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princesspastel8 · 4 months ago

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Chapter 7: "You know what you did!"

Dipper POV

There he is. My whole reason for breathing......fuck he looks just how I imagine. His skin is dark and tan, his hair golden with a mixture of brown, his body...tone and shaped, God his lips...and his one eye. I chuckle at the eye patch over his left eye. I begin walking towards Bill but stop mid step.

"Dipper no! Stay away from him!" I hear grunkle Ford shout.

I roll my eyes, turning around to meet his disapproving glare. I chuckle. "Of course, my joy has to be ruined by Mr. Killjoy himself." I joke.

Bill laughs and holds a thumbs up while spinning his cane with his free hand. "Good one, pinetree!"

I glance at Bill, smiling brightly for once. "Thank you, Bill. I learn from the best." I wink.

"D-Dipper....how could you?...D-Did you really kill Pacifica?"

"And Robbie?! Dipper, why would you kill my husband?!"

Bill and I both burst into fits of laughter. "Wow, redhead, you're more stupid than I thought! But what can you expect from a meatsack like you?"

My laughter calms as I look at the two hysterical women. "My my Wendy. Robbie must have fucked a few of your brain cells out. He was cheating on you. And with Tembry. I still have no idea how you miss that one." I chuckle.

Wendy shakes her head in disbelief. "Robbie would not cheat on me!"

I roll my eyes and look at Bill. "Mind showing her some proof then."

"Sure, pinetree!" Bill said as a hologram screen appears on the ground in front of everyone.

It showed Robbie making out with Tembry. I smirk, noticing myself behind the tree near them. "Ah yes... here's my favorite part." I said while watching myself kill them.

Mable and Wendy are sobbing messes while Stan and Ford stand in disbelief. I can't help but laugh at this beautiful sight of misery.

Mable starts walking towards me, but both Stan and Ford stop her. "Wh-why Dipper?! Why would you do something like this?! You're my brother! We're supposed to always be there for each other! How could you betray your family like this?! H-How could you betray me like this?!"

My bright smile quickly turns into a dark frown. Bill senses the anger rolling off of me in waves. He places a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down, but I shrug him off. Bill sighs, "You've done it now shooting star." He said while taking a few steps back from me.

"How could I? Supposed to always be there for each other?! That's rich coming from you, you know that?! Ever since we left gravity falls and gotten into high school, you completely changed! Your friends were more important! Boys that would always treat you like shit were more important! You would always get upset with me whenever I tried to protect you! And that day....oh God that day....I will never forgive you. You let him take me. Y-you let him do those things to me! You let him harass me! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME MABLE!" I place my hands on my face as my body begins to tremble. "I-If it wasn't for Bill....he would've raped me. Hehe...but its fine! It's all perfect! Because I killed him. Oooooooooooooh, the sound of his screams. The way he begged! You should've seen it, Mable! I bet you wouldn't want to be with him after knowing how much of a coward he was!" I laugh. "You've always been mom and dad's favorite, you know? I did everything I could to get them to notice how great of a son they had. Never failed a test. Passed all of my classes. Straight A's.....and yet...they couldn't look past the fact that their only son didn't like spots, never had a girlfriend, and to top it all off! -is gay. But it's whatever. I killed them, too."

Mable mouth dropped in shock. "Y-you....you what?" She whispers, barely audible to hear.

"Huh? What was that? You're normally loud and cheerful, Mable....I wonder where all of that went." I chuckle darkly. "Besides, you're useless to me. I don't need you, Mable. All I need is Bill... he's all I ever needed." I smile widely as I pull out my pistol and aim it at her. "I want you to deny everything I said... go ahead. Do it. Lie to them. Lie to the only friends and family you have left! Please do it...I've been dying to get your blood on my hands...."

Stan, Ford, and Wendy quickly stand in front of Mable protectively, and I laugh. "Oh, how could I almost forget?! You're their favorite, too! You've always been everyone's favorite! I'll kill you...I'll kill each and every one of you..."

Bill steps in between everyone with a smile. "now now as much as I'm enjoying this little show, these meatsacks could be of some use to us pinetree. Especially sixxter over there." He leans to whisper in my ear. "You forgot the rift pinetree. And the equation." He points out.

I look at him and sigh loudly. "Right....The two key components..." I put my pistol back inside my bag and pick it up. "Let's go, Bill." I said, turning my back to everyone.

"D-Dipper!....please I'm sorry!" Mable cries.

I turn my head. "I think you're a little late for that. Burn in hell with the rest of them." I said as Bill places a hand on my shoulder.

"Well, that was a great show, but it's time for us to go! Remember, reality is an illusion. The universe is a hologram. Buy gold, bye!!" And with that, the two of us disappear into my secret place within the forest.

I sigh heavily, walking towards the first tree I see. I drop my bag to the ground as I begin punching it. My knuckles are now bloody, but I don't care. Any physical pain is better than the storm inside my mind and heart. "Stupid... stupid stupid...STUPID-"

I'm interrupted by Bill. He grabs my hands and turns me around so that I'm facing him. "Whoa there! As much as I enjoy the sight of pain and suffering,...witnessing yours is a bit...dull??" He said as if questioning his own emotions.

I roll my eyes and pull away from him. "Jee, thanks for your kind words, Bill."

"Why are you mad at me? I can't help that I find your pain a little.... boring? What words do you meatsacks use?....uughhhh!" He groans in frustration.

"Since you're struggling with using words, use actions, Bill. You're a idiot sometimes." I said while staring down at my blood knuckles.

Bill frowns and gently grabs my hands. He pulls them up to his face and slowly licks the blood from my knuckles. "Enough action for you, pinetree?" He chuckles.

My face quickly heats up with blush as I open my mouth, trying to speak, but no words come out. I can't help but watch him....and get a little turned on.

Bill stops and snaps his fingers, making bandages appear around my wounds. He smiles wickedly and spins around on his cane. "So pinetree! Any plans on how we're going to get the rift?"

I shake my head to rid myself out of my daze. I cough to clear my throat, looking away from him. "Simple. We trick Mable again."

"Tricking shooting star for the second time? How are we going to do that?" He questions with a playful frown.

I smile, sitting down on the flower filled ground. I pull out my journal and point to the instructions. "Mable is completely heartbroken. She'll do anything to get her old life back. Simply offer Mable land again, but this time, offer her to see the loved ones I killed."

"Not bad, pinetree, not bad at all!" He cheers.

"Of course, it's not a bad plan. I thought of it. So once you take control over Mable's body, you use this code to get into Ford's lab. It's located on the far end to the right. It isn't hard to miss. We need to hurry. And if things go south, I have a backup plan."

"Which is my nerdy pinetree?"

"I remember when I almost got myself killed by clones of well... myself when I was twelve.....I rather not tell you why I-"

"It was for the red head, wasn't it?" He questions with shock in his tone, which he's faking.

I glare at him. "Shut it. I was stupid. Anyways, I could clone myself and create a distraction for Mable and everyone else. I'm sure Ford had left over unicorn hair from the first time. And if he already placed it around the shack, then you might not be able to go inside. Even with being inside Mable's body. The spell blocks out magic of any kind, so..." I said while reading over the plans I had set for years now.

Bill loses his balance from standing on top of his cane and falls on top of me. He looks at me with a devilish smirk, leaning to close to my face. "My bad pinetree. I'm still getting used to this form."

I blush heavily, looking away from me. "I-Its fine, just get off s-so we can discuss more plans....." I said harshly.

"Enough about these plans! We're going to get the rift, but not right now. Let's do something fun first."

I raise an eyebrow. You never know with Bill when it comes to his definition of 'fun'. "Uh....what kind of fun?"

He leans in closer to my lips. "I want to...try what Those meatsacks were doing in the woods, you know... before you killed them."

My eyes widen as I shake my head. "N-not now, Bill! As much as I want to...w-we can't. We have important th-things to do-....mmmm!.....mhhmmm~"

Bill cuts me off with his sweet, plum lips. He pulls away, still itches from my lips. "You think too much. Think a little less. I do it all the time, and I turned out fine!"

I look at him blankly. "I doubt that -....aahh~" I moan as Bill creases my half harden length over my clothes.

"Such sass...and a smart mouth." He hums, sliding his tongue into my mouth and sworls it around mine.

I whimper as I move my hips, wanting more friction with his hand. He bites my bottom lip, holding my waist in place. "I decided when you're allowed to move." He growls with his teeth tugging at my bottom lip.

I moan as a response, and he smiles, sliding his tongue back into my mouth. His taste is so sweet...for a murdering dream demon. I wrap my tongue around his, feeling him pin my arms above my head. He pulls away, giving me air to breathe.

"B-Bill...." I whine, wanting so badly to move my hips against his.

"Yes, pinetree?" He hums against my neck before biting down, sucking against my skin.

"Aaahhhh~ bill... I want you..." I beg, moaning at the feeling of his lips against my neck.

"You already have me." He whispers into my ear, using his free hand to rub against my newly formed hickey. "Now everyone will know that you belong to me. Understood?" He said before biting and fanning his breath into my ear.

I whimper, nodding my head. "Yes, Bill.."

He pulls away, jumping up to his feet with a smile. He holds his hand out, his cane floating to him. He grabs it, leaning forward with his hands. "Now.....what was that plan again?" He asks innocently with a playful smirk.

I sit up with a frown, blush covering my whole face. I glare at him, kicking his cane out of his hands, enjoying him falling flat on his face. I stand up and kick him over, placing my foot on his chest.

"Bill...if you ever tease me like that again, I swear I'll -"

"You'll what pinetree?" He mocks, his smirk taunting me.

I lean down, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him itches away from my face. "I'll make you regret placing that mark on me. I know everything about you Bill....do you seriously want to take my words lightly? I don't make threats. I deliver promises."

He yelps and quickly nods his head. "Ok, ok! No more teasing."

"Now that's a good little dream, demon." I said before kissing his forehead, letting go of his tie and throwing him back to the ground. "Enough time wasting. Let's go give our final goodbyes to 'the pines family'."

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sleepsentry · 1 year ago

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Hoooooooooboyyyyyyyyy...

I've spent most of my years in the gravity falls fandom as a kid/teen.

And I kinda resent seeing adult fans turn a comforting kids show about embracing your inner kid and not being ashamed of fun, into a dramatic, petty morality obsessed, soap opera...

Like- its really uncomfortable the way most of the adult characters are depicted in fanon, it doesn't feel "more realistic" it feels like the adult fans are kind of ashamed of any interpretation that isn't "acceptably mature".

______

For example: The way Stan and Ford are turned into the worst versions of Batman.

Stan and Ford are often depicted with a subtle but important edge that isn't necessarily present in canon.

Especially in fanworks wich focuse on them instead of the broader family.

As if their softer, goofier sides are just a front for the sake of the kids rather than fundamental parts of who they are as characters.

They're not.

They're just as important as their more "serious grown up moments"

Stan and Ford aren't adult characters in an adult show, they're adult characters in a kids show and their silliness is essential.

Their approachable, softer, kinder, moments, are vital, as authority figures in a show where the intended audience is expected to relate to the children they are responsible for.

Their vulnerability and screwing up is an important aspect of the show, showing kids that adults don't know everything and it's important to question them when they make mistakes.

"Adults are often just as afraid as you are and it's OK for them to express that, it's also important that they don't make it you're responsibility to deal with" is at the core of the way Stan, Ford and most adults in the show are depicted.

It's a comforting and affirming theme to have in a show about two kids on the brink of losing that childhood wonder, or at least afraid of losing it.

As Mabel says:

"They got... stupid. Promise me we won't get stupid."

______

I've seen so many adults make these characters more "adult" to appeal to them and it isn't even bad, it's just uncomfortable... it feels wrong.

Fiddleford is another adult character that I often see treated like this:

A lot of depictions of younger fidds I've seen (especially within the context of shipping him with ford) basically turn him into a conflicted love interest lady having an affair with her negligent boss in a stupid 80s movie-

I'm not getting into how fiddauthor is being used as a "safe ship" by the broader fandom and being stripped of its nature as a character dynamic and used as a tool to excuse morality based shaming and harassment by grown adults over stupid cartoon men-with cucumber shaped noses

It gives off similar vibes to certain queer peeps appealing to homophobes by throwing less "digestible" queer people under the bus and its not that serious its cartoon shipping for fucks sake

it's so uncomfortable when you remember he's a silly little hillbilly man.

His name is FIDDLEFORD.

MC. GUCKET. (•□•)

He's got depth and serious moments for days but he's also introduced screaming and jigging and slapping a sandwich out of someone's hands.

He contains multitudes withing his vegetable shaped head.

He's not Ford's frustrated underpaid secretary (as funny as that sounds)

______

Emotional depth and maturity aren't exclusively adult things.

The bloody "Goofy Movie" isn't suddenly an adult film because it has moments of quiet maturity and melancholy, along-side the expected goofyness.

That sense of quiet maturity isn't age locked in reality and I'm so tired of it feeling like it is.

It's not wrong or bad to depict more mature things with a story and characters aimed at kids.

But I think it's very disingenuous to dismiss the lighter elements in favour of the moments that "go over kids heads" they don't.

Even if the kid doesn't understand the adult joke, they can tell something is off and it's annoying how smug grown ups are about it.

I know Gravity Falls itself has that tone so I might aswell be complaining about fire burning or ice melting.

But it's taken to such extremes that it makes my inner kid feel like grown ups are twisting one of the few things I have and making it about themselves again... that's uncomfortably personal and petty I know.

But the reality is, that's been my experience for the majority of my time in this fandom.

Only in the past few years have I grown out of the "baby fan" vibe and it's going to shape my reactions to fanworks regardless.

______

For another example cartoon characters swearing isn't bad.

But it's jarring when adult behaviours (which more often than not means behaving like an ass) are superimposed onto child friendly characters, and these behaviours are taken for granted as "more realistic and natural" it's just... like no that's not true.

There are adults who don't like swearing or drinking or smoking, there are kids I knew when I was little (11 - 14) who enjoyed doing all those things for better or worse.

Seeing Teenagers complaining about 40+ year old characters being "infantilised" or "UwU-ified" as if grown ups can't be vulnerable is just saddening.

Adult female fans complaining that male characters aren't "man enough" is kinda scary to be honest, especially when those softer depictions are usually from teens and maybe even young boys/men in my case.

The problem is behaviours and perspectives are so strictly coded and enforced that even in a sub-community of a sub-community you get people enforcing arbitrary codes of conduct or depiction.

It's a kids show.

Relax.

He said to himself as much as whoever bothered to read this far.

I'm gonna go have a glass of water and some fresh air, if you've read this far I'd recommend doing so too but also, despite the tone of this wall of text, I'm not your dad.

#gravity falls #not art #rant #text post #long post #im being a killjoy again

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chronicangel · 2 months ago

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i got a real big heart that i'm willing to hide

Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 8035 Date posted: October 6, 2024

Summary:

Stan doesn’t usually get invited to family events, what with having been disowned more than half a decade ago.

@absolootcatastrophe was my critically important beta for this fic!! Check out their stuff!

Stan doesn’t usually get invited to family events, what with having been disowned more than half a decade ago. He also promised himself when his old man threw him out that if he ever was invited back into the family, he wasn’t going to be some sad sack who came crawling back on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness. As far as Stan is concerned, he hasn’t done anything wrong. Breaking Ford’s stupid robot was an accident, and if Filbrick had given him even a moment to explain himself, that would have been obvious. He didn’t even touch the damn thing before it broke, so maybe it was a piece of junk anyway.

It’s hard to cling to all of that bitterness and principle when he receives an invitation to his father’s memorial in his P.O. box with a note from Ma practically begging him to come. He doesn’t even know how she found his P.O. box.

Ma always liked him much more than his father did. She called him a free spirit and seemed to see a lot of herself in him. Given his recent swindling gigs, he guesses she’s not entirely wrong about that.

Stan is a minimum two day drive away from Glass Shard Beach, not to mention the fact that he’s banned from New Jersey and from most of the states between there and where he is now. The date on the invitation is only a week away. He needs more time to think about this…

When he pulls up to Ma’s house in Jersey, he’s got a coat on with the hood pulled up to hide his face even though it’s the middle of summer. His skin already feels slick with sweat just from standing in the doorway, and he’s not dumb enough to think it’s just from the heat, either. “Stan? Is that you, kid?”

Stan can’t help but stare at his older brother. It’s been even longer since he’s seen Shermie than anyone else in his family, having been deployed to fight in Vietnam when Stan was still a freshman in high school. He’d been able to come back to the States on leave a couple of times—that’s how Stan’s got his nephew, ain’t it?—but his relationship with their father had been nearly as tenuous as Stan’s was, and by the time Stan was a junior in high school, he stopped coming around.

“Heh, I was starting to think you died and nobody told me,” Stan says with that same grim humor he’s been using to get through life on his own.

“I was starting to think you died when you never called me, knucklehead. You know you could have stayed with me and Deb. Where have you even been?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he answers, “Oh, y’know. Around. I like to stay on the road, see where business takes me.” Business, or the cops and angry customers running him out of town. He doesn’t want to admit the harsh reality to his brother that he basically lives out of a suitcase and his car, though. He glances around Shermie’s shoulder to try to peer into the house, but he can’t really make anything out. “Is uh… is Sixer here?”

Shermie rolls his eyes, and Stan is laughing even before he says, “He didn’t even respond to the invite. Ma is sure that he’ll show up, but I’m not. All that schmuck cares about is grants and research. He doesn’t give a whiff about this family.” As vindicating as it is for Stan to hear Shermie talk about their brother like this, it’s also surreal. They had both looked up to him as much as any little brothers looked up to their big brothers growing up, and he had been perhaps the only older figure who treated them both kindly.

They finally shuffle away from the door and into the living room, and admittedly, it’s almost exactly like Stan remembers it. The couch, tilted on its back now, was already worn and lumpy long before he left, and behind Ma’s window seat with the dark red cushion and the 1960s pinkish-beige phone, a couple more of the blinds are broken. Nearly every surface in the room is littered with cheap decorations and paperwork of all sorts, plus all kinds of flickering candles.

“Stanford? Is that you?” He hears Ma’s shrill voice before he sees her, and his heart squeezes in his chest when his eyes land on her. She’s even skinnier than she’s always been, and her grey roots have grown out enough that he can see them clearly. When did she stop dyeing her hair? That’s not the only difference from the appearance he’s used to, either—her hair’s all down, and she’s not wearing any makeup or jewelry. Mourning has aged her more than the years have.

He swallows and tugs his hands out of his pockets, holding them up as though in surrender before he wiggles his fingers. “No, Ma. It’s me—it’s Stanley.”

Her eyes widen a little, and he thinks the only reason tears don’t immediately well up in them is because she’s cried too much the last few days. He can see how puffy her eyes are once she gets a little closer, before she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. “Oh Stanley, it’s so awful that you and your brother weren’t able to come to the funeral! It was all just so sudden. One minute I was doing the dishes while he had his morning coffee and read the newspaper, and the next second he was clutching his chest and all face-down on the table. By the time I managed to get him sitting up again he was practically blue in the face!” Stan can’t help but wince at the grisly details of his father’s death.

He’s not all that upset about the fact that he missed the funeral. For one, he doubts Pa would have wanted him there at his bedside when he was dying. He might have the same face, but he’s the wrong twin. Always will be. For two, he knows how strict Ma and Pa always were about that stuff, and the old man needed to get in the ground as soon as possible. Stan’s days blur together too much to even guess what he must have been doing when it happened.

“Gosh, Stanley, you need a haircut,” Ma hisses when she pulls away, and just as he’s about to point out the irony of the statement, she cuts him off to add, “Not now, obviously, but soon. After shloshim. Don’t you have anybody taking care of you?” He has to ponder over this for a moment. There’s the ever-present thorn in his side that nags him to point out that she was supposed to take care of him, her and Pa. The last time she bothered with that was years ago. But she’s still his mother, and he doesn’t want to fight with her. Not now.

“Where’s Sixer, anyway?” He redirects, uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. He’s been in front of her for maybe five minutes and she’s already trying to pick apart everything wrong with him. That’s mothers, though, he guesses. “His dumb school’s a whole lot closer than South Dakota, and I know that loser don’t got nobody to stay home for.” Despite the fact that he’s 25 years old, Stan has a hard time believing that his brother isn’t still in school. In fact, it’s hard to imagine Ford ever doing anything other than school with how much he seemed to care about it.

Ma only looks uncomfortable for a moment before her expression hardens and she insists, “He’ll be here, Stanley. He gets very busy with all that science stuff, y’know. Last time we talked on the phone he said he’s working on another paper.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Too busy to drive out for a few days and spend shiva with his mother? All you and Pa ever do is make excuses for Sixer because he’s ‘the only person in this family who’s goin’ anywhere,’ but all he cares about is himself. Don’t waste your hope on that fu—” Shermie coughs from a few feet away, and Stan furrows his brows at him before his head swivels and he sees his brother’s wife and a little kid coming down the hall from the bathroom. Stan can’t help but stare at the kid. He’s not exactly great with kids, and he blinks a few times while he tries to figure out where this one came from. “Holy crap kid, you got huge!” He says once he puts it together, which earns a sort of giggle from the kid. I’ll call that a win.

He squats down in front of the kid with his hands on his knees, and he’s glad that he hasn’t spent too many nights sleeping in a car to do that yet. “How old are you now, kid? 8? 9?”

He giggles again, wiping at his nose. He’s got the same button nose as his mom, not the huge nose Pines boys usually get stuck with, and a missing front tooth. “I’m seven!”

“Well hi Seven, I’m your Uncle Stan,” he says, holding a hand out toward the kid and earning another laugh. I am killing this. When the kid reaches out to shake his hand, his fingers are sticky, and his hand is probably a third the size of Stan’s.

“Uncle Stan, you’re weird,” the kid says, and Stan laughs and hauls the kid up with one arm, holding him against his side.

“If you think I’m weird, you should meet your other uncle,” he says with a little smile that fades nearly as quickly as it’d come. “Actually, don’t. That guy’s a schmuck.”

“Shhhhhmmmm-uck,” the kid repeats in consideration. “What’s a schmuck?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Deborah says, glaring at Stan and taking her son back from him. Having been his brother’s high school sweetheart, Deb’s known Stan since her last name was still Cohen and he still had pimples, and he doesn’t think she ever liked him. He grins at her extra wide, and she pulls a face.

Finally shedding his coat, Stan starts to squat to take a seat on the floor. “Oh, help me sit, Stanley,” Ma cuts in, and he blinks at her. “I’m not as young as I used to be, I can’t get up and down on the floor the way you kids can.” He wants to point out that Ma is only 50, or that there’s a short stool only a couple feet away from her, but he just helps her to the floor instead.

They sit in silence for a minute, facing each other, cross-legged, with their knees touching. It’s uncomfortable, and he wants to crawl out of his skin.

“I’m sorry about everything that happened, Stanley,” his mother says eventually, and she might as well have just punched him directly in the gut. “You know how your father is—was. I always wanted to call you and say sorry and ask you to come back, but he was just too prideful to admit that he was wrong. I’m sure he was sorry, too, though, Stanley, I’m sure.”

He stares at her for a second. For a minute, he wants to forget that his father thought he was a disappointment his whole life and that his mother is a pathological liar and just believe her. He wants to feel like a member of this family again.

But he knows Ma too well, and he can see the way her eyes just slightly shift around, the way she starts to tap her nails against each other. She’s lying. He wonders if she’s only lying about Pa being sorry, or if she’s lying that she’s sorry, too.

His eyes slide over to the window, and he sees the neon sign that lit up his whole childhood flicker on against the darkening sky through the cracked blinds. It must be at least eight o’clock by now, so he takes a deep breath and offers Ma a faker smile than any other smile in his life. “I know all that, Ma. I always figured you wouldn’t give up on me… Hey, I had a long drive. I’m gonna go hit the sack.”

“Your old room’s still got that bunk bed in it,” Shermie offers helpfully, and Stan nods and keeps up his smile as he stands and helps Ma back onto her feet. After a minute, his brother adds, “Jacob’s been sleeping on the bottom bunk in there. D’you think you could take the top?” Stan’s stomach twists. That was Ford’s bed. He’s not sure which bothers him more: the idea of trying to take his brother’s place, or having to be reminded of him all night.

“No problem,” he grunts, and shuffles back to his childhood bedroom. There’s another painful squeeze in his chest, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was having a heart attack just like Pa did. Unfortunately, he does know better.

The room is practically unchanged from when he’d left it. Some of Ford’s books are missing, most likely carted off to whatever college he ended up going to after Stan left. They didn’t have a lot of pictures in their room in the first place, most of those being reserved for the hallways and the living room, but the few pictures that are in the room are covered with cloths. He’s sure Ma did it as part of the whole mourning process, but the idea that they’ve been there for years because Ford and the rest of their family couldn’t even stand to remember he’d ever been around isn’t completely unthinkable, and he hates that.

Otherwise, though? All of his old posters are still up, and his bed is unmade just like after he’d last slept in it, though he’s sure it must be from his nephew. The old poster on the wall with his and Ford’s handprints is still hanging from three pieces of tape with one torn edge, and not far from it, their makeshift tent that they hadn’t been able to fit in since they were 12 but never took down still hangs.

He swallows down all of the feelings all of that stuff kicks up to climb up to the top bunk and collapse into it. The whole bed rattles a little, and he is reminded not for the first time how much weight he’s gained since high school. Not exactly the boxing and football champ anymore, eh Stan? When he rolls over onto his side, he’s immediately face-to-face with one of Sixer’s stupid space posters, and it takes a lot of self-control not to rip the damn thing off the wall.

He jams his eyes shut to try to just get to sleep already, but his brain fights him with an overwhelming onslaught of memories from his childhood. Running on the beach shirtless chanting Kings of New Jersey, cheating on tests in school, his brother sacrificing books for a week to act like he was grounded with him even though Ford never got in trouble for just about anything (probably because the only trouble he ever caused was under Stan’s influence, but the fact that he was Filbrick’s favorite surely had some part in it, too). He thinks about accidentally breaking Ford’s robot, and their fight, and how desperately he wishes he could just go back in time and fix the whole thing, or at least throw that damn bag of Toffee Peanuts away. He wonders what Ford must be up to now.

His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden beam of light from the door.

“And remember, don’t stay up all night reading your uncle’s science fiction books,” Shermie’s voice warns sternly.

“I won’t,” Jacob mumbles back sleepily, so quiet Stan can barely hear him. Stan lays stock-still. The last thing he wants is to keep his nephew up, too. There’s some rustling, presumably the kid being deposited in bed. “I love you Dad,” he yawns.

“I love you too,” Shermie says back, softer than Stan’s heard since he was little himself. It only makes him think about everything from his childhood more. The way Shermie always obviously loved him more than Pa did, the way he used to lug him and Ford to bed when he was a football star and they were still scrawny 11-year-olds, a year before Pa forced them into boxing lessons.

The room is silent for a little while after that, and Stan, giving up on sleep, stares up at the ceiling instead. What would his relationship with his nephew be like if he’d never been thrown out? His relationship with Shermie?

Eventually, his nephew’s tiny voice peeps up, “Uncle Stan, are you still awake?” Stan has to consider his options here carefully. He doesn’t need to get further on his sister-in-law’s bad side keeping this kid awake, but what other opportunity will he have to bond with him?

“Yeah, kid, I’m awake,” he says back, and his voice at least sounds thick enough that he could pretend convincingly that he’d gotten some sleep.

There’s some more rustling which sounds a whole lot like digging around under a pillow, and then there’s a new, wider beam of light in the room, but much dimmer. Stan smiles to himself. Ford was always the one who kept a flashlight under his pillow for late night reading, but he’d turn it on if they were up late talking, too. “These books are really cool. Were they yours?”

And of course, already the kid is more interested in Ford than he is in Stan. “Uh, no, they weren’t mine,” he says, trying not to let any bitterness leak into his voice. It’s not Jacob’s fault that he inherited the nerd gene, and just because he likes old pulp fiction books about alien invasions and super-intelligent robots doesn’t mean he’ll end up like Ford.

“They were Dad’s?” Jacob asks, with a sudden excited tone, and Stan can’t help but laugh before he realizes that all of the other adults are probably still awake down the hall.

“No no, they weren’t your old man’s, either. He was more like me growing up. We both liked football and reality TV and bee—” He cuts himself off, reminding himself that he’s in the presence of little ears. “Uh, being ourselves. Yeah. We liked all that junk. Those books were your other uncle’s.”

He can practically picture Jacob’s little eyes widening as he says, “What was my other uncle like?” Another squeeze in his chest. Another pang of guilt. He’s surprised to hear that the kid hasn’t met Ford, or that Deb and Ma don’t at least talk about Ford around him. He’s probably not the right person to tell him about him.

He takes a long time to think about it. So long that he kind of hopes the kid will have fallen asleep before he starts talking. When he listens in, though, he can still hear rapid, excited breathing. It’s like he’s about to start hyperventilating or something. Finally, he says, “He’s a no good schmuck. The only thing he cares about is himself and how weird and different he is. He didn’t even come to your grandpa’s funeral, did he?”

That guilt only wells up more, and he feels like he’s about to choke on it. He might not have the best (or any) relationship with Ford now, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about him at all anymore. “...Okay, I exaggerated a little bit,” he amends after a second. “Your Uncle Ford was an okay guy. He liked science and math and reading and all that nerd junk. He was probably the smartest guy in the world, and boy did he know it.”

Before he can say anything else, Jacob gasps and says, “Wow! I like all that stuff, too! What happened to him?”

Stan stares at the ceiling again. What did happen to Ford? What happened to both of us? How could we have shared a bedroom like this our whole lives, spent every moment together, and then wound up like this?

“I don’t know,” he says eventually, but it feels like his voice comes from somewhere far away.

There’s a moment of quiet, and Stan thinks the kid must have fallen asleep. There’s even a rustling of the blankets like he’s laid back down, before his head pokes over the edge the mattress with owlishly wide eyes, emphasized by the way he basically points the flashlight directly at his little face. “Uncle Stan, will you read me a story?”

Stan stares like he had in the living room, like he’s looking at some kind of foreign creature. So much for not keeping the kid up. “What kind of story?”

Jacob scrambles down from the bed and back up with the sort of startling speed only a seven-year-old can manage. He points the flashlight at the cover of a book titled The Finger Aliens that Eat Fingers! He can only imagine why Ford picked up that one. There’s a cartoonish alien on the cover alongside a little boy, whose whole hand is in the thing’s mouth.

Stan sighs and grunts as he pushes himself up and then climbs down the ladder. As he’s about to sit on the bottom bunk, Jacob shakes his head vehemently. “No, not there!” Stan blinks a couple of times, and when his nephew points, squints through the dark in the direction of whatever he’s pointing at. Oh.

He follows the kid over to the tiny makeshift tent and stares at it for a second. “Are you sure it’s gotta be in here, kid?” Jacob nods, and Stan sighs again. When he tries to climb in the thing, his upper body barely even fits. His shoulders and back take up all of the space where the floor would be, so when Jacob climbs in after him, he curls up on Stan’s chest and tucks his head against his shoulder.

He’s a shockingly small kid. Well, maybe Stan shouldn’t be so shocked, considering how small he was before he took up sports. Still, Stan barely even feels him laying on him, and when he brings an arm up to curl around his nephew, it’s just as much to make sure that he’s actually there as it is to hold him in place so he doesn’t slide down to the floor once he falls asleep. Jacob points the flashlight at the book and Stan takes a deep breath.

“‘My name is John, and I’m a completely normal 10-year-old boy! The most normal 10-year-old boy, in fact. My dad is fighting in the war, and I eat meatloaf for dinner every night and my mom makes Jell-O Salad for dessert on Sunday nights!’” Stan wrinkles his nose. How old is this thing? “‘The only thing that’s different about me is that I’m missing one of my pinky fingers! I’ve been missing it for as long as I can remember. Mom says I was born without it, but I’ve seen baby pictures at Grandma and Grandpa’s house that clearly show I had one then, so—’ Kid, this book is lame. Are you sure you don’t wanna read anything else?”

Jacob doesn’t answer him out loud. Instead, he just furrows his tiny eyebrows and shoots Stan a petulant pout. With a groan, he turns back to the book. “‘...so I know she’s lying. But I’m not really worried about all that! ‘John!’ Mom yells from downstairs. ‘Are you awake? The—’”

“You have to do the voices.”

“What?”

“You have to do the voices! How will I know if it’s John or Mom talking if you don’t do the voices?”

“Uh, because it says which one of ‘em is talking after every line. I’m not doing any stupid voices.”

Jacob shoots him another one of those horrible, manipulative little pouts, accompanied this time by puppy dog eyes, but Stan holds his ground. When he sees he’s not making any progress, he sighs and crosses his tiny arms over his tiny chest, sinking a little further into Stan’s side. “Dad always does the voices,” he mutters.

Stan stares at the kid for another second, and then rolls his eyes. When he starts reading again, it’s with a falsetto: “‘Are you awake? The school bus is almost here!’ ‘I’m awake, mom! But I don’t want to go to school today! There are aliens at school.’ I yell back. ‘Oh, this again, John? Now I’m not gonna hear one more word about aliens! Come downstairs and get your shoes on!’ Mom does not sound happy about that.’”

Jacob yawns in his ear, and Stan decides to take some creative liberties and flip ahead to almost the end of the book. If his nephew notices, he doesn’t complain about it. “...at him with big, wide eyes. He looks so scary and creepy and other words for scary and creepy! ‘Dad?! You’re one of The Finger Aliens that Eat Fingers?!’ ‘Yes, son. I’m a Finger Alien that Eats Fingers. You thought I was fighting in the war, but really, I was in space, doing alien things.’ ‘So… does that mean that you’re the one…’ ‘Yes. I’m the one who ate your pinky finger.’ The End.” Stan stares. Wow. Even the ending was terrible. He glances at Jacob, but his eyes are fluttered shut, his face is soft, and Stan can hear little snores tumbling out against his shoulder. Looks like I’m not going anywhere for a while.

He thinks about Ford reading this book in the middle of the night and getting a thrill out of it. Based on how terrible the thing is, he must have been practically a toddler to have enjoyed it enough to keep it. Then again, Ford could be real neurotic about gettin’ rid a’ books. When his eyes flutter shut, a yawn actually tugs at his own chest. Maybe he’s not gonna be up all night thinking about his dumb brother after all. Jacob snuggles a little closer, and Stan can feel his warm breaths against his neck. His lips crack into a small smile.

When he falls asleep, at first he dreams about Footbot, the loyal companion of his dreams who made him a champion football star. As he holds the robot in one arm and his trophy in the other, he beams at the surrounding crowd. He can see his parents in it. Pa is smiling. He can see his brothers. Shermie looks so proud, but Ford looks so angry. When Stan looks back at himself, he’s not holding Footbot and a trophy. Footbot has been replaced with the smoking, limp perpetual motion machine, and instead of a trophy, he’s holding an empty bag of Toffee Peanuts. Suddenly Ford is right in front of him.

“Why are you so selfish, Stanley? Why couldn’t you just let me have this? We can’t be together all the time anymore! I was finally going to get away from you!” The last sentence is in his own voice, and he stares in horror as instead of Ford, he stands across from himself.

His eyes snap open, and he’s immediately flooded with burning light as a sun beam shines from the window on the opposite side of the room to the opening in the tent. He tries to bring a hand up to block it, but finds that there’s a weight on his arm. He looks down to see his nephew still fast asleep on top of him. He smiles, and looks around the rest of the tent. Jacob’s flashlight looks much dimmer, and Stan can’t tell if it’s because of the daylight or because of the fact that it was left on all night. The book has fallen off of him and down to his side against Jacob’s chest.

Carefully, he slides his arm out from under the kid, just to turn and pick him up with both arms, book still sitting on his chest. His nephew may not be like him in many ways, but he sure sleeps like a rock like he does, and Stan doesn’t have any trouble depositing him in his bed and carefully pulling the unmade blanket over him. There. The fact that they stayed up late reading that terrible book can be their little secret. Speaking of which, he turns back to the tent to pick up the flashlight.

Holding it toward the corner of the room that’s still dark, he decides that this thing definitely needs new batteries. If only someone could invent a lightbulb that never dies. He flicks it off and starts creeping to the door, though he’s not quite as worried about waking the kid up as before.

He can hear Shermie snoring from Ma and Pa’s room, and he guesses it makes sense that he and Deb wouldn’t fit in his childhood bedroom and that Ma probably wouldn’t want to sleep in her marital bed anyway. He doesn’t know where Ma’s sleeping, though. Shermie’s bed, maybe? He decides to shuffle down the hall as quietly as possible just in case.

He ducks into the kitchen and sets the flashlight down on the kitchen table before his eyes catch on something on the other side of it. There’s a small box, and a note in his mother’s chicken scratch handwriting. He picks up the note first.

Stanford—

Your father wanted Stanley to have this. He said he was sure he’d need it someday. Now that he’s gone, I think you should have it. Your brother would only pawn it anyway.

It feels like he’s been punched in the gut, and he hesitantly reaches for the box. Does he even want to know what’s in this thing? What could Ma possibly trust Ford with more than him? Just about everything, probably. The thought fills him with a prickling sense of spite, and he pulls the lid off the box. It’s not like it’s wrapped, anyway. Inside is Filbrick’s trusty watch, with the worn leather strap and everything, and Stan swallows.

Of course the only thing his schnorrer of a father would leave him is a lousy watch. He bets that Shermie’ll get the house, what with his happy family and all, and maybe the pawn shop, too. And then what? Everything else’ll go to Ford no doubt. Well fine! He doesn’t want any junk from his dead father out of pity anyway.

He pockets the watch before he puts the lid back on the box and places it back on the table.

He fishes in the fridge for something to eat and takes two hard-boiled eggs, peeling the shell off one and popping it in his mouth immediately. He keeps the other in his hand for now, yanking open the junk drawer to start digging for batteries.

It’s a good, classic junk drawer. Lots of unused napkins and cheap plastic utensils from fast food places Shermie used to take Stan and Ford to once a month. It’s just one bacon cheeseburger, Ma and Pa don’t need to know, Shermie had insisted with a wink.

He finds two batteries rolling around loose in the drawer, different brands. It’s just as likely that they’re completely dead as it is that they’re full of juice, so he pops them into the flashlight and flicks it on and off a couple of times to make sure. It’s definitely much brighter now, but his eyes catch on a glint of light at the edge of the room.

Propped up on a table next to Shermie’s, there’s Sixer’s high school diploma, and Stan stares at it for a second. He never understood why his parents never put Shermie’s on the wall, and he understands even less why they didn’t put Ford’s up. Of course, it’s not like it’d make a difference for Stan either way—he didn’t get his diploma before Pa threw him out, miserably forced to drop out with only two weeks of school left.

He flicks the flashlight off and sets it on the table, trekking into the living room instead. He freezes when he sees his mother, sleeping in a half-sitting position in her window seat, head leaned against the window so her breaths fog up the glass. For a moment he contemplates picking her up and finding a bed to carry her to, but what would be the point? It’s not like she would appreciate it, anyway. Instead he stoops down to pick his coat up off the floor and fishes around in the pocket for his keys, wincing as they jangle together.

The only Jewish cemetery nearby is a half hour drive away from his parents’ house, and Stan grips the wheel of his car with white knuckles. He must be speeding at least 15 over the entire time, which is admittedly a dumb move when he’s banned from the state and all, but he cuts the drive down from 30 minutes to a little over 20.

When he finds Filbrick’s grave in the little graveyard, he stares at it for a long minute. It’s extremely simple, with his name, date of birth, date of death, the Magen David, and nothing else. There’s not even an epitaph, but Stan can’t imagine what he’d put there if he was tasked to come up with something. Here lies Filbrick Pines. He wasn’t easily impressed, especially not with his own damn sons.

He takes a deep breath. “Pa, I just don’t like you,” he says. He’d never been able to muster up the courage to say it to the old man’s face, not even when he was being thrown out on his ass.

“I never liked you. I loved you, I think, when I was a kid and I didn’t realize how bad our relationship really was. Because, Pa, you didn’t like me neither. You never did, and I still can’t figure out why.” He swallows and stoops down to pick up a rock from the ground, rubbing his thumb over it and tossing it in his hand a couple of times. “It can’t have been because I was a failure or a troublemaker because you didn’t like me even before either of those things was true. It was like I was just born wrong, and no matter what I did, nothing would fix that.”

He takes another pause to rear back and throw the stone into the distance as hard as he can, watching it sail through the air until it disappears. In some small way, it feels like a weight off his chest. He picks up another before he starts talking again.

“I thought for a while that maybe it was ‘cause you and Ma only wanted two kids, and I just came in and ruined that. Would you’ve hated Ford instead if I was the one who was born first? I mean, you gave Sixer your name for a middle name, and I ain’t even got one. Even my first name feels like you just decided one name and then piggybacked off of that for me so you didn’t have to think too hard about it. Stanford and Stanley? C’mon, Pa.” He lobs the second stone out and picks up a third. “But then I realized that you didn’t like Shermie neither. I guess I don’t really know when all that started, but I know you almost threw him out when he was 18 the same way you threw me out. I bet if he hadn’t’a gotten drafted, ya would’ve. Then he gave you a grandson, so I guess that was all fine then.”

He thinks of his nephew, flashlight tucked under the pillows and trying to stay up late to read science fiction books in secret, and he smiles. “Shermie sure did make a good kid though… He’s smart and funny… Kid’s going places for sure.” Just like Ford would have gone places if you hadn’t screwed everything up. He’d think his father was talking to him from beyond the grave or something like that if the thought didn’t hit him in his own voice, and he purses his lips. He didn’t do anything wrong! He didn’t screw up anything! He throws his third stone even harder than the last two.

“And now you’re dead. So I guess for the rest of my life I can really say with absolute certainty that you never liked me. Thanks for that, Pa. Thanks for never making me question my place in the hierarchy. I’m the worst of the worst. The black sheep. The disap-point-ment.” He rears his arm back for another throw, but before he can, he hears a voice behind him.

“Stanley?”

Every muscle in his body stiffens, and he stands frozen for a minute. He’d know that voice anywhere. Sure, it’s a little deeper than the last time they talked, but that’s to be expected. He closes his fist around the rock and turns around. “Hey, Sixer,” he says, but the nickname feels like soap in his mouth when he’s actually saying it to Ford. “Long time no see.”

He barely has time to see Ford’s slack-jawed expression of surprise before it morphs into one of blooming anger, his eyebrows furrowed, his nose crinkling, and his mouth drawing down. Stan doesn’t want to look at it, but he doesn’t want to lose some sort of unspoken challenge either, so he stares until Ford finally says, “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I was invited, dumbass,” he says, gesturing vaguely at their father’s grave. “You were, too. Have you seen Ma yet?”

Ford’s eyes dart away (victory!) as discomfort and guilt flicker over his face, before he says, “I’m not going to see Mom.”

“You really are a no good schmuck,” he huffs, and Ford looks back at him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “What, you too busy with your fancy research to check in on your mother when her husband just died? What are you even doing here? You wanna stare at a big dumb rock?”

“You couldn’t even begin to understand the scope of my research. It’s very important, and I don’t have time to waste dilly-dallying on a backwater beach in New Jersey!” Ford responds indignantly, breezing right past his comments about their parents.

“It’s very important,” Stan mocks, miming a puppet speaking with his empty hand. “You have got to be the most selfish loser in the world!”

“I’m selfish? Do I even need to remind you how we wound up here in the first place, Stanley? You have always been self-absorbed and clinging to me so you could piggyback off of my success, and the second it looked like you couldn’t do that anymore, you went out of your way to sabotage my chances at greatness! Then it all blew up in your face because you got kicked out. Well what did you expect? That you could just ruin whoever’s life that you wanted with no consequences? That you could ruin my life and we would just keep being buddies after? Really, Stanley, what are you doing here? You didn’t even like Dad. Dad didn’t even like you. He wouldn’t have wanted you here.”

“Why I oughta—” Stan starts, rearing his rock-bearing fist back for a second time. He’s not sure whether the sharp pain in his chest is from Ford’s rant or from his fist flying at his brother’s face, but either way he pulls back at the last second. Ford looks so genuinely afraid of what he’s about to do that it makes his stomach turn, and Stan’s eyes flit between him and their father’s grave.

With a sigh, his hand drops back down to his side and he plops down onto the ground. “What are you doing now?” Ford says, voice a mix of confused and annoyed.

“What does it look like I’m doin’? I’m sittin’,” he grunts back, rolling his eyes. A moment of silence passes, and then Ford sits next to him.

“...I don’t know what to say to Mom,” he admits after a long minute, and Stan looks over at him with raised eyebrows. He looks uncomfortable, like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

“I’m pretty sure you can say whatever ya want to Ma. She’s still worshipping the ground you walk on and all,” Stan says bitterly.

Ford rolls his own eyes, and he refuses to look at Stan as he continues, “If she told you that, you know it was a lie. We talk on the phone every once in a while, but it’s obvious she doesn’t really care about anything that I’m doing.” At least she calls you.

“Well what are you doing?” He asks, refusing to look over lest he seem too invested.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he says, and Stan glares at him. After a minute, Ford sighs and picks up his own rock, staring at it as he speaks. “I have this… theory… that maybe anomalies leak over to our world from another dimension. Not things like my hands, but things like… ghosts, or vampires, or the other things in folklore.”

“Okay. So you’re ghost huntin’. That’s not all that hard to understand.”

Ford rolls his eyes again. “No, Stanley, I’m not ‘ghost hunting.’ I’m doing serious scientific and mathematical research to determine the origin of weirdness and how it leaks onto earth. The problem is that there are so many different versions of every story and myth around the world that it’s impossible to figure out a place of origin.”

Stan blinks a few times and then shrugs. “Why not just pick somewhere at random? I mean, even here we’ve got the Jersey Devil. They got weird stuff everywhere.”

“We're talking about the scientific method, Stanley. I can’t just pick somewhere at random. Experiments are controlled,” Ford says, with a sort of fond annoyance that makes Stan nostalgic.

“Well I don’t think this is the sort of thing you can just math out, Sixer. Try a map or something.”

“Right, like I never considered a map,” Ford mutters, but with the way he looks away, Stan’s pretty sure he hadn’t considered a map.

They fall into another silence for a while, and Stan would like to call it comfortable, but it’s not. It’s tense, teeming with guilt and anger and unspoken apologies on both sides. There are so many things he wants to say, and he can’t figure out how to say any of them.

“Y’know, Shermie’s kid’s a whole lot like you,” he tries. That seems like an easier place to start than any sort of apology, especially when it still doesn’t feel like Ford is in a place to hear Stan apologize (let alone apologize back). With this, he can at least test the waters.

Ford raises a skeptical eyebrow, and Stan can practically hear him thinking, There’s no one in the world who’s quite like me.

For a brief moment, Stan considers rambling about how smart the kid is. He’s 7 years old and he’s already reading trashy science fiction books just like Ford was at that age, and he likes math and science. Sure, maybe Stan’s only met him the one time, but after a whole childhood with Ford he doesn’t think it takes that much exposure to recognize the signs. The kid’s a nerd—and he says that in the fond way he used to say it about his brother.

For an even briefer moment, he fantasizes about what it would be like if they were both real parts of the family again. Ford could do science experiments with Jacob and Stan could teach him how to make that manipulative pout into something useful. They’d both be terrible influences.

But then the reality sinks in that unlike him, Ford is away from their family by choice. Stan was ousted, but Ford is idolized by people who don’t even see or talk to him like he’s some sort of god or something, all because he happens to be smart and he knows it. It fills him with a renewed sense of anger, but it’s not the sort of white hot rage that he’s used to. It’s something cold and sharp and painful that settles somewhere in his chest.

Wordlessly, he stands, and he ignores the concern in Ford’s face when he says, “Stanley?” He doesn’t really care. If he cared, he’d a’ said a damn word to me in the last seven years. If he cared, he’d apologize for letting me get thrown out—for practically telling Pa to throw me out.

His thumb rubs over the rock in his hand, and he barely even hears it when Ford says his name again, even though he thinks he says it a little louder. He’s vacated his body for now, leaving a shell for anger and guilt and disappointment and feelings he can’t put a name to.

He’s just going through the motions as he settles the rock on top of the headstone at the end of an already-long line of rocks and walks back to his car, and if Ford is saying anything else to him, he can’t hear it. There’s ringing in his ears, the sort of whining hum a TV makes right after it’s been turned off. Is that what’s happening here?

He doesn’t realize that he’s not driving back to Ma’s place until he sees the “Now Exiting New Jersey” sign, and when he glances down at his hands, he’s gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, just like he had been the whole way to the cemetery. When he glances up at the rearview mirror, there are tears streaming down his face that he can hardly even feel. It’s still too early for the rush on the highway, so there are barely any cars around to bear witness to his dramatics as he slams his fist down on the horn and shouts a long string of swears.

He rolls down the window to take in a last deep breath of the New Jersey air, and it’s grounding in a weird way. There’s a sort of balmy air that he’s found unique to the Jersey shore, where the seasalt and the garbage make it feel like the air sticks to your skin, a layer of sweat formed before your body has the opportunity to start sweating. He can’t imagine a single reason anywhere else would start to feel the same way.

He glances up at the sun visor and sees the picture of him and Sixer from high school he’s had taped up since before he was kicked out, and he glares at it. He should rip it down. What’s the use of a reminder of a guy who doesn’t want anything to do with him? But when he lifts his hand up to do it, he hesitates, and he slams the sun visor closed instead, telling himself that throwing the picture away would just be letting his family win.

His father is dead and his mother can’t say she’s sorry without lying and his nightmare of a twin brother couldn’t care less about any of them, least of all Stan. He doesn’t have the remorse of a mother who let him live on the streets, or the sympathy of an older brother who abandoned him right when he most needed somebody, anybody’s support, or the spare thoughts of a twin brother he used to spend every waking moment with. At best, he’s got a seven-year-old kid who laughs at his jokes and thinks he’s weird, and that kid would drop him in a heartbeat if it meant spending a minute with his smarter, cooler uncle. The last thing they need is another win over him.

So forget about them. Forget about Jersey, forget about the Pines family—hell, forget about South Dakota! He doesn’t have anybody to answer to, so why not just drive until he doesn’t feel like it anymore? The only person he can count on is himself. Can’t trust no one.

#Darla writes #Gravity Falls #Stan Pines #Ford Pines #Grief #Family #Family Issues #Jewish Pines Family #Minor Character Death #POV Third Person

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moonstone27ls · 2 years ago

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Marvel comics...

heh small vent so don’t look into this too much.

Normally I don’t really get annoyed. At most I only really got upset when they retconned the Maximoff twins as Magneto’s. But every now and then stuff has changed that makes me go “whatttt”

I guess for starters that X-men Krakoa storyline. Has gone wayyyy too long. Too many characters which would not be so bad but too many to keep up with. And they don’t even bother catching up with the other characters. No I don’t mean the obvious main core cast. Referring to lets see I guess an example would be uhh Icarus, brother to Cannonball(to anyone who isn’t a marvel fan sorry you’re reading this and probably thinking I’m nuts). I heard some of the writers had thought of having him date Dust/ aka Sooraya Qadir. But ... as far as I know nothing has happened with his character since you know the whole resurrection crap. He’s kinda like a lot of characters they brought back, used for background maybe but no real development.

Another would be Kevin Ford/ Wither... as far as I know nothing either with that character. I dunno I thought they missed an opportunity to see if him and Selene would have interactions. Nothing, no “Oh whoa I was manipulated” or “I’m still loyal to Selene”. Then Northstar is apparently suppose to get his adopted baby resurrected... but haven’t heard a thing on that. One mention and its radio silence. I know storywise they got all these AUs, etc, etc. But so much goes on and all these new characters you forget there other X-men BESIDES the main core.

Uh not entirely fond that Marvel is apparently retiring Mary Jane as Peter’s love interest. Now before someone starts a shipping war with me. No I’m not entirely against Black Cat, no. Been use to her since the 90s.But I just you know added her in the cluster of love interests. A part of me doesn’t want them to shelve M.J. away. Just hope Marvel’s just doing this temporarily. Like how Scott/ Cyclops was with Emma Frost for a while. You’re use to the new gal but know the old love interest is just as important. I dunno I’m probably rambling sorry.

Anything else... uhh kinda find it strange that since WandaVision it seems Marvel is catering to Disney. I say seems. I only have two examples. Like how although Wanda was bettering herself and going on dates with Jericho Drumm / Doctor Voodoo... they still shoehorn in Vision. Pft... sorry Wandavision fanatics but I don’t care for Vision. That is a ship I wanna see retire, because it was always the SAME with them. Wanda loves him, he either gets reprogramed or treats her like crap Wanda goes through hell. Its why I couldn’t really like Wanda in MCU she put people in hell over a STUPID robot she couldn’t get over... not her twin brother. Her robot a robot if, he was so smart could have downloaded a copy of himself. (its been done peopleeee)

And recently Agatha’s gonna be a villain now... I admit I’m not a 100% caught up in her history comic wise. Buttt... up until hat stupid show. I always got the impression Agatha was an ally. Soo why do this now? I dunno I really don’t oO. That one felt like to cater Disney+ subscribers and I admit that irks me a little.

But oh well they need money I guess.

#marvel comics #small vent #or rant

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mycartoonmonster · 2 months ago

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No one is born a monster; that includes Bill. Like it or not.

Yeah, it was messy growing up there but that doesn't mean he hated his home and everyone in it.

I think he knew on a subsconcious level that his parents only wanted the best for him even if the way to go about it was wrong.

If Euclydia was similar to Flatland's society; his family was already in a low rank as they were all triangles. Add having a freak for a kid and you now have a lot of peer pressure on you to fit in with the rest. And Bill might have been aware that he was different (wrong in everyone's eyes; heck hes the opposed color of what mixing blue and red gets) and that was a problem for his parents but he couldn't help it.

And unlike Ford, Bill didn't have any support like Stanley was to him. And most likely suffered bullying too but he only had his mom to cry to.

Also throughout some codes and couple of sentences in the book and website, his mom, Scalene, was the one closest to him.

We have a song dedicated to Bill written by her (Rockabye Billy-it´s in the color code that briefly shows in the JUSTFITIN Video), Bill calls her first when he's drunk and sadly asks where did she go, Time Baby ticks Bill off by nearly mentioning his mother's name and he closes off the second they bring his parents as a topic of discussion in Therapy. Other instances are his fear of TV Static and dislike of 3D glasses as they remind him of his mom and dad, who he draws in therapy (prolly cause its one of few things keeping him stable)

If the death of his home and his parents meant nothing to him, would he have reacted in that way even if there was no reader to convince with a sob story in what we see in the page?

He hated how he lived there, how society treated him but not the place nor the people around him like his parents. Heck some of the stuff he says to Ford when possessing the zombies could be Bill projecting like "Oh, come on, Sixer. We both know you really dont want to be left alone. Admit it, you LOVE how important I make you feel" and "Nobody else really gets you do they? Without me, you´ll always feel unseen, surrounded by dolts who dont recognize your true potential. You´ve always felt alone in a crowd, haven´t you?Who else will give you this feeling again? Even if you got rid of me, you´d miss me. Admit it, you´d miss me" Bill even references that growing up in his dimension was tighter than Ford´s chain that restrained him, surrounded with flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams. Basically being a fish out of the water. An alien in his own home.The odd one out. The freak.

The JUSTFITIN code shows us what he truly wanted, be happy with his family and be normal, to fit in with the others.

THEY´LL SEE leads to Seeing is Believing?

And VALLIS CINERIS leads to Child Bill being held by his parents while a voice asks him "Why did you do it?" (Also its heavily implied his tophat was originally his father's and its theorized his black bowtie belonged to his mom)

The FAMILY MATTERS leads to Did I do that?

Lets not forget he did it when he was very young. Can you imagine how much trauma that is? Losing everything just for a well intentioned cool trick to show everyone he was not crazy and have it go horribly wrong ending up an orphan and being covered in their blood as a kid?

He just wanted to show them the stars

Deep down he wants what the henchmaniacs do; to go somewhere they can call home, but Bill can never return to his. He can never get that feeling of belonging again, at least not with his henchmaniacs cause their friendship isn't truly sincere.

He did find it or the closest thing to it with Ford, though.

Which could also explain why he wanted Ford back so much despite the betrayal, giving him many chances and later offering to join him in Weirdmageddon and granting him enough power to be a true god. Cause even if huge part of the relationship was Bill manipulating Ford, Bill seemed to genuinely like Ford at some extent. No matter how many his lies he spews.

Probably cause he was the closest to a true companion/friend he ever had. He didn't have any friends back home and most likely spent his entire childhood alone with no one that understood him the way Ford did. Not to mention, they were friends for a year and a lot can happen in a year, so having this special bond of being seens as freaks by society made them grow close. (Even more if we consider Ford as Bill's first ever friend-which is incredibly sad on both sides, knowing how things ended for them in canon)

Close enough for Bill to tell him what truly happened with his home, unlike with the rest of the henchmaniacs who despite their bond with Bill they are more like typical villain henchmen (with Bill mentioning in the AMA that he hates Kryptos) so Bill knows that if he can provide chaos and fun, they will stick with him. Save for the oracle, who prolly saw how messed up he was and left the gang. Its cool, he has the rest.

But Bill cannot bring his family back nor go home again but he can at least keep Ford, better as an ally but as a golden statue its just as fine.

In itself their relationship was like a more twisted and damaging yaoi version of Gideon and Mabel. Where there was genuine interest but it soon turned sour and one begun pressuring and harming the other (Gideon's case was accidental, he truly loved her he just didn't know how to get her love in healthy ways and Bill kept pressuring Ford, taking over his body and harming it as well as getting Ford into trouble as petty revenge like messing with the authorities, the Flirty Girl Tattoo, eating spiders among others like messing with his neourons and nerves to making him forget stuff or cause him unimagineable pain cause he thinks love and fear are the same and he still has his goal with the portal) but still loved them enough to give them as many chances as possible to join him and keeping them as a prized possesion with as much power as them.

Gideon despite wanting to take over the shack he still gives Mabel the chance to join him until he forces her in the S1 Finale as she was the first time he felt that kind of attraction/connection towards anyone and he doesn't seem to have many friends save for the ones he did in jail which also parallels Bill and Ford's story. Just that unlike Bill, Gideon learned to get over his pride and own desires for Mabel´s safety and love. Something Bill won´t ever do cause he refuses to recognize his mistakes and get better cause that means acknowledging his issues. That he is truly affected by what he accidently did to his family and his home, that his friends dont really care about him and that he lost Ford; that he is absolutely lonely. Cause that means recognizing that hes hurting and letting himself feel the pain of his actions, even those that were on accident, would destroy him emotionally as he's left only with these negative feelings and the reality he can't turn back time and fix things.

Bill said that no one would miss Ford if he died but the same can be said for him as he's got no family nor supporters and the Henchmaniacs seem to be doing fine without Bill after Weirdmageddon and haven't called him nor bailed him out of there. (He also projects not only on Ford but also on Pacifica who also was forced by her parents act in certain ways but deep down is a sweet kid, kinda like he was at one point. They had a similar childhood but at least his parents had good intentions and loved him deep down) (Also the "impending patternity test" could be one of the things Bill got called as when he was a kid by bullies)

He's the one who needs others not the other way around. And deep down he knows it cause he´s a monster.

But he's got no one. And its all his doing. And that's eating him inside. But refuses to admit it.

In words of an axolot;

Says he's happy

He´s a liar.

Very tired of people who continue to argue that Bill destroying Euclydia was completely on purpose and he didn’t care about anyone at all because he’s just trying to garner sympathy in The Book of Bill, despite all the supporting evidence outside of Bill’s words that allude to how deeply traumatic it was, (so many, many things about) how he loved and misses his parents, how much of a sore spot the topic is for him, how much he wants to return home but can’t, etc. in addition to how perfectly Alex and co. crafted a parallel narrative between Bill and Ford, including how they hurt the people they love out of carelessness and blind pursuit of their dreams, justifying to themselves that the people they hurt just couldn’t understand

Yes, Bill is an unreliable narrator, and that includes all the very obvious posturing that he did it all on purpose and it was actually a very good thing, that everyone loved him, that he’s NOT incarcerated or anything and that he’s still a really all-powerful being, etc etc etc. To fully believe that EVERY vulnerability he reveals is an evil manipulation tactic, and not actual character writing, you have to interpret his very prevalent denial of weakness, which continues into the conclusion of the book where he already knows he’s lost the reader and is still denying any emotional needs or trauma, as itself a lie.

There’s a reason why the Pines family cracked open this book and laughed at Bill, calling him a fractured, pathetic mess.

The Book of Bill has a plot, a great plot, and great character writing. It’s a crazy companion to Journal 3, Ford’s story. Parallel stories, but where one ends with someone healing from their trauma, coming to terms with one’s mistakes and accepting the need for human love and relationships, the other ends with one stuck forever in their layers and layers of denial, never acknowledging their own trauma, never acknowledging their need for human companionship, grasping in desperate need at their continued facade of hating to love and loving to hurt.

Bill isn’t an always-in-control sly master of the mind, he’s a delusional and desperate man, fractured by his own trauma, who will continue to hurt others to prove that he’s in control. I’m tired of the false narrative that abusers can’t have trauma, aren’t people, giving them this otherworldly status above all humanity. Aside from not being narratively or societally productive, it undermines the ending and message of the book. Acknowledging Bill’s brokenness gives his victims POWER over him. The fact that Bill needs Ford, but Ford doesn’t need Bill is powerful. Them laughing at his desperation is powerful. Looking at someone who once seemed untouchable to you and realizing they’re just a suffering meat sack like any other human being is powerful.

The ending of The Book of Bill is the demystification of Bill. The book is a real look into his mind, telling a story that’s actually very tragic. It’s a very real story, a cautionary tale. You’re not being manipulated or tricked if you feel bad, it’s a very intentional writing decision that this ending elicits that dark pity, as he desperately fades away (arts and crafts materials confiscated) saying that he’s FINE.

So yeah, The Book of Bill and the website are a masterwork of the character, I love them, they’re incredible, and I don’t want to see such a tight character story discredited as “you can’t believe ANY of it!”

#gravity falls #bill cipher #the book of bill #book of bill #gravity falls analysis #the book of bill analysis #bill cipher analysis #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #character analysis

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v0ltpr1m3 · 2 years ago

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Today I bring you all a treat! Me and @yapixx have technically been working on this theory for years so when I tell you we have decent faith in this theory, we really do.

The theory we pose to you today is that The Man in the Wall and Dominus Thrax are one in the same, and that the "Paradox" in "Duviri Paradox" is specifically a Predestination Paradox (or causal loop).

This was developed over the span of several long nights spent analyzing the Duviri trailers frame-by-frame, typed up all nice and pretty for you here by the wonderful and fantastic Yapixx. I promise it isn't too long, enjoy!

The Duviri Paradox has been a point of confusion in Warframe lore since its debut trailer in Tennocon of 2019 ; Oftentimes left out of discussions entirely as a future mission that may reveal some more mysteries when it comes out. However, we suspect that in the first twenty minutes of the quest revealed during the latest Tennocon, DE already left enough information to piece together a lot of hanging threads in Warframe. Who The Man in the Wall is, how the Tenno's void powers were born, and what the Paradox in Duviri is.

Before we explain our theory, a mini-theory that’s important to our thesis working requires you to believe that Dominus Thrax is the Man in the Wall. Starting anecdotally, Thrax’s mannerisms are those of an immature child playing with toys. An immature child who gets entertainment and glee from the suffering of others. See how MITW (Man in the Wall) acts in all of their canonical appearances. Childish, menacing, who enjoys seeing us hurt ; Eg. After The Sacrifice when their only response to the Operator’s guilt over the murder of Isaah was “Good.” Also the fact that Dominus Thrax has full power over Duviri. “My world, my rules.” That wouldn’t make sense if he wasn’t The Man in the Wall because Mr. Wall, who came out of the Duviri portal in The New War, has that kind of power.

To really help the theory that Dominus Thrax could be in general another character comes from an interview by pcgamer. “Duviri is ruled over by Dominus Thrax, a king whose very mood shapes the world each day and the person keeping the Drifter there, who Ford hints may be more familiar than they seem.” Although it isn’t entirely damning, Dominus Thrax is allegedly an already known character, and The Man in the Wall fits as the best candidate.

Now to the fun bits.

We believe that the Duviri Paradox is actually a Predestination Paradox, or a causal loop. Lifted from Wikipedia for the sake of definition, "A causal loop is a theoretical proposition in which, by means of either retrocausality or time travel, an event is among the causes of another event, which is in turn among the causes of the first-mentioned event. Such causally looped events then exist in spacetime, but their origin cannot be determined." To put simply, it's when an event from the future causes itself to happen.

I believe that this is exactly what happens in The Duviri Paradox, further helped by our Drifter exhibiting the power to time travel in the void using a portal to the derelict starter frames. At the start of the demo, we first see the Drifter get stabbed with the Paracesis from New War, followed immediately by the Lotus' hand hitting the ground like a comet. They then use the Lotus' power to create color and change Duviri. Hijinx then ensues, but most importantly, the Drifter has the Lotus' hand. Dominus Thrax's final words in this demo are "Maybe I should just go there [the Origin System] myself." During New War, we get to see the deal that our Operator made with The Indifference (Man in the Wall). Confusingly at the time, the Indifference uses the Lotus' hand to shake ours. Then plays a scene that ends with our Operator still on the left, now shaking hands with our Drifter instead. Which didn't make sense. Until you apply the knowledge that the Drifter had the Lotus' hand in Duviri. And then it could be seen that instead of the Man in the Wall granting their own powers to us, he was using the hand that the Drifter had to grant the Lotus' powers to us. Thus beginning the loop where the deal gets struck due to an event in The New War, and the deal being struck is what led to The New War in the first place.

#Warframe #The Duviri Paradox #The Man in the Wall #Dominus Thrax #thank you all for your attention! even a skim is greatly appreciated :)

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jschllatt · 4 years ago

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𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 | 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

Prompt: (Based off of the song I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys) Clay’s recent fame leads to a difficult decision to be made. Months later, he’s still regretful. You seem to be fine, so why can’t he move on, too?

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, slight angst

Pairing: Dream x GN!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Masterlist

I spent a week on this and idk how I feel about it but I hope you enjoy <3

Clay had been consumed by an overwhelming emptiness, his entire body hollow as the lack of your presence took its toll.

Two months. Two devastating months had passed since he’d made a grave mistake, and now he was facing the agonous repercussions. He was a mess—anyone could see it. Between his long, disheveled hair, the light scruff that covered his face, and his bloodshot eyes, it was clear that Clay’s mind had been somewhere else. And it had been. Every passing second was a constant reminder of his solitude, causing the emptiness in his heart to evolve into a deep, incessant void, no longer inhabited by the happiness you had ingrained in him just months before. Why? Clay was overcome with a sense of deep regret as a result of your absence, feeling more alone than he ever had before. What could have possibly happened to make him feel this way? To make you leave? The answer was rather simple—he was just too damn busy.

Clay had dedicated a considerable amount of time to his career, filming or streaming during the little free time he had. As he grew more popular, the time that you had spent in each other’s presence dwindled significantly, each day becoming lonelier than the last. Your interactions with him had shortened drastically—what were once long, lingering kisses placed on your forehead had devolved into chaste pecks, void of any true care or meaning. While you understood entirely that Clay’s career was important, you found yourself slowly losing hope.

You realized it one day as he was filming.

It was a day no different from the last. Clay was recording a Manhunt video in his office, his voice shrill as he begged his friends for mercy. He was always loud when he filmed, and though you had chastised him for it countless times, he never listened. A loud sigh escaped your lips, going unheard, and you shifted your position on the couch, uncomfortable. Everyday seemed to be the same—each as lonely and frustrating as the last. Clay’s ignorance only fueled your apathy towards your relationship more, and you couldn’t help but find yourself growing hopeless at the thought of Clay being unaware of your unhappiness. Your troubled thoughts continued until a week had passed—a long, grueling week in which you had hopelessly tried to burrow your apathetic thoughts. But you couldn’t. You were giving up. The realization of your unhappiness made a pit grow in your stomach. You knew that you cared about Clay, but you couldn’t keep living the way you were—tired, unacknowledged, pitiful.

And so, you let him go.

Clay was editing by the time you gathered the courage to face him, your stomach nauseous as you approached his office door. A light knock signaled your presence, and Clay muttered a quiet ‘come in,’ his voice raspy after hours of unuse. Blowing out a breath, you entered the room, your expression sullen upon noticing Clay’s inattentiveness. His eyes were still glued to his monitor, deeply focused on editing rather than your presence. You waited for a few seconds, silently hoping he would pay you any mind, but he didn’t. A wave of disappointment washed over you, though you managed to keep your voice steady as you declared, “We should break up.” Clay tensed in his seat, suddenly fixated on your words rather than the hours worth of footage he was editing. His chair turned with a quiet squeak as he swiveled around to face you. “What?” You sensed the subtle indignation of his tone as he squinted confusedly at your abrupt words. “We should break up.” You were much quieter this time, unable to meet his eyes as your words died silently in the tense air. You wrung your hands together anxiously as you leaned back on your heels, feeling awkward under Clay’s intense gaze. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just stayed quiet and dealt with it. Maybe—

“Okay.”

Immediately, your eyes flickered up to meet his, filled with a silent desperation as you searched his emerald irises for any indication of his intentions. Nothing.

“Okay?”

Clay remained silent for a moment, his body stiff as he leaned back in his noisy chair. His expression was inscrutable as he stared at you blankly, trying to find the right words to say as he watched your face remain solemn at his confound brevity. His voice was level as he spoke, “I know I’ve been busy lately. We haven’t spent a lot of time together and that’s my fault. I could sit here and promise to change, but we both know I can’t—not right now.” Though you felt your heart shatter, you knew he was right. His job was too important, too time consuming.

A nod signaled your understanding and you turned to leave, feeling overwhelmingly dejected.

“Hey.” You turned around to meet Clay’s eyes, noticing the hurt that was settled in them. “I hope you know I care about you.” You fought the urge to cry and shot him a watery smile, struggling to keep your tone unwavering as you agreed, “Me too.”

Two months had passed.

Clay had been struggling. Everyone knew it—his friends, family, even his fans. It was clear that the once cheerful, happy man had become melancholy, suddenly depressed and unable to hide his unhappiness on camera. There had been numerous speculations of why this was, but only few knew the truth. Sapnap was among one of them and had been staying at Clay’s for the past month, creating content with his best friend while simultaneously making sure he was okay. Though two months had passed, Clay was still a mess. Perhaps it was because it hadn’t hit him that day. He had momentarily convinced himself that his career was more important than you, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true. He wanted so desperately to reach out to you, but assumed you had moved on—another incorrect belief of his. Clay cooped himself up in his home, never leaving unless it was urgent. He had sunken into a deep depression and the only remedy for his pain was you. You. He treated you so poorly. Everyday was a constant reminder of your absence and it was his fault. He could’ve made more time for you, or at least spent the free time he had with you.

Remorseful thoughts ran through his head everyday, nearly driving himself crazy, and Sapnap knew he needed to get Clay out of the house.

“There’s a party tonight, I think we should go.” Clay immediately denied the offer with a shake of his head, grumbling to himself. His best friend sighed indignantly, blowing out a breath of frustration before stating, “You don’t have a choice, you need to get out of the house.” Sapnap stood his ground, arms crossed as he stared at Clay sternly. A minute had passed and Clay, aware of his best friend’s stubbornness, gave in begrudgingly, “Fine, but only for an hour.” Sapnap grinned triumphantly, exiting the room with a smirk. He slammed the door behind him, heading back to his room while yelling, “And shave, for fuck sake.” Clay shook his head, cracking a small smile at his friend’s words.

The party was overwhelming to say the least. Bodies swarmed the crowded living room, reeking of alcohol and sweat. Music blared from a speaker, a shrill, nearly deafening melody that was sure to give Clay a headache by the end of the night. The room was buzzing with conversation, every word drowning out in the loud atmosphere. Almost immediately, Clay was passed a beer, and he lifted the bottle to his lips to take a swig. If Sapnap was going to make him stay here, he may as well take some edge off while doing so. A few minutes had passed and he finished the bottle, discarding it in a bin nearby. “I’m gonna go get another drink.” Clay muttered to Sapnap, who was talking loudly to a group of people he’d recognized. His best friend patted his back in response, chuckling as he gave him a playful shove towards the kitchen. Stumbling through the drunken crowd, Clay soon broke free as he neared his destination. He grabbed a beer, opening it skillfully off of the edge of a table, and turned around wordlessly. Taking a big sip, he hoped to free his mind from thoughts of you. Though he wasn’t one to drink, especially when upset, Clay knew that, aside from you, alcohol was the only other solution to temporarily mask his pain. He’d already drank half before he warned himself to slow down, knowing that if he got too drunk, he’d probably do something he regretted. Turning around so he could rejoin Sapnap, Clay nearly dropped his drink on the floor, feeling his heart drop.

His eyes met yours. And then, he heard the music.

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Breathin’ in your dust.

Clay felt his breath hitch in his throat, noticing the surprise in your eyes as you stared at him, astonished. As he stood there, staring at you shamelessly, he regretted it—everything. He regretted how he neglected you, ignored you, prioritized all of the wrong things when the only right thing in his life was right in front of him: you. Memories flashed before his eyes, quick and familiar, yet saddening all the same. The way you smiled at him from across the room when he was filming, the way you held him when he was stressed, the way you spoke to him, softly, while he was streaming to check up on him. Everything.

I wanna be your Ford Cortina

I will never rust

You looked away, suddenly nervous, though the eye contact was all-too-familiar. You felt your heart begin to race as you processed every detail of Clay’s face—from his anxious expression to the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like a mess. But so did you. You mirrored most of his tired, dejected qualities because you, too, were hurting.

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

Snapping you out of your daze, you felt a tug on your arm. “Hey, you alright?” Your friend asked worriedly. Nodding briskly, you muttered a quiet ‘yeah’ and smiled in a poor attempt to sound convincing. Seconds passed, and you could still feel the intensity of Clay’s burning gaze as your friend tugged you through the crowd, handing you a drink in the process. You dared to look up, instantly locking eyes with Clay, and swallowed thickly. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, not when he was looking at you like that—desperate, longing.

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Lifting up the red solo cup to your lips, you downed its contents quickly, eliciting a few laughs and impressed hollers from your friends. You were never the type to drink, but you felt that it was necessary, especially when you knew Clay was still staring at you intently. Downing another shot, you risked glancing up towards Clay, but he was gone. Suddenly anxious as a result of his absence, you surveyed the room. Nothing. “I’m gonna go get a drink.” You said before you could stop yourself, not giving your friends the chance to answer you before you ventured into the kitchen. You tried to dodge the swaying, drunken bodies as you made your way quickly into the room, frowning upon entry. Clay wasn’t there either. You sighed, frustrated, and grabbed a beer, struggling to open it. You nearly laughed at your incompetence, feeling sadly nostalgic despite the humor you found in your struggles—Clay had always opened your beers, then teased you for being incapable. You fought back an onslaught of tears at the memory and sighed deeply, leaning against the table with your head in your hands.

Secrets I have held in my heart.

“Hey.” Your body jolted at the sound of his voice. Daring to turn around, you felt your chest constrict at the sight of him clutching your now-opened beer, a sad smile plastered on his tired features.

Are harder to hide than I thought.

“Hey.” You breathed. Clay passed the beer to your shaking hand, trying to ignore the way his fingers brushed against yours. Chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously as he tried to find the right words to say, Clay admitted, “I’m sorry.” A few quiet moments passed, though they felt like an eternity, and you replied simply, “Don’t be.” You tried to hide the tremor that shook your arm as you took another swig of your beer, noticing how Clay’s face fell in sudden disappointment. What? Did you say the wrong thing? You didn’t want Clay to feel guilty, to blame himself for your failed relationship though it was mostly his fault. Why? Because you cared about him. You could immediately sense the despair that washed over him. And, though you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the pure adrenaline from the moment, you hugged him.

Maybe I just wanna be yours

I wanna be yours

Clay tensed at your touch, wondering if the beer had gotten to him or if this really was happening. It was. He soon wrapped his arms around your waist, grip purposeful as he tugged you into him. Your head rested against his chest, the steady thumping of his heartbeat in your ear far more of a melodic sound compared to any music you’d ever listened to.

Wanna be yours

Clay swayed the two of you softly, resting his chin atop your head. You clung to him tightly, shutting your eyes as he held you, gentle. “I missed you so much.” You admitted before your mind could even process it. Clay chuckled, lowering his head so his lips were close to your ear, “I missed you more, baby.” You tried to fight the grin that plastered itself on your face as you took in his words, squeezing his torso with such force you were sure he’d explode. Clay went to speak again, caressing your sides so gently you could barely feel it, before being interrupted.

“Holy shit, there you are, dumbass!”

Sapnap.

Clay pulled away from you to glare at his best friend, trying to ignore the shit eating grin on Sapnap’s face as he glanced at you. “My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt...whatever the hell I just interrupted. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, but you clearly are.” Before either of you could respond, he left, shooting his friend a thumbs up before disappearing into the crowd. You couldn’t help but laugh at the interaction, noticing the slight rosiness Clay’s cheeks had suddenly sported, embarrassed. “Sorry about that, he…” Clay struggled to find the perfect word to describe his best friend, but trailed off. “Yeah.” You agreed, seemingly understanding what he meant despite his silence. Clay laughed, then. The sound was music to your ears, and when his smile faded, the two of you were serious again. Clay’s hand found refuge in yours as he began to speak, his face solemn as he confessed, “I lied. I can change. I will right now if you want me to—I’d do anything for you.”

Wanna be yours

You smiled lovingly at the man, interlocking the fingers of his hand that wasn’t already occupied in yours, and pulled him closer to you, wanting him near.

Wanna be yours

“Deal.”

#dream imagine #dreamwastaken imagine #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream angst #dreamwastaken angst #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt angst

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wazzappp · 7 months ago

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A FEAST. A BANQUET BEFITTING A LORD. HOLY S H I T. who do I have to fight to get you more 4 day weekends dude I'll do it. I'll fucking do it. I wont hesitate betch.

/--Chris would probably dismember them both and cremate them in an oil drum. Heck, he could probably skip the cremation step and just leave their corpses in the house. No one would find them for years./

The whole Chris introduction is GREAT. Yeah no theres a healthy fear for the man who punches boulders into submission thats fair thats very fair. But also ROBBIE. HE. YOU CANT. YOU WONT GO DOWN IF YOU GET SHOT YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT??? the boy being oblivious is. my fucking favorite thing. And you write it SO well theres so many great little 'wink wink' moments in this it has me CHEWING MY FINGERNAILS OFF AAGGHHHHH. Deadpool breaks the fourth wall but you play tennis with it dude and that is SO impressive.

/Mr. Redfield seemed like he wanted to appear harmless. He generally arrived in a nondescript rental car, biceps straining the sleeves of his polo shirt, bearing some comics or Cholula hot sauce or something else he thought would endear him to them./

CHOLULA MY BELOVED peak hot sauce I fight and die on this hill >:] Ah yes, ridiculously ripped Chris is quite the important plot point. Dude is just built different. Built Ford Tough. Absolute UNIT of a man.

Robbie going into a full dissertation mentally about how bikes work and comparing them to cars was so fucking funny to me. Like yes my dude this is the most important thing to be thinking about at this very moment good job.

/“It’s big,” he remarked.

“The seat’s not hard to adjust.”

Crap. Mr. Redfield must think Robbie was complaining./

OH HE JUST LIKE ME. HE JUST LIKE ME FRFR.

/Robbie was already sprinting around the Tacoma, between the endless shrubs, down the rocky slope after Gabe, who was hurtling toward the ocean at ten, fifteen, twenty miles an hour—toward the ocean and the rough cliffs that led down to it./

Press X to doubt about the speed dude but also PANIK. Yeah no I could see how that would freak him tf out; no idea what your little brothers newfound capabilities limits are (I feel like I fucked up that grammar a little but whatever) and he just goes NYOOOOOOM.

/“Whoa, little dude, safety first,” Mr. Redfield called, waving the boxed helmet in one hand as he overtook Robbie without obvious effort. Maybe he was some kind of bioweapon./

FIRST OF ALL: DONT FUCKING TEMPT ME, IVE THOUGHT ABOUT IT. SECOND OF ALL: AHA. AHAHAHAHA. HAHAHAHAAAAA. pot calling the kettle black moment. THIRD OF ALL: llololol lmfao being made of fungus cant fix your poor cardiorespiratory health dude. Hop on a bike and get on that shit <33

/Robbie grasped desperately for some way to explain his panic besides, every time you show me something new you can do I get scared you’re possessed again./

OK O W YEAH THATS PRETTY. OW. FUCK. OK.

/“If you cracked your head open I’d be so sad I might die.” Then Gabe slumped and let Redfield tighten the chinstrap according to the diagrams./

If he cracked his head open it would probably fix itself in about a week but theres no need for him to know that yet :] also FJDKSLF:JKDSLJFKLDS THATS ONE WAY TO CONVINCE HIM LOL

Oh my GOD. The whole bit about Jack teaching him how to ride, Eveline treating him like a toy. AGH. Its so so very cool that he can ride a bike now but the CIRCUMSTANCES. REQUIRING 'DECONTAMINATION' HOOGHHHS. AAAAAAAAA. FUCK. Oh boy Robbies separation anxiety is about to be put through the fucking ringer isn't it. Congrats, he can now very quickly and easily leave not just your area of sight but your area of HEARING. The 'are you fucking kidding me' was well earned Chris XD

/Why was he acting shocked. He’d read their file. Foster kids couldn’t haul bikes from home to home. “Who was gonna teach me?”

“Me,” Redfield muttered. “Now. Apparently.”/

Don't make me emotional about them oh my god. oh my GOD. I gotta. Bonding session bike riding drawing time. Fuck. Come on Chris talk about teaching Claire how to ride a bike. Discussing your younger sibling with him would make leaps and bounds in your relationship. Hnnnggjdkflsa get cared for idiot. Get CARED FOR.

/“Is it a requirement?” Robbie checked.

“No, not like firearms training,” Redfield said, confirming one of Robbie’s previous suspicions and raising more questions at the same time. “But I figure you want to keep up with him.”/

Yayyyyyyyy being groomed into a weapon momenttttt just slightly more humanely I guess. At least he has Chris instead of Krauser lol.

Anyway, I need to turn your writing into soup so I can drown myself in it thank you

Ghost Rider/RE7 AU fanfic: Skills

Follows directly from this fic. Set in @wazzappp's Ghost Rider/RE7 fusion AU, during the period that Robbie and Gabe are living in an isolated BSAA-provided safe-house, watched by intelligence agents and also by Chris Redfield.

At least until the thing with Mia, Ethan Winters and Chris Redfield seemed to be friends, and Ethan seems to have looked up to Chris. I don't see this happening with Robbie. Not to say anything bad about Chris -- I'm not familiar enough with his character -- but his wiki page has his full career and this man has spent twenty years professionally shooting things. I just don't see Robbie getting that cozy with him, not without a long adjustment period.

Anyway, here Chris is being friendly. He's got a soft spot for orphans.

Mr. Redfield (like hell was Robbie going to call the private military contractor on whose word they had been extrajudicially deported to a Spanish-speaking country under false Mexican passports, and who had probably trained the guys who trained the guys who disappeared people for the cartels down south, “Chris”) showed up a couple times a month to supervise Robbie practicing with his illegal BSAA-issued firearms and make nice with Gabe. Gabe liked Chris. Robbie had to let them think he liked Chris, because if Chris ever decided that Robbie and Gabe were more trouble than they were worth, presumably as witnesses against Cutting-Edge Health Connections or whoever it actually was that had snatched Gabe up for his life-saving experimental “therapy,” then Chris would probably dismember them both and cremate them in an oil drum. Heck, he could probably skip the cremation step and just leave their corpses in the house. No one would find them for years.

Career-choice aside, Mr. Redfield seemed like he wanted to appear harmless. He generally arrived in a nondescript rental car, biceps straining the sleeves of his polo shirt, bearing some comics or Cholula hot sauce or something else he thought would endear him to them. Today, he trundled down the miles-long gravel drive to the house in a Toyota Tacoma. Robbie didn’t know they sold those in Spain. As he approached, Robbie spotted something mechanical and spindly in the truck bed, which resolved itself into a pair of bicycles.

“Got something for you two,” Mr. Redfield announced, getting out and lowering the tailgate. He vaulted into the bed, and motioned for Robbie to grab the bicycles as he handed them down. Robbie had to take a moment to identify a secure place to grip them; bicycles were about 80% moving parts. Robbie steadied them both awkwardly by the handles to keep them from toppling over, and Mr. Redfield jumped down with a large brightly printed box under each arm. “Casco para Bici de Montaña” and “Casco Juvenil para Bici,” the glossy boxes read. The price stickers were still in place; the helmets had each cost over fifty euros.

Mr. Redfield waved for Gabe to come over, and Gabe ran up and grabbed his helmet with both hands—“Is that for me? Do I have to give it back? Does Robbie get one?”—while Mr. Redfield used his foot to depress a metal brace near the bottom of the frames that allowed each bike to stand upright so Robbie could let go of them.

“They’re a little old-fashioned and I had to guess on the sizes,” Mr. Redfield apologized, gesturing to the bikes. “I figure they should be good enough to have some fun on, though.”

Robbie couldn’t guess what about these bikes was old-fashioned; the paint and seats had a few scrapes and there were stickers plastered to the frame of the smaller bike, but they both had actual shocks with springs and pistons and everything. Each handle had its own cluster of levers and cables. Robbie wasn’t stupid, he knew a bike was basically a big pair of gyroscopes that steadied you as they rotated and he could deduce that the levers and gears and chain served the same purpose as a manual transmission for whatever fraction of a horsepower a human’s legs produced, but understanding how one worked and actually operating one were very different. These weren’t the small one-speed bikes his peers back home might meander along the city sidewalks or pull wheelies on; these looked like the kind grinning sweaty white people rode down mountains on TV commercials for allergy medication. The saddle on the larger bike was taller than Robbie’s hip. If he tried to sit on it, neither of his feet would touch the ground. “It’s big,” he remarked.

“The seat’s not hard to adjust.”

Crap. Mr. Redfield must think Robbie was complaining. Robbie had no opinions about bicycles—no, maybe he did. Bikes were quiet, inexpensive to operate, difficult to conceal tracking devices on, simple to repair, and while they couldn’t compete with cars on the freeway, they were the next best thing for long-distance travel. And they didn’t require ID or registration. If the BSAA had meant to trap Robbie and Gabe in this off-grid house, maybe Mr. Redfield was offering them a plausibly deniable escape. Or maybe he was just irresponsible. That left only the major problem. “Gabe doesn’t know how to ride a bike.”

Mr. Redfield made as though to punch Robbie in the shoulder, and Robbie flinched before he could stop himself. Redfield completed the punch slower, lightly, the same way he insisted on manually adjusting Robbie’s posture when he supervised firearms practice, like he was doing Robbie some kind of favor by pushing his tactile boundaries. “Well, lucky he’s got you for a big bro, huh?”

“Uh, about that,” Robbie started, then froze when he heard a crumbly hiss of tires on sand, and a scream moving rapidly downhill. “¡Ay! Gabe!”

“Thought you said he didn’t know—” Mr. Redfield started, but Robbie was already sprinting around the Tacoma, between the endless shrubs, down the rocky slope after Gabe, who was hurtling toward the ocean at ten, fifteen, twenty miles an hour—toward the ocean and the rough cliffs that led down to it.

“Gabe! Stop!” Robbie stumbled on a loose rock and gasped for air. “Gabe!”

“Whoa, little dude, safety first,” Mr. Redfield called, waving the boxed helmet in one hand as he overtook Robbie without obvious effort. Maybe he was some kind of bioweapon. “Come on back here, let’s get this fitted.”

Gabe arrested his headlong course toward certain death by some kind of miracle, and turned his bike around a mere five hundred yards from the cliff. (It looked closer from Robbie’s perspective.) He stood up on the pedals to put his weight into climbing back up the hill, just like he’d had full use of his legs his entire life, before swinging down off the bike and walking the rest of the way, panting. Robbie wheezed and braced his hands on his knees when they reached each-other.

“Cliff,” Robbie managed. “Gabe. Don’t go down the cliff.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Gabe protested. “That’d be stupid.”

“I know, I know you’re not stupid. But.” Robbie grasped desperately for some way to explain his panic besides, every time you show me something new you can do I get scared you’re possessed again. “This ground is a bad surface for braking. You could skid and lose control at high speeds.”

“I want to try on my helmet,” Gabe said, passing his bike to Robbie as he jogged up to where Mr. Redfield was opening the box. Robbie watched closely as Redfield set the helmet on Gabe and stuck little strips of foam to the inner rim wherever Gabe said it chafed him. Gabe kept trying to loosen the chinstrap until Robbie admonished, “If you cracked your head open I’d be so sad I might die.” Then Gabe slumped and let Redfield tighten the chinstrap according to the diagrams. Redfield was following the English language instructions, but Robbie noticed that he’d had to turn to the middle of the guide pamphlet to find them. The front pages were all in Spanish.

“Thought he didn’t know how,” Mr. Redfield remarked, not bothering to lower his voice despite Gabe being right there.

“Uh,” Robbie said. He still knew almost nothing of what Gabe’s life had been like while the Connections had had him, but he doubted it had included many outdoor activities. Gabe was looking away, picking at a sticker on his bike’s handlebars. “He was...away...for a while.”

“Daddy Baker taught me,” Gabe explained. His voice was quiet. “He taught Evie first. Then me. She really liked it, she made me ride for her after she got too old.”

Robbie swallowed. “You, uh. Are you happy to have your own bike now?”

“Yeah.” Gabe was still absorbed peeling off the previous owner’s stickers, but Robbie watched Mr. Redfield watching his brother with a blank, analytical expression. “Evie was really sad she couldn’t play with her real body anymore. She was nicer when I let her play with me.”

Did Gabe mean play together or play with, like a toy? Hopefully Mr. Redfield would assume Gabe meant the first one, because the second option might have left traces that might require more aggressive decontamination. “I’m really proud of you for learning how to do this,” Robbie said, trying to change the subject. “But you gotta tell me before you go out riding, okay? And stay where I can see you. I don’t want you getting lost again.”

“I wasn’t lost, I was turned around,” Gabe protested.

Mr. Redfield laughed. “Great comeback. Okay, dude. To keep from getting turned around, you just look for your major landmarks. Right here, that’s the water, that’s always gonna be South. You climb up the nearest hill, and you look for either a downhill slope, a river, or the sea itself, and you can figure it out from there.”

“See?” Gabe said, raising one eyebrow at Robbie.

Are you fucking kidding me. Robbie glared helplessly at Mr. Redfield. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now you two can do some sight-seeing. Or,” he said, winking, “zip into town for groceries in an emergency.” What was that wink for. Was Redfield trying to warn and prepare Robbie for something, or just playing Friendly Paramilitary Babysitter? “Don’t act too excited, now.”

“Right, thanks,” Robbie said. “I, uh. I rode a motorcycle once. Bike can’t be that different?”

Redfield frowned. “You never rode a bike?”

Why was he acting shocked. He’d read their file. Foster kids couldn’t haul bikes from home to home. “Who was gonna teach me?”

“Me,” Redfield muttered. “Now. Apparently.”

“Is it a requirement?” Robbie checked.

“No, not like firearms training,” Redfield said, confirming one of Robbie’s previous suspicions and raising more questions at the same time. “But I figure you want to keep up with him.”

“Yeah.” Ahead of them, Gabe mounted his new bike again and squiggled back and forth up the hill toward the driveway. “Thanks.”

#SNARLING BITING SCRATCHING RAAAGGHHHGHHGHGH #im really normal about this dude #I do not think you understand how incredibly happy i am that you like this au. it is a debilitating amount of joy <3 #ghost rider re7 au #robbie reyes #gabe reyes #i just got way too into this over the past two weeks. procrastinating other stuff #<- wanna... procrastinate more O_O #hahahahahaaha jk jk jk jk..... unlesssss *-*#fic rec #im serious. Read it. i am no longer asking 🔫

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nalledimessi · 4 years ago

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Secret Dating

Hello there my friends. I know I have been absent from tumblr but don’t doubt I’m here. Well, this is my contribution to @idkhaylijah 3k Celebration, the prompt that I select its Secret dating and those who know me they know why I pick it up, so I hope you like it. @idkhaylijah you deserved it, congrats friend and let’s go for more. @elijahs-wife thank you once again for expertise on the smut part.

· Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Winchester!Sister

· Words: 1.8k

· Warning: Smut, +18 readers only. Overload of gif and just one curse word.

He clear his throat getting your attention “Another hunting trip?” his arms cross over his chest lean on the garage doorway.

“It seems” you answer him throwing your duffel bag on the back of your 1960 Ford Mustang “I would go and investigated”

He point behind him in direction to the bunker “Did you told Sammy about it?”

You sighed annoy, but knowing he was only doing what your father demand, always take care of you and Sammy “Yes, Dean I did”

He walk to open the door for you “Do you need backup?”

“I think I can handle a simple ghost by my own” you answer him a cocky tone in your voice, watching him frown and getting inside the car.

He close the door for you and lean on the car window “Just be safe kiddo” he express while he squeeze softly your shoulder.

“I will” you nod to him starting the engine “I will give you a call when I found a place to stay” you announce to him.

“Don’t doubt to call, no matter the time” he remind you.

You give him a smile, no matter how annoy he can be, he was your big brother “I won’t. Love you Dean”

“Love you too kiddo” he stand and tap the roof of your car, before see you out of the garage.

He pass the library rattling on to himself catching Sam attention “is she gone again?” he call to late watching him pass by, making him sigh.

“Hey, what?” he question popping his head out.

“Is she gone again?” he repeat his question.

“Yeah, again for the 4th time this month” coming in sight thought the entrance “I’m telling you Sam” looking to his brother seriously “she is hidden something and I would find out what” he manifest resuming his way.

“Dean, please” he begs him before standing of the chair and following through the bunker.

———

His phone ring for the third time today, taking it out of his pocket showing Rebekah name writing on the screen. “Where the hell are you?” she shout at the other end of the call.

“I see you wake up on the wrong side of the bed” he state to her.

“You would be the same if you were left to deal with Nik” she shout again “alone, let me add” his British accent remarked.

“Nothing you can’t deal by your own dear sister” he express walking towards the door and out to the cover porch.

“This is what?” she stop to allow him to answer but rush to finish “the 4th bloody time this month Elijah! What it’s so damn important to tortured me this way” prompting bitterly.

He took a deep breath watching your car drive towards the paved garage, a grin appear on his lips as soon he saw you “I have business to take care Rebekah” walking down the 2 steps of the front porch “I have to go. I would be back by the weekend” he finish the call turning off his cellphone, avoiding more interruption.

She huff when the line went dead reclining in her bed “Bloody hell”

“Our brother have a little secret Rebekah” coming inside her room and making himself comfortable in the couch “don’t tell me you’re not dying to know what it’s” he teased her giving her a smirk “or who she is” making her stand to seat on the bed.

“What are you talking about Nik?” refusing with his head.

“It’s not obvious?” he bragged “he is constantly checking his phone, going out of town for business and that goofy smile on his face all the time” he declared to her.

“Oh my god!” she shout realizing the change in Elijah this pass few months, no matter the treat that knock on their door, he was cheerful.

“Are you coming sister?” he question her standing up and walking out of the room.

Standing from the bed “I will go just with you to avoid a massacre” following him.

———

Shutting the engine, you reach for your duffel bag to then walk directly to him throwing your arms over his shoulders and placing your hands on the back of his neck “I miss you”

He entangle his arms in your waist and lean to kiss you “I have miss you too” placing his hand on your neck to deepening the kiss.

You settle your hand on his chest and pull apart gently “We have company” you whisper blush, nodding briefly to the old lady in the window on the front.

He chuckle “And I’m suppose to be the one with the good hearing” extending his hand to you. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”

Taking his hand in yours “Lead the way” he did as he was told, guiding you until the entrance of the house.

He open the door and before you could enter, he carry you bride style making you giggle at his action “We’re not marry, Elijah”

“Not yet” he express seriously making you look at him.

“Are you serious?” you question him surprised for his answer.

“As a dagger in my heart” he confess, descending you to the floor, but still leaving his arm around your waist.

You hit his chest “It’s not funny, Elijah” crossing your arms on your chest and stepping back from him.

You’re a Winchester, a hunter and he’s a Mikaelson, an Original Vampire, you have been train to hunt and kill his kind, he have kill and hunt to live. You should have kill each other but instead you were dating in secret. For the good of both, for the sake of your families.

You sigh, what you where thinking? A Mikaelson and a Winchester would never would work.

“This past months have been the best of my life…” you start to explain him, you need to make sure he knows how you feel about him “I haven’t find in anyone else what I found with you” crossing sight with him “but let’s be honest Elijah, we are doom to fail, because of who we’re” the tears you were holding now rolling down your cheeks.

He step closer to you, extending his arms to wipe the tears running down to then place them at the side of your face. “The conflict between our families doesn’t change the way I feel about you” declared sternly looking directly at your eyes.

God, he sometimes can be so stubborn, when you are involve.

You tilt your head “You’re not other than an Original Vampire and I’m a Hunter, we’re natural enemies” you remind him.

“And still, here we’re my dearest, against all odds. Our families included” he took a step back from you and extending his arm towards the door “but I won’t stand in your way if you don’t want to stay anymore”

“You’re such a sentimental fool” you exclaim before closing the distance he made between you two, resting your hands on his cheeks to kiss him passionately.

He smile in the kiss, content to feel again your lips in his, for a second he have fear to loss you. “Marry me?” It slip out of his tongue making you pull apart to look at him, hope in his eyes.

“Yes” you whisper to then be assaulted by his lips traveling from your lips to your jaw and to your neck, while he pick you up and start to climb the stairs up without effort.

He lay you down gently on the bed with him atop, your legs around his waist, pushing him with you hand on his chest making him kneel on the bed while you seat on.

You lift your hands over your head making him pull your blouse from the hem along with your sport bra throwing them away, capturing your mouth again in a desperate kiss, while you tear apart his dress shirt by the placket.

“That was my favorite shirt” he murmur against your neck.

“I will purchase you another one” you pull him over to your mouth, kissing and gently sucking his lower lip between yours while your tongue run along it.

His gently but steady hand getting down through your back reaching your jeans and underwear, he unfasten them letting you kick them off.

“Elijah” you exclaim in a moan feeling his bulge against your naked skin “get those fancy trousers off before I-” you where suddenly silence by his mouth and in a blur the suddenly feeling of his erection press against yourself.

Your hand sliding to guide his length to your entrance “I need you” you release sloppy.

His forehead press to yours, starting to set a pleasant rhythm between you too “I love you” he whisper capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

“Always and forever, Elijah” you whisper before moaning at his length reaching your g-spot when he start to pick up the pace.

Your bodies shiver with excitement and released tension, your head spins making you forget where you end and he begins when the climax came.

He roll to be sideways from yourself to bringing you closer in an embrace covering both of you with the sheets and kissing your forehead caressing your back with his hand “We should take a shower” he propose.

Eyes close you snuggle more into him “Just a couple of minutes more” you whisper getting comfortable.

He smile while kissing your forehead again “You would fall sleep” retrieving from yourself and standing from the bed.

You groan when he pick you up but this time over his shoulder “Elijah!” you try to sound angry to scold him but failing in vain due the smile appearing in your lips.

“Shower first then snuggle” he said sternly walking to the bathroom.

After a 2nd round, a refreshing and a most needed shower you were back to snuggle in bed. Elijah caressing your hair with his right hand, your head resting in his neck joint falling asleep.

The familiar sound of the engine make you get up abruptly, putting on your blouse to then walk to the window allowing you to see Dean and Sam descending from the Impala “Shit”

Elijah dress up immediately appearing behind you, wrapping his arms on your waist “Your brothers I presume”

“Unfortunately” leaning on his chest watching them talk between themselves and start walking towards the entrance when a black Land Rover Ranger Sport park behind them.

He sigh “I think we’re having a family reunion” watching Klaus and Rebekah descend from the SUV.

“There it goes our secret dating” watching thought the window out to where the Winchesters and the Mikaelsons where starting a fight.

“Let’s go before they start to kill each other” he untangle himself from you and extend his hand “we’ll make this work”

Putting your hand over his “Together” you smile to him.

“Indeed” he nod “together” he add before starting the way down stairs, hands entangle together.

Part II >

Mikaelson x Winchester Tag’s list: @valsworldofcreativity

#idkhaylijah3k #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #winchester!sister #the originals drabbles #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x winchester!sister #mikaelson x winchester!sister

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mostlymovieswithmax · 4 years ago

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Movies I watched in March

Thought I’d chronicle the films I’ve been watching over the March period, from the 1st to the 31st, and how I’d rate them. If you’re looking for something to watch, perhaps this will help. A lot of these movies are available on streaming services also.

The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) - 10/10

I hadn’t watched this in a couple of years but I was blown away. Peak Scorsese.

Rushmore (1998) - 7/10

Not the best Wes Anderson movie for me but still fun.

Lion (2016) - 8/10

I discussed this at length on my podcast: The Sunday Movie Marathon. Great movie!

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) - 10/10

Now this is one of the best Wes Anderson movies. I discuss this more on The Sunday Movie Marathon. Fantastic, funny and I watched it twice because it’s so much fun.

Inception (2010) - 10/10

Discussed on The Sunday Movie Marathon. Best Christopher Nolan movie for me, Inception is just breathtaking.

The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou (2004) - 5/10

This might be Anderson’s weakest film (at least from what I’ve seen) but it’s still not as bad as a lot of directors at their worst.

The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) - 10/10

I was really on an Anderson binge in March. The Royal Tenenbaums is one of the most wholesome movies I’ve seen and certainly one of his best films.

Rome, Open City (1945) - 4/10

This was filmed in Nazi-occupied Italy and from that premise, the film enticed me. Despite having some interesting qualities, I do feel that initial pull is most of what the movie has going for it.

The Prestige (2006) - 7/10

I showed this to my brother and for what it’s worth, he enjoyed it. I do think this is one of Nolan’s weaker efforts but considering how much I like it, that speaks a lot to Nolan’s filmography as a whole.

Nostalgia (1983) - 10/10

I watched Nostalgia three times in the space of a week and reviewed it on The Sunday Movie Marathon. It’s phenomenal.

Kangaroo Jack (2003) - 1/10

Another one I watched for the podcast. Kangaroo Jack is truly terrible and it upset me a great deal. Avoid this movie.

Stalker (1979) - 10/10

Another Andrei Tarkovsky movie (director of Nostalgia). I watched this again during the day before my second watch of Nostalgia and while it’s hard to compare such different movies, I enjoy Stalker more. It’s a staple of Russian cinema for a reason.

Four Lions (2010) - 5/10

Watched for the podcast. I didn’t really gel with this comedy but it would certainly appeal to someone who enjoys the humour, as my co-hosts did.

Revolutionary Road (2008) - 6/10

This Sam Mendes joint was a tad too melodramatic but still boasted some great performances from Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet.

Metropolis (1927) - 6/10

This silent film is a staple in cinematic history. Its themes are as painfully relevant today as they were in the 20’s, yet despite that I found a lot of it to be intensely boring. After it hit the hour mark, I started playing it at 1.5x speed.

Crimson Peak (2015) - 4/10

A lot of great set design and costumes and colours, yet the story itself was madly uninteresting.

Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind (2004) - 10/10

Who doesn’t love a good movie written by Charlie Kaufman? I reviewed this on The Sunday Movie Marathon and after a third watch, it is as fascinating as it is gut-wrenching.

Godzilla (2014) - 3/10

If you wanted to see Godzilla fight a bunch of monsters for two hours, then this is not the movie for you. There’s maybe about ten minutes total of on-screen Godzilla action and considering that’s really all anyone’s watching this for, it’s amazing the titular sea lizard occupies so little of the movie.

Prisoners (2013) - 10/10

Brilliant mystery thriller by my favourite director, Denis Villeneuve. Discussed on the podcast.

Eraserhead (1977) - 7/10

David Lynch’s debut feature film went down in my estimations this time around. You can listen to why on The Sunday Movie Marathon. Still, Eraserhead is a very good movie.

Raiders of The Lost Ark (1981) - 6/10

The first Indiana Jones movie proved to be a fun romp and Harrison Ford plays the character beautifully. I’m just not a big fan of Spielberg and his average verging on pretty good but rarely ever great movies. Perhaps on a second watch, I may enjoy this more.

The Seventh Seal (1957) - 9/10

Watching this movie again was so much fun. So far, it’s my favourite Ingmar Bergman film. It’s a celebration of life and love, with an underlying sense of dread as death looms ever-present.

Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom (1984) - 5/10

I can tell why this generally looked on as the weakest in the trilogy. Harrison Ford is still great but the movie dragged a lot and felt more like a bunch of things happening for the sake of it rather than a fun action/adventure.

Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade (1989) - 7/10

The Last Crusade was a lot of fun and maybe it was Sean Connery’s inclusion, or perhaps the bottle of wine I drank through the movie elevated my enjoyment. But alcohol aside, I still believe this to be the best in the series.

Justice League (2017) - 2/10

People really weren’t kidding when they said this was bad. I watched this in preparation for the Snyder cut and I was not happy. This took years off my life.

Zack Snyder’s Justice League (2021) - 3/10

Barely any better and double the run-time of the original. I discussed this on The Sunday Movie Marathon and I was certainly not impressed. Better luck next time, Zack!

The Truman Show (1998) - 10/10

Brilliant movie and one I would highly recommend for a stellar Jim Carrey performance. This was another recommendation for the podcast.

Eighth Grade (2018) - 7/10

I was impressed with Bo Burnham’s debut feature. This is a coming of age story centred around a young girl growing up in the modern world and how it can affect the youth of today. Burnham shows a deep understanding of youth culture and a real knack for filmmaking.

Bad Education (2019) - 8/10

A real “yikes!” movie. If you want to learn a bit about the embezzlement that took place in an American school back in the early 2000’s, you need not look further than this tight drama with fantastic performances from Hugh Jackman and Allison Janney.

Twelve Monkeys (1995) - 8/10

One of the only movies where the time travel makes sense. I recommended this for The Sunday Movie Marathon and it’s pretty great.

Ready Or Not (2019) - 7/10

Despite a premise that is not wholly original and a super goofy third act, Ready Or Not is gory, violent fun with a lot of stylish art direction.

Dead Man (1995) - 3/10

Recommended on the podcast. I really did not get a lot out of Dead Man. It’s a very slow movie about Johnny Depp going through the woods and killing some people on the way, but it’s two hours long and hugely metaphorical and sadly it just didn’t connect.

Misbehaviour (2020) - 6/10

A big draw for me in Misbehaviour is Keira Knightley; I think she’s a great actor and I’m basically on board with anything she does. I’d been wanting to see this for a while and I was shocked to see just how relevant it is (being set in 1970) to the world we find ourselves in today, where women are still fighting to be heard and to be treated equally. While the film is not spectacular, I still got a lot from its themes, so recently after the murder of Sarah Everard and how women are being treated in their protest.

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Bomb (1964) - 7/10

I was surprised at just how hilarious this early Kubrick movie is. While I can’t say it floored me or took any top spots, it’s still a great examination of the military and how they respond to threats or try to solve problems and the side of war we don’t often see in films: the people in the background sitting in a room making crucial decisions.

Taxi Driver (1976) - 10/10

Wow! I can’t believe I’d never seen this before but I’d never really had access to it. Taxi Driver is a beautifully made movie with so much colour and vibrancy. De Niro puts on perhaps his best performance and Paul Schrader’s timeless script works miracles.

Sleepy Hollow (1999) - 5/10

Classic Tim Burton aesthetics in a pretty by the numbers, almost Supernatural-esque story eked out over an hour and forty minutes.

Seaspiracy (2021) - 6/10

Everyone’s going crazy over this documentary and I agree it tackles important issues we’re facing today surrounding the commercialization of the fishing industry, but a lot of what’s presented here is information already available to the public. The editing feels misplaced at times and the tone is all over the place. Nonetheless, it’s still quite fascinating to see good journalism being done in a way that exposes this side of the industry.

Pirates of The Carribean: The Curse of The Black Pearl (2003) - 8/10

Super fun and a great first instalment in a franchise that sadly seems to have peaked at the first hurdle.

My Octopus Teacher (2020) - 8/10

Great cinematography and a lovely premise, this documentary has garnered an Oscar nomination and I can see why.

The Sisters Brothers (2018) - 8/10

A really solid western I was happy to watch again. It’s a shame no one really talks about this movie because it is excellent with stunning visuals and great performances.

Pirates of The Carribean: Dead Man’s Chest (2006) - 5/10

A strangely massive drop in quality from the original. If I didn’t like the whole concept of this franchise so much, I might have had a worse time.

Reservoir Dogs (1992) - 8/10

On a second watch, Tarantino’s first feature is still wildly impressive.

Life of Brian (1979) - 7/10

This is perhaps my third time watching Monty Python’s Life of Brian and it’s still incredibly funny, however it never manages to measure up to its predecessor (and one of my all time favourites), Monty Python and The Holy Grail.

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ladyloveandjustice · 3 years ago

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The Westing Game Chapter 21

The Fourth Bomb

In a wacky misunderstanding, Theo thinks Alice is the bomber and tries to blackmail her with the info so he can borrow her bike (Yes, really. Go big or go home is Theo’s motto) but of course Alice thinks he means he knows ANGELA is the bomber.

And in what might be the most touching moment in the book so far, Alice responds to this by setting off a bomb and writing a thing indicating that she is the bomber in order to throw all suspicion off Angela. She eve loses her trademark braid in the process.

It really is incredibly sweet. Alice is very caustic toward her sister, but this isn’t the first time she’s indicated she’s ride-or-die when it comes down to it (she got rid of the evidence for Angela and warned her not to say anything to the lawyer), and it’s also a very lovely response to Angela’s early sacrifice- where she took the bomb she made to her face rather than have it explode to her sisters. But while Angela’s sacrifice was spur-of-the-moment motivated by guilt and panic as well as love (not that it makes it less meaningful), Alice’s is one she planned out and considered. She had time to consider the consequences. She knew that Angela willingly put herself in this position. But she still chose to take the fall anyway, and set off a bomb after seeing what the same thing did to her sister’s face.

She already feels meaningless to her family in general, and maybe on the surface she feels her standing (with her mother in particular) can’t get any lower. “I’m already the troublemaker, I’m already the unwanted one, I have nothing to lose, but Angela would lose everything” was how she convinced herself. (in addition to being aware as a minor she wouldn’t be punished as harshly, smart girl that she is).

But it’s also clear that Alice DOES long for her mother’s love and approval, and I think she also had to contend with a deep fear that after this action, there’d be no going back for them, that she’d doomed herself to be the ‘bad one’ forever. Yet she still did it.

And the loss of her braid is of course, incredibly significant. Angela said earlier that the braid is her “crutch”- she bases a lot of her personality around it. It was her excuse to spend time with her mother and now her excuse to spend time with Flora, it’s the trademark thing people can pull on and she can then she gets excuse to kick them and get in fights and form connections, it’s how she gets attention and relationships for herself without exposing her own vulnerability. But she sacrificed what little that makes her stand out, what little social currency she has to protect the same sister who she envies for being in the spotlight- because that bond is more important than her jealousy and her need for attention. Just like her sister sacrificed one of the things that bring her adulation- her looks- to protect her. Love is more important than those petty things.

Alice is forced to talk to Judge Ford afterwards and, sharp as ever, Ford guesses that she’s protecting Angela. This quote especially gets me:

The judge was astounded (…). Angela could not be the bomber, that sweet, pretty thing. Thing? Is that how she regarded the young woman, as a thing? And what had she ever said to her except “I hear you’re getting married, Angela” or “You’re so pretty, Angela”. Had anyone ever asked about her ideas, her hopes, her plans? If I had been treated like that, I’d have used dynamite, not fireworks; no, I would have just walked and kept on going. But Angela was different.

There’s a fascinating theme in this book about being marginalized, and the different ways these marginalized people both are pitted against each other and can overlook even each other while also finding connections and comradery with each other… I think I’ll have to wait until the end to fully get my thesis on the whole thing together, but I really find it interesting and appreciate it. Ford’s struggles as a black woman, Alice being overlooked for not performing femininity (thus envious of Angela despite knowing how shitty she has it), Angela being boxed because everyone wants to mold her as the perfect feminine ideal (thus feeling envious of Alice despite knowing how shitty she has it), Sun feeling out of place as a Chinese immigrant, Hoo knowing he’s looked down upon as a Chinese-American (yet still not considering the pain of his own wife), Chris struggling as a disabled kid, many people who are financially disadvantaged and/or feeling limited to the role of caretaker, Sydelle feeling overlooked in general and appropriating others’ struggles in her bizarre quest to get noticed- it’s all very interesting and pretty deftly handled, especially considering the time period the book was written in.

And our antagonist is quintessential exploitative Rich White Man (obsessed with American Exceptionalism to boot), though it’s casually mentioned he’s the son of immigrants, an identity he seems to have actively shed, going so far as to change his name (if that’s why he changed it), so there’s even complexity there.

But the thing with Ford here is an interesting demonstration of that. Despite being smart and socially aware and having an even more fraught history of being dismissed and belittled, she didn’t give much thought to Angela and subconsciously went along with the same objectification everyone else does, putting her on a pedestal. (There’s a lot to be said about how Angela’s veneration and perceived “purity” by the others might interact with her whiteness, and how Ford realizing she bought into that narrative subconsciously might feel to her as a black woman, but I’m not really the person to discuss that. Anyway!)

The other important development here is that Alice also finally confesses that she saw Westing the night of his murder but mentions that the Westing she saw didn’t look dead, but asleep and like a wax dummy. This sets off alarm bells for both me and Ford.

So, I think its safe to say my earlier theory Sam Westing isn’t dead is probably true. What of the corpse that was present at the will-reading? I think people would have noticed it was a wax dummy, but a disguised corpse from his coroner friend still makes some sense. So where is Westing now? Considering Barney Northup doesn’t exist, could he be Barney?

But speaking of Westing, if we need further confirmation the man is the scum of the earth, he’s a union buster and he fired Sandy for trying to organize one in the paper plant.

We also learn Ford’s backstory with Westing at last: Her parents were household staff at Westing’s mansion and she grew up there as a result. She played chess with Westing frequently as a child, but not only would he brag and take pride in beating a goddamn pre-teen, he mocked her with racialized insults. She never won, but Westing ended up financing her education (that’s the ‘debt’ she owes him). She believes he did this to get a judge he could control, but has refused to play along, removing herself from any case involving him.

I can’t help but think Westing would have known Ford wouldn’t play ball, though. So he may have had another motive for sending her to school. It could be something even more sinister. Or… in his own twisted way, did he actually like her? He obviously realized she was incredibly intelligent during those matches, even if he sadistically enjoyed mocking her, enough to know she’d do well with an education. Did he play chess with her so much not just because he enjoyed tormenting her, but enjoyed her as a person as well? It obviously does not excuse what a racist sadistic shithead he is, and I’m not saying he’s secretly nice- just that it could be he was incapable of relating to anyone in a healthy way. I actually think sending Ford to school could have just been an extension of his desire to torment her AND the only way he knew that would guarantee he remained important in her life. He didn’t ever plan to cash in on her debt, but knew it would kill her just to BE in his debt, and got pleasure out of that alone. He probably just thought it was funny and it was also a way to guarantee he’d live in her head rent free- and because deep down he knew she was a cool kid, he also wanted that. He didn’t want her to forget him, maybe, which is sick! But much more interesting than simply “he wanted a judge he could manipulate”.

But it’s also worth noting this is Ford’s (perhaps) final chance to win against Westing in the ultimate chess match. And I can’t help but think he is well aware how smart she is, so he invited her here specifically because he knew she could be his undoing, the one who unravels everything. So- if we go with the ‘Westing is seeking atonement’ theory- did he invite her to give her that satisfaction of finally beating him, like he always knew deep down she could? Because he WANTS to be beaten, to be found out and knows she deserves to be the one after all the hell he put her through? Or in the ‘Westing is still a complete monster’ theory- is his intention to torment her one last time, to show her she can’t win against him? (if it is, I think he may well find he’s gravely mistaken there).

I don’t think Westing can truly achieve “redemption” with this “game”, nor am I one to easily believe the Ultimate Shitty Capitalist can change easily, but if one thing can shake someone’s worldview and make them reevaluate how they live their life, the death of their child WOULD be a big one. So “this will actually be Westing’s weird twisted attempt at atonement” is a possibility I just can’t stop thinking about. If it is, it’s kind of funny and incredible he can’t stop being manipulative and traumatizing even when he decides he wants to do something good.

On top of all that, Angela and Sydelle get more clues and finally figure out the ‘America the Beautiful’ connection. God, so much to chew on this chapter! I really fear for these last nine chapters. I might end up writing a novel longer than the actual novel analyzing and recapping them if I’m not careful. But that’s how you know it’s a compelling story, so hats off to Ellen Raskin!

#wow i wrote a novel #lest you think I could write this much this fast I've been doing these at my boring office job #which is super dead rn #take advantage while it lasts #it's still i read a chapter then respond so I figure that's okay!#nev reads the westing game

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duhragonball · 4 years ago

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Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 57-61

This is the “Wizardry” arc.

I don’t know why it just now occurred to me, but there’s more than a hint of the Joker in the Major’s character. He’s always grinning, and now we have him dancing on a blimp while enemy helicopters are firing on him.

The Doctor shits a brick over this, because the arrival of the Vatican’s 9th Crusade force is the first serious resistance that Millennium has encountered since they invaded London. He begs the Major to come back inside and move their airship to safety, but the Major is too preoccupied with dancing like a goofball. Up to this point, the audience must have been eager to see someone take a poke at the Major. I know I was, if only to see what sort of powers he had. I mean, he hasn’t aged a day, but he doesn’t seem to be a vampire, so what’s his deal?

But before we can find out, the helicopter that was about to shoot him gets torn apart by magic wires. Wait... that sounds like...

DUN DUN DUUUUUNNNNNNN!

Yeah, Walter’s switched sides. He’s also younger-looking too, so this must be what Schrodinger was talking about when he told Zorin that the Major and Doctor had a new “toy”. They were too busy turning him into a vampire to bother punishing Zorin for disobeying orders. In the previous chapter, the Major asked about using Walter (without mentioning him by name), and the Doc said something about the rushed nature of the job. Presumably, the Doctor was doing the artificial vampire treatment on Walter all through the night, while Seras and the Wild Geese were defending the mansion.

What I’ve never been sure of is whether this was a spur-of-the-moment decision, or if Millennium approached Walter a long time ago, and Walter’s been their mole in Hellsing throughout this entire story. The Major’s line here seems to suggest this was a long-term plan. “I had already decided half a century ago. The Death’s Head [the Nazi SS skull insignia] is a fitting match for the Angel of Death [Walter’s old Hellsing codename].”

But that could just mean the Major thought of the idea way back then. He saw Walter and Alucard wrecking all his stuff in World War II and thought “This kid would be a good recruit someday!” But when did he make the pitch? Was it last night? Before the Valentines’ attack? Before Arthur Hellsing’s death? Before the end of the war?

I think it’s reasonable to assume that Walter was on board at least before he parted ways with Integra back in Chapter 39. The Captain suddenly showed up, and he told Integra to take the car and flee, because he wasn’t sure he could defeat the Captain and he didn’t want her around in case he failed. But it’s much more likely that he only said this to keep her from finding out that he had a rendezvous with the Major, who arrived soon after.

Now that I think about it, this may be the only reason the Major sent his troops to capture Integra. He wasn’t particularly concerned about her, but he knew Walter would be with her, and he wanted to get him to the Doctor as quickly as possible. This may also be why he ordered Zorin Blitz to hold off on attacking the Hellsing mansion. If Walter had been inside, Zorin wouldn’t have known about his allegiance, and it’s very likely that one might have killed the other.

Actually, yeah, this is why the Major fired those rockets on the Hellsing mansion in the first place. If Walter was there, he would know the attack was coming, and use the attack to cover his departure. Then Zorin probably would have been ordered to give him a lift back to the Doctor. But Walter wasn’t home, and Zorin didn’t wait for orders, and Seras turned out to be much too powerful for her.

Wow, this is like peeling an onion. That must be what the Major meant when he chided Zorin for costing him “precious soldiers.” Her reckless tactics got her and her company killed, but she might have also wrecked his plans to extract Walter, and it’s only a matter of luck that he happened to be at the naval base instead of the mansion. And we know that Zorin knew nothing about Walter, because Schrodinger only hinted about him without mentioning his name. If Zorin had known, he would have just said “Yeah, we’re turning Walter into a vampire right now, no thanks to you.”

Anyway, Walter’s betrayal fascinates me, but also fuck you, Walter, you traitorous piece of shit.

Speaking of treachery, the 9th Crusaders are busy shooting the shit out of London, killing anything that survived the previous night. Millennium is a threat, sure, but Maxwell sees this as an opportunity to conquer England for the Catholic church. I’m not really sure “conquer” is meant literally. I think it’s more like, Hellsing and the Iscariot Organization have some treaty, and I think that treaty applies to their respective governments as well, but the civilian governments might know nothing about it. Maybe?

What I’m saying is that I think this 9th Crusade is supposed to end with the overthrow of the Anglican Church in the United Kingdom, with a new Catholic-leaning regime in its place, so that the Pope would have the same influence over the U.K. that he apparently has over continental Europe.

In that sense, I’m pretty sure Hellsing’s version of John Paul II didn’t order Maxwell to gun down civilians and shout “Die did die die!” over a loudspeaker. He may not have been terribly worried about Protestant casualties, but there’s plenty of Catholics living in London, after all. Maxwell doesn’t seem to care, and I think it’s clear that he’s exceeding his mandate.

And Alexander Anderson knows it. I think the whole Catholic contingent in this story knows that Maxwell’s gone too far, but Anderson’s the only one honest enough to say it out loud. Anderson’s group is still escorting Integra home when the 9th Crusade attacks, and Integra accuses Maxwell of betraying her, but Anderson remarks that such backstabbing is typical in war. So it’s not Maxwell’s duplicity that offends him, it’s the way he’s going about it. When Anderson kills people, he’s doing it to serve God, and God alone. Maxwell’s not serving God at all.

“All you’re serving is his power!!” Anderson says. By “his” does Anderson mean Satan? Millennium? Mars, the god of war? Maybe all three, or maybe it doesn’t matter. I always thought Maxwell was serving his own power, but the point is that he’s not doing God’s will by any stretch of the imagination.

But the others still respect the chain of command. Archbishop Maxwell is in charge of the 9th Crusade and the Iscariot Organization, and Heinkel reminds Anderson that they were ordered to capture Sir Integra, not escort her home. So they all draw their guns on Integra, resulting in the most Integra panel ever.

Then Seras shows up and beats all their asses. Yeaaaaahhhhh! Seras, you’re doing amazing, sweetie!

Everyone’s like “Oh shit, it’s Seras Victoria!” like they’re gonna try to fight her, but Anderson can tell that Seras is now way out of their league. Remember, this group of Iscariots fought some Millennium troops and half of them were killed. Seras tore through about as many Milennium troops without much hassle at all, and that was before she drank Pip’s blood.

And Anderson spares some words of praise for his foe. I guess this is like the owner of a Ford truck exchanging compliments with the owner of a Chevy truck. “You’re a rat bastard, Chevy man,” he says, “but those are some fine Truck Nutz” you have dangling from your tow hitch.” They’re never gonna be pals, but real recognizes real.

Also, I just think Seras looks super extra-cool in this moment. Anderson kind of treated her like a joke before, but now he sees her as a peer. She looks so dark and haunted now, and at the same time she’s more comfortable and sure of herself than we’ve ever seen her. Seras never set out to become a vampire, but she’s still found herself on this path. It’s scary and beautiful at the same time.

But never MIND that SHIT, here comes...

No, not Maxwell, Alucard is returning! I just used this page because Maxwell’s reaction to the news is more interesting than gloomy images of a ruined carrier drifting up the Thames river.

There’s a moment in the Hellsing Ultimate anime, right after Seras and Anderson turn to look, where she’s got this big grin on her face, and she goes “I can feel it. He’s returning.” It’s not in the manga, maybe because it’s not that important, but I’m a sucker for any Seras content, and I love that moment because she can sense Alucard at a distance now, and it’s a very pleasant experience. For Seras, I mean. I suspect it’s actually a very bonechilling, bloodcurdling sensation, but Seras has gone Full Goth, so she digs that sort of thing now.

I don’t know how the hell Anderson can sense Alucard, though. Maybe being a Regenerator gave him super smelling powers, like Wolverine.

And even the Major is pleased, because now we finally have all the major players in the same city. Not sure why the Captain rates an appearance here, when he never says a word, but we’ll run with it.

So, up to now, we’ve had these 9th Crusaders lined up against Millennium soldiers, each cosplaying as troops from old wars. I guess Millennium’s SS uniforms have hint of legitimacy to them, as these guys really were part of the SS back in World War II, before they became vampires. But the point stands, they’re walking anachronisms and they know it.

But then Alucard jumps in between them, practically giddy for a chance to participate in this war. Not to be outdone, Anderson and the Captain perform similar Iron Man landings on the same street. When I watched the OVA, this was about the point I started to wonder if I had missed something about the Captain, because this story has been hinting that he’s like Millennium’s strongest guy, and somehow on par with Anderson and Alucard, even though he hasn’t said anything or done anything this entire time. This would be like if Superman and Goku squared off in the middle of London, and then some rando OC from DeviantArt walked up to join them. Like, we know Al and we know Andy, but who the hell is this dude? I don’t care if he can hang with these two, they should have established that earlier.

Al asks for orders, and Integra makes this big production out of “Kill everybody with a racist uniform and a funny accent.” Okay, fine, but this is a lot of bad guys. How is even Alucard supposed to take them all down? And this leads us to Control Art Restriction Level Zero.

I’m just gonna cut to the chase, because this post is running long enough already. Al used “Level 1″ to make short work of Luke Valentine and Rip van Winkle, and maybe Dandyman as well, I’m not sure. Recall that nothing could stop Alucard on the H.M.S. Eagle. The Blackbird crash, the Millennium soldiers, Rip’s magic bullets, none of it. So he activates “Level 0″, which ought to be even more gonzo overpowered, and starts reciting this alchemical poem which I really out to cover in some other post, and all the bad guys panic and start attacking him.

To all the smartasses who say “Well why don’t the bad guys attack them during the transformation?” there you go. AGAIN. This sort of thing happens a lot more than you’d think, and it never works, because anime/manga creators are more self-aware than you’d think. It never works, because if it did, then it wouldn’t be “attacking a character in mid-transformation”. It would just be “killing a guy before he could do his big move.” So when a character does a big climactic thing like this, there’s really only two options. 1) Have the other characters stand back and watch, or 2) have them TRY to stop it, only to fail, because it’s too late for that.

Anyway, I’m skipping all of that and just showing the end result of Alucard’s power-up. The bad guys tear his body apart, but it doesnt’ matter because that never worked on him before, and then all these undead men crawl out of the black ether that seems to make up Al’s body. Just a veritable flood of humans, all washing out of him like a tide of death.

Anderson starts to figure it out when he recognizes some of the uniforms on these creatures. And if that’s not enough, Integra explains it for Seras. When vampires drink blood, they absorb the very essence of the living being who contained it. “To suck blood is to make the whole existence of a life one’s own.” That’s why Zorin saw Pip’s memories when she tried to read Seras’ mind. By drinking Pip’s blood, Seras has taken on Pip’s soul as well. But that’s just one guy. Alucard’s been drinking blood for over 500 years. And each one he consumes becomes another soul in his personal army.

I’m going to guess that Alucard didn’t always have the ability to manifest all of his victims as familiars like this. Otherwise, how in the hell was Abraham van Helsing able to subdue him a century earlier? The Hellsing family did stuff to enhance and improve Alucard’s powers, so maybe this was one of them. They gave him the means to weaponize all of his victims’ souls, for use in large scale battles like this one.

And I think this might be why Seras is trembling in this scene, because she knows that this ability was passed down to her when Alucard turned her into a vampire. Or maybe, she’s realizing that she’s got something in common with all of those dead people in Al’s army. Alucard made her a vampire, sure, but he still drank her blood, so doesn’t that mean there’s a Seras Victoria creature down there, standing alongside all the Janissaries, Wallachians, and everyone else Alucard has consumed?

Something I picked up on was that this is what all of those eyes in Alucard’s design are supposed to represent. When he used Level 1 you’d see all these eyes staring out from the shadows, and now Level 0 has brought out all these dead people, like they’re the ones the eyes belong to. Although, most of them don’t actually have eyes, just smoke trailing from their eye sockets. So maybe that’s symbolic as well.

There’s also horses in this mess, and that makes me wonder if Alucard drank the horses’ blood along with the riders. Anyway, Archbishop Maxwell observes all of this from his Popemobile and finally confronts the elephant in the room: Alucard is Dracula, like the Dracula. I don’t think it was ever meant to be a secret, but Kouta Hirano’s been dancing around it this whole time, without ever spelling it out, and now he’s finally spelling it out.

I think the only one who might not know is Seras? Someone might have filled her in off-panel, or maybe she figured it out, since it’s not exactly hard, but I don’t know.

So yeah, somewhere in this arc, they do a headcount of all three sides of this thing. Millennium has “572″ soldiers left, and the 9th Crusade has “2875″, while Hellsing, of course, is down to just 3. But Alucard has more than evened the playing field, since he can do this trick and spawn an invincible army. I’m more confused how Millennium lost 428 guys in one night. Seras killed a lot of them, but not that many. Sir Penwood got some and Anderson killed a bunch of them, but not hundreds of them. The Crusaders could have taken out that many, but they haven’t been here very long.

But yeah, they try to form a Phalanx to hold off Alucard’s forces, and it does not work at all. You can’t kill these things because they’re already dead. right? I mean, maybe the Crusaders have holy weapons that can destroy these things, but there’s just too many of them. And the Millennium troops don’t even have holy weapons, so they’re completely fucked.

But what about the helicopters? Well, Alucard drank the blood of Dandyman and Rip Van Winkle too, and their powers are now a part of him, which makes quick work of nearby aircraft. I like how these two look the same as before, but they never say a word. I think they’re the only ones with normal eyes, although Alucard’s shadow tentrils are still fused with their bodies.

The Crusaders’ battle lines are broken, and they beg for Maxwell to order a retreat before they’re all slaughtered. But Maxwell refuses to give up. He’s drunk on his new power, and so he can’t accept that he’s been one-upped so easily. Then the helicopter carrying his Popetruck gets destroyed, and he somehow crashes without getting hurt.

And now he’s got a front-row seat to the same hell his troops are experiencing, but he still gloats, because somehow Alucard’s soldiers can’t get through the glass. He refers to “tektite” reinforcement, and that’s dumb because Tektites are just an enemy in the Legend of Zelda. I’m onto your ass, Hirano.

But then Anderson throws a knife at the glass, and that breaks it, so maybe it was magic glass that only a blessed weapon could pierce? All that really matters is that Anderson has finally turned on Maxwell, and Maxwell is doomed.

Alucard’s dead warriors hoist him up on pikes, fitting for Vlad the Impaler, and Maxwell realizes that he’s going to die alone in a foreign land. The moral is: Don’t start none, won’t be none.

Then this happens, and I’m pretty sure Dark Horse Comics goofed when they scanned this manga for the digital edition. I’d contact them to complain, but they don’t even sell Hellsing anymore because they lost the license years ago. I don’t think a lot of stuff happened on Pages 62-63 of Volume 8 of the Hellsing manga, but I can’t tell. I’m guessing just Maxwell finally succumbing to his injuries while Anderson pontificates about why he had to do it to him. And really, Anderson hardly needs to explain his actions in this case. Maxwell sucked.

Moving on, Anderson contacts all Vatican forces and tells them to withdraw. They can’t beat Alucard, Maxwell is dead, and there’s nothing more they can do here. However, Anderson chooses to stay behind and take on Alucard.

This is Anderson’s reasoning: By releasing all of Alucard’s stolen lives to fight as his army, Alucard has left his person vulnerable to attack. So Andy thinks that if he gets close enough to Alucard, he can finally have a chance to defeat him. If he’s right, this might be his only chance to try.

Anderson further speculates that this may have been the Major’s plan from the beginning. Invade London, force Alucard to use this Level 0 ability, all to leave Alucard vulnerable to assassination. Perhaps the Major was even counting on Anderson to see this opening and take it.

More to the point, I think Anderson kind of has to fight Alucard because it’s the only way his people can escape London. Integra’s orders were clear: None of these invaders leaves the island alive. Alucard would continue hunting down the Crusaders whether they retreat or fight back, so some force has to stay and keep them occupied to save the rest.

Anyway, now we get to the actual part with this scene, where Alucard kneels before his master and she welcomes him back. It’s pretty satisfying to see all these butthole soldiers finally get what’s coming to them.

I’m just gonna put up the entire reunion moment because it’s so sweet. Interesting how Seras sort of reverts to her old self when Alucard returns. For all that badass power she gained from drinking Pip, she’s still uneasy around Alucard. But he missed her and I think that look on his face tells the whole story. He of all people can tell that Seras has finally taken the fateful step to becoming a “true vampire”.

I do think it’s kind of interesting how Seras continues to address Alucard as “Master”. He promised her way back in Volume 1 that she’d no longer be a servant if she drank blood of her own free will, but maybe it’s more complicated than that. Or, perhaps she still calls him “Master” out of respect, rather than any sort of blood bond or whatever you want to call it. It’s like how Anakin continued to call Obi-Wan “Master” in “Revenge of the Sith”, even though he had been promoted to Jedi Knight. The relationship is still there, even if it’s no longer official.

I’m a big, dumb Seras fanboy, so you’d better believe I think about this sort of thing a lot. I’m not real crazy about Alucard/Seras shipping, although I do sort of get it. I’m really not interested in Seras in some freaky-deaky sex kind of way. Take the D/s stuff to the Alucard/Integra room where it belongs. No, there’s something very wholesome between Alucard and Seras, and I could talk about it all damn day. And why not? It’s my blog, and I’ve got the time. So let’s start with--

Um, excuse you?!

Okay, so Anderson isn’t waiting around to take on Alucard, so I guess we’re doing this now.

And whether or not the Major planned for this to happen, he certainly approves...

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #alexander anderson #the major #the captain #sir integra hellsing #walter c dornez #enrico maxwell #the doctor #warrant officer shrodinger #is that everybody?#i think so #i'm not gonna tag dandy and rip because they're dead

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