car, giving ‘Mister Y/L/N’ a quick hug.

“Do you have a kiss for Daddy?” Fred jokingly asked with a smirk.

“Are you kidding?” you replied, leaning into his soft lips for a passionate kiss, which maybe would have escalated a little further if he didn’t drag you in the passenger seat of the Anglia.

“So that's how it is in their family,” Umbridge uttered as she watched the nearly-French kiss perched from her spot at the top of the stairway. She swiftly pivoted around walking to the front entrance to the school, when Fred floored the Ford again, its loud engine roaring off into the distance.

“Hi Georgie, you comfortable?” you asked, eyes towards the crampted back seat.

Once the three of you were out of Umbridge’s eyeline, a compact George sprung up from the lonely backseat, saying, “Hi, Y/N. No.”

“So, what're we gonna do?” you asked the dashingly handsome driver next to you with a smile.

“The question isn’t: What are we going to do? The question is: What aren’t we going to do?”

“Don’t say we’re not going to take the car home. Please don’t say that we’re not going to take the car home,” George mumbled, hopeful that Fred would comply, though he already knew that Fred would be doing the exact opposite.

If you had access to a car like this, Fred mentally narrated, gesturing to the amenities-rich Anglia, would you take it back right away? Me neither.

And with that, Fred recklessly rounded the bendy road, speeding off towards downtown Chicago.