#looking mr plays directly in the eye become evil it would be so funny

[astronomodome]

NEED zedaph villain arc

[candycandy00]

The League of Villains Heroes Prologue 4

Author's Note: This is going to be a long, multi-chapter story about what happens after the end of the story, how the remaining members of the League of Villains adapt to their new lives full of therapy and new jobs and new relationships. But, when they get dragged into a fight against an ancient evil trying to take over the planet, this group of former villains might have to become a group of reluctant heroes. 

No smut. Some strong language and violence in some chapters.

Prologue 1: Shigaraki Prologue 2: Dabi Prologue 3: Toga Prologue 4: Spinner Prologue 5: Mr. Compress

Shuichi Iguchi, who still insisted that everyone call him Spinner, drew his sword. In one clean motion, he struck down the rat that had emerged from the water in the sewer, hissing and trying to reach him with its claws. He spun around, slicing through the second rat that he knew would attack from behind. The motions were extremely familiar to him. After all, he’d cleared this first dungeon in the game several times by now. 

Sitting in his shiny red and black vinyl chair with a controller in his hands, he glanced at his second monitor. He’d only begun the stream a few minutes ago and the chat was already lively, the text scrolling up almost too fast for him to keep up with. He caught a lot of the messages though, these past two years of being a streamer giving him a good eye for messages he’d like to respond to. 

“Yeah, the whole killing rats in the sewer thing is so tired at this point,” he said, agreeing with a chatter who called this dungeon boring. “At least make the rats interesting, right? Maybe give them all funny hats.”

Several lines of “lol” and various laughing emojis slid up the screen. 

He caught another message just before it disappeared off the top and addressed it. “Yes, LizardLoverGirl, I’m wearing the shirt you sent me!”

He paused the game and leaned back so the camera could get a better view of his hot pink t-shirt that read, “One Sexy Gecko” across the front. It had clearly been custom made and had been delivered yesterday to the address he had listed for his followers to send him gifts. Upon opening it, he’d burst into laughter for a good ten minutes, and then decided to wear it on stream. 

Someone in the chat, a user name he didn’t recognize as one of the regulars, asked, “Were there rats in prison?”

The question didn’t bother Spinner. He’d been very open about his past and that included the eight months he’d spent in prison. In fact, his status as a former villain had led directly to him becoming the popular streamer he was today. 

When he was looking for work and feeling lost about what to do with his life, he’d posted in an anonymous forum about being a villain fresh out of prison who’s only real skill was playing video games. Someone had commented that he should make a video about a recent game and call it, “Actual Villain reacts to new Heroes vs Villains game”. The game itself was a fighting game that pitted lots of fictional villains against fictional heroes. And while fighting games were not his forte, Spinner had played it competently while discussing the various villain characters and whether any of them would stand a chance against the real heroes he’d fought. 

The video quickly went viral, launching Spinner into internet fame almost overnight. The outpouring of interest and attention had shocked him, and he’d started streaming right after, using the popularity of his video to gain momentum. 

Now he was one of the top video game streamers in Japan, regularly pulling in millions of views. People seemed to like his candid discussions of his past as a villain, and gravitated to what they called his “down to earth attitude”. 

So to answer the chatter’s question, he chuckled and said, “Didn’t see any rats in prison. I saw a few roaches though. Honestly I think that’s worse.”

The unfamiliar chatter immediately shot back, “I thought you eat insects.”

Spinner, totally accustomed to comments like that, didn’t even pause his game. “Haha, because I’m a lizard, right?”

In the corner of his eye, he saw a private message from one of his moderators asking if she should kick the chatter or mute them. He sent back a quick, “not yet”. 

Spinner didn’t get this popular by avoiding these types of interactions. So he laughed again and added, “Actually I eat the same things you do, mc1300. Except I probably eat less ass than you do.”

The chat filled with laughing emojis and several heart emojis as his followers cheered his response. 

The chatter, with the vague handle mc1300, was silent for a few minutes, to the point that Spinner wondered if they left. But then they said one more line. Just two words. “Fucking morlock.”

The chat went crazy with angry or shocked reactions. Spinner sent his mod a message telling her to go ahead and permanently ban mc1300. 

“They’re permabanned,” he told his audience. “No slurs allowed in here.”

The term “morlock” had picked up steam lately among racist shitheads who hated heteromorphs. Apparently it came from an old comic book, used to describe a group of hideous mutants who lived underground because they were too disgusting to live among normal people. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time the term had been thrown at him, and definitely wouldn’t be the last. Though he’d dealt with discrimination many times in his life, he’d never put a lot of thought into heteromorph issues or how to make things better. That is, until he’d been manipulated into leading a charge of angry heteromorphs to reclaim Kurogiri. 

His memories of that day were extremely fuzzy. He remembered feeling the righteous fury boiling behind him as he moved down the street, but in that moment, his fucked up mind couldn’t even process exactly what they were angry about, even though he should have known better than anyone. After it was all over, after he was released from prison, he was occasionally stopped on the street by heteromorphs he didn’t recognize, asking what his plans going forward were, as if he were some activist working for heteromorph rights. It made him feel guilty, and he usually just told them he wanted to get his life put back together before he did anything else. 

Then, after he started streaming, some heteromorph chatters would occasionally tell stories of being bullied or even assaulted, just for being heteromorphs. The stories disturbed Spinner, but they also made him feel like he should be using his platform to help in some way. 

He’d started out small, spending one day out of the week not playing games but instead just talking about heteromorph issues, reacting to related news stories or just reading out stories shared by his followers. These segments had become so popular that he now devoted two days out of the week to them. 

The reaction among his audience had been incredible. He’d expected the segments to be popular with the heteromorph community, but he hadn’t anticipated that his sizable non-heteromorph audience would also take an interest in the stories. By now, he’d lost count of how many fans had written to him to say they had no idea heteromorphs were facing so much discrimination and that they wanted to help in whatever way they could. 

Over the past two years, Spinner had become a prominent voice online for discussing heteromorph rights, and he’d even been invited to speak on televised news programs. Many people credited him for raising awareness of, and helping to get approved, a new law. This law required all municipalities to have at least one heteromorph representative in local government for every ten percent of their population that’s made up of heteromorphs.  It wasn’t a perfect solution to the problems faced by heteromorphs, but it was a step in the right direction to ensure they had a voice in local politics, even in rural areas. 

Spinner also regularly did twenty-four hour charity streams to raise money for heteromorph charities and outreach programs. Last month Shigaraki had even come over and played a few hours to give him a break, though the former League leader wore a mask and kept a hood over his hair. 

Still, it felt good to be doing something to help, even something as small as just talking about the issues. 

As the afternoon wore on, the chat grew more crowded and more active. He talked back and forth with people while playing his game, and eventually someone asked a question he couldn’t resist answering. 

“Tell us something interesting about each former member of the League of Villains!”

Spinner smiled. He occasionally saw this type in the chat, people who thought the League was cool despite their crimes. But he found the admiration amusing so he usually indulged them. 

He paused the game and leaned back in his chair to stretch. “Let’s see… something interesting. Okay, Mr. Compress loves puns and ‘dad jokes’. He usually bombed but sometimes he’d say something really hilarious and we’d laugh about it for like an hour straight. Dabi snores, like, really bad. Every night one of us had ‘Dabi Duty’ which meant we had to go kick him or roll him over so he’d stop snoring for a while.”

Spinner watched the chat light up with various reactions.

“As for Toga, she was just a really chill, fun girl. When I first met her I could’ve sworn she’d be the type to call all of us creeps and tell us to stay away from her. But she wasn’t like that at all. Sometimes we all had to sleep on the floor in one room and she’d just crawl right in the middle of us. Of course she knew none of us would do anything inappropriate. We all viewed her as a little sister. But she never complained about being stuck with a bunch of smelly guys.”

More reactions, and several people saying, “What about Shigaraki?” 

Spinner watched the chat scroll up for a moment, then said, “Shigaraki? Well I guess the most interesting thing about him was just how nice he was. I know that sounds crazy, but if he saw you as a comrade, he treated you well. He never bossed us around. He always treated us with respect. He was considerate, in his own way.”

And of course, some random chatter had to ruin the moment by saying, “Yeah, it sure was considerate of him to kill so many people.”

Spinner took a deep breath, then held up one hand in front of the camera in a halting motion. “Mods, don’t kick him yet. I wanna talk about this.” 

He took a moment to compose himself, then spoke again. “Look, I know Shigaraki did some terrible things. So did I. But you have to understand that he was being manipulated by All for One from the time he was five years old. Five. Think about that. And he paid for his crimes. He served his time in prison, just like I did. He’s working hard to get his life on track. That, and he’s my best friend. We don’t allow Shigaraki hate here, so take that shit somewhere else.”

He paused for a second, then added, “Mods you can kick him now.”

For the next hour, the stream was relatively uneventful. No more haters trying to provoke him. No uncomfortable questions. Spinner was actually focusing on the game. Until he started noticing snippets of small conversations going on in chat. 

Something about people going missing and strange purple lights. He started paying more attention, eventually pausing his game and asking for more details. 

“You haven’t heard? Aliens are invading lol,” someone said. 

“It’s not aliens! It’s a new villain!”

“How could you say that to our favorite villain?”

“He’s not a villain anymore, idiot.”

Spinner laughed and moved on. If there was a new villain out there, he wanted nothing to do with them. 

His phone vibrated and he picked it up from his desk, absently opening it without paying attention to who sent the text message. His eyes widened as he read it. 

“We’re having a little League reunion tonight at Chisa’s Bar. 7pm. Hope you can make it!”

Spinner grinned, knowing exactly who sent it without having to check. He sent a quick reply and turned to the camera. “I’ll be cutting the stream off a little early tonight. I suddenly have plans.” 

There were some sad or disappointed reactions, but a few curious chatters asked if his plans involved “former villain stuff”. He laughed and said, “Maybe. Or maybe I have a hot date with mc1300’s mom.”

[chosenimagines]

Move in love (Kendall Knight)

Universe: (D) Big Time Rush Summary: Reader moves to L.A. to become a famous actress and lives with her big brother and his friends Used Prompts: - Warnings: - Language: English

Request: Yes/No

Requested by JulzLovDraco4Eva (from Wattpad) The request was so long that I don’t want to put you guys through this.

Requests [Open]

A/N: My requests are open on Wattpad and Tumblr

🖊️    🖊️    🖊️  

️____________________________________________

The conversations of the people passing by mixed into a single, loud noise. I pulled my suitcase over the dirty floor of the airport. Tired and totally annoyed, I walked myself and my luggage through the free space between the travelers. It had taken six hours instead of three and a half hours to fly from Minnesota to L.A. I had been on the road for nine damn hours and I just couldn't do it anymore! I always found travelling to be incredibly strenuous. In Minnesota it was already 9 pm, but not in stupid L.A! 

It was 7 pm - theoretically time for dinner. That's why I wouldn't escape the hustle and bustle that I would be exposed to as soon as I found my brother in this hustle and bustle. After all, it was "too early" to lay down. Once again I stopped moaning. That had become my signature move today! Searching, I looked around - without result. Where was he? He had promised me that he would pick me up directly in the entrance hall as soon as I landed. Well... Maybe he had forgotten me! I picked up my travel bag again, took the handle of my suitcase and continued my way through the hall. Probably my brother was chilling with his friends - or his so called second family - by the pool. I couldn't blame him! It was quite hot in Los Angeles today, which you could only endure in the water. I would be alone- "Hey, little sister!" "LOGAN!" A dull bang accompanies my scream. I had dropped my travel bag. Logan embraced me. "You didn't seriously think I had forgotten you!" he chuckled softly. But the accusation resonated in his voice. "Maybe for a tiny moment...", I murmured. "You are unbelievable! That I missed you, Stupid.", Logan indignantly said, and I grinned at him as I gave him a slap in the back of the head. "And how he missed you! Logan has counted the days until you move!" Involuntarily, my fingers clawed into Logan's shirt. Kendall! Kendall Knight was here. At the airport. To pick me up. Mein Herz beat at an incredible speed. God help me! Why does this happen every time? every. cursed. be. I hated it! I hated that feeling because they were connected to a thought! He didn't feel the same... I quickly pushed this thought aside, because tears rose in my eyes. Today was not a day to cry, because today began a new phase of my life, which I was already incredibly looking forward to!

"Don't look so angry! I promise you will like the surprise." Who believes it! I rolled my eyes. "The last time you told me that, I was doused with paint and ended up in the newspaper, James.", I replied. James shook his head laughing. "You should get over it! Plus, we've all planned it, so you don't have to be afraid of color." Suspiciously, I look around and changed the subject. "What do we do in a park?", I demanded to know. "Because we picnic, stupid!" I would recognize this voice among thousands. "Katie, I missed you the most of all!" I said as I embraced her during the boys' protests. "Not true! You missed Kendall more." Inconspicuously, I cuddled them. Her big brother was not far from us. Katie knew about my feelings, but she liked to play on risk, whereby it was only calculable risks. I gave her a brief, evil eye, while she just grinned at me. Katie liked that I liked Kendall and she dropped obvious clues before Kendall. "Sit down, Y/N!", Mrs Knight offered me. We took a seat on the ceiling and started to whose. I got a feeling of homeliness! It was almost like we were in Minnesota.

"Too early...", I murmured. I rubbed my eyes. "Way too early!" Tired, I leaned against Carlos. James and Logan giggled softly while Carlos clumsy patted my head. "If you want to work as an actress, you should get used to earlier times of the day. You can ask Camille!" said Logan. He grinned broadly at me. "Who is Camille?", I nuzzled as I broke away from Carlos' shoulder and the five of us entered Roque Records. I threw at Logan a quick glance. I could have sworn that his cheeks turned pink. "She's my girlfriend!", he said quickly. His pace also accelerated, causing trouble for us to keep up with him. I may had hit a nerve! Now I decided to stick with that, but it was far from over! Logan could be sure that I wanted to know everything about Camille and wanted to know him. He hadn't mentioned a girl he liked. According to his reaction, she had to be special- "Who is she, what does she want here AND WHY IS THERE A STRANGER IN MY STUDIO?!" That had to be Gustavo Roque and the guys hadn't exaggerated! But Gustavo really had to be experienced for yourself. An unique personality... "Gustavo, don't get upset, because she's not a stranger!", Kendall began cautiously. His attempt to appease him had no effect. But nothing changed in the facial expressions of the producer. I would probably have to leave, sooner than I thought. "WHO is she then?!" "My little sister.", Logan interfered. At first Gustavo got the words stuck in his throat. Then Gustavo's assistant Kelly interfered, if I hopefully remembered the name correctly. "And of course your sister can stay here today!", she promised with a certain tone. Then she shook my hand. "I'm looking forward to meeting you! I'm Kelly." I smiled. "Y/N." After a short handshake, Kelly shied away from the four of them into the studio. "We have to start now!" Startled, the boys ran away. This made me laugh and I followed Kelly to listen to the rehearsal.

Someone behind me cleared their throat. Frightened, I winced and whirled around. Kendall! I didn't expect him. I had believed that he had gone with Logan, James and Carlos. Without saying a word, I stared at him. I had to look stupid! Still, I couldn't move. Kendall had a strange effect on me! It was like that to have feelings for someone. "Sorry, Y/N! I didn't mean to scare you. But..." Kendall's voice was lost. Again he cleared himself. "Can we talk for a moment?", he wanted to know. I nodded incapacitated to put out a single word. Kendall pulled out a stool from under the sound mixer and told me to sit down. "Thank you!" He himself took a seat on the black leather couch opposite me. "I noticed that you were watching me during the rehearsal and I want to know why? Did I sing crooked or was I not in time? Was I that bad?" Horrified, I opened my eyes. How did Kendall come up with the idea?! That was completely absurd! Simply absurd! I loved nothing more than listening to Big Time Rush sing. I really couldn't think of anything better than listening to these four guys sing! Especially Kendall. Kendall's voice was the most beautiful of all. "Are you serious? Please tell me this is a joke! If so, it wasn't funny. You were in time and your voice is just beautiful! How did you come up with this idiotic idea?", it burst out of me. "You looked at me all the time and I thought it was because I'm so bad." "Even if you were bad, I wouldn't even notice it because you're the most perfect person I know and my feelings for you romanticize everything about you anyway!" Silence. The room was filled with silence. Only in my head there was noise! The thoughts overturned and tried to drown each other out. The voices agreed on one thing! I immediately wanted to sink into the ground. "And I already believed you can't stand me. But that makes everything easier, because I like you too. And very much so!" Were my ears broken? "Come again?" Now Kendall seemed to be unsettled. Nevertheless, he repeated what had told me. "Thank God! I already thought I had to leave the country", I said. Kendall laughed. "Please, don't do that! Otherwise, it might make the following a little more difficult." Confused, I looked at him. What did that mean? "Y/N Mitchell, do you want to be my girlfriend?" "Stupid question, Knight! What girl wouldn't like that to be?" Again he laughed. "There is only one who gets this opportunity." When had we come so close to each other? There was no longer any space between us. Kendall's fingers gently brushed over my heated cheeks. "And I really hope she says yes but I am still waiting for an answer. Slowly I'm scared!" I stood on the tips of my toes and breathed a kiss on his cheek. "You don't have to be afraid, because I say yes."

[sirenswhispers]

The knight and the princess

N/A: Hello. I hope you like what I wrote, I’m sorry is it’s misspelled or something, I apologize deeply, but english is not my first language and I’m trying. Anyway, Fred and George always enlight my day, and today I’m feeling a little sad, so this came to me. 

Enjoy it 

George Weasley x Fem!Ravenclaw Reader

Warnings: Is bad writing a waning? George Weasley being oblivious

At the age of ten, running through the wide fields of your town, the sun shining high and wearing a paper crown on your head, that’s how you met the Weasley twins.  

It was the first time you have ever seen people with red hair, and you thought it was wonderful, if not magical. Such a beautiful and vibrant color that belonged to them. You had to talk to them, ask them what it was like to be a redhead.

“Well, it’s an everyday thing for us.” Said the twin on the right, while the one on the left could only sport a shy smile for you. “So, it feels pretty normal”.

You laughed.

That’s how your friendship began. That day, they played with you for the first time.

Seeing the crown on your head, Fred yelled he wanted to be the king while George settled for being the knight that rescued the princess from the evil ruler. In the game, Fred was and arrogant king who kept you captive, stolen from your own reign, and George was the one who had to rescue you and take you back to your castle.

He never told you how much he enjoyed being able to hold your hand when he saved you from Fred.

However, he did promise you something that day.

Pretending to be the most honorable knight of the reign, such a gentleman, he gave a kiss to your hand, and watching you through his light eyelashes he said-: “Someday, I’ll marry you princess.”

Neither of you were familiar with the ticklish feeling that grew on you from those words.

Being a year older than you, soon the twins left for Hogwarts, and you didn’t have neither an evil king to run from nor a gentle knight to save you. Instead, your most loyal company was your owl, which flew day by day to give your letters to the twins and theirs to you.

They told you how amazing Hogwarts was. They wrote about pranks, and classes, and magic. Mostly, they loved telling you about their pranks on Filch. One day, they told you the story of how they had found a map in his office, and they couldn’t wait to show all the secrets pathways it had.

When summer holidays came that year, you ran all the way to the crooked house in which the twins lived, excited to see your best friends again.

And while Fred engulfed your frame in a tight hug, screaming in your ear about everything related to Hogwarts, George knelt in front of you, a playful grin plastered on his face.

“Hello my princess.”

That ticklish feeling you felt when playing with George came back to you, this time making you feel warm and giddy.  

You had never thought much about which house you’d like to be placed in, but since becoming friends with the Weasley twins you knew you wanted to be with them in Gryffindor, maybe as much as they wanted you to be with them.

But when the hat screamed the name of Ravenclaw, and the blue crowd exploded in cheers, you send a sad look in their direction, silently apologizing for something you didn’t have control over. Fred send you a reassuring smile, while George made his best effort to pretend that he wasn’t annoyed with you not being with him.

Even though you wanted to be a Gryffindor, soon you fell in love with the house of the eagle. Blue became your safe color and you became good friends with your roommates, although they weren’t nearly half funny as the twins.

You wished you had more time to spend with them, but the difference of lessons and schedules made it hard to even say a word to them. There were days you didn’t get to see a hair of that vibrant red you liked so much. It made you sad, but you learned to live with it.

It wasn’t until the middle of the school year that you could enjoy a short time with your best friends.

The three of you had come with the plan of spending the day near the lake to see if one of you could spot the giant squid. Throwing all kind of stuff into the lake, trying to get the creature to show even a small piece of him.

He never did, but it was the most fun you have had in your whole year. You were happy to spend time with Fred and George, that was enough.

Years passed, and through differences and struggles, you found a way to maintain your friendship with the twins, to find a way to keep George close to you as you understood that that ticklish feeling he gave you was the love you held for him.

It wasn’t hard to accept your crush on George. It was too normal, too familiar to feel uncomfortable with it. But you didn’t have the guts to tell him about it.

You spent your years watching him grow, seeing you as nothing more than a friend, no matter how many times he’d look for a subtle way to touch you, to call you his princess or just be with you. You were oblivious to his feelings just as much.

Fred had to watch you both dance around your feelings, smiling softly at the tender moments you two shared when you though he wasn’t looking.

When your sixth year came and neither George nor you talked about the elephant in the room, Fred decided that that was enough. He was tired of listening to you two ramble about the other to him.

He had a plan, which had to be cancelled when his father was attacked in the middle of the night and his siblings and him had to go away, leaving you behind.

It felt like an endless night, seated at Gimmauld place without knowing about their dad. The Weasley siblings didn’t have space for another thing in their minds than their family. But you were family to them too.

The next day, when they came back from St. Mungos, George practically ran to you when he saw you waiting for them in the house.

You held him tightly, thanking silently that he was okay, that everything had turned out well at the end. But George was only one of your best friends. Without letting him go, you opened your eyes, looking directly at Fred as you opened one arm for him too. He ran to you and let some tears fall on your shoulder.

You spent Christmas with the Weasleys, making your best efforts to make them smile and ease the sadness. You were no hero; you just wanted the people you loved to have a nice Christmas.

And fairly they did. Mr. Weasley was back by the time you celebrated the holiday, and it felt like home.

You tried not to think much about it when George intertwined your fingers with his while eating, instead, you gave a caress to the back of his hand, accepting his touch.

“Thank you for staying” He told you later that night “Not only for Fred and I, but for everyone”

Your hands were still holding each other’s, and you smiled softly at them. “It was my pleasure my knight” You answered, watching as smile grew on George at the nickname. “Besides, if we were to get married, this is as well my family. I must take care of them too.” You remembered him the words he had said to you many years ago.

“Then, I shall marry you as soon as possible my princess.”

If he could, he would have married you right there in the spot, but this was only an inside joke, born from the innocent promise of a kid. It didn’t mean anything, no matter how much you both wanted it too.

You shuffled closer to him, finding a nest to rest your head in the crook of his neck, while he embraced you tightly.

The both of you were so focused on your feelings that no one noticed Fred’s mischievous smile, nor the light enchantment he was casting over your heads. A beautiful mistletoe growing from his wand, falling delicately on you both.

When the enchantment was finished, Fred laughed to himself. He turned around and walked upstairs, leaving you two behind with only one way to leave the room.

As cozy as you were with George, you knew you had to go back to your room with Ginny. Being as quiet as not to disturb him much, you moved away, or you tried to. Something invisible was stopping you.

You looked around in vain, no one close enough to blame or to ask what was going on, until you looked up and noticed the beautiful plant.

Your throat went dry immediately.

“George” You called him. “George, wake up!” Shaking his body as to waking him up from his sleep.

He smiled fondly when you were the first thing he saw, but your confused expression made him frown. “What’s wrong, love?” He asked, straightening himself from the couch, not going much far. “What’s this?”

You didn’t say anything, only pointing your finger to where the mistletoe was placed. Right above you both.

He understood right away and blushed wildly at the meaning.  

“W-we don’t have to… I mean, we kind of have to if we want out but… If you don’t want to…” He stuttered his words.

“I want to!” You said immediately, not flinching nor thinking much about it.

Realization fell upon you when you heard yourself. That was not smooth, and if you could, you would’ve have ran as far away as possible.

George saw you blushing deeply, your eyes watering from embarrassment and how uncomfortable you looked. You said you wanted to, but maybe because you didn’t know how to turn him down.

Was it possible that you despised the idea of kissing him? He had to swallow the knot in his throat and ignore the shattering in his heart.

“I understand you don’t want to kiss someone like me, but can you at least pretend I’m someone else and go through it? I’d like to get out of here.” George explained, his eyes avoiding you.

Did he think you didn’t want to kiss him? Someone like him?

“What do you mean by “someone like me”?” You asked, anger growing in you. “How is someone like you? God, you can be so daft sometimes George Weasley.” The tears of anger falling from you. “Someone like you?! You know what? I’d love to kiss someone like you. I’ve been dreaming about kissing someone like you, I’ve been thinking of how wonderful it would feel to kiss you George.”

His name slipped easily between your lips. So normal, so comfortable that you didn't even noticed it. But he did.

It was your turn to know how deep he adored you.

The gentle knight you had fallen for was gone. The man in front of you was wearing a fierce determination while holding your face in his hands and stamping your lips together.

A pick on the lips would’ve been enough to break the spell, but he kept the kiss going. He was the one leading you, making you open your mouth with a caress from his tongue, his lips moving heavenly against yours.

As much as you had imagined a kiss with him, nothing was as good as a real one. He kissed your whole body in one, giving you the chills, making your legs tremble from the intensity and the passion.

You had to separate when your lungs were burning for air.

“Someone like me, someone who loves you dearly, my princess.”

[bywordofaphrodite]

Book Reviews 1 & 2: The Enchanted Wood and Adventures of the Wishing Chair by Enid Blyton

This review’s theme is magical children’s fiction ! Audience age range: early childhood !

Fun fact about me: I have fairy tales running through my head most hours of the day.

Magical lands and whimsical characters run freely through my mind any minute I have to spare, or even the ones I don’t. It has always been this way for me, whether in school, university or at work- when I am meant to be working on assignments or attending to patients in the hospital I work at- and Enid Blyton’s stories played a part in this, so it seems fitting I discuss her writing for my first post.

When faced with choosing a project for myself this semester, it was actually the memory of Enid Blyton’s novels that prompted me to decide to write book reviews of childhood favourites. I’d forgotten her name at first, and all that remained was an illustration of blue jelly and a boy with silver hair… and the name of the artist who illustrated my copies of the series: Georgina Hargreaves. One google search was all it took to remember it all! Then I ordered all three Magic Faraway Tree books and the Wishing Chair ones in the exact editions I had as a child, because I have no impulse control whatsoever.

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

For my nostalgic review- otherwise known as my thoughts on these novels purely as I remember them from childhood- I’m giving five stars. They meant everything to me as a kid, and I reread them more than any other books I owned. I would choose a chapter before bed and travel into the magic lands at the top of the tree along with the main characters, exploring whatever good, evil or downright silliness happened to be up there at the time (and then stay there for a good few hours past my bedtime using the light under my door to squint at the pages and destroy my already dreadful vision just a little more for good measure. Sleep schedule who?)

I easily favoured the Magic Faraway Tree books over the Wishing Chair ones, though I loved them both dearly. I’m going to assume the reason behind this was because I preferred the tree to the chair, as- aside from Jo- I don’t recall ever having an affinity for any particular child amongst the main characters. I do also remember a great deal more of the goings on in the lands above the tree than I can the adventures in the chair, so it seems fair to say I read one a lot more than the other.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, these books cemented who I wanted to be when I grew up: a writer- a published author, to be specific- and an artist. Not just these two series, but anything Blyton wrote- her teen detective and boarding school series being notable favourites of mine. As detrimental as this dream has been to my family’s wish for me to become a lawyer, I must insist that everyone blame Enid Blyton for this and not me!

The Enchanted Wood Review

Post-read: ★★★

Synopsis: three children move from the city to a small country house with a forest out the back which they later come to know as the Enchanted Wood. There they come across a giant magical tree known as the Faraway Tree, where they befriend the many magical creatures living inside the tree, and explore the lands that settle above the tree every day.

Okay so! First up, I finished it so quickly. I’ve always been a very fast reader but even so I expected it would take several hours to read… it took roughly an hour despite minor interruptions by my siblings, so it’s very simplistic and easy to read. However… this level of simplistic is not, in this case, a good thing, at least in my opinion. I’ll elaborate on this further toward the end of this post, but the best word I can think of to describe the writing is ‘stunted’.

I read a few articles to see others’ thoughts on the novels, and one review stood out as being critical in multiple ways, some of which I agree and some I don’t really care about. I’ll link it here.

This review reflected a lot of the same points I considered upon rereading the books. Charming points: google buns and the Land of Birthdays; weak points: repetitive and a bit too holier than thou in the attempt to teach ‘lessons’. In terms of Flood’s (the review author) criticism, the renaming of the children from Jo, Bessie and Fanny to Joe, Beth and Frannie in new copies does not really bother me, although my own editions have the original names (the change of the children’s cousin from Dick to Rick was a wise choice, though Rick is an ugly name as well, but I digress). As with many modern changes to old novels, older generations criticise ‘politically correct’ motives, and Flood does exactly so here- miffed at the decision to rename one of the recurring Faraway Tree villains from ‘Dame Slap’ to ‘Dame Snap’. Flood likens the character’s previous habit of slapping naughty children to the witch in Hansel and Gretel locking children in cages, (I would think the cannibal element of this tale would reinforce the comparison more but maybe that’s just me???) asking why, if that fairy-tale hasn’t been changed, should Dame Slap have to adhere to modern discipline? Personally I’m mostly unconcerned with this either way, though Flood makes an interesting point. The woman is a villain either way, so a little clip over the ears is likely to properly drive the point home in my opinion, anyway.

And before I move on from this review, Flood’s hot take on the Saucepan Man is 100% on the ball- why was a grown, non-magical man walking around strung up with pots and pans all over himself and hanging out with a group of children? To be sure, he was not in his right mind, so I’ll shift the question to the parents here, who were fully aware that their children were spending time in the woods with this man. Very odd business indeed.

Characters who aged well: Most of the main characters remained likable to me. Jo was always my favourite as a kid, and he remains so- his impatience provides some comedic quotes and he never leaves his younger sisters behind on adventures, unlike many male characters in Blyton’s novels (I am looking DIRECTLY at you, Famous Five boys). He also doesn’t belittle his sisters at any point, even when they’re frightened, which is another thing that irked me about many of Blyton’s male characters. Using only the first book of the series for this review means that it’s possible that Bessie and Fanny are more prominent characters in the other books, but in this one it felt very much centred around Jo than I remembered- they are likable but don’t really do too much aside from Fanny’s banger of a birthday party which I’m rather jealous of. Upon rereading I like Moonface a lot more, but that’s probably because I resented my grandmother calling me ‘Moonface’ (I’m aware I have a round face, I do not need to be reminded of my eternal struggles on the daily). Silky is still a queen in my eyes- pretty, feminine, funny, kind and best of all a fairy. No flaws at all, I love her. In retrospect, Silky is equally my favourite alongside Jo.

Characters who aged badly (to me): as aforementioned… the Saucepan Man. To be fair, I never cared for him in the first place, and the same goes for his best friend Mr. Watzisname because he was downright maddening. Also, Dame Washalot can drown in her own washing. She managed to annoy me more than Dame Slap… at least Dame Slap was entertaining.

Favourite scene/quote: “‘Fishing!’ said Jo, in disgust. ‘Who wants to go fishing in the middle of a birthday party? Let’s get back at once.’”

This quote sounds so mundane but in context I just find his tone very amusing- Jo is always exasperated and impatient so his perpetual annoyance with everyone’s nonsense is relatable and funny. Furthermore, he says this during my favourite scene in the final chapter where they all travel to the Land of Birthdays for Bessie’s birthday. Bessie invites everyone living in the Faraway Tree to her party, which is essentially formed up in the land above the tree. Upon arrival, everyone can go into a small house with fancy dress costumes and choose anything they like, and then choose a table in the middle of a field. The table is set with cutlery and plates, and from there you must ‘wish your own tea’, as Silky says, which fills the table with jellies, lemonade, chocolate blancmange and other party food. Best of all is the birthday cake- also known as wishing cake- which grants a wish to anyone who eats it. Unfortunately, the Saucepan Man’s poor hearing ends up turning ‘wish’ to ‘fish’, and Fanny has to waste her own wish to get them back to the party, hence Jo’s vexation. The ending is very sweet though, with Moonface gifting his wish to Fanny and all of them happily going home. It was a lovely way to end the first book in the series.

Adventures of the Wishing Chair Review

Post-read: ★★

Synopsis: two children discover a magical chair with wings in an antique shop that leads to a host of new adventures and a new pixie friend they rescue along the way.

Like I said earlier, I preferred the Faraway Tree series to the Wishing Chair and that remains the same. The concept of lands coming to the top of a tree- and choosing whether to go up there or not- is more my style, and if the weather is bad you can just stay home, while the chair you just have to go with it. The Faraway Tree itself is also really wonderful, with all the interesting houses and shops inside it, and especially Moonface’s slippery-slip. On the contrary, the main location for the Wishing Chair series is the children’s playing room, and the chair itself is an utter menace. The villains are more irritating in this series- which is their job, I get it- but the children themselves aren’t quite as likable as Jo, Bessie and Fanny either. Mollie and Peter argue plenty and can be very selfish and silly at times, which is realistic, sure, but that doesn’t make them any less meh. The other main character is a pixie called Chinky (yes, I’ll get to this soon) who they rescue from slavery in a giant’s castle, and my opinion on him varies between chapters. There are some really cool places they go to and the illustrations make reading this more enjoyable despite the hasty writing and relatively flat characters.

Characters who aged well: ???? I mean… Mollie and Peter aren’t exactly my favourite children ever but they’re not too bad. My main criticism would have to be that there isn’t really anything defining about their personalities; to a degree I would say they are just a whinier version of Jo, Bessie and Fanny. I don’t think Enid bothered too much about changing base character traits in her stories, to be honest. There are a few characters like Witch Snippit and the Windy Wizard who help Mollie and Peter when troubles arise, but as the adventures always begin with the chair in the children’s playroom there aren’t really many magical recurring characters to properly consider.

Characters who aged badly: the children’s MOTHER. She is beyond irritating in certain chapters- like when she decides to take the wishing chair to her own lounge room simply because she likes it, even though the children themselves bought it and expressed how much they love it. Plenty of parents do this in real life and it is just as annoying in fiction. Secondly, the wishing-chair. Magical chair that grows wings and can fly to magical lands is cool, yes? Sure, except when it has mood swings and randomly decides to fly through storms or simply land in the sea for no reason I can think of. This is a very petty chair… yet I know I would keep it anyway so I can’t complain too much. I’m going to add Chinky here too, and not because he got saddled with a slur for a name- he gets fired up about minor things way too quickly and causes drama for no good reason, though perhaps I should cut him some slack after his time spent in forced servitude. Also, he makes a few sexist comments to Mollie so maybe the giant had a point after all.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘One rabbit turned upside down and danced on its ears, and that made Peter laugh so much that he had to get out his handkerchief to wipe his tears of laughter away.’

Peter being this happy just made me happy. This quote is from my favourite scene, when the children fly with some elves to attend a magician’s party. There is no villain to be seen, and the room is filled with classic Blyton details of top tier food like cream buns and blancmange, and beautiful birds that sing sweetly before flying freely. The magician has dancing cats appear, and ‘six plump rabbits’ that dance while the cats play violin. Finally, the magician gifts everybody a tiny egg he tells them will hatch later. When they arrive home, Peter’s hatches to reveal a tiny silver watch and Mollie gets a necklace of beads that look ‘exactly like bubbles’. This always sounded so pretty to me, and I had a necklace from my mum that looked exactly as Mollie’s was described, so I’ve always remembered this scene very well.

Overall verdict:

I’m torn. I love parts of these books so much, I love the nostalgia surrounding them, and yet I must admit that without a childhood connection it would difficult for a new reader to enjoy, and probably not the first choice in a bed time story to read to children nowadays. I think for me, I like having these books back on my shelf again, and I like knowing I can go back to read my favourite chapters whenever I want, despite the criticisms I have. In a way, I like knowing I am capable of recognising the books’ faults while still appreciating the good parts of them. I do not regret buying these books again- in fact looking at the artwork and reading the words has inspired me to get to work on my own plan to write a book of fairy tales (with the representation I would’ve loved to see alongside the magic as a child, and minus the problematic details).

With this in mind:

- Blyton’s writing skills… are sorely lacking. Her sentences are stunted and sometimes she changes locations so hastily within one small paragraph that if you so much as skim over one sentence you’ll find yourself in another land entirely (haha). I am wholly aware these books are intended for children but I have read other novels for that age group that have been well-written, so my criticism stands.

- I should just rewrite the books myself. I don’t care if this sounds arrogant, I know I could make the stories more compelling with a few tweaks to, say, writing skills, story structure, making better use of the amazing concepts, fleshing out the characters more, etc. (again I’m aware they’re children’s books)

- Enid Blyton herself was not a very nice person, and her own daughter criticised her writing for being emotionally immature and seeing things as ‘black and white’. Anyone who has read her other novels knows that she was very racist- ‘gypsies’ managing to be the villain in most of her teen detective stories, amongst other issues, so Chinky the pixie is not exactly a surprise appearance. It was Chinky, in fact, who first alerted me to racial slurs. As someone with partially Asian heritage at an almost completely white school, it took me asking my (rightfully) concerned father what ‘chink’ meant when some kids started calling me by the word in school… I then connected this to Blyton’s pixie and to this day am morbidly entertained by this unfortunate memory. I’ll link the article here, in case of any further curiosity about Blyton.

In the Faraway Tree series review I linked earlier, the writer said of the books, ‘it’s an odd feeling, finding the classics of your childhood don’t really stack up’. In many ways, I feel the same. Is it all nostalgia, after all? Yes and no. Having such a balanced opinion on an old favourite is likely healthier than clinging to past memories, anyway. With all of these thoughts jumbling through my mind, it’s possible that my rating of these novels changes depending on my mood- and more importantly, which chapters I read. Perhaps the fact that my favourite chapters are all devoid of confrontation is something a therapist would suggest looking into, but you know what? It’s fiction. If I have to get my happy endings in books alone then so be it!

[spilledinkstories]

Darkness and the Man in the Window: by Nicole H (a short story)

“It’s raining, it’s pouring,  the old man is snoring;  he bumped his head,  and went to bed,  and couldn’t get up in the morning.” 

*****

Andrew Bennett was tired of killing people. 

In his twenty years working as a gardener, he had been hired by three separate estates to trim both their hedges and their family trees, and while he’d appreciated the extra cash and the opportunity to utilize his highly underestimated artistic flare, his partnership with the grim reaper had taken its toll. 

It was due to this fatigue, this growing hollow place inside his chest, that he was absolutely dreading his eight-o’clock-in-the-morning meeting with Morticia. But if Andrew was anything, he was a man of his word, and so at seven-fifty-seven on August 29th, his knobbly, weathered fist rapped sharply three times on her heavy black wooden door. 

“Punctual as always,” she said tartly. Her smile sent a troupe of ants parading up his spine, but he simply smiled back at her. They did not speak as she led him through the cavernous front entry of her manor house, down a hallway, and into her drawing room. Andrew personally found it strange that the drawing room was at the back of the house, but the view onto the lawn he groomed so meticulous was quite nice. 

“Tea?” 

“Coffee, if you’ve got it.”

“Of course.” And she poured a steaming cup of coffee, its aroma warming Andrew to his very core, giving him the courage he had been grasping for since entering this vapid house. 

“I don’t want to do it, you know.” His words came out a great deal sharper than he’d meant them to. As she slunk toward him, cup of coffee extended, he braced himself. She simply continued to smile. 

“I don’t see that you have a choice,” she said quietly, once she was directly in front of him. He gulped. 

“Is that so?” 

“I know what you’ve done. What you are. I could turn you in.” 

Andrew stared into her cold eyes, his heart nothing but a heap of ash. His eyes burned, bile stinging his throat, his stomach in the soles of his feet. He had a family that loved him, and a granddaughter that thought he was the most precious thing in the world. He couldn’t bear to make them deal with his mistakes. He sat down on the uncomfortable sofa, and accepted the coffee from Morticia. 

“There, now. Let’s discuss the specifics.” 

She took her time arranging herself amidst some lavish cushions on a sofa across from him, and took her time again studying his anguished features with devilish intent written all over her angular face. 

“As you know my husband and I own the morgue here in town, so first of all I’d like to extend our sincere thanks to you for all the business you’ve brought us.” 

Andrew tried to swallow his coffee, but his throat had turned to a roll of sandpaper, coiling tighter and tighter, and as he spluttered and choked she gave a tinkling laugh that made him want to hurl the delicate porcelain cup right at her face. He didn’t though. He steadied himself, taking off his cap and resting it on his corduroyed knee. 

She continued to speak. “As it happens, Mr. Bennet, my husband and I are well connected people. We know who comes into our morgue just as well as we know who put them there. And now that we’re in a spot of trouble, we can only be bothered to hire the best help in town.” 

“I’ll garden for free for you,” Andrew ground out. 

“Actually you’ll have to be fired as my gardener, you’ll understand that I can’t be connected to you once you’ve done the job. It’s a great pity too because we’ve been nothing short of thrilled with the work you do.” She cast an appreciative gaze over her shoulder to the back lawn of the house, with the pretty garden beds and well groomed hedges. 

“No, I need you to kill someone for me. And make it look like an accident.” 

“Would you get to the point, madam?” Andrew said. He was nauseous and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never face the sun again, and she was clearly toying with him. 

“I need you to kill a surgeon.” 

Andrew blinked. He leaned back. He let out a booming laugh that took both himself and Morticia by surprise. It wasn’t that he thought it was particularly funny, but stress plays strange tricks on the mind. It was an impulse. He took the last gulp of his coffee and set the cup roughly on the polished table between them. 

“And why would I do that?” 

“It’s actually quite strange. A little funny, really.” 

“I don’t...” 

“My name is Morticia and I own a morgue. Does that not point you toward any ideas?” 

“You have a dark sense of humour,” Andrew ventured weakly. 

“My darling, I am Death, incarnate.”

There was a stark silence in which Andrew considered the very real possibility that the woman before him was raving mad. 

“Is that so?” was all he said. 

“This surgeon is after my husbands career, so I need to fix that. And, I need to have it look like one in a string of many unfortunate events.”

“A few things there,” Andrew said, and he stood up and began pacing, trying to burn off the nervous energy. “First of all, does your husband know what he’s married to? and second, why can’t you just kill him yourself?” 

She didn’t miss a beat. “No, he doesn’t know. He thinks I’m an ordinary woman. And I can’t kill the surgeon myself because it’s against the rules. They wouldn’t let me.” 

Andrew returned to his seat, not taking the bait to ask who “they” were. As his knee began bouncing convulsively and he rubbed his palms together to stop them prickling, he asked, “how could a surgeon be after a morticians job? Aren’t those direct opposites?”

For the first time, Morticia’s smile wavered. She rose and refilled their cups, taking a few steadying breaths. The twisting in Andrew’s gut intensified. That hollow place in his chest was swallowing up what was left of him, and if he carried this act out, he knew that would be the final straw. 

Morticia handed him the full cup and he gripped it, savouring the warmth it provided. It grounded him, made him feel real, and human. She sat, and finally met his eyes. 

“Whenever anyone pictures Death as a person, they picture the devil, or a creature in black cloak. Someone with horrible intentions and a penchant for evil. That isn’t who I am though. I have a schedule to follow, lists to maintain, it’s actually quite stressful. I don’t go around with a pitchfork killing people — big fan of your pitchfork murder, by the way, I thought that was really clever. Anyway, I simply facilitate death.”

Andrew wasn’t sure he understood how you could facilitate death without causing it, and he didn’t appreciate being called out for one of his killings either. He said nothing, and she continued. 

“I normally visit the local hospitals, under the guise of asking for follow-ups on our paper work. Those nurses are always getting it wrong. But I also visit the wards. I go to the ICU, and I speak to people. I see who is ready. I check it against my books.” 

Morticia stood, and crossed to the end of the room where vast bookshelves lined the walls. Andrew thought it was a shelf full of prop books, and wondered privately if she was just trying to seem impressive. But she ran an expert finger along the spines, selecting one once she was sure, and brought it to show Andrew. She sat next to him on his sofa, and he would have sworn before God the air got colder. 

She opened the book, and he was stunned to see a ledger. 

“This is last year,” she said, with the air of an accountant in a business meeting telling him he really ought to trim his expenses. Looking closer at the pages, Andrew saw that beside each name was a date, and in a third column there seemed to be one of four letters. N, M, A, or S. 

“What are these for?” He asked, pointing to an N. 

“N is for natural. A is accident, M is murder, and S – ”

“I see,” Andrew cut across her. “You still haven’t told me what mistake you made. Stop stalling.” 

Morticia sighed and went back to her sofa. Andrew was grateful to feel warmth return to the air around him. His head was getting fuzzy. It was as though he could hear a faint static, and see faint blurs in the edges of his vision. His pulse had quickened, and all together he felt quite ill. His eyes flicked to the lawn, and he imagined could smell the freshly mown grass and damp earth. Andrew swallowed, and the acid in his throat burned a little.

“I was at the hospital, and I overheard the surgeon talking to a technician. This surgeon happens to be my husband’s twin brother, and they also went through school together. One became a surgeon, the other a mortician, and everyone found it darkly funny. Anyway, I heard that he wants to take over my husband’s business. He wants to commodify his patients even further. It’s sickening. I was angry. I acted rashly. I wanted to make a note so I’d remember to talk to my husband about it and I just wrote the name of the surgeon down.”

“In your ledger?” Andrew asked. This was the most ridiculous story he’d ever heard, and vowed to himself that once he was out of this mess he was going to retire once and for all and never leave his house if he could help it. 

“It’s not something that can be undone.” 

“So I have to kill a man for you because you wrote down his name, have I got that right?” 

“I’m so glad you understand.”

“I don’t,” he said, nonplussed. 

“If he’s successful he will basically become a serial killer. He will make sure his patients die, so he can send them to his morgue, and double the bill for their loved ones. His name is in the ledger. So it’s final. I haven’t written a date yet. When can you get the job done?” 

Andrew blinked at her. “You can’t be serious,” he spluttered, beginning to stand, but she lifted and imperious finger and he halted. He thought of his family, his granddaughter, and the dark hole in his heart. 

“I will do it on one condition. Don’t pay me. Write down my name too.”

“What?” Morticia whispered. Her eyes were wide, and the flare she normally spoke with was replaced by an almost childlike awe.

“I am old. I hate myself. I’ve become a monster. Either kill me here and now, or if you insist I do it, kill me afterward. I can’t have my family knowing what I’ve done, so I’ll do what you say if it will protect them from knowing. But I don’t want to be around after.” 

“That’s no way to talk, Andrew. What’s one more?” She said it soothingly, like a mother speaking to a child being theatrical over a mild case of the sniffles. 

“What’s one more?” He croaked. “What’s…? It’s everything. I’m being swallowed up, and not much of me is left as it is. You’re pushing me over the edge. You’re driving me to it.” He was spitting the words at her, but she did not flinch. 

She spoke in a dark, low voice. “Making a deal with Death is no laughing matter, Andrew Bennet.”

“You’re the one striking the deal here. You’re welcome to walk away, and neither of us gets what we want.”

She did not answer. She picked up a pen that had been on the table between them, and slowly opened her ledger on her lap. 

“Simon Travers is the name of the surgeon,” she said, pointing her pen at the spot on the page that marked Simon’s fate. With a flourish, she began slowly etching a name underneath it, in the next vacancy. 

“Andrew Bennet. Call me when you’ve finished the job, and I will add the date for your entry.”

It was about noon when Andrew Bennet finally left Morticia’s house. She’d told him what hospital Simon worked at, and he’d said he’d call her. 

The hollow spot in his chest was writhing and expanding, pushing on his lungs so that he was panting for breath. He walked through downtown, and as he passed a shop window he saw a hunched, careworn man slouching down the street with no trace of life left in his eyes. It was his reflection, of course. His cellphone rang, and he watched the man in the shop window reach into the pocket of his jacket and answer the call. 

“Hi, Grandpa!” Came the happy little voice. He looked away from the man in the window, unable to watch. 

“Hello, dear,” he said happily. She mustn’t know anything was wrong. 

“Mom said next weekend we’re gonna come visit you,” she said happily. They talked for a minute, and he promised they’d make cookies and watch her favourite movie, and go out for lunch somewhere special, and then he hung up. He couldn’t handle this. Not again.

As he continued past shops, the man in the window fell into step beside him. He allowed a small smile to cross both their features, appreciating that the lighting was just right that day so that he didn’t feel like he was walking to the hospital alone. Feeling alone is so much worse than simply being alone, Andrew thought. Today, the world seemed to have understood that he couldn’t feel alone. Not now. 

It was an odd twist in the tapestry of life that caused Andrew Bennet to become a gardener in the first place. He had been a factory worker, close to retirement because his lungs couldn’t handle it much longer. His wife had suggested that he take up gardening on the weekends, to force him to get outside and clear his lungs. He’d fixed up their front lawn so beautifully, that when his wife threw his retirement party and invited the neighbours, he got quite a few requests. It was the combination of his exacting eye for careful detail, and his vision for what things could be, that gave him his edge. 

As he thought of this edge of his, the man in the shop windows looked at him and seemed to say do you remember how proud you were of your plan? He’d set up an elaborate mouse trap of gardening tools that resulted in his wife’s killer being run through in his own backyard. Technically an accident, and while many of that man’s neighbours had seen Andrew milling about the place tending to the flower beds, they’d also seen him carefully arranging his tool box every day. They knew him to be a measured, thoughtful man. Never absent-minded. He’d gotten off scot free. 

What about the second time, we weren’t so careful then, were we? The man in the window mocked. But Andrew was approaching the intersection in front of the hospital, and he decided it was too exhausting to go through his own ledger, so he said goodbye to the man in the windows. He crossed, and headed up the steep steps to the front doors. 

The lobby of the hospital was lit by large green-blue glass walls, giving the impression that it was a gloomy, rainy day outside despite the sun. It was sombre and sterile, and Andrew heaved a sigh as he approached the reception desk. 

“I have an appointment with Simon Travers, could you tell me where his office is please?”

“Of course, and may I get a name?” Said the receptionist without glancing up from her screen. 

“I’m a good friend of his brother, Scott, actually. My name is Andrew.” 

“I don’t see you here.” 

“His brother sent me. We spoke on the phone. Where’s his office?” 

“Whatever. Fourth floor, room two-fifty-one.” 

He walked away without thanking her. 

On the fourth floor, he got off the elevator and was greeted by a wide hallway, across which was a large cafe and seating space. Andrew felt the hollow spot inside him settle into a calm, background type of feeling, as a mixture of resolve, focus, and resignation took over his mind. He glanced at the signs on a post which told him that the room he was looking for was to his left. He crossed the hall and bought two coffees, then took them to a table in the corner where he could look out over the balcony at the floors below. 

He wasn’t really looking though. The main thing was that his back was to the hallway. 

He unzipped his jacket a little bit, and pulled out an envelop. Inside were some dried plants he’d brought with him. While he hadn’t known who Morticia had wanted him to take care of, he’d known what the meeting was about, and he’d come prepared. Being a gardener had given him certain advantages. 

To the untrained eye, he was an old man sitting alone with two cups of coffee, looking at a dried Queen Ann’s Lace flower, possibly mourning the death of a loved one, or else praying for their swift and safe recovery. To an expert however, he was carefully avoiding touching the Hemlock roots with his bare skin, as he rolled the dried stems between the paper of the envelop, dropping the fine powder and liquid from inside the roots into one of the coffees. Highly toxic, all he had to do now was get Simon Travers to take a few sips. He replaced the envelop carefully in his jacket pocket, and rose.

Room two-fifty-one was a prestigious office at the very end of the long hallway. The door was open, and hands laden with coffee, Andrew knocked gently with the toe of his shoe. 

“Simon Travers, yes? I’ve been so keen to meet with you.”

Simon Travers looked up from the papers he’d been reading, and his furrowed brow deepened as he said, “sorry, do I know you?” 

“No, we haven’t met, young man. I’m here for a chat about your practice,” Andrew said boldly, using the same foot to now ease the door shut. He crossed the room with a confidence and ease of gait that only comes with age and experience. 

“There you go, son,” he mumbled, setting the coffee down in front of Simon. He took a seat directly across from him, took a laboured sip of his own coffee, and set it on the edge of the desk with a satisfied “aahhh, there we are.” 

“Who are you?” Simon pressed, trying not to be too rude while speaking loudly and slowly. 

“Andrew Bennet is the name,” Andrew said in the same tone. Simon’s brows shot up, and he pursed his lips, an invitation for Andrew to continue. 

Looking at the young man before him, the hollow darkness in Andrew’s chest reared up, pushing on his lungs so hard he felt he might faint, pushing up his throat so that he could barely speak, and reaching his brain to form a dark cloud over his thoughts. He couldn’t very well snatch the coffee back, could he. His palms prickled with sweat, and he suddenly became aware of his own body odour. It was too late. His head was swimming. He was here. It was about to happen. Again. He didn’t want to watch. He shut his eyes, pressing his lids so tightly together he thought he might be able to force blindness upon himself. 

“Are you okay?” Simon’s voice sounded a long way off. Andrew hadn’t prepared anything to say to this young man. His plan had simply been to give him the coffee. 

“Listen, sir, I’ve got a surgery I have to perform in an hour. If you have something to say, spit it out.” 

And just like that, eyes screwed shut, a blinding clarity came over him. Maybe he wasn’t a bad person. He had been exacting justice this whole time. Avenging his wife was noble, and preventing the murder of several patients at the hands of a surgeon with a tendency for malpractice, well, that wasn’t so bad either. Andrew opened his eyes. Over Simon’s shoulder was a stunning view of the city. He let his gaze wander, curious if he could spot home from where he was sitting. 

“Sir, I’m going to have to insist that you make this quick.” 

Andrew’s eyes stayed on the glass but his gaze shifted, so he could see the man in the window again. He supposed he’d followed him from the shops on the street. Andrew watched the man in the window speak to the back of Simon’s head. 

“I haven’t got a lot of money and that coffee was a gesture you know,” he snapped. Simon pulled a face, picked up the cup and tilted it toward Andrew as though to say “cheers”, and took a swig. 

“Now, I’m here because Morticia said you’re her husband’s twin.” 

“Oh, here we go,” Simon said, rubbing a hand over his face. “What did she tell you, that I’m driving her business into the ground because I’m so good at saving people?” 

“What? No, she said you’re killing people to support your brother’s business, the business that you plan to steal from him.” 

Simon leaned back and let out a laugh without mirth. His chair turned a bit, and he stared out at the city before turning back to Andrew. “I save people for a living, do you understand that? I could never do something that monstrous.” 

“Why should I believe you?” Andrew said, feeling the roiling monster inside him start to gnaw on his ribs.

“Go ask any of the staff on this floor. I’ve been working at this hospital for nearly two decades and I’ve only ever lost two patients on the table, both during my fellowship at the beginning of my career. I’m a miracle worker, Mr. Bennet.” 

The smooth arrogance on Simon Travers face was not enough to condemn the man to death. If what he had said was true, Morticia had told a boldfaced lie, though why that should surprise Andrew he did not know. He no longer felt present. The darkness inside him had made its way through his brain, his bones, his heart…he watched Simon raise the coffee for another drink, the whole time staring with a triumphant glint at Andrew. 

When he set the cup down again, Andrew could see it was half empty. More than enough had been drunk. 

“My mistake then lad, sorry to bother you.” 

“Tell Morticia she can rot,” he said darkly. Andrew merely nodded and left the office, careful to close the door behind him. 

He made his way out of the hospital, and realized it wasn’t the glass that made the sky look rainy. It was now pouring. He didn’t care. He pulled out his phone, and called Morticia. She answered, and he said, “It’s Andrew. It’s done,” and hung up. 

He pulled his hat down more snugly on his head, and let the rain soak him as he stepped outside. He let it work through the thick denim of his jacket, let it make the corduroy of his pants turn to lead from the weight of the water. His feet squelched in his shoes, his socks sliding down and balling up under his toes. He let the water get into his eyes, welcoming the stinging, blurred vision. He let his nose run. He let all these things happen because they grounded him, made him feel present and real and human, even though the dark hollow thing in his chest was doing everything it could to prove otherwise. 

He had been right, when he was sitting in Morticia’s drawing room that morning. This murder had been the last straw. 

As he walked up the final block into the suburbs where his house sat, he wondered who had been the liar: Morticia, or Simon. He wondered if it mattered. He wondered whether he would have acted differently if it had been Morticia. He wouldn’t have, because she’d blackmailed him. He thought of his sweet granddaughter. He wondered if Simon had a family of his own. He hadn’t bothered to ask. 

While he was wondering all this, Andrew hadn’t been paying attention to his footing. His toe caught on a raised lip in the sidewalk that he trod every day - he had memorized this little raised lip and normally carefully stepped over it, but today was different. He crashed to the ground, smacking his head off of the concrete. 

He rolled onto his back. 

He let the rain thunder onto his face for a moment, allowing it to soothe the stinging on his forehead where his skin had broken. He swiped at his face. There didn’t seem to be too much blood. No one had been around to see Andrew Bennet fall, and as the old man hoisted himself back to standing he felt a small relief that his dignity wasn’t hurt. He shuffled the remaining few steps, not bothering to take his usual glance at his immaculate front lawn as he entered the house. 

Though it was only about five in the afternoon, Andrew shuffled upstairs and changed into dry clothes, and climbed into bed. He embraced the weight and warmth of the blankets after the long walk in the rain. He hadn’t turned on any lights, and as the dim early evening light lulled him into that blissful middle state between sleeping and wakefulness, he wondered if Morticia would keep her promise to him.

 As the rain kept pouring down, the darkness inside him pounded in his chest and in his head - though he couldn’t be sure if his head didn’t just hurt from its introduction to the sidewalk. 

Evening turned to twilight, which turned to night, and the darkness inside him ate up the entire room, easing him into slumber.

When morning came, Andrew Bennet did not wake.

[paintedrecs]

I was going to name a different one, but: the scene between Owen and Demona at the beginning of "All Is Mended" chapter three. :-D

That’s 800 words, so you’re cheating. Also what other one were you gonna name hmmmm.

For this meme.

Excerpt from this fic. (Gargoyles, Owen Burnett/David Xanatos, 11k, Owen POV, canon compliant.) Discussion under the cut.

“I don’t understand you,” Demona said.

Owen watched her approach; he’d heard her glide down to the castle but hadn’t bothered to move from his seat on the edge of a wide stone wall, overlooking the bright lights of the city stretching out far below. She was an ally for the present, working with Xanatos on his latest attempt at immortality. That didn’t mean Owen trusted her.

“You’re not human,” Demona said, folding her wings as she perched beside him—graceful, and dangerous, but not someone he wasted effort fearing. “Yet you act like one. Why.”

“I made a promise,” Owen said. He could’ve left it there, but he swept a sidelong look at her, then added, dryly, “Perhaps you need the word defined.”

“Funny,” she said, in a tone so casually uncaring that he could tell he’d poked at a particularly tender spot, one she’d spent centuries ignoring.

“So I’ve been told,” he said.

Demona’s lips pulled back slightly as she spoke through her fangs. “That’s what I mean, Puck. Why do you persist in masquerading in this skin, when we both know who you are?”

“I’m Owen,” he replied, adjusting the glasses that had slipped a little down his nose. The frames didn’t fit right around his ears anymore; he should have the screws tightened, when he had the time.

“You’re pining,” she spat, as though she’d never heard a fouler word.

That, he hadn’t expected. He didn’t bother denying it; Demona was many things, but never a fool. “I don’t see what relevance that has to you,” he said. “You wish to gain immortality; I’m doing my part. Owen is perfectly capable of playing his role.”

“And Puck has powers Owen could never dream of.” Demona tilted her head, watching him thoughtfully. It was unpleasant, but he let her eyes scrape over him. “When you were last in your true form, as Puck—” she began.

Owen let out a sudden, scoffing breath. “When you held me in chains and made me do your bidding.”

She shrugged, lightly. “You said something to me then. You told me that if I wished, you could make Goliath love me again. Was that true?”

“I bend the truth,” he said. “When the mood strikes me. I do not lie.”

“So it was possible.”

“Yes,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at her, unsure where she was heading. “Titania’s mirror is beyond your reach now. Even if you had it in your grasp, you know full well I wouldn’t carry out the wish the way you wanted.”

“Because you’re a trickster,” she said, with annoyance that bordered on grudging respect. It was clear that she hadn’t often run into someone who could best her. “But my point, Puck, is that you have this power. You could make David Xanatos love you.”

Owen’s lip curled in disgust; he turned away from her.

“Don’t pretend you have a human’s misguided sense of honor,” Demona chided, human sounding like the darkest expletive she could harness. “You’ve done worse, over the centuries, as have I.”

He didn’t bother dignifying her with a response.

“Answer me, Puck,” she demanded, then, dripping with disdain, when he remained silent: “Owen.”

“You think ill of humans,” Owen said, each word precise, biting. “You blame them for all your errors, for the foul deeds only you were responsible for carrying out. You think yourself above them, and you assume that I, as someone who has lived far longer than you, who has seen worlds you cannot fathom, will treat humans with as little esteem.”

Demona rose to her feet, towering over him, her eyes flashing red in fury.

Owen cast her a look that carried the full weight of his contempt. “Yes, I have the power to do as you say, and far beyond that. What you don’t see—what I suspect you’ve never seen—is that forcing someone to bend to your will is meaningless. All it does is show how weak, how petty, you are.”

Demona hissed at him, but did not approach. She unfurled her wings, and as she dropped from the turret, she cast back her parting shot. “You should know, then, that Fox is pregnant.”

“I know,” he said, to the now-empty sky. He watched as she followed the currents across the city, well past the clock tower where her former love resided, no longer thinking of her.

Xanatos hadn’t told him yet, but Owen was familiar with the signs. He’d seen, too, the way Xanatos had grown more careful with her, how his hands would instinctively stray, now, to her waist, her still-flat belly, not yet swollen with life. How he looked at her, with a light in his eyes that would’ve burned one less worthy to cinders.

“I know,” he repeated quietly and, adjusting his glasses and briskly dusting off his suit, returned to his work.

Commentary! Oof we’ll see if this gets long. Character limits on twitter make it easier to be concise. And please please let the read more actually work this time, tumblr.

So this is actually one of my favorite parts of that fic.

In general, I reach an Avoidance Point with my own writing; I edit obsessively, post, edit the posted fic a little more, then panic and stop rereading it. If you don’t check your bank account, it’ll never be empty. If you don’t reread your fics after you’ve posted them, you’ll never find out that (a) they’re terrible (b) there are a dozen more areas that could use more editing.

Nevertheless, I’m still, I think, really proud of this one. This particular section isn’t something that’s terribly new for me, not like other parts of the fic that stretched me beyond my usual comfort levels, but it is an interaction between two characters I’d never written before.

I’m really pleased with Demona’s voice here. The way she spits out Owen’s name, the hatred she shows for anything human, her very dubious (and self-centered) morality, the hints of lingering heartbreak over Goliath, her deep confusion over Puck choosing to take on human form. It’s the worst curse she can imagine - and since this scene takes place after “The Mirror,” you’ve seen how horrified she is at seeing herself as a human, a “gift” Puck bestowed upon her so she won’t turn to stone during the day.

Demona pissed Puck off, so he gave her what she asked for, but at a price he knew she would absolutely despise.

But Puck loves being a human. He loves being Owen. It’s something Demona can’t ever understand, and here she’s trying to, as much as Demona ever tries to truly understand anything that doesn’t directly benefit her.

Why would Puck spend his days in a form where he doesn’t have ready access to his exceptional powers? Why would he allow himself to continue serving a human - when he broke away from her so quickly, so easily? Demona might occasionally work with Xanatos, but she doesn’t like or trust him, and she’d readily destroy him alongside the rest of humanity, after she’s gotten what she wants/needs from him.

Why would Puck fall in love with a human - something that’s become obvious even to Demona, from working alongside the two of them. Worse: why the hell won’t he do anything about it, when he clearly has the power to make Xanatos do whatever he wants?

These were all questions I wanted to pull out of the story, and Demona - as someone who actually knows who Owen truly is - was a natural choice to press hard for some answers.

I layered a bunch of stuff into this interaction, but here are three main concepts:

1. Love isn’t selfish.

I don’t think Puck would’ve actually cast a love spell on Goliath if Demona had asked - not without throwing in a few twists and tricks. But the fact remains that he could have, and that it would’ve been comparatively easy. Demona didn’t ask for and didn’t really want that, but she did love Goliath for a long time, as much as she’s capable of loving anyone, so that offer would stick with her.

And Demona...well, Demona already used one free-will-spell against Goliath, so it’s not like it’s an idea she’s entirely adverse to.

Owen, on the other hand, would never consider making Xanatos do something against his will. (This is, in fact, something he and Xanatos share - Xanatos’s immense caution against pushing Owen into something he might not want contributes to that stupidly long gap before they resolve their relationship.)

If Xanatos doesn’t love Owen, that’s his choice. Owen is heartbroken about it, and he’s out here on the rooftop indulging in some quiet reflection on how it feels for a human heart to shatter, but he’ll shake it off and go back inside before long. Demona’s an unwelcome intrusion, and he’s understandably sharp with her.

2. Puck is a trickster, not a villain.

I have a lot of thoughts about Xanatos, too. While it’s not entirely relevant to get too into depth with here, I do think that a huge part of Puck’s attachment and loyalty to Xanatos comes from the fact that Xanatos is fascinating - not dull and full of preachy speeches like Renard - without being actually evil.

Demona is interesting, sure - she’s lived a long and exciting life - but Puck would never, ever willingly serve her. She’s selfish. She’s cruel. She’s vindictive. Puck doesn’t want to destroy humanity; he likes humans. He likes Xanatos best, yes, but he enjoys being in this world with the rest of them.

In the City of Stone episode, Owen stands toe-to-toe with Elisa and says, “Mr. Xanatos is trying to fix things. What are you doing to help?”

And that, I think, is the crux of the relationship between Owen and Xanatos. Owen sees Xanatos’s delightful trickster spirit, and he also sees the good in him. They’d both upend a city but would be careful to put it back to rights if things went too far. Demona would gladly stand back and watch it burn to the ground.

Demona can only see reflections of her own cruelty now. She hates humanity because they’re the easiest target to blame for her own flaws. Owen sees humans’ complexities and loves them for it.

And because he isn’t truly human - because he’s a fae who’s wandered the earth as long as Demona has, and has lived longer, with a much wider perspective on the world and all of reality - he has no reason to listen to her petty whining. And she might actually, for the barest moment, listen to what he says to her.

Of course, she has to get in one last dig before flying away in her usual dramatic huff, but he already knows that, too. Demona can’t hurt him; Owen made his own choices, knowing the consequences. And, unlike Demona, he’s willing to live with those consequences without trying to reflect the blame elsewhere.

3. You can choose your own identity.

Demona has very rigid ideas about...well, about pretty much everything. Humans are bad. Gargoyles are good. (As long as they side with her.) Her human form is something that’s useful to her now, but she’ll never stop loathing it or wishing she could shake it off.

She thinks everyone sees the world the way she does, and she assumes that Puck is (a) not entirely happy being trapped as a human, chained to Xanatos by a contract, like she attempted with the mirror (b) “pretending” to be someone else when he’s wearing his Owen shape.

But what I wanted to show throughout this fic is that Puck is Owen. And that even a fae subject to Oberon’s Rule can choose his own identity, his own name, his own place in a life that he wants to lead.

At one point here, Owen refuses to respond to Demona until she calls him by his proper name. She spits it out, hating it, but he’s already told her once that’s who he is. He gave himself that name; it’s the one he wishes to use.

Owen was born into a specific life. This life - with Xanatos, as Owen Burnett, glasses and suits and clunky flip phones and all - is the one he’s chosen for himself. And he’ll do everything in his power to keep it.

[phantomphangphucker]

A Life Of Role Playing Weakness - PhannieMay - Day 14 D & D

Summary: What’s a halfa to do when school is on lockdown and everyone’s bored? Games and trickery.

Most of the class groans as they can tell the sun has set by the room becoming near pitch black. Though pretty well everyone’s glad Mr. Lancer got stuck outside of class, otherwise he would have spent the afternoon making them do school work.

Danny, knowing full well no one else can actually see, finds some candles and sneakily lights them with his fingers. Unfortunately, there’s only three but most of the class seems relieved to have them, “took you long enough Fenton”. Rolling his eyes at Kwan, “like you would have been any faster, at least I was actually doing something”. Danny honestly could have found them way faster but that would have been suspicious. Groaning a bit at the window, though the groan was more aimed at the extreme weather outside, that has caused the school lockdown and blackout. Sure he could technically just leave, but due to the schools' security system, all the doors and windows are sealed shut. The only way out would be to phase out and that would be so many levels beyond suspicious.

Clearly, a couple geeks are tired of Star and Lily bickering, “why don’t we play a game? You know, actually get along? For one night?”.

“Oh why would we do that when it’s more fun to annoy you losers?”, Danny rolls his eyes at Todd, sure he’s not as bad as Dash but still.

Apparently, the geek kid, James, isn’t very impressed either, “I’d rather get destroyed by stupid wind while having fun, than getting mocked by some meathead”. Danny’s not really sure how insulting the guy will get him to play games but whatever.

Deciding to interfere, “what game? Ain’t nobody going to play if no one knows what’s up. And if you say truth or dare even I will mock you”.

“Oh like you even know how to mock someone, Fenton. But yeah whatever, spill”, Danny muffles his snickering because he could out mock this guy easily. Half his fights involved mocking the opponent, eighty percent if it was Vlad.

The other geek kid, Tyler, rummages through his bag and pulls out what looks like a board game, “well, someone made a D & D ghost edition. Because this is Amity, got figures and everything”. Tyler is smirking as even Danny knows that anything ghosts gets pretty much every Amity teens attention. And Danny is honestly so down for this too, he will die if there’s a figure like him in this thing.

Flopping on his back as there is indeed a little crystal clear figure that, while mostly featureless, looks suspiciously like Phantom. Finger gun shooting himself in the head before pointing at the board, while still laying on the ground, “ok, I’m in”. Seems everyone else agrees while looking at the collection of ghostly figures.

Unsurprisingly, pretty well only the geeks know anything about this game. And no one’s interested in long explanations. So they just give a quick run down of classes and alignments. But having to pull out the book and read over it quickly for species, since this was an entirely ghosts and humans version.

Danny snickers, “chaotic good undying warlock suits me I’d say”. Really Danny only picked that because of the undying bit, the joke was there so he had to take it. And chaotic good pretty much was him, no way he could call himself lawful. Not when his very existence was against the laws of nature and reality themselves.

James tosses down a shorthand species sheet, “I’m surprised they actually made so many ghost species, so take your pick”.

Species:

Ghost - versatile but never the strongest

Ghoul - aggressive close and personal fighters

Spirit - gentle divine creatures, usually lawful

Spector - sneaky loners, like to appear highly intelligent.

Poltergeist - aggressive powerful fighters, always evil. Large but often invisible.

Whisp - tricksters but powerful with magic, always chaotic good. Small in size

Wraith - protective, unattractive and often feared by others

Banshee - prophetic strong healers

Phantom - selfless guardians who care for others, always good.

Danny obviously wants to pick the Phantom class but apparently, no gets to be that, as James taps on that class and snickers, “considering this is Amity, Phantom isn’t going to be a playable species otherwise half of you guys will pick that”. Danny sticks out his arms, “oh come on, if anyone should get that species it should be the guy with the same first name!”. A few of the other kids snicker and even James shrugs in amusement but, “can’t just let one person pick it. That would be a dick move”. Danny rolls his eyes but is thoroughly amused, seeing as he’s almost about to graduate and literally no one has figured out who exactly he is, he’s kind of stopped caring about going out of his way to hide shit. Heck, he’s tempted to just randomly clue in his classmates through various absurd means. At least now the government can’t even touch him, they wanted to be on “safe footing” with the ghost king even if they still have no clue who exactly that is. All they know is that he’s frequently in the human world and capable of taking the form of a regular human. Danny’s perfectly content to let them think that ability is unique to the Ghost King.

Shaking his head and looking down to the sheet, Whisp and Wraith are the only ones that stand out to him but trickster is much more in line with himself and would be much more amusing. And he’s not really surprised that no one picks regular ghost, “well Whisp it is for me. A chaotic Whispy Warlock that just can not fucking die already”.

“Dude, that’s not what undying means here”

“No shit, let me have my jokes”, besides undying warlocks get their magic from immortals right? Well this character was made by a damn immortal, given creation and thus power from Phantoms immortal ass.

Lily rolls the weird dice in her fingers, “so what? We roll for stat points now?”. While Rex eyes Danny up and down, “you picked the smallest class but you’re the tallest guy here. Did you just pick everything to be funny?”. Danny smirks wide, not why he picked the species but absolutely. Everything about him is practically one big joke, Hell he’s playing a board game with a bunch of regular humans while pretending to be trapped during a storm. He could literally fly through this weather and it would be fun too. He could also stop it if he really wanted to, use his ice to mess with the weather and air currents; but fucking around that much really wasn’t a good idea.

“Yup, roll three dice. Total stat point of three is the worst you could get, eighteen is the highest. Ten or eleven is the average. All the regular human npc’s are tens”, Danny’s not surprised Todd went with Ghoul. He might not be that big of a guy but man could he ever be an aggressive asshole to pretty much everyone. Speaking of asshole, “Fenton, your turn. What? your brain still fried from that weak little shock?”.

Turning to Todd and answering as he throws dice, “you know I underplayed that shit right? Didn’t want to deal with damn doctors, no way anyone would have let me out of going to the hospital if they had known it was closer to four billion than a hundred volts”. Smirking at Todd, “just for reference, a lightning bolt is around one billion. Your wall socket, that I’m sure you rammed forks into for kicks, is about a hundred and twenty”.

“Ok first off, you suck with dice, second how the hell aren’t you dead then?”, James clearly thinks Danny’s bullshitting and the sad thing is, the portal was probably more volts than that. Who knows what the volt readout for the entirety of a dimension colliding inside one tiny body is. Danny finishes rolling as he talks, “I’m not dead? Well, that’s news to me”.

Star elbows him, she’s become oddly friendly even flirty over the past year. Danny’s pretty well positive it’s because of his height and even if he wore baggy clothing pretty well always, if you really looked you could tell he wasn’t scrawny. Star’s got an eye for details so he can’t be too surprised and she’s perfectly fine with dating below her standing, Hell she dated Tucker of all people. “What even happened? Pretty sure you never told anyone”.

Rolling his eyes at her, “no one cared to ask. But if you must know a ghost portal opened up directly on top of me. There’s no real way to know just how much shocked me but I’m pretty sure an entire dimension carries more volts than one lightning bolt”.

Danny’s the only one to notice the straight up shit roll of his last dice as everyone gapes at him. Tyler’s the first to speak up, “you were electrocuted by the ghost zone?! Like all of it?! At once?! You should be a lot more than dead!”. Danny throws his head back and laughs, “what? Dead with a side of extra dead sauce?! Sounds like the perfect breakfast!”. Shaking his head as he continues talking, while catching James staring in bafflement at the dice, “sounds way more edible than those stupid ecto-contaminated Hot Dogs that try to eat you back! Or that damn overcooked turkey that stabbed me with a knife”.

Kwan mouths “what the fuck”, while James points at Danny, “dude, your luck is horrendous. I’m not even sure how you even get the worst stats possible. No wonder a portal opened up on you, I think the universe might actually hate you”, glancing at Danny who has curled up in laughter, “I don’t think it’s quite that funny though”. Danny can’t help but laugh harder, the king of ghosts, the most powerful ghost around, who’s literally worshiped as a god by some; is the weakest and shittiest ghost in this game. Like Boxy could beat this guys ass. That thought makes him laugh even harder. Wiping his eyes a bit and noticing that everyone actually looks slightly concerned know, “trust me, this is utterly hilarious. You just don’t know why! Oh man!”. Wheezing in laughter again, “now watch, the rest of my rolls will be so insanely good that I impossibly succeed at everything my character does”.

Kwan points at him, “with these awful stats you damn well better, otherwise you’re screwed”.

“I think the stats reflect Fenton perfectly. Weak and pathetic!”, Danny really can’t feel insulted because it’s just really funny right now. Todd is clearly not happy that Danny finds this funny instead of insulting, or that Star is mouthing, “are you blind?”, at Todd.

“How can you possibly find being insulted funny?”, comes Rex’s squeaky voice. Danny runs a hand through his hair, “insults are funny when they’re so insanely incorrect that it becomes absurd”.

Todd rolls his eyes at Danny, “you’re a complete weakling and a scaredy cat, just like al-”, Todd cuts himself off as he stares at Danny. Who just tore off his sweater, because this is way too funny. Chances are if he ever gets destroyed, it will be because he couldn’t resist a good joke. Danny smirks a bit as he nonchalantly flexes without doing any dumb poses, because he does have some shame. While everyone just stares at the clearly ripped and heavily scarred weirdest member of the weirdo trio.

“Todd, I could fucking maim you. I could maim the whole damn football team. But that wouldn’t be very good of me, now would it?”, tapping on his character sheet with a sly smirk.

“How the hell do you look like that man? And why don’t you just join the team then? Actually have good social standing?”, Danny can’t really blame Kwan for caring about that sort of thing. After all, being a jock was pretty well the guys' life and he wasn’t burdened with crazy weird responsibilities or power for that matter.

Responding mostly to Todd’s little insults, “I come from a family of ghost hunters, what the hell do you think? That scaredy cat crap is just a cover. Which is rather pointless now, what with graduation coming up and all the teachers not really giving a shit about my crap now”, aggressively pointing his finger at Kwan while the others finish rolling, “I don’t care for sports and my time is better spent elsewhere. Social standing in Highschool means nothing to me”.

Now it’s Tyler’s turn to look incredulously at the stupid powerful halfa, “why are you even telling us this?”.

“Because it’s funny. I picked a jokester species for a reason. I’m a little shit and this is one way I get my kicks. That and no one will believe you if you tell. So it really doesn’t matter. Even if you were believed, it would hardly matter. It’s too late for the school to really do anything and I really am someone of chaos. I will only laugh harder if the whole school starts freaking out”, Danny can tell he’s confusing everyone and that is only making him snickering more. So he takes the chance for first dibs on a figure, a transparent floating skinny man in a hooded robe with his legs crossed. Looks a shit ton like ClockWork, snickering “now if only he had a staff”. This prompts everyone else to realise what he did and to start snatching at figures, while Rex gives him a shy but quizzical look. So Danny decides to be more of a confusing mess to these regular mortals, “he looks like a close friend of mine. And this makes my horrid stats even funnier because my friend is flat out OP. His tricky ass will get a good laugh out of this I’m sure”.

“Uh, humans aren’t really OP, ever, are you friends with a freaking ghost? You’re damn weird enough to be the person who befriends some ghost. And what? You going to talk his ear off about actually hanging out with people other than the two other resident freaks for once?”, Todd’s tone goes from confused questioning to his typical insulting asshole mode. So Danny decides to be a bit of an ass right back, “Todd, my friend is an omniscient borderline god of a ghost. I don’t have to tell him, he already knows and is probably snickering like crazy right now. But of course you don’t believe me, why would you? Which is why he’ll either A, do nothing to make me the butt of a joke. Or B, do something to make you the butt of a joke. That, or he’ll hit me with his staff to do both at once”. Honestly Danny’s kind of looking for approval and pretty well a go-ahead from the master of time here, he’d like to know he’s not majorly fucking up just because he’s having a bit of fun.

Everyone’s staring at him in disbelief and he can tell Todd wants to mock him some more but Danny falling back laughing stops him. Holding the figure, which now has a little tiny glowing CW staff resting across its lap, above his face. Through a laugh, “fucking nice, you enigmatic weirdo”. Sitting back up as he places the figure on the board, “and now he’s got a staff”.

“Nice trick, maybe you can-”, Lily cuts Todd off, “dumb boy, pretty sure he doesn’t carry around mini glowing staff things. No ones that weird”. She’s not wrong, why would someone ever do that anyway? Well, ClockWork might, just to throw them at him. After all, he’s got all the time in the world to mess around, when he can anyway. Just like Danny, though Danny takes way more mess around time.

Tyler shakes his head, “something tells me, we barely know you”. Danny pats Tyler on the shoulder while James actually gets the game started, “so we’re doing this party style, just a dungeon crawl. Get through the city without getting caught by hunters and defeat the ghost king”. This makes Danny cough a bit startled, the goal of this game is for his classmates and him to defeat, himself? Well, he guesses that’s not really a first for him. “Hey, James. Who does this game think the ghost king is?”, everyone looks a bit confused at him. Then James grabs one of the figures, Danny can’t help but laugh at the little knock-off Pariah figure. “Well that’s a damn easy battle currently then! Dude’s locked inside the sarcophagus of forever sleep. So we’re beating up a sleeping man, or releasing him just to fight him. Which is grade A stupid and insane”, waving off their shocked glances, “besides he’s not even the ghost king”.

“Oh and you know who is? We could just swap out if there’s a figure for him. All the figures have set stats for if you’re going to use them as NPC’s”, now Danny’s just flat out interested, because that includes him. Danny motions for the book but James sticks it behind him, “oh Hell no, just tell us who”.

Rolling his eyes, “I’m just going to take the book, dude. I do want I wanna, chaotic and all that”.

“Fenton, he’s literally right across from you. How you plan to do that?”, Todd snickers a bit while James looks smug. Danny decides just fuck it at this point, because really how has no one noticed his crap yet. Using the free-floating ectoplasm in the air to fling the book over Jame’s head and at himself, flipping through it as everyone gapes. “How did you even do that? That’s more than just sleight of hand, holy shit”, Danny blinks at them over the top of the book and snickers, realising none of them actually noticed the slight ghostly glowing. Comparing his and Pariah’s page and damn they made Phantom overpowered. Sure, that’s accurate but, uh, even if everyone had freaky high stats this doesn’t seem winnable. Why the heck put a nearly undefeatable character in a board game? Sure it was accurate to real life but still. Though making Pariah just barely above half Phantoms strength was majorly underestimating the former king. Like insanely so. And did they seriously make a Walker look-alike stronger than Pariah? The tornado “race” too? Putting the book down, “yeah I don’t think we want to do that. The goal here is to actually win right? Not just have everybody’s asses get universally kicked”.

Lily puts her hands on her hips, “just spill already. You satiated your curiosity now do ours”.

Chuckling a bit as he pushes around the figures some, “fine fine, it really should be obvious though”. Smirking as he cups the little knock-off Phantom before slowly placing him at the castle, “our little town hero is a lot busier than he seems”. Literally all of them are grinning, though Star looks a bit confused, “so why do ghosts keep coming here and picking fights with Phantom. If he’s their king shouldn’t they, like, listen to him?”.

“Fighting is how ghosts socialise, know each other, and keep each other from getting rusty. The only way ghosts won't go picking fights with another ghost is if that ghost is hated or extremely annoying to literally everyone. Well, that or just being really dumb and pointless to fight”.

“So what Phantom’s not strong enough to be pointless to fight? Really Fenton”, Danny rolls his eyes at Todd’s unimpressed tone. Shaking his head, “oh the stats this book gives him are accurate. He’s pretty well the most powerful ghost there is. An omnipotent immortal who’s literally worshipped as a god by many other ghosts. All those fights are usually more like sparring matches, he’s having his ghostly fun and keeping in touch with everyone. He’d be so very bored otherwise and the other ghosts wouldn’t want him out of practice in case something happens”.

Todd actually starts laughing at this while James does indeed decide to stick with using knock-off Pariah because damn. Todd points at Danny, “of course Phantom likes hitting and fighting! Regular jock for sure, just with real power”.

“Well I don’t like that. He should be wanting ghosts to not come here, not eagerly, or whatever, awaiting the next fight”, Danny can’t help but jerk from that because dude fuck buddy. He absolutely did look forward to the next fight, fighting and witty batter was his bread and butter. Locking eyes with Tyler, “nearly every ghost awaits their next fight, welcome to ghost nature buddy. Humans go to cafes, ghosts punch each other. Humans show off pictures of their selfies or pets, ghosts show off new weapons by using them on each other. To fight is to socialise. Phantoms one of the few that doesn’t like others in the crossfire though. If ghosts stopped picking fights here, he’d feel unneeded and paranoid. Plus this is his home, ghosts have to come here to see him. Them being here doesn’t mean they’re causing problems”. Tyler still looks unimpressed.

There’s the occasional jokes and pepperings of ghost questions as they play a few turns before Lily has just about enough and finally asks Danny just what the fuck, “how do you even know all this shit? Even your parents, who’ve spent their whole lives researching ghosts, don’t know even half this shit. I would know, I’ve asked”. Danny chuckles, his parents would know this shit if they weren’t so damn biased and actually just asked. Smirking at her, “you learn this stuff by genuinely socialising and being friendly with ghosts. My parents only wish to send them back to the Zone or experiment. Of course, they don’t know”.

“That’s actually kind of sad, still doesn’t answer my main question though. You’re actually fighting ghosts?”, Danny will give her props on being pushy. But he rolls to see if he can avoid this random hunter trap before responding, smirking as it rolls high, “I spar yes, protect the citizens. Toss around witty banter, making Plasmius regret ever meeting me. In general, I’m an OP little shit”, Danny taps on his figure, that’s actually doing well for being an utter weakling, “that’s why this is funny. The strongest most capable person here has the utterly weakest character ever”.

“Capable ghost hunter isn’t a capable ghost, even if you’re a ghost friendly hunter”, Danny can’t help but wheeze. He was just a ghost being a ghost. Half human or not, he was sparing and socialising as a ghost does. Calling him a human hunting ghosts was just so entirely wrong. Smiling with his head in his hand, “I don’t call myself a hunter and neither do they”.

Kwan pushes him playfully, “yeah well, regardless of title, I still can’t believe you even do that. Props man, I guess”.

By the time the party gets to knock-off Pariah, both Lily and some quiet kid named Max have had their characters killed off. Danny’s snickering as his and Tyler’s characters are leading the face off. While James shakes his head and points his hand at the figures, “this is ridiculous even if you had raised your stats the most you possibly could, there’d still be no way to win this”. Danny chuckles because that’s pretty much what the odds were when he did face Pariah. Once again deciding fuck it, “well then let’s make this even more realistic then. I’ll roll to multiply my characters power a hundredfold”. James starts lowkey choking, “what?! How is that realistic?!”. Danny laughs as he rolls, “that’s how Phantom won. Multiplied his power a hundredfold and nearly destroyed himself in the process. This book drastically underestimates Pariah’s power. It took thirteen extremely powerful ancient ghosts just to seal him away, Phantom did it alone. Like the self-sacrificial idiot he is”. Shrugging, “well that and, no one else was even willing to fight Pariah cause he was too damn strong and wasn’t worth fighting”.

Smirking at his die showing a high ass number, while menacingly petting his figure, “having that much power... it’s a burden, isn’t it, child?”. James mouths, “what the fuck”, at both the die and Danny.

While Todd blinks a bit surprised, “Fenton, what? I would never have expected you to sound creepy, threatening, and powerful”. Danny grins wider, “and that’s why no one will believe you about any of this”.

Now, unfortunately, this battle with Pariah requires actually defeating him. No sealing him away, and his character is pathetically weak even at a hundredfold power. He could kick his own ass with his ghost powers completely neutralised. So it really surprised no one that Danny fuckin’ dies.

Snickering down at the figure, “little ragged around the edges, eh, child?”. Before bursting out laughing as the mini staff explodes into purple mist. Todd, Tyler, and Star do wind up surviving and winning though.

“So any other crazy bullshit you feel like pulling. Since we’re officially out of shit to do besides being dicks to each other”, James mutters while lying on the floor. Todd snickers, “I’m cool with that”. Danny rolls his eyes, “now-now, would you act like that in front of Phantom?”. Both Star and Todd shake their heads rapidly, only Todd speaks though, “why the hell would I? That guy’s like super moral, I’d be making a horrible impression”. Danny can’t help but laugh, yeah he’s definitely got strong morals but he’s also a little shit. He steals, pulls pranks, constantly breaks into to pretty much everywhere, and spends most of his time pounding the crap out of someone. Good reasons or no, he’s ain’t a golden boy. Just the good guy who generally plays fast and loose with morality... and mortality. Smirking at Todd, “it’s a little late to change his impression of you, I’d say. You’ve literally punched him in the face, multiple times actually”, Danny sneers mockingly but still humorously, at Todd looking startled, “oh what? Didn’t know Phantom can change into a regular human?”. Throwing his head back and laughing loudly, “funny thing! The town barely knows Phantom”. Danny sighs as his ghost sense goes off and well, surprise surprise, his icy breath also glows. Knowing full well it’s Skulker, who really is more of a threat, he has a bad tendency to abduct people after all.

“What the fuck was that?”, Danny completely ignores Tyler, though he does talk, “the town also barely knows Fenton. So you’re right about that, but looks like I’ve got a job to do. Guess Skulker doesn’t really care about the shit weather, but then again, neither do I. Flying in the wind is hella fun”. Smirking as his toxic green eyes fill the room with an eerie ghostly light, “anyways this has been quite amusing and like I said, I’m a little overpowered shit. And ain’t nobody gonna believe you”. Before transforming and phasing out the window.

“Fenton, Phantom. We are all idiots, holy shit”

End.

[jordanthatblondegirl]

Jo’s Notes: Insurgent

“Sometimes, if you want the truth, you have to demand it.”

After escaping an invasion and recovering from a murderous mind control, Tris and Tobias, along with refugee Abnegations and remnants of the Dauntless, flee the city to the Amity faction. In the second installment of Veronica Roth’s Divergent series, we learn more about the complicated history and relationships that created their current conflict. We also learn how Chicago might be hiding a deeper secret than anyone knows.

Starting Insurgent was starting into new territory. While I knew the story of Divergent (though not as well as I thought I did), I have all sorts of information to discover in this new volume. One such piece of information was the exact specifications of Tris and Tobias’ relationship. It might have been addressed in the first book, but this was when I first examine the age gap between the two. At first, I was a little put off (and maybe I still am), but I decided it wasn’t much of an issue since their society treats you as an adult by age 16. Similarly, they’re both in Dauntless, where I can see a similar relationship timeline to those who join the U.S. armed forces.  

Insurgent allows the first look at the factionless as a legitimate group of people. The factionless exist as the city’s lowest class and they’re described as essentially homeless. They were the people those in factions did not want to look at and I bet no one understood the scope at which that population had grown. Thrusting that many people into poverty has to be a surefire way to create some government-toppling motivation. I also appreciated how the book took a look at how revolutions can get extreme and trade one evil for another.

Roth continues to give readers little hints that something isn’t right. I don’t want to call it foreshadowing exactly because I never feel the same sort of stress as I do with other instances of foreshadowing. I may not know what to call it, but I do know that I’m a fan of Roth for doing it. The specific instance in Insurgent that I love is the offhand way Tris says she thinks the bread tastes weird. Having grown up in bland Abnegation, you wouldn’t think it would be a problem. Then, we learn Amity is drugging their bread in order to promote peace among their people.

On that note, I think Tobias is just a little too calm when he learns the faction leaders are having to use inadvertent drugging in order to get people to uphold the faction’s values. Admittedly, he had a sort-of-drunk, sort-of-high Tris to deal with, but it still seemed like an issue he would have raised his voice at, minimum.

Another thing that makes this story so unique is how Roth breaks convention of what readers expect. Since Tris has been such a pivotal character in the political upheaval, we expect her to be appointed to Dauntless leadership. She’s been the mastermind behind a lot of the plans, why not give her the power to enact them? Except she refuses. It would have been too perfect - too Mary-Sue, even - for Roth to give Tris that position.

However, a person I was glad to see elevated to a leadership position? Cara. My mind was blown when one of Erudite people Tris saved used their extra time to do something brave. Then, to find it was Will’s sister, there’s a new layer added. Cara has more reason than Christina to hate Tris, so I would’ve expect her to run and leave Tris to deal with that mess. Not only did it break any assumptions I might have had, but it also showed how similar the siblings are; both Will and Cara exhibit bravery, but they were just different enough that Cara was Erudite and Will became Dauntless.

It doesn’t stop there, though. Roth brings back Cara and transitions her into another primary character. It felt like a natural transition that I believe was solidified when she was appointed a leader. Not just when she was appointed, but when Christina accused her of not really wanting to get involved “because you’ll break your glasses,” and Cara just SNAPS THEM IN HALF WITHOUT HESITATION. Capslock is the only sufficient way for me to express my adoration for this moment.

Another secondary character I wouldn’t have expected much from was Tori, the tattoo artist. I originally thought she was playing the part of the wizened wizard, a person that would guide our hero (Tris) but stay out of the primary fighting. However, she’s emerged with a quick wit and I would bet a quicker draw. Also, she arguably has the best one liners out of the entire series; not funny ones, the ones that cut people to their core and make them realize they’ve messed up.

As the struggle for power gets more twisted, so do the choices our heroic group has to make. There’s a lot of gray area they have to navigate and morals they start to question. When they hatch a plan almost exactly like what the Erudite did to the Abnegation in Divergent, they have to question if that makes it evil to begin. This made it feel like a warzone without having to gruesomely describe any carnage or bloodshed. However, it's still overwhelming and heartbreaking when Tris does take in the casualties.

It appears no aspect of Tris’ life can escape this tangling, because her relationship with Tobias is also becoming harder to navigate. Sitting next to my weird feelings about their age, the rapid acceleration of their relationship to a very mature level is something that kind of irked me, but not enough that I couldn’t make sense of it. I ended up deciding it was the more logical way of living given their society as well as the war zone that’s more or less centered on them; they don’t just have to consider themselves in their relationship. I did have to wrinkle my nose at the behavior they showed towards one another at some points, but it clears up in a more or less good way (for their situation, at least) as the books continue.

As their relationship grows, readers also get a less perfect idea of who we think of as Tobias. Specifically, I’m thinking about how Tobias is so concerned with not letting the past rule him that he won’t even consider the possibility of Marcus actually having important information. He won’t even listen to Tris, who he’s differed to on a number of occasions as being the brains of the two (though, I would argue Tobias is the common sense, so it’s even worse that he’s acting this way).

Lastly, the empty, spinning chair in Tris’ examination room was a big point of intrigue for me. I was sure it was going to end up being Mr. Eaton because I had an idea that Marcus was more evil than he let on. It would've been a one of the biggest plot twists I’ve ever read if Marcus and Jeanine were actually working together. However, it was an even bigger plot twist that it was Caleb, Tris’ brother, all along. We had been seeing him through Tris’ eyes as her big brother that she just wants to live up to. Then, we learn he chose to dropped his faction over be associated with something so corrupt and we trust him. We were wrong. To quote my notes directly, “FUCK that’s worse.”

The information we learn in Insurgent completely transforms the story I assumed we were getting in just reading Divergent. Nothing has a clear-cut answer and you feel the dire circumstances of the situation without it being over dramatic. Insurgent has drawn me entirely into the story Roth is telling. I am eager to know how such a complicated mess will resolve itself.

Rating: 4 / 5

[tokoyamisstuff]

Scars Ch. 10 - Bucky x Reader Soulmate AU

Based on the Soulmate Prompt where whatever you write on your skin, it appears on your Soulmate’s.

A/N: You just wait. Enjoy this collection of sweet shorts as long as it lasts. *evil laugh*

[Masterlist]

Summary: You and Bucky are now officially a couple, and the troubles of the beginning is now replaced by your unlimited affection for each other.

Warnings: Implications of sex. Teeny tiny bit of Angst.

Words: 4454

Chapter 10 - Healing

“Holy shit” Bucky whispered softly after opening his eyes, seeing you lying next to him.

You felt his eyes basically boring holes into your skull. Looking at him, you saw his pupils dilated and shining beautifully. God - he had such stunning eyes.

“Huh?” you yawned confused, eyelids still heavy with sleep. The prickling sensation of his touch was still lingering on your skin. “What’s wrong, darling?”

He instantly curled you up in his arms again, deeply inhaling your scent and feeling your bare bodies merging with each other. “You’re still here.”

“Where else should I be?” you laughed at your awkward lover, covering his face in a thousand kisses.

“For a moment I feared I’d wake up and realize it had all been a dream” he mumbled, slowly drifting into sleep again.

He wrapped you into a bear hug, his arm being securely wrapped around your waist. His actions caused your heart to positively melt.

“You’re an idiot, Bucky Barnes.” Never could you have imagined everything turning out to be this wonderful.

No more words were spoken that previous night, but your deeds told more than any syllable could express. Hopefully it would never stop being this way.

“I know. How could I end up with the most perfect woman in the whole wide world?” he chuckled, and the coldness of his metal arm touching your flesh one send a pleasant chill through your body.

Still, you were pretty insecure about your own performance. “I...I hope you enjoyed yourse-”

Bucky quickly caressed your lips with his, signalizing you that the answer was obvious. “This is the happiest day in my whole life, babydoll. Don’t you ever dare doubting that.”

“I love you, Bucky” you said leaning over, and his lips instantly covered yours again, the world seemingly disappear around you.

“Say it again” Bucky murmured, absentmindedly stroking your side.

He had no doubts that he’d never get tired of hearing this.

And it was certain that Bucky would never want to kiss any other lips but yours  ever again.

You chuckled as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, as if you’d never intended on let him go again. “James Buchanan Barnes, I love you more than anything else on this world!” you exclaimed. “You’re kind and strong and wonderful, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you!”

Bucky’s cheeks blushed in a shade of red. Right now, he felt so happy he could explode if he didn’t try and express his feelings for you.

“God, I don’t know how to start about you” he began. His eyes held yours for a moment, and he saw everything clearly. There was simply too much to list it all at once.

He admired everything about you: From the soft lilt of your voice to those perfectly, great round orbs you called your eyes. The sparkle of hope he could see in them whenever you talked about the future, no matter what happened in the past. And you ignited that same ember inside of him.

“Sometimes I think you’re a literal angel” His voice was slow and deep as he kissed your temple. “And I’m afraid that maybe I simply became insane, and just imagining being with you.”

You started stirring in the bed, crawling to lie on top of him. “Well, I’m very much real” you retorted, pinching his nose and snickering at his grimace.

Still, many doubts were stuck to his mind. “I want to become a man worthy of your love” he explained calmly, softly squeezing your shoulder. “I’ll prove it to you every day, for as long as you want me to be at your side.”

“Oh, Bucky, dear...” you pulled his hand towards your face and leaned into his touch. “You already are! I couldn’t be more proud to be your girlfriend!”

“Y/N...I love you too. So damn much.” He didn’t say it quite as much as you did - but when his tongue managed to cooperate with him, it was heartbreakingly meaningful. His eyes held so many emotions you thought you’d collapse under the weight of his love. This was how much he valued you.

“Can you promise me something?” he added shyly, looking at you doe-eyed. How could you ever say no to this man?

“Anything!” you proclaimed, concern showing in your features, worriedly adding “What is it?” after a minute of silence.

“Can...um, I mean...Can you hold my hand whenever I’m afraid?” he muttered under his breath. Oh no - he was shaking again.

You reached out for him, placing your hands on his back and softly digging your nails towards his skin to keep him from having a flashback. “Of course! Always!”

“Good” he whispered, and in an instant, you found your hand into his shaky one.

You grew quite confused. “What are you afraid of right now?”

To Bucky, it was hard to let someone this close to his very core. But he trusted you with all of his being.

“I’m afraid that if I let go of your hand...you’ll disappear.”

Silence.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop having such gloomy thoughts?” you wondered.

Your voice was nothing but a whisper, simply too touched and overwhelmed by his words. Yet it was still the most gracious voice someone has ever directed at him.

As your grip tightened, your words grew firmer again - so he was sure to understand:

“I will never let go.”

Like any couple that’s newly enarmoured, you’d spend most of your days in bed.

You used some of your long due holidays, so you could care for the love of your life. And all of those days were like heaven. Why can’t it stay like this forever?

Not even Steve would bother you much - he’d simply text from many different numbers to assure you he’s fine, and giving you information about how they’re doing. But he couldn’t contact you all that often, since the risk of getting tracked was too high.

“I should take a shower” Bucky said as he gently bit your earlobe, making you sigh in satisfaction.

“Noo” you begged, lying on your back and stretching your arms out for him. “Take me with you!”

“Your wish is my command!” Bucky cheered.

He let out an amused grunt as he happily picked you up and carried you towards the bathroom. “How can a grown woman be so adorable?” he thought as you snuggled up to his chest.

It was pretty funny to see Bucky simply ripping his arm off and putting it on a shelf - but you didn’t mind it, honestly. He seemed a bit uncomfortable about it, though.

“I know it looks weird” he chuckled, but you already embraced your boyfriend again and silenced him with a kiss.

“Do you know how incredibly handsome you are, Mr. Barnes?” you mumbled with a wide grin as you let your hands run down his abs. “There’s no need to be self-conscious about something like that.”

“You’re truly beautiful, inside and outside” Bucky answered as he pulled you into the shower and enjoyed himself soaping your soft skin. He was practically glued to your body this whole time.

After you were done - and you sure took your time - you stumbled into the living room, only covered by a towel around your hair and a giant shirt of his.

You threw yourself onto the sofa while Bucky stood in the kitchen and tried to find something to eat. After two days, it was about time to do something else than just cuddling - and then resume to said activity.

Turning on the TV, the first thing you saw was something unsettling: It was a news report, and even though you didn’t know yet what it was about - seeing your boyfriend’s mugshot wasn’t really a good sign.

“Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier is still on the run. There have been new details found out, and he’s presumed responsible for another explosion in a children’s hospital in-”

And like that, this was enough TV for this week.

“What was that?” Bucky asked innocently as he stepped into the room.

Oh please. As if he didn’t already hear. But maybe he was just daydreaming and didn’t notice. Yet it was hard to believe that a trained soldier forgets about his surroundings that easily.

Your mouth was clamped shut, but then you tried to relax to not concern him any further. “Nothing important” you hummed as he sat down next to you, swinging his muscular arm around your shoulder as he sank into the couch.

Bucky possessed the annoying ability to disable any brain function as soon as he touched you. You were like a little teenager again.

“Where’s your arm?” you asked plainly as you tiptoed your way to the kitchen to get a drink. You weren’t really hungry, but Bucky insisted on you at least getting some fruits and drink enough water. “You can’t live on love and air alone, doll. Take care of yourself” or something like that he said.

“Still on the bathroom sink, I guess.”

“Did I say something wrong, or why aren’t you wearing it right now?” When you entered the room again, you had to remember the way Steve would always walk up to Bucky - like approaching a deer, directly face on, or circling around him.

If you’d try to hug him from behind, or even worse cover his eyes to play ‘Who am I?’, it could accidentally end in him breaking your hands or throwing you over his shoulder and onto the next table. Steve told you about that matter before, to make sure your boyfriend wouldn’t unintentionally hurt you.

You observed his expression, but he did seem relaxed at all. “It’s nothing, really. I just forgot to put it back on. It’s not that I need it that badly.”

“You’re right...” you mumbled as he put his head onto your lap, and you started playing with his hair.

“Y/N, you’re thinking so loudly right now - just say what you want to say.”

“It’s just...By the way, did my letters get shown on that metal arm, then?” you pondered. You had always written with your right hand onto your left arm, so the prosthetic does count, right?

“Yes. Don’t ask me how this Soulmate-thing works. I’m just glad it did.”

“Well...” you mumbled, reaching out for a black marker without disturbing his comfort. Bucky rose one eyebrow as he realized you were coloring a wide part of your shoulder black.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Bucky scolded you, thinking about how bad the chemicals of the marker had to be for your skin.

You simply grinned smugly, ordering “Go to the bathroom.”

Coming back, he had connected the arm to his shoulder again - HYDRA’s star completely censored by your dawing. You chuckled, and soon Bucky joined you.

“I saw how you were glaring at that star this whole time when we were in the shower.”

“Well, most of the time I don’t see it as clearly as when I’m putting it off” he explained himself, moving and twitching the fingers of the prosthetic to get used to the feeling again. “But seeing the symbol reminds me that I was once their possession. Wearing it feels like I still am. I’d prefer the phantom pain over this.”

“You don’t belong to anyone, Bucky” you whispered as you sat on his lap.

“Except for you” he added, smothering your face with kisses, your words having exhilarated him greatly.

“Didn’t you want to make coffee?”

“How the hell am I supposed to do this with that weird machine?” Bucky complained jokingly, but also slightly embarassed. “It tastes fucking weird! Our coffee was way better!”

“Oh, I’m really dating a grandpa” you scoffed, rummaging around your room. “There it is!”

“Where is what?” he whined, still pressing all kinds of buttons.

“Okay, first of all: You’re drinking the cleaning water” you said as you snatched away the mug that the machine filled, after cleaning itself. It really took all of your might to not break out in boisterous laughter.

“Second: This!” You shoved a CD into his face, proudly presenting the headline ‘Best of 1930-1939′.

Bucky’s eyes widened in excitement. “Why are you even owning something like this?”

“My father was a great fan of the music.”

Lately, you were listening to some songs but Bucky didn’t really seem to enjoy. The only thing that got him fired up was ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’, since he recognized the original song from his times. So you wanted to do him a favour and seek out something more fitting for him.

You could only imagine how hard it was to wake up after seventy years, with everyone you knew gone and all the things you enjoyed now ‘obsolete’.

“You’re the best!” he yelled, hugging you deeply and pulling you up slightly, making you hover over the ground.

After he’s let you down again, you crossed your arms and winked. “So...are you showing me how to dance properly?”

“If you teach me how to use the coffee machine, sure!” he chuckled as he put on a song he remembered pretty well. It was ‘In the Mood’ by Glenn Miller.

He was simply too cute when he’s overly excited about anything. And lately, this was very often the case.

Bucky had quickly seen the walls he had built around himself starting to crumble - and ever since you’re a couple, it was like you had used a sledgehammer to completely break it down.

He laughed freely, made many stupid jokes and was amusingly flirty. And especially - he’s grown so needy, searching your closeness and attention every free second. Seeing him like this helped you to overcome your painful past as well.

“I can’t dance for heaven’s sake” you admitted, looking down to your feet - but Bucky already interwined his hand with yours, and placed your free hand on his sternum.

“No problem” he whispered quite amused, pulling you close for a breathtaking kiss and biting your bottom lip ever so softly. “Just follow my lead.” You managed to keep your balance enough to place yourself in front of him in a stable stand, until he began to sway you gently.

It felt really funny - to be swirled around the room so easily by your lover. And even though you thought Bucky to wallow in memories, he couldn’t help but only think about how lucky he was to call you his Soulmate.

How often have you tripped on his feet already? And now, you got stuck on the carpet and tripped. Before you could fall over, Bucky swiftly shoved you into his arms again, just inches apart from the floor.

“I’m always here to catch you from now on” he promised, out of breath from dancing so enthusiasically. “You better get used to it.”

“Thanks, Buck” you said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Coffee?”

“I’d love to.” He gave you the cheekiest smile, helping you put your feet on the ground again.

“I’m sorry” he said on your way to the kitchen,  “I still have to catch up on things. And, well...I don’t always get what’s going on around me”

You brushed his shoulder gently, reassuring him “Don’t worry. It was probably hard to reclaim this small fraction of your past.”

Bucky nudged you a little before walking over to the kitchen..“Oh, I want to let the past be the past - just like you said” he cheered, a goofy smile plastered to his lips. "Ya’ know...being with you almost made those years of torture worth it!"

"Not funny, Mr. Barnes” you frowned, poking his side.

“I’m back!”

You threw your bag into a corner, but instead of instantly falling into the bed as you hoped to, you had to search for Bucky first. Why wasn’t he there?

This whole day, you could only thing about what you’d give to be with him right at that moment. So you kinda hoped he would be awaiting you in your bedroom when you’d arrive home.

“Buck?” When you stuck your head in the kitchen door, you found him.

One of the world’s most deadliest assassins stood in your kitchen, cleaning up what he just cooked. He was so concentrated on the meal, he didn’t even hear you. So you’d simply walk up to him and dare to hug him from behind, your heartfelt laughter resonating against his back.

You just had to laugh at the thought of what HYDRA would do if they could see their agent right now: Their precious Winter Soldier, built for destruction only - wearing your apron and looking at you, all sweet and insecure.

“Welcome back, Sugar!” he greeted you, and you pulled him down and went for a messy kiss. A heavy sigh escaped his lips and your face became scarlet, still happy about those small moments.

Sometimes you felt bad for not being as flawless as him, but he actually misses having some imperfections - marks of individuality they erased from him.

“I missed you” you reciprocated his hug and you felt the usual heat radiate off him, instantly warming your body. “Still quite the ladie’s man, huh?” you snickered as you apprechiated his efforts. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Well, I know a thing or two from back in the days. Only the best for my amazing girlfriend” he mumbled as he placed his head on top of yours, his hands playfully wandering over your body.

After dinner, you’d snuggle on the couch with Bucky’s body lying on top of you, his cheek falling against the fabric of your shirt as you played with his hair. The TV was running in the background, but neither of you was really paying attention.

It was so peaceful, so wonderful. Some might think it’s boring, but you couldn’t ask for anything better. You were with the love of your life, and he could calm down from his troublesome life right here - together.

“I wish we could go outside. I’d love to show you so many things...” Of course you already teached him as much as you could about modern society, but it’s just nothing like seeing it yourself. And Bucky’s curiosity could be so damn sweet to watch.

“Maybe one day...” he pondered, thinking about his plans. Before he met you, he never really thought about the future. But now it was kinda pleasant to think about shaping his life with you. “God, I’d love to visit Brooklyn with you some day. I bet I could still show you some wonderful places, even though it changed quite a lot.”

The voice of a news reporter interrupted you. “There’s still no sign of Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, who-”

You picked up the remote in less than a second, wanting to switch the channel - but Bucky’s hand kept you from doing so.

“It’s okay, I can take it.”

Taking a deep breath, you started slightly massage his back and kiss his hair, preparing yourself for what’s to come.

“After his terroristic attack on the UN headquarters in Vienna, HYDRA’s most effective assassin is still on the run. Ever since the incident, he’s presumed responsible for an attack on a children’s hospital in Germany, a mass shooting in Texas and also the assassination of an influential politician in Russia. If you have any hint to his whereabouts, please do not approach him directly. He’s hostile, violent and very dangerous-”

Then, you finally managed to turn off the TV. Your hands never ceased from his body, and you could feel him tense and shift as he whispered “Seems like they make me responsible for everything bad happening in the world now...”

“Oh Bucky...” you pressed him against your chest, trying to not show too much compassion. You knew he hated this. But right now, it broke your heart - the fact that this kind, sensitive man is seen as a maniac by the rest of the world.

He glid upwards to meet your face, his forehead resting against yours. Leaning forwards until your lips met his, you hoped the kiss was enough to quell the anxiety in him - as well as your own.

“I love you, Bucky Barnes. No matter what the rest of the world may think.”

Your words were invigorating, relief filling his body from head to toe.

Yet he didn’t have the heart to tell you that his hopes to once have a normal life with you one day were close to zero.

But still: He’d never let go off of that chance, no matter how small. Bucky pulled you back into a hug, squeezing the life out of you.

“I’m so lucky to have you on my side.”

At first, you were unaware what caused you to wake up. But then you noticed the way Bucky’s heavy breathing was breaking the silence of the night.

He sat on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands as he tried to get it together. He felt bad for always waking you up. You were working - you needed to get some rest. And he didn’t want to bother you with his problems.

“Nightmare again?” you whispered with a voice as soft as silk, your hands sliding over his bare back.

Bucky’s slow nod told you you were right, so you let your chin rest on his shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t want you to know the details to the horrible things I did in the past.”

“Why?” Now your hands fondled both his arms, and you tried to sync your breath with his.

“You’d be disgusted. Y/N, you’ll hate me.”

“And this is where you are wrong” you protested, a sweet smile playing on your lips. “I could never hate you.”

Bucky looked up to you with a puppy’s eyes - tears filling their rim.

“Bucky, sweetheart...the thought of you suffering so much, without me being able to help...it’s tearing me apart. You’re here, with me - so I’d be damned if I’m about to sleep peacefully, while you are having nightmares! We get through this together, okay?”

His azure gaze wandered around in the room, not being able to find the right words. He didn’t want you to feel bad. But he was so afraid you’d leave him once you knew the full consequences of his actions.

So many important people’s lives he took. People who could’ve shaped history if they were to have a long life. Woman and children as well. Weapons stolen so HYDRA could use them. Terroristic attacks to spread fear among a certain population, widening the radius of HYDRA’s power. Innocent people taken out just because they were wittnesses by accident. The list was neverending...

You peppered kisses along his jaw, offering him your support. “I won’t push you, Buck” you whispered as you caressed his cheek. “But when you’re ready to talk about it...well, I’m there for you. I won’t leave you. No matter what happens - or happened.”

Being with you still felt so unreal to him. Like it’s part of another torture: Giving him the best thing that could ever happen to him, the epitome of happiness - just so it’d be taken away from him eventually.

“It’s just...I-, I keep remembering new things. Most of them are terrible crimes I’ve done. The people in the news aren’t even wrong. All of this could’ve been me, if you consider the person I was a few years ago.”

“Incorrigible” you breathed as you dragged him into the bed again, his arms instantly swung around your small body in a protecting manner. He really was beyond help when it’s about blaming himself for HYDRA’s actions.

“Sorry that you woke up because of me” he said, looking at you apologetic.

Taking a deep sigh, you asked yourself if he really thinks that you’d be annoyed or even angry at him for such a triviality. It was really hard to know what’s going on in his head.

For some reason, you tried to change the topic - but you were pretty bad at doing so, if not making everything worse.

“You know, there’s no day I don’t think about my parents.”

Bucky felt his heart beating painfully against his sternum, understandable alarmed by your statement.

“Now don’t look at me like that” your lips fluttered along his as you formed those words. “What I meant was: I think they would’ve simply loved you. You’d be their image of the perfect son-in-law, probably.”

“I killed them, Y/N.” He felt his own tears slip again.

“No, you didn’t.” Your words were harsh and unforgiving at his self-hate. “The Winter Soldier did. Why can’t you separate between those two? I can, Bucky. What happened to my parents is horrible, and I miss them so painfully. But I think they’d forgive you - just as I did. My father would probably be very proud that an honourable, reliable and brave young man calls himself my partner. They’d trust you to treat me well and protect me. And so do I. I can’t live without you. Please, don’t make me lose you, too!”

“Y/N...” Before he could disagree, you pressed your lips onto his.

“All this struggle, just to be at your side - and it was worth it” you whispered.

Bucky was so damn confused. What did he do to deserve someone like you - the most amazing woman he’s ever met?

Forgetting HYDRA’s training and growing close to this new world and their people was so damn hard, and ended up in him having panic attacks from while to while. Even while sleeping next to you. But there was no need to feel this way - as long as you were there. He’d always calm down eventually.

“Can I wake you up whenever I have a nightmare? I don’t know if I can talk about it, but-”

“First of all: Of course you can. And second: You don’t need to talk. Are a hot chocolate and some snuggles more to your taste?” You tapped his nose affectionately, and your smile was so bright, Bucky thought it could illuminate the whole room.

Being this close to the person he loved most made his body relax quickly, and he already felt sleep embracing him again.

With you at his side, he’d be okay. Everything would work out just fine.

His fight was over. He finally returned home. Home was wherever you were.

A content sigh made it’s way to your ears as Bucky closed his eyes again, burying his scruffy face into your neck.

“I’d love that.”

[Part 11]

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[drumpfwatch]

The Cohen Commentary

Last week, former Trump attorney Michael Cohen testified in front of congress three times. Once in public, twice behind closed doors. I’m shocked and surprised by the revelations we got, both pleased and displeased. So let’s go over in detail what happened.

First, full disclosure. My ADD made it very hard for me to sit through and focus on all seven hours of the public testimony. I tried, I really did, but at the end of the day I just couldn’t watch the whole thing with full attention and take notes like I did for the state of the union. That said, I did watch segments of it, had it playing in the background and popped in when things looked interesting, and watched a lot of the commentaries on it.

Second, I’d like to address Cohen himself briefly. I remember talking to my mom, where she said when she heard Cohen call Trump a “racist, liar and scum” that she couldn’t help but think of that “I know you are but what am I?” thing. The idea is that Cohen is a scumbag and of course, she’s right. He’s a lawyer, of course he’s evil. But I don’t think that entirely invalidates everything he says, especially when he presents further evidence for it, as we’ll see.

So the event begins with much pomp and circumstance and Cohen giving us his best “dun Dun DUUUUUUUN!” by revealing that Individual #1 in his arrest filing was none other than...DONALD TRUMP! Who’da fuckin’ guessed it! The details were so inconspicuous, who else launched an “ultimately successful run for the Presidency” in 2016! Shock and horror!

From there, the questioning begins, and let me just say it’s clear who’s actually interested in dealing with this. The democrats came off as professional, coordinated, and targeted. While the actual structure was stupid - 5 minutes for each representative to ask whatever questions they wanted and then they had to move on to the next representative, just when things were getting good - the coordination of the democrats served to counter that a little and they covered a lot of topics.

The republicans, meanwhile, mind as well have come out of a clown car with dunce caps on their head, because they only asked stupid, obvious questions. I think my favorite was asked by senator from Tennessee who asked if Cohen was just coming to this hearing for TV attention. When Cohen politely pointed out that he’s been on the TV since 2012 as part of Trump’s entourage, all he could do was play stupid. It didn’t work.

So yeah. That was funny.

I think we can take away three big things from the Cohen testimony. There are many more smaller things to be aware of, but these are the ones that I think are the most worth looking into.

The first is that we can say, without any doubt whatsoever, our President is guilty of financial crimes. Garden variety inflation and deflation of values, and of course misrepresenting the purposes of various funds. While this should come as a surprise to nobody that he’s done it in the past (we have plenty of exposes in that regard) this should be pretty damn shocking that he was doing this while working to become, and later acting as, the president. Cohen gave us solid physical evidence for this in the form of the checks he received to pay him back for buying Stormy Daniels’ silence.

It doesn’t matter if Trump “really” had an affair with Stormy Daniels. It doesn’t matter that he’s such a misogynistic pig that the idea of this is not all that surprising. Technically, it doesn’t even matter if Michael Cohen actually bought the rights to her story, under orders by Trump or not. That’s what the check was cut for, and that’s not how it’s recorded in the public logs of the Trump Organization.

That alone is enough for us to be concerned. Our president is committing illegal financial acts as President of the United States. This requires intervention or impeachment.

Thing the second was Russia, and what we learned was...interesting? It wasn’t the smoking gun for Trump “collusion” I was personally hoping for, but we now have more or less hard confirmation that The Trumby knew about it as it was being planned. Cohen testified that Trump was getting phone calls that the emails would be released before they were released. There’s no evidence to suggest he knew who was involved and how, and even some to suggest that he actually wasn’t - he’s described as being surprised by the news, which he wouldn’t be if he was working inside the scheme. So who knows. I’m still on the fence on how deeply Trump himself was involved with the network, but there is no doubt that his minions were masterminding this scheme.

Thing 2.5 is, of course, the Trump Tower Russia Meetings. I won’t spend much time on this, but we more or less got confirmation that Cohen was lying and so was everyone else involved in that stupidity. I will say that often times, little lies like these are gigantic flashing strobe lights pointing towards where actually bad things did happen, so the more we look into this, the better.

The final thing, and what I think is the most important one, is Trump asked Cohen to lie. Not directly, but in the way a mob boss does. I remember watching that particular part of it and thinking “Wow that’s some Godfather shit.” Cohen basically described it as “Trump doesn’t tell you ‘Don’t Lie,’ he’ll be at a meeting with the Russians about Trump Tower and he’ll say ‘There is no Russia Deal, right?’”

Which is just perfect. Like a Mob Boss going “I don’t like Mr. Jones, he keeps getting me in trouble. It would be very convenient if he were to have a most unfortunate accident” to his subordinates. Which, by the way, is recognized. Argue all you want that he never said “Lie to Congress!” that’s what those words mean, the intent behind them. There’s no reason to look a man dead in the eye and tell him “We’re not doing a thing” when you’re in the middle of doing a thing, especially if a day later the guy is supposed to go to testify to congress about whether or not you are doing the thing.

There’s no technical wiggle room here. Trump was very clear - Cohen needed to lie, and Cohen lied. How much Cohen’s own maliciousness was caught up in it is neither here nor there. Trump ordered him to lie to Congress for the sake of the congressional hearing not finding out about the Trump Tower Moscow deal. That’s obstruction of justice. I’m shocked Trump isn’t in the slammer right now, but I’m not surprised. We only have the testimony of Michael Cohen to show this, at least to the public, and that’s not enough, because Cohen has lied before.

And that brings me back to the Republican incompetence. The Republicans made arguments here and there about how this was a waste of time, about how Congress should be doing other, more important things, about how this was all calculated for attention, whatever. But the chief argument they had here was “Michael Cohen is a known liar. He’s lied to Congress before and is probably doing it again so why should we care?”

Think about that for a second. The best argument the Republicans had to dismiss anything - and everything - Michael Cohen said and presented, including this damning checks, was “Well he’s a dirty dirty lair so why should we listen to him?!”

Because at least with those checks it doesn’t matter what Cohen said. What matters is that he has the physical proof of it. If that checks and financial reports he submitted turn out to be not counterfeit, Trump is guilty of financial crimes that would put anyone else in Jail.

Cohen named a lot of names. The committee has said they’ll be going after them next. Wonder what titanic myths that squeeze out of Allen Weisselberg?

[reginaldbelchhuggins-blog]

The Short and Miserable Romance of Victor Criss

Chapter 6: Last Meeting

Pairings: Henry x Victor, with some side Butch x Mrs Criss Rating: M Warnings: Domestic abuse, noncon elements, major character death, canon-standard content, bullying, racist slurs, violence, strong language Chapters: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], 6, [7]

Ao3: [x] Summary: The end...

July 1989

“Get the fuck up and talk to Burp!” Victor didn’t open his eyes, moaning in protest when he felt the warm, cozy blanket disappear. Ice cold air conditioning stung against his skin, and forced him to curl up, his legs breaking out in gooseflesh. “I am tired of him calling!”

Not content with just stealing his comforter, his Mama grabbed the corners of his pillow, and pulled hard. His head struck against the lumpy mattress, jolting him wide awake. He rolled to try and grab it, but it was already too far out of reach.

Mama’s face was an emotionless mask – her eyes permanently fixed in a droopy, tired gaze. But Victor knew it was hiding a sadness that had been wrapped up inside bitterness and buried so deep, it was practically Mumm-Ra. He knew it had been his actions that had summoned the Ancient Spirits of Evil to create those feelings, and he was sorry, but his one attempt to apologize had been thwarted by Butch. Butch stood in the hallway with his back turned, telling Mama that some boys needed stronger discipline.

“Andy always was too soft,” Butch said, ominously. “Spare the rod, spoil the lamb, as the good Lord commanded.”

Victor hadn’t quite drawn up the strength to try again.

His Mama walked out the door, bedding in her arms, and Victor was glad to see her go. He glanced around the room. It was empty, but he still felt his skin crawling – leftover feelings from his nightmare. He wished he could pull his blanket in tight, and roll his face into his pillow. But it was time to wake up, apparently. Then again, maybe, if he turned just right, he could sleep without them.

After a few moments of mental debate, Victor rolled out of bed. The walk down the hall was slow, due in part to the swollen knee that Bill Denbrough left him with. In his ninja turtle boxers, he could very clearly see the yellow and purple decorating the skin around it. It was like someone had dipped his knee in watercolor, like an Easter egg. At least it wasn’t black anymore, or bleeding.

The other part was due to the headache throbbing away on the right side of his face. That, too, was because of a well-aimed rock. But while the swelling around the gash had lessened, the pain beneath it grew, and shifted, until every flash of light made him want to vomit.

When he turned the corner into the kitchen, he winced as the sunlight struck him dead on from the window. His Mama turned to look at him, and then gestured to the counter, where she had set the phone down. Without a word to him, she went back to making herself, and only herself, lunch.

Vic wasn’t hungry anyway.

“Hey Belch,” Victor said as soon as the phone was to his ear. He pressed his fingers into his head and turned away from the window. It soothed it a little, but the headache was persistent.

Henry’s voice came through the line on the other side, aggravating it even more, “Hey asshole, why are you avoiding me?”

“Megatron,” Victor said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He was not in the mood to deal with this.

“That doesn’t work on conversations,” Henry stated, sounding more than a little annoyed. “Now, answer the question. Why. Are you. Avoiding me?”

“Fuck off, Henry. I’m not feeling well,” Victor lied. Well, only half lied. “I have a concussion, remember? Doctor says take it easy.”

“It’s been a week—”

“You know more than my doctor, do you?” Victor asked. He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it crept out all the same.

“No, but I know you were feeling good enough to go to the movies with Peter Gordon last night,” Henry said. “He was getting awful chummy from what I saw.”

Victor’s nose flared as he took a deep breath, and suffocated that anger before it could break out and get him in trouble.

“What, you wanna say something about that?” Victor paused for a moment, wanting to say more, but his Mama was still within five feet. So instead, he said, “Marcia accused him of cheating, which is a bitch thing to do because Peter’s head over heels for her skanky ass. So we went out to get his mind off it.”

Victor paused again as his Mama passed. She carried a small thing of soup and a diet coke into the living room, where she was watching her Dallas VHS tapes. Lowering his voice, Victor added: “You know his girl, right? Marcia Fadden? She had a pregnancy scare last Christmas? Didn’t know whether it would be you or Peter was going to stand at the end of her daddy’s shotgun on her wedding day. Funny thing is, weren’t you seeing someone else around that time?”

“I didn’t…” Henry sighed. It was deep, and weighted. Victor could almost see Henry on the other end of the line, clutching the phone as he curled over it. It was the same way Henrietta had stood when talking on the phone. “Vic, I never had sex with her, or any of them.”

That was genuinely surprising. The tables flipped for a moment, Victor wasn’t sure if he believed Henry. Instead of looking at that deeper, he shook it off.

“Look, whatever, alright. I don’t care,” Victor said. “I’m just taking a breather. The last two times we hung out, we got hurt. So unless we’re talking Dairy Queen and a new Nintendo game, I’m out.”

Victor didn’t need to mention that Henry had promised they’d talk last time. It had been the selling point of his pitch, even.

“I’ll explain everything,” Henry had said, his tongue dripping silver and honey. But if it wasn’t Belch hovering around like he was the mother hen making sure his idiot chicks didn’t hurt themselves, it was Henry shutting down whenever Victor even started talking about it. His eyes would fall to the ground, his hands between his knees, and his mouth stubbornly silent until a distraction came along.

Trying to spell out his fear, and his needs, without accusing Henry of anything directly was trickier than anything Victor had ever done. But it was impossible when Henry refused to listen. So Victor resorted to the age old tradition amongst Criss men, which was avoiding the problem. He was a little young to drop a paycheck on some whiskey – and maybe he would’ve never done that anyway – so instead, it was kitten-napping.

That’s what Mrs Huggins called it when someone had a series of proper hour to two-hour long naps sandwiching a large snack – kitten-napping.

They couldn’t carry on as they were. Victor’s heart couldn’t take it. He loved Henry – loved him. But he also hated Henry so much more than he ever hated anyone in his life. Because Henry knew him better than anyone else on the planet, and still had the audacity to peg him for something he would never do.

“You weren’t exactly complaining,” Henry said, with a dangerous tone. “I mean, ain’t you the one that crushed that little Pickaninny’s fingers with your boot?”

That was true, and Victor regretted it. He regretted it long before Bill Denbrough and five other kids showed up armed to the teeth with large, jagged rocks. Victor regretted it the minute he got out of the car. By the time he actually put hands on the Hanlon boy, his mind had detached itself, and his emotions had become a void.

But once he was in it, he was in it. It was as always – every kick, every thrown rock, each one represented something he wanted to scream.

The rock that smacked Trashmouth between the eyes was Andy Criss leaving for Bangor after dragging his family to live some poor ass hick life on a farm. The one that hit Tits on the chest was stupid Henry, and stupid Henry’s stupid paranoia. The one that got Eddie was Butch Bowers playing with his hair, like a fucking creepazoid pervert.

Victor was almost feeling better when Bill Denbrough locked eyes with him. He knew it was over then, but he went down swinging. He got Bill so many times before that final blow took out his knee and Vic was out of the game. Even worse than the pain, though, was watching the kid let blow after blow fall off him, like he didn’t even feel it.

If you had told Vic a week ago that he’d be frightened of Stuttering Bill, he would’ve laughed. But that kid was the terminator, and Victor neverwanted to fuck with him again.

“That was him,” Victor finally said. “I said we got hurt. I got a concussion, man. Patrick’s dead. You couldn’t even stand up for like an hour. So how about I stay home today, okay?”

There was silence as both boys waited for the other to say something. Almost too quietly, Henry started filling it with what took Victor a moment to realize was song lyrics.

“Maybe I didn’t love you quite as often as I could,” he said, his voice tender. “And maybe I didn’t treat you quite as good as I should. If I made you feel second best, Vic I’m sorry I was blind. But you are always on my mind.”

Victor had to cover his face, physically trying to keep the smile from breaking out. It was such a stupid little thing, but it was everything. To hear him say things like that, even borrowed from someone else, it created that glow beneath Victor’s skin, warming his cheeks into a red splotchy blush. He didn’t want to let go of his anger, but it was slipping.

“Pretty ballsy using Elvis to try and apologize,” Victor commented. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure his Mama still wasn’t listening. She wasn’t. She couldn’t care less. “Wasn’t he the one who said ‘we can’t go on together with suspicious minds?’”

“Shut up. And I wasn’t quoting Elvis, that’s the Pet Shop Boys… isn’t it?” Henry asked. The smile on Victor’s face couldn’t have gotten any larger. He bit into his bottom lip to keep a laugh from escaping. Henry chuckled a little himself; it was low and throaty, and tickled Victor’s ear pleasantly. He felt himself leaning towards Henry’s charm, the trap closing in around him. He could almost feel the teeth of it digging right into his heart.

It was the same as last time, and Victor was aware of this. He still couldn’t stop it happening.

“It was Elvis first,” Victor said, the smile creeping into his voice. He twirled the phone cord around his finger, listening as Henry took several deep breaths, preparing for some kind of speech. Vic expected something cheesy, maybe something trashy. He didn’t expect anything close to what came next.

“Look, I don’t have a… suspicious mind,” Henry started, his words chosen carefully. “I know you aren’t like that. But Patrick…” Henry was speaking slowly, as he did when he didn’t want to say what he was about to. It immediately drew all of Victor’s attention. “He’s smarter than me. He dresses better. He has better hair, and all his teeth… and he wouldn’t ask you do weird shit during… you know…”

The silence was thick. The phone cord uncurled and fell free of Vic’s hands. He heard Henry sniffling, like he’d been crying. “Henry—”

“And I was afraid that you were getting tired of my shit,” Henry said, his voice cracking. “I know now it was a stupid thing to say. I wasn’t thinking when I said it. I was just scared because I’ve got nothing to give you.”

Victor knew he should’ve been angry still. After all, Henry wasn’t really saying anything different. The accusation was still there, only the narrative around it changed. But at the same time, hearing it in those words, Victor found some feelings of guilt surfacing.

Sure, he’d spent years soothing away all the shit Butch put in Henry, things like feeling stupid, or weak, or cruel. But who put it in his head that he was a bad boyfriend? Or that he, Henry fucking Bowers, whose hair was soft hay and skin was the sun itself, whose eyes were painted by the Gods, was anything less than desirable?

Victor would trade owning the world with anyone else for one private moment with Henry, and the idea that he had failed to somehow make that clear was both horrifying and heart-wrenching.

“I’m pretty sure Patrick was into weirder shit than hair pulling, first of all,” Victor said. Henry laughed, but the sound of it made Victor certain that Henry had been crying. “Second, I don’t want anything from you but you, and that’s something nobody else can ever give me.”

Mama was still not paying attention. Victor did a quick check when he realized what he said. On Henry’s line, he could hear noise in the background as someone moved around. Henry’s voice changed immediately, becoming louder, colder, “Anyway, my dad left his gun with me and he won’t be back until late. It’s just me, Belch, and some cold beers. Come on and let’s destroy some shit.”

Victor rubbed at his dull headache, knowing that loud noises were only going to make it worse. But the siren song of unsupervised target practice was hard to ignore by itself, let alone in the shadow of what Henry said. It dulled the warning bells telling Vic not to fall for it again.

Before he could say anything, Henry already knew his decision. He heard Henry’s hand close over the mouthpiece as he whispered very clearly to Belch, “he’s gonna say yes. Go! Now!”

“Tell him not to wait outside,” Belch said. He sounded far too excited, and Vic’s resolve was gone. He could practically see Belch’s face, all bright and happy, like a puppy waiting for his master to come home. It was that final thing needed to seal his fate. The trap closed completely, and Victor was a dead man walking.

“Alright,” Victor said, knowing he’d regret it later. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Cool,” Henry said. “Belch will come get you.” Then, taking Vic completely by surprise: “I love you.”

The line went dead. Once the phone was back on the cradle, Victor walked back to his room to get dressed. He had to take a moment to lean against the door, his heart coming alive.

You’re such a fucking idiot, his brain supplied. Victor didn’t disagree. Still, he threw on that sleeveless shirt Henry liked, and fixed his hair.

His emotions were a roller coaster – soaring high when he remembered how it sounded to hear Henry say he loved him – and falling low when he thought of how many times he had overlooked some important clue to Henry’s insecurities.

When he heard Amy, Vic decided not to think about it, but just to continue forward with a better understanding of things.

He tried to say goodbye as he walked by his Mama for the last time, but she barely even looked up at him. She would remember it later – his little wave and quiet bye, mama. The way his face was young, and full of hope. It would be about the only thing she remembered, for as soon as the door was closed, she pulled out the vodka and rum Vic had brought her nearly a year ago.

She would still be sitting there, drunk and crying, when she got the call later from Officer Conley.

~~~

There was a power in holding a gun that just couldn’t be matched with anything else in the world. Not fucking someone so hard they forgot how to be human; not getting off a good comeback and shattering someone’s ego; not diving off a cliff or screaming at tornadoes. Being on the right side of a firearm felt like what Victor imagined He-Man felt like as he thrust the Power Sword to the sky.

For those few seconds before you pulled that trigger, you were immortal.

He couldn’t imagine being on the wrong side of one. Staring into an endless dark barrel, knowing that death was one quick burst away, could make a man crumble – not a man made of paper, as Butch so eloquently put it, but even the ones made of stone and steel and leather. It made men who hated life remember what was worth living for, and it could make men who lived it to the fullest realize that they just want it all to end.

But Butch wasn’t God, and he wasn’t Superman. He might’ve felt like it when he held up that gun, the same as Victor had. But he was the paper man, not Henry. He was a paper man with a powerful toy, and he needed to prove something to someone, though Victor didn’t know who. Maybe it was himself.

Regardless, he casually aimed that gun, and then he pulled the trigger.

Don’t show him you’re afraid…

As Vic leaned back and tried to block the light with his bangs, his headache having taken over the back side of his head completely, he glanced over to where Henry had been sitting. The older boy was no longer there, but was coming down the driveway. Victor hadn’t seen him move, but judging by the stiff way he was walking, he still hadn’t quite recovered.

They’d all been sure Butch was going to actually hit Henry – none more than the target himself. But instead of Henry’s chest, it was the ground at his feet that exploded. Three shots, each one getting closer and closer to Henry’s boot, until one left a scuff mark, and a dark, dampness spread across Henry’s lap.

Victor watched Henry shuffle past them, heading towards his house. Victor started to walk towards him, but Henry just gave him a look, silently commanding Victor to stay put. He stood outside on his porch for a few moments, and then disappeared behind the front door. Victor did not follow, but he didn’t like it.

“Maybe he’s just getting some clean pants,” Belch said, his voice dropping into a whisper. “Look, when he comes back, let’s just go straight to ma’s house. My mom can take in my old clothes to fit him, and we can figure out the sleeping arrangements later, but the basement ain’t that cold right now. It ain’t the best solution, but there won’t be no fuckin’ crazies tryin’ to put holes in him neither.”

“Butch knows that trick now,” Vic said, crossing his arms. He rolled a rock around with the toe of his boot, thinking. “What if we just… kept driving? How long you think before we reach Canada?”

“I can’t leave my mom. I’m the only one she’s got,” he said. Vic turned around, closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against Amy’s roof. All he needed was one good idea— “What the fuck?”

Victor looked up at his friend. Belch was slowly leaning away from Amy, his fists clenching. Vic spun around to see whatever it was, preparing to punch someone.

Henry was back on the porch, the screen door slamming shut behind him. He turned to face them, slow, stiff, like he was thinking. Vic’s eyes fixated on the red spots on Henry’s face, watching as they slowly ran down his face, becoming red streaks. As soon as Vic realized that it was blood decorating his boyfriend, the panic was immediate.

“Vic, no…”

He forgot Belch was even there as he moved towards Henry, a singular train of thought taking over the whole station: Henry’s hurt.

He was going to cup Henry’s face, push back his hair, and find out where the wounds were – find out how to fix them. Vic didn’t see the knife in Henry’s hand, at first. Belch did, but he might as well have been shouting at a wall, because Vic didn’t hear him over the sound of his own anger rising. Just as soon as he realized what Henry’s intentions were, it was already done. The blade moved left to right, leaving a red smile in its wake.

Victor felt nothing worse than the prick of a mosquito bite. It was the heat in his throat as he desperately tried to pull another breath through it that told him something was wrong.

Belch was screaming, but it was far away. Blood crept between Vic’s fingers as he tried to push it back in. He felt it moving through his throat, rushing to the newly created opening, trying to escape. It flew out of his mouth as he choked on it, speckling Henry’s face even worse than before.

Victor stepped away from Henry, landing on his hurt leg wrong. His knee buckled, and his ankle twisted. His headache was screaming when his skull collided with firm soil, but then numbed itself to nothing. Lying there face down in the warm grass, it occurred to Victor that he was dying, and it had been Henry that killed him.

It just didn’t feel real. His body was working a wonderful magic, trying to lull him to sleep. Everything felt dull, and dreamlike. Even Butch looked like some child’s nightmarish take on himself. His skin sallow and eyes sunken, looking more Frankenstein than police officer, with orange pom poms instead of buttons on his uniform. If Victor could’ve felt anything, he might’ve felt fear. But even that was lost.

“That Hank. Always did like putting his little sword in the throats of pretty boys. Just like his old man,” Butch said, his voice sounding off with its playful tone. He crept closer, moving in large, slow jerks. “I know what you think about me, you disgusting, dirty little thing. You tease and taunt, but you always run away. Now you can’t run, can you?”

He smiled a hideous grin, teeth as sharp as a shark’s beneath the layers of rot. Victor’s scream was as much blood as it was air. The Butchenstein would’ve lunged for him if Belch hadn’t hit the ground between them, Henry following after. Vic realized that he had to have tripped over Victor’s body, but he didn’t feel anything at all.

Henry threw a punch, and Belch caught it, and then twisted Henry’s wrist. Henry let out a feral cry, and brought his other hand down. There was an odd squelch – the same sound a cantaloupe made when being cut open. When his hand came back up, it was covered in blood, the glint of the knife barely visible beneath it. Henry was bringing his knife down again, and again, and again, but Victor could only hear it.

His eyes were fixed on Butch, who was leaning over him, pulling his hands away from his neck.

“Now it’s my turn to eat you, pretty boy.”

But the world had already turned a bright white for a few seconds, and then, it went black.