#not even a guillotine could remove the head I want to give this man

[hornydilfsinyourarea]

We going until dawn

[bathic]

7. Except there was no waiting.

Word Count: 3.6k

Chapter Warning: Physical Violence.

“Wait—“

Except there was no waiting.

The man the captain ordered to remove you from the cell, San, moved without a hitch. One fingerless gloved hand snagged a hold of your left sleeve, balling the dirty fabric around his fingers and yanking you away from the wall with far more strength than needed. You stumbled over your feet, toes snagging against the wooden floorboards uncomfortably enough to make you hiss between your teeth. If and when you have a moment at some point (it was really seeming to be unlikely in your current situation), checking for splinters would be in the books.

Hongjoong’s eyes never wavered from your form, completely zeroed in on every bit of your wayward shuffling.

You tried to turn in the hold that San had on you, but his grip simply tightened, balled fist nudging roughly into your shoulder. The yanking and shoving ended with your knees hitting the ground, back facing towards every pair of eyes in the room. San’s hand still remained weaved in the fabric of your sleeve.

The positioning felt like an execution. On the knees, entrapped to the decided damnation of death before an audience with the licks of humiliation lapping hungrily at the open wounds of shame, despair. All that was missing was the rope, or the guillotine, or even the blade of some medieval axe or sword. Anyone of these men could be your finishing blow…

If you allowed them.

“Can’t we just talk this over for a second? Whatever it is you want to know or— or need to be made crystal clear, I swear I will be completely up-front and honest.” You angled your head off to the left to look up at San, but he refused to even engage in any sort of eye contact. That left the other two, standing off just past him shoulder to shoulder.

Yeosang, the one that had found you in the tunnels, stared at you without an ounce of emotion. Nothing in his stoicism betrayed how he felt, what he was thinking, or if he was inclined to heed your words. Beside him, Mingi at least bore no mask to his thoughts. He looked at Hongjoong with a nibbling of worry, something about the unspoken and self-made decision of the captain on the whim wrought an anxious jitter throughout his person. Violence was something he preferred to avoid especially when the hand that tended to wield it was his wing-bound, the light of his love.

The dawning settles again that nobody was to aid you. You are alone, just like above.

“I’ve grown exhausted talking to you. And to be completely fair, you had your chance to come clean but instead you decided to give nothing but useless utterances. Now,” Hongjoong moves closer, each heavily weighted step making you twitch restlessly on your knees. San’s grip remained firm, practically stretching your left sleeve far past its elasticity. “You will keep your mouth shut unless you want that wagging tongue of yours pulled cleanly out of your mouth.”

The threat felt like a suffocating blanket across your neck, his breath sounding far closer than it actually was. Hongjoong stood over your body, feeble in its attempts to turn, to keep him in direct sight. You were no different to him than the puny weevils that congregated in the Birch District. In fact, perhaps you might be related to them. A notion he plans to dig out of that brain of yours if you happen to not be the aforementioned birdling so keenly tacked upon.

“What… What are you going to do to me?” You inwardly cursed at how feeble you sound. Nothing of the momentary spirit of courage that drove you to dive into the pit and away from that monster of a man could be accounted for.

Suddenly the ring on your finger felt like his calloused hand around your throat and the ache of those lashes you had received on the backs of your thighs before your escape tethered you to those nights tied to the old lamp post beneath the unblinking eye of the moon. Where your company dwindled down to a small grouping of moths dancing against the fading yellow bulb.

Something seemed to press a bit urgently within your thoughts, like it wished to bring a bit of light to the subject. But that was quickly snubbed the moment another hand twisted into the back of your shirt, not at all mindful of what hair might be in the way.

“That has yet to be decided.”

There was just a split second between your fumbled gasp, the hand on your shirt yanking back with the dirty fabric woven between ring-laced fingers and the sudden onslaught of footsteps rushing down the singular staircase where you truly wished that the pit had a bottom to it. One that you would have preferred splattering against in an array of every spineless piece of you.

~

“Let’s be rational, Wooyoung. Yeosang wouldn’t do anything unless authorized to.” Seonghwa knew his wing-bound better than most, and while the moth wasn’t one to hesitate in defending not only their home but the rest of the crew if even the slightest bit of danger reared its head, the transgression to act was ultimately decided upon by their captain.

Wooyoung scoffed, scurrying as fast his legs would allow. The squishy floor of the tunnels didn’t offer much aid, not that they ever did.

“You think I don’t know that?! It’s the fact that Yeosang is patrolling the tunnels— or was, and Hongjoong is in the brig. Put the pieces together, Hwa.”

“It could just be a coincidence. We don’t know why—“ Seonghwa attempted once again at playing the middleman, a mediator in the realm of opposing that dire.

“Did you not hear what Jongho said! He knew about the birdling running off, which might I add couldn’t have been known unless she was found and then proceeded to tip us about Hongjoong being in the brig. What part of either one of those things is a fucking coincidence?”

“He’s got a point.” Yunho merely shrugged, casting a look over his shoulder at the oldest.

Seonghwa wanted to argue back that there could still be a slight chance that none of that correlated but even he knew from both Jongho’s cocky slight and the fact that so far none of the three have yet to encounter Yeosang despite having traversed through several of the tunnels assigned to his patrol route; adding on Hongjoong’s presence in the only place ever used when an intruder has been captured and kept in holding until dealt with personally— it all definitely went hand-in-hand.

“Fine, but please smother my curiosity over your distress. Why are you so hellbent on getting to the brig? Shouldn’t you be relieved that Hongjoong has custody over the supposed birdling?”

They were just outside of the entrance to the brig before Wooyoung even mustered up the words to reply back to Seonghwa, turning on his heels and fixing a picture-perfect expression of wide-eyed surprise. “Relieved? What for? Captain will have both of our wings fashioned as rugs in front of his study’s fireplace for letting the thing escape. We already have a punishment lined up for being late and now it’ll be doubled for the slip-up.”

Seonghwa’s brows raise, and Yunho couldn’t help but catch what his question was more-or-less implying. “Did you think our haste was out of concern for the runaway?”

“Of course not. I just wasn’t sure where your heads were at is all.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t there doing a backstroke with the birdling. And it definitely won’t be attached to our necks if we continue to stand around.” Wooyoung turned on a dime and practically threw himself down the stairs. Yunho wasn’t too far behind, although with less haste and more caution for his safety.

Seonghwa remained rooted for a moment, staring at the entrance and then at the tunnel’s moist ceiling.

“I have a terrible feeling digging beneath my skin and yet I cannot scratch at it enough to relieve its insistence.” His musings were only for his own singular audience, spoken out in a low hush.

~

The shock had worn off into panic which mixed into a concoction of embarrassment and anger. You wanted both to throw up and thrash around like a madwoman reaching the peak stages of insanity. But instead, like a defenseless newborn deer, you froze.

Hongjoong stood behind you with the back of your shirt in his hand, torn into nothing but an irregularly shaped rag. Your back, to him and everyone else, lay exposed to the stagnant air of the brig and the prying eyes picking apart every bit of bare flesh.

“Captain—“

You recognized Wooyoung’s voice now entering the scene, mixing into the fray of silence. But you wouldn’t budge, curling forward into yourself with the burning reminder of why you even escaped from above plastered all over your back. The grip on your sleeve refused to slacken, rather it tightened upon feeling you slump forward.

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed, glancing from one stray beauty mark to the next, bouncing over bruises both old and yellowed to newer smudges of deep violets creating a path of pigmented steppingstones to raised flesh gnarled into ugly deformations. And while the scars, bruising and speckled flesh here and there were visually apparent what wasn’t, however, were the aforementioned wings usually accompanying the likes of bird-folk. He could picture them as clear as day— black like the Southend jackdaws, earthen dirt like the Westbound waxwings, lustrous blue-purple draping over the backs of the Northway martins— the list was still an ongoing task twisted into a roll of parchment and stabbed directly through the center and into his desk with a pocket dagger gifted by Seonghwa. The expected folding of two wings molded to your back for easy hidings beneath clothing and safe keeping when not in flight remained nonexistent.

You had no wings to your person. Not even the usual scarring associated with wing scalping could be seen. And none of the ones you did have were even remotely related.

Instead of providing a soothing wave of relief for the captain, it made him choleric. The hot burn of ripened fury mounting from the soles of his boot-clad feet all the way to his scalp, every nerve along the path sizzled under his skin, under his clothing.

He looked from San, who was gazing down at your back, curved over in your hunch of self-soothing, from the corner of his lone uncovered eye. Then swept his attention to Yeosang, also looking with a shielded expression. Mingi appeared confused, worrying his lower lip between blunt teeth.

“Well, would you look at that… not a single feather, wing nor scalping scar in sight. If I had to make a gigantic fucking guess,” Hongjoong turns, finally settling his eyes on the trio at the foot of the stairs— but more specifically, Wooyoung and Yunho. “I’d say there was no birdling to begin with. Just a pathetic creature cradled in the idiocy of two cretinous bastards.”

“Hongjoong-“ Seonghwa stepped around the duo with the intent to try and calm the captain down before he let the poison of his short-temper thrust irreversible daggers into the bond between the three.

Hongjoong took his strides in quick succession, reaching Wooyoung whose position placed him closer. His hand latched onto the long strands of hair at the back of the younger man’s head, using the leverage to yank Wooyoung’s head back and then forward as he all but dragged the latter over to where you still sat on your knees. Wooyoung yelped, hands immediately flying up to the one nestled within his hair, clawing wildly at the top of Hongjoong’s hand. Each snag of Wooyoung’s nails on his skin only added more oil to the fire, making it grow and fester. Yunho was quick to follow, knocking Seonghwa’s futile attempts in stopping him from the same fate as his wing bound. What kind of mate would he be, despite their mounting issues, to let his beloved suffer while he stood idle? He played a part in this entire incident as well; he was just as deserving of Hongjoong’s ire.

You stiffened upon feeling the thudding of their combined encroaching come to a swift halt somewhere behind you.

“Pry your lids open as far as they’ll stretch and take a good long look. Do you see any wings, Wooyoung? Perhaps a feather or fuzzy down? Tell me my eyes do not deceive me and that two of those scars out of several bunches belong to the possible removal of a pair of birdling assigned wings? Tell me!” Hongjoong’s grip constricted hard enough within Wooyoung’s hair that the younger could hear, let alone feel, the strands snap and break off. It wasn’t pleasant in the slightest.

“Please, captain, don’t hurt—“

“Bite your tongue good and hard, Yunho unless you wish to have it removed and served to you for dinner.”

Yunho knew he could use his height and stature to his advantage in disposing of Hongjoong’s grip on his lover, but he’d be granted a swiftly executed take-down not only by the captain's own wing-bound, but also by his two loyalists— Yeosang and San. Betrayer would be burned into his forehead for the act of mutiny and his death would hang on the walls of the captains' quarters. That thought didn’t disturb him as much as the reality of Wooyoung being widowed-bound, despite having seven other mates, some who wouldn’t mind doting on him with more than enough affection if needed but the severed threading holding their sacred bond together could never be healed. That was a living purgatory Yunho wouldn’t dare put Wooyoung through.

“No— I— I don’t see any wings— or— or feathers—“

“And? What about scalping scars? Do you see them?”

Wooyoung swallowed thickly, eyes dragging over your back from one jagged edge of a gnarly scar to the next.

“I don’t— I don’t see any, Captain.”

Hongjoong hums, pressing a whispered kiss against the outer shell of Wooyoung’s right ear. “Last question… do you see a birdling before us?”

You shifted, knees going numb beneath your dead weight and rigid body. It was like being put beneath a microscope or on a metal tray with your stomach freshly dissected for every curious eye to see.

“No, s’not a birdling—“

Wooyoung slamming into the ground startled you enough to jerk out of San’s grip, the sleeve he had in his hand stretching enough to cause the threading to snap. The leeway provided you with the space to turn, immediately zeroing in on the body just a foot or two behind you. Wooyoung groaned, not expecting the aggressive shove used by the hand in his hair so suddenly. If he had just a moment to prepare himself (although he should know by now how the captain’s actions usually framed themselves) then the impact against the floorboards wouldn’t have nearly hurt as bad as it did. His chin ached, having landed harshly enough to seal his jaw shut on his tongue. Blood soaked into his taste buds like soapy water does a sponge.

Yunho was quick to descend on his wing-bound, wrapping his arms from under his armpits and up his back to both cradle Wooyoung and inch him away to the sidelines.

Hongjoong watched every second as if he was looking upon two insignificant ants struggling to find somewhere to hide, somewhere that offered a shield of protection.

The thought alone made an uncomfortable laugh burst past his lips, his hands settling on his hips. You swore with enough focus that you could not only see but count several dark strands of hair caught within the facet of rings on his fingers.

“I’m glad you could clear that up for us, Wooyoung…” He pauses, wiping away a fictitious tear at the corner of his eye. “Truly, because I don’t think I could even imagine fabricating a false cause without a singular speck of viable evidence. But you— and your oh-so loving Yunho, seem to have quite the knack for it, hm?”

Seonghwa cleared his throat, casting a wary glance to the duo before side-stepping in front of them in a makeshift shield of his legs and lax wings.

“Hongjoong—“

“Captain; let’s not forget where we stand, Seonghwa. Unless you wish to be rattled around by the scalp as well.”

The threat had Yeosang easing forward, chest pressing to the side of Seonghwa’s arm while partially placing half of his stocky build before his lover. The soft touch to his waist would have provided an ounce of comfort if not for the erraticism of the captain.

“Captain,” Seonghwa pauses to clear his throat, hand curling into Yeosang’s waist to ground himself. “I will not regard your anger at Wooyoung and Yunho as unjustified but surely you could see reason for their actions?”

“Reason?” Hongjoong tilted his head over his shoulder, the movement eerily resembling that of a ball-jointed doll whose connective joint has rusted over making the action jerky and unsettling.

“Let me explain, please…”

The captain waved his hand, the signal enough to kick Seonghwa’s attempt at tampering down the other man’s anger into overdrive.

“They couldn’t have been sure on whether or not she posed a threat. Even by her own words that she wasn’t a birdling, that still doesn’t provide enough reasoning to just believe that she isn’t. And yes, checking her before coming here would have been a better course of action rather than—“

“We did— well, we tried but she kept fighting our attempts at seeing if she had wings or not beneath her shirt. Hell, she even managed to get away once.” Yunho cradled Wooyoung into his chest, concealing his bubbling affection when his wing-bound pressed tighter into his hold.

“I fought for a good reason! Tell me, would you stand idle while two strangers decided to not only ambush you but try and undress you?! I truly wish you would tell me that I am the one who is unreasonable.” You couldn’t believe the blatant attempt of making you out to be the problem, that because of your actions to protect yourself— you were the sole issue for everything up to this point.

“Is… Is that true?” Seonghwa wished to have asked that question with a bit more neutrality, but it came out far more imposing and daresay— interrogative.

Yunho looked abashedly to the side, bottom lip pulled down by the corners and a wince causing his eyes to crescent. Wooyoung mumbled something into his blouse, but it went unheard and unnoticed.

“For the most part… yes.”

“My ass!” You shuffled around to properly face the group convening behind you, ignoring the way San released the sorry excuse of a shirt sleeve from his hand to then latch onto your other one that fared in better shape. “Neither one of you even gave me the chance to explain myself— nor did you offer to hear me out! Instead, you both sandwiched yourselves against me and tried to remove my shirt while standing in that city of stringed lights. If either one of you would have just—“

“The city?” Mingi peers over at Hongjoong then down at Yunho and Wooyoung, his eyes abnormally wide. “Say you didn’t, Yunho.”

But the man in question didn’t answer, almost curling into himself and Wooyoung in his arms.

“Did anyone see you? Hear you? Know of your presence?” Hongjoong was teetering on the edge with his inquiries, dark eyes unblinking.

“No— I swear, nobody was around.” Yunho was quick to respond, looking up at Hongjoong then to Seonghwa and by extension Yeosang.

You, however, recounted differently those last moments before they lifted off with you thrown over the taller man’s shoulder. The sound of laughter, and communal din. Even silverware scratching and dinging against plates of food sitting idly on tables of iron wrought.

“That’s not right,” You mumbled, making San turn his head down at you with a narrowed eye. “I heard people laughing and talking and the scraping of forks and possibly knives on ceramic plates just a few seconds after they put a bag over my head. I’m not crazy— I heard it.”

Hongjoong said nothing, not after your divulging of information and not in the short seconds between him standing in the spot he had taken root to and the place that Yunho was holding Wooyoung. You stiffened, feeling a nasty twinge at the base of your throat upon witnessing the captain reel his leg back and hurling his boot covered foot squarely into Yunho’s chest just inches from Wooyoung’s head.

════════════════════════════════════

Masterlist

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros": Rat Tail

*Every god has their secrets....this is the tale of Ares's secret*

Dionysus, Apollo and Hermes: *chatting away about stuff*

Ares: *comes in sort of dancing after a long day of WAAAARRRHHHHH* do do do, de do *takes his helmet off, revealing a slightly long but thin braided rat tail just gently unravel down his shoulder*

Dionysus, Apollo and Hermes: *stop everything and just stare at the literal war crime against humanity that was hiding under Ares's helmet this whole time* (̲̅ ͡ಠ_ಠ)̲̅.......

Ares: *goes over to a fountain to wash up like some homeless dude.*

Dionysus: *raises arm and over dramatically points at Ares*......OH SHIT. A RAT!....tail.

Ares: *turns around nonchalantly* ugh....yeah....yeh guys didn't know?

Apollo: Oh really? Did you HONESTLY think we would even suspect the existence of that........THING?!?

Hermes: Yeah man, I mean... really? A rat tail????

Ares: Ugh...yeah...I mean, it's convenient.

Apollo: SO IS SLAVERY AND GENOCIDE BUT YOU DON'T SEE THOSE BEING PUBLICLY ACCEPTABLE!!!!

Ares: ok I'll bite, why do you guys have such a problem with my hair style?

Apollo: *deeply offended and disgusted by it* oh how do I put it.......ITS FUCKING HORRID.

Dionysus: *personally feeling like Ares could do better with a mullet or something* yeah ugh....looks a little out dated

Hermes: *actually having the insatiable craving to just pluck it right off* ugh...*sweats profusely* .......*does the grabby hand thing and just kinda is mesmerized at the possibility of just easily ripping that tantalizingly thin braided strand like an satisfying ASMR video* ....hhhhnnnnggggg.

Ares: .... First off, fuck off. I ain't getting rid of my "Leonidas's rope". Second, you guys don't understand how hard it is to maintain this look and third off Aphrodite braided it herself so ain't losing that too.

Apollo: Oh there's your accomplice.

Dionysus: I always knew she was an enabler how toxic of her to do so.

Hermes: ....*slowly sneaks closer*

Ares: *slowly backs away.* Screw you guys, I'm going to get a snack. *Covers his rat tail with his hand while he runs off*

Hermes: *like a predator who has been triggered by the running of his prey* must. yank. *

Apollo: *grabs Hermes's collar* no no. I have a plan.

Hermes: *whines* ....but...it would have been so....ﾟ.*･｡ﾟsatisfying ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

*later*

Ares: *eats his 3rd gryo*

Dionysus: *tries to lasso the rat tail*

Ares: *moves like 3 inches*

Dionysus: *lassos an amphora, pulls the lasso without realizing he has pulled the wrong thing and gets the whole bottle to the face*

Ares: *reaches for the amphora but he notices it's gone.*..........*shrugs and goes get another*

Dionysus: ow.

*later again, in Hephaestus's secret lab*

Apollo: So...do you have any suggestions?

Hermes: *playing with what looks like a stim toy because he got bored* c:

Hephaestus: hmm...yes.... Ares's unfortunate choice of hairstyle is a challenge...but...I do have an idea. *Pulls a rope and a overly complicated Rube Goldberg-esk guillotine the cuts a pumpkin in half* .....

Apollo and Hermes: *both feeling that was WAY too much* ....

Hephaestus: .....

Apollo: ...um... don't you have something a little less..... drastic?

Hephaestus: *lying through his teeth knowing the plan was to at least save his marriage by just killing Ares* ....I apologized dear half-brother...but I'm afraid that is beyond my capabilities.

Apollo and Hermes: *look at each other*

*later*

Ares: *standing in the middle of a platform with ropes and such tied to different places on his body and only the one tied to his rat tail actually does anything*.....are you sure this isn't going to emancipate me for my 'rope'

Hermes: Wut? Oh no of course not, me and Heracles just wanted to do...ugh...an experiment. *Holding on to one rope on a pulley system*

Heracles: *has been brought from his room to harass Ares, holding on to the other*

*later after that failed spectacularly*

Dionysus: *puts a raw steak on his face from earlier* ....so....no plan?

Hermes: no....and I've already satisfied my craving to yank that thing off. Honestly it probably wouldn't have been interesting anyway.

Apollo: *massages his temples* that disgusting, trashy and absolutely repulsive little yarn weff is getting to me.

Dionysus: guys let's be real here ....are we all really going to let Ares's braid really bother us?

Apollo: I REFUSE to relate to another god who wears THAT behind his occipital region of his head.

Ares: *comes in* alright that's it, I'm sick of you guys being so fucking weird about my 'rope' and honestly it's not like you guys have something to hate either! Apollo you and your stupid bowtie on your head makes you look like a poodle! Dionysus I don't know what the shit is going on with your hair so for fuck's sake get a haircut and Hermes.....ugh....YOUR HAT WINGS PISS ME OFF....sort of.

Apollo: *not actually bothered by that comment considering its removable*

Dionysus: *scoff* I see you're jealous of my mane dude.

Hermes: *wings droop* :c

Ares: See? Doesn't fucking suck for someone else t-*hears a snip* .....

Apollo, Dionysus and Hermes: 👁️👄👁️

Artemis: *with a pair of scissors, has just cut the rat tail*...wut?

Ares: *absolutely speechless*......

Apollo: *surprisingly thankful* ARTEMIS! What on earth was that act of mercy for? :D

Artemis: wut? You guys don't have the urge to cut the tails off of rats or anything? Just me? Ok.

Dionysus and Hermes: *wanting to laugh like crazy but slightly feels like Ares is going lose his shit so their just quite*

Ares: *turns around in disbelief* ..........you... little....

Artemis: *unloving gives Ares his rat tail back* whatever Ares, fucking gross looking thing anyways. *Walks away*

Ares: *kneels down in defeat*..........

Apollo: well well well it seems everything is back to normal.

Ares: *sees that Artemis left the scissors, sees only red* .....well....looks like we got to go *picks up the scissors, looks at the trio* BALD.

Apollo, Dionysus and Hermes: *suddenly happy feelings gone.

*later*

Zeus and Hera: *waiting for the Olympians to arrive at the meeting*

Ares: *walks in a fresh buzz cut sits down*

Apollo: *expressionless and with his hair sloppily chopped in various places, looking like it was a home job*....

Dionysus: *slightly similar but he's feeling like a sheered lamb* .....

Hermes: *has a slightly messy version of a buzz cut but there's a really sloppy fade*

Zeus and Hera: *honestly have no idea what happened and look at Ares*

Ares: *has the look of satisfaction on his face*

Apollo: *sits down and slumps over*

Ares: *doesn't even have to turn his head*

Apollo: I hope you choke on those brass balls of yours because I hope you enjoy retaliation.

Ares: Name a place and time and we'll trade hands you pansy.

Apollo: man slut.

Zeus: BOYS!

Apollo: I SEE YOU DO NOT SEE THE ATROCITY YOUR SON HAS COMMITTED!

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - A Historic Blunder (Rated NC17)

Summary: Crowley shows up in the Bastille to rescue Aziraphale, but for some reason, when he snaps his fingers, it doesn't only release Aziraphale from his chains, it switches their places. Miffed at all of Crowley's mean comments about his beautiful suit, Aziraphale doesn't just opt to free Crowley, but forces him to earn his way out of his chains by putting his smart mouth and sharp tongue to better use. (1999 words)

Notes: Written for the @coldomenszine - nsfw digital-only edition. Warning for bondage and oral.

Read on AO3.

“What in the …?" Crowley glares at the shackles clamped around his wrists and Aziraphale's gold brocade suit miraculously tailored to his body. His eyes dart over to Aziraphale, clothed in the burgundy coat he arrived in. "Why am I wearing your clothes? And your chains? How the Heaven did this happen?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale says, massaging his wrists, rubbed raw by the shackles he'd been locked in. Indeed, how did this happen? Just moments ago, between pleasant banter and derisive remarks in regard to Aziraphale's unfortunate clothing choices, Crowley had snapped his fingers, performing a demonic miracle to set Aziraphale free. Which he did, so, of course, well done him. But now Crowley is the one in chains ...

... while Aziraphale is dressed like a peasant. 

"Are you losing your touch?"

"Very funny.” Crowley snaps his fingers again. And again. And again. But no matter what he does, he can’t break free. 

Most of what he'd intended when he snapped his fingers happened. Aziraphale is unbound, and the guard who had been sent to fetch him standing paralyzed in the corner. Other than that, nothing else worked the way it was supposed to. 

It's almost as if his spell backfired.

"Could this be a punishment from Hell for you rescuing me?" Aziraphale asks with genuine confusion. "You said your lot don't send rude notes. Could they have taken away your power instead?"

“Don’t know," Crowley says, examining his hands for answers. "Does seem like something they'd do.”

Aziraphale gasps. "Maybe they know you're here, and this was a test! Or maybe this isn't Hell's doing at all! Maybe this is Heaven's!" He looks up and around, trying to sense any Holy influence in their midst. If he finds any, he's going to be very put off, seeing as they made no move whatsoever to aid him.

"All interesting theories," Crowley agrees, giving the shackles a tug, checking their strength. "Theories I would love to discuss with you at length somewhere other than here. So why don't you get me out of this mess?"

Aziraphale tuts at Crowley's tone. He's every inch a demon of Hell, with demon manners, too. "What's the magic word?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. He considers not saying it out of spite, but what other option has he? "Please."

"Could you possibly say it nicer?"

Crowley fixes Aziraphale with the fire of his fierce, yellow eyes. "No."

"Fine." Aziraphale raises a hand to snap his fingers, but he hesitates. 

"Wot?" Crowley shakes the chains to remind Aziraphale what he should be doing. "Wot's the matter?"

“I don't know."

"Wot do you mean you don't know?"

"It was nice of you to sweep in here and help me, but you're being mean to me."

"I'm being mean to you?"

"You made fun of my clothes!”

Crowley sputters like a car struggling to start. “You’re ... you're ... you're going to let me get discorporated because I made a comment about your outfit?”

“It was rude! I'll have you know that suit was a gift from Marie Antoinette herself!”

"Pfft. Fitting you'd be wearing it here then."

Aziraphale tsks in disgust. "Was that really necessary?"

Footsteps overhead, coupled with the sounds of cells opening and shrill cries for mercy, draw Crowley's attention away, make him swallow hard. "Okay, look, none of that matters right now! I got you out of your chains, yes? Tit for tat, angel. Bust me out!"

"Quite right, quite right. I could do that. Bust you out, as you say. But what’s in it for me?”

"Aside from you not losing your head?"

"Yes. Obviously. Aside from that."

“I’ll take you to lunch," Crowley offers.

Aziraphale shrugs. “Alas, I’ve already eaten.”

Crowley pulls a face. “That’s never mattered before!”

“Yes ..." Aziraphale grins "... but today it does.” 

"Wot else could you possibly want?"

"What are you willing to give me?"

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, fumbling with the cumbersome metal links so he can manage it. "I know you've got something on your mind, angel. So could you help me out? Give me a hint?"

"Well ..." Aziraphale rolls his eyes to the ceiling, stalling in the hopes Crowley might figure it out "... it's been terribly stressful here, locked up by myself, waiting to be executed ..." He busies himself picking nonexistent lint from Crowley's jacket, feigning nonchalance. He has no intention of letting Crowley lose his head. He's having a bit of fun with him. 

But maybe he can finagle a little something more. 

"So you're wanting something to relieve your stress, is that it?"

"Perhaps ..."

Crowley smirks. "The stress of being locked up or the stress of being an arsehole?"

Aziraphale huffs. “Remember, my dear, I can’t stop time the way you can so we don’t have a lot to play around with.”

“How much time are we talking about exactly?” Crowley asks, dropping to his knees. Aziraphale hides his triumphant grin behind a scowl when he sees the immaculate hem of his pants and the toes of his satin shoes come in contact with the grimy floor.

“There are guards strolling the halls, checking on prisoners several floors above us. There’s one a few floors down doing the same, coming up this way. So I’d say you have roughly twenty minutes.”

"Twenty minutes!?”

“Nineteen now.”

“Knowing the response time of your cock when faced with my tongue, I’d say that’s more time than I need.”

Aziraphale glowers. "Eighteen ..." 

"Alright, alright! Help me out! Undo your trousers!"

"You're already down there. I'd say you're in a better position to undo them, don't you?"

"Bastard!" Crowley growls. He snaps his fingers, quadruple checking that it won't work. Wouldn't it be the dog's bollocks if his magic came back in time to shove Aziraphale's snarky attitude right back in his face? 

But it doesn't.

Crowley unfastens the fall-front of Aziraphale's trousers, the rough metal of the shackles doing no favors for his wrists in this position, but that barely fazes him, focused on this particular task.

It's been ages since he's seen angel's cock.

He removes it from the confines of angel's trousers, holds it in his hand, and wonders - has it gotten bigger since? Has Aziraphale been putting extra effort into this part of his anatomy since the last time they were together?

Or is he doing this now for Crowley's benefit?

To make Crowley desire him?

Crowley opens wide, takes him in his mouth, but slowly. More slowly than usual. They might be pressed for time, but Crowley feels a need for vengeance. He's going to drag this out, use all of the eighteen - no, seventeen - minutes they have to frustrate the Hell out of Aziraphale.

Teach him a lesson he won't forget anytime soon.

Crowley's lips around Aziraphale's cock nearly discorporate Aziraphale in an instant. It's been too long since he's sampled this demon's pleasures - his warm mouth, his quick wit.

His exquisite company.

"That's is," Aziraphale moans as Crowley wraps his serpent tongue around him, then drags it down his length. "That definitely hits the spot."

Crowley pulls away. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. My knees are aching like Christ on the cross."

"Too soon, my dear," Aziraphale mutters, eyelids fluttering shut to block out sounds of clattering chains, guards coming ever closer, screams of prisoners dragged to their deaths, the ominous drop of the guillotine. "Too soon."

This is the way things have been between them for as long as Crowley can remember. These small indiscretions, stolen taboos, are all they're allowed. They never know when they will have time together, so they relish it whenever it comes along. As fun as it is riling angel up, Crowley can't help wishing he could do things up proper: in the quiet of his flat, on a bed of rose petals, with a bottle of champagne, a bowl of fresh cream, and all the time in the world to enjoy it.

“Crowley!" Aziraphale whines, hips bucking, desperation saturating every breath. "They're coming!"

"Are you?"

"This isn't the time for humor!"

"How much time do we have left?"

"We don't have any left!”

As if on cue, the guards Aziraphale has been sensing arrive, going on loudly about what could have happened to their companion (Marcel - the man stuck in the corner). They stop, do a double-take, then go bug-eyed when they spot Crowley, dressed like a member of the haut monde, on his knees in front of Aziraphale.

At first, they don't know what to make of it. They would chalk it up as a victory if not for the fact that, even dressed like one of them, they have no idea who Aziraphale is. And though they recognize the fancy suit Crowley is sporting, they have no clue how the man inside went from plump and pale to thin with flaming red hair and dark glasses.

They try to think up a practical explanation, but as former men of faith, they come to the conclusion that what's going on inside the cell is the work of the Devil. They hurry off, presumably to summon back-up, screaming about witchcraft and perversion. Aziraphale doesn't know for sure. They could be yelling about the weather. His grasp of conversational French isn't as good as it should be. He could ask Crowley to translate, but he wouldn't remove his mouth from his cock for anything.

Tragically, Crowley does so himself. "I think we've been spotted." 

"How did you guess?" 

"Are you even close?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! I ... oh, let me! May I?" Aziraphale grabs Crowley's head but waits for a consenting nod before he holds him still and fucks his mouth to the finish. And Crowley lets him. He may as well have some fun with his mouth before he and his head become strangers. Not that he thinks Aziraphale would leave him there to be beheaded.

But would he? 

"Oh! Oh, dear! Oh for Heaven's ...!" Aziraphale comes down Crowley's throat in a wash of Holy light enough to burn straight through to his stomach, but that's part of what he enjoys about letting angel use him.

That taste of Heaven that accompanies his orgasm.

"Oh my goodness!" Aziraphale pants. "That was exceptional, my dear. Bravo. You really know how to rise to a challenge."

"I'm glad you're satisfied." Crowley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks up every last drop. "But there's still the matter of you breaking me out."

"Yes ..." Aziraphale awkwardly clears his throat "... that."

"You are going to free me, right?"

Aziraphale shoots Crowley an offended look. "Of course, I am! I'm an angel of my word!"

"A-ha. And how do you intend on doing that when you didn't want to use a miracle to free yourself?" Crowley asks, kicking himself for not considering that at the beginning of all this.

"Oh! Well, you see, I nicked the key from that chap over there ..." Aziraphale pats down the pockets of Crowley's coat, then the pockets of his own, chirping a tiny, "A-ha!" when he finds it.

"Why didn't you tell me!?"

"You didn't ask!"

"How did you get it off him without his noticing?"

"Nu-uh." Aziraphale sticks the key in the lock and gives it a twist. "A magician never reveals his secrets." 

"Wait! That means you could have gotten yourself ... and me ... out of those chains this entire time!?" Crowley hisses, shaking out the throbbing in his wrists as the chains fall to the ground. But Aziraphale sidesteps Crowley's question and helps him to his feet.

"Come come now! Let's get moving!" With a snap of Aziraphale's fingers, Crowley is re-dressed in his original clothes while Aziraphale reluctantly switches outfits with the still frozen guard. "We mustn't hang about!"

When the guards return, there's only one prisoner in the cell. 

The aristocrat on his knees and the revolutionary he was servicing are gone.

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter six - As predator as prey

Sander’s side fanfiction

Wordcount: 2193

Ships: prinxiety

TW: cursing, slight belittling, demons being demons, talk of torture, background torture in progress, panic. Let me know if I’ve missed any :) 

Summary of the whole story:  They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the  most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

-----------------------------------------

Chapter six - As predator as prey

Shit.

“Don’t hurt me!”

Somehow, Roman thought that the blanket he pulled over his head would be enough of a protective shield. He was an idiot, and he knew it. But give the man a break! One moment he’s dreaming about this super hot guy and the next he’s being woken to the realization that that supper hot guy is the devil !

His brain needed some recovery time to start functioning normally (even though his actions would be the same, regardless).

At the same time the king went from nervous, through surprised and straight to complete judgement. With narrowed eyes he watched the shivering lump of blanket next to him. Did they really think that that was going to protect them? From him?

For a while nothing happened. Roman kept hidden, waiting for the other to attack. But when it was still quiet and no sign of danger appeared, he slowly lowered his “force-field” and peered out.

Virgil kept on staring at the complete moron, laying in front of him. he knew Humans were… simple… but this was too much.

The thief searched the pail face in front of him. Purple locks covered one of his eyes. the other was swallowed in big dark circles - bags from no sleep, it seemed (or maybe that was normal for him, who knows). Yet, even in this cold narrowed stare he was giving Roman, the eye seemed so gentle. Lighter than the sky. Kinder than a nice summer breeze. Full of dark stormy clouds bringing rain to the drying lands.

They swirled around, creating illusions all shapes and sizes. Roman could barely look away. This eye belonged to the Devil?

The supposed embodiment of all evil? No matter how icy his stare, the thief was certain that this being was not what people made him out to be.

He found himself lowering the blanket shield, just watching the judgement in the others eyes. Yeah… he knew what a stupid idea it was to use a blanket as shield, he deserved the judgement. Doesn’t mean it didn’t sting though.

He was about to ask a question, when the demon suddenly spoke. “How’s your head?”

Roman completely forgot about why he was in this situation in the first place. “Oh yeah…” he whispered, reaching up to find a bandage covering this head. “It’s…” he winced at the touch. “…fine.”

His captor’s eyes narrowed. Virgil didn’t like that wince one bit. The medication the healers gave him was strong - let the earlier events of they’re babbling be proof - and if he felt the pain even with their effect, something was wrong.

“I’ll get the healers.” he huffed and stood up.

Roman blinked in surprise. “Wait, you’re just gonna leave me here?”

“Well yes, that’s the plan.” Virgil walked to the closed chamber doors.

He heard the Human shuffle around, sitting up. The thief sat cross-legged in a pile of blanket, with big surprised eyes glued to the demon. “What- What if I escape?”

Virgil scoffed amusedly, looking at him over his shoulder. “And how would you do that?”

The offended noise that Roman made, caught Virgil completely unprepared. That was too much! He had to bit his lip to not let out more than a small snort. “I’ll let you know!” the thief started, hands flying everywhere. “I am an excellent sneaker! I broke into the Kings castle over fifty times unnoticed! Stealth is my middle name!”

Well, let’s just say Virgil had a lot to do to not let go and laugh in his face. Still, low rumble left his ribcage, gravely laugh traveling through the echoey room. “It was extremely stealthy when you landed in my lap. I didn’t even notice!”

The Human went completely red. “Shut up!”

The was pulled open and V kept on chuckling as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. “Stay on your ass, liveling. I’ll be back in five minutes.” and the door fell shut.

Roman found himself all alone in this giant chamber again. But that was all right, five minutes was all Roman needed.

He waited a second, until the footsteps weren’t hearable anymore and rushed over to the door.

Cracking it open, he peered out, checking for passerby. Thankfully this part of hell didn’t seem much crowded so the cost was clear. The well-known rush of adrenaline bubbling up in his veins. He rushed down the torchlit hallway, tuning corner after corner until he found himself at a junction. Three paths in front of him, a tall slope in the middle. And signs pointing in each direction.

Roman snorted. “Demons are idiots.”

He quickly read over the signs and started in the direction of “Exit”.

It wasn’t far, he could already see the light seeping in within twenty steps. The narrow corridor widened and stalagmites and stalactites started glittering the ceiling and the ground. Voices traveled to Romans ears.

This was about to become much more fun.

He stepped of the clear path, onto the side littered with stalagmites. On tiptoes, he continued walking, hiding every time he heard something. Weaving between the forest of stone poles until the dark of the tunnel became only shadows and the voices, he heard were now understandable.

Crouching down behind one bigger stone-dagger, he peered over. Two demons, standing with weapons and in armory stood by the entrance chatting.

Roman scanned the place for any possible escape route. And of course, there was only one. Right behind the guards back.

he thought about throwing a stone the other way, but stones were falling everywhere in this place. That wouldn’t get them to move.

So, the thief waited until the demons were distracted enough and got ready to slip out behind their back.

He watched the guards proceeding as quickly as he dared. A few more steps.

Grinned to himself, he picked up his pace. I am the king of stealth you asshole! Nobody is as good as I a-

“OW!” the guard he was sneaking behind roared and Roman felt the ground pulling out from underneath his feet.

He froze, looking down.

Shit… Roman had stepped on his tail.

The demon turned on him, angry stare and all and just like that, Roman was caught. No longer ten steps from the exit. Instead, on the way back towards the Devil.

Virgil’s steps weren’t even hurried as he strode down the dark hallway, confident as ever. A shit-eating grin on his face.

He walked towards the guards, Roman trashing in their arms, cursing all Hell. But quieting down the moment his eyes registered the dark figure approaching him.

He bowed his head in shame. The people were right... No one get’s out of Hell.

“Sir, we caught it sneaking out the left wing.” one of the guards immediately started up.

“Yeah! It stepped on my tail, bastard!”

“What should we do with it?”

The Devil just grinned at his prisoner. “Well, well, well. I see your stealth skills are still unmatched.”

“Oh, shut up…” Roman mumbled. He kept his head low, he didn’t want the Devil to see how pink his cheeks got.

Little did he know, Virgil saw it all, which made him grin even wider.

“Leave him to me.” he said to the guards. They immediately loosened their grip and Roman shook them off, grumbling angrily. He dusted of his new clothes (which he just now realized he had) and looked up at Virgil.

The just smiled. “Let’s go for a walk.”

-

“You see, the souls that get down here are register in, then signed a fitting punishment. We have all sorts of torture - from guillotines to… whatever that is.” Virgil pointed at a small black cube sitting on a table in one of the many rooms they walked by.

The hallway was filled with demons. Let alone demons! Blood and screams and rooms full of horrific devices designed to chop, pull apart, dissect and Roman-didn’t-even-dare-to-think-what-else, humans.

He didn’t know why the Devil would show him this, but they’ve been walking for a good half hour, checking all these rooms full of unimaginable horrors.

Roman’s stomach was flipping and he wasn’t sure weather his ears would be able to take these screams of agony much longer. He kept his eyes glued to the floor for the most part, trying to block out the cries of the damned.

And Virgil kept on pointing at stuff and talking. “We don’t get many living Humans down here, so the demons are all really excited to pick you apart and see how you tick. See how that tiny little brain of yours swirls. For how long that heart keeps beating after removed from the body. Just one wrong move, liveling, and you’re locked in one of these rooms with the rest of them. So, don’t you even think about escaping again.”

That was the first time Virgil took a look at his companion this whole walk.

Roman was visibly trying to fight the shivers that were running through his whole body. His eyes were cast down, focusing heard on the movement of his feet. Fingers fidgeting with his nails.

He didn’t know why, but Virgil hated that sight. It clenched his chest tight and refused to let go.

After all, he still remembered the first time his father took him “for a walk” … How many, many moons ago, the former king led him down the same path. Back then he held his hands over his ears, shielding his eyes. He forced himself not to cry, because one day, he’ll have to supervise this whole mess. He’ll have to walk down these hallways with a proud smile and live with the guilt of all these lost lives. The guilt his father, and all the others before him, lacked.

He hated that feeling just as much as he hated seeing this helpless being quiver under the weight of it all.

So, Virgil decided to do the one thing, he always always did in situations he hated. “Come with me. We have one more stop to make.”

He led the liveling out the nearest exit and turned to follow the path he knew by heart at this point…

Roman didn’t look up, didn’t stop walking. But his shivers stopped when they were far enough for the screams to not be heard.

“Here we are.” the demon spoke, letting his prisoner take his time to look around. After all, this was the most beautiful place in Hell - Virgil’s favorite place.

Giant stalagmite slopes supported the weight of the ceiling, showing you were exactly the solid ground ended. Warning you before the gaping mouth of the pit. From here you could see everything. All the gaping hallways of Hell with not a single flicker of what hides inside them. All the beauty of the massive cave without all the blood spilled or signs drilled to it. And most importantly, it was quiet.

But Roman didn’t seem so relaxed. His head was exploding with questions and worry. And seeing the deep drop so close to him brought the shivers back. “Do you plan on p-pushing me in?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

The demon just gave a short chuckle. “If I wanted to spill your blood, I would’ve done it already.”

He didn’t even wait for the Human. He walked over to one of the slopes and set down on the ground. Back leaning against the stone and leg dangling from the edge.

His head fell against the slope and for a second he closed his eyes. “Can you hear it?” he found himself asking.

“I don’t hear anything…” Roman still didn’t know what to do… He just stood there awkwardly, fidgeting with his fingers. He watched as the Devil completely let go, relaxing his whole body.

He could take a knife and kill him and the king wouldn’t even have a chance to react. He could take that crown and run. He could do so much...

Instead, his feet took him over to the edge and forced him to sit down.

“Exactly. It’s quiet.”

Hah… yeah… It was quiet. Ro listened to the deafening silence in the room, only his shallow breathing disturbing it. He listened to the quiet drops of water slipping down the ceiling of the cave. He looked out at the endless abys and felt so small. So useless. Like nothing he did, does or ever will do mattered. And somehow, Roman finally took a breath. Easy, light breath - gone all the weight and burden he carried on his shoulders all his life. His chest felt so spacious, spilling with all the air this cave could hold. And that wasn’t enough! 

It was a magnificent place… Lights danced around the ceiling. He had no idea where they came from, but it created patterns, swirls of all shapes and sizes. The same way the clouds he saw earlier in the Devils eyes did. (Well, eye...)

If he wanted to hurt him, he would’ve done it already. Maybe Roman was safe for now… It sure as hell felt like it.

Until that eye burned a hole in his side. And a stern but quiet voice, as if scared to disturbed the peaceful silence, broke it.

“Why did you come here?”

-----------------------------------------

Well it took me a while, but here I am :D

I apologies for the wait, my brain gave up the fight. But I’m back! And hopefully you like the mess I’ve created.

I tried. 

- 

Tag list:

@romano-hottopic

@alice-only-me

[greenninjagal-blog]

The Rumor Mill Game (pt2)

You guys asked, and I have no self control at all. Have some more Intrulogical, now with Plot(tm). If you missed part one you can find it [here!]

Summary: If he thought himself a king of the office, then Logan was honored to be the guillotine. [aka When his coworker, Remus, decides to play a game, Logan is going to make sure he regrets it. Even if its the last thing he does.]

Words: 3506

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @midnightmagi @shadowjag @residentanchor

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had first put on the ring, he hadn’t expected it to end like this.

But that was mostly his own folly: Logan should have realized that based on his (lack of) knowledge concerning the behaviors of Remus Prince, his imagined plan of action would be....upended. After all, he had barely known the man beyond the occasional sight of  him in the break room where he teetered on the edge of the counter sitting much like a king as his subjects bowed before him.

Logan was of the sound impression that absolutely everyone who had been hired for his company was of the particularly stupid brand. Often times he had imagined his boss had sat down in the interviews and hired the first person who walked in and smiled, because clearly Beatrice from Accounting did not know what she was doing and her inability to use Excel spreadsheets had led him to far too many late nights correcting her work.

It was one such night that had lead to this...this ludicrous situation: Logan had been in his office all day practically tearing his hair out over his coworkers inability to count (what did you do with the decimal point, Kyle? Where did this five come from? Why are you all so inept?) and his coffee had gone cold, and he should have been leaving an hour ago, but these pages had been due two weeks ago and Logan hated leaving things unfinished.

He had a headache brewing from staring at his screen for so long. He peeled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes until they watered before glancing at the clock in the bottom of his screen. After a quick and efficiently ruthless curse towards Janet for being so late to turn in any of her sheets, he scooted back in his chair and had left to refill in coffee mug.

The office floor had been deserted for the most part. Logan should have been grateful, because that meant less possible nonsense to distract him from his work.

But unfortunately, he was quite familiar with Jen’s hair in a loose-but-still-formal bun and Quin’s scarf that they wore like a talisman to ward off bad omens. They clutched it the second they noticed Logan approaching the two of them, as if he had been coming to deliver an upsetting diagnosis and not to use the coffee machine they were standing in front of.

And because Logan was absolutely not in the mood to talk to either of them, Jen had caught sight of him and puffed her cheeks in anger, like some sort of puffer fish. She tuned to face him fully with her arms on her hips and gave him some equivalent to a “death glare”, as Logan assumed people would call it.

“What are you doing here?” She asked.

“I work here,” Logan said, perhaps a little snappish, “Now, might I get to the coffee machine?”

She had huffed, tapped her foot thrice, and then shuffled to the side just enough that Logan could get to the coffee machine.

Thankfully, just enough was still technically enough. He placed his mug beside the coffee maker and checked the cartridge for leftover used grinds because-- once again-- all of his coworkers were extremely disappointing when it came to using their brains.

Jen huffed again and she was close enough that absolutely all of Logan’s internal alarms started ringing. He snapped the cartridge --thankfully clean, Logan ideally wondered if maybe it was possible they were learning. Oh wouldn’t that be a miracle?-- closed and debated giving up on the coffee all together. But he could still see grid patterns when he closed his eyes, so he dug out his preferred coffee brand and set up the maker.

Quin opened their mouth and closed it again several times. It was clear from the way they shifted on their feet and and looked anywhere but at Jen or him that they were uncomfortable. Logan found himself praying to gods that he didn’t believe in that they would hold off until he had his coffee and was safely back in his office.

“I see Remus cleaned your mug.” Quin mumbled softly because the gods that Logan didn’t believe in don’t exist and he was on this planet purely to suffer.

But they had made a semi-valid point. Remus had cleaned his cup just as Logan had requested--just as was basic human politeness when using something of someone else’s possession, regardless of the fact that Remus Prince had not asked permission to use it in the first place. Logan felt his nose twitch in irritation at the memory of the other day.

“Yes,” Logan said between his gritted teeth. Had the coffee machine always been this slow? Or perhaps it was showing its age by taking longer to make his miserable coffee. He was sure that he could move some funds around to get them a new machine by Thursday if he could just make it back to his office--

“That’s all you have to say?” Jen sniped, “Just “Yes”? Unbelievable!”

“If you have an issue,” Logan said to her, “Please keep it to yourself.”

She slammed a hand on the counter, “I cannot believe you! Perfect Logan Ackroyd! You’re just like all the rest of them!”

“Curious how this sounds very much like you are not keeping your issue to yourself,” Logan commented.

“Jen--” Quin said, but she acted much like puddle of gasoline after a match dropped on it.

She got red in the face and her neat eyebrows smashed together as she stared down him with a snarl that most certainly did not belong in the workplace. She stamped her foot like some sort of child-- honestly? Logan shouldn’t have been surprised seeing how he had been able to hear the meltdown that happened after her messy breakup with Kyle. It had been so loud that Remus had even had the gall to look moderately shocked when everything had gone down.

“Where do you guys get off on taking advantage of your significant other’s trust in you?” Jen growled, “Is it fun for you? Do you not care about our feelings? Maybe we weren’t so far off when we said you were a robot, Mr. Ackroyd! You’re cold and cruel and I hope that when your affair comes to light--”

“Jennifer,” Logan hissed, “choose your next words extremely carefully, because I have spent eleven hours going over spreadsheets that have been done wrong and am not in the mood to listen to you prattle about lost love. In case you have forgotten, I very much have control over your sector and it will only take three emails to have you demoted and-or removed from this company.”

Jen’s mouth snapped shut.

Logan thought that was the first merciful thing that had happened all day. He picked up his coffee, holding it tightly in his hand despite the heat radiating off it and headed out of the breakroom.

He stopped at the door, as the dregs of the conversation spun through his brain. “Did you imply that I was having an affair?”

Quin was wringing their hands and Jen was clawing her nails into the counter. Still, they nodded.

“Who told you that?”

And really, Logan should have expected the answer. Of course it was Remus Prince, the advertising privateer who had turned the entire company into some sort of drama circus with his half truths and his lack of a mouth filter.

The Robot Extravaganza had stolen the peace and quiet of Logan’s work atmosphere and driven him up the figurative walls. That week alone had eight times more people rapping on his door frame than he had had in the entire year previously. And of course that ridiculous white board they had put up in the far wall as if Logan was incapable of reading and comprehending words. It was unprofessional and childish and Logan had barely gotten any work done when he had been constantly interrupted with mundane questions of “Logan do you need to eat?”, “Logan how do you shower without rusting?”, “Logan do you have batteries or do you plug yourself in at night?”, “Logan!”, “Logan!”, “Logan!”.

Not to mention the way that Remus had laughed the entire time as if he found the idea of Logan being harassed particularly amusing. And Logan hated that laugh. It was terrible and awful and grating, and it made Logan want to tear out his hair because it sounded so much like---

“Is that so,” Logan said absently to Jen and Quin. “Remus Prince told you I was having an affair.”

He shifted to hold his mug with both hands, his eyes slipping over to that counter where Remus had been sitting before, with that same mug between his legs daring suggestive thoughts. How many times had Logan seen him sitting there looking like he could control the whole world with a few crass comments?

It was a game to him, wasn’t it? A game that Remus loved to play because he always won.

And who better to fix that than Logan who had been craving for revenge like it was a figurative itch under his very skin?

“Ah, well then,” Logan said and then because he was very much not the type to let people misinterpret him, he added, “I hadn’t realized my husband’s antics would upset you so much, Jen. I apologize on his behalf.”

That got their attentions real quick. Quin’s neck cracked with the force of which they turned their head to look him in the eye. Jen blinked several times as if she was having trouble processing things.

“Husband?” Jen repeats, as if she hadn’t heard the term before.

Logan straightened his back, “I’ll repeat myself slower since this seems to be overwhelming for your small brain. Remus Prince and I are married.”

“You’re a real asshole!” She covered her mouth and then fluttered her hands in a bootless waste of motions. “You’re serious? Wait of course you are! How could I forget, necktie! Oh my god, you’re serious. You and Remus?”

Logan took a sip of his coffee. “I have spreadsheets to amend.”

“Wait wait wait! I want details! Logan get back, here!” Jen screeched after him.

Logan wondered vaguely if this was the reason why Remus spread these rumors so often: the short zappy thrill that had ignited his neurons was much more effective than his coffee could ever hope to be. And Jen had believed him without a hesitance-- which truly was revealing of her hot headed nature. It was, dare he say, exciting. He hadn’t felt this way since his college lab days when he had tackled the creation of experiments with unbridled vigour.

Just how much was she willing to accept just because Logan had been the one to tell her? Just how wild of an accusation could Logan offer up before she wisened up? How quickly would this get back to Remus?

Logan itched to set up an experiment to test it all out. After all he would only get one chance to do this: most certainly when Remus gathered wind of how Logan had turned his false information back on him, Remus would come clean and admit that they had never even seen each other.

It would ruin both of their reputations. Remus as someone who spread truths, and Logan as someone who could be believed in every instance.

But Remus would still choose it over allowing anyone in the work area to think they were married. Logan knew this easily, obviously, irrefutably. They were strangers, not even acquaintances.

“Janet! Janet!” Jen screeched surprisingly loud for someone of her stature. “Janet did you know that Remus and Logan are married?” 

Logan hadn’t realized Janet was still there at all, but at the accusation she flung backwards from her cubical in her rolling office chair and nearly crashed into Logan on just feet from his private office door.

“Run that by me again!” She demanded, “Remus and Logan?”

Logan opened his door and let himself in but before he could close it, Janet wedged her foot in the way.

“No way! Remus doesn’t wear a ring!”

“Allergic to metals,” Logan listed off the top of his head.

“You don’t wear a ring, either!” Janet said grabbing at his hand and nearly causing him to spill his coffee.

And well….

Quin, Jen, and Janet were all standing at his door, ready to believe whatever he said. He could have just said he was also allergic to metals too, but there was dubious gleam in Janet’s eyes, because yes, this is the sole thing she seemed to be knowledgeable about.

If Janet didn’t believe him now, then Jen would get even more upset at him than before and that would ruin the surprise for Remus tomorrow. A half baked revenge wouldn’t be nearly as good as the one he was expecting.

So he needed a ring.

His eyes slipped over his shoulder to the dinner jacket slumped on the chair in the corner of the room, crumpled and abandoned and gathering dust with the filing cabinet and the box of records that Logan had arranged his first week on the job. 

He needed a ring.

And really it was just for one night.

He could pretend.

So Logan swallowed the sudden unexpected lump in his throat and tracked the three steps to the chair to dig the silver band from the pocket. He tried to remember how long it had been there, how long he had tried shoving it from his mind, and pretending like it and the jacket and that night had never existed. 

It had been a reminder for so long now: like a flashing sign in the night had warned him that a relationship would never be worth that again, that romantic pursuits were frivolous and fleeting and meaningless.

Regardless, it felt like putting on one of his favorite ties, like slipping into his shoes that were broken in perfectly, like it was made for him.

(It hadn’t been and wasn’t that the most ridiculous part of the story?)

It was only for one night, so he let Jen and Janet and Quin ogle over it and answered their questions efficiently. He tore into Remus’s reputation as subtly as he could, making Quin flee the room and Janet fan her face and Jen cackle. He made up a story about a summer wedding, about a honeymoon he thought was just ridiculous, about late night activities he could never imagine doing with anyone.

And when they left, Logan had stared at the band engraved so delicately for another ten minutes. 

“A robot,” Logan said to himself.

Is that what he had thought, too? 

Logan shook his head to clear his mind. He tossed the ring in his pencil cup and gathered his bag and car keys.

If he allowed himself to ignore the lapse in reality, he could even pretend like using the ring in this fashion was the same as saying “Fuck you” to the man he had almost married a year ago.

It was just one night, and an hour or so tomorrow morning after all.

Logan arrived the next day earlier than normal, which was an unexpected surprise. He got to flick on the lights and watch the floor illuminate itself. His shoes made a lovely type of clack on the tiling.

It used to feel lonely, being this early to work, but Logan found himself distracted by the anticipation of the days promised events.

He finished correcting Janet's spreadsheets and sent them off for proper filing, reorganized his desk, slipped on his ring, and managed to get his coffee brewed before most of the office had come alive. 

"Holy shit," he heard Kyle whisper to Max, "Is Logan smiling?"

Curious. It seemed that he was. Logan settled himself against the wall of the break room, Remus’s preferred cup in hand, where he had an excellent view of the cubical where Remus came up with his schemes. Jen, Janet, and Beatrice were already huddling around the entrance, much like a committee of domesticated vultures preparing for a feast.

By the time that Remus showed up to the office, running three minutes late, Logan was nearly giddy. Perhaps he could understand why Remus did what he did, if this was the sort of feeling that he experienced every time he opened his mouth.

Logan had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime; one of his hobbies was visiting art museums, art galleries, movie premieres and the likes while on his mandatory three weeks of time off from work. Still nothing could quite capture the glee that was invoked directly into Logan when Remus’s eyes had widened and his jaw dropped and his face flushed with embarrassment when Quinn squeaked at the sight of him. 

Remus Prince looked like a work of art when the world dumped him on the floor and left him too shocked to speak.

If he thought himself a king of the office, then Logan was honored to be the guillotine. 

Except.

“Logie!” Remus whined, throwing his arms up, “I thought we agreed to keep it a secret!”

Logan’s smile vaporized, almost instantly, “Wait--”

“You Mischievous Mathematician, You!” Remus giggled crossing the area far quicker than a person should be able to cross that distance. Logan blinked and suddenly Remus was right in front of him, a foot, half a foot, a handful of inches. And his voice only seemed to get louder, bolder, more excited with every step. Logan had a hypothesis that all twenty eight of the workers on the floor were watching them with baited breath.

“Well I’m happy!” Remus said loudly for Kyle and Jen and Janet and Beatrice and, and, and-- “I’ve missed getting lunch together! Let’s go to the sandwich shop down the street!”

“Absolutely not--”

“Or we could do that Thai restaurant that’s your favorite!” Remus said, which tripped Logan up because Remus had noticed he preferred Thai? Logan couldn’t even remember the last time he had Thai! How could Remus have possibly known he liked Thai? 

“I’ll pay!” Remus said when Logan hadn’t responded quick enough to turn down the lunch proposal. “Oh this is going to be so much fun, Lolo!”

And Remus came in far too close, closer than anyone has been to him in a year. His eyes were brown with flecks of green dark enough to seem like a swamp at Twilight. They gleamed as he fluttered his lashes at Logan and his mouth curls into a pointed smile.

“Let’s play,” Remus said so softly that Logan himself could barely hear it. And then he pulled back, and stepped away with Logan’s coffee in his hands. He took a long sip and licked his lip afterwards. “Mmm! Just how I like it Lo! You’re so good to me!”

Logan knew for a fact that Remus did not like black coffee. He’d seen the numbers that went into buying creamer for the break room.

Just what did Remus think he was doing? Playing along with Logan’s rumor reversal? Encouraging it? 

Remus smiled at him. “Lunch it is!” He said and waved Logan goodbye with his fingers.

Of course Logan could out him right there, right then. All he had to say was that it was a lie and that he and Remus were in no way married and he had no intentions of having lunch together. But for some reason the words seemed to be figuratively jammed in his throat, leaving him with nothing more than splutterings to vocalize his frustration.

Fine. Logan inhaled through his nose, curled his lip, and twisted his watch on his left hand to center his thoughts. Remus would like to play a game?

Fine. Logan could play a game with him. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something, dearest?” Logan said before Remus could get too far away.

He could see the way Remus’s eyes light up at the nickname, the twitch of his mustache where he was struggling not to laugh too boldly. “Am I?”

“I did make you coffee. Do you not tip your barista?” 

“Ah,” Remus swirled the mug, “And how does my “barista” like his tips then?”

When Logan had put on the ring, he had not expected to end up with Remus’s lips on his.

And yet.

Remus kissed like he was dying and wanted to make every second last, like he was living for the moment, like he had nothing left too lose. Logan thought it was ridiculous that he tasted like pickles this early in the morning.

“I think you’ll find I won’t fold that easily, Specs,” Remus breathed when he pulled back.

Logan replied, “May the best man win.”

And then he took his coffee back out of Remus’s hands and headed back to his office with that ring firmly on his hand. It appeared that he would need it for just a bit longer.

Part Three

[yourlocallivingdead]

The tale of Quasimodo.

I am so unbelievably happy

You see this cactus?

This moth eaten cactus, lovely child that's doing his best?

He comes from my mom's work, when one of her co-workers decided to go on vacation and never came back.

He only bloomed the one time when she'd gotten him, then never again.

Understandable, considering he lived in an office with no proper sunlight.

My mom brought him home when she got fired, and I decided to take care of him since my mom was really in a bad place over it, and kind of saw him as a reminder.

She said, after six years of having him, she'd never seen him bloom.

But I put him in a window that got partial sunlight, loosened up his roots (best I can do, since we don't have the money for a pot), and he started getting new growth.

Then, since our old apartment had shit windows, it suddenly fell and basically guillotined him.

Then during a storm he fell out the window, and down the street.

He's been through a lot.

But look at him. Look closely.

MY SON HAS A FLOWER BUD.

I am more emotionally invested than I should be, and cried and freaked I am so God damn proud of you, you little baby boy!!!

Now I'm just thinking how the demon bros would be reacting to an MC that gets all excited over her human world plant recovering enough to flower.

And some just being really weirded out???

Liiiike ..

Lucifer

Team has no idea what you're on about

He knew you liked plants - your room in the house was covered in them, after all, but you were getting so excited??

Over something plants did naturally?

When you explain your plan'ts harrowing past he's more confused??

This is a plant??? And you're talking about him as if he's one of the sentient ones in the forest behind the house???

But then he sees that look in your eyes. Really, really sees it. The sparkling pride in your eyes, the way you delicately and tenderly caressed the bud...

It was endearing. So, so endearing.

So he pat you on the head while shaking his own.

"I don't really get it... But I'm proud of you and your plant."

Jeez, the teary eyed, happy look on your face was something he was not prepared for. His heart... By golly, it felt so warm.

Mammon

Honestly, he had no idea why you were so happy.

But it was contagious. So, so contagious.

This man is 10/10 supportive of this little plant child and his weirdly excitable S/O, he loves you so much.

Next day he goes to Barbatos and asks about getting soil from the human world and a new pot for the growing boy, cause Lucifer thinks it's silly.

You're ecstatic gratitude makes him so damn happy!

Leviathan

Look, you helped him in his hour of need - Henry wasn't doing well, and upon hearing that he was, in fact, a human world goldfish...

You'd schooled him, gently, on how to properly take care of one.

A goldfish his size needed a 20 gallon tank. Done, easy.

He needed a filter. Also done.

Fresh water, treated with a few drops of purifier and let to sit to get to room temperature.

He got even happier when you suggested getting him a placostomus friend, a little suckerfish that would help with keeping his tank clean.

And Henry was right as rain within a few days. He even learned how to water cycle instead of having to remove him to clean the tank.

He LOVES that you get so passionate about taking care of even the smallest things..

Especially when you go into detail about this little plants history, all determined to make it better... It's his kind of anime story. Against all odds, you WILL save this plant!!

So when you pull him into your room, face bright red, and pointing ecstatically to the little bud he's right there with you.

"OOOOAHAHAH!!!!" He takes so many pictures and updates his social media about it.

He hugs you and is so, SO proud of you!!!

OF COURSE the one who saved Henry 2.0 would be able to bring a little cactus back to life!!!

He orders you new pots and more soil for him the second you're wondering if you need to get him a bigger one. Many... Many varieties. Cause he wanted to make sure you could pick out the best one for the super good boy!!!

Asmodeus

Asmodeus loves all things beautiful, so honestly he hated that cactus.

It couldn't even bloom, and it looked so... Sad.

But you were so determined to nurse it back to health, so he rolled his eyes and pat you on the head.

Then... It actually bloomed and Asmo lost his mind.

You actually did it!!!

It was a small bud, but he was so, so excited to see what a human world flower is going to look like.

When it did bloom, he thought it was cute! Modest, but the prettiest shade of pinkish purple...

Cute, pretty, resilient.. just like his MC.

He praised you for your green them and determination, giving you soft kisses and adorations.

It teaches him to see the beauty in things - and from now on he's right there with you when you're tending to the plants instead of lining for attention.

Satan

At first, he's with Asmodeus when he sees your determination to take care of what surely looks like a lost cause.

But he sees it get better gradually, and is mildly invested, though is confused when he realizes it.

Even more confused when you refuse to let him use magic to help it - you're too worried about the effect it might have.

When you suddenly bring it to him and show him the bud his reaction is level headed. He smiles, and gives you a gentle pat on the head.

"I was wrong to doubt you... You did a good job, kitten..."

Oh God that sparkling look in your eyes when he took his hand away.... He had to put his hand back on your head for more pats to hide his blushing face.

Beelzebub

Being someone in the Devildom that's passionate about plants is kind of rare - the only other person he knows of like that is Barbatos, so it's one of those things that's really endearing to him about you.

You were so gentle with them... Gently talking to them when you watered them, pruning them carefully, it was so sweet... He'd watch you with a fondness on his face while he munched on some berries you'd grown.

When you suddenly cried out in surprise he jumped slightly.

"BEEL HE HAS A BUD!!!"

"Huh?"

"Quasi!! He has a bud, look!!" You pointed at the little bud, practically glowing with excitement.

His eyes widened slightly. "Oh!" He smiled at you, "Good job!" He was rewarded with you vibrating in happiness like a little puppy being td they were being a good boy.

It made him love you so much more...

Belphegor.

Being with you when you were tending to your plants was one of his favorite times.

You crooned gently and spoke to them in a soft voice that was nice to fall asleep to.

When you were tending to him and he was just about to sleep he heard you gasp - and opened an eye bleerily to see.

"Belphie, look," you said, taking the plant to him and pointing at the bud, "He has a bud..!!" A soft voice was always a must around Belphie, and you obliged.

"huh... So he does..." He said lazily,not getting the importance.

"This is Quasimodo - don't judge me, I see you judging me... He never blooms! Not in years!" You pouted, "My mom's co-worker didn't really take care of him that well.. but look!! He's got a bud!!"

Belphegor rolled his eyes, sighing and lazily plopping his hand on your head in a head pat motion. "How could he not...? With that sweet voice of yours..." He smirked, knowing with how you squirmed you were blushing.

"Now put the plant down... Let's take a nap..."

Now that he knows how passionate you can get, he takes more notice of how you interact with them. He even, much to his own mild embarrassment, starts learning their names...

Great. The human is wearing off on him... Not that he minds.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 13

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover (If you can’t find it here)

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7a | 7b | 8 | 9a | 9b | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter 13: Into the War Room

You walked into the room and immediately regretted putting on a sweater that morning. The room was full of different world leaders, the U.S. President, the Prime Minister of Australia, Federal Chancellor of Germany, Prime Minister of France, Prime Minister of Russia, Prime Minister of Japan and the President of Brazil. The other end of the table was full of different First Order officers, General Hux saw that you had entered with Kylo, "can we get a chair for Lady Ren?” And one of the suited staff members scurried and brought one to him.

The general moved down a spot, Kylo seated himself at the head of the table and you sat next to him. At the other end of the table sat the U.S. President. You felt as if you just stepped into a war room.

The U.S. President asked, “Are we to resume?”

“Refresh my memory as to what we were discussing,” said Kylo.

“We were discussing how to best handle the riots that are happening in Paris, then the once in Hong-Kong, and the ones here in the U.S.,” said the Federal Chancellor of Germany.

“Yes, what is currently being done now,” Kylo asked, probably for your benefit more than anything.

“Currently we have a hold on all news media and social media around the world. We have stopped government benefits in the area, areas are on lockdown and there is local military involvement,” said the Prime Minister of Australia.

You spoke up, “Why are they rioting?” And all eyes turned to you. The other end of the table was silent.

“Answer her question,” you could hear the harsh demand coming from the vocoder beside you.

“The people don’t want First Order occupation,” said the Prime Minister of France.

“What are they demanding then,” asked General Hux.

At this, the Prime Minister of France and the Federal Chancellor of Germany shared a worried look before the Prime Minister of France looked at you quickly before saying, “The people of France are calling the First Order Nazis.”

The Prime Minister of Japan also spoke, “The people of Hong-Kong are calling the First Order a Mao regime.”

A First Order officer who you didn’t know asked, “why? Is that a problem.”

Your eyes flicked to her as she spoke. Knowing the answer. “It is, the people will never trust the First Order if they keep thinking like this. Unless you want all of the First Order in Paris to be guillotined you have to move carefully.”

She looked shocked at your answer, but it was General Hux that spoke first, “These Nazis what did they do?”

You weren’t prepared to give an in-depth WWII history lesson so you said simply, “They tried to occupy most of Europe through military gain, for 12 years. They killed over 17 million people during that time. They tried to systematically exterminate an entire race of people and ultimately failed. They are one of the most hated groups of people to have ever walked the Earth.”

“And Mao,” asked another officer you did not know.

“During his 27-year reign, he killed around 40-80 million people in China. Starvation, prison labor and mass execution to name a few. Although he helped build modern China, he and his regime were extremists. Mao is more controversial than the Nazis as some praise him for his resurgence of China’s world power. But the First Order should take both of their comparisons as insults if you want to move forward.”

The room fell silent to your answer, you could tell the world leaders were doing their best to please the First Order, but the people were retaliating and some in large numbers. Something would have to be done in order to maintain peace.

Kylo asked, “what would you suggest that we do in order?” He took your hand in his, even through the mask you could tell his attention was solely on you.

You thought about your answer for a minute. “You need to gain their trust somehow.  Panem et Circenses  or something. Give them something they want. Give them some semblance of power. I don’t know how to do it per se, but something would have to be done to avoid a Les Miserables style ending.”

“Bread and Circuses that is what you are suggesting,” asked Prime Minister of Russia. “Or power, you are contradicting yourself.” He seemed a bit annoyed that you were here.

Kylo’s grip on your hand tightened as his head snapped toward the man who just questioned you.

You answered before he did, “I cannot answer that for sure, I believe the people in France will want power as do the people in Hong-Kong, the Americans may be swayed with some sort of entertainment. I don’t know, have whatever public executions happen here, or give them someone else to hate. They are used to feeling like the best people in the world and now that patriotism and pride are stripped from them. Something needs to be done. I don’t have all of the answers.”

Kylo then spoke, “I would keep your thoughts to yourself Prime Minister and I would think twice before addressing her in that matter—even in your head.”

This made the Prime Minister go wide-eyed with fear.

Thoughts what about his thoughts? Certainly, Kylo couldn’t read minds, could he? You were broken away from your questions by him saying, “We will form a civilian consortium and allow them to give input on the way things are run in these local areas. I will have officers and local government officials heading the councils. We may have to adjust timelines for education and registration within these areas. Give them the hope of peace and control. I agree that public executions should be localized to one area. Shall we say the steps of the Capitol building? We should control the media as to not let problematic areas witness these executions until it has been deemed safe.”

Everyone was silent, you wondered how many hours they had been deliberating this before you stepped into the room. Hux was the first to speak, “that is an excellent plan Supreme Leader and Lady Ren.” The rest of the First Order officers nodded and clapped in agreement. “Shall I execute an order now?”

“Yes, and we will pause before our next meeting so that those who need to collect their thoughts may do so,” Kylo said pointedly at the Russian Prime Minister.

With that he stood as did you, he took your arm once again and you left to go back to the red sitting room.

Kylo removed his helmet and you watched him take a deep breath before turning to face you. His face was stoic but there was something wild in his eyes. He was trying to take control of his breathing.

“Kylo, is everything alright?”

He removes his glove and takes your hand, he seems to calm down. He leads you to sit down, this time side by side holding hands. He then gently takes off his other gloves with his teeth. Moves your hand to his lap and runs his fingers over his name on your wrist. He is lost in a trance, just slowly tracing his name—letter by letter. Again and again, it seemed like time had stopped.

“I won’t let them treat you like that. I won’t let them think of you like that,” he said barely above a breath.

“What do you mean? What do they think of me?” You were worried now.

Kylo looks back up into your eyes, the wildness was back, he swallowed before saying, “They treat you as if you are below them when you are above everyone. The Russian Prime Minister thinks you are…” His voice dies, he is struggling to say it.

“What does he think of me Kylo,” you ask now placing your other hand over the one that is tracing his name.

“He thinks that you are just some plaything that I brought in for my amusement, nothing more than a harlot who pleases me.” He was shaking, a tear slips past and his resolve broken.

You reach up and wipe the tear from his face, he holds his breath at the touch. He moves into the caress and you hear a whimper.

“But you and I know the truth. Why does it matter what he thinks,” you ask still holding a hand to his face.

He looks at you his willpower returning as a fire is set in his eyes. “Because he doesn’t even deserver to look at you let alone think about you.”

“What do you mean think about me? How do you know what he thinks about me?”

His willpower seemed to crack at this question. “I can hear him, through the Force. It’s like he projects them—his thoughts of you. He wants you, but he can’t have you.”

Your eyes widen at this. Shocked at the fact that he could read thoughts, possibly your thoughts. “I thought the Jedi use the Force.”

“I was trained as one of them once. Now I know better,” He paused the fire still in his eyes. “He is thinking of you right now. Vulgar, disgusting things. He doesn’t know who you are. Who you are to me, who you are to them. He wants to use you, in the way he thinks that I do as a slut.” The last word came out choked. He was angry and shaking.

Your thumb caressed his cheek. You flung yourself into his arms. He held you tightly to him. In his chest, you said, “like you said, he can’t have me. I told you before. Yesterday when we were in this room, I will stay with you.”

His face was buried in your hair. His labored breath became deeper. He held you as if the universe was going to rip you out of his arms at any moment. You stayed like that for a while before you separated. One of his hands now caressing your face, it felt like deja vu. The same position from yesterday. The man in front of you was broken, you were determined to fix him—to mend him.

“As much as I would love to stay like this for eternity, we need to get back to the next meeting,” he said while his thumb ghosted over your cheekbone down to your lip. He let go and started to put his gloves back on. And then his helmet, he stood and once again took your arm under his as you marched back into what you nicknamed the war room. Ready for battle.

[cantdwellonanyofit]

I Don’t Think Enough Before I Say Too Much - Ch 7.

Shelton’s words struck Gene like a slap to the face. They were Gene’s worst fears lived out in Shelton’s head.

Gene was being dragged through the thick fog of sleep to wakefulness by the sound of his own name. He opened his eyes, but the room was enveloped in darkness. The moon had just begun its new cycle, shrugging out of its full body like a discarded silk robe. No shadows danced on the walls. No indication of time could be collected. He looked over at Merriell, but his eyes wouldn’t adjust.

Then he heard it again. Desperate, “Gene.”

Gene sat up, threw the covers off his legs, then adjusted so he could sit on his knees facing Merriell. He had to be careful. Many were killed for waking a sleeping soldier too suddenly. A soldier who fought in his sleep, only to bring the ghosts to life as he awakened. Gene touched Shelton’s shoulder. Easily falling into the routine they’d established when Gene would wake Shelton for his watch.

“Merriell-“ He gently massaged Shelton’s shoulder. Fingertips increasing pressure with each squeeze. “Merriell. Hey.” A feather light touch of Gene’s lips to the shell of Shelton’s ear. His words a whisper as they floated in the air. Gene tightened his grip on Shelton’s shoulder. Shelton hurled an elbow, which immediately collided with Gene’s nose. Gene supposed his nose was rather hard to miss. “Fuck!” Gene catapulted off the bed. Tried to keep the blood dripping out of his nose off the sheets.

Shelton bolted upright, on his feet before he was even conscious. Gene knew Shelton hadn’t come to reality yet when Shelton demanded to know where Gene had been hit. Asking repeatedly, frantically. It was too dark for Shelton to realize they were at home. In New Orleans. No longer fighting the enemy. Gene fumbled for the lamp, then turned the nob with his left hand. His right was still preoccupied with catching blood.

As soon as the light was on, Shelton’s face froze. “Eugene, shit, did I hit you?”

“I sure as hell didn’t punch myself.” Gene headed to the bathroom as he spoke. Shelton was hot on his heels.

“I’m sorry, Gene. I’m so—Let me help. Sit down.” Shelton pointed to the edge of the tub, so Gene sat. Blood leaked over Gene’s palm. Down his arm. Gene hoped his nose wasn’t broken. He breathed through his mouth. With each inhale, he tasted blood. Metallic. Unforgiving. Shelton grabbed a washcloth, wet it, then stood in front of Gene. “God, I’m sorry. Mon coeur, I’m so sorry. J’suis désolé. J’suis un esti d’cave! Fuck, j’ai perdu la tête--” As Shelton wiped the damp cloth under Gene’s nose, he continued reiterating the last phrase. “J’ai perdu la tête.” Like a mantra. Shelton ultimately had to abandon his ministrations to grab toilet paper. He inserted the pieces into Gene’s nostrils, trying to stop the bleeding, then began to wipe the blood off Gene’s hand and arm instead. Shortly thereafter, Shelton threw the blood soiled rag on the floor. He grabbed another, wet it, then returned in front of Gene to gently mop under his nose again. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Shelton whispered.

Gene took Shelton’s cue. If they spoke vociferously about what happened, it would echo off the walls. An accusatory verbal finger pointed at Shelton for hitting Gene. Crushing Shelton under the weight of his guilt. Gene didn’t want Shelton to feel badly. It was just an accident. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” Gene whispered back. “What were you dreaming about? You did this yesterday morning too.” Shelton went neutral, face a blank canvas. Gene had seen that face so many times in Japan. But not here. Not in the safety of their home. “Don’t close yourself off to me.” Gene reached out and put a reassuring hand on Shelton’s shoulder, but it seemed an unbearable weight. Gene hesitated, then removed his hand when the pressure seemed too much for Merriell.

“It’s nothing.” Shelton responded.

“It’s not fuckin’ nothing. You almost broke my nose.” Gene might as well have taken his blood-soaked tongue and spat the proof on Shelton’s face. Might as well have yelled, “Look at what you did to me. You did this!” Shelton’s neutral mask slipped into despair, then back again in the time it took Gene to blink.

Gene forgot his promise to hold it together for Shelton. If Snafu came out to play, then Gene would square up. Gene never backed down from a challenge. Even when he should. Even when it would destroy him. “So, rather than tell me what’s going on, you want this to be our new morning routine? Sit here and wipe the blood off my face while we pretend you're fine?” Gene pressed, like proverbial salt in the wound. Selfishly, unforgivably. There was no gentle touch, soft whisper. Snafu didn’t need those things. He needed structure. He needed orders. He pretended he was independent. That he listened to no man. But Snafu was a lost soul, searching for purpose. Afraid. Always extending his neck only to find himself ensnared in a guillotine. Wanting so badly to be a shield for the innocent. Giving every ounce of his humanity away. Destroying himself in the process. Until there was nothing left. Because he’d been born and would die as nobody. He was nothing. Against his will, he’d disappear from this earth. As if he’d never been here at all. Like a bound and gagged body thrown into the depths of the sea. To be eaten alive by the creatures that surrounded him. And no one would miss him. He never mattered to begin with. He was put on this earth to be fuel for the starving. The world took from him without asking. Without thanking. And he let it. It’s what he deserved.

Gene wasn’t sure when his impression of Snafu shifted in his mind. From a man guarded, to a man who needed guarding. A man who forgot to bring a weapon to a gun fight. Gene wasn’t intimidated by Snafu like the others were. Maybe it was because Gene had his own personal version of ‘Snafu’ inside his soul. Every time Gene was naïve, too innocent, he was punished. He imagined the same happened to Snafu. It was no wonder they created personas to cope. The only difference was, Snafu dragged Gene away from his demons. While Gene kicked and screamed, demanded to start a fight, one he could never possibly win. Snafu never had that. No knight in shining armor ever stepped forward. No one was ever brave enough. And Snafu was too proud to beg for it.

Shelton’s breath accelerated. The puffs bouncing off Gene’s face as Shelton continued to clean him up. Gene recalled Shelton’s words to Gene when Gene had been bordering on frantic the other day. “Trust me, Merriell. I’m your partner, not your enemy. Tell me.”

Shelton’s gaze snapped up to meet Gene’s. Breath still heavy, eyes wild. He looked terrified. “I can’t,” his voice cracked. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He frenetically swiped them away. As if the images of his nightmares lived inside each teardrop. As if he couldn’t dare to let one fall, or the memories would pour out of him like a movie theater display. As if it were the only shred of control he had left. “I fuckin’ can’t,” he said.

“If this were me, what would you ask me to do?” Gene encouraged. He knew from personal experience it wasn’t valuable to bottle up your hurt. It only ate away at you like acid. He wanted to help. He wanted to be a good partner. Snafu was still looking at Gene. The unshed tears again pooled at the bottom of his eyelids, accentuating the dramatic shape of his eyes. His brows were raised at the ridge, creasing his forehead. He looked so breakable. Gene feared if he touched Shelton he’d shatter.

Snafu took a shuddering breath. When he spoke, Gene could hear the knot in his throat from the tears he restrained. “I dream about Hamm sometimes.” He began, quietly. So delicately, that Gene missed every word but ‘Hamm.’ Gene didn’t want to ask Shelton to repeat it, knowing it was painful enough to admit the first time. “And you,” he added. Louder this time. A tear finally dropped and ventured down Shelton’s face. Gene didn’t dare move to capture it. “I dream about Hamm going down-- but sometimes, I dream it’s you. That I can’t get to you in time to pull you back, and you get hit. Bleed out in front of me while I scream your name.”

Another tear fell. Gene could hear the agony in Shelton’s voice. His throat constricting around every word. As if he were forcing each statement through the cracks in the barriers he’d built. The wet sound of Shelton’s voice shook Gene. After everything they’d been through, Gene had never seen Shelton emotionally unhinged. Gene was relieved his mouth already hung open from the struggle to breathe. Otherwise, it would’ve fallen open from the shock of Shelton’s confessions. Gene wanted to make the hurt stop so badly it burned in his chest. A ferocious flame around his heart.

“Other times, it’s you rather than Peck that’s gone.” Shelton rubbed at the collar of his shirt. His hands shook so harshly the movement appeared severe rather than slight. “And I try to bring you back--“ Shelton paused to choke out a sob. Gene’s eyes flooded at the sound of it. “Only to become Hamm myself. Shot right through the chest as I push you to safety. That could’ve been us, Eugene. Just one misstep during any of the days we spent on that goddamn island, and we’re the ones that are lost.” Shelton abandoned rubbing at his collar to absentmindedly wipe at Gene’s face with the cloth. Gene knew it was a fruitless effort, his face was already clean.

Shelton’s words struck Gene like a slap to the face. They were Gene’s worst fears lived out in Shelton’s head. Gene could’ve very easily been gone, like Peck. He could’ve been careless. Given into his kindness, like Hamm. Only for Gene to become the lifeless body left rotting in a shallow muddy hole. Where his corpse would decay, but his soul would forever wander the island. A forgotten ghost. He could’ve ended up in a hospital bed, screaming at enemies that weren’t there. Gene never considered he and Shelton shared these fears. These regrets. They’d both grown cracks in their minds like the tallies Gene marked in his bible. Each day, a fresh one appeared. It wasn’t difficult to imagine all those cracks could’ve splintered wide open. It was possible they were to blame for Peck going mad. And if that were true, they might as well have killed Hamm with their own hands. Snafu had been hard on Hamm, but Hamm could handle his own. Fighting back as hard as Gene did. Meanwhile, Snafu and Bill had been downright cruel to Peck. They made it their personal obligation to destroy him. Gene, thoughtlessly, never imagined the guilt Snafu carried from it.

Gene had been so angry at Peck. At Hamm. Gene resented how Hamm fought for goodness in a war where no good could be found. While Gene dumped his to survive. “Get used to it. Grow up.” Gene had told Hamm. If Gene struggled with his choice to be cruel, while Hamm had been kind, his decision was solidified by Hamm’s death. Kindness got you killed. And it got Hamm killed. So, Gene felt justified in stuffing all his gentleness in a box and leaving it behind. Gene couldn’t think further about it. Wouldn’t. Or he feared Hamm would invade his dreams too. Now Gene realized Shelton carried Gene’s, Hamm’s, and Peck’s boxes around with him. Always. And the only box Shelton was able to return to its owner was Gene’s. How Shelton must’ve felt solely responsible for those he couldn’t return. The weight of them crippling, yet he carried them without complaint. It was again, what he deserved. Shelton was Sisyphus. He knew the punishment fit the crimes.

Gene didn’t know what to say or do other than to reach out and cup Shelton’s face. Shelton was openly sobbing. Unashamed. Gene grieved for him, shamelessly crying as well. Shelton’s jaw clenched, and Gene traced his fingertips along the edges. Trying to help Shelton relax.

Gene had childishly imagined Shelton’s nightmares were about civilians being shot, babies screaming, mothers begging soldiers to help them moments before they were blown up. Body parts strewn everywhere. Like they’d never been standing there at all. Gene could also envision Shelton having nightmares about situations that never came to be. Being kidnapped, becoming a POW. Gene had never, not even for a second, imagined something so personal haunted Shelton. Gene was frustrated with his own immaturity. Angry at himself for pushing Shelton so hard to speak about something so painful. So personal.

“It’s not your fault,” was all Gene could think to offer. It was a fucking stupid thing to say. “Don’t even respond to that. I’d be livid if you said it to me.” Gene’s fingertips continued tracing Shelton’s face as he spoke. “I have nothing helpful to add, but I know how you feel. And I love you. And I will always love you. Easily through the good, but especially and deeply through the bad. You kept me sane when I didn’t think it was possible. You saved my life, Merriell Shelton. So, don’t think, even for a second, that you’re not redeemable because of any of the shit we said or did during the war.”

Shelton hiccupped out another sob. Gene moved his fingertips from Shelton’s jaw to wipe the tears away. Gene tried to press a kiss to Shelton’s wet cheek, but when his nose bumped Shelton’s jaw, he sucked in a breath and withdrew. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was sore. Merriell reached his fingers up, cupped his hand over the bridge of Gene’s nose. Thumb and index fingers resting on the sides. “I went and messed up my favourite part of your face. Again, I’m sorry.” Shelton rubbed the bridge of Gene’s nose tenderly.

“It’s okay, Merriell. It’s all gonna be okay.” Gene soothed.

Shelton took in a shuddering breath then released it in a deep exhale. “I love you too, by the way.” Merriell removed his hand from Gene’s face, then tilted his head sharply until he could kiss Gene without bumping his nose. “I love you a whole lot.” He kissed him again.

Gene gave a few answering pecks to Merriell’s lips, but then pulled away. He still couldn’t breathe through his nose and was out of breath from crying. So, it rapidly became a struggle to hold his breath through each kiss. “We’ll get through this together.” Gene offered to Merriell. Gene pulled the pieces of toilet paper out of his nose. Merriell stood up, grabbed yet another cloth, wet it, then carefully mopped the remaining blood the toilet paper had masked. Gene stole the washcloth, rinsed it, then returned to wipe Merriell’s face where the tears had dried. “We’ll take care of each other. We always have.” Gene let the corner of his mouth lift upwards. To his relief, Merriell answered it. “I should be the one apologizing, by the way.” Gene added. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. It was messed up.”

Shelton sniffled, “S’okay. I—I think I needed it.” Shelton let out another shaky breath.

Gene nodded in understanding. He was too familiar with how cathartic it could be to relieve pain through crying.  “Is my nose straight?” Gene asked.

“It’s the straightest thing about you, boy.” Shelton assured him, laughing. “It’s swollen though. We’ll have to ice it.”

Gene glared at Shelton, fighting off a smile. “Go fuck yourself, Shelton.” Gene broke and smiled. Merriell laughed again, and Gene was so relieved. It crushed him to see Merriell sitting in so much hurt. Knees drawn up, hands over his ears. Trying to shut out the grief as it beat at the door. They would always carry each other through the darkness. Over to the other side of suffering, to serenity. To freedom. It had been what brought them together, and it would be what kept them together.

------

The rest of their day, and several others, had passed without much incident. They’d iced Gene’s nose, and the swelling had dissipated. Luckily, it wasn’t broken, but Gene’s nose was bruised. Shelton looked guilt-ridden every time he glanced at Gene. Furthermore, discussing Hamm and Peck had brought restless sleep to both men. So, they’d laid awake in silence, holding each other. Sometimes pressing kisses to shoulders, necks, lips. Sometimes chatting softly about their dreams. Occasionally, either Shelton or Gene cried while the other man embraced them. Wishing the other would be freed from the chokehold suffering held on them.

One morning, Gene sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. He was feeling sick to his stomach with exhaustion but needed the caffeine to function properly. Shelton came inside and dropped an envelope onto the table. Gene glanced at the name on the envelope, then set his cup down so hard coffee sloshed over the sides of the cup.

Sledge.

He stared down at the letter, frozen.

“You suddenly got x-ray vision?” Shelton asked.

Gene didn’t answer him. He did, however, shove the letter towards Shelton. “You read it first.” He said. Gene’s voice sounded distant. As if he were underwater listening to someone on land call out to him. Shelton fleetingly eyed him, then tore the envelope open and began reading. Gene watched. Hoping he could reveal the letter’s contents through Shelton’s facial expressions, but he’d selected the worst person to analyze. Shelton had the best poker-face in town. Potentially in the world.

“When’s your birthday?” Shelton asked.

“What?” Gene asked irritably. His patience was already worn thin just from being awake.

“When is your birthday?” Shelton asked leisurely. As if repeating the query at a snail’s pace clarified the ridiculousness of the question.

“November 4th. Why?” Gene knew he still sounded annoyed. He was just so tired.

“Your mama talks about it.” Shelton extended his index finger then rubbed the bridge of Gene’s nose, which was still sensitive. “So cranky,” he added, smiling.

Gene grumbled, snatched the letter out of Shelton’s hand, then began reading.

“Dear Eugene,

We were quite shocked when Sidney arrived to tell us you’d gone. He didn’t have much more information than we did, but he assured us you were safe. I’m grateful you have such a good friend in him, Eugene. Don’t continue to take advantage of it.”

Eugene rolled his eyes. He could tell his mother had written the letter. Guilt was laced in every word, spreading into Gene’s bloodstream like poison.

“I’m quite disappointed you won’t be home for your birthday. You know we always host a celebration for you. It’s a shame we won’t be able to share it with this lovely woman you’re going steady with.”

Gene scoffed. Shelton raised an eyebrow in question, but Gene continued reading. He’d completely forgotten about his birthday. Gene tried not to feel culpable for ruining whatever his mother had probably planned the moment he’d returned home. She always had to best whatever her friend—more like competitor—Ida had done for her son.

“But I’m glad to hear you’re safe. That you’re not remaining idle. I look forward to meeting this girl. I wished you’d provided her name, so this letter wasn’t so formal. Please, tell her we say hello.

Gene deposited the letter on the table with a smack. His hand remained on top of it. “You think I should write back and give her your name?” Gene asked bitterly.

“I dunno. Merriell could be a girl’s name. Maybe I could be decked out in a dress when I meet the family. We could play this whole thing off, and they’d never know.” Shelton was smiling.

Gene laughed, then gradually looked Shelton up and down. “That might just be a humdinger of an idea, Mer’.” Gene teased.

Shelton stood up so fast the chair he’d been sitting in screeched as it slid across the floor. He walked over, deposited himself in Gene’s lap, then wrapped his arms around Gene’s neck. Gene placed his hands on Shelton’s hips to steady him. Gene hoped the chair would hold them both. Gene had been expecting a kiss to his lips but gasped when Merriell pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the space below Gene’s earlobe.

“Yeah?” Shelton breathed out. Gene’s eyelids fluttered closed. “Didn’t think you were the type to yearn for me to play a little dress up, Eugene.” Shelton bit down on Gene’s neck, then sucked. As if Gene didn’t have enough bruises to worry about.

Gene blushed but instantly mustered his courage. Again, he was never one to back down from a challenge. “I already told you, I’m capable of all sorts of things. Don’t know why you keep doubting me.”

“Mhhmm,” Shelton meant for the noise to communicate his understanding that Gene wasn’t to be doubted. Instead, it was a moan against Gene’s neck. “I like actions, baby. You gotta show me, not tell me.” More wet kisses were pressed to Gene’s neck.

Gene tilted his head back to give Shelton more access, still blushing. He wasn’t used to being with a guy as bold as Shelton. Or a guy at all. It was challenging for Gene to vocalize his sexual interests, especially since he barely knew what they were. He’d only truly accepted himself when he’d arrived in Louisiana. It wasn’t logical to continue rejecting or questioning his sexuality when he traveled this far for another man. Regardless, he was certain Merriell could do almost anything and Gene would be unfathomably turned on. Gene ran his hands down Shelton’s back, then leaned forward so Shelton was forced to release Gene’s neck. Gene reached, hand still on Shelton’s back so he wouldn’t upend him and picked the letter up.

“Let me finish this,” Gene laughed.

“Of course, we’d love to have the both of you present for Thanksgiving. In fact, I am telling you to be present. It will be a great opportunity for the whole family to be together.”

Jesus christ, Gene had forgotten about his brother Ed. He tried to imagine Shelton and Ed interacting.  There was no believable version of the story that ended well.  

“Please let us know if we can do anything for you. We want to see you happy Eugene. We love you. Could you write back with a phone number, so we can properly chat about all this?

“Love, mom and dad.”

Gene chewed on his bottom lip. He hadn’t even considered calling home, or whether his parents would ask to call Merriell’s. It was almost funny. If his secrecy wasn’t already causing suspicion, he’d be shocked. He knew it was unthinkable to tell his parents he was dating a man over the phone. And forget Sid. There was no way he was telling his best friend he liked men over the phone. When he couldn’t watch Sid’s reaction. Couldn’t calculate whether their friendship was forever tarnished. He was banking on the fact that his parents and Sid were different. That the south hadn’t gripped their bones and made them bigots. He thought of Shelton’s words. When Shelton hoped Gene’s parents and Sid were the most understanding people in all of Alabama. Gene didn’t only have his family and friend’s reactions to worry about, they could be targeted by the police, stripped of their service, their good names. They could lose everything. And Gene was risking it all on a daydream. He sighed.

Shelton cupped his face. “Qu’est-ce qui te tracasse? What troubles you?“

“I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?“ Gene queried.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, ma boule d’angoisse.” Shelton grinned.

Gene would’ve laughed, but he felt an unbearable weight on his chest. He’d wanted this to be easy. He’d struggled through so much already. He hadn’t pictured returning home and facing repeated heartache. Not when he’d finally discovered who he was. Isn’t that all anyone wanted from their life? But for Gene, it was punishment. If Gene had never went to war, if he’d never met Merriell Shelton, if he’d never figured out who he was, would it have been a relief? It seemed impossible. Gene supposed in every scenario he would’ve suffered. He wasn’t sure which sin he’d committed to deserve enough wrath from God to follow him through several lifetimes. God had brought him into this world, made him this way, and then tortured him for it. Gene was a flaw in God’s grand scheme. An embarrassment.

Shelton touched Gene’s jaw and startled him out of his thoughts. “I see your mind working, and I don’t like it. Come on, spit it out. What’s going on?” Shelton removed himself from Gene’s lap then went over to the radio. He turned it on, then grabbed Gene’s pipe and tobacco. He brought it to Gene. Shelton took his own smokes out of his back pocket and lit one. Gene appreciated the gesture. It would give him something else to focus on while he worked through his thoughts. He went to work packing it. Feeling calmed immediately from the distraction.

“I shouldn’t have sent the letter. I’m putting us at risk. You tried to tell me.” Gene didn’t look up.

“Maybe, but also, I know you well enough to know you do need an answer to all this. If not now, eventually. You’re determined as hell, and you know it. So, it’s done. We’ll see how it goes. And I’ll protect you. Protect us,” Shelton determined.

Gene mulled over Shelton’s words as he finished packing his pipe. Shelton really was unveiling himself for Gene. Every day, maybe even every hour, Shelton dropped another layer. He and Shelton were beginning to fit together like a puzzle. Understanding each other’s inner workings with more detail than they understood themselves. Shelton was the calm to Gene’s storm, and Gene was the rain to Shelton’s drought. Gene was unsure he deserved such a beautiful thing, but he knew Shelton shared the fear of being undeserving.

Gene lit his pipe and took several puffs from it. Once he was finished, he grabbed Shelton’s hand. “I never considered I could merely call Sid and my parents on the telephone,” Gene laughed. “It’s funny. You wear a mask for so long you forget it’s on. Repress how easy things could’ve been because it was never an option for you.”

“Have you always liked men?” Shelton asked, rubbing his thumb along Gene’s knuckles. Gene once again thought back to when Betty Cannon, Sid, and he were be best friends when they were six years old. He thought about what had caused their friendship to split. Until it was only Sid and Gene.

It’d been a particularly warm day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The three of them had just returned from playing in the creek. The playful energy had followed them all the way home. It buzzed in the air. Sid and Betty were running circles around Gene. Playing a lazy game of tag. Never straying more than an arm’s length away from Gene as they ran. Sid encouraged Gene to join, but Gene declined. Gene was amused watching his best friend’s, but Betty wouldn’t listen. She ran up to Gene, kissed him on the cheek, then cried out, “Tag! You’re it, Gene!”

Gene had been so stunned he didn’t move. He then unexpectedly devolved into tears. Reprimanded Betty for not asking for permission. “Why wouldn’t you ask? Do you think you can just do whatever you want to people? I said I didn’t want to play!” Gene had choked out through embarrassingly loud sobs. Sid had immediately sided with Gene, shrugged Gene’s reaction off as a ‘respect’ issue. Soothed him. Not with words, but with loyalty. Like Sid always did. Gene hadn’t reflected on how other boys would’ve reacted if they’d been in Sid’s shoes. Not until this very moment. Perhaps Sid understood more about Gene than he let on. Other boys would’ve called Gene a chicken. A queer. Sid never forced Gene to discuss it, and Gene never brought it up. Gene had always been grateful Betty had either been too respectful, or too embarrassed, to tell everyone at school about what had happened. She’d stopped playing with them though. Gene always felt guilty about it. In true Sid fashion, Sid protected Gene from his parent’s questions concerning Betty. Asking why she never came around anymore.

As Gene got older, he realized he didn’t feel anything for the girls Sid pointed out to him. His heart didn’t speed up. Not until a particularly handsome boy walked by. Or when Richard Hoffman dropped his book in the hallway. He and Gene bent at the same time to retrieve it. Fingers brushing. Richard had the greenest eyes Gene had ever seen. If given the chance, Gene would’ve stared into them forever. Gene would take girls out for show, of course. Talk about them with Sid. But respect had become Gene’s saving grace. Everyone knew Gene was sensitive. That he reacted intensely, fiercely. More emotional than the other boys. Girls knew Gene was too respectful to ever try anything, and so he became a conquest. And he fell back on ‘respect’ when they asked too many questions. Pushed a little too hard to gain his affection. Sid kindheartedly ragged on Gene for ‘saving himself,’ when girls threw themselves at Gene’s feet. Gene would explain he wanted to wait for the right one. Sid always told him it was noble. It made Gene feel dirty for lying.

Had Gene always liked men? Well, it had been crafted into his DNA before he’d ever been offered a choice. It wasn’t a choice. It was his identity. Gene simply nodded in affirmation as he continued puffing on his pipe. Merriell was still rubbing Gene’s knuckles, and he nodded in return. “You?” Gene asked. “You ever like a guy before me?” Gene added.

Merriell’s lips screwed up in thought, quirking to one side. “I appreciated a lot of good-looking men, but I ain’t never courted a guy. Never slept with one. I knew I was fucked when I saw you though.”

Gene laughed, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. “You were an asshole to me from the moment I said hello to you. If that’s your version of flirting, then I’m glad I’ve been spared it thus far.”

Merriell smiled, “You didn’t seem to mind it none. You fell for me anyway. My charm. Wit.”

Gene was laughing. He had fallen for Merriell despite his sour attitude. In fact, Gene had effortlessly matched it. He took what Merriell threw at him and hurled it right back, twice as hard. Gene thought back to when Oswalt, Bill, and he had scrubbed oil drums while Shelton looked on in amusement. Belittling them. Telling them all how they’d miss the suffering he’d subjected them to. However, from the moment Shelton first laid eyes on Gene, his gaze had been penetrating. Hanging heavily on Gene. Making him feel exposed, naked. Gene assumed it was hatred for new boots that made Shelton cruel to him, but maybe it had been attraction. Why nurture a crush for someone who was likely to die the second the gunfire started? If Gene looked back at his time with Shelton through this new lens, re-analyzed each moment, everything was different. The colours shifted. He understood words and actions he hadn’t before. It was not a choice. Their love had been written before they’d ever been offered a choice. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

“I did. I really did. And now, as a thank you, I’m bringing you into this mess I call my life. It’s what you get for making me fall in love. And for making me scrub oil drums.” Gene smiled around his pipe.

Shelton showed his rare, beautiful, pearly white smile he never shared with anyone else but Gene. Gene’s favourite exhibition. “It’s well deserved punishment. I’ve used those images of you sweatin’, in that white t-shirt, breathin’ heavy, to guide me through an absurd amount of orgasms. They had to be quick one’s too, as you know. Worked out great in my favour.” Shelton’s grin turned smug.

Gene laughed, “You son of a bitch. Did you really?” Shelton smiled and nodded. Gene reached out to place his fingers on Shelton’s face, lightly pinching his cheek and tugging. “I better have been the only one you were admiring and thinking about.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, baby. I only ever looked at you. Couldn’t see anyone else anyway, with the way the sun glinted off your hair and skin most days.”

Gene mock glared at Shelton, then nudged Shelton’s leg with his foot. Gene read through his parents’ letter once more. Pausing each time Merriell was referred to as a woman. Gene could’ve easily played this off to everyone but Sid, since Gene directly told Sid he was leaving to seek out some long-lost love of his. It would’ve been rather challenging to explain he never reunited with the love of his life but did however find the next best thing! His buddy from the service. Oh, and I’m bringing him home with me. Platonically, of course. You understand, right Sid? Think about it! If you came home, never found Mary, but ran into a man from your outfit, wouldn’t you spend the rest of your life with him? Gene could’ve opened the door slowly. Person-by-person, calculating their reactions.  Then his impulsions got the best of him. His need to know. To tear the band aid off. He hoped he wouldn’t pay for it. That Shelton wouldn’t pay for it. It was too late now. He’d have to cut off his family and Sid to go back on this, and Gene didn’t want to do that unless his hand was forced. Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe Gene did take advantage of Sid’s kindness. Of his parent’s kindness. Of Shelton’s love. Demanded too much forgiveness from the people who cared about him. Gene was such a selfish creature. The epitome of the seven deadly sins. Did the people who loved Gene know the devil lived within him? Gene doubted it. Blinders were securely fashioned around their eyes. Gene always waited for the buckle that secured the blinders to tear, falling away and exposing Gene’s darkness to the light. Until the light blinded them. Thrusting them back into the darkness. Where they could once again fell prey to Gene’s manipulation. The manipulation he never even knew he used against them. He was a puppeteer with blind marionettes. This would be his last show.

[lady-moonbroch]

hi girl~ i hate to bother but is is okay if i can request a yandere isaac or yandere charles either one going berserk? 😂

Oh hello there dear Anons! Admittedly, I was quite surprised by these requests and more so because yandere is not exactly my thing. But(!) I thought I might give it a try and hope I don’t disappoint you both.I went with Charles for this one, Isaac doesn’t strike me as violent or obsessive, but Charlie…oh this boy may look precious but looks can be deceiving they say. Hope you enjoy it and please do read with care, this is one is quite dark towards the end.

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Warnings: slightly explicit language, gore, violence, dark, deathWord Count:  1671

The sun rose to the sky, bright and clear, bathing the cobblestoned streets of Paris with it’s warm and pleasant light. Charles slowly made his way out of the abandoned church he called home and raised his gaze to meet the morning star, replying to it’s warm greeting with a smile. “A perfect day to take a stroll, huh?” he mumbled to himself.It was almost midday by the time he reached the city center and large crowds streamed through the shops, candid excitement brightening their features at the sight of the sunny weather after days of rain and mist.A sigh of dismay escaped his lips, his gaze failing to meet the countenance of the girl with the smiling eyes. He slumped against a wall, his mouth forming an unsatisfied pout cursing his foul luck…until he heard it.Bubbling laughter softly entered his earshot. Remaining hidden in the shadows offered by the high walls of the alley he trained his opalescent eyes on the figure of the girl with the smiling eyes, ordering them to map every delicate detail of her form. How her silken locks reflected the warm rays of the sun, how they caressed her rosy cheeks with tenderness and how the apple of those cheeks rose in delight with every smile she beamed.Oh, how he wished he’d be the one escorting her to town, touching her freely as he’d like and bring a flush of pink upon her cheeks with teasing words and suggestive provocations. He allowed not his eyes to stray from the girl as she strode through the street with her co-worker, patiently waiting for a chance to talk to her in private.And the opportunity did appear not long after. She walked into a shop on her own, telling the butler of the Count’s mansion that she would meet him in a quarter of an hour at the centre of the plaza. Delight by this turn of events Charles slowly and quietly made his way to the entrance of the shop, his mind busy rehearsing the way he’d introduce himself to her.But before he could enter the shop, he stopped dead on his tracks. The girl was being harassed by a brute, his teasing smiles and the look of entitlement on his faces made Charles’s blood boil with anger. His eyes shone with a threatening gleam as they focused on the face of the thug. He strained his ears to listen closely to hear their conservation, only to discover the jerk’s vocabulary consisted only of vulgarity and discourtesy. 

He regarded him harshly as he slowly exited the shop still laughing like a mischievous child after playing a prank on someone who couldn’t stand up to a bully. Brows furrowed he turned his gaze back to the girl’s face, the skin around her eyes dusted red, her irises shining with underlying tears as she took deep breaths to regain her composure.He turned on his heel with his mind made up and slowly strode back in the alley, his form swallowed by the familiar dark shadows that harboured creatures like him.

The night obscured the City of Light with her thick blue veil, the night was without the pale light of the moon and an eerie misty cloud swirled in the nocturnal breeze.The man strolled fearlessly in the empty streets, each proud step leading him closer to his destination, a local pub where his friends waited expectedly for him to give them the detail of his new “prey”. A girl he met at the old tobacco shop this morning, a foreign and fine specimen, he said with a smug grin plastered on his face.His footsteps were the only sound in the otherwise silent alley…or so he thought. The silence he believed to be surrounding him was broken by matching footsteps that closed in from behind him.A cold droplet of sweat began to trickled right above his brow as fear slowly creeped under his skin, his consciousness warning him that the creature looming up behind him was no human but a beast of cruel intentionsHe desperately strained the muscles of his legs to move forwards just a little faster, to help him escape the jaws of the evil chasing him like a prey…But his feet failed him.Something sharp penetrated the nape of his neck and a wave of dizziness washed over his body. Before he felt his consciousness fade to darkness he heard a young man’s cheerful voice, his words unclear as his sight blurred and turned dark.

“Where am I?” the man thought aloud as his eyes fluttered open, met with unfamiliar and eerie surroundings. It looks like he was in an abandoned room. He tried to move but to his shock his hands and neck have been restrained. His audible gulp echoed in the seemingly empty room.Slowly he turned his head upwards to take a better look at the device that kept him still. His eyes widen with terror as his gaze fell on the sharp blade of a guillotine, his breath quickened and his muscles jittered nervously. He began to look for a way to escape and unbound himself but was soon interrupted by quiet, almost silent footsteps.“Who are you?! What do you want from me?? Release m-“

“Your head...” the young man cut off his screams.

“Who are you?? Answer me!” he shouted again. He heard the footsteps drawing closer and his vision was soon filled by the lean figure of a young man. He smiled ever so gently at him, but his beautiful opalescent eyes could easily be mistaken for glacier.

“My name is Charles. Charles Henri Sanson”

“Why do you want me dead? What did I do to you? I don’t even know you!” the man kept shouting, much to Charles delight.

“It was high time someone taught you some manners. I’m…quite strict with my punishments some might say. But, oh well, a severed head can’t speak” Charles chuckled.

“Leave me be!! I have done no harm t-“

“Oh have you now?” Charles voice was cold and grave, the sweet smile plastered on his face turning into a lopsided grin, matching in sharpness the inclinatory blade that hang above the man’s neck.“Maybe I need to refresh your memory. Do you not remember how crudely you treated a certain young lady this morning?”. Charles spoke with even and icy tone, lowering himself to look his victim eye to eye.

“I-I-I’ll apologise to her! I never meant her any harm! I swear to God!”

“Liar!”The man shrunk back at the unearthly howl that roar from Charles lungs. His eyes were no long a mass of eyes. They burned with fire like the deepest pits of well, two flaming spheres ready to scorch whomever they beheld.“You planned to kidnap her...And violate her. This is why you couldn’t even hide the skip in your step as you made your way to your friends. You ever dared to lay a finger on her precious skin just this morning. You insufferable bastard!”Charles low growls were only answered by the man’s stuttering as he fumbled to make excuses for himself knowing they’d fall on dead ears. Everything Charles said was true, but how he knew all that he would never come to know.“You won’t kill me! You can’t just kill a man!”. Charles’ eyes widened slightly at the sound of the man’s words. Relief began to bloom inside the man’s chest and was shuttered in thousands of pieces mere moments later by Charles hysterical laughter.

“You incorrigible fool!” he laughs. “I have executed thousands…I took King Louis head with my own hands…and now…I will take yours.” 

The man’s head twitched and turned uncomfortably, locked in the guillotine’s lunette unable to escape. Charles pulled the leaver that released the blade, relishing at the subtle sound of the mouton sliding smoothly between the grooves of its wooden frame and the final thud of the blade when it’s destination.

He slowly removed the splatter shield and with practiced movements gripped the man’s head by the hair and raised to the level of his eyes as if to present it to his invisible audience.

A new day began signalled by the rooster’s crow, the young guest of the Count made her way to the kitchen with soft and quiet steps. She kept her mind busy, thinking what breakfast she should prepare for the residents today, so busy indeed that she bumped on the younger Van Gogh brother. She looked up at him, he was reading the daily newspaper.

“I’m so sorry Theo, I didn’t mean to crash on you like that” she mumbled as she bowed apologetically.

“Don’t worry Hondje, I was not paying much attention either” he replied. She looked at him quizzically and turned her gaze to the newspaper in his hands.

“Something serious happened? You seem a little troubled.”

“Indeed. A man of higher standing disappeared last night. His friends said they waited for him all night at the pub. He never showed up, nor did they find him at home. He is just gone without a trace.”

________________Banner by angelichellraiser

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

hey guys! i finally had the time to get this started. here was the first request:

an alice in wonderland au - malec edition

i tried my best, i was kinda young when i read the book so i don’t remember exactly what it was like but this is my attempt !!

requested by @tobeornottobetequila !

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec woke up feeling a little dazed, and with an absolutely thudding headache. He stretched his arm out with his eyes still shut, and accidentally slapped Magnus awake.

“What was that for??”

“Sorry. Stretching.”

Now, Alec usually had great vision. It was part and parcel of being a shadowhunter. But even after he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, it was clear that he was not in Magnus’s apartment. Or in the Institute. Or anywhere he recognised, for that matter. He shook Magnus -who had went back to sleep- to get his attention.

“Alright, stop messing. Where are we?”

“Huh? We’re in my apartment- oh.”

“You see it too?”

They shared a glance and looked around themselves. It was Magnus’s bed, sure, but it was in the middle of nowhere. There was insanely green grass, and the trees- such an odd shape. Alec could even make out a castle in the distance. “So it’s not my headache. Whatever the hell this is is real.”

The place looked like Faerie, but more in a Fairytale fantasy way- like the pair had been sent into a book.

“You know, this place gives me insane Alice in Wonderland vibes. I’m half expecting the Cheshire Cat to pop out of that tree.”

Alec looked extremely terrified. “Is that another of your cats?” he inquired.

Magnus half-laughed, half-sighed. “Remind me to never make a reference towards anything at all with you. Alice in Wonderland is a famous book, my love,” he said, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. Things were going great right now- Alec had finally accepted himself and came out, and whilst the reaction wasn’t the best from everyone, he seemed happier. More free. More willing to love Magnus. Despite being in a completely foreign place with no idea how to leave, he didn’t quite want to. It was peaceful here.

“Do you think you can portal out?”

Magnus shrugged and waved his hands- with no avail. Not even any blue sparks came out of his hands.

“I’m afraid, only magic from this dimension works here.”

“This dimension.” Magnus repeated. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Why not?” The voice gained a face, to which Magnus’s eyes widened. “Holy fu-“

“Language!” Alec exclaimed, mock offended.

“Sorry darling. But I need to use it right now. WHY THE HELL IS THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER STANDING IN FRONT OF US?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHO THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER IS!”

“Boys, boys. Calm it down. I’m simply here to tell you that you need to leave as soon as possible. People don’t like your kind here, and I can-“

Suddenly, Alec was angry. “Your kind?! Your kind as in ‘gays’? Well you listen to me, dude. We have every right to exist just like you straight people. There is nothing wrong with me not with my boyfriend and I love him so goddamn much that I’m ready to punch the absolute SHIT out of you if you say that-“

“As I was saying, your kind refers to the fact that you’re from another dimension. I was offering to help you both leave, before the Queen finds out you’re here. Also, where the hell did you get the assumption that I’m straight from? I mean, look at me.” The man gestured at himself, and Alec noticed that he shared a very similar taste in style with Magnus. Now he knew what Simon meant when he greeted Magnus as ‘the Mad Hatter’ all the time. He was still to figure out why Magnus called him ‘Edward’ though.

“Well, I’m sorry. Quite new to being out and happy, so I get defensive.”

“That’s totally understandable! Now, I suggest you two get ready and follow me,” the Mad Hatter said, ducking out of sight. This whole experience was so bizarre.

“That rant was really sexy, by the way.”

Alec flushed. “Shut up.”

“You make gay rights sound even sexier.”

“Why are rights sexy in the first place?”

Magnus rolled his eyes and got out of the bed. “You’re such a buzzkill,” he said, pouting.

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec’s mind wandered yet again to how odd everything was. Where was this place? What was it? Why was there an insane man leading them about?

“Alrighty boys! We’re here!” The ‘Mad Hatter’ gestured toward a portal- guess some things didn’t change. “One thing before you go. You have to take these,” he said, handing Alec a small cake-like item with an ‘eat me’ tag on it, and Magnus a small vial with ‘drink me’ inscribed on the lid. “We give them to everyone who unexpectedly turns up here before they return home.”

Magnus stares at his vial in wonder. “We really are living a fairytale right now,” he muttered, downing the stuff. Alec watched him nervously, swallowing the cake bite whole before he had a chance to taste it.

And of course he started choking.

Magnus slammed his back several times as his skin became increasingly more red from embarrassment. He then stopped, and they brushed themselves off. Magnus of course giggling silently to himself.

“I didn’t quite expect you two to be so desperate to take them- are you in such a rush to go home?” the strange man said, looking sad.

“Well, yes. Plus you did say that-“

“That the Queen would be angry if people not belonging to this dimension were here?” echoed a new voice. A female one.

Magnus spun around. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not you?!”

The Queen of Hearts raised an eyebrow. “Am I truly that bad?”

“You behead people.”

“She beheads people?!”

“Yes, Alec. It’s the- you know what, forget it. We’re in a fairytale, the book I said about. I don’t know what the hell happened or how drunk I got to be able to conjure this shit up. But what I do know is that this is the part where he,” Magnus said, gesturing at the Mad Hatter, “gets arrested, and so do we, and our heads get chopped off.”

Alec did not quite like the sound of that. As Magnus said, sure enough the Queen of Hearts ordered her guards to arrest the other man and take them as well for immediate beheading. “What did we do?” he asked in a small and vulnerable, panicked voice. Magnus’s heart broke that second; he sounded so scared. His Alec, his brave archer boy, made so small. All he wanted to do was hold him and tell him that it would be okay, but all he was capable of doing was brushing his hand against his.

“You trespassed. And this mad man here was helping you leave. He does this all the time- and gets away with it. Well not anymore, I say! Off with all your heads!”

Alec looked as if he was about to pass out.

➰➰➰➰➰

It took surprisingly less time to get to the castle than they thought it would. As soon as they’d arrived, all three had been sent to the dungeon quarters to prepare for execution, each in three separate cells as extra added torture for Magnus and Alec. They were also brought out with hoods over their heads, meaning they couldn’t even see each other.

“Down!” The Queen barked.

The executioners shoved the three down on their knees.

“Prepare!”

Their heads were pressed against the blocks.

“Anyone have any last words?”

“Damn. You know, I really thought they’d be using the guillotine by now. It would’ve been cooler. Imagine dying, going to hell because let’s face it heaven is definitely not for me, and the other ghosts being like ‘How did you die?’ And then you get to go ‘Guillotine’-“

“Shut up, please,” The Queen yelled. Alec laughed to himself; Magnus was never short of something quick witted to say.

“Ready?”

They were hushed, the axes lined up on their necks.

“Aim...”

They were lifted off. The pressure being removed felt odd. Then Alec began to feel sick again. Like he was going to collapse.

Magnus felt so too. Even though they couldn’t communicate properly he could almost feel it in his veins. For a moment, he thought they were both going to die, and silently hoped that they would before the axes met their necks again. It would be less painful that way.

The whoosh of air they felt against themselves as the axes were brought down with force was oddly calming. Even though they were one second away from-

➰➰➰➰➰

Magnus sat up, first of all aware that he couldn’t breathe. He choked on water, coughing endless streams of it up. Once he’d calmed down, he noticed that he was soaking. His hair was dripping in his face.

“Magnus! You’re okay, thank god-“

“Guys Alec isn’t moving-“

“What?” said Magnus. There were too many voices surrounding him. He looked up and was glad to see that the soft voice that first spoke to him was his little biscuit, Clary. He was on the ground in the middle of Central Park with a few other shadowhunters- Jace, Isabelle, and Simon too- and Alec was lying limp beside him. He was extremely pale, deathly so, and he could barely breathe. His chest rattled with each one he took.

“Magnus, what happened? How did you guys fall in there?” Clary asked, concerned.

“Clary, sweetheart, I appreciate your concern but one; I have no idea what just happened and two; Alec?”

He shifted himself over- he could barely move- and tried his magic. He ordered Jace and Isabelle back. The magic shocked Alec awake, but he was too weak to cough the water out himself. The next few seconds were terrifying- Alec spasming and freaking out, Isabelle loudly sobbing in fear, Clary getting worried, and Jace. Jace was silent, expressionless. He couldn’t quite believe it- in fact- he refused to. Alec couldn’t die. Not before him.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Magnus looked at Jace with a kind smile. “No one’s dying tonight. He’s going to be fine- I can remove the water. But he definitely needs to go to the Institute infirmary. And he needs strict bed rest.”

Seeing as he was unable to make a portal because of his weakened strength, he called Catarina to pick them up and take them to the Institute. On the ride there, he was able to talk to Clary.

“So what did actually happen?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “You guys must’ve went for a walk and fallen into the river. We got a fire message from a shadowhunter on patrol of the area saying they saw you drowning- he helped you both to stay afloat whilst help came. Then we arrived.”

Magnus considered asking if she knew how the hell they had even fallen in in the first place, but didn’t. He had too little energy. So was the whole Alice in Wonderland thing fake?

Later in the afternoon, Alec had been taken to the Institute to recover and get cleaned up. Magnus went back home, so that he could clean up too. The whole thing was mad. As he took off his coat, he felt something in his pocket.

A little vial.

The exact one that was in that ‘dream’.

He decided to keep it to show Alec and made his way to the Institute. Isabelle opened the door.

“Magnus! Hey! Alec is a lot better. He kept asking for you. He wants to show you something I think.”

Magnus held the conversation with his boyfriend’s little sister for a few moments before making his way to his room.

“Magnus?”

“I’m here.”

Alec was curled up in his bed. He looked exhausted and freezing. “I feel so cold. I had a hot shower to help but it hasn’t really.”

“It’s okay. Just let me hold you. Your sister said you wanted to show me something?”

Alec shuffled up so that he was sitting against the headboard. Magnus slid on beside him, putting an arm around him and letting his head fall on his shoulder. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Alec’s soft, dark hair. There had been a Herondale once, one that on first sight Magnus thought Alec resembled almost perfectly. The dark hair, stark against pale skin. The deep blue eyes, which held oceans of emotion behind them. And to be fair, Alec was a descendant of him. But after getting to know him, Magnus realised that Alec was not as like Will Herondale as he thought.

“This,” said Alec, snapping Magnus out of his daydream. It was a tag.

A tag that said ‘Eat Me’ on it.

Magnus wordlessly scrambled for his pocket and produced the vial.

“By the Angel. What does this mean? Where were we? What even happened? Were we actually almost killed? What about that other guy-“

“Alec, don’t worry yourself. Everything’s fine. I don’t know either. I don’t even know if we just hardcore dreamt that or if it actually happened. I mean, it’s not every day you just casually fall into a river. And you of all people- a shadowhunter nonetheless- shouldn’t be just falling in.”

Alec sighed. He shuffled back down on the bed and gave Magnus a look that meant he expected him to do so too. So he did. They still held each other tight. Alec took Magnus’s face gently in his hands, like he was precious porcelain. He kissed him, almost relieved that he could. The dream had been so real. His soft skin felt warm on his hands.

“Magnus?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m glad you didn’t get your head cut off.”

The two burst into fits of laughter. This was definitely going to be an inside joke now.

Then someone appeared in the doorway. It was Simon.

“Isabelle sent me here to make sure you guys were okay.”

“Oh, we’re fine. Thank you Edward.”

Simon winked- well, tried to- and left.

Alec turned back to Magnus.

“Where the hell do you get Edward from?!”

(here’s the first of the requests! number two is currently in the making and will be done soon)

[madame-coquette]

Under the cut: you will find a lengthy, yet concise summary of the historical life and rule of Louis XVI. 

*** While this is not a mandatory read - it is interesting and will be referenced in most threads outside of the Modern AU, ( which must be requested to write in. ) Some knowledge may benefit you to know if you don’t have a good base in the history of the french revolution. I may add to this as I gain more sources and insight into the King’s personal life. ***

Name: Louis Auguste de France

Other Names: Louis XVI ||  Citizen Louis Capet ( Before Execution ) 

Titles: Duc de Berry ( Given at birth ) || Dauphin ( After his father died ) || King of France ( After his grandfather died )

Birthday: 23rd of August 1754 || Reign as King lasted from May 10th 1774 - September 21st 1792

Died: January 21st 1793 || Execution By Guillotine

Religion: Roman Catholic

Family Ties: House of Bourbon

Siblings: Louis XVIII Comte de Provence, Charles X Comte d’Artois, Élisabeth de France, Louis Duc de Burgundy ( Died at 9 ), Clotilde de France, Xavier Duc de Aquitaine ( Died at 1 ) , Marie Zéphyrine de France ( Died at 5 ), Marie - Thérèse de France ( Died at 2 ). 

Parents: Marie-Josèphe of Saxony & Louis the Dauphine of France

Spouse: Marie Antonia Josepha Johanna || ( French Version ) Marie Antoinette ( Second Cousin, Once Removed. ) 

Biography: 

Often passed over in favor of his older brother Louis ( Duc de Burgundy ) because he was more outgoing, handsome & intelligent. Tragically, he died at 9 & favor was shifted to the new future Dauphin. Louis Auguste was by all accounts a healthy but painfully shy & reserved child. He was equally as bright as his brother excelling in: Latin, History, Geography, Astronomy. He was also fluent in English & Italian. ( Louis liked to wrestle with his brothers & hunt with his grandfather. ) His special interest was in locksmithing & this was encouraged by those around him as a worthwhile pursuit even in his childhood. The subjects he was taught by the Duc de la Vauguyon additionally included: Religion, Morality & Humanities.

Louis married Marie on May 16th 1770 when he was just 15 and she was 14. By the time the two were married to form the French & Austrian alliance: the defeat of France, in the 7 years war had already made the French public view the new Dauphine as an unwelcome stranger to the country. 

The couple only met 2 days before their marriage, and for this reason the marriage was cordial but very distant in the beginning. Louis was shy & also afraid of being manipulated by Marie for stately purposes --- this made him act coldly towards her in public. They did eventually foster a fondness for each other & their marriage was consummated in 1777.

( Louis XVI & Marie Antoinette’s reputations were damaged because they did not produce heirs in a traditionally ‘ timely manner ‘. ) 

After gentle prodding from Marie’s brother, Joseph II --- Louis began to take his conjugal duties seriously and Marie fell pregnant, eventually giving birth to 4 live-born children. ( Marie suffered 2 miscarriages and Louis - by all accounts - consoled her each time. ) Louis XVI also ‘ adopted ‘ six children additionally, though they were never granted royal status.

Louis took the throne in 1774 at age 19 after his grandfather died. By then, there was already resentment among the public for the royal family, lots of government debt incurred before he was installed as monarch, and so much responsibility that Louis himself did not feel ready & prepared to take on.  

Louis XVI’s indecisiveness & lack of firmness - though grounded in the idea he wanted to be liked & loved - ultimately, led to part of his downfall. ( It should be noted Louis Auguste DID genuinely attempt to be a good and just king, the circumstances that line up before his assent to the throne were too vastly stacked against him. ) 

Louis reinstated the ‘ parlements ‘ & put a more experienced advisor in place to ensure that things were fair and on the up and up. Louis also signed the Edict of Versailles || Edict of Tolerance that allowed Non-Catholics to have the legal right to practice their faith(s), as well as restore legal/civic rights and status to them. This overturned the Edict of Fontainebleau which had reigned as law for a little over 100 years. While the Edict of Versailles didn’t claim freedom of religion - it decriminalized the practice of other religions and helped ease tensions based on religious differences in the country.

Radical financial reforms were a steadily growing need in the country because of the mounting debt ... the nobles refused to instate the necessary laws ultimately culminating in further dissatisfaction among the public and stoking the flames of the oncoming French Revolution. The publication of ‘ Le Compte - rendu au Roi ‘ -> ‘ The Records of Accounts for the King ‘ further ruined the monarchy’s reputation by publishing propaganda that was full of fictitious & inaccurate budgets meant to make France look more financially stable than it was. When the true extent of France’s debt was revealed: the common man & many nobles alike were shocked and disgusted, the nobility outright rejecting the reforms necessary to begin to rectify the scenario. 

Finally, the country’s finances reached an appalling low --- and Louis was forced to use his absolute powers to force reforms, though they could only be maintained for more than 2 - 4 months maximum before he would be forced to revoke them. He closed down the french parliamentary system. The royal treasury was also unable to sustain the reforms imposed because it was in a crippled state as it was. 

 After much abuse from the the First & Second Estates ( after Louis reinstated the Estates-General ) the third estate decided unanimously declared themselves the National Assembly. Soon after Louis lost control of this newly formed legislative body - the revolution was underway and officially began with the Storming of the Bastille on July 14th 1789. 

Louis Xvi’s Palace de Versailles was stormed by an angry mob on October 5th 1789. This was done in an attempt to kill Marie --- the now much hated symbol of frivolity to the French public. After the Marquis de Lafayette diffused the situation - the royal family was forced to move themselves to the Tuileries palace in Paris. 

While plenty of key figures besides the king and queen attempted to gather strength to restore the former absolute power of the monarchy --- it would ultimately fail and many of these secret supporters either retracted loyalty to the crown under threat of death, or met grisly ends by the hands of the public & new governing body. Louis, finally realizing the danger he and his family were in and wanting to regain control of France - helped Axel von Fersen ( a rumored lover to the Queen ) plan the royal family’s escape to gather forces and gain protection by Austria. After a series of setbacks, missteps, poor judgements, indecision, and assorted other issues behind the scenes - the family was caught and returned to Paris ( Tuileries Palace ) on June 25th 1791 and placed under highly monitored ‘ house arrest ‘. It didn’t help that before they left, Louis left a manifesto denouncing democracy and asserting his authority as king by birthright. Many of his subjects felt torn and confused, though remained loyal ... until this incident in which the revolution was known to be imminent. 

All in all, the call to arms fell on inactive deaf ears amid among other foreign monarchs, making the response woefully lackluster and this ultimately sealed the fate of the French aristocracy. On August 10th 1791, the people once again stormed the palace Louis and his family resided in forcing them all to take refuge with the Legislative Assembly. 

Louis was officially arrested on August 13th 1792. 

September 21st 1792 - the former Third Estate’s new government body the ‘ National Assembly ‘ announced France a republic and abolished the monarchy altogether. All of Louis - Auguste’s titles were taken and he was referred to as Citoyen Louis Capet. While many members wanted the gratification of executing the former king --- the fact some had backgrounds in legal work felt due process a necessity. An agreement was reached that there would be a trial for Louis before the National Convention. 

Several charges were brought against Louis while he was being tried, though there were only three questions that mattered to the assembly: 

1| Is Louis guilty ?  

2| Whatever the decision, should there be an appeal to the people ?  

3 | If found guilty: what punishment should Louis suffer?

On the 26th of December 1792, Louis responded tot he charges: Not Guilty. At this time, behind closed doors - he had already accepted his fate & knew that he would be found guilty. He was reported as wanting to hold his ground so that he might still be viewed favorably and as a good king to France. 

Voting took place & after an uncomfortably close call - Louis was sentenced to death by the majority of one vote: his own cousin, the former Duc d’Orleans, voted to have his cousin executed immediately. After an unsuccessful attempt at swaying the decision - the King’s council was resigned ( read as: ‘ forced ‘ ) to allow the execution to proceed. 

On Monday, January 21, 1793 --- The ( Former ) Sun King was executed by Guillotine at age 38. This happened on the Place de la Révolution. By most reputable accounts, Louis faced his death with resignation and dignity. He gave a small speech before hand and was stopped before he could complete it with a drum roll that signaled the Guillotine was ready. 

After the execution, his body was taken to Madeleine Cemetery where he was given a small secret funeral service and then buried in an unmarked grave, head between his feet and covered in quicklime. 

The cemetery closed in 1794. 21 years later, Louis XVIII had his brother and sister in law exhumed and reinterred in the Basilica of St. Denis. From 1816 - 1826 a monument honoring the King and Queen was erected in the same area the former cemetery and church occupied. It was named the ‘ Chapelle Expiatoire ‘. 

[greenninjagal-blog]

Kiss and Tell pt3

And a stunning conclusion! If you miss the beginning, you can find it [here] and if you need a refresher pt2 is [here]! Are we ready for some happy endgame Analoceit?

Summary: The number Three is a tricky concept to learn. Virgil walks into a party and tries anyway.

Words: 4778

TW: Cursing

Quick Taglist: @cerberusisspot @never-end1ng-suffering @chelsvans  @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

It feels like the start to a joke: Virgil Storm walks into a party and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend. Except that the punchline is Virgil, himself, and its not supposed to be metaphorical. 

He picked up a few things from Wit Protect: crippling anxiety, a willpower to hold grudges far longer than an average person, and a healthy dose of masochism.

Because he just had to ask didn’t he? Couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, couldn’t keep his tongue in his head and the words in his throat and the smile off his own stupid fucking face. There’s something wrong with him, that much is obvious. Because he asked and expected Logan to punch him, expected Dee to kick him, expected all their friends to jump between them and shout at Virgil to get out and go away and never to come back again.

And he still had asked. And waited for that pain that tore deep into his chest and ripped apart his fragile little unlovable heart.

He had asked.

Virgil Storm walks into a party, forgets, for a moment, how to count and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend.

1 + 1 = 2

Logan + Dee = a happy couple

And Virgil had no right to be coming in and ruining that.

(Like he ruined everything else too: ruined Mom and Dad’s marriage as a happy little accident, ruined Dee’s life by just up and leaving without an explanation, ruined the first and second safe locations because he couldn’t remember a stupid name, ruined, ruined, ruined.)

Virgil had come back to town a week before school started. He had been sick the entire week, feeling feverish every time he stepped out of the house. The park had been updated, so the swings that he and Dee had played on as kids were replaced with new ones that didn’t screech when someone used them. The bakery his mom and him used to visit before school was now a coffee shop and the pastries weren’t as good. The old man who ran the grocer in town had a stroke and so his nephew ran the place now.

The Watertower was a new color. The library had a new statue outfront. The paint studio was boarded up.

Their treehouse was decrypted.

Virgil had walked alone with his hood up and he had been terrified of running into someone who remembered him. 

He felt like a kid again: keeping his curtains drawn because that meant that no one would come peeking at him to see what he was. Keeping his curtains drawn because he didn’t need any friends. 

Keeping his curtains drawn and wishing someone would come anyway.

Last time it had been Dee.

(Dee’s house is different too. Looks like his mother gave up on that vegetable garden.)

Dee who should hate him, Dee who would hate him, Dee who had a perfectly good and fine life without Virgil in it again.

Which Virgil knew, because he had a heart attack when he heard that laughter outside the library, that unforgettable laughter that preened and danced in the air like some kind of fairy to enchant all that heard it. Because he’s heart had stopped when he saw Dee standing there, amidst a group of people, of friends that Virgil didn’t recognize, smiling so very brightly, arms linked together with the others to prove that he belonged with them. Because his heart shattered when he watched Dee lean over and kiss another boy right on the lips.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could hate Logan Ackroyd.

But the guy is just...fucking perfect. Its a different kind of perfect than Dee is. Dee is a magician who could make the sadness disappear, who could pull reasons to keep fighting out of his sleeves, who could turn a sniveling pathetic little kid into a lovesick teenager who thought he knew what the hell “forever” meant.

Logan’s not like that. He’s cold hard facts, with no time for those who don’t want to listen. He’s a preacher and Virgil didn’t realize he wanted to be at the front of the audience until its too late. He’s the teacher that makes him write an essay in class and then gives him a fucking gold star because he managed not to fuck it up too bad and somehow Virgil still thinks about it late at night, guiltily enjoying the pleased feeling in his chest.

Virgil wants to hate him, because Logan was everything he wanted to be: smart, collected, happy, with Dee.

He shouldn’t have come back. When Agent DW placed the folders in front of him after his dad’s trail was completed and all the guys trying to kill them had been jailed, and when she had asked him if he wanted to stay in Bumfuck, Wherever with the name Andy, or go back home as Virgil…

Virgil Storm walks into a party and thinks that if he’s ever called Andy again he’ll commit murder and join his father in jail.

Isn’t it strange? Isn’t it awful?

Logan and Dee should hate him. He breaks everything he touches.

Why had he asked to kiss Dee?

Because he knows he doesn’t have a place here, doesn’t deserve a place there. He doesn’t want a place there.

He doesn’t want-- not like this.

Not where Logan has look from the sidelines, or Dee has to watch Virgil take this good, happy thing him and Logan have and crush it. He doesn’t want something like this, if it means one of them ends up in tears. 

1 + 1 = 2

That’s what his teachers told him. 

Virgil already left once. Virgil already took himself out of a relationship once, removed himself from the problem, erased his own existence from the variables. 

Its a word problem and Virgil knows this one well: Logan is the oranges and Dee is the apples and Virgil can pick one, or the other, or none. And even though he’s a Starving African Orphan he knows picking one is going to leave the other to rot away and he won’t-- doesn’t-- fucking can’t--

Maybe it was supposed to be a goodbye kiss? Its a reach, Virgil knows because he’s never been good at goodbyes and he fucked up the only ones he got: a paper note really? A roll of his eyes as his dad was carted away? A two fingered salute to Toby who had still be reeling from the idea that Andy was a work of fiction that he had been hanging out with for seven years?

Dee had deserved a goodbye.

Virgil had put his tongue in his mouth instead. 

He’s a masochist (who liked ripping his own heart out again and again and again).

Virgil Storm walks into a party and now he’s still sitting there as reality comes careening back on him, a tsunami to drown him, a bag to suffocate him, a guillotine to decapitate him. 

Because Virgil hadn’t thought about consequences and Dee had pushed him away before fleeing the scene and Logan had to sit there and watch. And the world feels like its too small, and the air feels like its too thin and Virgil feels like he just threw himself through a glass window into a freefall waiting for the ground to smash the rest of him to bits.

Dee ran off.

And Virgil is staring at Logan.

Roman is punch drunk out of his mind, laughing as he stares at the billions of pictures he just took. Remus is slung right over Patton wheezing with his joy. Patton has tears streaming down his face and pink cheeks and happiness glowing off him. Emile is trying to spin that stupid bottle and Remy is fighting over it with him.

And not one of them seem to be aware of what just happened. Virgil’s not sure a single one of them could tell him where they are, what their names are, who he just kissed.

But Dee ran off.

And Logan is staring at Virgil.

“I--”

He means this. He means this more than anything. Why can’t he say it? Apologize, damnit.

“Go,” he whispers, not even sure that he can be heard over Remy’s stupid music.

Because Dee ran off and Virgil is here and Virgil isn’t going to make Logan choose like this. In a decision between his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s colossal fuck up of an ex, there isn’t even a choice to be made.

Shouldn’t be a choice to be made.

Logan is blinking at him. 

Logan is walking towards him.

Logan is grabbing his hand.

“Come on,” Logan says.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and he’s still trying to figure out how to do math.

Because 1 +1 = 2 and Virgil learned that when he was six fucking years old when Dee had knocked on his door and demanded at Virgil come out and play with him, and then again when he was ten when he was so scared of graduating elementary school and Dee held his hand the whole time, then again when they were twelve and Virgil slammed their lips together while they were in the back of that Movie Theater before he could chicken out. 

Dee + Logan + Virgil does not equal 2. 

Virgil knows this. He knows that Logan knows this, because he and Logan share their Calculus class and have cursed out their homework together many times. If Logan can do three digit multiplication while drunk, he should be able to see that 3 is more than 2 and one of them needs to go.

Its pick and choose and and and

And Logan’s hand is tight around his, warm like an open flame, and strong like someone who knows what he is doing. Because it is Logan Ackroyd and Virgil’s only known him for a handful of months but he’s the most put together person he’s ever met, the person that never lost sight of what he wanted before, the person who always had a solution.

The person who had invited Virgil to sit with them at lunch and then refused to let it be awkward when everyone else had whispered was that a smart idea, Logan, don’t you know who this is? Don’t you know what he did? Don’t you know what he is to Dee?

Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could tell anyone why he kissed his ex.

But he doesn't know why. The bottle had landed on him and Dee had just looked so smug about getting Logan out of the game and someone had to take him down a notch, didn't they? Someone had to defend Logan's honor?

But wait thats not right, because this was a game and it was fun until Virgil forgot that he left Dee without a warning and then showed back up just to threaten this relationship that he and Logan have. He doesn't have a right to kiss anyone, not Dee, not Logan.

He tries to dig his heels into the carpet, tries to wretch his hand from Logan's, tries to stop the world from spinning so much.

He thinks that maybe the universe is laughing at him. What a ridiculous notion, thinking that Virgil can stop ruination before it comes.

Logan drags him down the halls of Remy's house right after Dee, and finds the bathroom empty with the lights on and the door open and the toilet filled with vomit.

And the window open.

And, oh. 

Dee jumped out a window to get away from Virgil, didn’t he?

"Come on," Logan says.

Virgil stumbles after him: back out the bathroom, back down the hall, right past the party and straight for the front door.

"Be Safe!" Patton yells after them (followed by a delighted shriek when Remus presses a multitude of cursory kisses into his neck).

Virgil Storm walks into a party and Logan Ackroyd drags him right out of it.

It seems so stupid, doesn’t it? Logan taking Virgil with him, holding his hand, being a steady center of calm while Virgil just wants to cover his ears hunch his shoulders and scream until the memories of Dee are gone and he stops….fucking… trying to… fucking ruin… This. Them. Here. Now. Whatever.

The city is so big now, bigger than when they were kids: Virgil doesn’t know where Dee would have gone in a disgusted panic, in a horrified frenzy, in whatever it was that Virgil had made him feel. At one point it might have been their fucking treehouse, the movie theater backlot, the icecream aisle of the grocer staring at the stupid fucking popsicles. But Virgil doesn’t know Dee anymore, doesn’t know this town, doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Dee could have gone anywhere to get away from him.

Except that he’s just on the ground next to Remy’s mailbox, one hand clutching the grass, the other a fistfull of hair and shaking like all of his bones were trying to leave his skin at once. 

Its cold, Virgil realizes a second later. Its cold because its December and they’re outside wearing jeans and T-shirts and not a single coat between the three of them and its night so of course its fucking cold--

Logan plops onto the ground next to Dee, narrowly missing the mailbox and Virgil tumbles down after him.

There are over seven billion people in the world, Virgil knows this, but somehow all he can do is count the ones in front of him. 

1, 2, 3. 

Dee, Logan, Virgil.

It doesn’t equal 2. Can’t equal 2. 

And Virgil still loves the feeling of pain, loves tearing his heart apart, loves watching Logan be soft and Dee be happy because he’s not and won’t ever be necessary for them--

“I--” Virgil says just as Logan cups Dee’s face with one hand. The other is still weaved between Virgil’s fingers like some sort of knot project. Virgil tries to let go-- he does-- but Logan just tightens and squeezes and does not let him let go.

Dee is shaking and crying and Virgil thinks that anyone who ever said that someone is beautiful when they cry is a fucking idiot. There was nothing pretty about see him in the moonlight leaking tears like a garden hose and covered in snot and curling on himself like his own arms are the only things stopping him from shattering apart on the lawn right now. There’s nothing gorgeous about the way his eyes are puffing up and his make up is smearing and his breaths are short and fleeting and fully of incoherent apologies. 

There’s nothing heart warming about seeing him sobbing. 

“Breathe with me,” Logan commands. “Dee, Inhale with me. One… Two… Three--”

Dee shudders. And tries and tries and tries but every breath is choked and wet and rattling.

And Virgil.

Virgil has no right to be doing this, but he flings his chest against Dee’s back and presses against him because pressure had always been one of the things that Dee liked when he was not-okay. How could Virgil forget, when so many of their days in that treehouse included him and Dee lying on one another musing with each other’s hair or scrolling on their phones or soaking in the silence?

Dee’s breath shudders, stops, and then he inhales. Logan counts steady as a metronome, steady as a time passing, steady as the Earth turning.

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2 

Dee stops sobbing and his shaking decreases and his hand loosens on his hair just enough for Logan to reach up and untangle his fingers. 

“You’re doing good,” Virgil whispers in Dee’s ear, because that’s what he needs to hear isn’t it? That’s what Virgil wished someone would say every time he crammed himself in his closet and willed his lungs to just fucking work when his Mother didn’t know or care or understand what was going on.

Logan counts. Virgil whispers. Dee breathes.

1, 2, 3

Logan’s hands are holding them both. Dee is leaning back against Virgil like he’s the shield between Dee and insanity and Virgil isn’t sure why he’s still there and can’t remember how to leave.

“I think…” Logan starts which is almost comical because when doesn’t he think? “I think we need to talk.”

“Talk,” Dee repeats, hoarsely. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says.

They don’t say anything.

Virgil knows what he needs to do. He knows that he needs to pull back, needs to untangle himself from Logan and stop draping himself over Logan’s boyfriend and go back into the house to get his coat and shoes and maybe a blanket for the other two before he starts that trek back to his apartment. He knows that he needs to go because he doesn’t belong and he needs to call Agent DW and get her to find him another place to live again because-- surprise-- he ruined this one too.

Virgil tries to shift back, but Dee follows him.

“Don’t--” Dee croaks.

Virgil stops moving. Because Dee sounds so fragile, because he never sounds fragile, because its was Dee.

“Please…” Dee whispers, “Please don’t.”

And, well, Virgil is a masochist who hates himself. What other option does he have than to stay and await for the speech of telling off that Logan is preparing?

Virgil’s seen Logan tear into people, he’s seen Logan put people straight, he’s seen Logan stand on tables and slaughter the morons who dared go against him. He and Dee had that in common: their words were weapons and they knew how to use them.

“I--” Virgil says, “I’m--”

Sorry? Not Sorry? Sad? A fuck up?

“Did you mean it?” Logan asks.

And Virgil’s chin is on Dee’s shoulder and the cold breeze blows straight through him.

“Virgil,” Logan says patiently impatient, “Did you mean it when you kissed Dee?”

Virgil knows what he has to say. What he’s supposed to say. What he needs to say. 

“It was a goodbye kiss.” “It was an apology.” “It was part of the game.” “It wasn’t meant as anything.” “No, I didn’t.”

“You fucking liar.” Dee growls at him, miserably. (Aren’t they all miserable right now?)

And really what did he expect? Dee knew him better than he knew himself.

“Virgil.” Logan says.

“God, Fucking Shut Up!” Virgil snarls, “Both of you! Shut Up! Stop Asking Me if I Liked Kissing My Ex!”

“Did you?”

“SHUT UP!”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Fuck Your Answer!” Virgil throws back, and maybe its the hysteria talking because his voice is louder than he meant, louder than it should be with the three of them so close they are touching to keep warm. How can Virgil cover his ears and block out the sound of Logan’s accusing voice without pulling away from Dee or letting go of Logan’s hand?

“Why Does Anyone Need an Answer?” Virgil snarls, “What Does it Matter At All? You’ve Got--” He chokes because of course he does. And isn’t that an answer all by itself? “You’ve Got--”

Seven years ago, Virgil had entered Witness Protection with his mother when his father agreed to testify against the “shady organization that promised him big money to help put Virgil through college”. Seven years ago, Agent DW showed up on his doorstep ten minutes before he was set to meet Dee at the bus stop and took his phone from him. Seven whole fucking years ago, Virgil Storm was ripped out of time.

And things are different now: Dee is different, the town is different, life is different.

And Virgil feels like he’s playing the longest game of Catch-Up since Captain America himself. How can he belong when everyone around him is years and miles beyond what he remembers?

“You’ve got each other,” Virgil says, finally, miserably.

Dee can’t turn to look at him, but Virgil can feel the way he’s tensing and closes his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see the way that Logan is staring at him.

1 + 1 = 2

“What’s wrong with three?”

Three? Its a prime number, its an odd number, its one more than 2? And bad things come in threes don't they? A man, a woman, and the son they didn't want; a treehouse, grape popsicles, and a movie theater that sells overpriced candy; a party, a bottle, and a kiss that's still tingling on Virgil's lips.

So Virg startles a laugh. What else can he do?

(Leave, let go and leave and never come back.)

He blinks back a sting behind his eyes, one he's familiar with-- dontcrydontcrydontcry-- and suddenly right in front of him is Logan.

Logan, whos eyes swim with galaxies in them, who's pale skin drinks in the moonlight and glows like a lighthouse to bring him home, who's voice is a tremor in the night, a general with the power to raze countries. Logan, who's so close Virgil can see through the fog of their breaths and feel his warm exhales on his nose and cheeks.

Virgil breath catches in his throat. He can see each individual eyelash on Logan's face. Surely that must be because Virgil is still clinging to his boyfriend--

"I want to run an experiment," Logan's lips move smoothly, softly, barely more than necessary and Virgil can see his tongue flicking around the alphabet soup of syllables.

Logan leans closer. Virgil stays still, transfixed on those lips, and pressed against Dee's shoulder. This is a mistake, isn't it? Maybe Logan hit his head on the Mailbox and now he thinks Virgil is Dee and he doesn't really mean this at all and they need to take him to the hospital before he dies of bloodlo--

Logan's nose is touching his. "May I?"

And whatever sound Virgil makes is pitiful, and pathetic, and embarrassing, and a "yes, please."

Logan kisses him, is kissing, kissed him. Virgil finds a new meaning in the term "seeing stars" because right then his eyes are dazzled with sparkling diamonds and bursts of colors. It does something to him, makes his heart race and leap into his throat, makes him lurch forward because its not enough, he's not close enough. Logan’s fingers twists around him and Virgil thinks that he should be freezing but his palm is clammy. And his other arm snakes around Dee’s waist before he can even think about what he's doing (does he ever think?).

Logan kissing him, and Dee leaning into his touch and Virgil thinks he died and somehow ended up in heaven.

This--

Oh.

This is 3.

One more than 2.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and somehow ends up kissing his ex’s new boyfriend, too.

Logan's pulls away slowly, like a hesitance, like a regret. Virgil thinks he licks his lips, breathing so warmly, looking so flushed-- flushed? Logan's flushed and shy and soft in a way that Virgil’s never blessed enough to see before. 

He coughs, weakly, fakely, and Virgil distantly thinks thats his attempt to regain some form of control. "Well. I believe my hypothesis was correct."

"Nerd," Virgil croaks. "God fucking ner--"

Dee's lips are on his by some magic-like contortion because Dee's back is still pressed into Virgil's chest squeezing all the air from his lungs and last time Virgil checked humans weren't supposed to be able to do that. 

"Do shut up," Dee whispers into Virgil's mouth.

Virgil thinks that if he died this isn’t such a bad way to spend his whatever’s-next.

(Dee’s learned new things, Virgil realizes, because he kisses differently now than he had back when they were twelve and so fucking stupid.)

Dee’s mouth moves off Virgil’s lips, dashing across his cheeks and peppering him with featherlight kisses. If Virgil wasn’t so absolutely out of it he might have been annoyed because that was Dee, kissing his fucking freckles and Virgil had worked to hard to cover them with concealer--

Then Dee turns around and drags Logan by his fucking tie into a kiss of their own with Virgil in a front row seat. Virgil’s always enjoyed theater but this is something more: being this close, feelings both of them just inches away-- thats a show he thinks he wants to come back to again and again and again and--

Isn’t that ridiculous? Isn’t that insane? 

A week ago, a day ago, twenty minutes ago, this sight would have Virgil’s heart shattering right down the middle and stomping on the pieces and crying because even though it hurt like fucking hell this is what he wanted for them: he wanted Dee and Logan to be happy and safe and, and, and yeah he wanted them to be together too. 

But right here, right now? He’s a part of this, and his heart does this stupid- fucking- jump thing when he watches them and his jaw hurts because he’s smiling so damn wide.

God, when was the last time he smiled like this?

He’s feeling some stupid emotion and its so nice and warm and safe that he doesn’t think he can even describe it with actual words (he’s always been a math person anyway). How does anyone describe this feather-fragile feeling, this cocktail of emotions, this atomic bomb of Need that causes him to hold on to all of this when he knows every other person he knows would tell him to let go?

This is something breakable. 

And Virgil doesn’t know if it will be him that breaks or if it will be this… thing that he thinks came out of nowhere.

But he’s a masochist and he wants to find out.

“So,” Logan says between gasps for air, “Three?”

Dee laughs and blows a column of white condensation into the air. “Three, definitely.”

1 + 1 + 1 =/= 2

Virgil always thought that math was overrated anyway.

“Three,” Virgil says and it tastes like grape popsicles. Isn’t that weird? Virgil hasn’t had grape popsicles since that summer seven years ago. He misses that taste.

He sends a squeeze to Logan’s hand and Logan squeezes back. He hums into Dee’s neck and Dee laughs like he’s going to cry. Its the three of them together and who would have thought this day would come?

“Uh…” A fourth voice speaks up and Virgil squints up into the yellowed flashlight that’s rolling over the three of them. Its a guy-- must be one of the neighbors, though who knows why he’s out so late at night. “You three okay? I heard some yelling earlier....”

Virgil laughs at him, at them, at the universe. Dee’s shaking, too, something wonderful to learn and feel next to his heart.

“Should I take that as a no?” The man asks.

“Uh, no, Mr. Sanders,” Logan says but he’s grinning like he just achieved immortality. “I mean, yes! But not like--”

“I kissed two boys,” Virgil says, “And I really like them both.”

“Moron,” Dee laughs again.

The man, Concerned Neighbor, Mr. Sanders, looks somewhere between amused and confused. He shifts his weight, glancing beyond them, towards the house. (And Virgil doesn’t need to turn to know that fucking Remy is watching them from the windows.)

"Well you three should get back inside," the Concerned Neighbor says and Virgil gets the feeling he should be embarrassed, but honestly? Who gives a fuck? "Its cold out here."

Right. 

Because its the end of December and its nearly ten oclock and jackets were quite literally the last thing on any of their minds.

Oh god what if they got pneumonia from this?

“Unlikely,” Logan says, straightening his tie. “Most likely one of us will contract a common head cold and then transmit it to the other two through an abundance of close proximity to each other.”

“Yes and that sounds completely awful,” Dee says wriggling around as he tries to get up. Virgil lets him go briefly, but snags the back of Dee’s neck before he can go too far. Dee squeaks in a way that is adorable.

“STORM! You fucker! Your hands are fucking ice cubes!” Dee bucks away and punches him in the shoulder before sprinting toward the door with a sharp little smile on his face. 

And Virgil runs after him, pulling Logan along because he doesn’t want to let go at all. Its ridiculous. Its silly and hilarious and laughable and, and, and.

And they catch up to Dee right on the door step, bathed in the multicolored lights of the party where Logan gets a chance to snag Dee in a hug and Virgil--

Virgil Storm walks into a party and gets to tell everyone how he kissed both his boyfriends.

[coll2mitts]

#65 Beauty and the Beast (2017)

I’m burning through my Disney+ subscription, and instead of this forever cursing my drafts section until I work my way through the other lower movies on this list, you’re getting this one now.

Beauty and the Beast was my favorite Disney movie as a child.  Belle was smart, she read a lot, and she was a bit of an outcast, which were my only identifiers as a wee lass (other than being obnoxious and constantly having tangled hair).  I'm going to bet that this movie is the reason so many girls my age went through a Paris phase in their tween years.  I did take 3 years of high school French that I have almost no memory of.  

The original's animation is gorgeous, the songs by Alan Menken and Howard Ashman are iconic, and the romance between two people who learn how to trust and support each other... it's probably the reason why I've stayed in terrible relationships for way too long.  My father took me to see this movie in theaters when I was 6, and it is the first movie I remember crying during out of sadness.  There I was, while the Beast was dying, trying to hide the fact tears were streaming down my face because I didn't want my dad to see I was crying and not take me to see another movie again.  When they adapted it for Broadway, I listened to that soundtrack over and over...  "Home" was my favorite song, and the end still makes me cry like a 6-year-old.  It's perfect.

I had attempted to watch this remake once before.  I hated it so much I started drinking, and then peaced out so hard when Lumiere started moving that I had to watch Moana to normalize myself.  Visually, this movie is what happens when the Uncanny Valley turns into the fucking Grand Canyon.  Little did I know that this movie gets worse... much worse... as it goes on, and that Stephen Chbosky, the author and director of The Perks of Being a Wallflower made it this way.  A man who wrote one of my most beloved novels and movie adaptations helped in creating this narrative monstrosity, and that, out of all of this, was the deepest cut of all.

I'm not rehashing the plot, because I have too much to say about why this remake shouldn't exist, and I’m going to guess you’ve either seen the movie or are familiar with this almost 300-year-old story.  It took the source material and just murdered it in its attempts to update it.  I'm going to start positive and work toward the biggest issue I had with it, because I'm currently writing angry and that never turns out well for me.

Things I liked:

This may be controversial, but I did like Josh Gad's performance as LeFou.  I'm not saying what LeFou did made any sense (he suddenly was upset Gaston was making things up again?), but as an actor, Josh Gad was working with what he had, and I think he owned it.

Chip's introduction to Maurice - I actually paused the movie because I was laughing so hard.

The piano playing the funeral march when it tackled LeFou.

When Mrs. Potts said Chip smelled good when he turned back into a little boy.  It was a cute little detail.

The guillotine joke in "Be Our Guest" and the Les Miserables barricade reference.

I actually thought Cogsworth was adorable for being a CGI nightmare.  I don't know how much of my opinion of this was influenced by the voice of Ian McKellan.

I really liked the costumes, except for Belle's gown, which was definitely a downgrade.  Micarah articulated the issues with it perfectly.

Celine Dion singing the credits song was a nice homage to her cover of "Beauty and the Beast", although it sucks she's associated with this nightmare of a remake.

Little quibbles:

Whatever they did to Emma Watson’s voice made her sound like a robot.

Almost all the CGI, especially the Beast, was completely unsettling.  The wardrobe was the worst of it, holy shit.

They went out of their way to explain plot holes like "Why don't the villagers remember the castle?" or “Why is it snowing when it looks like the middle of summer in the village?” or "How did Belle get the Beast up on that horse?" when none of that really matters to the overall narrative.

The reaction to Belle teaching a little girl how to read was unbelievably eye-roll inducing.  Lindsay Ellis' video on this is so fucking good, watch it now - You don't have to read the rest of my ramblings if you do. #beastforshe

Ariana Grande slurring her way through "Beauty and the Beast".

It was nice to see Maurice updated from a manic inventor to a level-headed, sweet, competent, reserved man who treats his daughter like an equal.  Clock-maker Maurice that actually takes care of Belle reads better to me, and I like how they had him wander into the garden to get a rose for her - it's a nice callback to the original story.  The problem with doing this, however, is it negates the "crazy old Maurice" narrative that plays heavily into why the villagers don't believe his tale of the Beast in the first place.  If Kevin Kline, a put-together man (up until this point), wandered into the tavern looking disheveled and conveying a story about his daughter being kidnapped, I'd be like, "Shit, Maurice, what did you see?!".  But instead, the story goes out of its way to put him at the mercy of Gaston, and shoehorn in an attempted murder plot to really turn everyone against him - it's bizarre.

Medium quibbles:

Gaston went from being a well-liked, athletically inclined dude to a literal predator and murderer.  Belle was a beautiful status symbol in the original movie, but she becomes literal game to Gaston in the remake, as he refers to her as prey, or something to be hunted.  When Maurice gets in-between him and Belle, Gaston punches him in the face and leaves him out in the forest to be eaten by wolves?!  What does this add to the story?!  Gaston wasn't right for Belle because he wasn't kind and didn't intellectually stimulate her, but that nuance is wasted on the remake, turning him into a full-blown vengeful villain that will literally kill Belle's family to get what he wants.

The first time Belle is brought to her room, there is this long panning shot showing off how nice it is, and she comments, in wonder, how she thinks its beautiful.  They had the fucking nerve to play “Home” in the background of this scene, completely ignoring the original context of the song is sadness and despair.  But go off, I guess...

The Big Enchilada:

This is where my notes went from eh????? to WHAT THE FUCK, so be prepared.  How someone with enough emotional maturity to write Perks can make the Beast into such an abusive asshole is so fucking beyond me, I'm still trying to process it.

Beauty and the Beast is a romance at heart, which you would never know by watching this movie, as Belle and the Beast have so little chemistry it's painful.  This might be because the Beast is abusive to Belle at every turn in the beginning, making the pivot from enemies to lovers so completely unbelievable it's shocking.  The remake is already at a deficit as the CGI Beast is terrifying, in contrast with the cartoon, which has the ability to make the Beast cuddly with big eyes and an expressive face.  But they still decide to take all of the Beast's inner conflict out of the remake, remove his agency completely out of the relationship with Belle, and make him supremely unlikable in every interaction they have together.

There are a few scenes that illustrate this, starting with the dinner invitation scene:

In the original, the Beast sees the pain he's inflicted by pulling Belle away from her father, and offers her a tour of the castle and a bedroom instead of a prison cell.  He also invites her to dine with him, although he could have gone about it wayyyy better.  He confides in his staff that she is beautiful, and he realizes she can break the spell, but he doesn't know how to appeal to her.  His staff give him tips on how to be charming and not so intimidating.  He is receptive, but overwhelmed, because he hasn't had to interact with any other human in years.  When he discovers she doesn't plan on eating with him, his anger takes over because she refused his hospitality, and he's a king, so how dare she?  The staff try to help him appear genteel, cause again, HE expressed interest in being appealing to her.  When this doesn't immediately work, he throws a massive tantrum and tells them not to feed her.  When he looks at Belle later in the mirror, he hears the direct result of his actions as Belle is ranting to the wardrobe.  He laments she'll never see him as a human because his actions have pushed her away.

In the remake, it's not the Beast’s idea to give Belle a room, or to invite her to dinner - it is his staff's intervening that puts him in that situation in the first place.  He doesn't even want to get to know her because she's a daughter of a thief, and that's somehow below his current social status of recluse animal/human hybrid.  His staff persuade him to give Belle a chance as they're all invested in breaking the spell because they'll turn into furniture if they don't!  They give him tips to manipulate her into opening the door, he tries it, it fails spectacularly, he gets angry and he leaves - but not before calling his staff idiots...  I appreciate he's not as physically violent in this version, but he just acts like he couldn’t be bothered with Belle.  He does spy on her from the mirror, but she looks bewildered.  He doesn't know if she's lonely, or missing her father, or what...  There's no indication that how he treated her in that moment has pushed her further away.  Then he just stares at the rose like, "Well, shit, this ticking time bomb is still ticking!".  It's completely self-focused.

Oh, and then Mrs. Potts tries to handwave the Beast’s behavior away with, "People say a lot of things in anger.  It is our choice whether or not to listen," which, excuse me, WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!  You are in charge of how to interpret someone's actions, and you could just choose to ignore when they are being abusive??  I CAN'T.  She also tries to gaslight Belle into seeing how great the Beast is when Belle has had zero positive interactions with the dude since she's been there.  The wardrobe brings it up in the original, but this is after he's offered Belle a room and invited her to dinner himself, not by his staff...

The west wing scene and the Beast turning into less of a dick:

In the original, the Beast himself tells Belle not to go to the west wing.  Her curiosity brings her there, because she wants to understand more about him and what he is hiding.  She's invading his space knowing full well that she is invading his space.  When she is discovered, she's about to fuck around with something that is literally tied with the Beast's livelihood.  His anger is disproportionate, but justified, and you see that he immediately regrets his reaction after she runs away from him.  That’s why he goes after her.  Belle watches him risk his life to save her even though she broke a promise to him, so she decides to repay the favor by bringing him back.  They fight while she's trying to clean his wound, and they're both right in their perspectives, but the Beast acknowledges that yes, his temper got the best of him - he realized that the moment she bolted.  Belle then rewards his selfless act by thanking him, which sets his entire transformation in motion.  

He gives her the library because he expresses interest in doing something to make her happy, and he vocalizes he's falling in love with her.  He's delighted by her reaction.  During the ballroom scene, the way he looks at her, you can see he absolutely adores her.  He asks, "Are you happy here with me?" because he loves her, and her well-being is the most important thing.

In the remake, the staff tell Belle not to got to the west wing because it's a storage area.  She wanders over there anyway, for whatever fucking reason, and takes a glance at the rose behind the glass.  The Beast finds her looking at it and gets mad at her, even though he never told her not to visit him in the west wing, and she didn't fuck around with the rose.  When she runs away, he doesn't even look like he cares.  There is no reason for him to go after her, and there is no reason for her to help him back to the castle other than the plot told them to do it.  She doesn't help him with his wounds, and the staff are the ones to thank her for returning him.  She even asks the staff why the fuck they care about him, because he's such an asshole.  They justify his behavior because he had a cruel father, and damn themselves to his fate because they didn't stop a literal monarch from raising his son.  Belle continues to take care of him because she pities him?  He repays her kindness by insulting her taste in literature.

He doesn't even show her the library because he knows she likes books, he does it because he wants her to read "better" books.  Then he makes one joke about not reading Greek and THAT IS WHAT MAKES BELLE SWOON.  THE FUCKING GREEK BOOK JOKE.  I mean, I sort of get it, I fell in love with my ex because he made a bread pun, but he hadn't been continually abusive to me up until that point.  Belle starts to read out loud to him, and that's supposed to be the event that incentives the Beast to be better?  Even while Belle is singing about how much he's changed (he hasn't), he throws a boulder of snow in her face. The cherry on top of this sundae is his stoic question after they dance, "It's foolish, I suppose, for a creature like me to hope that one day he might earn your affection?" which not only sounds like complement fishing, it is primarily motivated by breaking the curse!  Only after she gives an indifferent answer does he ask if she'd be happy at the castle.

Oh god, and the death scene is cut off in the middle because we have to watch 2 minutes of the staff members permanently turning into furniture, which, like, I wouldn't think they'd want to castrate the emotional climax of the movie, but this whole thing is an exercise on how to fuck something already good up.

This movie fails so spectacularly at this basic love story, I can't begin to justify its existence.  I wouldn't recommend this to anybody.  If you want to watch new Alan Menkin content, watch Galavant, because this movie just pissed me off.

It was bold of Disney to end it with a beastiality joke, though.

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Boo-Dunit

Now, this was a good episode!  In fact, I’d even include it on a list of the best episodes to show someone who isn’t already familiar to the Ghostbusters franchise.

It begins on a dark and stormy night (and I won’t apologize for using that cliché opening).  A large group of people have gathered at some mansion, for the Reading of the Will.  Apparently, an old woman named Agatha Grisley (an obvious parody of Agatha Christie) has recently passed away.  Agatha Grisley’s lawyer, Mr. Kingsford, soon arrives at the mansion and, after informing the butler that old Agatha hadn’t left him anything, he proceeds into the study where Agatha’s surviving family and friends are waiting.  But as Mr. Kingsford opens his briefcase and starts to take out the copy of Agatha’s will, a large fencing foil appears out of nowhere, landing point first onto the document.  Mr. Kingsford is quick to toss the fencing foil aside, but the moment he does so, a dagger appears in its place.

We then cut to the Firehouse, where the Ghostbusters are in the middle of watching some murder mystery program on TV while sharing a pizza. Winston is able to correctly guess the identity of the killer as Larry the Plumber seconds before the official reveal. It turns out that Winston is a huge mystery story aficionado and is a real pro at figuring out mysteries. Though the others are less than pleased by this, as Winston’s talent kinda takes the joy of discovery out of things for them.  Before more could be said, the alarm bell starts ringing, indicating they’ve received a call.  So they head off into the night, with Janine apparently handing each of them a copy of the night’s worksheet.  (Wouldn’t a single worksheet suffice?  Why does Janine hand out four of them?)  As the Ghostbusters are en route to their destination, it’s revealed that they’ve been called out to Agatha Grisley’s mansion, obviously because of what went down during the Reading of the Will.  This news particularly excites Winston, as Agatha Grisley wrote the best mystery novels, since her stories were the hardest to figure out.

Upon reaching the Grisley Mansion, Winston volunteers to ring the doorbell, given his admiration for Agatha’s books.  When he rings the doorbell, a dagger suddenly whips by them, embedding itself into the front door.  Rather than be shaken by this, Winton gets even more ecstatic, as something very similar happened in the twelfth chapter of Murder on the Hoboken Express (a reference to Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express).  Egon notes that he’s definitely picking up strong reading on his P.K.E. Meter.  The Ghostbusters are soon let into the Grisley Mansion and proceed to the study where Mr. Kingsford is waiting for them.  He demonstrates for them how swords are continually being launched at Agatha’s will, no matter how many times they’re removed.  And there’s a pretty sizable pile of bladed weapons behind him to emphasize that point.  And that’s not all.  Objects are also floating into the air, guns have materialized out of nowhere and ghostly figures have also been appearing at random intervals.  As Peter assures Mr. Kingsford that they’ll get to the bottom of things, a trapdoor randomly opens up beneath him, resulting in Peter falling down into the basement below, while miraculously managing to avoid breaking his leg.

When Winston, Ray and Egon join Peter in the basement, they find that the place has been filled with a wide assortment of torture and execution equipment, from the guillotine to the rack. An exited Winston realizes that this is the room where Agatha wrote her famous mystery stories.  And then, he and Ray somehow manage to get thrown onto some of the torture devices that had been stored down there.

Okay, first of all, how exactly did Ray and Winston manage to get themselves caught in the torture devices like that?  The episode doesn’t give us any indication.  It just cuts to them being stuck in their predicaments. Secondly, why exactly would Agatha Grisley have those things in her basement in the first place?  Was this just meant to indicate how dedicated she was to making her stories realistic?  If that was the case, does that mean she actually tested these things out on actual people?  Was Agatha actually a sociopath when she was alive?  Or am I just reading too much into this?

Anyway, once they manage to free Ray and Winston, the Ghostbusters investigate Agatha’s writing desk.  When Peter opens up a drawer, he unwittingly triggers a booby trap of some sort, with an axe-wielding suit of armor appearing behind a secret passageway. The axe falls, just narrowly missing Peter but chopping off a large chunk of the writing desk.  This results in them finding a manuscript for an unpublished Grisley novel called Raoul’s Revenge.  Egon quickly notices that the manuscript was never finished.  Ray speculates that the paranormal activity in the Grisley Mansion might have resulted from Agatha’s unwillingness to move on and be at rest until her last novel is finished, with the killer named.  With that information, the Ghostbusters conclude that perhaps Agatha’s ghost is wanting them to help write the ending to Raoul’s Revenge.  And so, a plan is devised.  While Winston reads through the portion of the book that had already been written, Peter, Egon and Ray will explore the mansion to gather clues from the ghostly activity going on.  (Thankfully, the pages that Peter ends up damaging while using them to test the sharpness of the axe didn’t appear to be that important, as the episode never brings them up again.)

This plan is soon put into action.  First, Ray and Mr. Kingsford enter the parlor, where the ghostly images of the Frenchman called Raoul and the beautiful Debbie appear. Raoul is trying convince Debbie to run away with him, but Debbie is reluctant since she pledged her heart to another man.  In the blink of an eye, Debbie’s muscular fiancée, Jean, maternities in the room and confronts them, accusing Debbie of cheating on him.  Unfortunately, Ray and Mr. Kingsford don’t see much more, as they end up falling through a hole that forms in the floor when Jean begins waving around the flail he just happened to have.  They end up landing at Winston’s feet, with Ray asking Winston to read the manuscript a bit quicker.

Meanwhile, Egon stumbles across another ghostly scene from Raoul’s Revenge.  In this scene, Debbie has died after drinking some milk that had been poisoned with cyanide, with a devastated Raoul standing vigil at her bedside. From the sound of it, Raoul is pinning the murder on Jean.  Unfortunately, Egon, upon hearing Raoul state he has a bad case of indigestion, suggests he drink some milk, unthinkingly passing him the cyanide-laced milk.  The Doctor character manages to slap the poisoned milk out of Raoul’s hands, but this leads to Raoul accusing Egon of trying to kill him, and he points a cartoonishly large gun at him in response. (Seriously, Egon!  I know your socialization skills aren’t always up to snuff, but that was incredibly dense.)  Fortunately, Egon manages to avoid harm when he falls through the hole that formed when the cyanide-laced milk hit the floor.  Like with Ray, Egon urges Winston to read faster.

As for Peter, he ends up in the kitchen.  After raiding the fridge (while commenting on how there might be a ghost in there as it wouldn’t be the first time, making a nice callback to the movie), the ghostly image of a chef appears.  This is the final character from Raoul’s Revenge.  The Chef instructs Peter to dice vegetables, as he’s making stew that night.  He then begins to tenderize some meat with his bare fists.  (Was this guy ever on Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time?)  After Peter makes a few jokes towards the Chef, the images of Debbie’s body and a sobbing Raoul also appear in the kitchen.  Moments later, Egon appears on the scene.  He was chased there by Jean, who is carrying a very large bazooka.   Ray and Mr. Kingsford join them soon afterwards, so now everyone is gathered in the Kitchen.  Except for Winston, who is still reading the manuscript.  

Jean proceeds to accuse Raoul of murdering Debbie in a fit of anger over how Debbie always laughed at his car.  Raoul, however, kicks Jean in the shin, forcing him to drop the bazooka, which blasts a large hole into the wall, revealing Winston calmly reading the manuscript on the other side.  He states that he’s nearly done and thinks he knows who the killer was.  Before he could clarify, the Chef begins stating that he was the only man who really loved Debbie.  He announces that, if Debbie can’t enjoy his cooking anymore, then nobody should.  As he announces this, the Chef produces a bomb from nowhere.  And Ray and Egon start having this whole philosophical debate over whether or not the bomb could actually hurt them or not, as it may or may not simply be a ghostly manifestation. While all this is going on, Raoul, Jean and the Chef continue to argue.

Thankfully, that’s when Winston walks into the kitchen, announcing that he just finished reading the manuscript.  He announces Debbie’s killer was actually the Doctor.  It turns out that the Chef’s cooking gave Debbie multiple cases of indigestion.  And she ended up with a pretty hefty amount of medical bills because of this.  Since she refused to pay the medical bills, and made fun of the Doctor’s car, he placed cyanide into her milk.  With the mystery solved, the ghostly images of Roaul, Jean, the Chef and Debbie fade away.  In their place, the ghost of Agatha Grisley appears, thanking Winston for finishing her last mystery.  As the ghost of Agatha Grisley vanishes, indicating her spirit is now at rest, the final page of Raoul’s Revenge appears. Winston, upon reading it, is pleased to see the page comes with a dedication to him and his fellow Ghostbusters.

As the episode wraps up, the Ghosbusters are back at the Firehouse, watching another installment of that mystery program they were watching at the start.  Peter, Ray and Egon fire off their various theories over who the killer is.  But Winston isn’t allowed to join in, as the others had tied him up and gagged him so he wouldn’t be able to spoil the ending for them. Poor Winston!

One of the main things I appreciated about this episode is how the Ghostbusters actually attempted to help a ghost find the peace to move on instead of simply going the usual zap and trap route.  Considering ghosts are essentially people who died, one could argue that this is the sort of thing the Ghostbusters should try to do more often.  Then again, I expect that would make the show pretty dull after a while.  As for the bit about the actual mystery novel they were trying to solve, I am curious how fans of actual murder mysteries and the real-life Agatha Christie would respond to this episode.  From what we could see, Raoul’s Revenge seemed to be a bit obsessed with Debbie making fun of people’s cars, as they mention it a few times as a legitimate motive for her murderer to kill her.  Combine that with the fact that the characters all seemed to inexplicitly have large weapons (Jean with his flail and bazooka, Raoul with his impossibly large pistol and the Chef with his bomb), and it really adds weight to the episode’s running joke of how Raoul’s Revenge was a poorly written book.  Though it’s not clear if Agatha Grisley was not a very good writer to begin with or if this final mystery story was just a fluke. Therefore, I’m not entirely sure if the people who wrote this episode was simply simplifying things for the children watching or if they were indirectly making fun at Agatha Christie’s stories. Considering I’ve never actually read any of her books myself, I can’t say.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

[gideonaceleigh]

Hello Friends it’s Flashback Sunday Monday!! Here’s is a short story I wrote in probably 2010? 2011? approx. 1900 words :) This is posted 100% for my amusement (and the amusement of others) and not meant to be taken seriously in any way lol.

Mirror

Petrichor stands in front of the door that blocked off her room, staring into the full length mirror attached to it. Lost in her head, thinking about the past couple of years. Her parent’s had to be right, she was just a silly kid, none of it was real. Memories go flying through her head, random flashes and pieces. 

Have you ever looked into a mirror and seen a flicker of motion from the corner of you eye? When I was younger I would always she that random flicker, it used to terrify me.

Petrichor, no more than five years old, stands in front of a mirror and looking into it for a moment before screaming in fright. She runs to her parents and they soothe her.

Most children have at one time or another. Scared, they run to their parents and tell them there's a monster in the mirror. The parents calm their child, telling them that it's impossible, just a trick of the light.

Or is it?

The flashbacks continue, showing her at 7, 11, 13, 15, and 16 years old standing in front of a mirror. A fuzzy form comes into focus in the mirror a little more at each flash; it stands behind her right shoulder. 

The sensation, of a flicker just outside of sight, followed me throughout my childhood. Except, instead of disappearing, as I grew older the flicker came more often, and it became more defined.

She goes to parents, begging. Her parents scold her, telling her to quit being dramatic as she storms to her room and falls onto her bed.

I told my parents about it, or at least tried to a few times. They told me to grow up and get my head out of the clouds, that I was too old for such games. Eventually I just kept it to myself. I grew tired of arguing with them and being told to stop behaving like a child. I even began to think I was truly crazy.

There are flashes of mirrors; one is fancy, gold with an intricate design. Another one plain with a wooden frame, moving onto a full length mirror and finally showing a small hand-held mirror held by the small hands of a child. Each mirror was showing the fuzzy form barely visible in the corner of her eye.

I began to think there was something wrong with me, with my brain. I tried to ignore the flicker, told myself over and over that it was just my imagination. Maybe my parents were right, maybe I just needed to grow up and get my head out of the clouds. I avoided mirrors whenever I could, so that I could pretend to be normal. But there are so many mirrors in the world, how do you avoid them all?

Petrichor walks along the street, she sees a reflection in the store windows and quickly hides her face behind her hair. It's not her reflection but something else, less discernible.

A couple weeks later she looks into a mirror and quickly looks away. She frowns slightly and tentatively looks back before staring intensely into it. There is no form, fuzzy or otherwise. She smiles and starts humming, leaving the bathroom and looking into mirrors all over the house. 

She snaps herself out of her memories and back into the present. Soft morning light streams in from her bedroom window and hits the mirror she’s been staring into. She’s still in her pajamas, it being a lazy weekend morning. Slowly the form starts materializing in the mirror, returning after its brief, and very much appreciated, reprieve. 

She lets out a heavy sigh, “Welcome back,” she silently greets Her. Yes, Her. For Petrichor was finally able to make out what exactly had been stalking her, her entire life. 

The girl has the same features as Petrichor. They have the same shaped eyes, ears, cheek bones, lips, nose, and body shape. Only Petrichor has pale blue eyes, bleach blonde hair, and naturally tan skin. The mirror twin has stormy, dark grey eyes, black hair, and her skin is pale. Petrichor looks into her mirror twin's eyes and, trembling, she cautiously reaches out to the mirror, slowly sinking into it.

Frost gathers onto Petrichor's hair and eyelashes as she steps fully into this alternate world. Its dark, the only thing visible is the snow swirling everywhere in random gusts and sputters. 

Not looking around Petrichor looks straight at the mirror twin and takes a deep breath before simply asking, “Why?”

Her mirror twins laughs vindictively, “Why not?” she says with a smirk.

Petrichor just looks at her in confusion, “Don't you get lonely?”

The mirror twin freezes, and Petrichor catches a sad look on her face, a look of loneliness. 

Petrichor smiles in triumph, “So that's why you’re doing this, isn't it? You want the company. But if you’re so lonely why don't you leave this desolate place?”

The mirror twin laughs scornfully, “You really don't get it do you?”

Petrichor frowns, “Get what?”

“I can't leave. I'm stuck in this wasteland forever!” she says, looking almost as if she’s on the verge of tears.

Petrichor takes an unthinking step forward, wanting to comfort her and her twin lunges towards her. Petrichor jerks back at the last minute, shaking from the scare of her almost fatal mistake.

Her mirror twin smirks at her, “Oh so very close. Just a second more and I could have escaped this place,” she says.

Petrichor’s head snaps up at that, eyes widening in understanding.

The twin nodded in confirmation, “Yes, that's all it would take. One touch and I could be free of this place, while you would be left to rot in this god forsaken place.”

“There must be a reason you’re in here. I don’t know why but I can take a wild guess. Whoever put you here wanted you to suffer. You’re alone in this cold, desolate reality, and you’re cruel, you make no secret of that.”

“Oh very good,” her twin said. “Aren’t you oh so clever? I’m sure you think I’m evil don’t you?” She didn’t wait for the reply before carrying on.

“I've never done anything evil! All I ever wanted is what I DESERVE to have, my BIRTHRIGHT.

She starts pacing and gesturing with her hands erratically.

“I was a Princess once you know,” looking at Petrichor who raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh yes, a Princess. Daddy ruled a huge empire, until those bastard rebels decided they didn't like the comfy life Daddy gave them,” she frowns, looking down at the ground for a few minutes before smiling and continuing with her story.

“Of course Daddy was always a weak man. To compassionate and soft-hearted. Never stern enough with anyone, not even the servants or animals. Not that there’s a difference between the two,” she smirks at Petrichor.

“The rebels had another thing coming when they got to me though,” she smiles mischievously at Petrichor, as if letting a friend in on a secret. “I bet you think I killed them, don't you?”

She walks closer to Petrichor then abruptly turns away, not waiting for a reply. “Quite the opposite really. I charmed them. If you know how to bat your eyelashes enough you can get pretty much anything you want in life, especially from men,” She laughs wickedly, smiling and demonstrating her eyelash batting to Petrichor. 

“I had them wrapped around my finger. I moved my way up, right to the top. The 'new king's’ wife. From there I was able to do whatever I wished. I dined with all the right families and, of course, had all my ill-wishers put to death,” she laughed sharply.

“Unfortunately, my poor husband passed away shortly after passing a law I had suggested to him. It stated that the wife of a Lord, or say a King, was capable of taking over her husband’s duties in the event of his absence, or god forbid, his death. It was quite a coincidence I assure you,” she winks at Petrichor.

“They never could determine the cause of death of my poor Harold. Eventually they just laid the blame on natural causes. Arsenic is virtually undetectable, did you know that?” Another mischievous laugh and grin in Petrichor’s direction.

“Unfortunately, once more and more people started dying of the same mysterious 'natural cause,' people started getting suspicious. Once people started realizing the people dying were people I was less than fond of, or people that were getting in my way, well they jumped to conclusions. Accusations started getting thrown around, revenge was demanded.”

She started getting overly dramatic, tumultuous emotions thick in her voice and her hand gestures getting even more sporadic and erratic.

“You know how it goes,” she waved her hands around vaguely, “So, of course, they demanded my immediate removal from power and stripped me of my fortune. I was furious. They wanted my head chopped off. I hissed and bit and fought the entire way to the guillotine. But right before they released the blade someone yelled 'Stop!' My salvation I thought.” 

She laughs bitterly, abruptly subdued, and whispers, “How wrong I was.”

She turns away from Petrichor and almost seems to cave in on herself. The entire time the mirror twin has been ranting Petrichor has been standing in the same spot in shocked silence. The mirror twin slowly turns back to Petrichor. 

“It was a man. He got on the stage and told them, he told them, 'Stop this! Please, listen to me! This is no punishment for a cold, heartless killer. This, this monster!' 

He was a very good speaker you see; he knew how to work his audience.

 'I have a better idea.' He whispered dramatically. He told them he knew of a place they could put me. A wasteland.  A place where I could live an eternity in solitude. If I was so determined to be alone by killing everyone around me why didn't they give me a better alternative? He had asked them. 

I had laughed, at the time. I would live forever, I thought, and not have to suffer those fools.

She laughs scornfully then looks around her prison, becoming subdued again and whispers, “That was over 4000 years ago.”

After a moment of silence she laughs loudly, “So you see, I'm really not evil. I just knew how to get what I deserved. What’s so wrong about that?!”

“After a moment of shocked silence Petrichor bursts out, “You're a monster! And as long as you're here, you won't be able to wreak your havoc. So as long as I have a say in it, you will never be free.”

As she says this she moves back towards the mirror, throwing herself at it. She crashes into it and it shatters into a million pieces. She watches passively as the glass slowly comes tinkling down, gracefully like the snow. It seems as if continually falling, never reaching the ground.

Her mirror twin screams as she fades into darkness, “You don't know what you've done! We'll both be trapped here forever!”

Petrichor looks at the shattered mirror before slowly turning to her mirror twin, “If that means you can never be free, then it is worth it,” she says as she slowly closes her eyes. She calmly relaxes into the cold and she feels herself falling into nothing, content.