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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 6 years ago

Text

after-after party

word count: 4.7k

content: smug harry, banter, and softcore smut (a handjob but a pretty decent handjob hehee)

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Y/N can tell he’s struggling to get back on his feet. After getting that shit-faced, it’s practically a miracle he made it up the stairs to his condo without getting intimate with the floor. “Thank you.”

or Harry’s a hungover mess post-Met Gala and Y/N’s his helping hand (in more than a metaphorical sense)

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Harry didn’t think he was that drunk.

Despite only having been able to see somewhat clearly from one eye, not having any feeling on the left side of his face, the absence of sturdiness in his knees, and the dead weight of what he assumed to be his tongue choking him anytime he tried to talk, he still hadn’t thought he was that drunk.

Maybe fifty percent drunk, at most.

That percentage rose a few notches when he had arrived home, half-stumbling and half-waddling into his and Y/N’s bedroom to come upon her watching a rerun of one of the Avengers movies.

That number had then risen slowly, and then all at once.

It begun nudging upward after he greeted his girlfriend. The words that had sewn together in his syrupy mind had been something along the lines of, “Hi, darling. How’s the movie?”

What came out of his mouth was a slurred, garbled mess of syllables and noises that sounded like he was gargling nuts and bolts.

His self-recognized drunk percentage teetered higher when he tried to initiate a bit of a Met Gala after-after party.

As he remembers it, Harry begun by sitting on the edge of the bed and oh-so gracefully sliding himself up beside Y/N, draping an arm across her hip as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck, right on the spot that is usually the kill-switch to making her cum.

But according to Y/N’s retelling of the situation, Harry had instead tripped over his shiny, jet-black heeled boots, landed like a punching bag right on top of her, and then proceeded to drool onto the side of her neck while trying to push himself up onto his elbows (“quite unsuccessfully,” she adds).

But the event that had skyrocketed his awareness of just how utterly, embarrassingly sloshed he had truly been was something both of them recalled rather explicitly.

Apparently, Y/N’s insistent badgering and deflections of his suggestive touches hadn’t been enough for Harry. She had been adamant on how hammered he was and he had kept dismissing her, saying that he wasn’t that bad off and that, “I’m sober enough to make you cum!”

But he was quickly shut down, betrayed by his own body. In a spur of movement in which he had stalked around the room trying to prove his sobriety to Y/N, his stomach had given an angry lurch at the abrupt disturbance and decided to put a stop to his antics with the reappearance of the two grilled cheese sandwiches he’d had an hour prior.

Then to finish off his ridiculous circus act, his knees agreed to fully give out, resulting in Harry crumpling to the ground like rag doll.

That is the last of what he remembers— keeling over and puking all over his new vintage Indonesian rug, and then face-planting the puddle.

Saying he’s disgusted with himself is an understatement. At this point, it’s edging more towards absolute self-loathing because he not only made a complete fool of himself, but had then condemned Y/N to clean up the mess. All at four in the fucking morning.

Not to mention the collateral damage— his outfit.

Unless he can convince the world that a giant milky patch of half-digested cheese and tequila is the newest fashion rave, Alessandro was going to kill him. And then Harry Lambert was going to dance on his grave.

The dry-cleaners will have to work a bloody miracle.

Now, eight hours later, he sits bare in his large marble bathtub, legs drawn up to his chest with his back hunched slightly forward as Y/N uses the detachable shower head to rinse out his hair.

He’s trying awfully hard to ignore the hollow thumping of his heartbeat slamming against the inside of his skull, closing his eyes tightly and taking in deep, penetrating breaths that taste faintly of lemon vodka and heavily of regret. He shouldn’t have gone so hard, so fast. It was borderline moronic.

After he knocked out onto the ground, Y/N— an angel in the flesh— had picked him up and settled him into the bed, striping him down to his briefs and wiping him clean with a wet towel as best as she could while he blabbed unconscious nonsense about what colors he’d picked for his nails and how the bow tie he’d worn made him look like Mickey Mouse.

She’d had to work fast with the rug and managed to get out the stain after a load of scrubbing and a whole bottle of Bissell carpet cleaner. By the time she extended the ornament out over the edge of the balcony to dry, it was ten minutes past five in the morning and her arms were limp as noodles.

Y/N was too exhausted to drag Harry out of bed and into the shower then, so she had just called it quits and would worry about the damage control in the morning. It’s not like he couldn’t afford new sheets.

Her voice fishes him out of his dazed thoughts, the alcohol trip corrupting her gentle words into dull gritting and popping sounds that cause him to instinctually wince. He turns his chin slightly more towards her, streams of the bathroom’s bright white lights forcing their way past the strings of dark hair covering his eyes and stinging his vision.

“What was that?” His own voice comes out as a low, jumbled rasp.

Y/N coasts her fingers into his sopping wet roots, gently massaging his scalp and the shell of his ears before carefully pulling back the curtain of wet hair hiding away his face. “I said, ‘pass me the shampoo, please.’”

“Oh...” Harry stretches out a rusty arm, his joints cracking in defiance. Opening his fingers feels like trying to pry open a set of metal doors, and carrying the small Bumble and Bumble shampoo bottle back towards his girlfriend’s awaiting grasp feels like taking on a hundred pound weight. “Here y’go.”

Harry nods robotically, tense shoulders drawing in again as he crosses his arms just below the curve of his kneecaps, back hunching forward a bit further than before. His forehead plops down against his forearms, temples pulsing in pain at the smallest motion. “God, I’m never drinking again.” Y/N scoffs in amusement, shaking her head lightly. “That’s what you said last time...and the time before that.” “Well, this time I mean it.” “You said that, too.” Harry cranes his stiff neck to face her, hair flopping over to the opposite side as he narrows his eyes pointedly. “You’re not helping here, love.” “You deserve some scolding.” She reasons with a dismissive shrug of her brows, popping open the cap of the plastic bottle and spilling a decent amount of transparent, sunflower-yellow goo into the palm of her hand. He sighs shakily and releases a boyish laugh. “I suppose I do.” Y/N starts working her digits through his matted locks, watching suds build up over the natural amber highlights strewn across the woodsy brown. The familiar scent of chamomile fills her lungs as well as his and they both take it in like a warm hug, laughing gently at the deep breaths they’d inhaled in unison. A honeyed, almost inaudible mumble catches her ears all of the sudden. “Thank you.” She glances down from where her gaze was focused on watching her fingers work around the little spiral from which his hair sprouts atop his head, catching her boyfriend’s stare. Harry’s looking at her over his naked broad shoulder, faintly-stubbled chin pressed against the cursive “g” tattoo he has for his sister. His forearms flex as he tightens them around his knees, shifting over just a smidge more towards her so he does not have to strain his neck as much.

His muted jade eyes hold a awed, tender demeanor— one that communicates how grateful he is to have her here helping him.

Y/N’s lips twitch with a small caring smile. “Of course, sweetheart. Anytime.”

She pauses her movements for a second, fingers staying perched on his scalp before she sways her head from side to side, mulling her statement over, and then scrunches up her nose in an afterthought. “Just not all the time, yeah?”

Harry snorts himself into a wave of bellyful laughter, lips spreading into a delighted grin against the skin of his shoulder. His eyes crinkle at the edges, the two little moles on the side of his chin twitching. “I promise I’ll keep myself in check.”

“You better.” Y/N states in a cautionary tone, yanking at his bubbly curls in a playful warning. A low hiss streams from his tinted lips as his head is snaps backwards, one eye winking shut at the faint pain. He slowly lulls his head forward again, letting it hang for a moment before looking back at her over his shoulder. “I actually quite liked that.” He murmurs in a sultry tone, shrugging his eyebrows suggestively and hiding a lascivious smirk by pressing it into his damp skin. “Might have to be more reckless just to get some more of that.” Y/N huffs, quirking one of her brows ominously while turning on the shower-head and clicking it into the pulse setting. “Won’t be that gentle.” “Oh, I’m praying for it, pet.” Her eyes give a quick flash upwards to lock with his as they sheen a bright juniper green to emphasize his cocky challenge, the glossiness of his irises dancing with the fluorescent lights of the washroom. “Just shut up and move over here so I can rinse you out.” “Yes, ma’am.” There’s an unmistakable arrogance to the snarky remark. The sounds of his skin rubbing against the surface of the elegant tub bounce off the walls of the room as Harry shifts onto his knees and rectifies his back, turning side to side from the waist up in order to work out the knot at the bottom of his spine. Y/N pretends to be fiddling with the temperature knob to avoid looking below the curve of his bare hip. He moves closer to the edge, pressing the palms of his hands down against the rim with the intention of showing off by flexing his arm muscles. He tilts his head to the side expectantly, eyes half-lidded with a type of self-assured smugness that grates her nerves in unexplainably tempting ways. Y/N scoots closer on the porcelain toilet cover, pushing his hair back as it limps over his forehead, wiping suds away before they get in his eyes. She lifts the hose and rids his chest of bubbles, well aware of her fingertips dragging over the slippery silkiness of his skin as they pass over the wings of his bird tattoos and tickle the antennas of the butterfly on his tummy. Harry’s voice comes out in the form of a melodic hum, with an undertone that hints at a moan. “I like it when you take care of me.” Y/N keeps herself focused as the water washes away the soap from his collarbones and neck. The puff of his velvet words is warm against her left temple. “I like it when you baby me like this. Love it, actually.” She washes down his shoulders and arms, palm following suit to make sure everything goes down the drain— the sweat, body wash, alcohol, and— just maybe— her inhibitions. “Get down.” The phrase is a simple command so she can rinse his hair without making a mess of the floor, but it’s strained with something else. She’s barely holding herself together, but wants to make him work for it. Harry teeters forward on his palms, warm nose bumping her’s and tracing down her sensitive jaw, resulting in her thighs clenching. He gazes up at her with owlish, innocent eyes clouded with lustful neediness and a dab of that post-drunken egoism which tends to adhere to him. “You want me to go all the way down?” His response holds anything but the literal meaning, and she knows it. He definitely knows it, seen in the way a simper ghosts over his puffy lips. Y/N dismantles his advance. “Just a little so I can wash your hair.” Harry’s shoulders droop, pout evident as he obeys. “You’re no fun.” Her throat thrums with an entertained laugh as she douses his curls thoroughly, finger-combing the shampoo out of them. “I’m plenty fun. Just not when you’re hungover.” “I’m not even that hungover!” Harry argues adamantly, rolling his slightly bloodshot eyes. “You literally almost dropped the shampoo bottle, H. You’re very hungover.”

“That’s in the past!”

“That was five minutes ago!”

“And now I’m a changed man.”

Y/N’s laughing freely now as she finishes up getting him nice and clean, turning off the faucet and hanging the shower-head on its designated metal hook. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Focus yourself a little more and I definitely believe you’ll find something hard.”

“God, you’re so crude.” Y/N exclaims, crossing her arms incredulously. “Why do you get so fucking horny when you’re hungover, huh? Normal people get grouchy and don’t leave the bed all day. You get a hard-on and three times your usual stamina. You’ve got to get that checked.”

“I just bounce back faster than everyone else. I tend not to question that gift.”

“Well, you marinate in that gift and finish washing up everything else while I go get you a warm towel from the dryer.” Y/N goes to stand up, but is halted by Harry phasing her out to it.

He’s upright on his knees in an instant, big hand wrapped around her wrist as his eyes crackle with stubborn persistence. “No, you’re going to strip off your pajama shorts and sit on my cock.”

She drags her sight down his wet body, taking in the way his tattoos glint under the lightning of the bathroom, the droplets of water rubbing down his muscles enticing her to feel them against her skin. A little further down, she follows his happy trail down from his belly button to the dip of his pelvic bones to the base of his cock, where it’s covered with neatly trimmed coarse dark hair. That’s all she can see before the side of the black glossy bathtub cuts off her view, but she can tell he’s hard by the way his abdomen tints red and tightens under her intense gaze.

Y/N lets out a quick sigh, turning back to face him fully and putting on her most authoritative voice. “Fine, we’ll make a deal. I give you a handie, you finish washing up and let me dry and dress you. Then we’ll get some food in your stomach and then...we’ll see. Sound like a bargain?”

Harry’s quick to agree, releasing her hand and scrambling to get some traction in the slippery shower. He’ll take anything to get rid of the raging boner pressing against the side of the cold tub. “Yes, deal. Deal, deal, deal.”

“Good. Alright, up then. Where’s the lube?”

“Bottom drawer on the right.”

In a few seconds, Y/N is pressed up against Harry’s body (trying to ignore the fact that he’s getting her pajamas wet) as he stands inside the tub, her hand jerking him off firm and steady whilst her lips seer dirty promises into the pounding pulse of his neck.

“Fuck, you’re hard.” Her astonished whisper is hot again his throat, mouth grazing his Adam’s Apple as she swipes her thumb over his leaking tip, massaging small circles all around the head, just how he likes it. He’s all shades of dark red, light violet, and faint blue, not to mention veiny. “T-Told you.” Harry’s voice is tight with pent up sexual desperation, one hand reaching above to grip the pole that holds the shower curtain as the other finds a spot on the glittery tiled wall. Y/N’s hand wanders down lower, scooping his balls and rolling them around her fingers, feeling out how swollen they are. “And you’re full, too.” She teases under her breath, trailing little kisses up the center of Harry’s throat and across his chin. “Heavy.” All Harry can do is nod his head feverishly and try to tame his bucking hips, eyelids melting shut as he attempts to reign in some form of composure. Y/N tuts in a jesting manner, nibbling on the spot just below his ear, making sure to avoid his fresh piercing. “You poor baby... How long have you been like this?” Harry swallows thickly, eyes flickering open only to be matched with her plump, mocking pout and taunting stare. His words are glue in his throat as he forces them out. “S’been bubbling in the pit of my stomach since I got home. Started to boil over when you kept scratching at my scalp and massaging my ears.” Y/N gives his thick cock a rough tug, drawing a broken yelp from his vocal chords, accompanied by a soft, shaky, “Fuck, s’good...” “You’re like a teenager— wanna bang all the time.” Y/N smirks in amused disbelief, marking a love bite onto the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Harry tilts his chin down to lock eyes with her, blinking sluggishly as his lips tremble with desire. His voice is tender and sheepish as he speaks, almost as if he’s afraid of getting chastised. “Is it so bad that I need you that way?” Y/N watches as he ducks down and knits their mouths together, tasting burning longing spill over her tongue. Her face stings. “Is...” Harry’s slick locks dangle over his sparkling darkened eyes, tickling the tops of her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose as he suckles her bottom lip almost frantically. “Is it so bad that I like feeling you all snug around me while I whimper into your mouth?”

“Suppose s’not.” Y/N reaches up and winds a fistful of his damp hair around her fist, bringing him in for a kiss so deep, it leaves her gasping for air. He tastes like lemon vodka and intoxicating eagerness. Harry, being the little shit that he is, pulls back from the kiss until only his Cupid’s Bow is brushing over her’s, edges of his lips jolting intp an open-mouthed cheeky grin. She tries to go back in but he yanks himself just far enough that their skin barely touches. He wobbles his head in a shake, chuckling smugly. “S’what you get for slut-shaming me.” “You do realize I have your cock in my hand, right?” Y/N grits out, eyes zoned in on his plush, pink mouth, wanting it back on her’s immediately. “Yeah, but we had a deal, remember? You have to make me cum. Means I can have a little fun, if I want to.” “Also means I can edge you until you’re begging for it.” She counters swiftly. Harry takes his lower lip beneath his two front teeth, denying her point with a low, “mm-mm.” “What’s that?” Y/N twists her wrist and thrives at the way his breathing hitches. “You wouldn’t do that to me. I’m a poor, hungover baby, remember?” He’s pulling every string like it’s his job, batting his long lashes and daring her to be cruel. “Asshole.” “I prefer you play with my cock instead, but to each their own.” Y/N picks up her pace, focusing on long, quick strokes. Each time she reaches the base, she twists, and every time she reaches the head, she squeezes right below it. The new rhythm has the railing above their heads creaking under Harry’s strength. She trails her mouth across the 1957 tattoo imprinted into the dip of his right collarbone, staining the ink maroon with her teeth. His chest is heaving excessively, almost enough that she thinks the swallow tattoos might catch flight. He’s making tiny, cracked whines in the back of his throat, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching so tight she can see the bone structure shifting. Y/N sinks her teeth into the hard knot of muscle on his shoulder, basking in the labored little, “Fucking hell...” Harry squeezes out.

When she pulls back, the ring of teeth marks is already a deep purple-red, leaving behind a memory of the Met Gala that he’ll have on him for weeks. The fist Harry has against the wall had fallen numb from how hard he’s pressing into the smooth surface, knuckles white with exertion and wrist quivering under his vigor. His entire arm is flexing, veins chiseling in and out of view as Y/N phantoms her fingers down the center of his forearm, following the seems. The hand working his cock hasn’t lighted up one bit. “Are you gonna cum for me?” Her gaze flickers from his body to his eyes, lashes fluttering luringly. The pole holding the shower curtain groans. “Fuck, yes.” Her mouth sneaks its way into the curve behind his ear, blowing warm air across one of his soft spots and kissing it slow and sensually. “Gonna make a mess for me?” Harry’s head lulls back into the palm of her hand, throat straining with the weight. His eyes fall shut, jaw unhinging a bit as to let a low rumble loose. “Y-Yeah— wanna...wanna show you how good you make me feel.” The water streaming down from his hair—across his ears and down the back of his neck— feels like her caressing touch and it sends his nerves knee-deep into a frenzy. Y/N moves her exasperatingly sweet lips over the exposed center of his jugular, humming a gentle giggle as she sponges a trail of wet pecks down from the area just beneath his jaw to the dip of his chest. Every brush of her mouth is like a grenade going off, burying him further beneath a mound of pleasure that he knows will blow any second. Harry’s locked in place, legs stiff enough to keep him from collapsing on to the floor of the tub. All of his energy is concentrated at the pit of his tummy, radiating a type of boiling warmth that is becoming too much to bear. He can feel his eyes have rolled back into his head, composure too gone for him to even attempt to chain himself back down. His words feel detached from his mind, mouth moving on its own as he begs and pleads for her to finish him off. His keens and whimpers fill the echoey tiled room and there’s a certain tension in the air that simulates the pin to a bomb. All Harry’s body is waiting for— jittering with bottled up euphoria— is for Y/N to pull it. What she says next sets him off.

“The sooner you cum, the sooner you’ll get to feel me bounce on your cock.”

Just as the words finishing sliding down Y/N’s tongue, she feels his cock give a foreshadowing twitch in her cupped fingers, and then a sudden warmth erupts across the thigh she has propped between his knees. The ball at the bottom of his stomach bursts in a kaleidoscope of colors behind his eyes, dissolving into chords of lightning that bristle along every nerve ending under his skin, from the heels of his feet to the tips of his fingers to the curve of his ears. All sound around him goes warbley for a millisecond, and when his eardrums come to, the first noise caught is Y/N’s voice full of angry annoyance. “I meant make a mess of yourself, not me!” Harry splutters into a round of drunken, spaced-out laughter as he swings his head back forward, cheeks tinted a gentle rose, eyes scrunching with amusement. His tone is playfully defensive. “You said to cum and I did!” “You’re lucky I’m wearing shorts...” She grumbles, jerking her hand away from where her fingers are tangled into the locks behind his head. His hair is somewhat dry already, the definition of his natural curls surfacing, bouncing lightly as his shoulders shake with glee. Y/N folds out a neat wad of toilet paper and scrubs the milky substance from her thigh, chucking it into the trash bin and throwing him a glare. “Gross.” “Oh, shut up!” Harry uncurls his stiff fingers from the curtain pole above his head and dramatically sweeps his other hand from the wall, letting both arms fall crossed before his naked chest— which is still somewhat heaving. He cocks his head to the side, eyes reflecting slyness as he gives her an arrogant side-smirk. “I don’t see you complaining when you’re begging for it down your throat.” She ignores his sarcastic (although accurate) dig, socking him straight on the “a” tattoo on his left shoulder. “I fucking hate you.” “You fucking love me, babe. You’re just mad ‘cause I’m telling the truth about how much of a little cock-slut you can be.” Y/N turns on her heels, bracing the burning in her cheeks. “Just finish washing up.” Harry reaches forward and tugs her into his open arms, kissing down her neck and all over the side of her face, chuckling at how warm her skin is. “You know I’m just teasin’, pet!”

“You’re still an dick for it.” She refuses to give him the response he wants, fighting off his contagious smile. “I thought you liked being called a ‘cock-slut’?!” He exclaims in faux shock, smushing her further into his embrace and stretching his neck forward to catch her nose with his pecking lips, feeling her trying to hold back a grin. “What about ‘cum-whore’? Is that better?’ She breaks out into full laughter. “You’re so annoying.” Harry sugars his voice into a babyish drawl, running his fingers down her sides and giggling boyishly as she squirms. “S’only cause I love you so much.” Y/N manages to break free, holding her arms out in front of her as a protective barrier to block another possible tickle attack. “Okay, okay! That’s enough!“ Harry wiggles his fingers dangerously, shrugging his brows. “Or is ittttt?” “No!” Y/N points at him warningly as he goes to exit the tub. “Get back in and finish your shower before you get a soap rash.” He rolls his eyes grandly, arms dropping to his sides. “Fine, mum.” The command was more to save herself than for his well-being, but it seems to have worked out for both of them so she won’t question her motives. “Can’t believe you actually listened for once.” She mocks, pulling the curtain closed as Harry turns on the faucet. He sticks his head out, smiling at her fondly and batting his lashes innocently. “It’s cause I want pancakes, pleaseeee.” Y/N reaches out and shoves his head back in. “That can be arranged.” He pokes it out again with an even bigger, exaggerated expression. “With blueberries.” She pushes him back in. “Fine.” Harry yells over the sound of the water. “And an omelet!” “Okay, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

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worldbuildguild · 5 years ago

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Hello! I hope it's okay to ask this if no one has before: What tips would you have for balancing or integrating proper anatomy and physics into flexable/outlandish/unrealistic art styles? I wish to have a fluid and dynamic, kinda "cartoony" art style, but I need to get a grip on anatomy and such to make it all work. The problem is I'm having a hard time combining the two. I either feel the need to draw super anatomically correct or have structureless, floaty half-baked-cartoon doodles.

What a great question! This is going to get a little long, so I hope you don’t mind the wild ride!

The first thing you need to understand is that cartoony limbs being ‘balanced’ against anatomy is kind of… a lie. The truth is, not everything has to be balanced. It helps if it’s readable! But whether or not it’s balanced well has nothing to do with how good stylistic integration works.

I’ll talk about this later, though. First, I want to present some extra cool examples of cartoonishness that will come up later in this post.

Classic Disney Mickey-Mouse cartoonish-ness!

(see also: looney toons)

This style is built for exaggeration. The parts which we are meant to pay most attention to are embiggened. The face is large, the eyes and nose are simplified and also larger to make it easy for us to see what is happening. The hands and feet are also extra big to make sure we can follow all of the movements without there being any misunderstanding about what the character is doing.

The animation for this type of cartoon tends to also favor clarity of the silhouette over realistic movement. Here, Mickey’s arm is coming way up out of his head. The length of it is unexplained, as is the placement, but we are too busy paying attention to how CLEAR it is that he’s holding the jar to really care about either of those details.

Powerpuff Girl cartoonish-ness.

There’s plenty of other examples I can use, but I’ll go with PPG because it’s such a classic and I love it. This style abandons realistic proportions and limb physics with even more bravado. The characters don’t even have fingers! Their eye physics make little to no sense, they lack noses altogether (unless it’s suddenly necessary for them to have them, a gag which has been done throughout the show).

This style is also built for ease of viewing expressions, but the animation here doesn’t stretch the limbs much. There’s no exaggerated movements here. The characters are meant to be cute and stylistic. Their proportions seldom change - and in fact, those proportions are often played for a gag in show itself (iirc Bubbles is shown not being able to reach something because her head is in the way of her significantly shorter arms.)

Hey Arnold! Cartoonish-ness

These characters are arguably way closer to human proportions than the previous two examples. Their limbs are more or less human. They have believable body sizes and shapes, except for their heads and faces, which are (surprise surprise!) exaggerated in order to make it easier to show/read their expressions. Their eyes are large in order to see where the pupil is going, their mouths are stretched to make the expression more visible.

Anime Cartoonishness

In comparison to other cartoon styles, more recent styles of anime are certainly much closer to realistic human proportions (except for depicting people in age-appropriate body shapes, but that’s a discussion for another time.) They usually have five fingers, a more realistic head-to-body ratio and they are drawn with head shapes that you can (usually) imagine the skull of.

(Anime have proportion gags too, but it’s usually depicted in a separate ‘scene’ that breaks from the reality of the rest of what is shown and is almost always MEANT as an exaggeration of events, not what is actually happening.)

So, at this point it’s time to ask: WHY are these styles still believable even though they’re outrageous? The answer may surprise you.

One of the biggest reasons is… because we’ve simply gotten used to them!

This might be odd, but many people who have NEVER watched anime before and are unfamiliar with the stylization of the characters often DON’T read anime styles well. They don’t follow the gags, they have trouble understanding micro expressions.

Does this sound familiar to anyone?

So why do we? BECAUSE WE’RE USED TO IT!

We all consume(d) similar media and are RAISED on cartoony styles. This - for the lack of a better word - trains us, from birth, to understand the language of cartoons.

Actually, this is something that EVERY style hinges on, in the long run. You kind of have to trust your audience to understand what you are representing, because every time you are not doing photorealistic art, you are, essentially, using similes and metaphors and hyperboles in your own drawing. They’re kind of like literary devices - and people who are not familiar with that type of stylization will often NOT be able to simply take stylization at face value.

So, now with that out of the way, let’s actually talk about what DOES make a style cartoony without losing the integrity of realistic-ness?

1. Make some rules!

The first thing I can confidently say is - even as crazy as these styles all are, they each have a well-defined set of RULES that they follow within their own universe.

For example, no matter how cartoony these styles are, they each keep to their OWN cartoonishness and rarely venture into another type of cartoonishness (although they certainly could, for a gag!)

Let’s look at Adventure Time’s Finn:

This might not be exactly what you’re going for, but it’s good to study anyway. Finn is VERY noodly - I couldn’t tell you where his elbows and knees are at any given time. BUT he is still relatively believable because he follows his own rules.

For example, his arms and legs are always approximately the same width. His body only bends in the direction a proper human body does. His torso and head are always consistently conjoined and have a LIMITED range of movement, even for a cartoon.

Basically, there are established RULES for what Finn CAN and CAN’T do as a cartoon. There’s lots of feats he’s capable of which are not anatomically possible for realistic styles. BUT there are lines the animators don’t cross.

For example, Finn almost never stretches his limbs for exaggerated effects. He isn’t rubbery like a looney toon. It’s believable because we know what we can expect his character to look like in any given animated scenario. By watching these consistencies, we become attuned to these unwritten rules and accept them for that style.

2. Establish Landmarks!

This point kind of merges with the other one about having rules, but instead of just having things your character CAN’T do, try to also establish specific reference points that are always within your style. Most anime-ish styles will have a consistent way to draw features. For example, in avatar, all people have anime-like eyes and mouths that are drawn in a pretty similar way.

In Steven Universe, the character’s heights are not clearly defined, but they are consistent with OTHER character’s heights. For example, Garnet is always taller than Pearl, who is taller than Amethyst and Steven.

In my own style, I I keep several cartoony features always the same - for example, I always draw the nose on people as a sort of cross-hairs, and I always make the mouth a single line and almost never define lips.

I don’t change much else - in fact, if you want to have a semi-realistic style, you will always want to aim for making only a PART of your art cartoony.

Usually people go for the eyes and mouth because when you’re trying to give something expression, you need those features to be the most flexible in order to give your character’s face the most POP.

Alternatively, if you’re looking to make MOVEMENT bigger, you’ll want to only exaggerate features that need to move most. For example, even in anime, the character’s limbs sometimes stretch to give focus to their velocity.

You know what you DON’T want to do?

Don’t break rules that DON’T need to be broken. (If cartooning a limb or a features serves no purpose, don’t do it.)

What I’m talking about is things that will always read as ‘errors’ instead of style. These are really strange things that we don’t think about but really matter to us recognizing things as human.

For example, don’t make the forearm and upper arm different lengths if you haven’t set a precedent for it, or aren’t trying to achieve an effect. Even if the limbs are noodly! It creates a sense of distortion more than style. DON’T make feet really tiny unless there’s a reason for it. The PowerPuff girls would look really strange with realistic feet, but since their arms are also nubs, it ends up working like a consistency.

3. Translate!

This is possibly the most important part, but it’s also the one you’re going to be most annoyed hearing about.

It’s… you guessed it… PRACTICE!

A specific type of practice, mind you. I will call it ‘translating’ for the sake of this exercise.

You probably saw some style challenges going around, right? They mostly ask that you take a character and then try to imitate various styles while keeping that character recognizable.

This type of thing is fun and an easy way to explore various styles in order to see what you can snag from them.

Another thing I recommend is trying to create a gradient from your most ‘realistic’ style to the most ‘cartoony’ style.

Which might be difficult at first, but if you’re able to experiment with a lot of different levels of style, you will naturally settle into the one you find most comfortable!

Good luck!

- Mod Chekhov (Ko-Fi)

#mod chekhov #cartoons #cartoony #proportions #style #stylization #theredlinestation

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very-grownup · 4 years ago

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THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 9

Episode 21.

Suddenly it's a found footage shakey cam horror movie. I think it's meant to be footage of ... NERV before it was NERV labs in 2000 with some bad shit happening. I'm unclear of so much in this episode, guys.

There is one of those blue screens with the white text that warns you that if you make copies of this you will go to jail for a million years, though, which feels nice and nostalgic before we get into the opening credits. (Opening? Still a bop. Thank you, '90s.)

Episode 21 continues behind the cut.

Someone has been kidnapped from NERV, possibly by or because of Kaji (fuckin' Kaji), and because all these NERV people are interchangeable except for Misato, Ritsuko, and Shinji's horrible father, I have no idea who it is until we see the old dude who is usually behind Ikari. He's tied to a chair in a black void, surrounded by an increasing number of numbered obelisks who I think are the old man Simon council but instead of projecting as old men they're ... obelisks. Look, their government is run by supercomputers named after the Magi. This is as fine as anything.

The obelisks don't like Commander Ikari (same) or what he's doing (same) and want Number 2 to explain what's going on (same) due to the Dead Sea Scrolls and their desire not to create god (... same?). Which means it's time for BACKSTORY or as close as this show gets to backstory.

Number 2 used to be a scientist/academic at ... a school ... lab ... university ... somewhere ... where he met a promising young student of ... science stuff ... named Ikari. There's some sentence vagaries to make the audience think the student is a young Commander Ikari but PSYCH, it's /Yui/, Shinji's mysteriously dead mother. This is not a big surprise, because no one would be anticipating meeting Gendo Ikari. What is a surprise is that Yui Ikari is currently single, although if you've consumed enough Japanese media you've probably encountered cases where a husband takes the wife's surname and is adopted into her family when there's no sons in the family (Summer of the Ubume). ANYWAY Yui is currently single and Number 2 talks to her about her post-graduation career plans, failing to consider that maybe she wants to get married and start a family. Find your own path and all that but also: this is a woman who is going to make terrible life choices.

I don't know why, but as a favour to Yui, Number 2 goes to spring an absolute piece of shit ... fellow student? from the drunk tank after he got arrested for brawling and it is, of course, Gendo Originalsurnamewhocareshesucks. We see him without his glasses for the first time. Even though this is ~15 years ago, Gendo without his glasses is the worst thing ever, rivaling yes the EVA with the giant white human teeth ripping an Angel apart and screaming. I hate looking at him, his cheeks sunken and his eyes huge, very like a skull. The real thesis material in Evangelion is: why has anyone ever slept with this awful gaunt uncharming skull man? He has the visage and personality of someone whose genetic line should die with him.

On a nature walk (because this is before seasons are destroyed by the second impact [and this is a really pretty scene, too, all fall leaves and oranges and red, more vibrant yet gentle than the series often is]) Yui reveals to Number 2 that she and Gendo are in a relationship. Why? Look, that's some Dead Sea Scrolls bullshit, learn ancient Hebrew and get into archeology, unearth some tablets, figure it out for yourselves.

The Second Impact happens and destroys Antarctica and Misato's father and she becomes mute for a while after this and also is kept in a featureless hospital cell for observation with a few age appropriate toys for company and for some reason this doesn't help her mental trauma. No wonder her roommate's a penguin.

The Misato flashback may seem like it comes out of nowhere and if so /hey welcome to my experience of this episode/ where I mostly had my hands on my forehead like I needed to reinforce my brain to process everything.

Number 2 and Shitty Gendo are in Antarctica after the Second Impact with the neon pink ocean and the none ice and oh Gendo and Yui got married. Surprise! Gendo and Yui or Gendo through Yui are involved in something called Seele which is the thing that becomes NERV I think. What's going on /shut up I don't know/ there's some kind of secret science government military organization and it involves the Ikari and then Number 2 and also Ritsuko's mother and underground caverns that may be cities and is this Atlantis? Ancient aliens? Akashic records? I DON'T KNOW Number 2 has concerns and Yui both seems to agree with Number 2's concerns but also is down with whatever Gendo's doing and they have Shinji and he seems like a pretty happy and cute baby and Yui seems to love him even though she brings him to work. And by work I mean the underground lab where they're dissecting or recreating flesh tube skeletons from Adam or building Adam or using Adam to build what will be the Evas, specifically on the day Yui is doing The Experiment. I don't think bringing little Shinji to work is a great idea or a sign of great parenting, especially when The Experiment goes awry and Yui is killed in front of Shinji's toddler eyes.

Ritsuko's mother, Dr. ... Doctor, doesn't approve of kids in the secret mad scientist bunker but MAN does she approve of Yui being killed. Because, somehow, she also wants to fuck Gendo Ikari, a skeleton of emotional abuse and neglect wearing sausage casing as skin.

There's also some stuff here about young Ritsuko (she's not a natural blonde! but honestly the fleeting glimpses of Ritsuko at different ages in this episode show greater awareness of how women can change without just relying on bigger breasts more hair than I'd expect). She and her mother exchange letters where they seem to be more honest with each other than they are in person and I wish there was more time spent dwelling in that, because Evangelion has an imperfect but still insightful view of the complexity of mother-daughter relationships. She goes away to school and meets Misato and they bond and become friends and they each seem to be the other's first friend due to their various issues and weirdness and Ritsuko's clearly at least a little in love with Misato. Unfortunately, Misato is dating Kaji (fuckin' Kaji) and Dr. Doctor thinks Kaji is a pretty great catch, but like ... Dr. Doctor wants to fuck or possibly is fucking Gendo Ikari, so if you can think of a great condemnation of Kaji than this, I'd love to hear it (fuckin' Kaji).

Misato and Ritsuko both join Seele or NERV or whatever the fuck these secret awful organizations are currently calling themselves, with Misato going to Germany and Ritsuko starting to work with her mother and also seeing her mother just jamming her tongue down Gendo's throat. Truly, Ritsuko could never understand her mother as a woman and neither can we, because /why would you desire Gendo Ikari/ and his judgmental touch, icy even through fucking Mickey Mouse gloves.

SO ONE DAY Gendo comes to work with a young Rei and I guess since Yui died no one has seen Shinji since people are looking at Rei and going 'oh is this your son?' and 'I thought you had a son, not a daughter'. But no, Rei is the daughter of a friend Gendo is looking after. Imagine thinking 'Gendo Ikari has even a single friend' is a believable lie.

Since Yui's death, no one has bothered to institute any kind of secret underground lab rules about kids on the premises, because while Dr. Doctor is doing some shit with her O. Henry super computers, little Rei wanders in and proceeds to neg the shit out of this grown woman. They're obviously not the words of a child and it's been clear since the beginning that there's something Not Right about Rei, but when she tells Dr. Doctor that she's a sexually undesirable hag and a nagging shrew and has outlived her purpose they're the words of a man. An adult man, specifically Gendo Ikari, as Rei just straight up tells Dr. Doctor upon being scolded for rudeness. Dr. Doctor's poor judgment of character means she is semi-shocked and hurt by this and sent into a weird fugue state where she chokes Rei until a small arm goes limp. Dr. Doctor thinks about how both she and Rei are both equally replaceable to Gendo, who is still hung up on Yui as much as he seems able to have an emotional attachment to anyone, and so finds all other women to be interchangeable tools.How replaceable Rei is could be a reference to whatever Rei's unnatural origins are, but we've also seen that Gendo considers children to be a renewable and easily disposable resource.

Then Dr. Doctor kills herself (or is murdered, who can say) and gets ... replaced by her daughter in the project.

SO I GUESS THIS IS ALL PART OF NUMBER 2'S TESTIMONY TO THE OBELISKS or maybe not but his thing is done or on break and fuckin' Kaji is there to ... break him out? Even though he's the reason Number 2 was getting interrogated? I don't know, I don't know.

They only use one set of handcuffs for Number 2, but they had three on Shinji in the previous episode.

Misato also had some thing with security intelligence interrogation going on in this episode maybe but they're done and give her back her gun.

Then Kaji's hanging out in a Silent Hill otherworld before a giant fan in weird sickly light and the screen goes black with a gunshot and I don't believe he's dead because I've been fooled about fuckin' Kaji before.

... but then Misato comes home, looking utterly exhausted and devastated, and she sees the message light blinking on her answering machine and she presses play as tears fill her eyes and she collapses to her knees listening to a message from Kaji. He apologizes for causing her trouble yet again, asks her to apologize to Ritsuko as well, asks her to get Shinji to show her where his garden is so she can water the flowers for him, and promises to tell her what he was too scared to tell her years ago. Misato's crying becomes heartwrenching raw sobs (Kotono Mitsuishi does a great job here, breaking my heart) and Shinji, curled up in his room, takes out his headphones and peeks into the kitchen to take in this vision of distraught, helpless adult grief. Then he goes back to his room without alerting Misato to his presence and pulls his pillow over his head, trying to drown out Misato's sobs, because he's just a kid and he knows there's nothing he can do and so he doesn't know what he /should/ do.

Although I've been wanting it for episodes, Kaji's death becomes a bitter pill that I can feel no mean satisfaction from. I'm not sure what's going on, but I know Misato's distraught. This concludes my report on Episode 21 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

#neon genesis evangelion report #fuckin' kaji

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multiverseforger · 4 years ago

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For United States agents, see Federal law enforcement in the United States.

U.S. Agent (John Walker) is a fictional character appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics, usually those starring Captain America and the Avengers. He first appeared in Captain America #323 (November 1986) as Super-Patriot.[1] He was later redesigned as an incarnation of Captain America and, a few years later, as U.S. Agent.

U.S. Agent

U.S. Agent.

Art by Leinil Francis Yu.

Publication informationPublisherMarvel ComicsFirst appearanceAs Super-Patriot:

Captain America #323 (November 1986)

As Captain America:

Captain America #333 (September 1987)

As U.S. Agent:

Captain America #354 (June 1989)Created byMark Gruenwald

Paul NearyIn-story informationAlter egoJohn F. WalkerSpeciesHuman (empowered)Team affiliationsMighty Avengers

Omega Flight

New Invaders

S.T.A.R.S.

The Jury

Force Works

Secret Defenders

West Coast Avengers

Dark Avengers

Commission on Superhuman Activities

Bold Urban Commandos

Astonishing AvengersPartnershipsBattlestarNotable aliasesJack Daniels, Super-Patriot, Captain AmericaAbilitiesExceptional hand-to-hand combatant

Highly trained acrobat and gymnast

Superhuman strength, agility, reflexes/reactions and endurance

Peak-level speed, dexterity, coordination and balance

Use of nearly indestructible shield and firearms

Wyatt Russell portrays John Walker in the Marvel Cinematic Universe streaming television series The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021).

Publication history

Fictional character biographyEdit

OriginEdit

Learn more

This section needs additional citations for verification.

John Walker was born in the fictional town of Custer's Grove, Georgia. He grew up idolizing his older brother, Mike, a helicopter pilot who died in the Vietnam War in 1974. John wanted to live up to Mike's memory, who was idolized by their parents, and so he later enlisted in the military. John served at Fort Bragg, although it was never specifically stated which unit he was attached to.[5] Unfortunately for John, he served during peacetime and so never became the hero that he perceived Mike to have been.

After John received an honorable discharge from the United States Army, he was told by a friend about the Power Broker, a mysterious individual who gave people superhuman abilities.[volume & issue needed] Walker and his friend received treatments that granted superhuman abilities.[6]

Super-PatriotEdit

John Walker as Super-Patriot. Cover of Captain America #327 (March 1987). Art by Mike Zeck and Bob McLeod.

Walker, now in debt to the Power Broker, intends to join the Unlimited Class Wrestling Federation but meets Ethan Thurm who becomes his manager and persuades Walker to become a hero instead. Thurm secures financial backing, helps Walker design a costume, and sets out a strategy that allows him to debut as the corporate-sponsored Super-Patriot who then travels the country promoting his image to the nation through patriotic rallies and community service.[6]

At a rally in Central Park, he holds a secretly rehearsed performance in which he publicly criticizes Captain America and is subsequently attacked by three extremist supporters called the Bold Urban Commandos or "Buckies". Walker defeats the Buckies in the staged fight as a demonstration of his combat prowess and patriotism. Steve Rogers confronts Walker privately afterwards and demands that he stop using the Buckies, since people attending the rally could have been hurt in a panic resulting from the staged attack. Walker refuses, arguing that his actions are justified by his quest to replace the outdated Captain America as the nation's symbol.[7]

When Captain America repeatedly refuses his challenges to a fight, Super-Patriot attacks Captain America. Although Captain America proves to be a more skilled fighter and lands blow after blow, the trash-talking Walker manages to absorb the attacks. With neither man falling after a lengthy brawl, Super-Patriot flings a number of throwing stars at Captain America who is too tired to dodge. One hits in the chest, embedding into Captain America's uniform but doing little to no actual physical damage. With the successful strike, the gleeful Super-Patriot claims victory and promptly departs. The weary and dejected Captain America tries to tell himself that the fight was a draw, as neither man actually went down but is nonetheless left questioning his own fighting abilities while acknowledging Super-Patriot's superior strength and stamina.[8]

Walker catches the eye of the nation though when he tackles the terrorist Warhead who threatens to detonate a nuclear weapon in Washington, D.C. atop the Washington Monument. Walker scales the monument, disarming Warhead with a throwing star, before sending Warhead plummeting to the ground below. Warhead – preferring to go out 'like a man' – kills himself before hitting the ground by detonating a hand grenade.[9]

This high-profile act makes him an instant celebrity, appearing in The Washington Post and on national television where he claims himself to be "America's future", which in turn brings him to the attention of Valerie Cooper's role as a Presidential advisor.[6]

Captain AmericaEdit

Soon after, Steve Rogers abandons Captain America's costume and identity when ordered to report directly to the Commission on Superhuman Activities, feeling that Captain America had grown beyond the name's original role as a symbol of America during the war and not wanting to be tied down to a political agenda.[9] The Commission debate who should be the new Captain America, with Nick Fury and Sam Wilson both being considered as candidates, although it was considered that the former was too old and would not want to give up the autonomy enjoyed as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, where as in the case of the latter they did not believe that the United States was ready for a black equivalent.[10]

Dr. Valerie Cooper, a member of the Commission, suggests that Walker should be made the new Captain America as a U.S. government operative. Though repulsed by the notion of giving up being Super-Patriot and taking on the Captain America identity he has criticized so much, Walker ultimately answers, "Ma'am, if Uncle Sam wanted me to be Mickey Mouse, I'd do it." As Captain America, he is forced to abandon Thrum as his manager, and can only retain Lemar Hoskins, one of the Buckies, since the other two fail to pass background checks.[6]

Walker is partnered with Hoskins as the new Bucky but Hoskins later changes the codename to "Battlestar" due to the negative racial name connotations for a black man. The two follow Adrian Sammish's orders. Walker is trained by the Freedom Force, the Guardsmen, and the Taskmaster—Taskmaster's training focusing on teaching him how to use Captain America's shield—and goes on his first mission against the Watchdogs militia group.[11]

Another of Walker's early acts as Captain America was a mission to "aid stability and democracy in South America" by teaming up with the Tarantula in order to hunt escaped political dissidents from his home country on behalf of its oppressive regime in order to silence them. Despite believing in the fight against Communism and in the principle of helping America's "Democratic allies in Latin America", Walker becomes increasingly uncomfortable with the methods used by Tarantula after he interrogates and threatens occupants of an immigration detention center for information on his targets. The two battle and wound Spider-Man, however Walker �� increasingly conflicted by the fact that both the immigrants who Tarantula interrogated and Spider-Man looked upon him and the uniform he wore with fear, seeing him as an enemy – decides to walk away, convincing himself that this course of action was not something that Captain America would support. Spider-Man ultimately defeats Tarantula and Walker later learns that the individual who gave him his orders to help Tarantula was a rogue agent who did so without legal authority, beating him and telling him that the uniform he wears is supposed to inspire, not terrify.[12]

Although Walker finds himself trying to emulate Rogers's ethics, Walker is more brutal than his predecessor due to his reactionary points of view. His superhuman strength and lack of emotional control lead him to inadvertently beat Professor Power to death.[13] as well as badly injure 'The Resistants' mutant group.[14]

Left-Winger and Right-Winger, the two rejected Buckies, crash the press conference arranged by Cooper to reveal the "new" Captain America and Battlestar, and announce Walker's name and birthplace on national TV.[15] His parents are subsequently killed by the Watchdogs; this incident drives Walker closer to a mental breakdown, particularly when the Commission orders him not to step out of line in the future, resulting in him missing his parents' funeral due to his responsibilities. In a state of rage, he kills many of the Watchdogs,[16] and beats Left-Winger and Right-Winger to a pulp, leaving the two to die in an explosion,[17] and are left terribly burned and in critical condition.[volume & issue needed] Walker is then captured by Flag-Smasher, but rescued by Rogers, Battlestar, and D-Man.[18]

The Red Skull, now in a clone body of Steve Rogers, lures Walker to Washington, D.C. The Red Skull attacks Walker with a horde of Walker's enemies, but Walker kills or critically injures the enemies all in a single brawl. The Red Skull arranges for Walker to confront Rogers—now using "the Captain" identity and costume—but Rogers defeats him and confronts the Red Skull. Walker wakes up and throws his shield at the Red Skull, causing the latter to be exposed to his own "dust of death" which resulted in the supervillain's reddish skull appearance, but the Red Skull escapes. Rogers and Walker give a report to the Commission, which returns the Captain America uniform to Rogers. Rogers declines the offer, but Walker persuades Rogers to reconsider and accept it. At a press conference announcing the original Captain America's return, General Haywerth fakes Walker's assassination by a Watchdog in order to set up Walker in a new identity.[19]

To address Walker's psychosis, he is hypnotized into believing his parents are still alive, and he would not recover his full memory for many years. He is also given a new cover identity of 'Jack Daniels' as well as speech therapy and work to erase old mannerisms in order to help hide the fact that he was the man the public had recently seen "assassinated".[20]

U.S. Agent/West Coast AvengersEdit

Walker soon resurfaced as an adventurer known as the U.S. Agent, wearing a variation of the Captain costume and using the vibranium disc as a shield. Walker continued to work for the Commission. He was first seen as the U.S. Agent, battling an Iron Monger as a test for the Commission.[20] He was placed as a watchdog of West Coast Avengers and the Vision by the Commission, as a condition to possibly get their government clearance reinstated.[21] Some time later, he rescued Battlestar from the Power Broker, and reconciled with the former; Walker learned that his memories had been altered and that his parents were dead.[22]

The manner of his appointment to the West Coast Avengers team, and his own abrasive attitude, saw U.S. Agent frequently come into conflict with his colleagues, in particular the headstrong Hawkeye (Clint Barton), which culminated in a battle between the two that saw both suspended.[23] He later almost killed Spider-Woman (Julia Carpenter) – an ex-employee of U.S. Agent's former employers – hesitating over delivering the fatal blow before collapsing in grief – his guilt over his long history of violence catching up with him.[24]

While under the employ of the Commission for Superhuman Activities, U.S. Agent was charged with the responsibility of taking down the Punisher (Frank Castle). U.S. Agent locates the Punisher and after some hand-to-hand combat, the Punisher discloses in attempting to take down the Maggia; he agrees to help the Punisher, vowing to take the Punisher into custody once they had done so. U.S. Agent takes down the superpowered mercenary Paladin who had been employed to kill the Punisher by the Maggia, breaking both legs with his shield. Ultimately, the Punisher upon completing the mission escapes U.S. Agent by dressing a deceased henchman in his uniform and leaving him in a burning building, convincing U.S. Agent that the Punisher had perished in the fire. U.S. Agent is berated by his employers who inform him that his job is to act, not think and declaring that it is no wonder that he failed as Captain America. U.S. Agent walks away halfway through his dressing-down.[25]

U.S. Agent was once more forced to choose between following the rules and laws of the nation he had dedicated himself to serving, or ignoring said rules in favor of doing what he personally believed to be right, when he investigated a series of gruesome murders of illegal immigrants on the Mexico/U.S border who he later discovered were being committed by a corrupt law enforcement official.[26]

U.S. Agent investigates the killer "the Scourge of the Underworld" and discovers that Scourge is not an individual at all, but is in fact essentially a franchise of killers trained towards the singular purpose of wiping out the menace posed by the world's various super-villains.[27] U.S. Agent attempts to infiltrate the organization but is captured, tortured and interrogated until he is released by a masked operative who reveals himself to be none other than Mike Walker – U.S. Agent's older brother who he had long thought to have died in the Vietnam War. Mike tries to convince U.S. Agent to join the Scourge program before letting him go in order to think it over.[28]

It is later revealed that "Mike" is not U.S. Agent's brother at all but rather a cleverly designed deception intended to lure U.S. Agent into joining the Scourge program himself. U.S. Agent decides against joining the program at which point 'Mike' – better known as 'Bloodstain' – attempts to wipe him out unsuccessfully.[29]

Through interrogating members of the Scourge organization, Agent traces its mysterious benefactor back to a high-class estate, at which point he is revealed to be none other than Thomas Holloway – the man previously known as the World War II era hero "The Avenging Angel" – who reveals how he had set up the Scourge organization using his immense wealth after witnessing an innocent bystander killed by a criminal's bullet meant for him. Unable to continue his costumed career because of the guilt he instead decided to set up the organization to atone for his failings as a crime fighter and battle those criminals who would undermine America's moral character.[volume & issue needed]

U.S. Agent and Bloodstain battle one last time, and Bloodstain is eventually dispatched by his own bullets as they deflect off U.S. Agent's shield. Thomas Holloway is subsequently arrested for his crimes and the Scourge program seemingly closed down. Later, U.S. Agent muses that just like Holloway he had done things as a hero that he feels he needs to make amends for, but promises that unlike Holloway he will find the true path to salvation.[30]

U.S. Agent fought alongside the Avengers in several battles. After the Avengers moved to a United Nations based charter, he received only one vote (though not from himself) in the ensuing vote and consequently lost his place on the team.[31] Even with his personality conflicts and reckless behavior, he soon proved himself worthy of being an Avenger and was able to rejoin.[32]

During his time with the West Coast Avengers, U.S.Agent participated in the 'Infinity War' in which he was part of the team that remained on Earth to protect it against Magnus waves of superhuman dopplegangers,[33] the 'Infinity Crusade', during which he was recruited by the Goddess along with other heroes who were susceptible, as they are either especially religious, mystically inclined, or have had a near-death experience,[34] and Operation Galactic Storm in which he was responsible for guarding the Kree prisoners Captain Atlas and Dr. Minerva,[35] and battled a Kree Sentry.[36]

U.S. Agent also helped the team battle the likes of the Lethal Legion,[37] Dr Demonicus and his Pacific Overlords,[38] Ultron and his robotic 'bride' War Toy,[39] the 'Night Shift',[40] the 'Bogatyri' – a group of Russian extremists intent upon ushering in a new Cold War,[41] 'Death Web' – a team of spider-themed villains,[42] and Immortus.[43]

U.S. Agent, along with fellow "replacement" heroes Thunderstrike and War Machine, was manipulated into battling the heroes who had inspired them – Captain America, Thor, and Iron Man – by the time travelling villainess "Terminatrix", before putting their differences aside to team up against their common foe.[44]

U.S. Agent along with the rest of the West Coast Avengers, the Avengers and the X-Men, participated in the 'Bloodties' crossover,[45] during which Professor X attempted to negotiate a peace to end the civil war on the island of Genosha.[volume & issue needed] U.S. Agent was charged with the responsibility of acting as bodyguard for Professor X.[46]

Captain America sarcastically cited U.S. Agent's use of his "famous powers of composure and diplomacy" as one example of the recent failings of the West Coast Avengers when he indicated his intention to shut the team down. This provoked U.S. Agent's fury who raised his hand to strike Captain America; Iron Man stopped him and uttered, "Not now. Not ever".[47]

During this time, U.S. Agent was featured in a Marvel UK comic called Super Soldiers, initially battling, then teaming up with American and British soldiers empowered by a variation of the drugs that created Nuke.[48]

Force WorksEdit

When the West Coast Avengers dissolved, he dumped his U.S. Agent costume and shield into the Hudson River.[49] Soon after, most of the then-current members of the West Coast Avengers were asked by Tony Stark to found Force Works. Initially U.S. Agent was reluctant, however Scarlet Witch later persuaded him to join, stating that she needed U.S. Agent to be the team's "backbone" and intended to run the team on tight military lines and the values of strength and dedication that Agent had shown her during their time together on the West Coast Avengers. U.S. Agent ultimately joined the new team, wearing a new costume and using an energy-based shield provided to him by Stark.[50] Stark describes U.S. Agent as a "loose cannon", suggesting that he could have an identity problem, expressing the desire to develop a new look for him "to get U.S. Agent out of Captain America's red, white and blue shadow".[51]

U.S. Agent travels to an isolated region of Tennessee in order to locate Hawkeye who had disappeared after the death of Mockingbird. Angry at the fact that Hawkeye had abandoned his teammates when they had desperately needed his support to avoid the dissolution of the West Coast Avengers, U.S. Agent finds him and they initially fight before eventually reconciling, at which point U.S. Agent informs Hawkeye of all the recent changes – including the formation of Force Works and the death of Wonder Man (Simon Williams).[volume & issue needed]

Hawkeye vents that he has been through a lot with the loss of his wife, and that he mistrusts Tony Stark, prompting a rare showing of emotion from U.S. Agent who confesses that the death of his own parents haunts every waking moment of his life and that he more than anyone knows what it is like to live life on the outside looking in – never quite good enough for anyone – but at least he is not running and hiding from it![volume & issue needed]

The two agree to put their spat aside and sleep, with U.S. Agent telling Hawkeye that he will be taking him back in the morning regardless of any objections, however when U.S. Agent wakes Hawkeye is gone – although he leaves him a note thanking him for helping him get some things off his chest, and letting him know that he is not all bad after all.[52]

In the spirit of forgiveness, U.S. Agent later formulates a plan to reconcile Hawkeye with the rest of his former teammates – especially Stark – by inviting him as a secret guest to the Force Works Christmas party. While Hawkeye waits alone he monitors U.S. Agent and the rest of the Force Works team via video feed as they listen to Stark issue a sincere apology for his behavior in recent times – from walking out on the West Coast Avengers team, to faking his own death and not trusting them with the truth.[volume & issue needed]

Unfortunately Hawkeye only catches the part of the speech where Stark talks about Hawkeye's "loud mouthed opinions", switching the feed off before he hears Stark refer to Hawkeye as the backbone of the West Coast Avengers team, a friend, and how he misses his presence more than anything, and when U.S. Agent learns that Hawkeye has left in a temper, he wonders what on Earth could have gone wrong...[53]

U.S. Agent remained a member throughout the team's tenure, fighting threats such as the Kree,[50] alien parasites The Scatter,[54] Slorenian supernatural threat Ember, Slorenia's armored protectors Black Brigade,[55] The Mandarin,[56] fighting alongside Australian super hero Dreamguard (Willie Walkaway) against the dream-manipulating Orphan,[57] Slorenia's undead shock troops The Targoth and Volkhvy the Eternal One,[58] teaming up with the Avengers against the Kree commandos Excel,[59] intergalactic mercenary The Broker,[60] battling Force Works' own rogue security system VIRGIL,[61] an alternate reality version of deceased former Force Works member Wonder Man (Simon Williams),[62] and the Serpent Society.[63]

Heroes ReturnEdit

U.S. Agent was briefly referred to as the Liegeman as it was the codename for him in the Morgan le Fay verse.[64]

U.S. Agent briefly appears in Captain America (Vol 3) during the 'American Nightmare' story arc attempting to steal an experimental jet plane. Captain America stops him, and U.S. Agent is later seen in stasis along with others affected by the villain Nightmare.[65]

He eventually became the field leader of the Jury, a group of armored corporate vigilantes, owned by Edwin Cord, owner of Cordco. U.S. Agent again wearing his original U.S. Agent uniform and now using an eagle-shaped shield that could be directed in midair via remote control. The Jury's job was to take down the Thunderbolts, but they were defeated by the Thunderbolts and their new leader Hawkeye, a former Avenger teammate of Walker's.[66] The Jury attempted to apprehend the Thunderbolts a second time, but instead the two groups joined forces together against Brute Force and the Secret Empire's soldiers.[67]

U.S. Agent was severely beaten to near death by Protocide. Due to emergency medical procedures performed on him, he was outfitted, by S.H.I.E.L.D., with an enhancing exo-skeleton.[68]

S.T.A.R.SEdit

Following his recovery, he soon adopted a new costume and rejoined the Commission on Superhuman Activities, with the position at the head of the federal government's U.S. Marshal division, called S.T.A.R.S., the Superhuman Tactical Activities Response Squad. The group battled alien invaders and superhuman threats and was responsible for their imprisonment.[69] In this role, he was placed in charge of coordinating Earth's heroes during the 'Maximum Security' crisis when Earth became a prison planet, claiming that he was needed to prevent the other heroes getting 'sidetracked' by their concern for the prisoners to ensure that their focus remained on what was best for Earth.[70]

U.S. Agent continued to work for S.T.A.R.S as America's super human 'top cop' under the observation of Valerie Cooper. In this role his former love, and current agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, Kali Vries—who he had endured Army boot-camp with many years previously, and who had bested him in almost all physical tests—was thrust upon him as second in command. U.S. Agent was uncomfortable with Vries' appointment as she had previously jilted him, although she was still affectionate towards him. Other S.T.A.R.S agents warned Agent that Vries was playing him. Vries is later revealed to be in the employ of ambitious Senator Warkovsky and on his order places a parasite capable of allowing mind control on U.S. Agent's neck.[69]

In their second mission together U.S. Agent and Vries teamed up to tackle a radical faction of Atlantians working with the super-villain Poundcakes (Marian Pouncey). It transpired that Pouncey was attempting to trade more of the alien parasites capable of mind control with the Atlantians. The Sub-Mariner (Namor) disrupts the battle and discovers the parasite placed on U.S. Agent's neck by Vries. Vries later attends Agent's room and attempts to seduce him, placing another parasite on him. U.S. Agent—apparently no longer in control of his own will, and despite being informed that a S.H.I.E.L.D envoy had been dispatched—then takes the duffle bag full of parasites seized by S.T.A.R.S in order to take them to his manipulator who transpires to be none other than the Power Broker (Curtis Jackson)—the man originally responsible for granting John Walker his super-human powers, whose plan is to infect the International assemblage of Heads of State with the mind-controlling parasites.[71]

At this point Captain America (Steve Rogers), who had been revealed to be the S.H.I.E.L.D envoy responsible for collecting the parasites, along with Kali Vries, burst into the meeting between U.S. Agent and the Power Broker. Power Broker places a parasite on the neck of Senator Warkovsky intent upon influencing his address to the International assemblage of Heads of State, but is interrupted by U.S. Agent who is subsequently assaulted by Captain America intent upon stopping him. The two battle with neither of them able to gain the upper hand. Meanwhile, Vries is captured by the Power Broker who reveals that he had been attacked and left for dead by aliens during the 'Maximum Security' crisis at which point, barely alive, he had become the host for an alien which produced the mind-controlling parasites, subsequently attempting to expand its control by infecting influential individuals. Power Broker then infects Vries with a parasite. Eventually Agent manages to escape Captain Americas attentions long enough to reveal the presence of the parasite on Senator Warkovsky's neck and removes it with his energy baton. Together Cap and Agent fight off the crowd of V.I.P's (also apparently under the control of the Power Broker), escaping and then teaming up to restrain both Power Broker and Vries and removing the parasites from each of them. Dum Dum Dugan then appears on the scene to inform U.S. Agent that Vries, far from being a traitor, was actually a deep cover agent acting on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D with the intention of gaining Senator Warkovsky's confidence and discovering who was using the parasites and attempting to take the mother-parasite into custody for study and as evidence. Agent destroys the specimen and then speculates that he didn't believe it to be alien at all but rather a product of a government genetics lab that went wrong. Dugan is suspicious by his silence and shocked when Captain America indicates that he believes U.S. Agent's accusation. U.S. Agent is later seen deep in thought, looking at a photo of himself and Vries during better times and reading a letter of apology from her for her deceptions. He later burns the photo before running out of his room after being informed that there is an assignment for him, declaring "I love this job!"[5]

U.S. Agent is later summoned along with fellow Avengers Captain America, Thor, Jack of Hearts, Beast, Iron Man, and She-Hulk to unite against a common threat. That threat? Litigation![volume & issue needed]

Accountants Janice Imperato and Max Catan (executives from the Maria Stark foundation who help fund the Avengers) intend to hold a meeting in order to maintain the Avengers tax exempt status, audit the team's finances, and review a recent case – a battle against the "Elements of Doom" which resulted in the expensive loss of an Avengers Quinjet, and widespread property damage.[volume & issue needed]

U.S. Agent – stubborn as ever – claims a complete lack of knowledge of the incident as he "is a very busy man". When asked to justify his actions, U.S. Agent refuses to do so, with his response being "Forget it. Theyre alive right? They should be grateful!" and accused his interrogators of just wanting to drag heroes down.[volume & issue needed]

U.S. Agent leaves his interviewers with one piece of advice: "I go out there to save lives. You just pay the bills. Just be good little bean counters – and pay em!"[72]

InvadersEdit

Clockwise from top left: Human Torch (Jim Hammond), Captain America, Sub-Mariner, Union Jack (Joseph Chapman), U.S. Agent, and Blazing Skull on the cover to New Invaders #1, with art by Scott Kolins.

Walker eventually became a member of the New Invaders,[73] wearing a Captain America-like costume,[73] serving alongside the likes of the original Human Torch, Union Jack (Joseph Chapman), and the Blazing Skull until the team disbanded.[74]

U.S. Agent's first task was to negotiate the release of the Blazing Skull from captivity at the hands of middle Eastern terrorists. It is revealed that U.S. Agent can speak fluent Arabic, but he is forced to exterminate the terrorists when they renege on the agreed deal.[75]

The New Invaders then team up with Namor and his Atlantean forces in order to overthrow the government of Mazikandar – an alliance Namor agrees to because Mazikandar has been choking the seas with pollution by sinking oil tankers in an effort to control supply to the USA.[76]

The New Invaders alongside the forces of Atlantis assault Mazikandar's government forces, scattering them and moving on to the capitol building in order to capture its head of state. Suddenly however they find themselves opposed by none other than the Avengers. U.S. Agent is confronted by Captain America, who calls him a disgrace to the uniform, instructing to take it off before he tears it off, but Walker replies that his country gave him that uniform because Rogers was not willing to do what they needed him to. Walker calls Rogers a traitor, and states that his country has given him the authority of the real Captain America, and that Rogers never understood duty to country and doing what is required to keep its shores safe. Rogers retorts that Captain America represents an ideal for all people, of all countries.[volume & issue needed]

Ultimately U.S. Agent is defeated by Rogers. Mazikandar's dictator is presented to his hand picked successor, who promptly executes his predecessor on the steps of the capitol building to the surprise of both the Invaders and Avengers alike.[77]

The murder of a man without trial causes a further schism with the Avengers, who blame the New Invaders for declaring open war on Mazikhandar. Namor responds that Mazikhandar had declared war on his nation when they decided to pollute the oceans.[volume & issue needed]

U.S. Agent – captive for the time being – receives word from the Thin Man requesting a distraction, which Walker provides by breaking his bonds and aggressively approaching Captain America, growling that the New Invaders operation is sanctioned by the U.S., Britain, and Atlantis, and that the Avengers have no grounds to interfere. Hawkeye tries to cool the situation as only the hot-headed archer could by shooting U.S. Agent in the backside, prompting the now furious Walker to turn his attention from Captain America to Hawkeye.[volume & issue needed]

With the two teams battling once more, Thin Man retreats to the inside of the Capitol building where he berates the new political leader for killing his predecessor and explaining that the previous leader had actually been a simulacrum – an imposter placed into that position when US Secretary of Defence Dell Rusk (secretly the Red Skull) had the real leader assassinated – and the New Invaders only agreed to help because they needed the synthetic alive.[volume & issue needed]

The fighting ends when Namor announces that he has formed an alliance with Mazikhandar, and that it is now a protectorate of Atlantis thus giving the Avengers no need, and no power to remain.[78]

Thin Man later informs the team that they have been formed to tackle a new threat – the "Axis Mundi" – a creation of the Red Skull and something born out of the ashes of Hitler's Third Reich, who have an army of assassins armed with sub-dimensional technology that gives them the ability to move instantly to wherever they wish without fear of barriers or borders and a plan to replace world leaders with synthezoids.[volume & issue needed]

The U.S government, needing to counter the threat first created an elite strike force – the New Invaders – then equipped them with a battleship named The Infiltrator, capable of travelling the world unseen and armed with tactical missiles with the ability to drop entire cities into sub dimensional space.[79]

Walker insisted on being called Captain America.[80] Captain America (Steve Rogers), while attempting to close down the New Invaders, threatened Walker with legal action over his use of the uniform, stating that he owned the copyright to it. Walker informed Rogers that he had only taken the role in the first place because Rogers had refused the Thin Man's invitation to lead the team and that they had to show their enemies "that Captain America is not afraid to fight!"[81]

While Walker initially proved to be unpopular with many of his new allies, he later gained their respect, in particular winning over Namor who had been a close ally of Steve Rogers. Walker saved Namor from a brainwashed and murderous Wolverine, who had been resurrected by The Hand during the "Enemy of the State" storyline. The badly injured Namor later offered Walker his personal thanks.[82]

Civil WarEdit

In the special one-shot Civil War: Choosing Sides, Tony Stark (at this point U.S Secretary of Defense) orders U.S Agent north to Canada – vulnerable due to the death of Alpha Flight, in order to act as U.S liaison to the newly formed Omega Flight team, with an objective to stop super-powered criminals attempting to flee America's Superhuman Registration Act.[volume & issue needed]

U.S. Agent reacts as expected – furiously – stating he "serves Uncle Sam, not Major Maple Leaf", and there is no way he is going to "freakin' Canada". Stark makes the case that Canada supplies the U.S with 20% of its oil, and their security is a top priority for S.H.I.E.L.D., but U.S. Agent is unimpressed and even the threat of arrest is not enough to persuade him as he storms out.[volume & issue needed]

Later U.S. Agent overcomes an attack by a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents mind-controlled by the super villain Purple Man, but is overcome by the Purple Man himself who orders him to fall from great height after stealing his shield – something he only survives because of his advanced biology.[volume & issue needed]

Eager for revenge, U.S. Agent's defeat gives Stark the leverage to finally persuade him to join Omega Flight when he reveals that the Purple Man has fled north himself.[83]

Omega FlightEdit

As an employee of Omega Flight, U.S. Agent is given the responsibility of training Weapon Omega (Michael Pointer).[volume & issue needed]

During a mission to take down un-registered super-criminal Tentakill, Weapon Omega passes out mid-combat for unknown reasons forcing U.S. Agent to detain the criminal single handed. Weapon Omega's unusual behaviour rouses U.S. Agent's suspicions, who is later seen to be communicating covertly with an unknown source.[volume & issue needed]

It later transpires that Weapon Omega is being manipulated by Omega Flight's handler Agent Brown as well as his psychologist Dr. Benning, but worse than that unregistered super-criminals are being detained, with no record being made of their detention, and their powers are being used to fuel Weapon Omega's energy absorbing power, resulting in the deaths of several of the inmates who are completely drained of life.[volume & issue needed]

It is later revealed that U.S. Agent is acting on behalf of Iron Man who is monitoring Weapon Omega's progress and requires U.S. Agent to obtain the data analysis of Omega's powers as well as the details of his private consultations with Omega Flight's psychologists.[volume & issue needed]

Before his departure Stark, due to his lack of knowledge that the super-villain Rap-tor had been recently detained—despite having access to all prisoner manifests—unknowingly confirms Agent's suspicions that super-villains detained by Omega Flight are not being officially recorded and that the villains are subsequently disappearing without explanation.[volume & issue needed]

U.S. Agent's suspicions grow when Weapon Omega is not seen for weeks at a time. He is repeatedly told by Agent Brown that Omega is simply unwell and resting. Arachne (Julia Carpenter), acting with U.S. Agent in order to uncover the conspiracy, spies and informs him that Weapon Omega isn't resting and for some reason he is being constantly observed.[volume & issue needed]

During their next training session U.S. Agent is easily besting Weapon Omega in combat when Omega's handlers increase the flow of power from the super-powered detainees. This results in Omega losing control as he manifests the various powers of numerous inmates, breaking U.S. Agent's ankle before manifesting the reptilian powers of Rap-tor, beating and lacerating U.S. Agent almost to death—an assault only stopped by the interference of Sasquatch (Walter Langkowski). U.S. Agent tries to warn Weapon Omega—who is shocked at his loss of control—that power is being fed into him via his suit, but is sedated before he is able to do so.[volume & issue needed]

Weapon Omega eventually realizes that he is being manipulated and that his handlers intend to continue to use him even against his will, however this is stopped by the U.S. Agent having discharged himself from the infirmary despite his severe injuries. Dr. Benning boasts that as a fail-safe had been activated, all evidence of her manipulation of Weapon Omega had been destroyed. It is at this point that Omega reveals that one of the individuals whose powers he had absorbed had been a technopath, and that he had accessed all of Benning's confidential records and sent them to Tony Stark. Weapon Omega then exposes Benning to a glimpse of the hundreds of personalities within his being, leaving her in a vegetative state. He then vows to become a hero rather than a weapon and is last seen assisting the people of Alaska—the location where his powers had first manifested, resulting in the deaths of the original Alpha Flight team.[84]

Mighty AvengersEdit

During the "Dark Reign" storyline, U.S. Agent is removed from Omega Flight by Loki (disguised as the Scarlet Witch) to aid Hank Pym in defeating the reality-altering Chthon. Initially the pro-registration U.S. Agent finds himself in combat with the anti-registration Hulk and Hercules, but they later endeavor to team up against their common foe. Chthon's power is tied to Wundagore Mountain and U.S. Agent plays a part in separating him from that source by planting explosives in order to destroy it. The team ultimately defeat Chthon, and U.S. Agent quits the Omega Flight team – with their blessing – stating it was an honor to serve with them, but 'once an Avenger, always an Avenger'.[85]

Following their victory, U.S. Agent joins the Mighty Avengers.[86] The team is sent on various missions[86] including saving the Infinite Avengers Mansion from becoming untethered from reality.[87] On a mission to China investigating the Unspoken (a former king of the Inhumans), U.S. Agent is devolved by Xenogen gas which turns him into an Alpha Primitive. He attacks Captain America (James "Bucky" Barnes) while in this condition. Quicksilver convinces him to attack the Unspoken by saying "The Commies will win!"[88] Pym later creates a new shield for U.S. Agent after his previous shield was destroyed by the Collective Man.[89]

U.S. Agent was one of the Avengers who joined Hercules in his Assault on New Olympus. He said he believes that the Gods are just people with super powers and battled against Eris, Goddess of discord.[90]

Following a conflict involving a Cosmic Cube-empowered Absorbing Man and the Dark Avengers, U.S. Agent is stripped of his rank by Norman Osborn.[91]

ThunderboltsEdit

U.S. Agent and several members of the now disbanded Mighty Avengers are called upon by Amadeus Cho during the events of Siege. Their mission is to stop Norman Osborn's Thunderbolts from stealing Odin's spear from the Asgardian armory. After engaging the Thunderbolts in battle, Nuke uses the spear to sever U.S. Agent's left arm and leg.[92]

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raindrop-on-a-spiderweb · 5 years ago

Text

Mommy Dearest, Part 2

Patience pressed the gun against Salvatore's head, the metal grinding solid against his skull. "Borghese's a monster;" she said through gritted teeth. "And we can take him down together."

He stared ahead, jaw tight and dark-penciled eyebrows furrowed, before grinding out, "Fine."

She grabbed a rubber-banded stack of cash.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Consider this a sign-on bonus," she yelled back as she took off down the street, her heels clattering on the cobblestones. Her whole face was flushed and smiling as she pulled the door to her sedan open.

There was already someone in the driver's seat.

Liquid blue eyes met hers'. "Hello, dolcezza."

***

Johnny had been crying all month. Chris wanted deeply to comfort his brother, but he knew Johnny would just push him away. He sat by the oak in the front yard, letting the shade envelop him, his back pressed against the rough bark.

He didn't like thinking about Mama. Whenever he did, he saw her smile, and felt her warm arms, and tasted her cooking, and knew he would never see her again. There was a hole in his life that would never be filled, a hole with dark hair and dark eyes and the intrinsic feeling of a child's love.

All he could think was that Dad was lying. Dad was lying and Mama was coming back. She would come around the corner in a moment, carrying her basket full of vegetables from the market, and he would run into her arms like he always did and feel her warmth and love.

Dad's voice echoed around the front yard. "Giuseppe. Christoforo. Come inside. Your father has something very important to tell you."

***

Johnny's legs felt like they were tied to weights as he trudged across the yard. Why did Mama have to leave? Why? He felt like punching something. He didn't want to talk to anyone, Chris, Uncle Charlie, and especially Dad. He had a feeling dad didn't care at all about Mom dying, and some distant part of him noticed it, and it disturbed him deeply in his child's brain.

Dad was sitting in the living room, and there was a woman sitting opposite him, on mom's armchair.

She looked up at them, and her eyes were big and wide and stained glass-green.

"Children. This woman is going to be your new mother." Dad's voice was sweet and smooth. "You don't have to worry about not having a mama anymore. She's going to love you and you're going to love her."

The woman did not look loving at all. She looked scared. She was holding Fiorella on her lap, and Fiorella was sucking her thumb and pawing at her shirt.

Johnny felt fury rise up in him.

"NO!" he screamed, just as she opened her mouth to speak. "You're not my mama! I HATE you!"

Dad's eyes sharpened, in that way that he knew something was coming, and Johnny knew he was about to regret it, but he ran out anyway. His heart was pulsing with rage and fear. He did not want this woman.

He wanted his mama.

***

The first few weeks took adjusting to.

Patience stung with hate every second of the day, when she wasn't devolving into conniptions with the baby girl crying, spitting up her food, or clinging to her chest. Borghese had pawned her off on her and she was solely responsible for Fiorella throughout the day, being jerked awake by her crying, trying to bounce her on her lap to stop her crying, and trying to stop her from burrowing into her shirt to breastfeed.

Borghese's two sons did not like her. Chris was cold, and Johnny was angry. Leonardo loved his sons, in a deep and yet distant way, leaving them alone the whole day. Patience limped from her ankle. Fiorella screamed. She wondered with a sudden, embracing horror if this was what her life would be like from now on.

Patience hated the way she felt relief when the door slammed open. She limped over to press Fiorella into his arms, and he responded by pressing a kiss into her lips. "Did you make dinner, my darling?"

"Fiorella was crying. I didn't have time," she gritted out.

He caught her chin with his hand; his soft, manicured nails digging into her flesh. "Dolcezza," be said in his dulcet tones. "You'll need to learn to handle children and make dinner at the same time. It's part and parcel of being a mother."

Patience did not want to be a mother. She especially did not want to be a mother the way he pronounced it, with a disturbingly lustful gleam in his eye.

"Come now. I'll make some cacio e pepe and we can all enjoy it. Like a big family."

***

Patience sat, stone-faced and wearing a stiff homemakers' dress. She stared silently at her congealing noodles as Johnny and Chris sullenly ate and Fiorella made a mess of her meal.

Leonardo twirled the pasta around his fork, face placid and set. He seemed pleased as punch, the way he smiled at her as Fiorella started wailing. "Dolcezza, the little one is upset. Take her into your arms."

She sullenly hefted the heavy toddler onto her lap, and Fiorella sought her breast again, to her agony and to the unpleasant notice of Leonardo.

He watched her very carefully as Fiorella whined and desperately sought her hidden breast, and she noticed it as she desperately bounced her on her lap.

"You need to be a better mother, mia magnotta. Not a young loose woman. Hold her better. See--"

"She's never gonna be," muttered Johnny sullenly.

Leonardo's sharp blue eyes, and his attention, were diverted. "Giuseppe? Did you say something?"

He was slumped, staring angrily at his noodles. "I said she's never gonna be my mother!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Patience hugged the little girl tightly, and even she had quieted, her dark eyes wide.

Leonardo put down his cutlery and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Johnny, that's no way to talk to your new mother."

Johnny's lower lip was pooched out. "She isn't my mother."

Patience hated the quiet. It rung in her ears.

"Giuseppe, your mama is not coming back. She is gone. Do you know why she left?" His voice was soft and paternal.

Johnny's wet, dark eyes looked up.

"It's because she didn't want to be your mother anymore. That's the truth. She hated how you acted, Giuseppe. She left because of you."

Johnny watched his plate, eyes brimming and overflowing and his whole body trembling.

Chris's throat bobbed, and his mouth quivered. His blue eyes were tracking tears down his cheeks.

"She left because you were a bad boy, Giuseppe. She left because you made her leave. And if you aren't grateful, your new mama will leave just like your old one did."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

***

"Go read your children a bedtime story," Leonardo told her softly.

Patience stood in front of Chris and Johnny's room, sweaty hands balled into fists. The dim light underneath the door shone dully.

She stepped in.

Chris turned away from her in his bed. Their Mickey Mouse nightlight shone a soft orange light as she sat down beside them.

Johnny's eyes were still caked with tears as she leaned over him, her hair tickling his cheeks.

"Once upon a time there was a king. The king was very happy, with his wife and his children. He loved them very much and they loved him."

Outside the window, a moth pressed its legs to the surface, and its wings fanned out as it sought the light.

"They all lived in a grand palace, and his wife cooked him scrumptious meals. Wonderful meals. What did his wife cook him?"

The question lingered, and then Chris murmured, "Spaghetti."

"His wife cooked him spaghetti and their sons ate it all up, every drop. They loved each other and they were so, so happy. And do you know what happened?"

Johnny was listening too, his dark head turned towards her slightly.

The moth batted at the window.

"The king was out in the village and he saw a girl. He didn't know why, but he wanted this girl, and he would do anything to make this girl his own. He went home to his palace and he… and he… he went into a small room and called his wife, his queen, into there. And as soon as she walked in he wrapped his hands around her neck and strangled her to death. He strangled the life out of her and left her in that little room."

The moth lifted its wings and flew away, as if it had never been there at all.

"And he went out and he took that girl, he took that girl from the village and put the queen's crown on her. And he called his children to him. And he told them… he told them…"

Johnny's hand was warm in hers, his skin smooth as she rubbed her thumb across it.

"He told them he had a new queen, and they were to treat her as their new queen, and forget their old queen, and how she loved them, and how it was if the old queen never existed at all."

Johnny's eyes were drifting shut. She held their hands in hers, comforting and warm, and slowly let them slip from hers.

Patience padded down the carpeted highway to the bedroom of her nightly torture. The light of the lamp flickered over her shoulders, her nightgown, her chestnut hair, and her pale, downturned eyes.

***

She tapped the numbers in frantically, the black shiny letters depressing underneath her fingers. She waited as the dial tone rang endlessly in her ears, almost crying at the length of time.

The door creaked, and she whipped around, receiver pressed to her ear. Chris was standing there, and she felt a wave of relief. "Honey, go play somewhere else."

Chris did so, but his mind was churning. The slow affection he had been nurturing to his new mother--Patience, and then the opaque eyes of Dad, and his comforting arms.

Dad was reading the newspaper in the greenhouse. His hair was unruly and curly, the same blond as his. He smelled the same, fresh pressed laundry and perfume.

"Dad?" Ventured Chris.

Dad looked over and smiled, and set down his newspaper to open his arms. Chris ran into them, his eyes shutting tight. The comfort of his father's arms lulled him into ease. "What's the matter, darling?"

Chris swallowed hard. "She… she did something."

Dad was silent as he rocked him, cradling his head in the hook of his arm

"What did she do?"

"She called someone."

***

Patience laid Fiorella slowly down into the bed, praying she wouldn't wake. Her eyes were shut tight, tiny warm body swaddled.

Taking care of a child was hard, constant, dirty work, and she was exhausted. Even more so when his vibrato spoke behind her, "Pazienza."

She stood stock still as he approached her, his arms enveloping hers.

"You haven't been a good girl, have you?" His voice made weevils crawl down her back.

"Fuck you," she spat.

"I know what you've done," he whispered in impeccable English. "And for the last time, cease your swearing. It's unladylike."

She stared deep into his eyes, those mirrors that reflected her pale face and pale eyes and--

His hands palmed her breasts through her silk nightgown.

"Trying to call someone… tsk, tsk. A little bird flew off to tell me. Who, pray, were you trying to talk to, dolcezza? Surely not anyone who has an interest in your situation…"

His voice trailed off to a murmur as he slowly thumbed her nipple through the silk. She cast a terrified look at the bed, where Fiorella was sleeping peacefully. "Fior--"

"Don't be loud and wake her up, then." He slowly pressed his finger to her trembling lips. "She's such a lovely baby, isn't she? And you're doing so well taking care of her." His hand slid between her legs. "How about we make her a big sister?"

Patience's mind jolted into horror as she pushed him away. "You killed her," she spat, her voice cracking. "You killed her mother. You're a monster, Leonardo Borghese. A fucking monst--"

She was cut off by his soft red lips pressing against hers. His arms wrapped tight around her caging her in, and she felt the hardness of his cock against her thigh. Her spine went stone stiff.

He pulled her towards the wall, hand spidering over her scalp as he rested it against the wall. She lifted a leg to kick him, and his grip turned harsh, yanking her hair. "Don't fight. You don't want to wake up the baby, would you?"

Her gown was already hiked up to her waist, the folds slipping down to pool around her navel as he angled his waist between her arched legs.

The coldness of his zipper startled her, before the heat of his cock made her erupt with agony. He stopped halfway in, shoulders quivering and a sweat-soaked lock of golden hair plastered to his forehead. His length was pulsating between her lower lips, hot and heavy and lustful, and in that split second where she was praying he would pull out he thrust himself fully.

All she could think of was Francesca's face. Every gasp, every thrust made her stricken expression linger in her mind. "Fucking murderer," she managed as he lifted her so high she had to wrap her legs around his waist for balance.

A taut shoulder muscle pressed against her frail chest as he slowly lifted her, then agonizingly let her slide down the wall onto his cock. Every swollen inch of him disappearing into her made her chest soar and her legs numb. She hated how she wanted to curl her body around him and match him thrust for thrust

His breath fanned over her pale, trembling shoulder, and he pressed a wet kiss underneath her ear as his strong arms held her up.

He was in and out, leaving her empty and then filling her. Her toes pointed pin-straight in the air as he ground her against the wall, his heavy and wet cock digging deep inside of her to nuzzle against her cervix. She knew he was about to spend when his hips tensed.

"Please don't," she sobbed pathetically, trapped between his hard body and the wall, completely immobilized as he prepared to fertilize her. "Don't--don't come inside me--please--please--"

But he was not stopping, and as he held her head, his thrusts became more measured, carefully dragging his flesh against pink ripe insides, and the heaviness of his body, the pressure between her spread pussy lips against the small red nub in her folds as he slipped a soft fingerpad in--

Her back was shivering, she hated it, but a buzz was building up slowly inside her--

He let loose with a short intake of breath, cutting her words off as his seed soaked into her womb. Her thighs relaxed under his strong thrust, every single molecule of his cum pouring into her fertile body.

She let herself slump, arm loosely and unwillingly slung around his neck. The smell of his perfume was sickly sweet, like decaying flowers, and it made her gorge rise even more than the lukewarm seed dripping out of her.

He slowly let her down, her nightdress falling to cover her stained thighs. He let out a deep sigh, and laughed breathily.

"Brush those tears out of your eyes, dolcezza. Once you've borne our first child you'll be thanking me."

***

Patience felt a sharp distrust of Chris after that, although a part of her--the adult part--knew how frighteningly petty that was. He was a kid and he trusted his father, that was all.

Johnny and Chris curled up on the sofa while Patience tried to rock Fiorella in her arms. The baby was used to her presence and never cried when she picked her up anymore--and Patience felt a jolt of disgust when she thought of how easily she was slipping into maternality. Maybe Leonardo was right--she was becoming his perfect brood mare and wife, dressed in her frilled, flowered dress, hair combed and lipstick red and rocking his child in an armchair.

Just watching him on the television made hate cloud her eyes. He was speaking with councilors in the city hall, all older balding men in suits, and he stood out like a jewel. He was putting on a play for the cameras with every word and gesture, pretending to be so concerned with vity issues.

The camera faded away, and then he was talking to a reported outside city hall. "My wife," he said, "left me to go back to Sicily. She found someone else. I loved her, my Francesca, but she was wicked at heart, and it is better she is not raising our children. How many times had I come home to another man's coat on the rack?"

"That's not true," murmured Johnny.

Patience looked over. "Hmm?"

"She wasn't… my mama wasn't bad like that. She was a good mama. She didn't do any of that stuff…"

Chris didn't say anything, but his mouth trembled. She could see gooseflesh on his bare arms underneath his t-shirt.

"I know," she said quietly, putting Fiorella down to toddle. Her hair was growing thick and dark, just like her mothers'.

"What?"

"I know your mom was a good woman. And I know your dad is lying." She went over to kneel by Johnny and Chris. "Listen. What happened to your mom…" her voice died out and she swallowed.

She took their hands in hers and squeezed them. "I'm gonna make things right, for your mom. I promise. I'll fix all this."

Chris's hand was slack in hers, then it tightened to squeeze her back.

From then on, something changed between them. They stopped seeing her as an interloper. They stopped ignoring her sullenly, and refusing to talk to her.

Slowly but surely, Johnny and Chris had begun to accept her into their life.

#bonus chapter

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years ago

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A vent piece about a not so talked about side of Autism and something I’m struggling with lately. Angsty.

John awoke to the lovely sound of his alarm clock softly singing the Adventures of Winnie the Pooh theme song. He couldn’t help but to smile and hum along as the lull of sleep faded away from his eyes.

He let it play it’s tune as he stretched out his limbs, an array of cracks and creaks echoing through the empty room. With a big yawn, he sat up and pressed a button on the alarm, shaped like the silly old bear’s head. John let out a content sigh, looking around his bed at all his stuffed animals strewn about chaotically. He wondered if they all slept well as he did.

With a bit of effort, he got out of bed and wobbled over to his bathroom, rubbing eyes and yawning some more. After a quick trip to the loo, he set out on washing his mouth. His toothbrush was bright pink with hello kitty on the handle. It wasn’t his first choice, but he was quite fond of the cat too. With a strawberry flavored toothpaste, mint tasting way too strong, he brushed his teeth, a task he didn’t like to do.

Spitting into the sink, he rinsed his mouth, his head bobbing back up into place. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Wrinkles on his forehead. Grey growing well past his temples. John quickly exited the bathroom, his stomach grumbling, hopefully from hunger and not embarrassment.

He put on his house slippers, Mickey Mouse of course, and hurried over to the kitchen, ready to prepare himself the same breakfast he’s had for nearly 40 years. Cheese on toast with a cup of milk. Even after decades, the staple food never grew old.

John sung Part of Your World quietly to himself as he slapped on a slice of cheddar onto the toast simmering in the pan, a smile tweaking at his lips. He found breakfast to be one of the high points of his day. It was the few parts of a regular day he had all to himself. No one to bother him. No expectations. Just him and his toys to keep him company until the afternoon. He laughed when his voice cracked at the climax of the song.

With a plate of warm toast and a cold cup of milk in hand, John went to the living room, setting everything down on the floor before turning on his telly. Saturday morning cartoons were on. He heavily preferred his Disney VHS’s to whatever the BBC was playing, but the cartoons weren’t half bad. Munching on his toast, he happily rocked as he watched.

It was 11am when the phone rang. John frowned, not wanting to set down his Legos. He was very much enjoying lining them up for the 4th time in a row. He was working with just the animal Legos this morning, something he didn’t do often.

Pouting, John got up to grab the phone, mumbling a somewhat pleasant “Hello?”

“Deacy!” an excited Roger screeched on the other end of the phone. John cringed at how loud the blond was.

“Oh, hi, Roger.”

“Mornin’ John! Hey, me and Brian were getting together this evening. There’s this new restaurant that just opened up. Imported wines. A live band. Sophisticated as all hell. You want to come?”

John’s nose crinkled up the more Roger talked. Nasty wine? Weird unpredictable food? Music he didn’t care for? And a suit and tie requirement? No thanks.

“That sounds stuffy,” John said honestly.

“You could use some stuffy in your life, mate. Come on. You can bring some of your fluffy friends if you’d like,” Roger said, a pleading lilt in his voice.

John shrugged to himself, a hand going into his hair to pull out a few strands, a nervous habit of his. “I don’t know. It sounds um…” Adult-y. “Like a lot for me, you know. Maybe we can do brunch or something soon.”

“Ah, alright, Deaks. Don’t say I didn’t invite you!” Roger said, disappointment in his tone, not that John would catch it. It wasn’t obvious enough because Roger expected that answer. John was never fond of refined things. Roger still tried after all these years.

“Yeah. Sorry. Bye bye, Rog.”

“Bye, John.”

John hung up, an anxious hand rubbing his chest. He tried to stop the bad thoughts that started to bubble in his head by throwing himself back into lining up his Legos, but it didn’t work.

He tried lining up his plushies on his bed, but the thoughts started to drip like cement into his chest.

He tried watching Snow White, but the thoughts began to feel like spider webs and char in his lungs.

He broke down, running into his bathroom, the quietest and darkest place in his house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Curled up on the cold tiles, as the tears began to pour down his face, his brain assaulted him with words.

Delayed.

Spaz.

Man-child.

Retard.

Delayed.

Stupid.

Lagging.

Delayed.

John sobbed, his hands flying to either side of his head, hitting himself to make his thoughts go back to normal.

You’ve got the brain of a 10-year-old stuck in a 39-year old’s body. It’s pathetic.

The people around you only pity you.

You’re not a failure to launch. You’re a failure to thrive.

It was cute when you were 19. Now you just look pitiful.

Have you even tried to act your age?

Your mother likes your sister better. She’s a proper adult. Married with kids. Working.

You need a babysitter to make sure you don’t starve or die.

It’s sad.

You’re an embarrassment.

You’re not a man. You’re a child.

John pressed his forehead to the floor, his chest aching with how hard he was crying. As more and more painful truths vomited themselves into his mind, he could only sink under their weight.

He tried to ignore it. And for a long time, it was easy to ignore. The words the therapist said to him.

“You’re developmentally delayed, John. You might not ever catch up. You might be stuck at a certain developmental age.”

At 15, it’s not too noticeable. 20, people just think you’re not one to take yourself too seriously. At 30, there must be something wrong with you. At 40, you’re a lost cause. A burden. On society, your friends and family and more importantly, yourself.

And despite what anyone said, it was true. John looked like an adult, but he didn’t have much going on upstairs. He couldn’t talk taxes or even pay his own. Doing laundry was always meltdown worthy. Wine tasted gross. The word sex made him giggle and the act was unimaginable. McDonald happy meals were a real treat and toys were rewards.

No matter how much the people around him said otherwise, he was a child. And it killed him. It hurt. The lack of maturity was blinding. The delay unable to be hidden. He was a walking freakshow and despite his best efforts, he was thoroughly stunted.

He wanted to be like his friends. So badly. Go to clubs with Freddie and not feel scared. Drink with Roger and not gag at the first sip and order a soda instead. Hell, he’d take sleazing around like Brian if it meant he’d be a real man.

But he was just a little boy. Trapped in a perpetual childhood that not even humiliation could wake him up from.

He liked the kid’s menus. And he liked watching Sesame Street. And he liked when his aides and carers came over and took over. He was a kid, through and through. It was only a shock because his body dare betray him by growing up, leaving his brain behind.

It wasn’t just embarrassing. It was isolating. He didn’t get along with adults. They didn’t understand him, and he didn’t understand them. It was a miracle the rest of Queen even tolerated him. He preferred children but one could see how bad of a look that was. So, who else did he have beside his Lego figures and his teddy bears?

His own mother coddled him, which felt both wonderful and shameful. He wasn’t a child. But he was. But he wasn’t.

John raked his fingers through his hair, tugging painfully at his scalp, his knees pulling up under him, a subconscious need to be small.

No therapist really understood the plight he went through. They all told him that it was okay. He was fine. Nothing to be ashamed about. But how easy was that to say when you weren’t a middle-aged man who needed a night light to sleep? Or a grown man afraid to cross the road without a real adult’s hand to hold?

Nobody understood. Their reassuring words fell flat when it came to the reality around him. John was delayed and the world looked down on him for that.

He was like Peter Pan without a safe place to run to, surrounded by other people who too could not grow up.

It hurt.

It hurt all the time.

Every time he colored a coloring book, he knew he should be drinking a beer besides a wife who was expecting another kid. He knew he should be ordering filet mignon rather than chicken nuggets. He knew he should be so much more and so much better than he was.

John laid flat on the floor; his eyes physically unable to produce more tears. With all those thoughts jabbing at his skull, all he could do was throw himself to the floor and cry like a child. Even knowing he wanted more for himself, he couldn’t get up and do it.

He sniffled and hiccupped, his head pounding from how deeply he had been wailing.

All of these thoughts were too much for a child. Too big and scary. Complex and refined.

He sat up and slowly got up, his knees cracking as he did so. Without another whimper he went back to his room, crawling underneath his blankets, into the embrace of many furry friends. He closed his eyes, hugging a purple elephant to himself and prayed he’d be finally big tomorrow. An adult. All caught up. A prayer he’d been reciting for years.

He brought the elephant to his face, nuzzling the soft fabric. He wondered if the elephant would take a nap with him too.

#r slur #ableist slurs #john #autistic!john #developmentally delayed!john

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violetstar-writes · 5 years ago

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Creepy/Weird fun facts about Mickey and his friends for you to sleep on tonight:

There's a strong possiblilty that, aside from his two front canines, Goofy could have retractable teeth (kinda like a Great White Shark or like Toothless from How To Train Your Dragon). There's a bit of evidence to prove this in both types of animation he's been seen in. 2D animation, where his full set of teeth are shown only if he is giving a big/embarrassed smile, when he is eating something, and sometimes if he's talking (keep in mind I'm talking about his two traditional designs, not his modern mickey mouse cartoon design). And 3D animation, where his teeth are rarely or never shown for some reason.

In the animated short "Runaway Brain", an X-ray of Mickey's skull reveals that parts of the brain are inside of his ears. Makes you wonder how he can still function when those little buggers fall off of his head all the time (albeit for comedic purposes)

In the short "Minnie Takes Care Of Pluto", Pluto convinces himself that Minnie is out to kill him. So he attempts to kill her before she can. Of course this isn't true and he ends up hurting himself so badly that he goes to hell for attempted murder. It all turns out to be just nightmares and delusions in the end, but still...

Donald is kind of a cannibal. There have been several cartoons that show him eating chicken or turkey, which are birds just like him. However, it has been confirmed by some of the creators that Donald isn't a regular bird like the ones he's eaten; he's more human (or humanoid) than anything, hence the ability to speak a human language and the fact that he has fingers rather than wings. Still, it's kind of unclear how the laws of nature work in their universe....

Speaking of eating people, the modern-style short "Third Wheel" has Goofy become more of a cannibal than Donald could ever be. After crashing Mickey and Minnie's dinner date, he eats all of the food, the entire table, and finally the couple themselves. Seeing the inside of Goofy's stomach as a place where they can finally be alone with each other, they proceed to "make out" while Goofy exclaims "Hey! That tickles!"

#good night

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krumbine · 5 years ago

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The Insufferable Silence in Apartment 616

There's something terrifying about being alone with your thoughts.

For Lizzie Stevenson, even five minutes is too long––that’s why she’s always chasing that next distraction.

But when a home invader ties her to a chair, Lizzie finds herself stuck between a rock and a crazy space, forced to confront a surprising darkness lurking in her past.

***The following story contains adult themes. Virgin eyes, beware! (I’m looking at you, mom.)***

###

The darkness wasn’t so bad. It was a black void, absent any light, a dizzying plunge into terrifying, absolute nothingness.

But even that paled in comparison to the silence.

It enveloped Lizzie, wrapping around her head like a winter blanket soaked in water. The weight was crushing.

Then came the thoughts, banging against her skull as if they were baseball bats wielded by some doped-up player in the middle of a roid rage.

You’re a failure.

He left because you’re broken.

No one loves you. No one likes you.

You’ll never finish that degree.

You’re fat.

He left because you’re fat.

That bitch. That fucking slut.

You’re not even out of your twenties and you’ve already peaked.

Why do you drink so much? Because you’re a fucking alcoholic, that’s why, and honestly you’re okay with that, nevermind the consequences.

You’re a fucking coward.

Why did you let him leave you?

Can your parents possibly think less of you? Yes, definitely. They only ever liked you because he was with you.

The darkness wasn’t so bad but the silence was a fucking cunt.

Lizzie Stevenson jolted violently as she awoke. Her head jerked forward and her feathery cinnamon hair splayed across her face in a mess. She drew sharp breaths in through her nose, attempting to pull her breath back from the panic attack that clawed at her tightened chest.

The first thing Lizzie noticed was the ticking of a vintage Mickey Mouse clock hanging on the wall of her apartment a few feet away.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The second thing Lizzie noticed was that her arms and legs were securely tied to the chair she was sitting on. A few extra lengths of rope crossed her chest, tying her to the back of the chair.

Lizzie’s cry was muffled by the gag in her mouth.

A muted exclamation came from the kitchen.

Lizzie craned her neck and saw someone pulling a can of soda from the fridge. It was a man. Maybe a little younger than her––no, maybe older? His dark eyes were wide with excitement, a smooth face split in what looked almost to be a manic grin. He wore a dark green hooded blazer––

––seaweed green, Lizzie thought randomly––

––a black t-shirt and dark jeans. And black leather boots with heavy soles. Doc Martens?

The ropes bit at her wrists. Lizzie twisted her legs, pulling at the bindings on her ankles, unconsciously pulling her knees together. The tightness in her chest grew warm.

Lizzie’s focus was pulled back to the intruder’s face as he approached her––

––Tick. Tick. Tick––

Pale. Narrow. Black hair swept effortlessly back. And those dark eyes. As he got closer, she could tell that they were brown, but they were the darkest shade of brown she had ever seen.

As the intruder sat down in front of her, crossing his legs and popping the top of the soda, Lizzie became acutely aware of the gag that he had no doubt shoved into her mouth. A feeling a helplessness gripped her.

And then there was that particularly not unpleasant tingle.

Fuck you, Lizzie.

The intruder’s eyes sparkled and the manic grin expanded as if he could hear her thoughts.

Lizzie gulped, attempting to stamp down the tingle. She tried to speak but was again muffled by the gag.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The intruder was unfazed.

“Hello, Lizzie,” he said.

The tingle swam back, a spreading warmth accompanied by a twitch.

Goddammit, you fucking cunt.

His voice was warm and welcoming and infinitely nourishing, as if it was the only voice she would ever need to hear for the rest of her life. At the same time, he spoke with exacting precision, his words carrying an edge that threatened to cut as efficiently as they could comfort.

Two words and you’re already wet. You’re a worthless bag of shit.

Lizzie tried to speak again, but her mouth was otherwise occupied.

The intruder sipped his soda.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Let’s make a deal, Lizzie,” he said. “Gag comes off, you answer a question, and we both go on with our lives.”

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, inches from Lizzie’s face. She could smell him and that only served to set the tingle on fire. Her eyes watered and she realized it must look like she was silently begging him to take the gag out.

Take it out. And shove something else in.

“How does that sound?”

Lizzie swallowed hard and her head jerked in an abrupt nod. The intruder leaned back in his chair and considered Lizzie with a pensive––

––fucking hard throbbing––

––stare.

Electricity pricked its way across Lizzie’s skin, starting from her wetness and traveling across her bound extremities until a chill crept up her spine, causing an involuntary twitch to seize her body.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The intruder reached around Lizzie’s head and untied the gag. As he pulled it away, his fingers brushed her cheek.

Lizzie gasped as the gag fell from her mouth.

He sat back down, crossing his legs again. “What are you so afraid of, Lizzie?”

Lizzie’s insides were twisting. She could talk, although her body was demanding the other thing. She closed her eyes and worked her jaw, sore from the gag. Finally: “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

No reaction, no missed beat: “My name is Peter and I’m here asking you what you’re so afraid of, Lizzie.”

Never getting fucked again? Never feeling like you’re being split in two––

“Your boyfriend dumped you. It didn’t go well. Not that those things ever do. But you check his Instagram every day. Not to mention the new girl’s Instagram—” he leaned forward conspiratorially —“the fucking tits on that one! Honestly, he should enjoy it while it lasts because she’s grade-A fuckmeat that’s just gonna move onto the next thick dick that crosses her path, am I right?”

Lizzie blinked. His words were a cold shower to her repressed libido. Who the fuck was this guy and how did he know?

As if he could read her mind: “Again, my name is Peter,” he repeated, leaning back and dropping the melodrama, “and I’m here asking you what you’re so afraid of, Lizzie.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“How about this? Fun World. You have an annual pass and go there once or twice after work every week. That’s on top of weekend visits,” Peter said. “Your patronage of this park is like clockwork.”

Lizzie didn’t understand why she had to defend her recreational activities to a home invader. “I have an annual pass. It’s a great value. A good way to kill a few hours.”

Peter leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Reading a book is a good way to kill a few hours and infinitely more affordable, not to mention a great way to expand those mental horizons. Spending more time at a theme park than one of its minimum wage hot dog slingers is a tacit––albeit desperate––exercise in avoiding something else altogether.”

Peter’s impossibly dark eyes penetrated Lizzie.

“Something that terrifies you,” he said quietly. “So again: what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything!” Lizzie snapped.

“Ha!” Peter bounced to his feet so quickly his chair clattered to the floor behind him. “Everyone’s afraid of something. Everyone has that little voice inside their head pointing out all their failures. Maybe you’re afraid you were never good enough for your boyfriend, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe you’re afraid you won’t lose those few extra pounds. Or maybe you’re just afraid of the Big One.”

Peter grabbed Lizzie’s wrists and leaned in close, uncomfortable nose-to-nose. “The inevitable. The endless sleep. The darkness that comes for all of us. Tell me, Lizzie, are you so insufferably boring that you’re just afraid of death?”

Lizzie had no idea what was happening, but it was safe to say that all the sexual energy had evaporated. That tends to happen when someone calls you insufferably boring.

“Fuck you.”

Peter clicked his teeth and pulled away. “No … not death.”

He turned to the table and picked up a smartphone. Lizzie recognized her case. Peter tapped in a sequence of numbers and unlocked the device.

“Hey––!”

“Last I counted,” Peter said as he scrolled the device, “you were able to keep upwards of thirteen utterly random conversations going on social media. Concurrently. With complete strangers.”

Peter selected a thread and held the phone in front of Lizzie’s face. She couldn’t get her eyes to focus on the blue text bubbles.

“Why?” he asked with a half-shrug. “There’s absolutely nothing of importance in any of this—” he scrolled the thread of messages across the screen, “––no value, no purpose other than to keep your fingers busy––”

Peter paused and looked up, dark eyes glazed. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Oh. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Peter put the phone back on the table, picked up the fallen chair and placed it back in front of Lizzie. He sat down.

“You’re afraid of the quiet, aren’t you, Lizzie Stevenson?”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Fun Wold. Creeping on the boyfriend and his new fuck buddy. The endless scroll of social media.” Peter casually tossed a thumb over his shoulder at a day planner sitting on the kitchen counter. “A calendar so full it’s a wonder how you don’t have an assistant managing it all for you.”

Lizzie searched his eyes for some kind of plausible explanation for the home and psychological invasion, but there was nothing there. It was like the man was playing a role and he was wearing this ‘Peter’ character as a mask.

“You’re afraid that if you slow down, it might get a little too quiet,” Peter continued. “And if it gets too quiet, then maybe you’ll have to actually deal with that thing inside you. That emptiness. That blackness. Is that what you’re afraid of, Lizzie Stevenson?”

Fuck this shit.

“You’re a fucking lunatic.”

Peter shrugged dismissively. “There are worse things.”

“What the actual hell do you want from me?”

“I want you tell me what you’re afraid of, Lizzie,” Peter said again, as calm and patient as the first time he asked.

“And then what?”

“And then you let it go.”

“Fuck you.”

It was as if Peter had heard it a million times and was immune. Or maybe it was just because Lizzie was tied up and he wasn’t.

“I’m offering you freedom, Lizzie,” he said, that warm voice welcoming her into some unseen abyss, nourishing her and filling her with–– “I chose you, Lizzie. I chose you––of all the insipid, brainless shitbags in this city, you were the only one who mattered.”

Peter smiled. “I chose you, Lizzie Stevenson, to show the door to. You still have to choose to walk through it. Now tell me––”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“—what are you afraid of?”

Lizzie glanced at the shitty Mickey Mouse clock. This had been fun, at least for a little bit, but the time was up. Her shoulder’s slumped in defeat.

“… you’re not wrong.”

If Peter was surprised or satisfied or horny, he didn’t show it.

“… I’m afraid of sitting still,” Lizzie said softly. “I’m afraid of the quiet.”

She looked up and met Peter’s eyes.

“I am afraid of the darkness inside me.”

Peter shook his head compassionately. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Lizzie.”

“No, no,” she said, head rolling back and forth before slumping forward. “No—no. No.”

Peter’s hand rested on her thigh but she couldn’t feel it. He whispered: “You have to let it go. The fear. The anger. The loneliness. None of it matters. And once you let it go––”

“You don’t understand,” Lizzie said, keeping her head down to avoid Peter’s gaze.

A chuckle. “You cannot possibly comprehend the depths of my understanding,” Peter said softly.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“… it started a little over a year ago,” Lizzie finally said without looking up. Her shoulders quivered. “I was interning at Kelltech Labs. Doctor Jason Kell was an alum at my school––”

The first indication of genuine annoyance from Peter. “I’ve been over all of this already. Jason Edward Kell. Renowned Alzheimer’s researcher. And you, the bright young intern––”

Lizzie sobbed.

Fuck.

She couldn’t avoid it any longer. This mysterious home invader in the Doc Martens who had clearly done his homework––this asshole somehow knew the exact right buttons to mash.

How could he have been so right and yet so completely wrong?

Tick. Tic––

It’s time to end this.

“Stop crying,” Peter was saying in his bullshit hypnotic tone. “You need to accept the darkness and embrace the meaningless of it all––”

Snap!

The ropes binding Lizzie’s left hand fell to the floor and Peter scooted back in his chair in surprise.

“Whoa.”

Lizzie wasn’t sobbing. Her body was convulsing, muscles rippling and contorting under her flesh. Her right wrist bulged and strained at the rope, threads snapping and unraveling from pressure.

Finger bones cracked and twisted, lengthening as her nails darkened, hardened, and curved to a point.

When her right wrist broke free of the final strands, Peter shot to his feet and backed up. His eyes were wide but not with fear.

Peter was excited.

Lizzie Stevenson was far from insufferably boring.

Bones kept cracking and shifting as the violent transformation continued. Lizzie tore at the ropes straining across her chest and as the bindings on her ankles snapped. She rose up from the buckling chair. Her shoulders rippled as they gained an unseemly mass. They rolled backwards as she slowly straightened to her full height, head canted to avoid the apartment ceiling.

Peter looked up at Lizzie’s face. It was broader, flatter, but he could still see her features. That cinnamon hair cascaded all the way down her body, underneath her stretched and tearing clothes.

“… motherfucker.”

Peter’s mind raced, piecing together the missing bits of information that led to an abrupt end to Lizzie’s promising internship at the biotech company.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Or at least, that was one way to look at it.

“You … are …” Peter searched for the right word. “… fascinating.”

Lizzie’s chest heaved as the convulsions of the transformation subsided. Peter cautiously approached her, raising a hand up to her head.

“… I knew there was darkness in you, but this … my dear, Lizzie, the things we’re going to do together—”

Lizzie bared fangs and growled a violent warning. When she spoke, it came out low and raspy, but without hesitation.

“How’s this for letting go?”

Lizzie smashed a bowling-ball sized fist into Peter’s face.

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

Leave a dollar in the Tip Jar: https://ko-fi.com/krumbine

Short stories: https://bit.ly/2XY5D7I Books on Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.to/3bsqK5Y YouTube: https://bit.ly/2W41nSG Twitter: https://bit.ly/2VH0Vbu Facebook: https://bit.ly/2VpnylZ LinkedIn: https://bit.ly/2xnmk1e

http://www.krumbco.com

#writer #writeblr #short story #home invasion #fiction #alone with my thoughts #monster #horror #scary #uncomfortable #sasquatch #bigfoot #werewolves #krumbine #jordan krumbine

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years ago

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I'm pretty lonely right now. Do you maybe have a fun anecdote you could tell? Sorry to bother

Aw nonnie, I’m sorry to hear you’re lonely *hugs* - and no need to apologise, you’re never a bother!!Hmmm, a fun anecdote… all my stories read like a cautionary tale to be honest. Hmmm…. lets see….

One time I was travelling alone in Japan. I was in the heart of Kyoto and I was having a really rough night, depressed and lonely, so I went out at about 10pm in my pyjamas to go to the nearest convenience store to buy myself a bottle of wine and a couple of onigiri, as you do, right? No shame standing in line in a mickey-mouse shirt and skull-printed pants buying cheap food right?

Anyway, this group of four or so twenty-somethings approach me, three of them men and I was a bit wary, like ummm, me a single female traveller, three beefy dudes coming up to me, i’m alone in a country where my language skills could be better…

Turns out they just wanted directions for somewhere to eat. And i was like, my dudes, im eating convenience store onigiri in my pj’s, what makes you think i have any taste? But they were super friendly and we all stood talking for a bit and then we all took to wandering the main streets, looking for somewhere to eat.

We ended up in this cute little restaurant and talked all night, eating edamame and drinking sake and they were honestly the funniest, liveliest people I’d met in a long time. They were so sweet and interesting and just had this air of carefreeness that was this perfect panacea to the dark mood i’d been in.

Anyway, we travelled to Nara together a couple of days later and took lots of photo’s of the deer and all met up in Tokyo about a week after that and went on the big ferris wheel at Tokyo Dome and just had a good time. We shopped and ate and laughed and found cool little places in backstreets to dine in.

We’re still friends now and I’ll always remember the kindness of these strangers who approached me in my darkest mood even though I was in my pyjamas on a city street at 10pm at night, clutching a bag of wine and rice.

#Anonymous #that wasnt a fun anecdote #but it makes me smile #my fun stories always end with huh i shouldnt have done that #but anyway #sorry you're lonely nonnie #hope this helps just a little

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hotchocolatefanfics · 5 years ago

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Planet of The Disney Apes

The following is a humorous one-shot of some of the PoTA characters reacting to the news of being bought by Disney and the possible fourth movie while poking fun at the characters. Doesn’t really follow the usual setting for the PoTA universe, just something random to laugh at.

Enjoy!

~~~~~

Thump!   “ Allie like tea?” Bad Ape asked his plush alligator (which he apparently named it ‘Ali’…Of course he’d give that old thing a name) as he offered it a plastic tea cup.

Thump!

“Why isn’t there anything good on to watch?” Complained McCullough, as he flipped through the TV stations.

“Looney Tunes is on.” Suggested Preacher, though he looked uncomfortable sitting on the couch next to the Colonel.

“That’s for children.” McCullough remarked. “Besides, it might give Donkey and One Eye ideas.”

Caesar wasn’t sure why he was so annoyed. The longer he sat on the floor, the more he wanted to break something…Particuarly, McCullough’s skull…But wait, he always felt like doing that!

Hmm…Then maybe what he wanted to break was the blasted tea set that Bad Ape had found and insisted on having a Tea Party with his plush alligator…No, that’s too mean!

All Bad Ape did was invite-no! Drag him and Winter into playing with him…To be honest, Caesar didn’t object because he couldn’t find a good reason not to.

Besides, Rocket was baking cookies and offered to give them to Bad Ape for their little Tea Party! Ever since the balding chimpanzee discovered the oven and the magic of cookie mix, he’s turned the kitchen into a cookie factory.

Caesar guessed that Bad Ape only invited Winter so he wouldn’t feel left out but Winter likely only said yes because he knew Bad Ape was, more than likely, the only one in the room who won’t manipulate him or try to kill him.

Thump!

No, it wasn’t the Tea Party or McCullough’s presence that was annoying him…It was Koba and Red playing darts….And using HIS picture as the target!

What will stop them from using the real thing? He wondered bitterly. Why does Red and Koba have darts anyway?…Why does Bad Ape have a Tea Set and why does Winter have a Barbie doll collection?

Preacher glanced around nervously, trying to think of another suggestion. “Ok, uhh…What about King Kong? That’s not for kids.”

McCullough snorted. “We’re living with King Kong, Preacher-and there’s more than one!”

Just then, the front door slammed open. “Father?!”

Blue Eyes.

Finally! Someone who doesn’t want to kill me or isn’t childish!

“Blue Eyes?” Caesar called back.

Blue Eyes ran into the room and paused at the scene before him. Eyes darting from his father sitting on the floor with Winter and Bad Ape, McCullough and Preacher on the couch and Red and Koba behind them.

“Uhh…What going on?” He asked.

Before Caesar could answer, Bad Ape exclaimed: “It a Tea Party!” Which, of course, prompted snickers from Koba and Red.

“You mean YOU’RE having a Tea Party!” McCullough corrected. “The rest of us are relaxing like REAL men!”

A bing suddenly came from he kitchen and then Rocket, sounding every bit like the ape-reincarnation of the Cookie Monster himself, squealed: “COOKIES!!!” Very shortly after, he appeared with a platter full of the chocolate chip goods.

Blue Eyes, still not sure what to make of the unusual scene, blinked. “…Ok…” Then he remembered why he was there at all. “Fox! Sold us!”

Now it was Caesar’s turn to be confused. “What?” He asked.

McCullough, barely listening shrugged. “So we’re moving studios. Big deal-“

“Disney bought us!!!” Blue Eyes blurted out., causing everyone to gasp. Even Koba and Red dropped their darts.

“Disney?” Caesar stood up, forgetting all about the Tea Party. “You mean the-?”

“Yes!” Answered Blue Eyes with growing panic.

“With the-“

“Yes!”

Caesar felt panic rising himself at that point. “Oh no…”

“They’re making. FOURTH MOVIE!!!”

If the others weren’t scared before, they definitely were now. The only one who wasn’t hooting like the other apes, or saying ‘no’ like McCullough, was Bad Ape. He picked up his alligator plush.

“What going on?” He asked it.

He made the stuffed animal turn to the others and back to himself and then shake it’s head. As if to say ‘I don’t know.’

Bad Ape hummed in thought. “Join in?” He asked.

He shook the plush up and down in a nodding motion.

“Ok!” Bad Ape replied before making panicked hoots of his own.

“Guys please!” Turns out, Preacher was the only one, other than Bad Ape who wasn’t panicking. “We don’t need to panic here!-We all know what happens when we panic!”

“Oh look who’s suddenly more than just a yes-man!” Snarked McCullough as he too stood up from the couch.

Preacher frowned at him. “So would you rather have Koba make a death list, Red pick up fights with everyone, Winter’s old phobias return, Rocket to eat all the cookie-dough ice cream we have, Caesar act grumpy all the time and sigh ‘why me?’ when he’s alone and you to drink yourself into a stupor instead of talking about this like ‘real men’?”

That left McCullough speechless for a moment. “That doesn’t happen when we’re stressed-!”

“Not! Stressed!” Rocket interjected. Before inching his way back into the kitchen. “…Want. Ice cream. Now…” He added before disappearing back inside.

….Maybe they should stop buying the cookie mix and ice cream for a while…

Red suddenly noticed Koba was no longer with him and glanced around for the scarred bonobo. “Kob-“

Just as suddenly as Koba disappeared, he reappeared with two guns and handed one to the confused Red. “Get gun!” He yelled out, startling everyone.

“Koba, what are you-“ Koba answered before Caesar could finish the question.

“Going! To war! Kill! Mouse! Kill! All! Of them!”

Realization set in to what he meant. Caesar and Blue Eyes glanced at each other in fear and Winter, scared beyond belief, hid behind Bad Ape-who was busy eating cookies in the midst of all of this.

“Uhh, Koba?” Preacher’s past look of confidence was gone…Possibly due to the fact he was talking to the very ape who started the whole Human-Ape War to begin with. “Not to ruin your dreams of mass murder, but the Disney kind of rules the world and…Well, Mickey Mouse is their pet. If you kill him, I’m 99% sure you’ll get the death penalty AND be cursed a thousand times over.”

Koba frowned at him, looking as though he was contemplating adding the young soldier to his ‘death list’. “Stupid human! Am already dead! They! Can’t do! Anything! To Koba!” He then turned to Red. “Red. Follow?” He asked.

Red honestly didn’t know how to answer him. He still had more respect for Koba than he did for Caesar, and would still follow Koba but even he knew this was crazy. “…I…Don’t think we. Have enough bullets.”

Koba’s eyes went wide as he realized that was true. “Oh nuts!”

“It doesn’t matter if we fight them, Disney will likely ruin our franchise anyway.” McCullough fumed. “Look what they did with the Marvel and Star Wars franchise! They all suffer from Dead Horse Syndrome!”

“Colonel.” Caesar interrupted, trying to stop his rant-to no avail.

“And lets not forget all the ANNOYING songs and musicals, the cash-grabbing remakes and the worst of the worst! The Air Buddies!”

“Not Air Buddies!” Yelped Blue Eyes.

Koba growled, which made Red’s eyes widen. “You not plan. To kill puppies, do you?”

“No!” Koba half yelled at the rusted furred gorilla. “I kill! The MERCH!”

“…Red likes puppies?” Asked Blue Eyes, in a less panic voice.

Red’s face flushed before twisting into a scowl. “I’m. Allowed. To like things!”

There was an awkward pause before Winter, finally, said something. “…I like puppies too…And kittens…And cookies.” He finished by taking a cookie and eating it whole.

#pota #planet of the apes #planetoftheapes #red #koba #war for the planet of the apes #Caesar Blue Eyes #Rocket is the Cookie Monster of the apes #Disney owns PoTA now

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scrawledfables · 5 years ago

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Day 003 - Falling

It was definitely a fever she realised. Hot one moment, cold the next. Shivering at all times, and definitely sweating more than she should be. She tried to hole herself up in their bedroom as much as possible, but God, there was a baby who needed her almost constantly at the moment and if Lottie wasn’t asking her for something, or wanting to snuggle her mama, she was trying to climb out of her crib to come and join her in mama and papa’s bed.

China couldn’t wait for Liam to get home, that was for sure. Life with a toddler wasn’t easy, and between doing her own work in the studio with Gabe and her sisters, shooting, and being a mom to Charlotte... yeah, she could use the break.

She tried to bury herself in the blankets a little more; sweat it out, overheat herself until the fever broke, but Charlotte had other plans. A moment later, there was two small hands reaching to clutch the blanket, and pull it free from over China’s head.

“Ma.” Lottie grinned a toothy grin, her eyes twinkling like her parents did with such excitement for the day ahead. “Up. Up.” She bounced a little on her butt with a giggle and a clap of her hands excitedly.

China tried to remember when she fell asleep with Lottie in the bed, but last night was a feverish blur, and she just accepted that, now, this was a thing.

“Little more sleep, Lot.” Chi pleaded, eyes closed and a sigh in her tone.

“Maaaaa.” Lottie whimpered now, and lent forward.

Chubby, clumsy baby hands reached forward, almost taking China’s eye out in the process as she forced open China’s eyes, her head cocked to the side to look into her mother’s eyes.

“A num.” Charlotte said now, a small clutching opening and closing of her fists grabbing at the air.

Food, the baby needed food. China sighed, not remembering the last time she had had something to eat, but her body didn’t want anything right now.

“Num.” Chi huffed some messy dark locks of hair from her face, let her hand reach out to smooth over the fluff of hair on her daughter’s head. How long had it been since she had tamed her hair? How long had she been feeling like this?

“Ma?” Lottie spoke still making grabby hands toward her mother, bringing her from her thoughts.

“Right.” Chi found her sluggish body moving from the bed, standing up to take her daughter into her arms, “Food for my hungry little Bean.”

Lottie pulled a face at the words. “Ma, no Bean. A’Lottie!” She said with a gleeful giggle that brought some form of smile to China’s lips.

“You are a Lottie.” China responded, letting a kiss press to the soft cheek of her baby girl.

There was a dizziness that swarmed her vision as she entered the kitchen, it made her stumble for a moment, so much so that she put Lottie down on the floor to explore downstairs, not trusting herself to carry her. China blinked it away as best she could while she made some toast, and cut up a banana onto Lottie’s pink plate, along with filling a sippy cup of juice.

“Here you go,” she said as she entered the living room where Lottie had all her toys out on the floor already, chatting happily to her teddy bear as they fiddled with the remote control.

“A ‘cho, mama.” Lottie said, sticking the remote in the air, the other fist pointing to the TV screen.

Chi set the breakfast down on the floor and took the remote from her daughter, flipping through to find some Mickey Mouse programme before Lottie let out a banana-filled cheer and a messy clap of her hands.

“Mama needs to lie down, Bean.” She smoothed back some of the course hair, watched it spring back from where she set it quickly.

There were black spots at the edges of her vision, beginning to over take her view entirely. Her brain was dancing. Her body thrumming. Head pounding against her skull painfully. China settled herself down on the couch with ease, her eyes already long shut as she listened to the distant singing of Lottie along with Mickey.

Waking up some hours later she felt like she had been hit by a bus. Her chest hurt, her entire body ached, and the fever was definitely getting worse. The sun was down, and that worried her more, because, despite the droning of a Disney show on the TV, Lottie was completely missing. Her blood ran cold. China got up, ignored the dizziness and rushed around the house to see where the toddler had gotten to. She found Charlotte fast asleep hugging a box of spilt cereal she had managed to knock from the counter in her hungry need for some food.

The guilt felt worse than the sickness did. Knowing her poor baby girl wasn’t being cared for like she should be broke her heart. But help was so far away; Liam was on a promotional tour a couple of hours away, her siblings were in LA for the weekend, and her parents hadn’t spoken to her in years now; not since they found out about the baby.

She had no choice, though, and right now she needed her mother.

China fumbled to free her phone from where it had been on charge on the dining table. The number, she hoped, would still be the same. Her siblings hadn’t mentioned that it changed, anyway.

Her hands shook as she found the number and pressed the phone to her ear. It rang, thankfully.

But then it rang... And rang... And rang... Then voicemail.

She slammed the phone on the table ungracefully, forgetting about the toddler fast asleep on the floor. The sound of cries met her ears a second later from her startled baby girl, China’s eyes instantly filled with tears.

“No, baby, I’m so sorry.” She apologised, moved to pick the girl up and cradle her close.

She didn’t think as she walked, felt the relief of her aching body as she slipped into bed with her daughter hugged close to her.

“Ma, hot.” Lottie struggled, pushing her small body away from her mother’s grasp.

Medicine. She needed painkillers. Something.

“Lay right there.” Chi slid from the bed, tucking Lottie in in her wake. She padded down the stairs toward a high cupboard in the kitchen were painkillers were stashed from their daughter’s reach, took the bottle and shook two onto her palm and took them quickly.

It wasn’t the quick relief she needed.

China opened the back door, picked up her phone, and walked outside, sat herself on the porch as she scrolled through her phone numbers. Liam’s was easy enough to find, but her shaky fingers struggled to call him. Once she had managed it, she pressed the phone to her ear.

She half thought maybe he was asleep and wouldn’t pick up. But he answered only a second later, seemingly keen on talking to her.

“Hey, beautiful,” Came the familiar Australian accent.

“Hi.” Chi huffed out, weakly and tiredly.

“She got you run ragged?” He asked, a chuckle in his tone.

“Uhm,” Chi teased at her lip. Her head fell into her palm, heavy and weak, “I need you to come home.” She stated, simply.

It must have taken him aback, because there was a pause, and then rustling. He knew she wouldn’t ask something like that without something being seriously wrong.

“What’s happened?” He asked, still rustling as he was moving around in haste.

“‘m just not well, Lottie’s fine.” China let the cool breeze of the air wrap around her body, enveloping her in the coldness for just a second.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, quickly now. She knew he was remembering Finland a few years back now, and God, she hoped it was no where near as bad as that.

“Just the flu. I’ll be fine, just gotta sleep it off.” She was talking in clipped tones, he noted, and that worried him more.

“Go up to bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“Mkay.” Chi let out, more sluggish now than before.

The phone hung up. She set it down, didn’t remember to pick it up from the porch, or close the door behind herself as she walked inside. Trance like, up the stairs and into the bedroom where the soft snores of Lottie were coming from.

She joined the baby in their bed a moment later, and sleep came far too easily.

Waking up was different than before. Much time couldn’t have passed, but she felt so much worse. Her throat scratched like sandpaper, her skin was on fire, and her breathing was rough and hard. She needed to get some water into her, hopefully ease her throat a little, so she walked through to the connected bathroom, turned on a tap and took a mouthful of water from a glass she had in there.

The cold water felt luxurious for only a moment. China let the tap run for a little while longer, before she cupped her hands and splashed the water over her burning face. It helped, even if for only a second.

Nothing was in focus. Her eyes were jittering all over the place and the dark spots were back. She tried to focus on her reflection, when something caught her eye.

Behind her in the mirror was a familiar figure. Smiling, curly hair on his head, freckles all over his face.

“Cam.” Chi ghosted out, her knuckles white on the sink as she tried to hold herself upright. “What’re you doing here?”

He stepped closer to her and if she wasn’t breathless before, she was now. China turned to face him, but as she did, she was met with nothingness. She frowned, confused and dizzy from the sudden turn.

“Taking you with me.” He answered from somewhere else.

China turned this time to follow his voice. He was in the open doorway to the bedroom, arm outstretched.

“Where’re we going?” She asked, moved closer to the figure, felt the oddly cold feeling of his hand in her’s.

“You’ll see.” He answered, but there was still a smile on his face, a soft reassurance that it would be okay. It was alright.

“I should,” China turned, one hand still in Cam’s one outstretching to her sleeping little girl in the bed behind them, “I can’t leave her alone. She should come with us.”

“She can’t.” Cam answered gently, and firmly. “She has to stay.” He told her and lead her to the balcony doors.

“What’s out here?” China asked now, attention gone from her daughter, she opened the doors and stepped outside into the brisk Atlanta air.

There was a light. Odd, because last she recalled it was really late at night.

“What’s that?” She asked, eyes looking to the light, transfixed as she looked at it.

“Home.” Cameron told her. He squeezed her hand just like he used to, and lent over to press a kiss to her cheek that left tingles in its wake. “It’s time for me to show you.”

She didn’t recall many of the other feelings.

He led, she followed.

Guided softly through the light to a land unfamiliar to her own, she felt like she was floating for a moment, falling and flying simultaneously. Then solid land. She snapped back to herself, but he was still there beside her, with that comforting smile, and she knew he would keep her safe. He would show her the way, like he always did.

It wouldn’t be for another hour that Liam would get there. Find a fast asleep Lottie and the balcony doors open. See the horror of his wife spattered on the concrete ground just below the balcony.

No one would ever know what really happened.

But, standing there beside her first love, gazing down on her new love and their daughter, China could get used to this new form of home.

#prose #300 day challenge #mchemsworth #china anne mcclain stories #liam hemsworth stories

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