#really the only thing accurate here is Dolly

[duke-is-the-shit]

Hello, Neverwhores. Since my post about the infection au got a decent amount of love, here’s a little temptation to keep the love going because I’m itching to share more

Hunger

Berenice was a girl with a healthy appetite, so it was weird when her body suddenly began rejecting food. It had started with small things, like gagging when she swallowed, but that was written off as a sore throat. Then, it shortly escalated into full-on vomiting whenever she took a bite. She couldn’t even stomach alcohol, which she was extremely salty about. The Misfits were beginning to worry for her health. Was she anorexic? Sick? Whatever it was, Eulalie was determined to find out, it’s what a best friend would do, after all.

“Hey, let’s go to Nurse Dolly, Berenice.” Eulalie suggested cheerfully one day. “Nurse Dolly? I don’t need her, Biscuit. I told ya, I’m right as rain.” Berenice said, crossing her arms defensively. “You don’t seem fine! You’ve been vomiting up anything edible this past week.” Eulalie argued. “Meh, just a bit of sick. I’ll get better in no time.” Berenice reassured her. “But-! Aren’t you hungry?! Nurse Dolly could inject the nutrients into your body so you can eat until we figure out what’s wrong with you!” Eulalie exclaimed, waving her fists. Berenice scoffed. “Nothing is wrong with me, darlin’. And getting fed by needles seems pretty creepy.” “Well-Well—Well, I’ll bring her here!” Eulalie said, exasperated. “Wha?! Hon, you can’t do that! She’ll tell the Deans about the hideout!” Berenice yelled. “I don’t care! I want you to get better!” Eulalie cried out, frustrated tears in her eyes. “Oh-Oh, c’mere, babe.” Berenice pulled Eulalie into a hug. “If it really means that much to you…I guess I can go get a little checkup.” Berenice sighs in defeat. “You will?! Oh, thank you!” Eulalie squeezes her tight. “Alright, alright. Let’s get goin’ before you crush my lungs.” Berenice chuckled.

“Agh, such awful structure. Seems not eating is already taking a toll.” Nurse Dolly said, her face in her trademark scowl as she examined Berenice. “Can you fix her?” Eulalie asks. “I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll do my best. Now you, get to class!” Nurse Dolly orders. Eulalie, with a reassuring smile at Berenice, turns on her heel and leaves the infirmary. She hopes Berenice will get better soon. Berenice did not get better.

in fact, she only seemed to become worse as the days passed. She had started to become more hostile, and even tried to bite Nurse Dolly a few times. Every time Eulalie would try to come visit, Nurse Dolly would chase her away. Eulalie was really starting to get scared now. Was Berenice in real danger from her condition? Eventually, Eulalie became fed up with not being allowed to visit, and decided to sneak into the infirmary one night. She grabbed a bottle of wine to take with her in case Berenice was feeling well enough to keep it down, which would no doubt thrill her to bits. Eulalie crept through the halls, avoiding the whisps. God knows what would happen if she was caught. She got to the infirmary wing and contemplated knocking. What if Nurse Dolly was awake and heard her? But then again, it was very quiet on the other side of the door. Taking a deep breath, Eulalie knocked on the door and waited. No footsteps. No voices. Seems all clear. Satisfied, Eulalie pushed the doors open.

A scream tore itself free from her throat.

The infirmary was covered in red. Dead bodies of students littered the room, their faces frozen in terror. Eulalie’s eyes wandered to the body of Nurse Dolly, or rather, the creature perched on her stomach with its jaws on her throat. The wine bottle slipped from Eulalie’s grasp and shattered onto the floor, causing the creature to raise its head and look at her. Eulalie felt like she couldn’t breathe. It was Berenice. Her spectre had never looked more accurate to the books. She was covered in blood that obviously wasn’t hers, and her long, sharp teeth were slick with blood and saliva. Eulalie could only stare in horror as Berenice spoke, voice choked with shame.

“I’m sorry, Eula…I was so hungry.”

[sl-newsie]

I Will Always Love You (Dr. Spencer Reid x OC) *Halloween Special* 🎃

Summary: Rossi throws a Halloween party at his mansion for the team and some close friends, and Reid loves a certain costume a coworker’s wearing… maybe leading him to finally confess his feelings.

“So… what kind of costumes do we wear? Matching? Scary, funny…?” I ask.

“Whatever you feel comfortable with,” Rossi replies. “But I will ask if you can keep it down to PG13. I’m looking at you, Garcia.”

“I can’t believe my costume last year was deemed inappropriate!” The blonde agent complains from across the room.

“It is when you’re dressed as a playboy bunny and pretend-flirt with Morgan even more than usual,” Hotch says dryly.

She huffs. “I was staying in character! Halloween is when you can pretend to be someone else!”

“Yes but in this job we have to maintain somewhat professional, even if it’s at a party. So please follow the guidelines.”

I can’t believe I’m invited to an actual party! Throughout high school and college I was never involved with the popular kids, and had little friends to begin with. But ever since I started working in DC I’ve made lots of connections, with one being the one and only Agent Rossi from the BAU. He’s thrown a few get-togethers for the team, and this year I’ve been invited to an official Halloween party! And what’s best is that I’ll get to hang out with my coworkers outside of the work environment! I’m really looking forward to it, especially since Reid will be there. Call it cliché and pathetic but I’ve grown romantic feelings for the ingenious doctor, but no matter how hard I’ve tried I can’t get rid of them or gain the courage to tell him. It’s best to suppress them and hold onto the steady relationship we already have.

I pack up my things and start walking out, then Rossi calls: “You’re coming tonight, right Rita?”

“I’ll be there!”

I’ve already got a costume in the works, one I’ve been planning since June. It’s a bit of a stretch, but I guess I’ll have to see what happens…

3 hours later…

Reid’s POV

All the costumes so far have been awesome! I wish Halloween was more than once a year. Between the cool decorations and outfits, how can anyone not like it? This year I’ve chosen to go as Sherlock Holmes as a tribute to one of my favorite fictional detectives. 

I keep looking around for Rita, almost disappointed that she isn’t here yet. I’d never say anything, but in the last few months she’s worked with us it’s been near impossible to not notice myself acting strange around her. Of course Morgan teases me about anything awkward I do, but even I have found myself acting strange around Rita. Increased heart rate, scattered thoughts, and the nagging feeling of wanting to make sure she’s doing ok. But isn’t that what any friend would do? Look out for one another? 

I shake the confusing thoughts from my head and continue to look around. And next walks in- oh. Wow. Oh wow! An almost direct clone of Dolly Parton struts into the room, wearing a silver rhinestone suit, heeled boots, and clutching a white guitar. Who on Earth is that…?

“Hiya, darling!” She walks up to where I’m sitting and plops down next to me, and when I get a better look at her face it finally clicks.

“Rita? That’s you?” I gape.

“Sure is, Spencer!” She says in a practiced southern accent. “Dolly’s been a hero to me for a long time and I figured it’d be a fun costume. It took a while to put together, but I found…”

I try to keep up with what she’s saying, but my mind keeps wandering to how accurate her costume is. Her blonde hair is teased and piled into a giant updo, complete with some glitter sprinkled on it. And the suit fits her perfectly… it seems wrong to think like that, but I can’t help looking at how her chest sticks out. Has she always looked that way?

Thankfully Garcia shows up and starts asking the questions I’m too scared to ask.

Rita’s POV

Thank God Reid’s here, because so far I don’t know a single soul here. It’s nice to sit and hide in a corner to chat, and eventually more of the BAU members start to show. When Penelope sees us she makes a beeline over and starts gushing about our costumes.

“I love the Dolly getup! Are- are those real?” Penelope asks and gestures to my chest.

My face flushes red. Of course it would be Garcia to ask something so blunt. I’m not offended in the least, but I’ve always been insecure about my larger than normal bust. But that’s why Dolly’s been so inspirational, because she’s proud to be so outstanding.

“Yes, they’re real. And if you wanna joke about it then please ‘follow the guidelines,’” I mock Hotch’s instructions. “I am as God made me and I ain’t ashamed.”

Garcia smiles again and continues to talk about her costume, which is a giant cupcake. By now more people are starting to arrive and Garcia goes off to greet more guests just as JJ and Emily walk up to us. JJ has chosen a simple pumpkin shirt and top, while Prentiss is wearing a white dress complete with eerie doll makeup.

“You chose Annabelle?” JJ gives her a strange look.

“What can I say? My comfort films are weird.” Prentiss shrugs.

“I’m guessing you’re dressed up as Sherlock Holmes?” I finally ask the genius sitting in the chair behind me.

“Elementary, dear Rita. He’s one of my favorite literary characters.”

It’s strange. Reid keeps looking at me funny, then shifting his gaze to avoid my eyes. He’s normally not this scatterbrained.

“Oh that’s a dork-able, Reid the brainiac is dressed as a brainiac!” Morgan, wearing a skeleton costume, walks up and smirks. When he looks at me Morgan gets a confused look and I can tell he doesn’t recognize me. “And who might you be, Dolly?”

I stifle a laugh and exchange looks with Reid, who seems to wanna laugh just as much as I do.

“I’m surprised you ain’t noticed yet, Agent Morgan,” I say in my southern accent.

Just like Reid, Morgan’s face explodes in bewilderment and he gives me a second look-over.

“Wait, wait. You’re telling me that this gorgeous twin of Dolly Parton is our Rita?” He looks over at JJ and Prentiss, who start laughing. “Tell me I ain’t the only one who’s blown away! Damn, you look good in that! Nice costume!”

He gives me a high-five and goes off to find Garcia, and I notice in the corner of my eye that Reid’s stiffened up a bit, muttering an excuse I can barely hear and striding off before I can speak. What’s wrong with him?

Reid’s POV

When Morgan started praising Rita’s costume it felt as if my chest was being squeezed. I don’t know why. It’s as if every time I think about Rita my brain doesn’t think clearly, and I go through anger phases when I see someone else with her. Isn’t that normal friend behavior?

That’s when I make a new diagnosis: I have a crush on my coworker. 

It’s something I’ve been avoiding, pushing away thinking I’d never have feelings for someone. With my job it’s too dangerous to have relationships, plus the fact that I’m an awkward nerd doesn’t help. Besides, a beautiful girl like Rita probably already has a boyfriend.

After Morgan’s off to find Garcia I quickly excuse myself, going off to the hors d'oeuvre table and finding a cocktail labeled ‘witch's brew.’ I’m not one for drinking, but I need something to clear my head.

“Reid, are you ok? You never drink.” Hotch walks up from behind.

What am I supposed to say? Tell my boss I’m in love with my coworker, something that’s thoroughly discussed as a workplace rule?

I give a shaking nod and put the glass to my lips. It’s not strong, but I can still feel the alcohol sending electricity down my throat. “Y-Yeah. Just a bit tired. Shouldn’t you be trick-or-treating with Jack?”

Hotch shakes his head. “He’s at a party with some friends from his school, so I got the night off. But don’t avoid the subject. You’re not tired. What’s really wrong, Reid?”

There’s no escaping it now.

“IjustfoundoutI’minlovewithRitaandI’mscaredshe’llhatemeandIdon’tlikefeelinglikethis!”

Everything comes out so fast. There’s so much I want to say. At first Hotch looks confused, but after having a minute to translate my gibberish he gets a somewhat amused look on his face.

“I know, Reid. We all do.”

His words leave my mouth gaping. “Y-You do? But- but why didn’t… how- why am I the only one who didn’t?”

“Because when it comes to social cues you’re not much of an expert,” Prentiss says as she joins us. “We’ve all seen how you’ve been acting. It’s cute! You and Rita make a great pair.”

I groan as I hold my head in my hands. “But I hate feeling like this! What if I screw up? What if somehow my job gets her in trouble? You remember what happened with Haley!”

Hotch’s face darkens a split-second, but instead of brooding he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Spencer, just because our job is dangerous doesn’t mean we can’t allow love into our lives. It’s not healthy.”

“And you deserve to have a loving girl like Rita,” Emily adds.

“But doesn’t she already have a boyfriend?” I ask uneasily.

She frowns. “No. Where’d you get that idea? Rita’s incredibly antisocial besides hanging out with us.”

How on Earth does Rita not have guys crawling over themselves just to talk to her? 

By now Morgan and JJ have joined us as well.

“He’s confessed?” Morgan asks Prentiss and she shakes her head. “Reid, will you please just go and tell her? We’ve been waiting for a month! It’ll be a nice change to not have you giving me the murder look whenever I high-five your girl.”

The team ushers me away, so I can already tell there’s no going back now. Even if I don’t say anything, Penelope will tell Rita herself. I at least want this to be done on my terms.

I take a deep breath, then calmly walk back to the living room. I see Rossi chatting with some other guests and he gives me a wink. When I reach the doorway, Penelope passes me with an eye roll and points to the balcony.

“She’s out there. It’s about time! I can only distract her for so long! Now go get her, loverboy! Go go go!”

Ok, this is it.

Rita’s POV

For my first Halloween party I must say it’s… a bit boring. Sure I’ve gotten lots of compliments on my costume and been able to eat some good food. But without Reid the conversation’s shifted to JJ and Emily talking about some random guys that flirted with them at a bar last week, making me wish they’d stop bringing up romantic stuff. I’m not one for lovey-dovey talk, and with me being single it’s adding salt to the wound. Thank goodness they both go off to get a drink, but then Garcia pops over again and starts chatting about a new pair of shoes she found.

“Really? Some new Oxfords? Cool… Um, be right back. I need some air.”

Garcia gives me a wave and I quickly scoot out the side door to the balcony. It’s a chilly night, but my suit and wig keep me warm. There’s a sky full of bright stars and slight mist draping the landscape beneath me. It definitely feels like Halloween. I just wish I didn’t have to spend it the “grown-up” way. Right now I’d rather be back home, eating popcorn and watching Halloween. Anything but avoiding Spencer or having to listen to chats about love stuff.

“Mind some company?” A soft voice asks.

I grip my guitar and spin around, nearly chopping off Reid’s head. “Jesus, Spencer! Don’t sneak up on an FBI agent!” After seeing there’s no big danger I set my guitar down. “Sure, I guess? But why’d you leave?”

He leans over the railing and seems to think over his response. “I had an intention that I was needed elsewhere, and then the team gave me a case.”

My eyes widen. “You mean, like a profile case? Is someone in danger? Are we gonna have to leave-?”

Reid holds a hand up to quiet me, then with the other he takes my own hand. “It’s not a criminal profile. They gave me your case, Rita.” This leaves me even more confused, and almost don’t notice Spencer slowly leaning in closer. “There’s been something I can’t get out of my head, and you need to know. Now, if you don’t agree I’ll forget it but please don’t hate me. I- I…” He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “I’m in love with you, Rita.”

If it weren’t for the railing I think I’d fall, almost having to grab Spencer’s coat to avoid stumbling. This can’t be a joke… can it? Am I bold to assume that Spencer’s feelings mirror mine? What type of probability is that?

“Could’ve said something sooner,” I mutter just loud enough for him to hear.

His head perks up. “So- does that mean…?”

I throw my head back and laugh, nearly losing my wig. “Yes, Spencer! I’m in love with you too, and I could never ever hate you. But why not say anything until now?”

He nods his head side to side. “Well… I didn’t actually figure out I loved you until about 20 minutes ago. I- I’m good at profiling others, but not so good with my own emotions. I always thought that this job wouldn’t be a healthy way to keep a relationship, but the team agrees that we make a good pair- that is, if you want to?” He asks quickly.

I don’t answer right away and instead wrap my arms around him for a soft hug. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Spencer. No unsub in the world could make me rethink that.”

He leans back with teary eyes. “Really? You’d put up with an awkward geek?”

His cute expression makes my heart melt. “You’re my awkward geek, Spencer. You never have to worry about disappointing me or putting me in danger. You being you is more than plenty. As the Dolly song goes, ‘I will always love you.’”

Spencer chokes back a sob and before he can get any more teary, I harness my courage and kiss his lips. This surprises both of us, but once we get past that we deepen the kiss. Once again I’m thankful for the railing because now we’re both leaning against it, and soon Spencer seems to grow just the tiniest bit desperate. We pull apart and he looks as if he’s about to beg me for more but is too afraid, so I save him the trouble.

“Wanna get outta here? I’ve got Halloween on 4K at home,” I smirk.

Reid grows a thankful smile. “Only if you’ll let me complain about the bad strategy choices the victims make.”

My own smile widens. “You do that too?”

Reid shrugs. “It’s kind of their own fault that they die! I mean, how could they not notice that someone was in the house?”

I take his hand and we make our way to the exit, but not before hearing a big celebration cheer from the team.

Happy Halloween, Spencer.

[sleep-drink]

Hey Guys!!!! Actor AU ShTuuuuuff

So I wanted to add a lil lore to the Actor AU comic in terms of roles and hierarchy :)

Welcome Home as a show has a VERY large turnover rate! This is in fact not entirely due to Wally though. The company the production is under “The Playfellow Network” historically tends to not treat its actors or it’s crew very well. It pays decently in terms of its crew and because of how well the show is received it’s actors are paid even more, but in terms of things like benefits (mainly again for crew) it’s garbage. Also, because they can’t keep a whole lot of people retained, they will just kind of hire anyone. Lots of people who are in the industry have passed through Playfellow and the general consensus is “oh god, you worked at Playfellow too?”. Because of the lack of employee retention, the work environment and atmosphere is catty. at best. This makes communication between departments really difficult and very stressful. On top of that is Wally, who runs the show because he’s basically irreplaceable. As you know he’s trying to protect his loved ones and fellow actors from the terrible set and network conditions which are basically discriminatory for puppets.

The characters and their roles so far (in order of hierarchy):

Wally - Star (Lead Actor):

This is pretty straight forward. He’s mr. Irreplaceable and he doesn’t like humans. With pretty good reason :)

Susan - 2nd AD (currently acting as Key PA): Susan is the Second Assistant Director on this production and has been working here for 6 months. She works basically as a backstage manager and coordinates the call sheets and wrangles actors (when she has to). Poor Susan is actually hella overworked. So (oh no!) there is actually not currently a Key Production assistant working on Welcome Home! (I love causing my characters pain eeehehehehehehee ((we’ll see more of that soon))

The Key PA is in charge of all of the production assistants and let’s them know what to do and to keep them on schedule. The person who WAS key PA did quit (mayhaps or not cuz of something Wally did) and the company has not yet hired someone new (hooray bureaucracy).

Dolly - Walkie PA (Currently ALSO acting as Key PA): Dolly is technically the Walkie Production assistant, which means they are in charge of all of the Walkie use on set (she is actually not very good at this and it’s why she often forgets to turn her own mic off). Fun fact! Dolly’s only been on this production for like a month and a half and has outlasted most other walkie PA’s! :) She started as a costume PA and then expressed interest in other areas of production to Susan. Susan was like “Omg yes help me” and kind of forced her on Walkie PA because she has some (theatrical) tech experience in the past. Walkie PA’s can act as Key PAs but dolly has no prior experience and is kind of floundering, plus weird requests from Wally (like fixing his wardrobe sleeve length for him) take up a lot of their time. They don’t mind because it’s just a rule on set that what Wally says goes, but it makes their job just that much more difficult :)))))). Dolly is dealing with it… kinda.

Sandra - PA: Sandra is a production assistant who has been here for about 5 months. Production assistants are generally considered entry-level production jobs but she has beef with Dolly because she’s been here for longer and Dolly has been (technically) promoted before her (even though there’s SO much bleed-through between departments). She also is just a bully, she’s trying to come back from a failed stand-up career, but she’s basically been blacklisted in several comedian circles. (Gee I wonder if it’s the threats and bigotry)

Everybody else who you’ve seen so far are usually random PA’s or I haven’t assigned them a true role yet. But here’s what I got so far! I am by no means an expert. I am an actor (and a stage actor mainly at that, but I’ve dabbled in film) so not all of my info is probably truly accurate. But I try! As per the usual AU CRED: @frillsand 💗 u b! Thanks for reading my ramblings!

[icepoptroll]

what are some little features/appearance headcanons u have for the rtc gang? like as an example i like to imagine noel as someone with lots of beauty marks or ricky to be someone with an oval face shape

u draw all of them so uniquely THEM its incredible and i need to know the inner workings of ur brain when u draw and add details to all of them /pos /pos /pos

Lol thank you for this lovely ask!!!

To tell you the truth I never really sat down and thought about, "ok!! Here are the features I think everyone would have!!" It's more so like, when I made my choir design I just sort of let everything come to me organically. For some of them I heavily referenced the actors in the 2016 version but for others I just sort of did my own thing. For the most part I can't really accurately describe to you what I was going for other than creating organic shapes and playing with colors and trying my best to keep them consistent from drawing to drawing (but keeping my characters on-model is something I need to practice at). Mind you, I'm a hobbyist when it comes to art. I never got to go to art school, I wanted to once upon a time, but it just wasn't in the cards for me. I turned out to be really good at taking care of people so I went to school for nursing instead and now I work full time as a home health LPN. I mostly do art cause it's fun and makes me happy but I would say my art skills are still far from professional.

When it comes to some things that did specifically come to mind, though, I can tell you this:

1. My Mischa has piercings in his left eyebrow and his septum, as well as stretched earlobes. He also has several tattoos. I'm a fan of nu metal groups like Korn and I feel like he would be too and so I had to dip into this aesthetic.

2. I imagine Noel with a really expressive face which probably came about because of his horrified gasps when Karnak exposed his working at Taco Bell, and also his mischievous smirk in the nativity pageant scene. These kill me dead every time. I also feel he has these bright, beautiful honey/amber eyes.

3. Ricky. . . . . My beloved. I'm convinced he has curly hair and some big-ass ears lol. His face shape is what I can only describe as angular yet ovular. He's a petite guy. Olive green/Hazelish eyes. Very soft, clear skin.

4. Connie has dimples, for sure, and soft, sweet features. I went for more rounded shapes with her.

5. Ocean. . . . She smol. And pale. And covered in freckles. I sort of referenced Tiffany Tatreau's face for her but tweaked certain lines and shapes. My background is mostly Irish so I love to emphasize those features in Ocean. I give her a cooler, pinker skin tone like mine.

6. Penny has an ovular face shape. I always picture her with tan skin and dark hair with bright green eyes (obviously cause of the Savannah scene). I also feel like she'd be quite tall. I translate a lot of Penny's features onto Jane even tho I know her head was just plucked off of Dolly lol

But yeah other than this I sort of just go with whatever shapes, lines and colors tickle my brain and then try my best to keep replicating them. I'm really glad you enjoy my designs for them!!

[starwalkers-ocs]

I'm hyperfixated TF2 again, so here are the Mercenaries each of my OCs main! I like to think that they all play TF2 together :)

Eliza: It's a Scout main, but it sometimes plays Engineer or Spy to spice things up. They are an absolute menace of an Engineer, setting up turrets in the most inconvenient places they can think up.

Diana: A Pyro player exclusively. They have no play time on any other character. They have all of the Pyro achievements, and use the Scorch Shot frequently.

Hunter: Switches between Heavy and Soldier. He plays the former mercenary more than the latter though, as he's trash at rocket jumping. If Diana is on the same team as him, they work as the Dream Duo.

Witness: A very good Sniper. They play him like how he's show in "Meet the Sniper": efficient, quick, and most importantly, accurate. They go after Diana frequently, and are absolutely wonderful in the Capture The Flag maps.

Skull: They're a Spy main. If Diana and Hunter are on the opposite team, they kill those two first. Their favorite disguise is as an enemy spy, and they're the main reason that Diana torches every member of its team at least once.

Mary: A Medic only player. She Ubercharges Hunter, and Hunter only for some reason. Likes starting the conga taunt amongst them. Of course, almost everyone joins in.

Dollie: A Spy main. In maps like Harvest where the Sniper players are at their best, it cloaks up in enemy Sniper spots and backstabs them while they're aiming.

Eve: She's a Demoman main, but she sometimes plays Pyro. They don't understand the game well, and so they get absolutely obliterated by either Diana or The Witness 95% of the time.

Lilith: Lilith doesn't really have a main, as she plays whatever mercenary the situation calls for, but she's very skilled in playing Engineer, Sniper, and Scout.

[void-tiger]

...I kinda wanna see a Doomsday Movie set in Nashville, just so that I can laugh my ass off at the horrible western accents and everyone wearing cowboy boots and stetsons, with only the same one block of honkytonks ever shown.

Bonus points if the OST features battling banjos.

Or Dolly.

Actually I’d watch this seriously just for Dolly.

[agoddamn]

Stranger Things 4 spoilers

I'll make a more complete post once I watch the finale, but having just finished all the Lab backstory stuff--

Man, am I the only one finding Vecna's backstory of "he's just cuhrazyyy" surprisingly disappointing? Dude spent 20 (checked the timeline) years under Brenner's tender care and they come in with "well he was crazy before that"? It makes the plots feel stitched together in a disparate sense.

It also feels...look, I'm glad we got Brenner being explicitly ventilated onscreen, and I'm glad Eleven got to ice him out with that final silent judgment ("you have to tell me that you understand I did it for you"/"...") but it often feels like the narrative finds Brenner a morally ambiguous figure instead of an evil one. I was clearly supposed to be feeling something other that "ding dong the witch is dead" with that dramatic dolly-spiral out on Brenner slumped in a Christ pose.

And like... I'm not one to jump on the Draco in Leather Pants woobiefication, but Vecna's stated goal of "I killed my family because my mother was about to put me in a torture facility" isn't that crazy! Eleven has killed tons of people to stay out of Hawkins Lab.

Similarly, the whole "he manipulated Eleven to let him out!" bit doesn't land with me. Not only is it a bit of a far-fetched plan (it hinges on Vecna's accurate judgement of an abused, unsocialized little girl's empathy and adherence to moral societal norms), but getting out of Hawkins Lab is not ethically bad. Manipulating someone to get out of a torture facility is not evil. Killing the kids after obviously was! But...again, back to the accidental comedy of "my god, someone murdered the kids I was in the middle of abusing!" Vecna didn't create that situation.

That monologue they had him give after it also felt very unnecessary; did they really need to have him stand there and go "btw I did all this totally premeditated because I am super evil" when it's pretty easy to believe that the guy might see death as a form of release from the torture facility?

I guess the point I'm struggling to arrive at here is that imprisonment and torture in Hawkins Lab appears to have done nothing to Vecna's character; he was already super evil 100% tv crazy psycho man since he was a little kid and years of torture somehow didn't exacerbate that or shape him at all.

The show clearly wants him to be a parallel to Eleven, but how much of a meaningful parallel can he be if his arc is "btw unlike Eleven he was completely evil from the beginning"? Making him inherently evil wastes his whole tenure in Hawkins Lab. Her experiences in Hawkins Lab are what shaped Eleven, but Vecna was already pre-formed; what kind of parallel is that?

[alovesongshewrote]

Jolene | Hisirdoux Casperan x Reader

Plot:  Douxie teaches you how to play the guitar after a nasty break-up.

Word Count: 1,794

Warnings:  Angst, descriptions of being in a toxic relationship, break-ups, crying, cheating, the gif has nothing to do with the plot i just like it

A/N:  So, while this is cute towards the end and everything, I just want to apologize for anything that might be triggering.  I got out of a very nasty relationship recently and I needed to vent.  Thank the gods for the wizard boy, amirite?  Anyway, thank you so much for reading, AATY will be updated soon, it’s just taking longer because I want to stay accurate to the actual episodes of wizards.  Love you guys, please enjoy <3

(Also, try reading this while listening to Jolene and tell me what you think, bc I never did that and I want to know)

Tag List: @furblrwurblr​

Looking back on it, you should have broken things off sooner.

Literally, every flag in that relationship had been red, but you ignored them all hoping that he’d get better.  That he’d start to listen to you without responding in a resentful way, that he’d stop trying to control you, that he’d learn to respect your boundaries without a fight.  It never happened.

You tried to bring up your grievances with him, but he always tried to turn it back on you, making it seem like your fault.  It didn’t work.  You were smart enough to recognize manipulation and gaslighting, but you weren’t smart enough to leave.

And then he cheated on you.  That was enough.

You ended things as respectfully as possible, even though he really didn’t deserve it.  You didn’t even mention his infidelity or the fact that he had never respected you.  All you did was tell him that it wasn’t a good time for a relationship.  He tried to make you feel guilty, but he never once asked you to stay or told you he loved you.  You did the right thing.  You knew that.

But you felt like crap after it was over.

All you did for the next two days was lounge around in your pyjamas and listen to ‘Jolene,’ by Dolly Parton over and over again.  It wasn’t productive, but it was what you needed.

It made your friends a little nervous though.  

Throughout your little break from society, you'd received a decent amount of texts from concerned friends who weren’t super sure what was going on but wanted to support you nonetheless.  

Douxie was the first person you’d told.

He was the friend you trusted the most.

Of course, he was concerned for you.  So concerned, in fact, that he straight-up ran to your apartment to spend time with you.  And you really appreciated that.

You’d let him into your small home, which was surprisingly clean for the spiral you’d been going down.  The only thing that a person could find odd was the music you were listening to.  It was just ‘Jolene’ by Dolly Parton, over and over again.

It wasn’t exactly his type of music, but he respected your coping mechanisms.  And he had to admit, the guitar was really nice.

“So, how’re you holding up,”

“I’m okay I guess.  Better than I thought I’d be.  It just kinda hurts, y’ know?”

“I know, darling, I know.  Here, sit down, I’m making you some tea,”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m going to,”

You smiled, watching him walk into your kitchen before you flopped down onto your couch.  The tea didn’t take long, and before you knew it, Douxie was on the couch next to you.

The warmth from the cup was nice, simulating human contact.  You missed human contact.  And now you had no one to give it to you.  Not like you did before, but still, the thought stung.

You didn’t realize there were tears in your eyes until Douxie’s hand was on your shoulder.  His hazel eyes peering into yours.  You hoped he didn’t see how hurt you really were.

He did.

“Oh, love, come ‘ere,”

More tears came to your eyes as Douxie came closer, wrapping you in the best hug you’d had in months.  He didn’t say anything, and neither did you.  He just held you close and let you cry into his shoulder for as long as you needed.  And this was what you needed.  

It took you about ten minutes to cry yourself out.  Douxie didn’t mind.  He was going to be there for you, no matter what, and if that meant his shirt got a little damp, he didn’t care.  You were more important.

“Thanks, Doux,”  you said, voice rough from crying, “Oh, god.  I’m sorry,”

“You don’t need to apologize.  You needed to vent your feelings, I’m just glad I could help,”

“Me too,” you pulled back, just enough to see his face, “I’m still going to apologize for getting your shirt wet though,”

Douxie laughed, “That’s fine, (Y/N), I care more about you than the shirt,”

You didn’t say anything.  If you did you’d cry again.

So, you just sat there, relaxing with your friend, drinking tea and listening to Jolene on repeat.  Your eyes were closed, your head on his shoulder, and his arm around you.  It was nice.  Really nice.  Better than anything in your actual relationship.

And then you had an idea.

“Hey, Douxie?  You do music, yeah?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Do you think you could teach me how to play this on the guitar?”

“If you want me to I can,”

“I think I’d like that.  I want to make something good out of this.  It can’t be all heartbreak,”

“You’re right, darling, it can’t.  We won’t let it,”

You smiled at him, making his whole being feel warm, “Thank you,”

“It’s my pleasure.  I can pick you up tomorrow if you’d like?”

“That sounds good,” you said, relaxing back into your place at his side.

The two of you stayed like that for another hour.  You could have stayed there forever, but you wanted Douxie to get home before it got too dark.  Weird things happened in Arcadia at night, and wizard or not, you’d prefer it if he stayed safe.  

You said goodbye in a moment of tension.  Not the same angry tension you’d known with your ex, but something new.  Something much softer.  You realized then that you wanted to kiss Douxie.  That kissing him wouldn’t be a chore, something you did to keep up appearances.  It wouldn’t be something that was done to you because someone else wanted it.  This would be something you did because you wanted to.  But you didn’t kiss him.  Not yet.

The next day, Douxie was at your door, ready to walk you from your apartment to his.  It wasn’t a long walk by any means, but it was enough to fit in some quirky banter.  It was more than enough for you to feel safe again.

“Do you think pigeons have feelings?” you asked as Douxie unlocked the door.

“Probably.  We could ask Archie, he might know?”

“That sounds like a plan,”

He let you into his home, which was just as you remembered it.  Comfortable, a bit scrappy, but in a way that made you feel comfortable.  Right now, Douxie’s apartment felt more like home than yours did.

“You get the guitar, I’ll make tea,”  you said, turning to face him.

“You don’t have to-”

“Ah, yes, but I’m going to,”

He smiled as you walked away.

One pot of tea later, a guitar was in your hands.  It was taking you a hot minute to get the chords right, but you were nothing if not determined.  Douxie was an amazing teacher.  He was patient, calm, and not at all condescending.  It was a nice change from what you were used to.

“Here, let me,” he said, moving his hands to rest over yours, positioning your hands properly, “Like this,”

“Thank you, Douxie,”

“It’s not a problem, love,”

“No, I mean, seriously.  You didn’t have to do this.  Thank you,”

He moved his eyes from your hands to your eyes, “(Y/N), of course I had to do this.  You deserve the world and better,”  he took a deep breath,  “Love, I’m so sorry that that bastard hurt you.  He did so many awful things to you, and you’re incredible for handling it the way that you did,”

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah?  You handled it like an adult.  I think I would have killed him,”

You laughed.  You wouldn’t mind it so much if Douxie fought your ex.  You didn’t want him dead, but if your wizard friend could kick his ass a little, that would be nice.  Of course, the first one who got a chance at knocking some sense into that slimy git would be you, but after that Douxie could have his turn.  The thought made you laugh harder.

It only took a minute for both you and Douxie to be on the floor, laughing.  It wasn’t even that funny, but crying from laughter felt a lot better than crying from heartbreak.  Eventually, you picked up the guitar again, but it took a while.  You couldn’t get enough of Douxie’s laugh, and he couldn’t get enough of yours.

Before he walked you home, Douxie grabbed your shoulders, “You know you deserve better than him, right?”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist, “I know.  But it’s nice to hear someone else say it,”

“I’m glad I could be of service,”

You giggled again, still wanting to kiss him.  But you didn’t.  Not yet.

It took you a little while to learn all of Jolene.  Some parts were harder than others, but eventually, you got it.  Douxie had never been prouder.  

After that, you were addicted.  You got Douxie to teach you other songs.  It didn’t take much convincing.  He loved listening to you play.  He loved a lot more than that, and you loved a lot more than the guitar.

It had been a few months since the break-up.  

You were in Douxie’s apartment, Archie curled up by the window, the wizard himself in the kitchen, and you on the couch, trying to get a chord right.  It wasn’t going well.  You groaned loudly, waking Archie.

“You don’t have more questions about pigeons, do you?  Because I told you, I will not be speaking with them again-”

“No, Arch, it’s not that.  It’s just this freaking chord is driving me insane,”

“Ah,” the familiar said, looking between you and the guitar, “I’d help if I had hands.  Good luck, though,”

“Thanks, Arch,”  you returned your focus to the chord, still frustrated.  Then Douxie’s hands were on yours.

“You’ve almost got it, it’s just-”  he adjusted your hands.  As he did, you noticed how close he was, seated behind you on the couch.

“Thank you, Doux.  Not just for this, I mean for everything, you’ve been amazing the past few months, and I-”

“(Y/N), I would do anything for you,”

You turned as much as you could, facing him, “Really?”  you asked, hearing your own smirk in your voice.

Douxie laughed slightly, “Really.  I-”  he bit his lip, driving you more insane than any guitar chord ever could, “I think I love you, (Y/N),”

This was it.

You (finally) kissed him.

And it wasn’t a chore or something that was done to you, it was something you did that you both wanted to do.  It was soft and safe, and it felt good.  It felt like you were loved the way you deserved to be loved.  This was the world and better.

“I love you too, Douxie,”

[dolliedarlin]

Eee sorry for any grammatical errors

Hii Dollie, I’m sorry about my late response my classes have been kicking my ass lately BUT I’m getting back on track ;)! How about you?

(Patreon) I think making a Patreon is a great idea, I mean it’s perfectly realistic especially with adult life and you’ll still be able to do something that you enjoy!! :D

(Tokyo Revenge) Soooooo I started and I’m hooked (IN THE FIRST EPISODE) unfortunately I had to stop after 2 as I had to get to sleep :((!

Also Dollie ofcccc I will read your time stamps :D, I just want to be able to understand them first :)) I cant wait!!!

(Harry Potter) Yess and me neither I’m just getting back into the whole Harry Potter thing, there’s a ton of potential with it ;)!

(A/b/o) Ahh, I have to agree with you there, Slow burn is always the best way to go with smuts! I do wish to see more plot-based content in the a/b/o community as well :/! 😭 once again couldn't agree more it does almost get tiring reading all the same a/b/o content!!!!

Just because I couldn’t help it if it were to be a/b/o au Bakugou would definitely be a wolve…so would Kirishima….

I promise this is my last question/side comment how do you imagine yourself or y/n ig in this universe?

A/b/o and what animal ??

(I said a bunny because they’re just so cute!)

no worries, dollface, i'm the worst at replying late so don't even stress about it - speaking of which, i'm sorry for my late reply <3

and i get you on that part, it's the same with my classes, especially with the additional module i have for this new semester but we've got this! we'll pull through!

(patreon) you really think so? i'm so hesitant because i don't think any one would want to pay for my writing >.< and i haven't given anyone a taste for how i will write nsfw stuff as i want to keep my blog as friendly and safe for minors as possible. but this brings to mind an issue i'm having, can i have your thoughts?

as you know my bakusquad p.a series is coming to an end and i only have last chapter left to write, should i or should i not make it an nsfw and include explicit scenes? of course, i'll put up the appropriate warnings and place the 'read more' line before any explicit things happen but...i'm just kinda hesitant... i don't want to ruin the vibe of my current blog. should i create a new blog specifically for nsfw stuff? post an sow version here and then post the nsfw version there? what if it gets taken down bc of the stricter guidelines updated in 2021? what do you think i should do?

(tokyo revengers) omg! i'm so happy you like it and just from the first 1-2 episodes! ahhhh! i can't wait for you to see what happens in the future, feel free to come to me an fangirl together! <3 do you have a favourite character yet?

awww~ you're so sweet, i love you so much, have i ever told you that? 🥺

(harry potter) right? hopefully i can get back into it too and write something up myself -^7^-

(a/b/o) thank god! i'm glad we're in the same boat here...now i'm itching to write some a/b/o content myself but it'll be my first time writing for that au so it'll be a little rusty XD

oh~ i'd love to answer this question, if i was a part of the a/b/o universe i'd defo be an omega (lets just say my friends made me do those bdsm quizzes and...the results were very accurate and make sense XD) as for the animal, i'd like to say a bunny too but i'm leaning more towards a cute mouse like the cute meadow jumping mouse, so cute!

[noethicalconsumptionunderdisney]

Ranked: Hannah Montana — Jake Ryan Episodes

Here we are at last: Jake Ryan.  I think you all probably could’ve seen this coming, but I had to keep you waiting (and gather my thoughts a bit).  Of Miley’s canon love interests, Jake (Leslie) Ryan is the one that gets the most screentime overall, and happens to be my personal favorite match for her, so it only makes sense to dedicate a Ranked post to him.  As per usual, I’ll be revealing these rankings from Worst->Best, in reverse-order of how much I liked them.

Which brings us to probably the most unambiguous “Worst” ever:

“The End of the Jake As We Know It” (Season Four)

Yeah.  Of all the episodes on this list, this is the only one I actively dislike.  I don’t think this one was too much of a shock to anyone, but let me talk about why anyway:

This is the first and only time Jake shows up in Season 4.  He’s barely shown in Season 3, which we’ll talk about a little more further down, but he really just seems to appear solely to be dragged through the mud, and then unceremoniously shooed out so Miley can ride off into the sunset with Jesse. I don’t even necessarily have a problem with them breaking up.  I wouldn’t be happy about it, but you could at least give a better reason— you’ve done it before!  Twice!  And there’s a perfectly good reason right there in front of them: they’ve been apart for a while, they liked each other as kids, but now that they’re getting older and growing into separate lives, they’re growing apart.  But no, let’s just have him randomly cheat on her, because that’s totally a satisfying conclusion to a multi-season arc.  Calling one of your most beloved recurring characters a dick for 30 minutes is peak comedy, amirite?

This is also the only time in Season 4 that Oliver is actually an important part of an episode? He shows up for like 5 minutes in the Finale, but really, the Season 4 episode where he has the most screentime is this one.  And while there’s nothing wrong with how Oliver is written here, it just makes a little extra mad, because most of his screentime is focused on this dumbass plot development.  I can’t help but think, They brought back my man for this?! on both counts.

But let’s move on to less loathsome episodes, shall we?

“He Could Be The One” (Season Three)

Okay, I might catch some shit for this.  I know. This episode’s very popular.  I am aware of that.  And I don’t actually hate this episode, like with the other one.  I like the song, I like Miley asserting herself to her dad when it comes to her dating life, Lilly and Oliver are on-point (although that does kind of apply to the last episode too), and I even liked most of the interactions between Miley and Jake.  That said, here’s why I’m ranking it so low:

THE ONLY REASON IT EXISTS IS TO SET MILEY UP WITH SOMEONE ELSE.

Everything from the start of the episode to the weird reframing of Miley and Jake’s complicated past to the focus on Miley bonding with someone else, thinking about that someone else when she’s singing to Jake, talking about how she wants to kiss that someone else so badly except for the inconvenient fact that she’s with Jake, to the episode treating them like equivalent options that are just so hard to decide between despite she and Jesse barely knowing each other and having no history outside this episode… every bit of it is designed to make you like the other guy better and root for the other guy.  

And I guess if you haven’t watched the other episodes, or you have but it’s been awhile and you don’t remember them super-well, it’s easier to root for Jesse (ignoring all the problems that he himself has as a character, in this episode, even, but let’s not focus on that right now).  But this show can’t trick me that easily, sorry not sorry.

I “should” like this episode more, given that this is when they get back together, but they could’ve gotten them together differently.  Instead, we have Lilly berating Miley for going back to her ex after she rejects Jesse, we have Miley… tackling Jake?  Did anyone else find that odd?  Funny, yes, but weird as hell, and not really indicative of their dynamic.  And worst of all, we have them completely rewriting history and hoping we don’t notice.  It’s not respectful to list “we have so much history” as a reason to stay with Jake if you can’t be bothered to portray that history accurately.  So before we delve into that history a bit, let me make one thing abundantly clear:

Jake did not break Miley’s heart.  He’s also not the only one who’s ever fucked up or acted immaturely in their relationship. You wouldn’t know it from watching this, but she’s the one who broke up with him the only time they actually did date.  Yeah, it was kind of crappy of him to make her think he was marrying her friend so he could “Gotcha!” her on TV, and it wasn’t great of him to kiss her and then leave in Season 1, but that’s a far cry away from “breaking her heart.”  He literally never did.  The fact that they framed it that way is not only frustrating, but also some gross foreshadowing for what they ultimately did to his character later on.

That said, the way Jake actually is when he’s onscreen (i.e. when you look at how he actually acts and not just how other people are talking about him) is pretty in-character, funny even.  Miley and Jake still have their chemistry and their interactions are amazing apart from that weird tackling thing, and Jake reacting to the cat sweater was something I didn’t know I needed.  So objections aside, I do like this episode.  Just not as much as what’s to come.

“Jake… Another Little Piece of My Heart” (Season Three)

So while my previous entry was largely dedicated to explaining why it was ranked lower, this entry is going to be a defense of sorts, explaining why this episode, yeah might not be the best, but is a lot better than people remember, or at least is one I’m still very fond of.  

In Jake’s last appearance before this, Miley agreed to be “just friends” with him.  Here, we see them following up on that.  She calls him “one of [her] best friends,” and not only that, she shows that she knows him well enough to know why he, of all people, should not be getting married young.  “You change your phone plans every 6 weeks.”  How does she know this?  Because they kept in contact with each other.  They contact each other frequently enough for her to know that he changes his phone plan all the time.  They kept their promise!  They’re exes, yes, and there’s still tension there as we see in the end, but they genuinely do feel like friends, and not just like they’re awkwardly forcing it.

Miley is understandably pissed when he pranks her, but that’s only because she cares so much, and I do think there’s genuine concern there as a friend, even if she very likely was also jealous.  They’re comfortable around each other, they’ve gotten to know each other a lot better, and the hint that there’s still more lingering between them at the end is both promising and open-ended.  They don’t get back together right then… but they show that they could, because those feelings are still there, despite everything.

I wonder, though, if this episode would’ve worked better had it aired earlier.  We get indications that it was filmed earlier than some of the others, namely that scenes from it show up in the Opening Credits for that season, but for whatever reason, it didn’t air until much later.  I’m not sure why, but I do think things could’ve been better had they reintroduced her relationship with Jake (friendship with some lingering feelings) earlier on, had a few more “regular” episodes without him, and then given the two a proper arc later in the season rather than just one episode where they’re like, “We’re back together now!  But I also kind of like this other guy!  Oh no!” and then he’s not there the rest of the season.  But c’est la vie.  

Now onto the good stuff:

“Good Golly, Miss Dolly” (Season One)

Honestly, the way the entire Season 1 arc unfolds with them is so natural and beautifully done, I almost don’t feel like it’s fair to dissect them individually and split them up based on personal favorites, because they work best in order and as a unit. But I still have my opinions.

I’ve expressed previously why I love Dolly Parton’s appearance here and why she kills it, but in terms of Miley’s development with Jake, this one remains the most stagnant and frustrating. Painfully realistic, of course, and very in-character for everyone, but of all the Season 1 Jake episodes, this is the one that has the least Jake in it?  Which is not really why I’m ranking it lower, but it does put their dynamic into generic “girl clearly likes guy but is too proud and scared to admit her feelings” territory.  Which is necessary for their story to develop, but isn’t as fun as the episodes where we actually see why she hasn’t been “falling all over him” up to this point (meaning, her aversion to his personality).  And we pretty much end the episode right where we started: once again, Miley’s pining over him, wants to express her feelings for him, but feels like she can’t… only now she’s got a more solid reason not to.

“More Than A Zombie To Me” (Season One)

I was torn at first between this one and the Dolly one, but I ranked this one higher for a few reasons. For one, the storyline is a bit more complex and nuanced.  Lilly teases Miley for being in denial of her feelings for Jake, Miley rejects him when he asks her out… but then Hannah Montana has to kiss him.  She makes a case for why she shouldn’t have to kiss him… only to realize she wanted to when they actually listen to her.  Jake respects her “no” and asks someone else… only for her to realize she wanted him after all.  Miley fights with Lilly for Jake’s affections… only for her to realize that her friendship with Lilly is more important than whether or not she “gets the guy.”  

Beat for beat, Miley is always one step behind, not because she’s stupid, but because she has too much pride to see what’s right in front of her, to acknowledge her own feelings.  It’s not the most pleasant characterization for Miley, but it is very telling characterization, and it paints an interesting picture of her and her relationships to both Jake and Lilly— that she genuinely wants to mean what she says and say what she means, but her pride makes it harder for her to figure out what she actually wants.  She genuinely wants to be a decent, down-to-earth person, but sometimes she’s too self-centered to realize how she’s coming off and how she might be hurting others.

What’s most interesting here, though, is Lilly’s characterization and development in the Jake arc.  In this episode and the one before it, she’s among the girls who are “falling all over” Jake, even continuing to say “Sup” to him because he said it to her once like it’s their “special thing.”  She alternates between starstruck awe over Jake and amusement over Miley’s aversion to him, teasing Miley that she may be protesting too much, and shamelessly drooling all over him to Miley’s annoyance.  After this episode, we see her being the supportive friend and #1 Shipper On Deck for Jake and Miley… then firmly against Jake and Miley together after they break up the first time, and from that point on, genuinely over Jake and wanting what’s best for her best friend.  

But this episode… this is where we see the switch.  This is where we see Lilly giving Miley a fair shot, then taking Jake for herself when the opportunity presents itself.  This is where we see her doing something for herself for once and going beyond that “best friend” role… only to realize it’s not meant to be. That Jake only ever had eyes for Miley. That she was the canned fruit cup he settled for after all.  It’s painful and heartbreaking, and perhaps a less strong friendship wouldn’t be able to withstand it, but theirs does.  Because Lilly does.  Because Lilly knows that whatever Miley says, being with Jake would make her happy, and Jake wants Miley more than anyone else.  And she’s willing to do whatever it takes to help them be happy together… even if it means she doesn’t get the guy herself.  I think Lilly’s role in all this is so underrated, and she deserves massive credit for the maturity and development she displays here.

And of course, we have more characterization for Jake, where he’s… very much himself, but also better than Miley initially gives him credit for.  Yeah, he’s still hiding behind his ego and bravado, and he does initially say Miley must’ve been nervous to reject him when he asks her out a second time on the beach, but we also see him accepting that she doesn’t like him back (or so he thinks).  We see that he’s sweet to Hannah as a coworker, and then he confides in her that he likes Miley because she’s “cute, funny, smart, down-to-earth,” and because she sees him as a person, not as a superstar. I do think “moving on” from Miley by asking out her best friend, right in front of her, is kind of a dick move (or possibly a jealousy play), and he could’ve made a little more of an effort to be loyal to Lilly as she was his date, rather than being so obvious that he preferred Miley, but overall, I think this is a good episode for developing Jake as someone with hidden depths, and someone Miley could realistically fall for.  

(Also, the subplot is comedy gold from start to finish.)

“People Who Use People” (Season One)

Their first kiss! Yeah, there’s no getting around it: this one’s amazing.  Their banter is just on point from beginning to end.  We have a continuation of Jake and Hannah’s pleasant costar relationship, a continuation of Miley’s ever-more-obvious feelings for Jake, and we have a culmination of the tension between the two in an incredible scene. Once again, this does one of my favorite things: it turns the narrative on its head.  We know Miley used Willis to make Jake jealous, but now it’s revealed that Jake was doing the same thing with Holly all along.

“Holly?  She’s not my girlfriend.  We have a movie coming out, so we’ve been hanging out, it’s a publicity thing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?!”

“Uhhh… well…  I-I think I—”

“Wait a minute, I know why.  Because you were trying to make me jealous.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.  Admit it, Jake, you like me.”

“No, you like me, just say it.”

“No, you say it!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

*cue Big Damn Kiss*

They spar with each other like this all episode, meeting each other on the same level beat for beat. And Lilly eating popcorn in the background and falling off her chair?  Let’s not lie to ourselves, we were all Lilly in this moment.  Ultimately, this isn’t the story of “how they got together,” because Jake leaves for a movie, but even that makes some sense.  He feels good that he got to kiss her before he left and doesn’t have to wonder what it would’ve been like, she feels angry that he kissed her when he knew he’d be leaving soon, and ultimately his acting career comes before him having a normal life, as it always sort of has, which unfortunately means it also has to come before Miley.  But once again, we have an open ending, a clear “not now” rather than a “never,” and a question to be potentially answered in the future: Will They, Might They, and Would It Work Out?  And of course, what’s next?

But before we get into that, let’s talk about where it all began:

#3: “New Kid in School” (Season One)

Who doesn’t love a good First Meeting, especially one that starts off with two prospective lovers starting off on the wrong foot?  What I love about them starting off on the wrong foot here, though, is that it’s not really due to misunderstandings.  On the contrary, Miley is the only person who knows exactly what’s going on— even better than Jake does, I’d argue, because he doesn’t even realize how arrogant he comes across, and Miley’s the only one willing to call him out on it.

This isn’t even particularly a shippy episode, apart from “Also, he thinks I’m cute, not that I care,” but I’d argue it’s better because it establishes them as characters first, and as Foils.  Both of them are celebrities attending normal school and who, in theory, want to be treated like normal kids, but while Jake talks the talk and still gets everything he wants, Miley walks the walk and has to lose her celebrity privileges in exchange for peace and privacy.  It’s understandable that Miley feels she’s gotten the short end of the stick, and it’s only later, after she’s opened her big mouth of course, when Jake confides in her that sometimes he really does wish he could be normal, it’s only then that she realizes she’s the lucky one.  

But of course it’s not too late for her, it’s too early in the show for that!  So we see her family coming together in this hilarious scene where they pretend they’re all crazy celebrity-impersonators.  As a side note, I like to think they didn’t buy the Elvis costume for this, but that Jackson just had it lying around already and was itching for an excuse to use it.  (Maybe he was Elvis for a previous Halloween, idk.)

In any case, the reason I rank this higher is that even though it doesn’t show that Miley and Jake like each other all that much, it shows why they could like each other, which in my opinion is more important.  I mean, ideally, you’d have both, but this does a good job of introducing Jake as someone who seems like just another egotistical celebrity Miley can’t stand, but underneath that, is someone who just might understand what she goes through better than anyone, and Miley is the perfect person to understand him right back.  

#2: “That’s What Friends Are For?” (Season Two)

The return of not one, but two iconic guest stars in the best and worst way: together.  Months after their breakup, Miley finds Jake at her doorstep after sparring with Mikayla, and is sure he’s only there to get her back… but he just wants to be friends.  Great!  Good, no drama!  That’s exactly what she wanted… right?

Even better, he invites her on the set of a talk show so he can reveal his new movie… and his new costar, her archrival Mikayla.  The worst part is, he chose Mikayla out of courtesy.  He doesn’t know Hannah and Mikayla hate each other, because they act friendly when they’re on-camera.  He did it because he values his relationship with Miley, and doesn’t want to ruin their friendship by inviting her to play his love interest.  And Miley… well, we all know Miley isn’t as okay with this as she pretends to be, and it only becomes more apparent as the episode goes on.

What I love about this is the role reversal this puts them in.  For once, Jake is the one being mature, and Miley is the one that needs to apologize and grow, and admits it.  It’s framed that way and everything.  It’s almost bittersweet to watch, because this was such a good step for them, and probably the most mature episode involving the two. To see them go backwards in development after this, to see Jake be raked through the coals by the writers, all that good will between them forgotten and retconned and burned to hell later on, there’s just something very bitterly tragic about it.  This episode was so important for them, not just as a relationship, but as people, and I wish that good will they had towards each other had remained and gotten a proper follow-up.

Of course, this was itself an excellent follow-up to…

#1: “Achy Jakey Heart” (Season Two)

Was it ever even a question? Jake Ryan returns in glorious fashion: falling from the sky, in a tux, down on one knee begging Miley’s forgiveness, with chocolates from the sky.  Say what you will, that man knows his way around a Big Romantic Gesture.  And he doesn’t stop there: muffins, “Jake steak,” a cardboard cutout, and barging in the front door in a literal knight costume, he asks what more he can do.   More importantly, he says, “You’ve dumped stuff on me, and you’ve yelled at me.  The one thing you haven’t done is tell me you don’t care about me.  Tell me that, and I’ll go away.”  Even after all this, he’s willing to respect her if the answer is “no.”  He just wants to make sure it’s “no” because she doesn’t want him, and not because she doesn’t believe he cares for her.  He does care for her, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to prove it.  

He gets tested for this pretty much right away, fails in private, and then passes in public when Miley least expects him to.  After telling Miley he can’t take her to a movie premiere because he’s pretending to date his costar, he rejects his costar on live TV to confess his love for Miley.  He doesn’t do it expecting her to come back, rather, he admits his fault and accepts that for him, there’s no happy ending.  And Miley responds in the best way possible, showing up with a “Who says real life doesn’t have happy endings?” and a Big Damn Kiss of her own.

This is also when they confide in each other.  Jake tells her his real name is Leslie, and Miley tells him she’s Hannah Montana.  They’re vulnerable with each other for the first time in their relationship, and they understand each other better than ever. Unfortunately, it’s understanding, or lack thereof, that also leads to their demise.  

Jake wants to be a normal guy, or at least he thinks he does.  Miley feels to a certain extent that she is a normal girl, just a normal girl who happened to get famous.  And that disconnect, that difference hurts them.  Miley realizes that Jake doesn’t actually know what it’s like to be normal, and having to be with someone who can’t handle one night of it, as well as the pressure of being famous as Miley too, is what finally cracks them open.  I will say she could’ve handled it a lot better, and good on Jake for calling her out on her lack of communication, but in the end, their relationship is left with a mutual understanding: that Jake respects her secret, listened to what she had to say, and wants to improve.  Not so that he can get her back, but so that he can be “worthy of someone as terrific as” her.  

This also has ONE OF THE BEST SUBPLOTS OF ALL TIME.  Cheese jerky?  Capitalist commentary?  Jackson rolling in money and Rico being mad about it? Oliver and Jackson doing a rap together? Are you not entertained?  Like its main plot, this does end up reverting to the status quo by the end, but it’s done in a way that’s both crushingly realistic and brutally hilarious.  Overall, this episode?  One for the ages.

So there it is— every Jake Ryan episode, ranked.  I have a whole ton more I could say about Jake Ryan, Miley Stewart, and their overall dynamic (and probably will, this week lol nope), but I feel like this is a decent start that outlines my opinions in quite a bit of detail.  While not a perfect couple by any means, they sure as hell made the screen a lot more interesting.  And hey, the course of true love never did run smooth, why should they be any different?

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

To Cure the Inevitable

Summary: Roman is so tired of endangering himself and everyone around him everytime he changes. Logan promises to help cure him, an old agreement never straying far in his mind

Warnings: major character death, body horror, gore, injury, needle, injected euthanasia. 

Prompt: Painful Transformation, requested by Nico on AO3

Ships: Logince QPR (Logan x Roman)

WC: 2303

“Logan if none of these work-”

“One of them has to.”

“Shut up and listen for a second.” Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. “I know how hard you're working and I love you so much for it but...if none of these work- Logan I can’t keep doing this.”

Logan knew. He knew how hard it was for Roman every month, saw it in the scars tracing his body and the guilty conscience he bore every time after. Months of repeating the same thing over and over again without coming close to what they wanted. Logan knew but he was still loath to hear it.

“If these don’t work I want to die.”

-----

“Logan.”

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. 

“Roman I- this is it.” Logan held up the syringe full of liquid, the smooth glass reflecting the full moon’s light shining through the window. The room was dim save for that; dim lighting didn’t make for accurate scientific endeavors  but Roman hated the bright lights, especially when he- well, he cared more for his friends comfort than any rules he learned getting his degree. He supposed it was odd, going from working in a small research lab to making one of his own out in the middle of nowhere. An unassuming cabin with just enough homey touchy to assure no one would break in on the assumption it was abandoned. Enough furniture had been moved to it that it was a comfortable weekend stay to any who may wish it, fireplace stacked with wood and no perishables shoved into the cabinets for overnight stays. It was comfortable but he and Roman usually only came here once a month. Two days out of the month this was their home, though they usually stayed in the basement.

The basement that was also well stocked but with very different supplies. First aid kits lay on practically every surface with more advanced surgical supplies within easy reach anywhere you happened to stand in the room. Sterilized countertops were a;ways optimized to have something laid on them for examination and two big industrial sinks were set on either side of the room considering  how messy the work often was down here. A dolly and cart sat nearby the steps to get any supplies Logan needed from upstairs to down in the basement and ample shelving space provided room for it all. The biggest installment however, was a rather large, iron and silver coated cage; Logan didn’t know if those metals really helped anything but when it came to this he wasn;t sure if “overprepared” was ever a word he’d use.

Roman sat cross legged in the middle, hair tousled messily from running his fingers through it all night from stress. His too large hospital gown pooled around and left him looking small and vulnerable, which was a far cry from his normally boisterous and extraverted self. He was only twenty-five but the lines on his face spoke a different story, wrinkles pulled far too many times from stress and pain and regret, bags sagging under heavy eyelids as he struggled to even look Logan in the eye. Par for the course when they were down here together, neither of them ever quite ready to address what they knew was coming whether they ever wanted it too or not.

Logan gripped the vile tightly, the needle covered for now as soft music played in the background. Everything was tuned to Roman as much as Logan could possibly make it. Soft disney instrumentals played to fill the tense air, lights turned dim so the brightness never hurt his eyes, hospital gown made by him and Logan themselves using softer but cheap materials so it was comfortable but didn't cost too much to fix or replace when it was torn to shreds. The clock was put in plain view for Roman to see since he often got time based anxiety when he was down here, which Logan could hardly blame him for. They had tried lining the cage comfortably with pillows and carpet and blankets a couple years back but it hadn’t gone over as well as they had hoped so they had  spent a couple days extra at the cabin cleaning up the unexpected mess before agreeing that unfortunately, a bare cage worked best for their purpose. 

“Logan.” Roman twisted his fingers together and looked up at him finally, face tight and eyes wide as they caught the time and the angle of the  moon. “Can you...not the whole time obviously but...can I maybe hold your hand?”

Logan had always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check even through the most painful situations. Scientific research often had you making tough calls and difficult decisions that needed to be made fast with any guilt pushed to the background as you carried out what needed to be done. But hearing Roamn ask for such a simple thing, voice hesitant and quiet, his heart nearly cracked at the mere thought of denying him though they both knew how dangerous it had the potential to be.

“Roman, of course.” Immediately he was on his knees, vial stored safely in his pocket and reaching out with his now free hands to clutch at Roman’s desperately, squeezing every ounce of reassurance he had into the gesture as he smiled thinly. His chest grew tight at the realization that this really was all he could do, hold onto Roman pale, shaking hands through a cage while they both sat on the floor and waited. Both of them let the simple ambiance of soft violins wash over them as the minutes ticked away, their hearts beating rapidly through their hands.

“I said- I said goodbye today. Just in texts I- normal send off from talking about nothing. They don’t know that I might...I didn’t make it obvious.” Roman hung his head. “We don’t know if this one will be the cure right?”

Logan swallowed thickly, not daring to look up. “No, we don’t”

“If it doesn’t work...I don’t want to leave.”

“I know.” The last one hadn’t worked, and Logan was determined for this to be the most comfortable setting he could muster. He wouldn’t break, not yet, not while Roman still needed him. Over the past month he had hid his expenses from his friend, setting things up he knew Roman would enjoy. He could tell Roman had an idea it was his “just in case” plans and played along accordingly. Logan didn’t have the heart- no, the courage to tell him he had known it was the end a month ago. The last “cure” he had tried had failed to reverse anything like it was supposed to. Years of research carefully poured into a mix of perfect chemistry failing miserably and settling its weight on his heavy shoulders every time he had taken Roman to that restaurant he liked, or the park where they had first met, or the hill they had first danced on. All of the memories  that brought joy and laughter to Roman’s face spoiled in Logan’s eyes every time the thought that he had failed him entered his mind. 

He had successfully kept Roman in the dark however, knowing how hard Roman would take it. They had discussed this before, Roman knew on some level that this was coming, it was Logan’s job to tell him when. But...Roman had said his goodbyes. He had lived as best he could, he trusted Logan to know what was best. Even if Logan felt as if he was simply taking an old dog through the motions one last time, the thought made even worse with the fact that he had stolen enough euthanizer from a vets office to serve his purpose. But Roman was relatively happy, he was still hopeful, he still clung to Logan like a lifeline; so Logan couldn’t tell him there was no cure left. There was nothing at all but a syringe full of death that Logan would use when Roman had turned because it was easier to see the pain of a beast's eyes rather than the pain of the person he loved most.

He fell backwards suddenly as Roman shoved him away, face already twisted as his limbs began twitching. Logan forced himself not to look away- this was his punishment. He had to watch every second of this to burn it into his memory as petinance for what he had done, what he was going to do. He hoped it tortured his mind every second until he died and continued to do so while he burned in hell. He hoped Roman hated him for it, resented him and told him so in his dreams if he ever managed to sleep again. He watched wide-eyed and stiff as Roman curled into himself, a pained whine escaping through his mouth as his back spasmed and split, instantly soaking the gown he wore with thick, dark blood and splattering on the bottom of the cage. Twisting limbs slid on the slippery surface as joints popped and bones cracked under the force of his transformation, becoming longer and bent to accommodate for the hulking form finally shredding the gown as it flopped to the floor. His face was the worst, mouth open in a shrill scream that echoed in the soundproof basement as rows and rows of teeth shattered the pre existing ones and the jaw jutted forward to accommodate them all. Acid spilled from it, making the swelling tongue writhe in pain and temporarily cut off the scream, replacing it with a dull gurgling that had haunted Logan’s worst nightmares for years. His hair fell in clumps as his ears tore from their usual place to reposition themselves, becoming pointed and alert before folding back as his body shifted one final time to adjust itself to the beast it had become.

Roman’s new forn barely fit in the cage, twitching muscle pressed painfully into the bars as the skin worked desperately to knit itself back together, sticking to the bars in its haste and being torn away as he attempted to turn in the small space. Growling low the beast swiveled its massive head to look directly at Logan, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen as Logan slowly stood and wiped the annoying rivulets of water that ran down his face. He wasn’t crying, he needed to hold it together for Roman. Roman needed him right now, more than he ever had in the years after Logan had found out about this, in the years he had studied to be able to help him, in the months leading up to the final try. Roman needed him and Logan would be damned if he wasn’t there for him as he needed him to be.

Taking shaking steps forward he fumbled in his pocket for a second before grabbing the syringe and bringing it out. The beast looked warily at the needle as it was exposed, the glint from the moon flashing briefly in his eyes. Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He took a steadying breath as he reached the cage, bringing his hand up slowly, both of their eyes locked onto Logan’s hand as he positioned it correctly on the plunger. With a quick movement the liquid disappeared from the glass, the caged beast jerking away as far as he could but only succeeding in distancing himself an inch or two. The empty syringe dropped to the floor at the same time Logan’s knees hit it with a resounding crack.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He brought his hand up to lay on the bars of the cage, trying his best to smile in reassurance. Roman's eyes flashed once before they began to dull, muscles finally untensing as he slumped to the floor slowly. Watching as he closed  his eyes Logan reached in carefully to take his deformed hand  in his own, squeezing it gently despite the burrs that dug into his skin. He held it long after blood began to run from his much softer flesh, long after it grew cold in his palm and the blood dried and the fingers relaxed, long after the sun came up and went down again and enough time passed for whatever it was that plagued Roman’s body to leave once more leaving only a small, scarred form behind. A form that was far too cold and stiff to be Roman’s but one that Logan forced himself to accept that it was. His back hurt and his legs were numb while his stomach growled and his dry throat spasmed in unspoken sobs but he refused to move. 

Moving meant he had control of his actions. And that meant he had had the choice of doing what he had done. He could have tried and convinced Roman to bear through the pain just a few months longer while he tried to find something else. But he hadn’t.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his expression set in death to haunt Logan with its misplaced hope and fear and trust. He hoped Roman had finally found peace even as he prayed he himself never would. The lights buzzed faintly as Logan looked at their hands still intertwined together as comfort for him or Roman he couldn’t remember.

This work is also available on AO3!

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, and let go.

If you like this, please consider reblogging, as sharing a creator’s work is very encouraging to us and helps our creations reach more people!

[trashcreatyre]

I'm gonna explain one of my TMA playlists bc I've been wanting to do that for several months, and how else am I supposed to procrastinate my animatic project at one in the morning?

(here's the link to the playlist bc I think its pretty slappin')

General:

Body Terror Song By AJJ-

I know that it could technically be a flesh song, but I feel like its a bit more vague than that? if that makes sense?

The Afternoon By Lemon Demon-

there's gonna be a lot of Lemon Demon songs in this lol- This one is also pretty vague, but for some reason it kinda reminds me of Michael specifically? I don't 100% know how to describe it.

thrifted youth By dalynn-

Most of the descriptions/reasonings in the general section are pretty simplistic and vague huh? I guess it just kinda fits the vibe? I might be saying that for a lot of the general ones-

Aurora Borealis By Lemon Demon-

this one reminds me of the season five, kinda feels like a jmart song. (also you'll probably notice that there's not much in the ship theme in this playlist. I like to keep my ship playlists separate from my more general ones, don't know why.)

Under My Skin By Jukebox The Ghost-

just kinda fits the vibe y'know? other than that I don't really know.

Turn the Lights Off By Tally Hall-

i can't actually remember why I put this one specifically- that's a bit unfortunate-

When He Died By Lemon Demon-

This one mostly just fits the vibe, makes me think about the really old Victorian era statements.

Ancient Aliens By Lemon Demon-

again, fits the vibe.

She Doesn't Sleep By Anthony Amorim-

Feels like a random statement tbh. also reminds me of Not!Sasha too.

Nightmare Fuel By Lemon Demon-

funky song- fits the vibe- I don't know what more I can say-

Everybody Loves Me by OneRepublic-

I don't remember actually???? I think It was an Elias one??? but thinking about it now that doesn't really make much sense???? I'm gonna keep it tho, fits the vibe, at least it does to me.

Bloody Nose By Jack Conte-

fits the vibe :)

Christmas Kids By Roar-

I think I saw an animatic to this one time? now I can only think of the season one archival staff,,,, my beloveds,,,,

La nuit en matin By OH MU-

imma be honest, I have no idea what this one's actually about, but It lowkey reminds me of the intro music during end of season three- y'know, the clown vibes :D

9 to 5 By Dolly Parton-

Archival staff moment

American Healthcare By Penelope Scott-

I guess it could technically be seen as an End themed one? but I put it on bc I felt like it fit the vibes (are you getting sick of reading vibes? i'm getting sick of typing it)

Butch 4 Butch By Rio Romeo-

mostly just the rat filled piano line,,,,,, and also it fits the vibes to me.

Oblivion By Grimes-

Kinda feels like a statement?? In a way?

Murders By Miracle Musical-

the vibes. hopefully thats the last time i type that for this-

oh yeah woo yeah, we're onto the specific Entities now B) lets start with the one that probably has the most, if not, it sure feels like it-

The Spiral:

Spiral Eyes By Rewenge-

yeahhhh,,,, I know it doesn't really fit the vibes all that well, But the title fits and I like it so-

The Distortionist By Ghost and Pals-

this one is SUPER obvious, but it fits REALLY well in my mind.

Out of Her Head (Outerlude) [From The Film Possibly in Michigan] By Korban Baxter-

I can literally picture this one- I lowkey wanna do an animatic of this one one day.

A Crow's Trial By Vane Lily-

OKAY- so this last one is because it's the song from an absolutely GORGEOUS animation/animatic by Akidachi on YouTube, I ADORE this animation. please watch it omg-

again, I'm like, 90% sure that The Spiral has the most songs on this playlist, definitely not a bias or anything. next up is the mf uhhhh-

The Corruption:

Spiral of Ants By Lemon Demon-

no explanation needed.

Maggot By Slutever-

Mostly just the name, but it's a good song too so-

Sick On Seventh Street By Sarah and the Safe Word-

fits the vibe title and actual song wise.

in retrospect under my skin probably could be here-

The Web:

Redesign Your Logo (Bonus Track) By Lemon Demon-

Feels like a very web song,,,

Boris The Spider By The Who-

Spider,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Spider Dance By Toby Fox-

Yes,,, like from undertale,,,,,,,

i think thats it for the web (i swore there were more,,,,)

The Lonely:

Nobody By Mitski-

C'mon, you didn't think I WOULDN'T put this one on, did you?

This December By Ricky Montgomery-

idk what it is exactly about this one, just,,,, feels correct?

Blue Jay Way By The Beatles-

MANNNNNNN- i love this song, my mom hates it- that's unrelated- but I always just feel like there's fog or like, an eerie sea, or something- while listening to it. it feels very lonely-

I'm a Member of the Midnight Crew (1909) By Eddie Morton-

I have no idea why spotify suggested this song to me, but I will never not find it funny. Anyway- reminds me of the crew on Peter's ship :)

The Stranger:

Rattlesnake By Kabaret Sybarit-

Idk, feels like smth Nikola would sing at jon- idk how else to explain it-

A Mask of My Own Face By Lemon Demon-

pretty self explanatory lolll

The Slaughter:

War Pigs By Black Sabbath-

war.

The Hunt:

The Hunter By Slaves-

maybe this one is because it's because it's litterally called the hunter, and that they say hunter a bunch, but it is fun to listen to-

Teeth By 8 Graves-

I cannot remember my reasoning at this current moment-

The Flesh:

Body By Mother Mother-

the lyrics do be fittin doe

The Dark:

Everything Goes Dark By The Hoosiers-

i mean- everything goes dark- what more do you want me to say-

Dr.Sunshine Is Dead By Will Wood and the Tapeworms-

i think its mostly the song's vibe and the title.

The End:

The Trick to life By The Hoosiers-

the trick to life is not to get too attached to it.

Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world By Will Wood-

remember death.

YOOO OKAY NOW WE'RE ON THE ONES THAT I HAVE ACTUAL THINGS TO SAY ABOUT NOW- at least for the most part-

Characters:

i think i'm gonna go from least to most for this- (spoilers, Jon has the most ones because I care him)

Cryptid Hunt- Demo By Averno, Sushi Soucy-

this one makes me think of the WTGFs,,,,,

You're at the Party (Bonus Track) By Lemon Demon-

makes me think about Micheal Shelley,,,,,,,

Saint Bernard By Lincoln-

Alice "daisy" Toner moment-

Mary By The Happy Fits-

mary keay,,,,,,

there used to be a gerry one too, but the more I heard it in the context of the playlist and him, It just didn't fit,,,,,

Ew it's Elias/jonah time-

The Fine Print By The Stupendium-

capitalism- jk- kinda- Idk, just feels like it fits because he really just kinda,,, doesn't care about his employees-

How Bad Can I Be? from the lorax-

I had to-

Boss 3 from the terraria soundtrack-

Listen- I don't know why- but- it has elias/jonah vibes- the vibes are fowl, but the song is good.

Ruler of Everything By Tally Hill-

Panopticon/eyepocolypes time-

Ayooo it's jon time- I really hope I can write out my thoughts in a way that makes any kind of sense- /foreshadowing

A Sadness Runs Through Him By The Hoosiers-

Goddddd,,,,, he's just kinda filled with sadness and survivors guilt, just like, all the time huh?

Home By Cavetown-

the lyrics are just- very him- like- I just gjbdjgsflkjns-

Broken Crown By Mumford & Sons-

frick- the foreshadowing was accurate- the best I can describe it is that the lyrics just???? y'know??? hhh why am I like this sometimes-

Sweet HIbiscus Tea By Penelope Scott-

i'm willing to bet that he never wanted to be the main character-

Honey I'm Home By Ghost and Pals-

I saw a Jon centric animatic to this one time- I can't for the life of me remember who by, But everytime I hear the moth lines, my brain goes ":0" Because I remember there was a time when people kept drawing moth jon- I don't know where that came from but I thought it was very cool.

Who Are You, Really? By Mikky Ekko-

I'm like- actually starting to get frustrated with how poorly im articulating my thoughts right now- this just isn't funny anymore-

Sleep By My Chemical Romance-

I'm not actually sure why for this one- I just remeber putting on my black parade CD, hearing this, and being like, "damn, that do kinda be jon tho-"

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings- tbh, all this sounded and read out better in my head. My words might not make sense, but I do like how the playlist is. also im very tired, maybe this would've been written better if I wasn't struggling to keep my eyes open lol. I'm gonna fall asleep now- or maybe i'll post a spiral themed doodle dump again, who knows. I don't know.

[calamityk8]

"My name is Barney Rolfe, and there is something wrong with my brain. I am admitting this to you with the full understanding and acknowledgement that what I am doing is absolutely not going to be fully understood; but perhaps in pieces it can reconcile the most fragmented and deranged parts of my psyche, or at least arrange them in a way that will relieve this incessant pressure that always haunts me. Whatever happens, well, at least I have tried to do something to explain this innate and incessant madness, which is more than most get a chance to do.

Okay, here goes.

Belatedly, I suppose, there were neurons misfiring to account for, some chemical mishap that perforce disengaged my social abilities to adapt and be of use to others. Panic and hysteria have ruled the contours of my experience for longer than this busted-up brain can recall. Looking back, well, I can gauge the horrific aspects of it, in the present. Of course hindsight’s a malignancy at this point. I have become this disease; it as all that I am: a sporadically hebetude-induced corollary on the razor’s edge of sanity’s rusty hook. Saying things like this doesn’t help. I know. It’s just hard to judge oneself from the outer limits of perspective’s gush and flow. Trapped in this insidious circle of discontent and maladjustment, I am oozing the sap of life’s lost lust.

I might have a way to put it, so let me.

Having severe systemic and constant depression and simply “being bummed” are two very distinct and different things. One is a disease; the other is just one of the myriad consequences of being alive. If someone has cancer you don’t tell them to, “buck up and get over it.” We don’t admonish a stroke victim to, “stop lying around, and get up and do something with yourself.” Even our advice for sufferers of the common cold is sympathetic, as cough-and-congestion victims aren’t told they are being “weak” or “soft” and should just “be happy because things could be a lot worse.” But, for some inane reason that is preconditioned into us by years of inhumane pseudoscience, diseases of the mind are linked to some weakness or lassitude of the individual, as if that person who is suffering from a disease such as depression or severe anxiety is somehow inept and is to be blamed for their troubles. As if it is within their control to get better by “just trying a bit harder at it.” It’s really a nonsensical viewpoint to take; but, alas, it is one of many such idiotic theories held by the masses.

Here — there is this too: you’ve got to fight this one alone. Other people can help you, but in the end it comes down to you fighting for your life all by your lonesome. This is a difficult thing to internalize, but once you do, in some wary way, a strand of hope will spring from this, as finagled and shoddy with trepidation as it may be. There will be a surge of selfhood guiding you, a reliance on the one person you can always count on: yourself. It is a scary thing, but like most scary things one finds as obstacles on the wayward path of one’s existence, extremely worthwhile to conquer. Just like any other terminal disease, depression kills; suicide is merely its mechanism.

This shouting in my head, it never seems to cease.

I am nervous and concise around others. I only laugh when it’s expected. Being alone has become my only comfort, though it too is getting to be unendurable. To guide me I take some small salvation in the long history of human endeavor to fight through the gnashing teeth of internal strife. According to Lecky’s History of European Morals, “A melancholy leading to desperation, and known to theologians under the name of ‘acedia,’ was not uncommon in monasteries, and most of the recorded instances of medieval suicides in Catholicism were by monks.” I dream through these trials and tribulations of ancients, attempting to stem the tide of my own demise with less troubling thoughts than the ones I’ve come to own: I am the angular distance of a star below the horizon; the dusty truth of eons of suffering through a terrible weight’s pressing down; sunken and lost; in old, forgotten times what they once called grevoushede. Grevoushede. Acedia. I breathe the words and balance the syllables on my tongue, unable to savor their taste or texture. I am a weightless pin pricked in the skein of an upside-down world I’ll never get close enough to know.

Who could ever fall in love with this raggedy bag of afflictions?

I trek through the ruins of my obsession, draped in sorrow’s mask, leaning on tiny tics and safe places to guide me. The cracking of my toes, one by one. Snapping all of my fingers back and forth. Clicking my tongue on the roof my mouth. Blinking an even number of times with one eye and then an odd number with the other. Popping my ears with my jaw. Smoothing my eyebrows down with my fingertips. An innumerable array of distractions that ease the arrhythmic pulse of thoughts that come but never go, blurring out my sight, and leaving me trembling, all filled-up with static but as empty inside as an ice cream shop in the freezing rain.

Woe is my middle name.

All of these little vacancies in my head surface and fill into the most chronic of all conditions. Possibilities go awry with suspicious and judgmental looks. Maybe I’ll put on some Dolly Parton and fall in love with a bookmark. These are thoughts that calm the deliriousness at it swarms. Exceptional circumstances to bow down to in this glut of terrors, this amassing of torturous routines: the bath mat must be lined up perfectly with the tiles, the showerhead at just the right angle, the curtain stretched just so, and the shower water, the god-damn shower water…always and forever just a touch too hot or too cold. The chores of being me, they never end.

The human senses can somehow even detect whether a television set is off or just on mute without looking. And everyone can tell the difference between boiling and room-temperature water being poured in much the same manner. But it is when these senses go astray, when they slip and frazzle and get pinched, that’s when one comes to know the real intensity of those senses’ powers. A daily trauma that haunts me wherever I go, my brain stuffed with the lint of leftover churning, dizzy and lopsided and playing alive, I ignore the impossibilities of being able to maintain a normal existence for as long as this sapped torpidity allows. The courage I need to muster just to leave my place and walk to get groceries is at most times an insurmountable obstacle, and so I stay in and worry and worry and worry about everything. Every object grows too precious to disturb as I put it on the pedestal of the postponed quenching of my desires. There is nothing I can do or think that will snap this spell of disenchantment that grips me tighter as it deepens this hole I am eternally residing in. Just making it home from the grocery store with a few shopping bags of food sometimes feels like the greatest accomplishment in the world. I should be doing other things with my time, I know: concentrating my efforts on more grand pleasures and goals. But these things of consequence, they are not for me. I lose so much more than I gain in these battles. Small, inconsequential, pyrrhic victories are the only ones I’ve known.

Hope is a bestial thing with daggers and fangs; I make up a thousand reasons to not have any of it bombard me as this disease attacks relentlessly. There are honestly times when I cannot even bring myself to lift a finger to scratch an itch. I’ve been prescribed a list of medications too long to register properly in the catacombs of my lingering doubt about the chemical cohesion of my wherewithal: Abilify, clomipramine, Lexapro, bupropion, Celexa, Cymbalta, Lithium, Xanax, Paxil, amitriptyline, Lamictal, and that grand old sturdy classic Prozac. Etcetetra. It seems that I am only etceteras: more and more of less and less. It’s all a wash. It was a messy chorus of boos from the cheap seats as I struggled through side effects and listened to the growing drone of a singularly horrible voice that wasn’t quite my own resounding in my skull: “You’re no good. You’re a lost cause. Stop whining; start winning. You’re no good. You are just no good,” over and over; nauseated at all times; woozy, delirious, insomnia-plagued and diarrhea-bound; garbling my words when forced to speak, fumbling through life like a doped-up zombie with no appetites, every little thing so impossibly far away.

The window washers will not sing for me. The faucets around here all look like dead swans. I sweep. I litter. I am unable to know for sure if anyone else ever feels the way I always do. I am ill with this ravenous beast that pesters and claws at and drapes itself over me, leaving me with the gumption of soon-to-be-roadkill sluggishly slouching across a busy highway. I yawn instead of moan. I burst into tears in the dark of crowded movie theaters just before the feature starts. I am normal. Really. I am sane — maybe even too much so. I do wish I could just go insane, but, sadly, I cannot quite contemplate how to accurately achieve this feat. My brain will not assuage nor relent with its ceaseless cracked and mangled disturbances.

The boring by-rote recitation of symptoms rattled off to every doctor who’d listen. They don’t know who I am, what I’ve suffered through, how I came to be this way that I am; and there’s no device by which I can properly explain it to them. It’s not like they can run a test, take some blood, or do a biopsy, and then figure out what’s wrong with me. It’s a hidden thing, deep within the walls of my pain, not on or off any scale they’ve ever invented. I am my own example. There are no answers to any of this. They used to take out parts of people’s brains, thinking it would relieve their suffering. But it just left folks lobotomized to a dull, vegetable state, unable to form words or dress themselves. Perhaps they were happy, though. Perhaps they were thankful for the big, empty space that now occupied what they’d formerly called living. Perhaps there was no person behind those dead eyes left to care. The disease wins yet again, as it always does.

Clinical diagnoses follow me with heavy clomps. “Heavy dysthymia with a robust anxiety level. Somatic cross-cutting, serious signs of high Altman-scale mania, repetitive and troubling thoughts bordering on multiple phobias and generalized panic. Personality Trait Facet Scores high on rigid perfectionism/grandiosity/anhedonia type, though scores lower across board than patient believes. Unusual and abnormal, but not psychotic at all.” As you can see, the weather inside my head is rather frightful, to say the least. I trudge through the murky terrain of my past with great regularity. I am muddy with it, soaked through from the storm of my memories, which are remembering themselves over and over and over again and again and again, until I do not rightly know what has happened or what is happening now. Who am I but this box of disturbing thoughts?

Madness in the family. A quirk in the genes being passed down just like Huntington’s or any other inherited affliction. This one’s just as deep in the bones, though not as noticeable, not as prominent in the makeup of one’s persona. My father was a brazen raver whose depression put the business end of a rifle under his chin to finally wreck its one final havoc on him as pulled the trigger in defeat; his father before him too came to an early funeral, though his disease’s weapons of choice were gasoline and matches, as he lay in immolation by the pumps of an empty gas station in the wee hours of his final night on earth. This dreary thing, it just goes and goes right on down the line. Shelter from it is inconstant at best. It is as if I am in hiding from my inheritance, from my own true self — a hibernation of sorts: falling in and out of a troubled sleep, groggy and drooling through another afternoon, I become obsessed with trifles. I organize the cups and plates on my shelves until they all perfectly line up. I become tempestuous at a single hair being out of place. I talk to myself constantly, mostly demeaning phrases and freshly coined derogatory slurs aimed at myself. I have been parked too long in my heart’s handicap spot. There is very little “me” left here to notice.

So, do not look at me lightly, with deferential judgement or pity’s hidden ire. My sorrows are so much smaller than you’d suppose. My shoes come untied just as much as yours do. I can be as brave and also as craven as most. I eat blackberries and put salted butter on my toast. There are no cures, only temporary stopgaps for relief of symptoms. I am not in control of the way that I feel. I will try. I do try. None of this is less than extremely difficult. I do not need nor crave your sympathy; I just want understanding. Perhaps, even after all this exegesis and other inexplicable explanatory notions are through, this is still too much to ask. In the end, casting aside whatever ideas anyone might get to having about me and my plight, I only return right back to where I began: my name is Barney Rolfe, and there is something wrong with my brain."

[von-eldritch]

“Look, no one’s saying it’s not a good song. I ain’t saying it, you ain’t saying it, they--” Pointing to a random bunch of demons, “--ain’t saying it, but it’s WRONG. Barbie’s an icon. Top of her class. Soooooo fucking smart. Like, she was a DOCTOR. She’s GOOD at her jobs, y’know? Really good. Because she’s Barbie. Bitch has been doing that shit back when everyone else was still a housewife. You mean t’tell me that a song that calls her a bimbo twice is accurate? Fuck no!” “Even tha’ fuckinnnnn guy who sings as Ken is all like ‘you’re my doll’. NO Ken, you’re Barbie’s doll. She pegs you. Get fuckin... go back to your malewife shit man you’re just arm candy. My girl is NOT submissive, get that fuckin ‘I’m your dolly’ bullshit outta here! Why’s it even gotta be sex? Can Barbie get it? Of course! No fuckin question there. But she’s got a mansion. Branding. Like, fifty different careers to focus on. If she fucks someone, that’s whatever, cool, good for her, but ‘s not the only thing on her mind. She ain’t some blonde bimbo bitch babydoll slut, she’s a fuckin badass. I ain’t... I ain’t standing for this it’s like they don’t know her at all.”

“...song fuckin slaps tho. Inaccurate as shit but it slaps.”

[bigpileofgarbage]

what barb favorite movie? what type movies barb like?

That good question. I don't know if she has a favorite movie. Here is the thing. I don't think she has enough brain power to pick out movie for herself so she is completely at the mercy on whoever she is with.

Horror movies are far too scary and she doesn't like movies where people get hurt or are sad.

So no action movies either, maybe Indiana Jones, because she thinks Indie is very brave and smart and only hurts bad guys so it is ok.

Most comedies are lost on her because her brain is so small she doesn't understand why most things are funny. But classic comedies...like black and white films...are just fine. The humor is simple enough and people are generally kind to each other unless they are a bad guy. Plus the ladies are very pretty and the men very handsome.

She isn't smart enough to be interested in period or historical films.

Thrillers are too stressful.

Documentaries are fine as long as they are about rocks otherwise...though she will be entertained she will not remember.

MUSICALS are great.

Naturally she loves anything with her hero Dolly Parton in it.

Westerns are also good. The less historically accurate the better, though again because she is stupid she takes them at face value and thinks old west times were really like that.

But I think...if somebody who knew and loved barb enough to take her to see movies that they thought she would enjoy, I can see her liking the Mummy Movies because everybody in those movies are very nice to look at, she just closes her eyes when it is scary. She likes The Never Ending Story because of the nice rock monster. And I think she would also be very fond of Legally Blonde and Legally Blonde 2. For whatever reason she thinks it is based on a true story and thinks it is SO inspirational!!!

And finally, I'd say anything like...classic Disney(especially princess movies) or Muppets is just the right amount of...kindhearted and silly to keep her entertained and not get sad.

[bookandcranny]

Little Angels

One]

It is dark inside a wolf’s belly, but up here the air is clear and bright. Atop the tower of Paradiso, above the city of mist and gray. The roof is all caved in and shattered, scattering brilliant prisms through the fragmented skylight and across the floor. A man stands alone in the wreckage, inside the skeletal remains of this holy animal. He sifts through the books that were left behind until he finds one with a red cover and no title, but the letters A-D embossed along its spine. He flips to a certain chapter, and begins to read.

It was in another kind of tower that it happened. The Detective entered into the penthouse apartment of the Deeds family, a couple from the upper crust who were in a state of panic over their missing teenage daughter. From that first frantic phone call with the grief-ridden Gloria Deeds, Sacha knew the shape of this case inside out, backwards, and upside down. It was a classic. 

Teenage girl from a wealthy family, sheltered her whole life, the type who could do no wrong in the eyes of her doting, overbearing parents. One night she leaves without warning, to chase some guy or some band or some misplaced sense of adventure. The reasons didn’t matter as much as what they were willing to pay for the reassurance that their precious little angel would be home safe and sound.

There were just a couple of details he hadn’t counted on.

Sacha sat idling on the side of the road, looking down at the photo the Deeds’ had given him. It was a little roughed up at the edges and faded at the crease where he’d folded it. He’d forgotten how fragile these old-fashioned print photographs were. Despite the damage, the face of thirteen year old Renee Deeds still looked up at him with those same gentle brown eyes and private smile. 

The girl in the photo, however accurate it was to real life, had her hair pulled back in a crowd of twin braids that crested over thick dark curls. She wore what Sacha presumed to be church clothes-- tidy blouse and long skirt, an heirloom brooch-- and a pair of crutches braced to her forearms. Her ankles were crossed and tucked limply to one side, away from the camera’s focus.

The girl’s disability put a complication in the narrative he’d been concocting. According to the Deedses, Renee could only go so far on foot without intense pain and she disliked using her chair. It remained in the hall closet, untouched since her disappearance. Mr Deeds worked from home most days so rather than send her off to school, she was homeschooled by a well-vetted private tutor under her father’s occasional supervision. She had few friends, being a reserved child, they said. Sacha thought it probably had more to do with the gilded cage she lived in, lined with bubblewrap and goose down lest she ever bruise her precious knees. But it wasn’t his place to say.

Regardless, this left him with a very limited pool of suspects. And suspects they were indeed, since the Deeds were certain Renee had been kidnapped. Such a good girl would never have just wandered off on her own. 

If that was indeed the case, the culprit had done a remarkable job of covering their tracks. Renee was last seen by her mother who had put her to bed at 9 'o'clock on the dot. The security system had been armed all night and there were no signs of tampering. Besides which, the only way out of the penthouse that didn’t involve a several story drop to a very unhappy ending was through the front lobby and the cameras in and outside it didn’t detect anyone unusual, coming or going. 

The parents’ first move, naturally, was to call the police. The cops questioned the other residents and scanned the security tapes but turned up empty handed and after a few weeks of daily calls the officers on the case all but told Mr and Mrs Deeds that their hands were tied. For once, even money and social standing couldn’t hasten the hand of justice. That was when they had called on private investigator Sacha Ferro to get the job done.

All these facts laid out before him, Sacha found himself no closer to the answer than he had been at the start. The difference between then and now was not information but desperation, the heights of which had brought him here. Orphan’s Hollow.

The last few years had hit this city hard, same as it did all of them. It wasn’t a single sudden thing, but rather a combination of natural disasters, a virulent epidemic, and the consequential economic collapse that left entire districts barren, now inhabited only by clustered communities of the homeless. The handful of city blocks now known as Orphan’s Hollow was one such district, named so because it was, if stories were to be believed, populated entirely by children. Hollowed out department stores and office buildings and, most notably, the abandoned fairgrounds of Fun Town West became a tragic Neverland for runaways and other parentless youth in hiding from the overburdened childcare system.

Recently, there had been an epidemic of another kind in many of the nearby boroughs. Kids were going missing, just like Renee Deeds had, except most families weren’t fortunate enough to be able to hire someone to track them down. From what Sacha could pick up, most of them-- those that were reported-- were girls between the ages of six and sixteen. Other than that, the demographics were all over the map: black, white, rich, poor, healthy, sick. Missing posters spawned and spread like mold across the billboards and telephone poles, while the local government processed statistics with dead eyes and shrugging shoulders.

The unspoken truth seemed to be that if they were anywhere, if they were alive, the missing girls were somewhere in here. But the kids of Orphan’s Hollow were protective of their own and wouldn’t likely allow any cops to sift through their ranks even if they did trust their motives. It became one of those open secrets that everyone knew about but no one wanted to touch. 

On top of that, not every orphan was some scrawny Dickens novel side character; there were rumors of gang activity and even some sort of cult that made the teenagers who ended up in this part of town vicious towards outsiders. Orphan’s Row was a name with more than one meaning, they said, because if you took those kids lightly they’d turn yours into orphans as well. None of that mattered to Sacha though. At this point, he had little left to lose.

There was a gun in the glovebox of the Detective’s hatchback, unloaded, and he hoped it would stay that way. The idea of turning any weapon on a kid, no matter their alleged viciousness, turned his stomach. He would bring it with him to be used, in only the most absolutely dire circumstances, as a threat. Leverage. If it came down to it, he could rationalize that.

As he turned down another vacant street into the ghost town, the weather began to turn as well. It had been drizzling steadily since the evening prior, making the humidity all the more unbearable, but now the rain relented and in its place a clotted mist settled low over the city, like ink diffusing in water. Sacha kept his lights low and foot barely pressing on the gas pedal. Though it was irrational he felt uneasy at the idea of making himself any more noticeable than he was already.

When the car jolted it was like being shaken awake from a dream. At first he thought it was another pothole-- the roads were a wreck after so long untended-- but then there was an audible crunch and a lurch as his front-left tire burst. Without bothering to pull over he got out and found the problem right away. Deep in the tire, lodged between the wheel and its socket, was a doll. Or at least, something that was trying to be a doll.

The body was made out of metal; scraps from perhaps an aluminum can worked together with screws and painted to give it the look of a hoop-skirted dress. Its head was a christmas ornament. He recognized the pink painted cherub cheeks and curling synthetic hair. Some broken edge of the makeshift toy had punctured the tire, and of course Sacha didn’t have a spare on hand, even if he could figure out how to rip the damn thing out of the wheel well. 

He muttered a curse to himself. He’d have to leave it here and keep going on foot. At least there wasn’t anything in the car worth stealing, and he didn’t exactly have to worry about getting a ticket.

A sudden shriek made Sacha jump, hand going blindly to the holster under his shirt.

“My doll!” the child cried again. “You killed Jessika! My dolly!”

Sacha turned around and saw a young girl, barefoot and wearing what looked like an old halloween costume, standing across the street from him like a specter out of the fog. Appropriate, since she was so keen on howling like a banshee.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about your dolly,” he gentled, crossing to meet her. 

The girl seemed to be considering running away from the strange man, as would well be her right, but stood her ground instead as her face grew redder.

“You killed her,” she said again. “She was a person and you killed her.”

Sacha dropped to one knee. “ I’m sorry about your Jessica--” 

“Jessika!”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I am sorry, but it was an accident, really. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She sniffled. “I’m Princess Ladybird,” she said, as though it should have been obvious. She gestured at her costume, a pink sparkly dress studded with plastic gems around the collar. “Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“My name is Sacha. I’m a private investigator-- a detective,” he corrected, seeing her confused expression. “I’m looking for someone. They’re not in any trouble, I just need to make sure they’re safe. Do you think you could help me, your highness?”

He kept his voice low and comforting. Dealing with kids wasn’t exactly his specialty, but he knew what he was doing well enough.

“No! No!” the girl cried, more agitated than ever. “No grownups allowed! You’ll just hurt them, just like Jessika!”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he insisted, growing frustrated. “And I told you didn’t mean to break your doll. I could buy you a new doll? A nicer doll.”

She shook her head adamantly. “The store dolls aren’t alive. I only play with alive dolls.”

Play along, Sacha. “Okay, where can I get you a new ‘alive’ doll?”

“You can’t make an alive doll, you’re too old,” she huffed. 

Sacha was not going to let himself be offended by a six year old. He wasn’t. “If your dolls are so precious, maybe you shouldn’t leave them in the street!”

“Maybe you should look where you’re going!” With that, she stomped on his foot and ran away. Sacha barely felt it through his shoes, but that was a small consolation. In a blink the princess was gone again.

He sighed. It was no less than he expected, but it still didn’t feel good. With the world they’d been living in, it wasn’t any surprise that the kids here were a bit strange. At least this one had seemed healthy enough, certainly energetic. That meant there was probably someone making sure she was kept fed. 

He reminded himself that there was nothing he could do for these kids. Better to focus on what he was here for.

Two]

Sacha walked along the sidewalk without any real sense of where he was going. He occasionally saw clusters of children playing games or jumping in puddles in the street, but most were inside keeping out of the weather. When he looked up he sometimes saw tiny faces peering down at him from high windows or crouched on fire escapes. The ones on the ground didn’t spare him a look except in fleeting disgust. There was a girl reading fortunes for her friends from a dented pack of playing cards who went abruptly silent when he passed by, and Sacha came to realize that they were deliberately ignoring him, hoping to shun him into leaving the way he came. 

When he tried to approach a pair of tweens doing some sort of craft project in a sheltered doorway, they quickly picked up their things and scampered away, leaving only a trail of paint droplets behind them. They didn’t look too terribly hard-off; their clothes were sometimes dirty but they were all in one piece and their eyes were bright and lively. It was sort of amazing, Sacha thought, how they’d really managed to build something of a community here, away from adults. Part of him almost envied them.

“Excuse me,” he tried again with a girl who was a bit older than the last. Her age didn’t make her look any more mature really, only sharper, as if she were growing but growing into the wrong shape. “I’m looking for--”

“Everyone knows what you’re looking for,” the young woman said. “You’re loud enough about it.”

This one wasn’t exactly friendly but at least she hadn’t run away yet. Sacha went to pull out a photo. 

“Put that away, man,” she hissed. “You’re not going to find any girls who look like that here, and the wrong fledgling might just eat you alive for having it.”

“For having a photograph?” He didn’t bother to ask what a “fledgling” was supposed to be. Some sort of weird slang he was too dated to recognize, he guessed.

“For keeping another girl’s face! All you need is a face and a real-name and you can make that person do and say whatever you want.”

“Is this some kind of game you kids play? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not a game,” she said gravely. “You don’t understand anything. Walking into this world when you don’t know the rules is as good digging your own grave.”

“Help me catch up, then. Level with me,” Sacha pressed. “I can make it worth your while.”

He didn’t have much money on hand, but he had medicine credits set aside for emergencies and that should be worth its bytes in gold in a place like this. Or if not, she could pawn it and buy some earrings or animal crackers or whatever kids liked.

“Save it, I don’t have an account. Legally, most of the kids here don’t even exist. You’ll have to trade for what you want the old fashioned way, outsider.”

Exasperated, Sacha rooted around in his pockets and came up with a protein bar and a keychain that doubled as a bottle opener. The girl didn’t look impressed.

“Okay look, hand over the picture and the rest of it and I’ll tell you where you need to go, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Outsiders don’t survive long here.”

Sacha wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all some intimidation game, but he folded up the photo of Renee and handed it to her anyway. If he really needed the visuals he had pictures on his phone. He’d turned it off shortly after setting out, when the calls and texts from his sister started pouring in, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave it behind in the car. He could just picture Maria pacing around the house scowling at his number as another message failed to go through. 

I’ll make it up to you, he promised her silently.

“There’s a spot two blocks that way,” She pointed. “Left, left, right, down some steps, and you’ll see a sign for The Love Nest. It’s hard to miss.”

Something about the name said through her lips made him want to recoil. The girl scoffed at his unease.

“Relax, it’s just the name left from the old owners. It belongs to the brood now. It’s a good place, a sacred place.” She sighed, looking up and around as if projecting to an imaginary audience. “Not that someone like you would get any of that, I guess. A lot of fledglings hang around there. If your girl can be found, you’ll find her there. If not, she’s already gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” he demanded.

“I mean gone.” she held up the photograph, still folded. “Gone like this.”

She tore the square neatly in two and let the halves flutter to the ground.

“I’m not even supposed to tell you this much, so if you missed your window don’t even think about hanging around here trying to dig out more information. You’re pushing your luck as it is.”

What an angry kid, Sacha thought to himself as he departed. He wasn’t too different when he was that age, but outright threatening someone who was only trying to do good seemed a bit extreme, especially when that someone had a good head of height on you as well. Was it the conditions they lived in that made them so temperamental here? Or just adolescent angst? Hopefully he wouldn’t be staying long enough to find out.

And just how was he planning to leave, even if he was successful, he wondered. He’d have to drive them out on three tires. Ruining his car would be well worth it though if it meant ending this.

Angry girl’s directions turned out to be sound and soon enough Sacha found himself at the door of a closed down club that proudly announced itself as “The Love Nest” in faded pink letters above the door. The windows were boarded up but there were still some old posters for the upcoming live entertainment pinned to the plywood. It appeared the place had been at least marginally more legitimate than Sacha had guessed by the name, while it had been in operation.

Pushing through the double doors the Detective found himself in a gloomy ballroom, styled vaguely like a vintage cabaret club or perhaps someone’s romanticized idea of a 1920s speakeasy. There were a few tables-- standing only by virtue of the bolts that held them to the hardwood-- a bar, and a large circular stage in the middle of it all. Sacha toed aside what he’d thought was a trash bag only to hear a grumbled complaint and find another of the hollow’s orphans crawling out of a sleeping bag on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” the kid asked, with such pointed accusation you’d think he’d personally wronged them. They were wearing an oversized “Fun Town” t-shirt and flannel bottoms with a paw print pattern.

Roused by the noise, some other children began emerging from their own napping spots to investigate.

“Are you a cop?” one asked.

“No, I’m more of a detective,” he replied.

“Sounds like a cop to me. And you look like a cop.”

Sacha frowned. “How so?”

“You’re old,” the kid said. “And you have blood on you.”

He looked down at his hands, his clothes. He saw brown khakis, dusty black loafers, pale patterned button-up shirt. No tie; he’d spilled coffee on it on the drive, hands already shaky from the ill-advised extra caffeine. To his embarrassment, he noticed a faint dampness where the weather and his own nerves had painted sweat across his collar, but no blood.

“It’s okay,” said the first child, yawning. “Snowy sees blood on everyone.”

“I don’t see it, I smell it,” challenged Snowy. She took a deep breath through her nose. “And you stink of it. Dirty blood, blood that wasn’t ready to be shed. Have you ever killed anybody, Mr Detective?”

Sacha fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Have you been talking to a girl in a princess dress?”

“You mean Princess Ladybird?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly, as if simply mentioning that ridiculous name might conjure up her horrible wailing. “I’m looking for someone. Two someones actually.”

He considered taking out his phone but, remembering how Angry Girl had reacted to the photo, decided to try a different approach. 

“I was told I might find them here. One is named Renee Deeds and the other is Ana Ferro-Silver, eighteen and fifteen years old. Anything you can tell me about either of them would be a huge help. I’m sort of hoping one will lead me to the other.” He forced a smile. 

Kid in the pajamas frowned. “There’s no one with names like that here. You woke us up over something as dumb as that?”

“I don’t think it’s dumb to want to find two girls who might be in a lot of trouble,” he said tersely. “And why were you asleep anyway? It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Growing makes us tired,” Pajamas shot back. They rolled their shoulders. “And sore.”

“And hungry!” added a third child. “Did you bring us any food?”

“Why would I have any food?”

“I heard the gargoyles say you gave Singing Finch a candy bar.”

“It was a protein bar,” he said before he could think to deny it. “What kind of name is ‘Singing Finch’ anyway?”

“It would’ve been Evening Finch, but she tattled so now she’s Singing Finch,” they explained patiently. “She tattled on us and then she tattled on you to the gargoyles and the kestrels. She can’t help it though. She’s a songbird, it’s what they do.”

“So you don’t have any candy?” the other cut in. Sacha put out his empty hands so she could verify and she bit him.

Pajamas laughed as he pulled away with a curse and a cry. “You are dumb. There aren’t any girls in trouble here. You’re the only one in trouble, but that’s because you’re an outsider and a cop, so you probably deserve it.”

Sacha felt a muscle in his jaw tense. He was beginning to think this had all been a huge waste of time. These kids operated on their own kind of logic, their own language, one which was foreign to him. 

“Please,” he said. “Please. I know a lot of you are without families, but these girls still have people who care for them, who are looking for them. I have to bring them home.”

The children looked at him, and then a few of them looked at each other, huddling together in hushed conference. The one called Snowy, who was sitting on top of the bar, glared at him, tilting her head as if she were trying to read something written on the side of his head in very small print. He caught himself raising a hand to touch his neck and let it drop self-consciously back to his side.

“If you keep going like this, you might die,” she told him innocently. “Did you know that?”

The presence of the gun against his stomach, empty though it was, made his skin tingle. “I considered the possibility,” he said, and it was the honest truth. 

“When you die, will you go to paradise?”

“You’re too young to be thinking this much about blood and death.”

“I’ve seen death.” Her voice was without intonation, no defensiveness or accusation anywhere in her tone. She couldn’t have been any older than ten. “My mom died in front of me. She had a fever, but I stayed cold. That’s why they call me Snowy.” She paused, shrugged one shoulder. “Also because I can eat a whole mouse in one bite, like a snowy owl.”

“Oh,” Sacha said lamely. “I’m- I’m so sorry.”

She gave another shrug. “S’okay, I’m with the brood now and they take care of me just as good as mom would. I’m just saying, you don’t really seem like a guy who’s ready to die for anyone.”

Amongst all the riddles and nonsense, this at least was something he could understand. 

“I promise you, I am.”

Pajamas tugged at his sleeve. “Hey, hey Detective, have you ever been to Fun Town?”

He blinked, reeling from the non sequitur. “Excuse me?”

They pointed at the garish logo on their shirt. “‘Fun Town: It’s the funnest place on earth!’ Maybe your friends are there.”

“You’re not going to tell me I should just turn back now? That I’m dumb and the kids I’m looking for are gone forever?” he couldn’t help but snark.

“Don’t listen to Finch, she’s a liar. Nobody’s gone. Different, but not gone.”

Fun Town was an amusement park franchise with a handful of locations all over North America. Had been, that is. They’d had to shut down all their locations more than ten years ago, due in part to the outbreak at the time as well as some unsettling information about the eccentric late founder that came out after his death. Something about swaying elections and pouring company funds into an illicit genetic engineering project. Another day, another megalomaniac billionaire exposé. It had been big news at the time but now it was just another piece of pop culture trivia.

The Fun Town West fairgrounds were now little more than a fancy animatronics graveyard. The rides-- what of them hadn’t been torn down and picked clean by opportunistic scavengers-- were sparkling rusted monuments. Any sense of childhood wonder that remained had long since been siphoned off and sold. The kids didn’t seem to mind though, for how they’d congregated around the place. Maybe Pajamas had a point. It was a big, bright landmark, impossible to miss, and as good a place to search as any.

Three]

The Detective left Snowy and Pajamas and the other strange flock of The Love Nest behind, feeling a grim sense of determination The puckered bite mark on his hand throbbed; the little creep had managed to break skin! 

As he navigated his way to the outskirts of the district, Sacha mulled over the interactions he’d had so far. Reluctantly he pulled out his phone to take some notes, ignoring the voicemail notifications cluttering the screen.

The kids call themselves “brood”-- some sort of gang name? The younger ones and/or newcomers to their group seem to be called fledglings. Everyone has a nickname; real names and pictures of faces have some sort of negative significance. And what of the “songbirds”, “kestrels”, etc? Songbirds: spread information. Kestrels: Unknown.

He huffed. None of this was bringing him anywhere closer to the truth about the missing girls. None of it was helping him find Ana.

By the time he power-walked to the long neglected fairgrounds, the hazy sky was becoming downright dour. The clouds had turned the color of smoke. Combine that with the stench of burnt plastic wafting from some of the attractions, it made for an unpleasant effect. He felt that a storm was brewing, and hoped that whatever came he’d be able to find shelter before the sky opened up around him.

He’d been here only twice while it was still in operation; once just him and his parents and once with Maria. By the second visit he’d already lost his sense of wonderment when it came to a day at the fair. The weather was hot and the crowds were annoying and all the games were rigged. Yet there was still a part of him that felt deeply sad to see what Fun Town had become. This was the sort of place that should’ve been beautiful forever, even as the children grew up and out of their love for it.

As he wove through the rows of darkened kiosks, the fairgrounds suddenly erupted into light. Sacha startled and shielded his eyes. The tired bulbs cracked and fizzled and when he looked up again the desiccated corpse of Fun Town had been revived in a great pulse of electricity. Against the backdrop of perpetual gloom the friendly colors were all the more headache-inducing, and somewhere a tinny recording of calliope music began to play. It all made Sacha’s skin crawl.

Against his every instinct, he let the music lead him to a shack next to the arcade with a mounted loudspeaker, the door marked with a firm “employees only”. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. Inside, another brood girl in coveralls was fiddling with a fuse box and leaning her hip against a desk with an old CCTV. The security system was so antiquated that it didn’t look like it should turn on at all, yet there upon the pixelated screen Sacha could still make out the shape of himself entering the park on a loop. 

The girl turned around, flipping a frizzy head of hair over her shoulder. Although, it turned out she wasn’t so much a girl as a young woman, pushing against the line between teenage and adulthood. His gut reaction was relief. This might be the closest thing to a rational adult he would find around here. Hopefully she’d be of more help than the others.

Come to think of it, he realized, he’d never considered what happened to the Orphan’s Hollow kids once they grew up. Surely there must be some adults here, somewhere. But then, everyone who’d met him so far had treated him as a foreign invader. Were all adults so unwelcome, as he’d assumed, or was there something about him in particular? 

The most rational assumption was that the homeless kids simply became homeless adults. No need for any additional fanfare. They would graduate from the Hollows and go on to squat in other parts of the city. There was certainly no shortage of slums these days, he thought glumly.

Did any ex-runaways ever try to go home, those that still had them? Did that Renee ever think about home? 

“What ho, outsider!” the teen greeted. Sacha felt himself relax despite himself, so glad to be met with at least one friendly face.

“‘What ho’?” he parroted lamely.

“It’s theatre-speak for ‘wassup’. As in, what the hell are you doing in brood territory?”

She moved quickly. He didn’t notice the knife until it was tucked under his chin, pointed at his throat. 

Sacha’s back hit the wall and he put up his hands in surrender. “Hold on, I’m not looking for a fight.”

“Oh yeah?” she giggled. She wrenched up the front of his shirt. “What’s this then? A prop? If I shoot it, will a little flag come out that says ‘bang’?”

She un-holstered the pistol and pointed it at his forehead.

“That’s not a toy,” he said slowly. “Just a little insurance. Like your knife there, I’m sure. I don’t think either of us wants anybody to get hurt.”

“This?” She tossed it in the air and caught it. “Nah, this is part of the act. Tonight, I’m a knife thrower. I’ve never been a knife thrower before. I hope it goes well.”

Sacha tried to speak, but the girl pressed the cold flat of the blade to his lips.

“The older girls put on shows for the fledglings. Sometimes here in Fun Town, sometimes over in the Nest, or up on the rooftops when the weather is nice. I’d invite you, but I don’t think you’d be welcome.” She adjusted her grip again so that the knife was touching the tip of his nose. “All day there’ve been whispers about some kind of detective guy putting his nose in our business.”

“I don’t care about you brood kids do here.”

“Liar.”

“I swear, I don’t. I’m just trying to find someone. I’m not even a real detective anymore,” he confessed. “I wouldn’t tell anyone what you’re doing here. Even if I did, no one would believe me. I’m nobody.”

The knife thrower gave a big, hearty laugh, and Sacha’s throat tightened with fear. He didn’t consider himself a violent person, but over his career he’d come to blows with enough unruly targets and bitter clients alike that he knew when someone was posturing, and when someone was really out for blood. Normally there was a clear indicator of one kind or another; a tightening of the jaw, a certain nervous tick, a look in their eyes. 

But this girl he couldn’t get a read on at all. He hoped that meant she was still on the fence about the subject.

Struggling to keep his voice level he said, “You don’t have to do this. Something like this will haunt you your whole life, you know, and you’ve got so much life left. You’re still just a kid--”

She reared her hand back and struck at his head with the butt of the pistol. Sacha dodged. It slammed into the fuse box she’d been working on instead and the lights went out. Taking advantage of the darkness, he shoved past her and in a stroke of blind fortune found the door. There was a sound then, like the rush of wind in his ears. Then a sharp flash of pain as a flying knife split the cartilage of one ear.

He stumbled and hit the pavement. When Sacha turned around, hand clutched to his head, he saw the young woman’s silhouette bracketed by two iridescent black wings. Again that sound, ferocious wingbeats stirring the air. All he saw were two but it sounded like hundreds, a massive flock taking off in perfect synchronicity. 

“It’s really frustrating when people don’t take me seriously,” said the winged creature as she approached him. Maybe it was an effect of the many colored lights, but her skin appeared to have a glossy sheen to it, like an oil painting in motion. “But you look like you’re starting to get it now.”

“What the hell are you?” Sacha asked with a mix of horror and feverish reverence.

“What do you think I am?”

The thought came to him unbidden. It was an insane thought, one he didn’t even truly believe in, yet this was an insane situation. “The angel of death.”

That gave her pause. “You’re not right, but you’re not really wrong either I guess. Truth be told, I’m heaven on earth. Maybe I’ll cut you some slack if you worship me”

A wing brushed over his skin, however faintly, and it felt warm and real as the blood cooling on his skin. Not ethereal or dreamlike as he might’ve expected but so real, and all the more hideous for it. He shuddered and said nothing.

The false angel, this predatory animal, took a step back. She spun the pistol around one long finger until it slipped and fell to the ground. She looked at it for a moment, as if surprised.

“Huh. It was lighter than I expected,” she said. Then she kicked it aside. “You win this one I guess. I’ll let you go.”

He stared at her, mouth agape, sure it was some trick.

“What? You don’t believe me. I put it in fate’s hand, and for some reason it looks like fate wants to keep you alive a little longer. It’s not how I saw this going, but I can roll with some improv.” She put up her hands. “Don’t bother groveling. I won’t kill you even if you beg. I know guys like you love punishment. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Here… in Fun Town? Or, are you asking why I’m alive?”

She laughed. She so loved laughing. “Morbid! You’re morbid, man. I mean, why are you here among the brood? At… what do the outsiders call it? The Orphan Hole?” she snickered. “You kind of stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m trying to find someone,” Sacha repeated quietly. He’d said the line so many times he felt it was starting to lose its meaning. “And to make up for something I did.”

“Well you should’ve said so in the first place! If you’re looking to atone you need to meet with the broodmother. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch her. Tonight’s going to be kind of a crazy night once it kicks off, but if you plead your case I’m sure she’ll hear you out. 

“I have to keep setting up here. You go on ahead.” She pointed out in the direction he’d come from. “It’s a straight shot to Paradiso. You can tell her the angel of death sent you.”

She spared him one last smirk and then shot up into the air like an arrow loosed from a taut bowstring.

Or a bullet from a gun, even. Sacha considered the discarded pistol for a moment. It seemed so useless now, just a hunk of metal and plastic, just a prop. He walked away without it, pain pulsing dully from his ear. His journey was nearly over.

Time dragged on as he walked, but not enough for him to find the space to contend with what he’d seen. That girl, that creature. She was no angel, that much he was certain of. Angels didn’t attack strangers with a knife, he didn’t think. 

What he wasn’t certain of was… just about everything else. Was he meant to understand that all these girls, these brood, were some kind of bird-beasts taking human shape? Was everyone he’d met an imposter masquerading in the form of a child? Or did they start out as ordinary children and then transform somehow?

He half hated himself for even entertaining such wild ideas, but he had little other choice. “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth” wasn’t that so? In any case, speculation did him little good at this point. He could only hope that this paradise and “broodmother” the girl had spoken of could give him some answers.

Four]

Just when Sacha was beginning to wonder if the knife throwing angel imposter was fully fucking with him, he found his destination: The Paradiso Hotel, although the damaged neon sign now read only PRDIO. 

The building was tall and narrow, so wedged between its neighbors that it looked like any moment it might be crushed. The brickwork was crumbling as it was. Creeping plant life climbed the sides and snuck in through broken windows. The ominous, weathered shape of gargoyles watched from above, jutting strangely out of high corners. This place must have been in dire straits long before it had been taken over by the brood. At the same time, looking at it Sacha got the impression that it had been something glorious in its heyday. 

There was something almost inviting about the faint glow that came from the topmost windows, filtering pink light through heavy red curtains, and yet Sacha was terrified. His hands trembled on the railing as he climbed the winding stairway. 

The higher he went, the more his surroundings began to change. The carpet beneath his feet grew soft, damp, dipping slightly with his weight, and when he looked down he found it thick with patchy moss. Mushrooms sprouted from the junction where the floor met the wall. Sacha tore his foot from a tangle of roots he’d caught himself in and wondered, when was the last time he’d seen so much wild living plantlife in person? 

Finally he reached the top of the tower and opened the door not onto identical hallways and bland hotel decor, but onto a sprawling private library.

The detective could hardly see the walls for the shelves, lined top to bottom with books upon books upon books. There was a desk against the far wall piled high with precarious stacks of paper. They overflowed and spilled onto the loamy floor, whispering under his every step.

Beyond a towering skylight, storm clouds billowed, but that wasn’t of any concern to the flock of brood congregated in their wake. The scene looked like something rendered from stained glass, at least a dozen girls with wings of all colors stretched out and fluttering idly behind them as they sat around some sort of shrub or young sapling that was, quite impossibly, growing out of the floor. Its tender boughs bore tiny fruit, several perfectly round red orbs plump and shiny with juice.

The room smelled like a greenhouse, like heat and green growth, flowers and fruit. Intrigue drew Sacha nearer and he detected an undercurrent of something metallic as well. He rounded the desk and his stomach plummeted. The tree was not growing out of the floor. It was growing out of a human corpse nested in a bed of soil.

The Detective choked on a gasp and the brood children looked up. Their hands and knees were dark from their work. A flash of gore passed before Sacha’s eyes and he flinched, expecting to be struck down where he stood. When no killing blow came, morbid desire took hold of him and he took a second look. The tree was still there, and the body, but the body was not as he’d thought. It looked dry, mummified, more root than rot. Still staring, one of the brood girls plucked a berry and crushed it between her teeth. The smell intensified, iron and something sweet, heady as any wine.

One of the girl-beasts stood, and she seemed older than the rest somehow, not just in body but in her eyes, gray as the growing storm and so clear that Sacha feared if he looked too long he would fall through them. Her face was smooth and free of wrinkles or worry, but the long hair that fell about her shoulders was white as bone. She wore something like a shawl that hung lazily off her shoulders and down past her knees. Unlike the others, she had no wings.

“So you’re the one all my girls have been making such a fuss about,” she said, and her voice was a choir, her words an indictment.

Sacha felt a strange spike of anger at this creature that looked like a woman and talked like a mystic and was neither. “And you’re the broodmother, whatever that means! Your girls make you out to some kind of god. But you’re not a god, and you’re not their mother. I don’t know what you are and I don’t care. I just want to know why you’re doing this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re- you’re taking them!” he stammered furiously. The pieces were coming together, albeit in a hectic jumble. “All the missing girls! You abduct them, or call them to you, or something! It changes them!” He flung his hand out towards the body. “You’re a killer! You're some kind of crazy death cultist and you turn these kids into killers!”

The broodmother quirked her head to the side, not quite smiling. “You talk with a lot of confidence for a man with only half the story.”

“Then explain it to me,” he demanded. “Make it make sense. Because I’ve been running around this madhouse all day and so far, nothing does.”

She hummed to herself, considering. “If you’re so eager for a tale, let’s start with yours.”

One of the other little brood leapt up and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Is it time for a story, Nightingale?”

“Yes, I think so. Do you know which book to get?”

“D for Detective!” she cheered.

“Very good.” 

The girl scampered off and returned with a big book bound in red. Nightingale took it and ran her thumb over the pages, flipping it open with a calm certainty that boiled Sacha’s blood.

“Let’s see… Detective Sacha Ferro. You were born in this very city, had a fairly normal childhood until,” She traced the tip of her finger along the page and Sacha noticed for the first time how it curled, a ghastly hook-like talon. “Oh, that’s right. There was an accident. Your parents… Tragic. Just terrible.”

Astonishingly, she sounded as though she meant it.

“You were in high school at the time. But your sister, Maria, she was still just a kid. You always struggled to relate to her as a brother, with her being so much younger than you, but after that day you had to become like a parent too. You really stepped up, it looks like. That didn’t change the fact that you were still a kid yourself. You made mistakes, and the two of you grew apart.”

Shame curdled in Sacha’s gut. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The most he was capable of was curling his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“Get out of my head.”

“I’m not in it. Frankly, I’m not that interested in your editorializing. This is the truth. Now, where was I?

“You’d always dreamed of being a police detective, like the ones on TV,” she continued. “But became disillusioned with the idea once you grew older. So you became a private eye, but that too got old. You were tired of acquiring blackmail material for shady characters and helping angry wives catch their cheating husbands and so on. Meanwhile little Maria had grown up and moved on and the neighborhood you’d lived in all your life was going more and more downhill by the year. You wanted out.

“Then you got a call from a Mrs Gloria Deeds.” Her eyes widened dramatically. “She wanted you to track down her poor missing daughter. The Deedses were wealthy, desperate, and just perfect. You requested an advance payment, a big one, big enough for a down payment on a new life and the gas to get you there. They didn’t even blink as they pulled out the checkbook. It was all so easy.

“You took the Deedses money and you ran away. Forget the kid, chances were she’d turn up on her own in a week or two after getting whatever rebellious phase out of her system. That’s not what happened though, is it? More and more girls started disappearing. Renee wasn’t the first though, or was she? Could she have been the catalyst for all this? You’d never know for certain. The wondering ate you up inside, but not enough to make you turn back.

“You got yourself a new apartment and a regular nine-to-five job. You quit smoking. You adopted a dog. You started letting people in. You even called up Maria begging to be a part of her life again and shockingly, she agreed! You started spending weekends with her and her wife Kara and their sweet little girl Ana. Your mother’s name, wasn’t it? Well, anyway.

“Everything was all going so terribly well until just a few days ago. Nearly five years on the dot since you took the Deeds case and Maria calls you in tears, tells you that Ana has gone missing. You drop the phone, your blood running cold. She’s fifteen. Just a year or two and she’d be out of the target demographic. Neither you or your sister has set foot in this city in years. What are the odds she got taken? But you can’t let it go until you know for sure.

“Feeling frantic, you pull up the stuff from the Deeds case for the first time in what feels like an eternity. You do some digging. Renee Deeds was never found, nor were any of the others who vanished after her. The cops are still as apathetic and incompetent as you left them. They’re blaming it all on an epidemic of gang activity stemming from somewhere the locals have started calling ‘Orphan’s Hollow’. It didn’t used to be called that though, did it? Do you remember? How gutted you were when you found out? No way you could tell Maria where you were going. Back home, back to where it all started.”

“Stop.” Sacha found his voice at last, though to what end?

Nightingale looked up at him, feigning shock. “But don’t you want to know how it ends? Whatever does happen to the guilt-ridden detective trying to right a wrong? Hoping against hope that if he can fulfill the promise he broke that all of this will be set to rights, and little Ana will return home with him safe and sound.”

“Please, please, stop.” He covered his ears and felt the cut throb against his fingers.

“You’re not really in any position to be making demands, Detective. You came to me. You followed my song. It doesn’t usually work on grown-ups, you know, but you were always sort of a special case I think. I’m glad I kept an eye on you. This has turned out more interesting than I thought.” 

She crossed the room to stand before him, cupping his hands with her own. “You never really stopped being that kid, did you Sacha? You run and run and just keep him right there, locked away in your chest. Look at me Sacha. Look at me. You need to be a grown-up now. I don’t have her, Sacha. I don’t have Ana.”

Slowly Sacha’s hands dropped to his sides, his eyes wide and wet. “What?”

“That’s right,” the broodmother said cheerily. “Ana isn’t here. In fact, she’s at home with her moms right now. Maria’s been trying to call you for days now. You were too ashamed to pick up, couldn’t tell her how this was all your fault. It’s not actually, by the way. You were a self-serving bastard, but not enough to bring down that kind of karmic wrath.

“Although I’d’ve been happy to have her, Ana already has two loving mothers, and an uncle that… has his moments.” She patted him on the shoulder. “The children who follow my song aren’t like that. They come willingly, and they change because change is what they need. I won’t pretend it’s not a messy process. Sometimes blood needs to be spilled to create a paradise. But ‘be not afraid’, Detective. I would never let my little angels get hurt.”

“I still don’t understand,” he all but wept. “What about Renee Deeds?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Nightingale groaned. “‘What are you? What are you? Where’s the girl? Pow! Blam! I’m a big scary action hero and I’m here to save you or kill you trying!’” 

She shook her head. “You’re not the hero of this story, Detective. The girl you knew as Renee doesn’t exist anymore, but she’s alive, not because of your intervention, or lack thereof. Not even in spite of it. What am I? What is she? And what are we when we’re together? A thing that lives without your permission. You need to understand for it to be true.”

She looked at him then with all the sympathy of a mother comforting a crying child. She handed off the storybook to one of her young attendants, and as she turned around she swept aside the cover of her shawl to reveal her bare back. Her skin was twisted with badly healed scars, the flesh raised in the shape of two jagged cuts curving around the shape of her scapula.

“Here’s another story for you. Once upon a time,” she said. “A ship of men was cast from its course and lost at sea. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, they found themselves on the shores of a mysterious island full of the tallest, greenest trees they’d ever seen. The people there had wings like a bird, and they were so beautiful and kind that the men decided they must be angels, and this was paradise.

“The angels let them stay there a while and lick their wounds, but warned them that they couldn't remain forever. At first they accepted this, but as the time to leave for home grew nearer they became obsessed with the wonders of the island and couldn’t bear to go without taking a piece with them. 

“So enamoured by the beauty of the angels, yet fearing their heavenly wrath, they lured away the smallest one and imprisoned her in the lower decks of the ship. When she realized what had happened, she tried to escape, so they broke her wings until just moving them caused her horrible pain. She did get free in the end, but only once the ship returned to port and by then she was far, far from home and knew not how to find her way back. 

“She knew she wasn’t safe among the wingless people, so she hid herself away until nightfall, singing her song by the light of the moon in hopes that one day someone would return her call. When someone finally did, it wasn’t at all who she expected. It was a young human girl, a daughter of man, who recognized her song of pain and loneliness because these were things she knew well herself. When the angel and the girl finally found each other, the angel bid her to cut her useless wings and drink her blood, and together they escaped on new wings.”

As she spoke, the storm outside grew stronger until the wind rattled the very walls, knocking books loose from their shelves. The brood, with their many colored wings and many sweet voices, began to sing in wordless harmony, a hymn from such unfathomable depths and dizzying heights that Sacha’s legs nearly gave out beneath him. 

“Don’t be sad, my mourning dove. This is a happy story. The Nightingale fell in love with the Swiftlet, the song and the storm, and they carried each other to a place where they could make a new paradise, a garden of their own.”

That was when the ceiling began to cave in. Sacha fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands, blinded by what he was sure was a bolt of lightning. When he looks back on it later, he won’t be so sure.

Again came that sound, the torrent of wind and a hundred wings beating within it. Sacha forced himself to raise his head, squinting against the light, and there he saw dancing in the open air above the wreckage-- for dancing was the only way he could think to describe it-- a girl he once knew. Though they were less than strangers, especially now, he recognized her kind dark eyes, her secretive smile. 

Her hair was loose, a halo of electrified black curls, and her wings a dusky brown with the sharp, precise plumage of a swift. Her legs still didn’t move so freely as the rest of her, but she wasn’t bothered. She didn’t need them.

Nightingale ran and leapt and took her in her arms with a lover’s embrace. Off a ways behind them, their brood took flight as well, swooping and shrieking their delight as if they were a single entity, metamorphosing into something new, something so nearly divine.

Sacha did weep then. His vision blurred with the shape of his grief, then his longing, a child and a man and a hair’s width away from paradise. Eventually the storm subsided, but he didn’t see the angel and her love again after that. He thought perhaps that was for the better.

The sky cleared. The sun came out. Elsewhere, young girls planted gardens and played games and put on shows. The world went on, however changed.

This is where past and present collide. In the aftermath of a mystery, a man named Sacha Ferro picks up a book from in amidst the rubble and holds it up to the light. He flips to D for Detective and begins to read, anxious to find out what happens next.

Epilogue]

“Everyone settle down. Places! Starling, for the last time, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ doesn’t call for a knife thrower.”

“And why not?” She wiggles the blade in her direction. “This show’s so boring. Everyone already knows how it goes. Let me spice it up a bit.”

Finch rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just, don’t jump ahead of your cue this time. And stop making up extra lines. You almost blew it last time.”

Starling sticks her tongue out but she has a skip in her step when she returns backstage. On the other side of the curtain, the audience is starting to take their seats. There aren’t enough chairs-- and most of the “chairs” are actually old boxes and things to begin with-- so some of them have to stand. An older brood allows Pajamas to climb up onto her shoulders, reminding her to be mindful of her wings, which are still fairly fresh and tender where they join with her back.

“Greetings, Princess,” says the fortune teller Resplendent, dressed in her good theatre clothes, as she sits down beside her. “Who’s this?”

Princess Ladybird holds up the dented ornament head. “This is Jessika. The doctors managed to save her but she needs an emergency body transplant, stat! I’m going to find her a new one after the show.”

She nods. “Greetings, Lady Jessika. I hope you have a speedy recovery.”

Ladybird holds the doll head up to her ear and hums as if in response to something.

“Can I hear too?”

She obliges, and Resplendent listens. There’s a quiet buzzing from inside the hollow tin skull and it echoes hauntingly in the emptiness.

She whispers, “There’s a bug inside of Jessika’s brain keeping her alive. That’s why she can still talk without a body. If Jessika dies, the bug will get out. Ick!”

The other girl chuckles. “Your name is a kind of bug, you know.”

“No! It’s a bird! Lady-bird!”

She bites back another laugh and points towards the stage. “Shh, the show’s starting.”

Sure enough, the songbird choir starts up, bidding the chattering spectators to quiet down and listen up. A girl comes out on stage wearing a corner of the curtain as a makeshift hood. She says,

“It is dark inside a wolf’s belly.”