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alexthebordercollie · 9 months

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To Love at all is to Love Entirely

Chapter 1: Homecoming

Warning contains masturbation scene

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ If you wish to skip the smut look for the rats. They appear and the start and end of sexual scenes. ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

︵‿୨ - March 10 1951 - ୧‿︵

“Félix stop!” Pepa whined playfully.

They would do this every now and again. His sisters and their husbands. They would get out the playing cards and a bottle of aguardiente and play poker into the late hours of the night. A sort of double date night. Loser takes a shot. He used to play with them sometimes. Unfortunately not having a partner always left him feeling like the odd man out.

This time he really was the odd man out.

“Escalera real mi vida.” Agustín purred.

Bruno took another swig from the bottle of rum that sat on a crate next to him. Every time his sisters lost he took a shot. A show of solidarity. Or maybe just alcoholism. He’d managed to swipe the bottle from a party and had been nursing it for close to a month. Tonight seemed like a good enough excuse to indulge a bit as he lay on a ratty twin-sized mattress on the floor. He set the bottle back down on the crate and rolled over to face the wall. Listening passively to their game night.

It sounded like they were having fun. He wasn’t missed. He wondered if they would act any differently if they knew he was there. He was happy for his sisters. They found good men who loved them dearly. Still… he couldn't help the bitterness in his throat. Lying there alone. Listening to their drunken flirting. He knew full well how their night would end. When he used to play with them they were a little more subtle. A little less shameless.

Maybe it was because he was the only bachelor in the room and they pitied him. Or maybe it was just the family treating him like a child again. Like they were under some delusion he was too fragile to process such mature information. He wasn’t a child though. He wasn’t naive. Far from it.

He heard the roars of his sisters and went to take another shot. Empty. That figures. It sounded like their game was wrapping up.

He sat up in bed clutching the empty bottle for a moment as he listened to them drunkenly shuffle up the stairs. A few of his rats stared up at him expectantly.

“Sí, sí, I know!” He hissed as soon as his sisters were out of earshot.

He tossed the bottle half-heartedly. Listlessly watching it bounce off the back of his armchair before rolling back towards the bed. The floor was slightly uneven. Of course it was. He hadn’t thrown it with enough force to break the glass but the clatter as it hit the floor was enough to scare off the rats. He had promised himself he’d make it last at least a month. He didn’t need his pets' judgmental eyes on him right now. He knew he was a failure. He didn’t need to be reminded.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

He flopped back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind wandered to the couples upstairs. He could feel his body tensing against his trousers.

“Meirda.” He groaned as he rubbed his eyes violently with his palms. He propped himself up on one arm and reached down to adjust himself so as to get some relief from his waistband. He was already so hard he winced at his own touch. He’d not been paying attention to his growing condition till now. Now he couldn’t ignore it. He tried to get his mind on something else, but the intrusive thoughts wouldn’t leave him. Floating circles in his brain no matter how much he protested.

He knew he shouldn’t think about his sisters like this. Imagining what it was like to be them. To be loved, touched, consumed…

He was already touching himself. Any semblance of self-control was out the window tonight. What was the point? It’s not like anyone would know. Dolores went to bed ages ago. Just him, god, the devil, and the rats.

He muttered faint profanities to himself as he ran his palm along his flesh. So engorged it hurt. He sat up a moment and pulled the crucifix he wore from his neck. If he was going to sin tonight it might be best to put it away. He’d hate to feel it burning into his collarbone all night.

He placed his necklace in the top drawer of his dresser for safekeeping. Leaving his pants and poncho on the floor before returning to bed and curling up under the covers. He gripped the covers over his shoulder with one hand as he lubricated the other with precum. Again he winced before letting out a deep sigh.

He’d been jealous of his sisters for years. He was sure no one really knew just how much. He’d been in denial himself at first. This repressed teenage boy staring longingly at the boys his hermanas courted. No woman had ever made him feel the way a man did. Not for lack of trying. He knew what other teenage boys could be like. The things they would say when one of the Madrigal women walked by. He’d tried to admire women's bodies the way they did. Even got caught once by a girl in town who slapped him hard enough to leave a mark. He’d rather he could have been a garden variety pervert over a degenerate sinner.

He put a hand over his mouth to muffle himself as he shuttered. He thought of the gruff working hands, the smell of cologne, sweat, and cigars. He bit down on his fingers. The thought of all the things a man could do to him. He was gripping himself tighter now. His movements were frantic and desperate as he shivered and jerked about under the covers.

He pulled his fingers into his mouth. Gnawing and sucking on them. He barely paid any mind to the wet rabid sounds that escaped his lips. He suckled frantically on his hand till his fingers began to swell from the abuse. He was growing increasingly tender and frustrated as he kept edging close to some kind of relief but never quite reaching it. He was growing lightheaded. He wanted more.

Curling in on himself he reached down with his abused fingers and began to probe himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. So desperate to cum it stopped mattering how. He would slide his fingers in with little effort though his breath still caught in his chest for a moment. He stopped stroking his dick as he curled his fingers inside himself. He was seeking out that sweet spot that would let him cum.

He let out a startled gasp as he felt the sharp jab of his fingernails against his favorite pressure point. He was gasping for air now, panting as he returned to stroking himself while his fingers went to work massaging his warm velvety insides. He wondered what it would be like to be penetrated by a real man. Someone unlike himself, the scrawny, cowardly, midget that he was. He felt his face go numb. He grew dizzy as he struggled to breathe. That pressure kept building but to no relief and his dick was getting tender and raw.

“Carajo!” He shouted in bitter frustration as he released himself. He collapsed onto his back and gasped out for air. “Por favor, Dios, Satán.” Whatever ethereal creature it was who saw fit to torture his every waking moment. “Just let me have this.” He whined as tears streamed down his hot, flushed, face.

He calmed himself enough to reach up and wipe the offending tears from his cheeks.

“Santo Dios, why am I like this?” He whimpered between fluttering breaths.

He just wanted some relief tonight. Anything to ease this pain. He didn’t care if it was sin. He didn’t care about hell. In this moment he just wanted to feel some pleasure. To feel something besides empty soul-crushing pain.

He looked over to the empty liquor bottle on the floor and a wicked thought struck him. A devious, rebellious thought. The neck of the bottle was a bit shy of an inch across two maybe three inches long. He wasn’t seriously considering this was he? He thought of his precious hermanas enjoying their night upstairs and that bitter resentment bubbled up in his gut. He’d already committed to being a degenerate tonight. What did it matter? He’d worry about his immortal soul tomorrow when he wasn’t drunk, horny, and angry.

He reached out for the bottle without leaving the somewhat comfortable confines of his bed.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He muttered as he turned the glass bottle over in his hands. He spat into his palm and stroked the neck of the bottle. It wasn’t close to the real thing but it was closer than his fingers ever could be. He kicked off the covers and felt his face flush with a humiliating heat as he reached down to line the neck of the bottle up with his entrance. Still puckered and tender from the abuse he’d done to himself earlier.

He took a shaky nervous breath and pressed down. This was a new low for him. He’d never done anything like this before. He wasn’t even sure he could take it, but he wanted it so badly… To be filled up by something, anything. The glass was cold and made him shiver. His body put up some resistance but he persisted.

“AY!” He let out a pained cry as the lip of the bottle made its way in and shot ripples of pain through his flesh. He clasped his free end over his mouth in a panic. He startled himself with his own girlish shriek. For a moment he lay there silently listening for any sound of human life. All he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He kept his mouth covered for fear of the sounds that might escape him. Slowly he began to press deeper in. He ground his fingertips against the stubble on his cheeks as he muffled a moan. Eyes closed. His head rolled back into the mattress as he made it all the way down the neck of the bottle. The glass was cold but silky smooth and it warmed gradually to his skin.

His hand started to slip loose from his mouth as he moaned from the sheer satisfaction. It felt so good. He’d speculated for years, but this was better than he’d imagined, and it wasn’t even the real thing. Imagine how that would feel. He started slowly, gently pulling back and pushing back in. Before long however that frantic hunger began to build again as he picked up speed.

He let go of his face and gripped the covers so tight his knuckles went white. He found himself bucking forward with each thrust. His legs trembled and his whole body rocked. He arched his back. Panting like a dog in heat. His movements were clumsy. His hand kept slipping on the smooth glass. The angle was difficult. It felt so good though, clumsy and rough though it was. That fullness, that feeling of being properly violated. The thought of strong hands on his body as he grew dizzy again.

As much as he loved this feeling it became apparent he wasn’t going to cum like this. He pulled the bottle out and rolled over onto all fours for a moment to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. He was sweating now, heaving. His arms were shaking as he struggled to support his own weight. He needed a new strategy. He needed some way to maintain a consistent angle and rhythm. He thought for a moment before bringing the bottle to his face and slipping the neck into his mouth. The glass was warm and tasted sweet and metallic. With a fresh coat of lubrication, he sat upright on his knees and placed it between his ankles.

He leaned back till his palms hit the mattress. Supporting his weight on his arms as he lowered himself down onto the bottle. This time there was no pain, no resistance, it slid in effortlessly. He let out a grateful sigh.

“Joder eso es bueno.”

For a moment he just rested back on his hands enjoying the feeling. This was it, one last try, and if he couldn’t manage it this time he’d just have to cut his losses for the night. He was slower this time as he started practicing rocking his hips up and down. His feet crossed each other. Toes curling. Calves flexing as he pulled his legs as tight around the bottle as he could manage. This was much smoother, more controlled. He moaned softly and his head rolled back.

He considered stroking his cock one more time but decided against it. It was still tender and the pressure inside him sent a pleasure that radiated through his cock. This was enough, for now, this was all he wanted. Just this slow even pace. Just enjoying the feeling. Listening to his body.

Eventually, that pressure began to rise again causing him to pick up the pace. This time his movements were precise and deliberate. It got harder to maintain that smooth fluid motion the faster he got but with some focus he could manage it. He just had to keep that stable rhythm going. Just a little longer. His cock ached and trembled. He grew light-headed again. Worried that sweet release would illude him he brought one of his hands up to his dick and stroked himself gently. Just the slightest touch was all it took to finally send him over the edge.

For a moment he couldn’t breathe. His whole body tensed as he felt the hot sticky substance dribble down his fingers. He came in deep shuttering waves. The throbbing satisfying stretch of thick cum pulsing through his cock. When it finally stopped he waited to catch his breath for a moment. His eyes fluttered open. He looked down at himself…

He was disgusted with what he saw. His hideous filthy body. Why would anyone love someone so repulsive? Much less another man? He awkwardly dislodged himself before collapsing on the bed. Avoiding the puddle he’d left on the mattress.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

What had he just done?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was sweaty and winded and tired. So tired. He knew it was wrong. For a man to want the things he did. There were a lot of things wrong about him. This was just another defect to add to the pile. Why should this matter more than any of the other humiliating mistakes he’d made in his life? At least no one knew about this. This was a defect he could keep all to himself.

There was something oddly comforting in that.

︵‿୨ - October 17 1950 - ୧‿︵

Bruno lay on his mattress for a while, muscles sore, eyes still glued shut from sleep. He’d been awake for some time just listening to the sound of falling sand, the little paw steps of his rats. A few of the little creatures were still snuggled up along the length of his body for warmth. It had been a five months since he moved back into his old room.

The rest of the family had wanted to refurnish the room for him after they saw its sorry state but, to their dismay, he’d chosen instead to cram all his tattered belongings into a little cave in the wall of his tower. It wasn’t always so bad. One would think it would have been good as new after the house had been rebuilt, but no, that was just his luck. It was all the same to him in any case. He wasn’t quite yet ready to part completely with the little home he’d made for himself in the walls.

It wasn’t much, but just moving back to his old room alone was stressful and surreal. To Casita's credit, he’d forgotten how soothing the curtain of sand was at night, all the nights it helped him fall asleep as a child.

Juanita began to nuzzle at his scruffy cheek and when that proved fruitless started lapping at his skin, her little teeth grazing his face.

“Alright, alright, I get it, I’m up.” he groaned though he couldn't help the grin that her persistence brought to his face.

No doubt she was pestering him for her breakfast. He’d been keeping rats for years, ever since he was a child. It started with a single mated pair. He took them in after Pepa kicked one of them across the kitchen and broke its leg. It was just going to be temporary, just until they were well enough to be released. He couldn’t help but get attached. It took a lot of cajoling when Mamá found out to get her to let him keep them. No doubt she never expected the population to explode like it did.

It took a bit of limp, half-hearted, flailing to get the feeling back in his limbs and shake off the sleep. A good yawn and a stretch to get fresh oxygen to his brain. As he craned backward he heard a loud crack that echoed off the walls of the tower and sent a brief shiver down his spine. That got his eyes open. He rubbed a palm along the sore spot in his lower back and cleaned the sleep from his eyes before cracking his neck, then his knuckles. He stared down at the old mattress on the floor. Maybe it was time to get a new bed at least.

Climbing up to his feet he watched as the rats started poking their heads out of every nook and cranny, eyeing him expectantly. A few sleeping rats tumbled off his poncho onto the bed. He chuckled as he watched Carlos wriggle on his back only to sink deeper into one of the mattress's many dents.

“Easy mijo I got you.” he reassured and reached down to scoop up his pet. Carlos lay contentedly in his arms like a baby and Bruno gave his belly a tickle. The rat squealed playfully and scurried up his arm to his shoulder and made a nest in Bruno’s mat of curly black hair. Their little claws still tickled after all these years, their shiny eyes and twitching noses filled him with a comforting warmth. As he turned to leave others poured from their cubbies and started to pool about his ankles. Walking down the stone steps and carefully avoiding tiny, eager tails he started to wonder if he may have become somewhat of a crazy cat lady. He dismissed the thought, surely not, these are rats, it’s completely different. Rats actually love you back.

As he made it to the bottom of the steps he looked around the cavernous room. Every morning it seemed to look a little different than the night before. It had grown very empty and deteriorated over the years. It was starting to look a bit better. The sand curtain now fell into a working grate in the floor, you could actually see the floor. A decorative tile floor was slowly creeping out from the center of the room, consuming the dull wood planks, and a few more of the steps had grown back. He couldn’t spot anything too noticeable today, but this house was always full of surprises and he was sure he’d spot something by the end of the day.

Poking his head out into the hall he could hear a commotion in the courtyard. The house was usually pretty noisy but this was something else. He padded down the steps to the catwalk. Careful to avoid his many sobrinos as they scurried past. He still walked softly out of habit so as not to make any sound that might disturb the peace.

A sudden roar shook him. Reverberating through his blood and jolting a very primal fear into action. Whiping around to spot the source of the danger.

There was Antonio with one of the worlds most dangerous predators. His heart was beating a million miles a minute. His brain failing to keep up with his instincts as he bolted forward. No thoughts on what he'd do only afraid for his littlest sobrino. His racing heart stopped dead as he watched the boy dive over the balcony to the floor below on the back of a jaguar.

Seconds passed that felt like years.

Then laughter.

“Vez! Vez!” Antonio cheered to his terrifying pet.

Bruno gasped with relief. Freeing the breath he'd been holding. He never much liked cats. Didn’t trust them. Esspecially a cat like that. Antonio looked alright though. Maybe he was worrying to much. Antonio could talk to animals, the animals all seemed to like him well enough. So what if Parce was a nearly four-hundred-pound killing machine. Everyone else seemed to be rolling with it.

“Me asusta terriblemente también.”

Bruno yelped as he jumped back from the railing.

He turned to see Pepa leaning over the guardrail next to him. She sighed as she watched her son playing with his jaguar in the courtyard. Parce bolted back up the steps and rushed past them in a flurry of spots.

“I don’t know how you manage.” Bruno breathed. Rubbing at the aching dent in his chest.

“Lo juro el niño is going to give me a heart attack” She agreed before shifting the weight of a basket she carried on her hip.

“To think. You used to be scared of rats.” Bruno teased.

“You’re never going to let me live that down are you.” Pepa grumbled a gray cloud forming over her adorable scrunched face.

“Eh, lo justo es justo hermana.” He grinned and shot her finger guns. His sister groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Between you and Tonito I’ll be lucky if I make it to forty.”

“But you’re fifty.” Bruno replied awkwardly. Admittedly it felt a little weird to say it out loud himself. Sometimes he forgot just how old he was, it was truly uncanny to him how fast time flew.

“Fifty-one as of today.” Mirabel chimed as she skipped up the stairs to plant a kiss on her uncle’s cheek.

Bruno froze up at first from the gesture. He'd grown so unaccustomed to human touch over the years. He only took a second to recompose himself before ruffling his sobrina's hair. She smiled brightly back at him. She really was a miracle. This bright beautiful girl who brought him out of his cave. She reminded him how it felt to be loved. So many years he’d watched her grow through the cracks in the walls. Now he could finally feel the warmth of her skin and gaze lovingly into those beautiful brown eyes.

“No, not yet!” Pepa curtly corrected, accented by a low rumble of thunder. “Until nine forty PM, I’m still fifty” She huffed. Her husband Félix crept up behind her and tickled the back of her neck with kisses that made her giggle like a schoolgirl. Wrapping his strong arms around her petite waist he reassured his wife.

“Fifty or five hundred mi vida you’re still as beautiful as the day we met.”

“Eres un gran coqueto.” She chided playfully as she ran her free hand along his jawline.

Bruno pretended to vomit over the railing, loud enough for his sister to hear. Pepa shot daggers at him as Félix and Mirabel laughed. It felt good, making his family laugh. It was one of the few things he was good at growing up. Even if Mamá didn’t always appreciate it.

“Did you find the decorations Tía Pepa?” Mirabel chimed.

“They were in Mamá's closet, I had to clean them up a bit but they’re in pretty good shape all things considered.”

Pepa passed the basket over to Mirabel. Bruno pressed himself against the railing to make space for them and noticed as it passed by him, a familiar lime green fabric he hadn’t seen in ages. When they were young his mother had sat him and his sisters down to stitch birthday banners the three of them had used for years. As they got older the banners were used less and less. But there was his. The poorly stitched character smiling back at him.

“Honestly I don’t know why she wanted to use these, they’re embarrassing.”

“Come now Pepa, today is special. I wanted to do something special.” Their madre insisted as she stepped out into the hall. She reached up instinctively to wave away the small cloud above her daughter's head before stopping herself and patting her cheek instead. Bruno felt a dozen tiny paws clamber up his pant legs and cling to his shirt to hide beneath his poncho.

Pepa sighed and her brother had to agree. “S-she’s right Mamá these are a bit silly don’t you think?”

Bruno’s voice cracked awkwardly and made him feel like a child.

“Well I think they’re adorable” Mirabel grinned as she pulled the banner out to inspect her uncle’s childish doodles. Bruno reached out to stuff it back into the basket. “Ay, don’t look too closely at that!” He sheepishly insisted.

“Ma if I’d remembered it was our birthday I would have gotten up early to help everyone set up.”

“Nonsense Brunito, it’s your first year back. We wanted you to relax and enjoy your special day.” His mother cooed as she brushed a lock of unruly hair out of his face.

It was strange seeing her so soft and doting. He heard his sister grumble though their mother didn’t seem to notice. It had been like this since he properly returned to family life. His mother had been doting on him more than she ever had when they were kids and he was sure everyone was starting to notice.

“A big party like this? I dunno, I think I should just sit this one out.” He stammered out, wringing his hands close to his chest, small.

“I get it,” Mirabel piped up. “You’ve not got the best reputation.” She drastically downplayed.

“We were gonna do a small little family thing but somebody had to go and blab to the whole town.”

She chastised her cousin who poked her head out one of the many doors to call back indignantly. “You shouldn’t have sent me to pick up the groceries. You know how Señora Florez is with the chisme tax. What was I supposed to do?”

Mirabel shook her head as Mamá put a hand on Bruno’s shoulder. His mother lifted his chin to face her with a gentle touch.

“Go get something to eat then talk to Isabela, see if she can’t do something with your hair.”

“Uh, sure thing Ma.” He replied awkwardly before slipping back out of her orbit and nearly tumbling backwards down the stairs. Mirabel caught him and propped him up with the basket before nodding down to the kitchen.

The kitchen smelled like heaven. His sister's cooking always did. He used to joke that God gave him a big nose so he could better appreciate her food.

“There you are.” Julieta chimed as she turned from rolling out dough to greet him.

Bruno smiled and gave her a little wave. “Sí, mis niños were hungry.” he chuckled shyly.

Juanita poked their snoot out of his sleeve to sniff around hungrily.

“Alright guys you can come out now la señora atemorizante’s gone.” He shook his poncho to agitate the rats who flooded out into a pool on the floor around him. Mirabel stepped back sucking in her lips awkwardly as she admired the hoard. Julieta jumped a little as she turned around to clean her hands on her apron and saw the battalion of furry creatures on her clean kitchen floor.

Bruno wasn’t oblivious. “I can keep them in my room if they’re in the way.” He scratched his face. “I guess I didn’t think too much about it before. They like to follow me around but usually, it was just us in here at night.”

A flash of sadness crossed his sister's face. Bruno could only imagine how that must how sounded. The images it conquered up. He'd largely avoided thinking too much about what he looked like from an outsider's perspective. He couldn't bring himself to self-reflect… it took his mind to dark places. Thinking on it now though as he saw the look in his hermana's eyes? The image of him scowering the kitchen in the dead of night with the rats.

Julieta quickly collected herself as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her.

“Oh, it’s fine, as long as you keep them off the counter.”

Bruno reached back with his foot to subtly pull Rossa down from the knob of a cabinet with his toes.

“Oh sí, no problema.” He smiled nervously.

“I always wondered where all my food was going. Felt like I was feeding an army, turns out I really was.” She laughed and her warm voice soothed the growing tension in his chest.

Julieta reached into a warmer on the counter to pull out a couple of arepas to toss to her brother. Bruno fumbled the catch slightly and thanked her. As he went to take a bite Juanita climbed up on his shoulder and reached out to give it a sniff. She looked up at him with big round eyes and he caved immediately.

“Alright, I’ll let you have the first bite. Only cause you’ve been good lately.”

Leaning back against the table he started to pull a piece off for her only to jump at the sound of Julieta’s scolding.

“Oh no you don’t!” She stopped him and scooped Jaunita off his shoulder. She held the rat awkwardly far from her body. Doing her best to be gentle. “That’s your breakfast you eat.” She said, holding Juanita as if she were a loaded gun. “I’ll find something for… tus niños.” She put Juanita down on the floor and went to wash her hands before leading the rats to the pantry.

Mirabel watched the tiny parade in mild astonishment. “That’s a lot of rats.”

“You think that’s a lot.” Bruno muffled through a mouthful of food. “These are just the more social ones. A lot of them are still too shy to leave my room.”

“How many do you have?” She queried as she set the basket down on a free patch of countertop. Casita carried off the embarrassing banners to god knows where.

“Fifty three… no fifty eight since Beatrice had her litter. Speakings of, I should check on them later, see if she needs new bedding. Bring her something to eat.”

Mirabel was stunned silent for a moment and Bruno could feel her eyes on him as he stuffed the last bite of arepa into his mouth. After a few agonizing seconds of owl eyes staring Bruno couldn't take it anymore. He wiped the crumbs from his mouth and hurried to defend himself. Stammering as he looked for the right words to say.

“Look I-I know not everyone gets it, b-but rats are great, they’re smart and affectionate, and…” he realized he’d been leaning in a little too close and was slightly hovering over Mirabel in his enthusiasm. Instinctively he shrunk back down.

“I mean, I get why people, you know, just…”

Mirabel put a hand on his to steady him as he started dissolving in front of her.

“They love su familia, you know.” He explained, looking back into her eyes. He’d never stop being amazed by the understanding he found in them.

Mirabel gave him a knowing smile. “Don’t worry about it. You're not the only one with weird pets. Antonio has a whole jungle in his room, I’m sure he’d love to get to hear all about them.” She patted his hand before pushing off the kitchen table and lacing her fingers behind her back.

“You should go clean up. The guests should start showing up soon.”

“Ah caray, is it that late?”

“Tío it’s six in the afternoon” She laughed. Bruno blushed as he realized just how late he'd slept in. He was laegly nocturnal for the last decade and adapting to a normal schedule had been difficult. He really didn't intent to sleep the day away. Why couldn't his mother have woken him up?

Bruno hurried off to look for Isabela.

“Finally,” Isabela tutted as she led him to the washroom. “I wanted to wake you up earlier but Abuela said to let you sleep in. We’re running out of time and I’m not letting nuestro cumpleañero look like un indigente.”

“Little harsh mija” he whined as she shoved him into a chair propped up against the bathroom sink.

He remembered how sweet and spunky she was when she was little. The world around him may have been fast and loud but he couldn’t help but reminisce. He remembered helping his hermana clean paint from Isabela's hair when she was four. The frantic rush to contain the mess before their mother got home. She was so small then. This little ray of sunshine and mischief trying to spread beauty wherever she went. Nowadays she had developed a much sharper tongue and a spiteful temper that could be a bit scary up close.

“I’ll see if I can’t work my magic.” She cracked her knuckles and circled around him inspecting his hair.

“EEEK!” She squealed as she uncovered Carlos still nesting under his curls.

Carlos leaped out in fear and scurried off. Bruno tried to reach for him but he was off and around the corner before he could say anything.

Isabela took a deep breath and rubbed at her temples. “Tu y Antonio… está bien, perdón, no pasa nada.” She paced for floor before retreating to the edge of the tub. She had a few different bowls of sweet-smelling goo he couldn’t quite identify. He could see the gears turning in her head as she formulated a plan of attack.

“This seems like a lot don’t you think?”

“Oh this is just the start, I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me to recover that duty rats next you call hair. At least for tonight, I think I can get it presentable.” She warned ominously as she brought a bowl over to set by the sink and called out to her father.

“Eh Papi! Poca ayuda por aquí.”

Agustín, who was chatting with his wife in the kitchen, stopped to call back. “Oh, we’re doing this now?”

“Sí ahora!” His daughter snapped back.

“Doing what? Excuse me, what exactly did I agree to?”

Isabela shoved her tío back in the chair and pushed his head back into the sink to rinse his hair.

“Don’t worry about it. Just relax and let me handle things okay?”

Bruno tried hard not to recoil at his sobrina's touch as she raked her fingers along his scalp. Someone else might have found it soothing but he could help but feel anxious getting this much attention. His cuñado came in with a shaving kit and started setting up.

“Ey, gracias, p-pero no. I can do that myself, you know.”

“No time Tío Bruno. This is faster, just let Papi help you.” Isabelle chided as she shifted her weight to the side to make more space for her father and smeared something under his eyes before scrubbing his scalp. Whatever it was it smelled of aloe.

Agustín inspected the razor, seemingly oblivious to Bruno’s discomfort as he squeaked out a “Cómo no?” through grit teeth.

︵‿୨ -❇- ୧‿︵

The following half-hour felt like centuries as his nails bored grooves in the arms of the wooden dining chair. He tried his best to make idle small talk and avoid making Agustín laugh with a razor pressed against his throat.

Once all was said and done Isabela tied his hair back into a short ponytail and he got a good look at himself in the mirror. Despite his misgivings, considering Agustín’s usual clumsiness, he’d never managed such a clean shave himself. Perhaps it was a byproduct of growing up in a house full of women. His hair looked a lot cleaner and softer, shiny even, and he could swear Isabela must have done something to cover up some of the gray streaks while she was at it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Whatever gunk she had smeared on his face earlier had brought a bit of life back to his skin and the dark circles under his eyes were less intense now.

It almost felt as if he'd been robbed of something, though he couldn't quite articulate what had been lost.

He almost couldn’t recognize himself in the mirror as he prodded gently at his face. Isabela smirked confidently behind him as her father scurried off to put the supplies away.

“Sometimes I amaze even myself.”

“You did a great job.” he muttered softly.

Isabela’s face softened as she seemed to notice how small he shrunk the more he looked at his reflection. She wrapped her arms around his scrawny neck.

“Happy birthday Tío Bruno.” She smiled meekly. Isabela was anything but meek. “Between you and me, this was my idea.” She admitted. “I just wanted you to feel good on your birthday. I thought it would help.”

Bruno could feel a knot form in his stomach as he heard guests start to funnel in. Isabela had been hoping to boost his confidence using her most familiar means. He turned to hug his oldest sobrina. She smelled of succulents and even after all these years she still felt small in his arms.

“Me hiciste falta.” she whispered softly.

“Me hiciste falta también, cariña.”

“Come on, the party’s starting.” Agustín ushered them out into the courtyard.

Already the Casita was filled with life and music. Antonio was impressing the neighbor kids with his many exotic pets as they darted outside to play in the yard. He could see Luisa and her mother resting with some cold lemonade and having a laugh. Camillo had filled the corner with kids his own age who all seemed enthralled with whatever tales he was spinning. He watched as his sobrino briefly shifted into an intimidating caricature of him only to change back the second they made eye contact. Pepa was dancing with her husband and Mirabel supervised the folks cued up to grab food from the table set up along the side of the courtyard.

Bruno had seen a great deal of Madrigal parties but this one felt different. Usually, the Madrigals would all be on their feet entertaining, but most of the family seemed to be taking it a bit easier this time around. The decorations were less intensely curated, more chaotic, and casual. The music was… He turned to see Dolores and her new novio on the piano. Ah, that explained it. She looked utterly enthralled with him though as she sat next to him drinking in his baritone voice and questionable lyrics.

Isabela recognized a young man in the crowd and flagged him down while Agustín went to help Mirabel in the kitchen leaving Bruno alone on the sidelines. He knocked anxiously along the wall behind him, took a deep breath, and crossed his fingers. Everything seemed to be going alright so far but he couldn't be too careful. As he released his breath he was grateful for the space he’d now been afforded. It was nice to just sit back and watch without being the center of anyone's attention. He hoped it would stay that way and he wouldn’t have to make idle chit-chat with his neighbors. More than anything he hoped he wouldn’t find some way to make a scene of himself.

He felt little paws skitter up his pant leg.

“There you are Carlos.” he scooped up the gray white-bellied rat and looked him over to be sure he wasn’t too shaken up. “Lo siento por Isabela. Va a dejarse convencer, tal vez…” He stroked the top of Carlos’s head with his finger and sighed. “Oh, a quién engaño?” He didn’t know what would possess him to lie like that. Carlos was a rat, people hate rats, there was no changing that.

“Bruno!” Boomed a cheery voice.

“Dios me dé fuerza.” he muttered under his breath as he tucked Carlos under his collar. Portly Osvaldo waddled up to give him a friendly slap on the back that nearly knocked him over.

“It’s good to see you. Looking good mi amigo you clean up nice.”

“Hola Osvaldo.” He forced out with an exasperated sigh. “How’s that diet working out for you?” Bruno asked dryly as observed a belt fastened two sizes too small. Not that he cared but he felt obligated to try and make conversation. He didn't mind a man's weight. He could care less if he was fat, but this man's insecurities had added to Bruno's bad reputation in the past. He had very little sympathy for him.

“Am I meeting my goal this year?” he asked excitedly.

“It wasn’t a vision, just a guess…” Not that Osvaldo was even listening.

“No never mind, don’t tell me. Yo no quiero mala suerte.” Osvaldo put his hands in his pockets and beamed proudly. “I’ve managed to commit to it all month.”

“Well good luck with that.” Bruno replied as he tried to scoot away. Only to have Osvald put a hand on his shoulder and keep chattering with total abandon.

“Did you do something with your hair? You look ten years younger.”

“Yeah, you can thank mi sobrina for that. Isabela she uh…” He trailed off as he noticed Mirabel had returned to her post and caught her eye from across the room with a pleading look.

Much to his relief she recognized his discomfort and hurried over to distract Osvaldo with some sweets.

“Hey Senor Ortiz. I know how much you love my mom’s desserts. She’s been trying out some new recipes. You’ve just got to try them,”

Mirabel winked back at Bruno as Osvald blabbed on about his diet, giving Bruno the green light to flee. Bruno hated relying on Mirabel like this but he wasn't ready to deal with these people just yet and he knew she wouldn't mind, being the social butterfly she was.

︵‿୨ -❇- ୧‿︵

Most of the night carried on in a similar fashion as various neighbors made awkward attempts to chat with him. Some stumbled out awkward half-hearted apologies for past mistreatment. Others would try to be friendly and supportive out of a sense of obligation and chew his ears with idle chatter. Petty small things that didn’t interest him. One woman nearly choked on her drink when she spotted one of his rats chewing at his hair tie. Still, others largely avoided him and cast him occasional unsure glances between whispers. Unsurprising. He wasn’t expecting the town to change overnight. He knew most of the people who tried to make a show of being friendly only did so to appease his mother. Not that he could blame them. In the end, he probably would have spent the night in his room if it weren’t for her.

There were a few times in the night he found himself suppressing the urge to try and ward off any possible hiccups in the night but knew that would draw attention to him. The best he could do was silently hope and pray, much as it killed him worrying over the consequences of denying his rituals. That uncontrollable gnawing urge to knock and throw salt. Fortunately, as the night wore on he did relax a bit. It seemed everyone else was a bit less wound up than usual and as he managed to survive more and more awkward encounters he slowly became more convinced that the night might actually go off without a hitch.

Eventually his mother announced cake and gifts from the top of the stairs and everyone started shuffling outside. He wasn’t thinking about gifts. He hadn’t had a birthday gift in a long time. Of course, he dreaded being the center of attention but at least he was sharing the spotlight with his hermanas so that did help a bit.

Mirable dragged him outside by his sleeve to catch up with the rest. He groaned inwardly when he saw the old birthday banners had been hung on the wall outside. Nested proudly above the table where the cake and gifts had been set up. Three chairs all in a row with those silly banners above each one.

Pepa was already seated and seemed as embarrassed by her crude childhood monstrosity as he was. Clouds of fog obscuring her face in shame. The whole thing was covered with crooked rainbows and smiley faces, and many of the stitches had long come undone leaving small holes in the embroidery.

Julieta seemed to be taking it with grace though. That was no surprise, at least her banner had been made with some competence. Little smiling dough balls and cooking tools danced along the baby blue banner around her name.

They were turning six and it had been their mother’s idea to make banners together to bond and teach them a new skill. She was so charmed by the stupid things that they used them every year for the next eight years. The smiling cartoon rat on Bruno’s banner stared back at him tauntingly. He’d been pretty fond of the illustrations in his children's books so tried to recreate his favorite character holding an hourglass. It was a testament to his handiwork how few people could actually recognize the character.

The cheery banners were pretty bittersweet. They certainly didn’t portray what it was really like growing up alone with Alma. Behind closed doors? Strict routines, high standards, harsh punishments. He still vividly remembered the sting of his mother’s chancla.

Bruno took his seat between his sisters and the town and family all gathered around as candles were lit to sing cumpleaños. He may have been anxious about the crowd but being surrounded by his familia like this, seeing all his sobrinos gathered around the table, he thought back to so many birthdays alone in the walls. Singing along, wishing his sisters well. He kept shifting his weight about, tapping his foot. He smiled wide and hung his head laughing as he tried hard not to let it show. He wasn't going to cry. He couldn't. Not in front of so many people.

“Time to blow out the candles.” His mother chimed as the few stragglers in the back finally stopped singing. Bruno looked side to side at his sisters who seemed to be wearing the same melancholy smiles as him. He could see that sad shine in their eyes that reassured him he wasn’t alone.

Mamá held up a hand and the crowd chanted all along.

“Tres, dos, uno.”

Bruno leaned in with his sisters to blow the candles out together and for the first time, it felt real to him. He was home.

SPLAT!

He felt a hand jerk his head forward into the cake as soon as the candles were out. Stunned for a brief moment he lifted his head slowly as his hermana's laughter filled his ears and he tried to blink the frosting from his eyes.

Now he was home.

He let out a chuckle and stuck his tongue out to lick the cake from his face. It tasted… different.

“Hey Julieta, did you do something different with the recipe?” He started to ask tentatively.

“I made that one.” Mirable who was leaning on the table next to her mother chirped.

“Oh, well I mean it’s still good,” he reassured, stuffing more cake into his mouth “It’s just different.” He muffled through a mouthful of cake.

“I made another one so there’d be enough to go around.” Julieta explained as she got up to take a much larger cake from Lusia and find a good spot for it at the table. Only to turn and see her brother shoveling another bite of mutilated birthday cake into his mouth with his fingers.

The rest of the night was full of laughter. His unease finally lifted. He properly enjoyed opening gifts with his hermanas. Secretly grateful the cake had helped him save face in front of the crowd. Each of the kids had gotten a gift for him this year.

Some homemade shampoo from Isabela who playfully threatened him if she didn’t see him using it. Luisa had made little wooden sculptures for the three of them, a new hobby she’d taken up. She wasn’t very good at it yet though the gesture was sweet. Dolores had wrapped one of Julieta's empanadas as an inside joke which made him beam though his sisters were clueless as to why. Camillo got him a pair of stilts as a gag gift and all he could do was stare sarcastically as his nephew nearly fell over laughing. Little Antonio made some crude climbing toys for his rats to play with.

His cuñados even brought something over much to his surprise. “Félix and I picked this out for you together.” Agustín explained as he passed Bruno a large flat box that hadn’t been wrapped.

“Oh you guys didn’t have to.”

“Trust me you need this.” Félix assured as he gestured to the box.

Opening the box revealed a simple three-piece suit, it was mauve and a bit plain yet still felt like a bit too much. It even came with a decent pair of loafers. Do doubt his cuñados caught the bewilderment on his face.

“Hey I wanted to get you something more casual but Agustín over here just had to make a big deal out of it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a good suit, you want to go more casual, you just wear the shirt and trousers. This is more versatile than what you wanted to get him.”

Bruno just stared down at the baffling gift.

“We had to guess a bit on the measurements but Julieta and I can make adjustments if you need.”

Finally roused from his daze he stumbled out. “Oh, uh, no this is… it’s… I’ll try this on later.” He smiled back.

“Nonsense.” His mother insisted. “You should go get changed, show everyone how handsome you look.”

Some folks in the crowd got a good laugh at that. A few tried to cheer him on. Cheering or jeering. He couldn’t always tell the difference.

“Oh no Ma, I mean I don’t wanna hold everyone up waiting on me.”

“Difícilmente es una imposición mijo.”

Mirabel came to his rescue yet again as she whispered something to her Abuela. Bruno could see the disappointment in Mamá's face but she quickly plastered on a smile. He felt a pit form in his stomach. He hated to disappoint her, hated that Mirabel had to come to his rescue like he was an anxious child.

“You know, you’re right. You can show it off tomorrow after we’ve had a chance to take it in a bit.” assured him.

A chubby hand pushed a brightly decorated gift onto the table in front of him as he tucked the suit away on the floor. The gift was soft with colorful scribbles all over the wrapping paper and a big bow on top. He looked up to see Mirable had saved her gift for last. Her eyes glittered from the twinkling lights.

“That just leaves mine, Tío Bruno.”

Bruno unwrapped it slowly, doing his best to preserve her lovely drawings. Neatly folded inside was a green ruana not unlike the poncho he’d worn for years. The pattern was similar but the fabric was new. Mirabel's signature scribbles danced along the hourglasses, they were small but the little pops of color gave the old pattern some new life. She was really trying her best to break him tonight wasn’t she?

He took off his old poncho exposing the rags he wore underneath and put it on. He didn’t care about the other guests. It was so warm and soft.

“How do you like it?” Mirable asked.

He pulled her in for a hug and held her close for a moment. “It's perfect mi vida.” he breathed.

“I thought you’d like it.” She held his hands in hers as they separated. Stretching out that moment of contact just a few heartbeats longer. Pouring so much love into her touch.

︵‿୨ -❇- ୧‿︵

After the gifts were all done the party slowly died down. In the late hours of the night as folks were starting to clean up Dolores came to tap him on the shoulder as he helped sweep crumbs and confetti from the patio. Mamá wanted to speak with him in her room. Unsure what this was about he shrugged and passed the broom off to her before heading upstairs to see what she wanted.

Her door was open and he could see her sitting on the foot of the bed as he peered inside. He tapped the frame of the door with his knuckles to get her attention. She looked up like she had been lost in thought. Without thinking he knocked on the doorframe compulsively. Worried about what her distant expression could mean. Worried about all the things that could go wrong when he spoke. Knocking kept the thoughts at bay. If only barely.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Sí, sí, come sit.” She patted the bed next to her, pulling her shawl tight over her chest.

Bruno closed the door behind him and sat down by his mother. He slumped forward with his hands clasped between his knees and waited to see what she had to say. Mamá wrapped an arm around him and stared at the floor but said nothing. She opened her mouth once or twice like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Eventually Bruno worked up the courage to break the silence.

“Soo, nice party. I managed to make it all day sin arruinar nada. That’s something, right?”

Mamá wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in close. The gesture was sudden and while small managed to knock the wind out of him. She rested his head on her shoulder and stroked his hair. Gripping him tight. Slowly he lifted his hands to hug her, patting her back gently. The silent candlelight of her dim room was deafening. A mix of tension and warmth and grief and comfort…

“Eh, Ma did you need something?” He asked softly. He froze and fought back the heat in his eyes as he was met with a sharp intake of breath.

“Just let me hold you, Brunito.” Her voice quivered. Bruno looked up to see the tears spilling over. Streaming down her cheeks and leaving dark tracks on her flushed skin.

Hurriedly he pulled himself up to her face. “Oh no, don’t cry, Mamá don’t cry. If you start crying then I’m gonna… Whatever it is I didn’t mean to…” He couldn't breathe. Please stop. He prayed she would stop. It hurt. He could feel the twisting pain in his chest. He tried to form words but grief ripped a hole in his throat. All his pained loving words bleeding out onto the floor. Never to be heard.

“P-perdóname.” She choked out. Bruno starred. Quietly awestruck by words he never thought he’d hear. Words that burned his ears. Drilled into his skull. “I never meant to push you away.” she sobbed.

He hugged her and held her tight. Her fingers boring into his back as she held on like she feared he’d evaporate in her arms. He could feel his eyes threatening to betray him as her body shuddered with near-silent sobs. He couldn't do this. He couldn't accept her apology. Not after he hurt her so. This was his fault. He was a bad son. All she ever did was love him. She worked so hard to give him a home, a life, to build a safe place for him and his hermanas. It was all he could do to fight back the tears. He had to be strong for her. At least this once he could hold her and be a good man.

“Está bien Mama.” He rubbed small circles on her back like she used to do when he was very small. “Está bien Mamá, I never left.”

He didn't know how long they stayed together like that. He held her as she sobbed and clung to her long lost hijo. So many thoughts spiraled through his mind. So many memories. Good and bad. Pain and joy. Love… Love that hurt so much to remember. Despite the pain he kept it inside. He refused to overwhelm her with his grief. For all her faults. For all the days they'd fought. He still loved her. He still missed her every day. Missed her touch. He missed the way she would hold him when he was a boy. He was a man now. He needed to be there for her. To take care of her like his father never could.

︵‿୨ -❇- ୧‿︵

Bruno only returned to his room in the early hours of the morning. Long after everyone else had gone to bed. Fatigue seeped into his bones as he hobbled up the steps to his bed. He moved like a ghost through the quiet desert. He stopped at the entrance to his cubby and leaned over to open Beatrice's nesting box. An old jewelry box which sat on a small table by his “comfy” chair. He'd emptied it out and filled it with scraps of tissue paper and old rags. A small blue doe gazed lovingly back up at him. Wide shining eyes as her pups nursed from her chubby belly.

“Sorry I didn’t get around to it sooner.” He muttered as he dropped a small piece of cheese into her box and watched as the grateful young mother nibbled greedily while her five pink little beans suckled.

He turned to his bed only to stop in his tracks.

The old floor mattress that had plagued his aching back for years was gone. In its place, a full-sized bed sat waiting. Simple dark wooden frame, green sheets with patterned trim. He stood by it a moment brushing the covers with his fingertips. He didn't know why his room changed when it did. Casita didn't seem to have answers to give him. He didn't think these changes were Castia's doing. This room was his and it seemed to have a life of its own. Right now though? He didn't care where the bed came from or why. He couldn't care less. He was too empty to care.

His legs gave out from under him and he flopped face-first onto the bed. His eyes burned as he soaked the fresh new sheets. Too tired to fight it. Too tired to move. Eventually, he fell asleep. The best sleep he’d had in a long time.

#encanto #encanto oc #bruno madrigal #tlaa #madrigal family #fanfic #smut #light angst

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scarrypossmscribs · 1 year

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Maybe a reverse comfort with James, where he had a nightmare that brought back bad memories? Or MC trying to escape from James after he had kidnapped them? Or even one where MC makes a new friend, and starts spending more time with them then James. Those are just some prompts off the top of my head.

A Feeble Attempt ~ BLD Mini Fic

James belongs to @hotpinkmoon! cw!Mild gore cw!Vomit (mentioned once but just to be safe, reader did not vomit just felt like they might) cw!Implied Stalking cw!Kidnapping cw!Death [srry this took a bit to write! i got carried away a bit]

Just when you had thought life was going well for you.

You had just started making more connections, other than the first meeting you had with James that fateful night. So why? Why did you ignore the signs? The furrowed brows whenever you mentioned one of the new people you had met. The heated glares at anyone who touched you, or anyone you touched, that you'd see sometimes when he thought you weren't looking. Sharp eyes practically screaming at them to get away, that you're his. Even while masked, his facial expression silently spelled out how much he wanted to tear their corpses to shreds. Foolish. And oh so naive. Whoever told you not to judge a book by its cover as a child could go suck an egg. James had left a few hours earlier to go to... well whatever his job was. Though it was hard to imagine it was anything legal, after what he had done to you the night before. Leaving you all alone with your self-deprecating thoughts. The thick chain bound to your ankle weighed down on you, not just physically, but mentally as well. A heavy feeling settled uninvited on your chest, squeezing your lungs as you felt a headache build up from the unending waves of stress threatening to drag you back into a dreamless sleep. Hah.. maybe that would be better actually. So you wouldn't have to deal with all this right now. The newly formed headache wasn't helping the dull pain from when James knocked you out earlier, either.

Eyes fluttering closed, your mind brings you back to a few weeks ago, when this all started.

Getting close to people, especially when you'd just moved to a new town, wasn't always the easiest thing. The first time you met James was a lucky... or unlucky accident. But finally, after at least a month, you'd broken down the walls of one of your co-workers. You remember telling James, eyes shining, how you'd exchanged numbers and had started chatting with each other outside of work. And how he responded with an eye roll, reminding you to be careful about who you put your trust in. Which you had ended up teasing him for, because didn't the both of you only meet a month ago? You had laughed at the irony of his words back then. A cheeky smile on your face as you watched him eye roll again, boasting about how he wasn't a loser like your co-worker. Why hadn't you noticed the malice in his tone back then? You had continued to meet up with your new friend, though you tried not to mention them around James as much, as his jealousy became more and more obvious. Why did you think that was normal? Until last night, when you'd gone to grab dinner with them. It was such a normal night. A simple meeting between two new friends. The sky was clear of clouds, the air fresh with the scent of summer. Sun setting across the horizon as the moon became more visible in the sky. Stars starting to peak out one by one, decorating the sky as one of nature's most wonderful pieces of art. Only the feeling of regret that the day was ending weighed on your mind. They had left for a moment to go get something from their car as you waited for them to come back so you could both order. Only for that moment to turn into 15 minutes, and then half an hour. Your heart had been filled with disappointment. The budding trust between you completely shattered. Did they really ditch you? Why? Confused frustration sunk into your brain, trying to reflect on all your interactions. Over analyzing every word and facial expression, the thought that maybe you had done something wrong forming a pit in your stomach.

Leaving the restaurant, you had checked your phone to give them a piece of your mind. Just... something to express the pain you were currently trying to push down. Only to be confused at the panicked, misspelled texts all over the screen. ...Maybe you shouldn't keep your phone on silent anymore. Trying to sift through the barrage of messages, you feel your blood run cold.

8:02 Het i think something/one is following me? Taking the long way from my car, ill b back a little late, dw and just order

8:05 Im def bejng followed, im sure of it, its some mask wearking dude holy fuck hoym

8:06 Shot sjit why did i goin and ally way oh ym god he has a knofe im running tm please pelase read this im begigng you its the one to the rght i think restirant i mean call somekne or soemtbing just plesae read this

8:06 Red hair green eye s please read tbis typjng is hard im so scared hesn fuckng llaughing trung 911 its hrd pleas e help

All the other messages had too many spelling mistakes to piece together, but you got the meaning. Red hair? Green eyes? Masked? Trying to block out the similarities you squeezed through the cluttered alleyway. Trying not to trip over discarded boxes or abandoned litter as you had frantically searched for any sign of them. You remember how just moments before they were showing off the area, smiling as they told you how they knew all the secret shortcuts around town. Now it seemed like this was a shortcut to their death. You shook your head, trying to clear the unwanted thoughts. Don't think like that. They didn't die. They probably dropped their phone. They're going to be okay. Your self-comfort came to an abrupt stop as the sight of a bloodied body came into view. There was blood... so much blood that you had thought your sight would've been stained red forever. The dark red fluid clearly looking coagulated. It was obvious that they had died a bit ago. Frozen, you felt your guts twist at the sight of theirs. The urge to throw up rising in your throat. You quickly moved your eyes away. Trying not to gag as you took out your phone to call the cops, only to notice their left hand. They still had their phone in their hand, and from where you were, you could see how the screen was cracked, and how their hand was broken and odd angles. You shivered, horrified by how the killer went out of their way to make their death so much more painful. This didn't just look like a murder, but torture. With a sudden BANG, your head had been slammed against the wall behind you, skewed sight taking in the red-haired attacker above you. "Tsk, I shouldn't have played around with them." James muttered under his breath, looking down at corpse before stomping on their hand once again. He looked calmer after doing so, smiling as he looked back at you with soft eyes. "Shh babe, don't cry." He murmured adoringly, cupping your face and wiping the tears you didn't know were there, before picking up your slumped body with ease. Head stinging and teary eyes drooping closed, the last thing you saw was the moon's curved smile looking down on you mockingly, the twinkling stars seeming to laugh at your stupidity as the breeze sighed in disappointment. Why were you sleeping? Why weren't you trying to escape?!

Your brain forced you to jolt awake, back to reality, back to being confined in someone's 'house'. Frustrated tears stung your eyes again as a helpless feeling sunk into your bones. A suffocating pain that you couldn't get rid of. Why couldn't you just have had a dreamless sleep like you wanted? Still though, gulping back your feelings, you shakily remembered those last words that had rung through your mind. With all the time in the world to start planning, you looked around the room. Scouring for any way to escape, or anything you could use to get out. The small room had no windows. Not even a door. It was both frustrating and favorable for you. You couldn't see what time it was outside, but at the same time, James wouldn't be able to see what you were doing inside. And the exit was right there. Though it wasn't like you'd be able to get past it. Not with the chain around your leg. Though you were glad he hadn't used to shorter collar one on you that you got a glimpse of before. Contemplating, you stared at your ankle in silence. Trying to brainstorm any way to get it off. Breaking the chain would take too long, and you were positive that James would be able to quickly find out what you were trying to do. Playing nice wasn't an option either. No way were you going to go along with whatever he had in store for you. Not after everything you had seen him do.

Then you had no other options left. You had already tried looking around for anything useful, but of course, James wouldn't leave anything like that within reach. Closing your eyes, and trying to imitate what you had seen in a horror movie you had once watched with him, with a few tries and a loud pop, your ankle was dislocated.

Waves of pain shot up your nerves, and you grit your teeth, trying to swallow back a scream of pain. At least you were able to slip out of the damn thing. You quickly learned leaning or putting any weight on that leg was almost unbearable, using the objects around you to get up and make your way over to the curtain door. Finally- Hope bubbling in your chest, the taste of freedom was only one bite away. Your home, your bed, your job. The thought of being in your room again fueling your determination to push on past the pain your body felt. Only for that hope and determination to be crushed the moment you moved the curtain. Vibrant eyes met yours, toxic green seeping a chilling cold that forced goosebumps to crawl up your skin. Dread seeped into every pore on your body as his tall frame cast a heavy shadow on yours. "And where do you think you're going, sweetheart? You should have known that this wasn't going to be as easy as you'd hoped.

#i hope you enjoyed your reverse comfort! i know i enjoyed writing this #possum scribs #cw yandere #cw stalking #cw kidnapping #cw death #cw mild gore #cw vomit #yandere x you #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #BloodLustDevotion #BloodLust Devotion

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inflame · 6 months

Text

character flaws (in two parts).

BOLD what always applies; ITALICIZE what sometimes applies; STRIKE OUT what never applies.

PRE-CANON/CANON:

absent-minded / abusive / addict (not 'sometimes' but rather more 'it's complex') / adrenaline junkie / aggressive / aimless / alcoholic / anxious / arrogant / audacious / bad liar (not the worst, but relies heavily on just avoiding explaining things) / bigmouth / bigot (not to be like 'this extremely sheltered cis white girl from the 80s is perfect, actually' but i genuinely cannot imagine her being cruel or flippant in That Particular Kind Of Way) / blindly loyal / blunt / callous / childish / chronic heroism / cheater / clingy / clumsy / cocky / codependent / competitive / corrupt (if you asked her) / cowardly / cruel / cynical / delinquent / delusional / dependent / depressed / deranged / disloyal / ditzy / egotistical / envious / erratic / fickle / finicky / fixated / flaky / frail / fraudulent / foul-mouthed / guilt complex / gloomy / gluttonous / gossiper / gruff / grudge-holding / gullible / hedonistic / humorless / hypochondriac / hypocritical / idealist / idiotic / ignorant / immature (i would just say i think she acts her age, which is still a child --- i don't think she's 'immature' at all in the way that word is typically used) / impatient / incompetent / indecisive / insecure / insensitive / lazy / lewd / liar / lustful (again. If You Asked Her. i think she is very normal) / manipulative / masochistic / meddlesome / melodramatic / money-loving / moody / naive / nervous / nosy / ornery / overprotective / overly sensitive / paranoid / passive-aggressive / perfectionist / pessimist / petty / power-hungry / proud / possessive / pushover / reckless / reclusive / remorseless / rigorous / sadistic / sarcastic / senile / selfish / self-destructive / shallow / sociopathic / sore loser / spineless / spiteful / spoiled / stubborn / suspicious / tactless (she definitely Gets Social Cues but she also definitely doesn't care about them, oftentimes) / temperamental / timid / thief / traitorous / ungracious / unlucky / untrustworthy (not in ways that tend to matter, i think) / vain / vengeful / withdrawn / workaholic

POST-CANON: (i.e. carrie page, other Adult Arcs)

absent-minded / abusive / addict / adrenaline junkie / aggressive / aimless / alcoholic / anxious / arrogant / audacious / bad liar / bigmouth / bigot / blindly loyal / blunt / callous / childish / chronic heroism / cheater / clingy / clumsy / cocky / codependent / competitive / corrupt / cowardly / cruel / cynical / delinquent / delusional (but medicated, now, at least) / dependent / depressed / deranged / disloyal / ditzy / egotistical / envious / erratic / fickle / finicky / fixated / flaky / frail / fraudulent / foul-mouthed / guilt complex / gloomy / gluttonous / gossiper / gruff / grudge-holding / gullible / hedonistic / humorless / hypochondriac / hypocritical / idealist / idiotic / ignorant / immature / impatient / incompetent / indecisive / insecure / insensitive / lazy / lewd / liar / lustful / manipulative / masochistic / meddlesome / melodramatic / money-loving / moody / naive / nervous / nosy / ornery / overprotective / overly sensitive / paranoid / passive-aggressive / perfectionist / pessimist / petty / power-hungry / proud / possessive / pushover / reckless / reclusive / remorseless / rigorous / sadistic / sarcastic / senile / selfish / self-destructive / shallow / sociopathic / sore loser / spineless / spiteful / spoiled / stubborn / suspicious / tactless / temperamental / timid / thief / traitorous / ungracious / unlucky / untrustworthy / vain / vengeful / withdrawn / workaholic

tagged by: stolen from @gildedlife 💜

tagging: @excruciate, @pluresque for [somebody i'm prone to crying about], @grayboxed, @ladyintree (i just feel like you would love to do this like Before Wilderness, After Wilderness), @pro26ctor, @hebzucht, anybody else who wants to be incredibly sobered, probably

#study.

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bravevolunteer · 1 year

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if elizabeth had been born before evan, would she have gotten the same treatment as evan? would you have thrown her in golden freddy's mouth too?

i know you were probably looking for an ic answer here but... to elaborate on that other than the no and nothing else that michael would give that's actually not what determined how michael felt about and treated evan— honestly, i tend to ALREADY see elizabeth as the middle child ( although that doesn't exactly matter either way when it comes to this or anything i've set for my portrayal )

what happened comes down to a combination of reasons that michael wasn't necessarily fully aware of but it IS what drove him to it: i don't subscribe to the idea that things were perfectly fine before evan's death, it doesn't track with michael's acting out and the fact that he wasn't stopped— i certainly think it got much WORSE afterwards and i don't like to treat william as a villainous caricature either ( michael has good memories of him! ) but no matter the circumstances ( as i am flexible depending on others' portrayals ), michael felt unloved and ignored.

no matter whether you think william favored elizabeth or evan more, michael was favored the least, and he KNEW this. because i tend to see evan as the youngest and because he's the favored SON, michael felt as if evan was the final nail in the coffin that made william stop caring about him. he experienced jealousy with elizabeth, yes, but he was younger and more naive and things still felt okay ( think of it as much more similar to the normal kind of jealousy an older sibling feels when another child is born, for once ). by the time evan started getting a little older, michael grew desperate to make his dad proud of HIM. he wanted william to look at him and approve of how tough and strong and scary he was. he was trying to grasp what little control he felt like he could get, and unfortunately, harassing evan became an outlet for it.

it also has to do with his siblings' individual personalities— evan was the easy crier. he was the one terrified of the animatronics, he was the one that michael could easily scare and feel powerful around with the hope that his dad would see him and realize he has something worth noticing, something he felt like william had. it also really got under his skin that evan wouldn't just pick himself up or get over it and he presumably WASN'T pressured to, he felt okay to cry whereas michael had forced it out of himself under the desperation to be stronger. of course, at the time michael didn't realize this, his thought process simplifying it into thinking evan just had to grow up and get over it like he did ( he did not ).

all of this to say NONE of these reasons excuse michael's harassment of evan, and despite how he's atoned, he isn't owed forgiveness for any of it. but it does provide explanation for why he treated evan this way and not elizabeth.

.... but if you ask young michael about it he's just gonna say evan's a loser crybaby-

#dumps this word vomit onto the dash sorry i doubt its what you were looking for i just. Explanation DFHGFD #i COULD get into his dynamic with elizabeth but this is long enough already💀#again i am always flexible w/ people's portrayals but this *is* the basis of how i interpret this whole situation for michael!#anonymous #⁂ ･ﾟ: i feel more free than i have in years‚ six feet in the ground ➛ answered #⁂ ･ﾟ: none of us belong‚ everything i do is wrong‚ and soon there will be nobody left around ➛ headcanons

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plumsaffron · 8 days

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Roasting the miracusalters pt. 5!

Fan Works outdated by canon? Y’all are a shitty example of that! At least other fanworks outdated by canon are civil and give their followers a head up! “Um my stuff doesn’t follow the current canon bc I already wrote my stuff so bear with me plz.”

You lot are the prime example of refusing to see reason even when there’s evidence by the canon wikis and trustworthy folk who actually keep things fair.

Hold up, if y’all hold the standard of how characters should behave, I hope y’all aren’t treating your RL friends and loved ones like that! I mean wanting to ruin someone’s future over a minor error is extreme!

Could y’all please stop screeching? Cuz I could practically hear you twats from the other side of the country or world.

🙄 Are you deadass stupid? Why are y’all still creating salt fics? Lila already got kicked out of Marinette’s school! She ain’t coming back! She’s already banned there!

Are you guys mentally ok even after writing death fics of civilians? I question your sanity at this point bc I recall Lila getting beat up or even killed by prisoners in a grisly manner. In that same fic I remember had a pregnant teacher you despised got murdered by her husband for supposedly cheating on him and then he offed himself outta remorse bc the unborn child got killed. That’s extreme and going too far. What? Did some of y’all believe that the husband taking the child away from his/her “naive stupid” mother after divorcing her for her “crimes” weren’t enough? Look, that teacher may not be the best but she isn’t intentionally evil!

Everytime one of your kind gets off the internet aka removing such content or even deleting your socials for such horrendous content/actions, an Angel gets their wings and the rational people sigh in relief.

Maybe Pink Guy’s STFU song should only be blasted close range for the adults who act out that delusionally at public cons/gatherings.

mhm. Denial game strong for a lot of them

If only those in denial and those that lost their minds (on purpose) could

youtube

Crazy how despite how them not letting go and getting what they wanted against Lila, it just wasn’t enough. They just don’t want it to be. They’ll never be satisfied. And this for sure includes if Lila does go in their favor completely of what they desire. They’ll find or make up new strange ways or lore to justify destruction to Lila (even disturbing fics where she’s... by Adrien Cat Noir or Ladybug and its romanticized. It’s a big sigh to even drag Marinette and Adrien down, just cause Lila’s actions towards one of the two triggered the prompter or fic writer). There’s no limit to those wanting to be unrelentingly perturbed and legions of flunkies following defecation causing devastation.

Heck she was turned into a clam and mocked by Ladybug and got Clamutilated by Sarah and Ladybug before getting revived. Yep, another humiliation losers selected to usual ignore after getting what they wanted of kill Lila because things didn’t go how they wanted against her.

Also, that’s just ugh, they really decided to drag pregnant teacher (I guess this would be Caline Bustier) to be merked too. Yikes. Well seems they mastered how to be worse than whoever they hate and drag anyone else down for some metheaded reason. Sigh

Seems they are mostly a lost cause, set in their ways. As long as Lila to them, recovers, then she must be put down by any means until she can’t wake up. All of her must be shown. Not knowing yields a disturbance to many of them because they want to be disturbed. She must be explored for their purposes of reducing or finding something wrong with her to be fulfilled. She must be viewed as nothing, can’t do anything, or become someone that crawls back for their forgiveness delusion. Ironic part is they be against that thirst if Adrien Kagami Chloe (and Juleka if they bother remembering). And they will find new ways to put other characters down just because Lila.

Some self sabotaging, wanting to sabotage and humbling kink I guess they got or appeasement to protagonist side because yes.

Waste time to want to Put down or destroy to reconfigure her YES! Ignore and have better things to focus on is a NOOOOOOOOOH!

Their unstable reactions do make me question how they can even function in real life. I guess they are quite selective. Sometimes Miraculous Ladybug Season 5 makes me wonder if it’s a parody of how unstable many of these legions of salter watchers or salt fic writers who still refuse to be better and think better are or do.

They’re like I hate this I know is evil cruel unfair etc. I hate what’s going on. Then they switch to I want worse now upon this one because I can’t handle them as I wanted to handle them. This one didn’t stay down or gone as I wanted them to. I don’t want to think or care about what I’m prompting.

I wanted worse because I am an insecure disturbed weirdo emulation, and I didn’t wish to understand how I am asking for the very things I wished didn’t occur to be even worse now, while dragging many down that could have been left alone or left alone from being dragged down further. I choose instability over ignorability, despite I seen literal examples of why I shouldn’t go for instability path, countless times.

Certain peeps are unfortunately glitchy and predictable that it’s saddening. Unfortunate to the point, I am able to commit satirical derision about them.

Other dweebs be like: This character, I/we will assign as socio or psycho or obsessive or evil or no motive or no purpose or no motive.

*Also them dweebs towards such characters be rivaling, being, or succeeding who they decided to label such character as and got a legion of lames that pretend the mirror, showcasing their fugly meth mob mindset, doesn’t exist.*

#demi4ngel #Roasting the miracusalters as much as I can #Lila Rossi #They could be mentally okay but it’s too much work for them #Miraculous Ladybug Plaguedom #Anti ML Fandom #Anti Miraculous Ladybug Fandom #Miracusalters Should Stand Above A Geyser #Strange Kinds Of Self Sabotage and Sabotaging #ML Death fic writers be wildin #plumsaffron

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frannyj · 1 year

Text

A Mixture of Confusion & Precarity

My hands were locked in a grip around the steering wheel of my car as the AC softly blew against my frayed hair. I did not know what to think or why I did not get out of the vehicle. It was hard to differentiate whether the anticipation I felt was because of my appointment, or the preparation for stepping out into the sweltering heat. For a moment, I could imagine myself frozen in the winter, cooly but peacefully crystalized like the leaves, even if I was sat against my warm, cushiony seat. The heat itself wasn't what I was wary of, but the chain of events that would start once I left the comfort of the cold. I predicted that each step I took away from the car was like putting my hand over a fireplace when I was a child; naively splayed, seeking warmth but eventually getting burnt as comfort came with pain. Still, I got out of the car and made my way, finding my fixation on temperature out of character and, frankly, a little embarrassing.

This anxious reflection would make someone think that I was frightened about a damning doctor's appointment, however, I was just going to a psychic reading. In my mind, I knew that psychic readings held more merit than a simple card selection or trace of the lines in my palm, but I did not know what exactly it was. I felt very anxious, even before stepping through the door. Subsequently, I realized my confusion was linked to my family. Growing up, my father was very fearful and forewarning about anything related to witchcraft. A mere glimpse of me playing cards (e.g. go fish) would invoke a scolding on magic and the devil. Though I rigorously opposed his beliefs from my mind, maybe out of spite, the lingering fear of what if always remained. Still, the danger of witchcraft was essentially shoved down my throat for years; pacifying my existing dread as it was replaced with annoyance. My father attributed this perspective to the opposition of God and his will. In a mixture of resentment and interest in academia, denouncing his beliefs and the whole practice itself was much easier for me. In my opinion, God and magic seemed unlikely as science could explain the world's phenomenons, and behaviours were based purely on cynicism. So, ultimately, I was uncaring and cold towards those who directly expressed different views to me.

Suddenly, I saw myself encircled by modernity — upholding reason, logic, and science as the absolute truth in society. I was unsure if I displayed Max Weber's inattention to religion and mysticism, or agreed with Charles Taylor's deduction that religion was eradicated, and magic forgotten through scientific advancements (Josephson-Storm, 2017, p.4). Or, on another latter, was I opposing my upbringing similar to an old definition of modernity? I felt as if I attempted to "[designate] a break over a passage of time, [creating a] combat [with victors and losers]" to detach myself from my family (Latour, 1993, p. 10). Arrogantly, I felt more intelligent and in tune with the world than my father, essentially winning a fight that should not have been created. My ignorance overwhelmed me, making me feel more embarrassed than I did over the inconsequential thoughts of the cold in the car. Though I did not know much about mysticism, I knew that modernity could not take over my entire mentality and refused to stay ignorant.

Within my ten minutes of uneasy contemplating, I had finally made it to the door. I tried to clear my mind before stepping in, taking deep breaths and listening to the cars zoom by next to me. There, I wished to gain a different mindset or at least some information to dispel my confusion through the session. I was aware that the psychic was as human as I was, so nothing could be solved right then and there, but I still desired to change my perspective and will.

In connection, I later learnt that tarot cards — deemed by ceremonial magicians of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn — are potent instruments to develop a "magical will" and spirituality (Gregory, 2012, p. 278). This let me feel better about my intentions when going to the reading. Additionally, Karen Gregory notes that tarot cards are "essentially limitless and open to continual personal and intuitive speculation," allowing me to keep an open mind throughout the session (Gregory, 2012, p. 278).

The psychic was a very kind woman, greeting me energetically and bringing me to the room. Walking in, I first noticed that she had the same chairs as me. It seems very mundane to register, however, I became fixated on it, relaying my discovery to the psychic. She smiled and noted the nice coincidence, but I could not stop thinking about it. The red chair offered some familiarity, a glimpse into my own reality while still existing in hers. To be clear, it reminded me of Gregory Bateson's findings — stating that what we perceive and believe constructs the world around us (Greenwood, 2009, p. 146). In turn, this leads to the assumption that every individual lives in the same reality and truth, making us ignorantly unaware of different possibilities in life (Greenwood, 2009). The chair left a tremendous impression, but perhaps because I had come to the realization about my exact behaviour minutes prior.

It presented as a bridge between two worlds: the scientific (my mind) and the magical (the psychic). This reminded me of Susan Greenwood's use of Gregory Bateson's ideas of ideation — imagining ideas through mental maps and categories — and abduction — recognizing patterns to organize information through analogies (Greenwood, 2009, p. 151). The chair acted as the "connective pattern for understanding the world," showing me that multiple strands of knowledge and familiarity are real, "expressing and explaining realities through metaphor" (Greenwood, 2009, p. 152). To put it simply, the chair allowed me to a mental categorization — ideation — and the relation of our objects let me see how both the magical and rational world can connect — abduction.

After a bit of small talk, the actual reading began. To start, she instructed me to shuffle the deck of cards with the purpose of thinking about what I wanted to hear or come forward. This struck me as odd. I did not think I would have a hand in actual participation; instead, I was prepared to sit and listen to anything she uttered. When I inquired what the purpose of this was, she noted the disclosure of information and personal energies. She then explained that many clients did not want her to mention certain things or for them to come forward, and that could be the same for me. I quickly told her that any topic could be mentioned.

It did not make sense that particular things could be omitted, especially since evidence — or at least a belief — in this practice could be found there. However, was this a modernist thought? I was unsure that this proved that "the social order never [corresponded] with the natural order" because of people's unwillingness to be completely vulnerable to tarot cards (Latour, 1993, p. 42). Instead, I felt as if I was trying to purify evidence away from the spiritual experience rather than encountering them together; essentially "rendering mixtures unthinkable" to mediate any future effects (Latour, 1993, p. 42).

However, this can also be interpreted that I wished for all thoughts to be accessible, in order to gain the full supernatural experience rather than evidence. I was attempting to meld two categories together, which funnily reminded me of Latour's comment: "The less the moderns think they are blended, the more they blend" (Latour, 1993, p. 43). I was not entirely as modern as I thought, agreeing with Latour that these (and my) narratives cannot be divided.

I recognized the "potential capability for magical consciousness" and agreed that the "human experience must be incorporated into the wider picture" of society (Greenwood, 2009, p. 157). Essentially, the Not Only but Also model — that Greenwood presented — was at the forefront of my mind for the success of this reading. I needed to remind myself that multiple webs of knowledge interconnected and existed within this room, even if disparate, to gain a fuller perspective (Greenwood, 2009, p. 146).

The reading itself heavily spoke about my prosperity — in terms of money and connections in my life. Surprisingly, she noted the trip to the States I was about to embark on, which made my jaw drop. I could rationalize that multiple people would be travelling since it was the summer, however, this was a prominent stressor in my life, so the predicted success of it left me optimistic.

She noted that I had a very healing energy, stating that pursuing a job that highlighted this quality would make me very successful. Repeatedly, she told me how she saw success and fortune in my life, which conjured a mixture of feelings. My nails curved deeper and deeper into the flesh of my hands each time money was mentioned.

Here, I was fully expecting a center on my feelings or perhaps even love, but money kept taking the forefront. It was laughable, really, the way it connected a rational, capitalistic world through a mystical tool. To be frank, it was frustrating. The reading was not modern as it noted the aid of my "healing energy" with success in society — dispelling any separation I found comfort in. It left an overwhelming and strenuous view of my future, leading with the same question Latour notes: "[How can I] aspire enlightenment without modernity? (Latour, 1993, p. 12). After leaving the reading, I wanted a separation of my spirituality from rationality as I became irritated and devastated. I hated that my suspected future centred on money (something I have sparsely now) and wished to escape this stressor.

Where was I to turn to? It reminded me of the constant manifesting practices on social media. Did I have to pursue that? The mere thought made me wary as it seemed like a capitalistic tool; falsely promoting that it was "more than money — it is about spiritual fulfillment too" (Kieffer, 2020, p. 81). In a basic form, the Not Only but Also framework can be identified in Kieffer's comment — by interconnecting different frameworks — but I still felt uneasy (Greenwood, 2009, p. 157). My "healing energy" felt associated with a new form of capitalism, as how the psychic spoke was as if my merit was solely that, and I needed to utilize it (Kieffer, 2020, p. 85).

Though it seemed like this on the surface, Kieffer notes that practices of manifestation and spirituality can offer a different application. Through the "[emphasis on my] own agency in employing spiritually enriching practices," a new path can be taken with higher enrichment (Kieffer, 2020, p. 86). However, what was holding me back? Specifically, what made me urgent to set separations in things like spirituality and modernism?

This pointed to an overwhelming sense of uncertainty around me. The psychic noted this as well, not with my life as a whole, but with my job (which I loathed). Karen Gregory reports this perpetual state of precarity, remarking how fear can latch to enchantment amidst the daunting state of our realities (Gregory, 2012, p. 276). Her findings directly linked to my mentality and downward spiral, especially after the reading. Regardless, maybe I needed to change my perspective again. Gregory notes the use of tarot, stating, "in tarot [a] decline is also [suggests] that other elements are at work and that transformation and rebirth will follow (Gregory, 2012, p. 265). With this, it is clear that I need to — like Kieffer recommends — find the agency to transform myself and my life. By utilizing my precarity instead, I can "come to feel [new possible] connections and [develop] despite the realities that continue to present themselves" (Gregory, 2012, p. 276).

All things considered, my psychic reading conjured many unexplored feelings and reflections about myself. Though I do not know what I truly believe now, I wish to put in the effort to change with the aid of the many researchers I mentioned above.

#tarot reading #school project #school assignment

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tastyykpop · 4 years

Note

Can you make a smut + angst jealousy fic for Ten or Jeno please~ thankiee

I hope this was okay. I made it a best friend au if u don't mind🙈

ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴅɪsᴀsᴛᴇʀs

Pairings: bestfriend!ten x reader

Genre: smut, angst

Warnings: jealousy, slight d/s themes, slight choking, marking, possessiveness, unprotected sex, creampie, rough ish sex

"What are you doing here?" Ten asks walking into the living room where you sat watching tv. "Thought you had a date with that guy?"

"I did, but he called it off again." You mumbled.

"Again? Isn't this like the hundreth time? What a joke." He plops down on the couch next to you.

You side eye him, ready to question the attitude but chose to close your mouth instead.

Shrugging with a sigh, you bite your lip, "Its nothing. Hes probably busy." You knew that wasn't the case. The two of you were all over the place, it was either you guys flirted and went on dates like couples or he ditched you to do something with his friends and side chicks.

You were basically his fling that somehow dragged on for months. And ten couldnt stand it. Seeing you get beaten down and crushed like an egg made his heart sink. But to be honest, it wasn't like he minded the extra attention. Once you and that guy started talking, you were dragged out of his life and hardly talked to him unless it were times like this or when you bragged about the dude, and if he was lucky, a sleepover that came once in a blue moon. Ten probably shouldn't have felt this way, but he couldn't help his jealousy. He wanted what the guy had. He wanted you.

"Give the bastard up already." Ten says, "All he does is break your heart like its his favorite hobby. Then he has the fucking audacity to get back with you like nothing happened. Open your eyes, y/n, he's not good for you."

You grimaced, looking up at his uncharacteristically fuming face, "You don't know him like I do. He's good to me."

"Oh cut the shit. Stop being so naive."

Glowering at the man, you shake your head, "Im not naive and its not my fault you don't like him."

Ten sighed, "Jeez you can be a bitch sometimes."

"Excuse me!?" Your brows furrow, "Ten, stop acting like a dick. Why can't you support me and my decisions? You always find something to complain about with your overprotective ass."

"He treats you like shit, thats literally all he does and I have to sit here and deal with it." Ten growls.

"Then leave i don't fucking care."

Ten snorts, "Youre kidding. You're gonna push me out of your life just because I'm calling someone out. Well I got a newsflash for you babe, thats not how life works."

"As if youre any better." You mumble, thinking ten couldnt hear you. But you were very wrong.

"I dont have to do a thing to be better than that motherfucker." Ten glares before leaning closer to your face, "I could treat you better than he ever did. Like a fucking goddess, but no, you chose him."

"Youre so fucking annoying, ten." Your eyes met your best friends. This was probably the biggest mistake you've made. So many years you never bothered to say anything about your small crush on ten, afraid it may ruin the friendship between you two. But knowing its mutual, you could practically hear your heart crack. Those wasted months could've been months spent with ten, but they weren't.

Ten stared back into your hurt eyes with no expression except frustration, "Good i can keep going. I could write a whole essay on this loser."

"Ten, shut the fuck up! I'm tired of your fucking voice!"

Immediately ten stops talking. Though hes still frowning like an angered child who didn't get their way.

"God, you can be so frustrating at times." You say.

"Frustrating?? Whats frustrating is you being him and not with me." Ten says, breaking his short silence as his face was still inches away from yours.

Your back is just about touching the arm of the couch, tens breath fanning your face softly making your face heat up ever so slightly.

"Seeing him kiss you, hold you-makes my blood boil more than you think." Finally your body was pinned to the couch, ten just barely hovering over your lips, "Im going to make sure he knows who you belong to after tonight."

You yelped as you best friend clashed his lips into yours, much rougher and desperate than you thought he'd be. His hand snaked up your thigh, grabbing and kneading at the skin before he moved it to your hip, loving the small sighs against his lips.

"Youre so desperate," ten mumbles. He swipes his tongue just over your lips as you find yourself chasing his lips, staring at the string of saliva attached. "I finally get to have my desperate little baby." Your pants were off in a matter of seconds along with your panties. Tens fingers already taking in your soaked cunt as he lifted his two fingers up in front of your face, smirking down at you. "Already dripping too. Can't believe you thought about going out with him when you have me."

"Never knew you could be so jealous." You tore your gaze off his arousal coated fingers. "But I'd wish your shut up about it."

Ten sucks his fingers clean before leaning down to bite your neck, earning a gasp as you tilt your head to the side for him. "Dont push it."

"Can't help it." Sighing at the feeling of his teeth sinking in and the small hickeys he's giving you, you reach up to tangle your fingers through his hair, "Youre mad and jealous just because of some guy."

"Not just some guy, babe. A fucking douche." He lapped over the bruises he created on your neck. The purple and blue color was a work of his own art and he wasn't afraid to show it off to anyone and everyone.

"He was nice."

He arched a brow, "Dont lie."

Soon enough, both of your clothings were discarded. Nothing could turn back whatever was going to happen now, and surely not ten who had his hand wrapped firmly around your neck, squeezing the sides tightly but still enough for you to breathe. And as crazy as it may seem, he loved seeing you gasp and wrap your small hands around his wrists.

You moaned at the sudden fullness at your core, the stretch making your back arched a bit off the couch as you pushed your hips into his. A hand carefully placing itself on your hips, but not bothering to push it down or keep it in place.

Ten wasn't going to waste time, he was already thrusting into you at a reasonable set pace where you both moaned, you being louder than he thought.

"You like it?" Ten chuckles to himself, "Of course you do because I know how to fuck you good." He sent a particularly hard thrust just to hear you scream in pleasure. Your nails clawing at his back causing ten to hiss, throwing his head back.

"Youre the worst." You call out, digging your nails further into his back, sure there will be cuts the next day.

He choked you harder, eyes rolling back from the adrenaline rush, "But you love this cock so much, love how I call you mine and not his. Fuck, I should just fill you up over and over again with my cum." You moan at his words, ignoring that stupid grin on his face, "Want me to fill your pretty pussy up, kitten?" Nodding frantically, you gripped his wrist with both of your hands, feeling your orgasm coming closer with each thrust.

"Feels s-so good." The couch screeched against the wood floor as ten pounded into you with no mercy. Each vein of his cock made your walls tighten around him as you got near. " 'm gonna cum."

As if he couldn't move faster, ten surprised you when your body banged against the armrest, desperate for you to cum around him. "Cum, baby. I wanna feel your cum."

You didn't need to be told twice. Everything came rushing out of you an instant, body shaking as ten continued with stuttering thrusts before he finally released inside you, mixing your cum together as he slowly fucked it back inside you, finally pulling out.

"Stay away from him for God's sake." he placed a chaste kiss to your lips. "Or dont, I wouldn't mind him seeing the mess I made."

#the ending is unedited #im in the middle of liking this and not liking it 😀💔#nct #nct smut #nct angst #nct 127 smut #nct 127 #nct u #nct 2020 #nct dream #nct dream smut #wayv #wayv smut #wayv angst #ten smut #ten lee #wayv ten #nct ten smut #nct ten

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citadelspires · 4 years

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A Small Boscha Story

Boscha had thought the human was funny at first. Not in a genuine way of course. No, it was more like the way one might laugh at a small, stupid bird flying into a window, too dumb to realize what it had even done. It was as if the universe could tell she was starting to get a little bored of taunting Half-A-Witch and decided to treat her to someone even lamer. Someone who was dumber than Willow and didn't even realize how stupid she really was. The human would go around declaring ridiculous things and saying she'd do impossible things and Boscha would laugh every step of the way.

All the way up until she started to do them. What had first felt like a fun little distraction was now turning her life over brick by brick and it was driving her insane. None of this made any sense. There were laws to this world, that's what her mother had always told her. Unbreakable truths of existence. Like the truth that Boscha was perfect, Had To Be Perfect, solely because she was her daughter. The truth that all the other students at Hexside were inferior and they would all recognize it, or else she would make them. That was the natural order of things, that's how it was supposed to be. This wasn't supposed to be some weird underdog story where the losers get a happy ending, or some ridiculous children's facade where everyone wins at the end of the day.This was supposed to be the real world, and that human was going to ruin everything.

Boscha had no idea how the human got admitted to hexside in the first place, but she knew her parents hadn't gotten a say in it. No that had been obvious from the stern lecture she'd gotten as soon as they'd found out. 'We don't know why but it appears a human child has been admitted into Hexside. Now we believe in you that you know better than to associate with such creatures but for the sake of the family name we must insist on reminding you that you need to make sure this human knows she's not special or equal to you just because she snuck into your school like a common roach.' All of that for an entire mealtime had been drull, but then again, dinner with her mother always was. It wasn't as if it was anything Boscha didn't already know. Be perfect, be feared, be better than everyone else. The rules by which she'd always been told to live her life. Though she could have gone for less of the 'We heard the Blight child already bested her in a duel, now that's taking initiative, you really aught to be more like her.' As if she needed to be told that any more than she already was.

When Boscha noticed the human hanging around Half-A-Witch she thought this was finally the moment all of the nonsense stopped and the girl would be pushed back into her place on the social hierarchy. Nice, simple, easy. Back to a world Boscha was used to. Imagine her surprise when the opposite happened. Instead of getting dragged down to the depths of the hierarchy the human seemed to drag the hierarchy up with her, how was that even possible. Bending the laws of space to travel between dimensions was one thing. Bending the laws of magic itself to cast spells despite every indication that she should never be able to was surprising, sure, but ultimately irrelevant. But tearing the very rules of the relationships Boscha had been carefully cultivating and ordering for her entire life as if it was nothing? Few things scared Boscha, but that ability of the humans to fold the world itself to her will, that was terrifying.

The last straw though, the last straw was Grudgby Season. Not because of the lack of a line or the fact that the students who should have been praising her were fawning over some stupid cucumbers grown by Half-A-Witch of all people, but because of Amity. In the moment where Boscha's world had been falling apart the most, when everything was confusing and uncertain, the words of a friend echoed through to her.

"I grew up. When will you?"

Grew up. Grew Up? As if hanging around with losers and humans pretending everyone gets to go home all happy at the end of the day to a family that doesn't care about that "status" she pretends she's suddenly above now is taking any kind of responsible or mature action? Whatever the human had done to get through to Amity the poor witch was deluding herself. If Amity wanted to act like a naive child and ignore all her problems that was fine by Boscha, why wouldn't it be? She'd just keep facing everything head on, making sure if there were gonna be problems she would be the cause, because at least then she wouldn't be the victim. She didn't care what Amity had to say. She never did.

It didn't matter to her that she had been counting on Amity to be the one constant she could stand in a world that was conspiring against her. It didn't matter that Amity, the one person here who could actually understand what she was going through and why she was doing what she does, suddenly decided she was so much better than Boscha just because she made a few friends. None of that mattered. Because Boscha was Boscha, and she was perfect. And someday that human would go back home. Someday Amity would remember who her family is, and what her purpose is, and she'd get dragged back into this like everyone else. And when that day came, it would be Boscha who never flinched. Boscha who never showed signs of weakness. Boscha who was everything she was supposed to be. And maybe then, it would be Amity's turn to hear that she should be more like her friend.

#reblogs appreciated!#Boscha #The Owl House #I think about Boscha a lot #I will say this isn't me trying to justify Boscha's actions #but I do think a setup like this where she's controlled and conditioned by her parents is highly likely #and I am a stern believer in the fourteen year old is not irredeemably evil she's 14 #to be honest I never really intended to upload any owl house stuff #that's just a show where I like to distance myself from fandom and enjoy it in a more solo capacity #but I just really liked this piece #and boscha #so there #also this deserves a decent title #but it's 2 am and I've got nothing #so if anyone has suggestions #if not I'll try and come up with something and edit it later

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ducktracy · 4 years

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182. little red walking hood (1937)

release date: november 6th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: elvia allman (little red walking hood, granny), tedd pierce (wolf), mel blanc (elmer)

buckle up! this is a “lengthy prologue” piece!

perhaps one of tex avery’s most formative cartoons in his career. little red walking hood serves as the first fairy tale spoof of his, a genre that would pop up time and time again in his warner bros. cartoons and even over at MGM (perhaps most famously the red hot riding hood series). not only that, but it’s the first cartoon to debut a purely comic villain—villains in previous pictures had comedic touches, of course, but the wolf (voiced by story man tedd pierce, whose vocals are quite underrated—you may recognize him as tom dover from the dover boys at pimento university) is purely made out to be a rather pathetic, unscrupulous adversary from the very beginning.

even more interesting is that the bulk of the cartoon’s backgrounds are done entirely in colored pencils, by avery background artist johnny johnson, who moved with him to MGM when tex left WB in 1941. the handling on the backgrounds are nothing short of stellar! they truly accentuate the “fairy tale” look and feel of the piece.

maybe the most notable, however, is the debut of tex’s third character of 1937: elmer fudd. i covered this in my review of egghead rides again, and you can read more into the differences between egghead (another 1937 avery character) and elmer here, but the bulbous nosed, derby hat donning little man traipsing around with his guitar case is our favorite befuddled hunter. many have labeled this guy as egghead, and understandably so—they’re eerily similar in more ways than one, and “prototype elmer fudd” is much more monotonous than “egghead”, but this is indeed our favorite little hunter! humble beginnings for sure.

the film burlesques the age-old story of little red riding hood, complete with katherine hepburn little red riding hoods, gin guzzling grannies, nonthreatening wolves, fourth wall breaks, and mysterious whistling men.

already, the cartoon marks an intriguing open, with the title card playing into the action itself: the title card serves as the title of a book, opening to divulge the fractured fairy-tale before us. a cliche, sure, and it was one even by 1937, but with tex avery at the helm, audiences can be reassured that it’s all tongue in cheek. “the mean old wolf was lurking in a nearby pool hall” asserts as such.

indeed, the mean old wolf was lurking in a nearby pool hall--or, rather, cheating. he pulls the lever of a pinball machine, lifting up the machine and tilting it so as to guide the ball in the right hole. the animation of the wolf is spaced and timed nicely, with just enough urgency to convey his commitment to cheating. sticking his tongue out in concentration is a nice plus as well. the drawings themselves aren’t the most pleasing, consisting primarily of mathematically proportioned circles and spheres, but such is life.

close up on the pinball itself circling around the jackpot hole, teetering away to the “OUT” hole at the last second. a minute in, and we already see that this villain is far removed from the mustache twirling, cape-hugging villains that dominated earlier cartoons. instead, we know that this wolf is a loser. carl stalling’s constipated rendition of “old king cole” adds a nice level of sardonic commentary to the wolf’s authority (or lack thereof).

little red riding hood strolling outside the pool hall easily distracts the wolf from his oncoming tantrum. like red hot riding hood 6 years later, the wolf here is instantly charmed, catcalling and preparing to pounce. off-putting as this may seem at first glance, considering little red riding hood is, well, a child, the kicker is that here, she serves as an imitation of katherine hepburn, in both mannerisms and dialect. so, rather than dealing with a naive, innocent girl on her way to grandma’s house, we’ve instead got a hollywood star with her nose in the air, haughtily avoiding the wolf’s advances. (of course, catcalling grown women isn’t any better, but just as a note to dispel any confusion.)

the wolf drives alongside snooty little red in his pompous jaundice-stricken limo, his advances getting nowhere. time to pull out the big guns:

his license plate, reading 0-7734, flips upside down to spell “hello”, with the taillight opening and closing to simulate a wink. clever indeed! it’s some interesting food for thought to imagine how much more exaggerated in speed and tone this gag would have been had this cartoon been made at mgm, though i suppose red hot riding hood answers that question.

ignored once more, the wolf opts to halt the car and hassle red himself. “hello, pretty girl! going my way, babe?”

irv spence’s animation is the most appealing all throughout the picture, and his scenes of red here are no exception. the underrated elvia allman provides red’s katherine hepburn impression--tex LOVED his hepburn impressions, and they would bubble up in his cartoons time and time again. the gag itself would have been much more riotous 83 years ago than it is now, but even then, the idea of little red riding hood speaking with such a sophisticated and haughty tone is enough to be funny.

the contrast between the wolf’s sneering vocals and red’s lengthy speech couldn’t be better. red instantly puts the wolf in his place: “rea-lly, in this modern age of flaming youth, the girl has to put up with such embarrassing situations. rea-lly, we do, don’t we, girls? two thirds of you girls out there have gone through just what i’m going through now. you know how it is, don’t you, girls?” amen to that, sister! (bob clampett would play off of this in his swan song, the big snooze, as an elmer fudd in drag asks the girls in the audience how they deal with such harassment.) spence’s animation is visually appealing in design and also just plain funny.

despite red’s blatant dismissal of his advances, the wolf continues to persue her, tipping his hat as he approaches a stoplight. the stoplight opts to give him a good dose of karma as the light turns from green to red, the “STOP” flag popping out and giving the wolf a nice whack in the face.

however, the wolf has more important matters than glaring at a pesky stoplight—offscreen whistling catches his ears.

irv spence animates the stupendous, colossal, magnificent debut of elmer fudd as he struts across the street, blatantly interrupting the flow of the picture. his slow, carefree movements, the wolf’s visual contempt, and the exclusion of background music altogether accentuate elmer’s interruption. purposeful innocuousness and tastefully so!

back to the wolf at the stoplight, the “GO” sign providing one more whack in the face for good measure. wolf speeds off to hassle his victim even more.

as we’ve seen before, the song portion of merrie melodies has largely been dropped around this time, with little blurbs of songs serving as loose substitutes. here, said substitute is “gee, but you’re swell,” sung in a talk-songy drawl by tedd pierce as he relentlessly struggles to charm red. pierce’s vocals are hilarious, especially contrasted with the closeup of red blatantly ignoring his egotistical remarks. she gives him the cold shoulder, icicles logically forming to accentuate the metaphor. a standard gag, but it juxtaposes so well against the wolf’s inane dribble in the background that it’s hard to roll your eyes too strongly at it.

so caught up in inflating his own ego, the wolf fails to notice the approaching mailbox on the sidewalk, which delivers a hearty reality check as he konks his head against it. red urges him to leave her alone, bidding him goodbye with a haughty “scram, romeo, scram!”

our beloved hero, the whistling, intrusive elmer fudd conveniently pops out of the mailbox, toting a sign pointing directly to grandma’s house. the malice from before at fudd’s presence is gone, replaced by gratitude from the wolf. he peels off down the alley, his limo snaking around every curve. both this and the random appearance of elmer are precursors to tex avery staple gags, especially his time at MGM. amazing how formative a single cartoon can be!

at the beginning, i said that “the bulk of” the cartoon’s backgrounds are done in colored pencil. the pan of backgrounds while the wolf is driving to grandma’s house, whizzing past a hitchhiker elmer in the process, are done in paint. the backgrounds are still just as gorgeous! yet the change does serve as a little food for thought.

like always in a tex avery cartoon, his comedic timing is succint: wolf finally pulls up to grandma’s house, elmer nonchalantly chilling on the back tire--despite the wolf’s purposeful disregard for him on the street, making a point to gun the car past him. the matter of factness of the gag is solid. the cartoon’s main priority is breaking the fourth wall rather than telling a story, yet in this case, that’s a good thing. it’s done well and with awareness.

mr. wolf approaches the doorstep of grandma’s abode, knocking on the door many more times than necessary with a hilariously inflated level of sophistication. he breaks his smooth, cool façade to guffaw a radio catchphrase (this time from the al pearce show): “i hope ol’ grandma’s home, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope...” this catchphrase would be found in more short than one, bubbling up in a number of bob clampett porky cartoons as well.

an elderly “who’s there?” answers the wolf’s knocks from behind the door. the wolf puts on his best falsetto, cooing “it’s me! little red riding habit!”

we get a glimpse of granny from behind the door, who opens the little door window to see her guest. realizing that she’s met face to face with the wolf, who jabs his mug through the window, granny is quick to slam the door shut, bursting out into an impromptu rendition of “river, stay ‘way from the door” (sung as “wolf, stay ‘way from my door”.) the random song intervention clues us in that granny is in on the fourth wall-breaking as well--the delivery of the gag is quite similar to the mama parrot from i wanna be a sailor bursting into a rendition of “old black joe”.

irv spence takes over as the wolf struggles to pry the door open. suddenly, he freezes in his tracks at the sound of the telltale, offscreen whistling--elmer has arrived. the befuddled stare from the wolf as he watches elmer nonchalantly strut into granny’s house, opening the door without any hint of struggle, is priceless, as is his face-gripping agony. irv spence is tex’s best animator for a reason!

as a last resort, the wolf body slams himself into the door. little red riding hood has now turned into a tale of the three little pigs. he overestimates his own strength, and ends up darting inside, yet he stumbles backwards from the impact and trips backwards throughout the entire layout of the house. the gag is reminiscent of a similar gag from i only have eyes for you, an early 1937 avery entry--another elvia allman voiced elderly woman chases a hapless victim through the house, both of them gliding along a vertical pan set up exactly like this one. this is funny already here, but imagine the speed and lengths this gag would have been inflated to had tex completed this cartoon at MGM!

granny is on the offense. the wolf barrels through the kitchen, where she’s standing on guard with the kitchen door. she opens the door, allows the wolf to barrel on out, and locks it shut. granny: 1, wolf: 0.

cue a tired gag that’s been around since the bosko days (and beyond): wolf rams into a tree, shrinking up into his bowler hat. bowler hat runs around aimlessly with big ol’ shoes sticking out until he finally manages to free himself. the animation of the wolf being freed from the bowler hat IS rather nice--the accordion style wrinkles and folds serve as a precursor to some wild animation later on. it reminds me particularly of rod scribner’s animation in bob clampett’s cartoons.

on the topic of gags old and new, the wolf engages in a gag that would be reused in a number of cartoons, including avery’s thugs with dirty mugs just two years later. the wolf grabs the doorknob, physically pulling it back and letting it shoot up against the door. the window panes thusly light up in a flurry of changing, rapid light squares: four yellow diagonal squares align, and the wolf is granted entrance into the house, triumphant fanfare and all. seems the wolf doesn’t need to cheat to win at pinball (doorknob-ball?) after all! if you look closely, you’ll see that the double exposures still linger as the wolf darts past the door and into the house.

cue the great fight: wolf v. granny. wolf aimlessly chases granny through the kitchen, both of them climbing on the furniture, granny whooping and hollering all the way. the phone rings, delaying their chase--granny hops on the chair to answer the phone, taunting the wolf: “ah-ah,” she chides, displaying her crossed fingers of immunity, “king’s x!” the deliberate time-out and show-stopping is great. this cartoon is filled to the brim with interruptions and halts, yet they don’t at all feel overused or banal. tex was a master of his craft.

granny takes the call while the wolf glowers on impatiently. more fourth-wall breaking as granny begs the audience for forgiveness: “will you people pardon me just a minute? let me see now, one dozen eggs... it’s the grocer, folks...” elvia allman’s vocals are excellent, conveying that comedic awkwardness with a great balance of authenticity and cheekiness. the head tilt indicating the phone as she talks to the audience is another plus.

tedd pierce’s vocals aren’t to be overlooked, either. his “AW, C’MON, GRANDMA!!!” is the perfect topper as granny rambles on the phone. she ends her call by sneering “and a case of gin!” to the grocer before hanging up and telling the audience the chase is back on (”heeeere we go again!”)

granny seeks refuge in the closet, the wolf greeted by elmer again as he opens the door. instead of fighting it, the wolf just heaves a dubious shrug towards the audience. irv spence animation once again--he draws the wolf’s eyes in a comparatively distinct manner. the irises are much smaller than the work of the other animators.

the wolf darts inside the closet, where he finds a conveniently placed nightgown hanging near the door. he looks under the skirt, prompting a disembodied hand to smack him in the face for such uncouth behavior. now confused, the wolf opts to peer into one of the sleeves, where granny’s hand pops out to squeeze and honk his nose daffy duck style.

their game of cat and mouse (or is it wolf and granny?) is interrupted by knocking on the front door, and the telltale, floaty voice of “it is i, red riding hood, grandmother!”

cue panic mode. the wolf hurriedly asks granny to give him “the stuff”, and she offers her bonnet, glasses, and shawl with a sense of camaraderie. this is entirely a performance, not a retelling of a story. these characters are hyper-aware actors who are not what they portray.

tex’s speed, from the wolf finding granny to her offering her clothes to him diving in granny’s bed, flows incredibly well. everything happens all at once! there’s hardly any time to breathe. the urgency of the situation is very much alive and real, but also playfully so. the whole cartoon feels like a game of hide and seek in a way.

thus, we’re treated to the old routine that everyone knows, with red inquiring about the wolf’s “large optics” and “large schnozzola”. even she understands the overplayed nature of her performance, halting midsentence to quip at the audience “rather childish and a bit silly, don’t you think?” while the scene does drag, it’s purposeful and successful at doing so. there’s a noticeable contrast between the pacing of this scene and the scenes prior.

yet, in no-time, we’re back to the adrenaline rush, with the wolf lunging out of the bed and chasing a shrieking red. tedd pierce’s vocal talents are not to go undermined--he’s genuinely fun to listen to. interestingly, he didn’t write this cartoon--cal howard did. who, i may add, dabbled in a little bit of voice acting himself, voicing gabby goat in get rich quick porky!

irv spence takes over for the remainder of the cartoon, and his animation is gorgeous all the way. the wolf corners red, who swings haymakers at him, stopping only to gloat towards the audience “silly way to make a living, don’t you think?” such a stark contrast at the drop of a hat! predictable, perhaps, but who can be mad at it? this is a very likable cartoon. while all of the warner bros. directors of this period are quite talented, it most certainly belongs under tex avery’s name--think of how different in demeanor and timing this would be as a frank tashlin cartoon (who DID rival tex in terms of speed), a friz freleng cartoon, and a bob clampett cartoon. with tex, it’s in good hands.

the brawl continues, only to be halted by another interruption. no, it’s not because of offscreen whistling! signaling for red to stop, the wolf casts a steely glower at the figure of two silhouettes moving across the screen, sneering snide remarks--late moviegoers who interrupt the flow of the cartoon. provided my memory serves me correctly, this is the first WB cartoon to integrate rotoscoping. it was a technique invented by max flesicher in 1915, where animators would trace over live action footage, frame by frame.

tex would use this countless times, both at WB and MGM. his efforts pay off even now, watching this on a laptop screen, but just IMAGINE the impact this would have in a packed, dark theater, where even the CARTOON CHARACTERS stop to ridicule the audience! imagine just how revolutionary that was the first time this was showed! what an absolute riot! tex was a genius. the characters truly feel alive and with us. this was a very real problem, too, and a timeless one--someone scooching past you in the all too narrow row, bumping your knees, spilling their popcorn on you in the process... the characters on screen connect with the audience, bonding over a universal occurrence. imagine just how much of an uproar this would cause back then in theaters. genius!

after the wolf is done guilt-tripping his latecomers, the fight continues for a few seconds more, halted once again by the fudd himself, strolling across the screen. finally, the wolf reaches his breaking point: “hey BUD! hey, just a minute, bud! now, who the HECK are you, anyway?”

mr. fudd guffaws his first words in a stereotypical dopey drawl: “who, me?” note how his eyes open for a change! he opens his guitar case, where a mallet is carefully stored inside. not a beat is wasted as he knocks the wolf over the head with the mallet, elmer remarking in his hayseed voice “huh huh huh huh, i’m the HERO in this picture!”

iris out...

or so we think.

what a game changing piece of animation. this isn’t the tex avery cartoon to beat all cartoons by any means, but it packs a lot of weight. it’s extremely formative in tex’s career. numerous gags--such as the rotoscoped silhouettes, the stretching limo hugging the curves on the street, the constant wall-breaking and interruptions--and even story structures (think of all of the countless fairy tale parodies that came after this!) would be used not just by tex, but by his friends and colleagues, whether at WB or elsewhere.

in the grand scheme of things, the plot is barebones. the wolf goes to grandma’s house. the wolf chases little red riding hood. that’s really all it is. yet it’s the details what give it substance, and the purposeful delivery of such. this isn’t a faithful retelling of a beloved story, that’s out the window. these characters are hyper-aware characters essentially massacring an old fairy tale. yet its the conviction of such that makes it so strong. it’s not really a “haha, look, i broke the fourth wall, i’m instantly funny! show’s over” deal--it’s just riding that momentum and expanding the picture on it. “oh, the story keeps getting interrupted. okay. let’s continue to interrupt it and make the characters increasingly aware of such, with the reasons for interruption growing more and more bizarre.”

while this isn’t nearly as bizarre as tex’s later pieces at MGM, it’s a great start. WB wasn’t completely free of its disney influence. pieces like these further remove the disney influence for sure, but 1937 is still very early on. this is such a game-changer in comparison to previous cartoons.

tex’s dry-spell is over, and cartoons are on the upswing from here. things are going to get real funny and real loony. i definitely urge you to go watch this cartoon--it’s not the most revolutionary piece of animation on the planet, but it’s a wonderfully funny cartoon that still holds up today, and it serves as an interesting comparison point for future cartoons.

you can go watch it on HBO max, or you can check it out right here! enjoy!

#lt #looney tunes #little red walking hood #reviews #avery #long post

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thepancakeboi · 4 years

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Day 1: Favorite Scene

Would you people hate me if I said it’s the scene after the boiler room fight...? Because it is- Granted, “Honey I’m home” is always a favorite of mine but...the after-fight FEELS. Also, my favorite scene could change as I play through Royal, as I’m still on the third palace and have just started Goro’s confidant.

I’m going to leave this now. Someone needs to remind me to stop writing things that make me cry-

I severely underestimated you, Joker. You and your band of thieves...

“You ready to call it quits?”

Skull’s question is pointless. Isn’t my answer obvious? I decide to indulge him with a response if only to put your mind at ease. “I know... I’ve had enough.” I’m done trying to kill you. It’s clear your skills exceed mine. You win again, just as you always do. “...You’re so lucky. Lucky to be surrounded... by teammates who acknowledge you...And once Shido confesses his crimes, you’ll all be heroes.” Your fame won’t be part of an elaborate scheme this time. Shido’s crimes are truly unforgivable. No one would side with him once the truth is revealed. Anyone who does isn’t in their right mind. But with the truth comes... “As for me, people will find out my past deductions were just charade. My fame and trust will vanish.” The trust I had lost with you, the Phantom Thieves, it seems minuscule in comparison.

“I see,” Mona says after a slight pause. “So you were turning people psychotic, then solving the cases yourself. And you did that by joining forces with Shido.”

He’s just now figuring this out? How foolish...though I keep those thoughts to myself. I don’t have the time nor the heart to antagonize your group further. Besides, what right have I to say anything? It was foolish of me to think I could take on all the Phantom Thieves at once. Mona was right. I’m just some child ‘throwing a temper tantrum’ as he rightly put it. What was I thinking, believing I could be something special? That was the wishful thinking of a naive little kid. “In the end... I couldn’t be special...”

Skull immediately buts in. “Dude, you’re more than special...”

Wait...what?

“It pains me to admit... but your wit and strength far exceeds ours. We only defeated you by teaming up,” Queen reluctantly admits. Where is this coming from? “I was honestly... envious of your natural ability. It was frustrating to see how much my sister trusted you...” If only you knew how strained our trust truly was when I started working with you. Sae-San and I were barely speaking to each other by that point in time.

I’m surprised when Noir joins in. She’s the last person I would expect to add on to this conversation, considering what I did to her father. “I have no intention of forgiving you for what you did to my father, but... I sympathize with you.” I don’t expect her to ever forgive me, and she shouldn’t. Not when I don’t deserve any form of forgiveness. “I wholeheartedly understand wanting to get back at the adults who took from you...”

“But when you gained the power to fulfill that desire, you only used it for your own self-benefit,” Fox adds.

Oracle chimes in after him. “If you’ve got more than one Persona, maybe you actually have the same kinda power as Joker’s.” The same power? My gaze turns to you at this. You’re being much more quiet than usual. I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours. “But you trusted no one, so you only got two Personas: one for your lies, and one for your hate. Still, you thought that was enough, right? That part I totally get.”

“You excelled at everything over us... yet that was the one thing you lacked.”

The one thing I lacked...here I thought it was skill, or perhaps friendship. To think that it would be simply trusting others. Oracle and Fox are right. I only relied on myself to get where I am, trusting no one. In the end, that’s what’s caused my downfall. Though...it isn’t entirely true. I had trusted you to some extent.

“All right, let’s go back and get that callin’ card ready!” Skull says, eager to leave. “We’re gonna take Shido down. What’re you gonna do?”

The question stuns me. You shouldn’t be concerning yourself with me. “It’d be a problem if you kept getting in our way. Wanna come along and help us settle things?” Panther asks.

“...Are you all idiots?” I finally say, shoving my own feelings away. It doesn’t matter that I want to come with your group or that I would love nothing more than to fight my father by your side. It’s too late for that. “You should get rid of me... if you don’t want me getting in your way.”

It may have been Panther who asked the question, but my eyes are on you. I want to hear your response. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you say with such certainty, such finality, that it leaves little room for argument. “I don’t want to lose you. Come with us. We’ll change his heart, together.”

Together...? Is that really what you want? I shake my head at the absurdity. “...You all are truly beyond my comprehension.”

“Akechi?” Skull blurts out in shock. His response confuses me.

“Another one!? Wait, is he...” Fox says, and it’s then I realize the source of their surprise. I must really be faltering if I didn’t notice the newcomer, a nearly identical version of me. His dead brown eyes give away who, or what, he is.

“That’s... Shido’s cognitive version of Akechi!” Mona says, confirming my suspicions.

So, I’ll be finding out what my father thinks of me. Haha, not that I give a shit anymore-wait, he’s...pointing a gun at me!? “I’ll deal with the rest of you later,” he says. At the look of shock on my face, he elaborates. “Captain Shido’s orders... He has no need for losers. Well... this just moves the plan up a little. He was going to get rid of you after the election anyway.”

“What!?” How... how could he!?

“Did you truly believe you’d be spared after all the murders you undertook?” No... I hadn’t believed that for a second. I knew the consequences of my crimes should they ever be discovered. But surely Shido couldn’t say anything without implicating himself! “Don’t tell me... Were you actually feeling good about having someone rely on you for once?”

“I-” I... had enjoyed being relied on, even if the reason was as deplorable as needing me as his personal hit-man.

“Oh by the way, the captain says it’s time you receive retribution for causing the mental shutdowns.”

“What the hell, man!?” Ryuji yells. He sounds pissed. “That bastard’s the one who put him up to it!”

“I see,” I chuckle. The irony of the situation doesn’t escape me. “I was wondering how he’d protect himself if I used my power to tear through his Palace. Turns out you’re how. So he’s making a puppet kill me... Sounds like something he’d do.”

He nods. “That’s right. I’ll do anything. But look at yourself... you’re the true puppet.” I...I’m the puppet? “You wanted to be acknowledged, didn’t you? To be loved? You’ve been nothing but a puppet from the very beginning.” That... was exactly what I had wanted. All of my plans, my revenge, all stemmed from simply wanting my father to acknowledge me. Here it turns out that he already knew everything and he has no qualms of killing me off. It doesn’t surprise me, but... “What’s all this nagging about?” He’s talking to you and the rest of the thieves. What did any of them even say...? “Want me to take care of you first?”

I can hear the sound of Shadows materializing behind me, but I pay them no mind. Panther is the one to speak the entire group’s thoughts. “No... He’s not alone! He has Shadows too!”

“You know what? I’ll let someone volunteer to take his place.” A cruel grin forms on the cognition’s face as if relishing the situation. “Who knows, you might delay his death.”

Immediately, my eyes hone in on you. I’ve seen that look in your eyes before, right before you execute some outlandish scheme. You better not try it now. “I-”

“No,” I snarl, cutting off whatever response you might have. I already know exactly what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to let you go through with whatever wild plan is taking shape in your mind. “I’m not letting you die for me.”

“But-”

“No.” I am not going to let you change my mind.

“You guys are all about doing things for others, aren’t you?” The cognitive me remarks as if goading you on into ignoring my wishes. “Oh, that’s just the same as me. I’m going to take all the blame for our captain. I’ll die for him too.”

“This is what Shido thinks of Akechi-kun, even after making him help with the murders!?” Queen says in surprise. Why is your group so shocked by this? I know exactly the kind of man my father is. I know what’s going to happen next.

“Here, I’ll give you one last chance.” The cognition focuses his attention solely on me. “Shoot them,” he commands.

I laugh, “I was such a fool.”

My hand is steady as I point my gun, aiming it right between your eyes. The mask hides it well, but I remember the look on your face right now. It’s the same one that you had in the interrogation room just before I murdered you in cold blood. Despite my outward stillness, my thoughts are going haywire. Am I truly capable of this? Your voice wavers a little as if you can’t bring yourself to believe the scene before you. “Goro, you-”

“Yes,” the cognition hisses excitedly. “That’s the you our captain wishes to see.”

I shake my head, a chuckle escaping me. If anyone notices my tears, I’m blaming it on the pain of my injuries. “...Don’t misunderstand.” I don’t know who I mean that to: you, the cognitive version of me, or both of you. It seems I’ve finally managed to fool you after all. “You’re the one who’s going to disappear!”

I whirl around, immediately firing once I have the cognition in my sights. My shot hits him in the abdomen. I barely spare him a glance as he drops to his knees. My next target is further away, but my accuracy pays off. The glass shatters, the bullet activating the red button underneath. Alarms blare as red lights flash. “The watertight bulkhead door has closed,” an automatic announcement says in a monotone female voice. “All personnel within the partition wall: evacuate at once.”

My intuition was right. The bulkhead door rises up from the ground, right between us. I’m left with the Shadows and the cognition. This is how it was always meant to be. “Whoa, what is this!?” Oracle says, her voice muffled behind the door.

“Akechi!” Skull yells, banging his fists hard. His voice is clearer just because of how loud he is. Typical.

“Hurry up and go,” I yell back, leaning against the door. I’m struggling to stay on my own two feet, but I fear that if I collapse now, I’ll never get back up.

“You fool!” Fox’s voice isn’t as loud as Skull’s, but his voice cuts through the thick metal. “Are you trying to get yourself killed!?”

I suppress a laugh. It wasn’t the plan, but... if it happens, so be it. At least my death will be for something- no, someone I love. “The real fools... are you guys. You should have just abandoned me here a long time ago... You would have all perished... if you had tried to face these with me weighing you down...” My words are interrupted by a fit of coughing. I cover my mouth as I do. The black gloves are speckled with red spots that hadn’t been there before. It’s blood... my blood.

“Akechi-kun!” Queen cries out. Is...she concerned about me?

I hear a fist bang against the wall, this time right behind me, and I immediately assume it to be Skull again. Instead, I’m shocked to hear your voice crying out my name, “Goro!” Are you...crying? I must be imagining things. I’m not worth your tears. “Why!? Why are you-”

My voice is strained as I continue. Even talking hurts. “Let’s make a deal, okay?”

“Goro...”

I can hear the pout in your voice. I’m so glad I cannot see your expression. It would make this so much harder. “You won’t say no, will you?”

Fox answers, “Why at a time like this!?”

I know you won’t deny my words. You’re too good, too perfect to refuse this request. “Change Shido’s heart... in my stead... End his crimes... Please!” I end with a desperate yell. I’m hoping you don’t refuse.

“Akeppi...” I wasn’t imagining it after all. You are crying over me. Of course you are. If there’s one thing that has been constant, it’s your damn feelings for me at every turn. I don’t even object to that stupid little nickname you gave me all those months ago. “I’ll hold on to your glove.”

I gasp. I thought you had forgotten about that, after everything that has happened. To think that you still have it... I shake my head. You never fail to surprise me. “Heh... After all this, that’s what you have to say? Seriously, you really are...”

I don’t have time to finish my sentence. The cognitive version of me is finally recovering, standing up as he snarls in whatever pain a cognition can feel. “You bastard...”

He immediately points his gun at me. I push myself off the wall, pointing my own gun at the cognition. “So my final enemy is a puppet version of myself... I...!”

I try to shut out the rest of the world before my resolve falters. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid. I am, but... you’re worth this sacrifice. If only I could have accepted your offer, but there’s still no use talking in hypotheticals.

I’m... I’m sorry, Ren.

Case closed. This is how my ‘justice’ ends.

#GoroWeek #goro week #i need to stop writing things that make me cry #the feelings #p5 #persona 5 #p5r #persona 5 royal #persona 5 spoilers #persona 5 royal spoilers #goro akechi #akechi #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #p5 joker #phantom thieves #akeshu #shuake

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deathdoors · 4 years

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𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ! meredith here. nineteen twenty, they/them or she/her, the best admin in the world. it’s why i’m using manny for my gif for this, when he’s the best and my mascot on the main <3 if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. so: a little about me ! i’m a libra, from new jersey, in my second year of college, use a lot of emojis, have recently and embarrassingly been both playing fortnite ( i know ) and reading like 2 books a night, which might seem like it makes me smart but actually just makes me go to bed at seven in the morning. which also makes me a dumb bitch. on to the show !

name: emma phillips age: thirty occupation: preschool teacher trope: the wide eyed idealist aesthetic: fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, wildflowers in a vase, half empty bottles of pink wine, stopping to pet every dog, happy tears, rom-com movie nights, coffee with too much cream and sugar.

emma was born and raised in the suburbs outside springfield, missouri. her mother was incredibly anxious and doting, disliking emma riding bikes in the streets with the other kids and climbing trees, etc she was thus much closer to her dad: camping trips, bedtime stories, the works. she adored him, and when her twin younger siblings were born, emma’s mother interpereted being a daddy’s girl as hating her, and started ignoring emma when she wasn’t scolding her, instead focusing a much more positive attention on the twins.

then, of course, because life sucks, her dad got sick of it and left without so much as a goodbye. ran off with his secretary when emma was twelve, leaving her with a toxic mom and two little toddler twins. she entered mom mode when her mom’s anxiety turned to severe, don’t get out of bed depression ... emma was cooking for the twins ( and failing miserably, most of the time it was pizza and frozen dinners. to emma’s credit, that did include frozen vegetables. ) helping them with schoolwork, getting them to and from school, etc.

her grandparents were semi - well off, and sent some money to the phillips clan, but emma got a job as soon as she was able. the combination of the two, and her mom’s on and off working was enough to not go hungry. the twins could go on some field trips, there was enough for new clothes when they grew like weeds ... but obviously, no pre-teen / teen wants to constantly care for little kids. it sucked.

the money continued when her grandfather died when she was sixteen, and then, a little while later, right before emma graduated high school, her grandmother died, leaving them her house in fort elms, washington.

the phillips clan moved there, with a month left of high school for emma. as soon as she turned eighteen, a mere month after graduation: emma was kicked out of the house. her mother wanted nothing to do with her anymore, saying emma was tearing her away from the twins. for the rest of their childhoods, emma was not allowed to see either of her siblings, with emma’s mother telling them that she had left on purpose.

thus: she went to college, moved out of the house into a new apartment, fell in love and pined boyfriendless for years like some kind of loser, was incredibly on and off, got cheated on. she hasn’t been able to land a mans since, despite wanting a storybook romance.

while all that was happening, she got a degree, teaching at the fancy private preschool school in town. remember when i said she entered mom mode when her dad left ? yeah. she never left it, apparently. she loves her job, though. lots of stickers.

tl;dr: toxic mom, dad left when she was 12, effectively raised her younger siblings. moved to fort elms when she was about to turn 18, finished out high school, and was kicked out. she became a preschool teacher, inexplicably staying in fort elms.

personality: emma is kind hearted and optimistic — she's a little bit of a people pleaser, and a lot a bit of a hopeless romantic. she's pretty friendly / chatty, and considers people her friends approximately .5 seconds after meeting them. she's a little naive in the sense that she believes everyone is good, or can be good with just a little effort, and is pretty forgiving. she's much more of a go with the group kind of person, and hates being alone.

tw alcoholism, depression;

name: philippa “pippa” espina age: twenty-two occupation: unemployed trope: fallen princess aesthetic: bottles of vodka, half burnt cigarettes, red lipstick, shattered glass, parties going late into the night, adept fingers rolling joints, sleeping in late, the twinkle of a chandelier.

in retrospect, pippa was destined to be spoiled: she never got attention as a child, and her parents had money, and anyone who's seen a movie about rich kids knows that's a cocktail for disaster. california born and bred, pippa was used to two things by the time she could toddle: the sun, and getting what she wanted.

her father was a successful ... something with a desk and lots of people reporting to him, she never even payed attention. her mother was more focused on tennis practices and galas and book clubs where they just drank wine. a series of nannies raised her: not one or two where she could bond with, cling to the maternal attention she desired.

instead, her frequent temper tantrums and outbursts lead to them either quitting or getting fired when pippa made up stories: she was so mean to me, i think she's stealing from the jewelry box, she's been drinking your fancy wine. she didn't know why she was doing it. maybe it was the way her mother would stroke her hair gently, eyes blurry with drunkeness saying they'd work on finding someone better to take care of her. for all her twisted lies, pippa could be brutally honest. yet she never asked her mother why she couldn't take care of her.

by the time pippa had hit the sixth grade, she'd been kicked out of two of the private schools in the area. her third was all all girl's school, full of catholic sensibilities and a headmistress that refused to dismiss pippa, no matter how much she acted out.

she was twelve the first time she was the one breaking into the liquor cabinet, little sips of sweet liquors that made her head feel fuzzy. a lock was placed on it three weeks later, and she didn't get drunk again until high school. but pippa decided she liked that feeling, and more importantly, she liked the feeling of her parents finally looking at her.

at one of the rare family meals a month after her thirteenth birthday, pippa said i don't want a nanny anymore at the same time that her father said we're moving to washington. some business deal her father's company had made with the military base, it was a wonderful town. she didn't want to hear it. another tantrum she was far too old for, a slap across the face. selfish brat.

they moved to washington three days later. she didn’t have a nanny.

pippa was never popular in high school, nor unpopular. she was a bit of an outcast: mean and pretty only got you so far if you were already top dog, and she wasn't. she, however, threw big parties that drew the attention of high schoolers and the lamer end of the college crowd. holidays, breaks, every weekend: an unlimited supply of all the weed and alcohol at pippa's house, combined with the loud thunk of music and no one to get mad at you if you broke a vase or woke up on the floor the next morning. her parents were rarely ever home.

when they were, however, things weren't pretty. slammed glasses on tables, shouts so loud they made voices sore. pippa would stand there and she would cry until her face was red, and say sorry for breaking things, and the next day her parents would give her a new allowance and a kiss atop the head. that was their apology. she never accepted it. she kept the money and embraced back, of course. but she never meant it. she would do the same thing again, and again, and again.

attention was better than any drug, and almost as good as the bottom end of a bottle or a shot glass. she was mean and she was catty, sure, but then she was warm and fun and bought you lunch. by the time she had made stronger connections, latching on to the only two people, the only two friends she had was easy. they were her friends, and thus everyone else was her enemy.

after high school, she didn't do anything. no college, no job. her parties persisted, and so did kisses behind locked doors and afternoons spent sleeping off a hangover until she woke up and did it again. she was still mean, still catty, still desperate for attention: growth had been stunted, immaturity and a desperation making her miserable to be around.

she doesn't know why she does it. not even deep down: sometimes, it's like she's staring down at her own body, watching herself be cruel or unkind, sparking up a joint to call someone a bitch and someone a cow, or taking another shot and whispering into the nearest fellow partygoers' ear that they should go upstairs. sometimes she wakes up and feels like she's the worst person in the world. especially after one of those partygoers is the ex of one of those two friends. she feels like the worst person in the world, and she likes it better then, she decides. at least then she feels something.

tl;dr: rich bitch, loves partying, classic mean girl. not so functional alcoholic, hooks up with a lot of people. turbulent relationship with her parents, desperate for attention. definitely needs a therapist and a psychiatrist.

personality: pippa is very ... sugar and ice. or more aptly, sugar and fire. as long as you follow her my way or the highway mentality and give her plenty of attention, she'll drag you along on all her plans, lavish you with attention ... until she doesn't anymore. she's reckless and self-centered, but she's a hell of a lot of fun. if you manage to get into her inner circle, she'd take a bullet for you, but ... well, as mentioned before she still might sleep with your ex <3 or ur current bf, honestly.

tw bullying, anxiety, depression, suicide;

name: theodore "teddy" larsen age: twenty-three occupation: graduate student trope: shrinking violet aesthetic: pages and pages of notes, shiny comic book pages, freshly sharpened pencils, home cooked meals, deep shaky breaths, science fiction movies, 100% exams, thick books full of knowledge

theodore larsen came out of the womb miserable. he was a colicky baby, born to a loving, young american mother and a his british professor father in england. he was a quiet child, once he grew out of the constant exhausted crying: much preferring the company of his mom than other kids. he was smart though, and a heavy reader.

when he spoke was when the trouble began: as his vocabulary began to grow and he talked more and more, a stutter came with it. he spoke kindly and eloquently for his age, but he struggled sometimes to get words out. kids were cruel, naturally, and it only made teddy more reclusive.

out of isolation came anxiety: he was an intensely worried child, mostly involved with his parents rather than people his age. an investment in books, comics, nonficiton, novels. teddy was perfectly content with books as his friends, and of course, his mother, his favorite person in the world.

and then his world came crashing down. nothing horrific: no one died, no one was sick. but when the only thing that brings you comfort is security and repetition, your father cheating on your mother and moving across the world is a pretty far crash to the bottom. port elms, washington: his mother’s hometown, where teddy would finish out high school.

he was relentlessly bullied, still. the label of new kid paired with a lack of social grace and nerdy dispotion, there might as well have been a target painted on his back. he had one friend, endlessly kind to him. she’d saved his life, figuratively, and he saved hers literally, an appearance at her house shortly after her suicide attempt.

it made sense that he’d have one too. depression was a dark shroud that hung over him, exacerbated anxious behaviors. that was months ago now. a secret, locked inside him, not quite ready to come out. therapy, once a week. maybe twice.

he’s not excited about finishing his degree, not really. he feels good about teaching, it’s what ��he wants to do. but the idea of being back in fort elms high isn’t exactly leaving a good taste in his mouth. he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, no matter how much it makes his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. he’s got all the time in the world

tl;dr: nervous mess, bullying target, has one real friend. very sensitive mama’s boy. british accent, moved to fort elms when he was in high school. sad. doesn’t like his dad very much.

personality: the nerdiest mf alive. teddy is a total sweetheart, very socially awkward, and pretty damn smart. he know a lot about typical nerdy shit. superheroes, star trek. he LOVES star wars. he's also in a band, playing bass. fun times. he's nervous as hell — also super cautious, he never likes to do anything without it being meticulously planned. total mamas boy.

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