#that one edgar guest book that keeps falling

[newty]

i forgot to show everyone me new helper. theyre holding up the paperbacks now!

[youthofpandas]

Cathy and The Mirror; what's up with that?

spoilers for Part 1 (and only part 1) ahead!

Okay so Catherine and her mirror has been on my mind nonstop since I finished Part 1. Quick recap, after falling into a near madness like depression after marrying Linton, one day she is back to normal (mostly) just like that. We see in her diary that at some point she was visited by a 'guest' and after that was able to clear her head and see her reflection again normally. It's unclear when exactly this happens in relation to Linton's gift of a flower that Nelly says was the point Cathy's illness went away, but given the fact Nelly was unaware of the diary, I think that these two events were relatively close to each other.

This bit is inspired by the point in the book when Catherine came down with a similar sort of illness after Edgar attempts her to have her pick between their relationship continuing and her friendship with Heathcliff. The thought of being forced to give up one terrifies and upsets her, and she stops eating and locks herself in her room. When Nelly checks on her, she cannot recognize herself in the mirror.

“Don’t you see that face?” she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror. And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl. “It’s behind there still!” she pursued, anxiously. “And it stirred. Who is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh! Nelly, the room is haunted! I’m afraid of being alone!” I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed; for a succession of shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep straining her gaze towards the glass. “There’s nobody here!” I insisted. “It was yourself, Mrs. Linton: you knew it a while since.” “Myself!” she gasped, “and the clock is striking twelve! It’s true, then! that’s dreadful!” Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes. I attempted to steal to the door with an intention of calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek—the shawl had dropped from the frame. “Why, what is the matter?” cried I. “Who is coward now? Wake up! That is the glass—the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it, and there am I too by your side.”

There's a lot we could talk about here, but for this I'm going to focus on the theme of her losing her identity when she is confronted with the thought of losing Heathcliff. The two are, of course, constantly referring to each other as the holder of their heart, that their souls are made of the same thing, etc. They are not the same person but they are very deeply linked, and without the other they lose themself too.

I believe this idea is relevant to Limbus Cathy because well, the theme of Identity is very strong throughout the game, your relationship to yourself and your dreams is where both EGOs and Distortions stem from + Mirror Worlds are of course massive in this game, there are worlds where things went just a little differently and ones where roles are reversed and etc. So for Cathy to find herself again and then have a line like "I know what to do now. The basement. We… must descend there." is a bit concerning for her! and Heathcliff!

Real quick I need to mention the obvious comparison to be made here: Yi Sang and Sang Yi

There's been a lot of references to The Ring and The Glass Mirror/Window in this Canto, calling back to their experiments in Leviathan where they attempted to superimpose countless Identities on a single person - the Dead Rabbits with their masks full of mirrors that shatter when defeated have a unique animation showing off glass shards. Not to mention the hallways of the mansion being like the Corridors that the Ring uses, alterations that Catherine and Linton put in place. I think it's incredibly likely that the 'guest' who visited was a member of the Ring.

Now, Cathy's relationship with her reflection hasn't been fully explored quite yet, but much like Yi Sang after he lost the League, Cathy was incredibly depressed after Heathcliff left - becoming apathetic and finding it difficult to find anything worth caring about. So it's !! It's interesting that we are bringing back up the Mirror right now. Cathy's reflection might not be quite like Yeonsim, but they are certainty filling similar narrative roles of finding comfort in yourself to cope with grief.

I'd also like to bring up the fact we have the Dead Rabbits and pocket watches and a mirror and it all really makes me think of Alice in Wonderland (thank you bell @sunshades for bringing this to my attention when we were theory crafting before the canto came out. ily) and I could very easily see us getting some more Alice stuff in the same way we got Peter Pan references in Canto V. The Ring's corridor technology and whatever is happening in the basement could lead to a lot of wacky environments like Alice goes through in the book and it would be a fun setting to explore!

Now where does this leave us with theories? Well, with all of the Leviathan stuff we could suggest that Cathy is not dead, and has been superimposed with a mirror world Cathy instead making her only effectively dead in the same way Lapis currently is. Or perhaps only the mirror Cathy is left? There is also the relationship The Ring has to the creation of the Peccatulum and the fact the Envy type is still missing - Envy being the sin associated with Heathcliff and if they do have some strange lab situation down there I think we're likely to meet them + Distortion bosses from previous Cantos had designs inspired by the Peccatulum so if anyone but especially Cathy does distort, it's going to be based off of them. And for Cathy I wonder if she is more envious of another Self than of any other person...?

Also for Cathy IDs if it doesn't go to Heathcliff (and seeing that Heathcliff seemed to be...? Normal?? Heathcliff? in the Rabbit Boss Meursault UT story, there's a solid chance they do something weird with his ID this season anyways) I think Yi Sang is the obvious choice. Shout out to Yi Sang Cathy parallels... Makes Sunshower Heathcliff being crazy good in this Canto thanks to the grief all start to make sense now doesn't it? #PotentialManSweep

[formattedavant-guardedecay]

Completed my first book on my TBR - Will by Will Smith, a memoir

Interesting read and a few quotes stood out for me

Page 39 - the philosophical triangle comprised of his mother (education), father (discipline), and grandmother (love/God). All 3 sides need to be in harmony and balanced

Page 159 - the difference between natural destruction and self-destruction. If you did everything you can to prepare and still fail/lose, that's natural destruction. Bearable loss because you know in your heart and soul you give it everything you had. If you do the bare minimum in preparation and fail/lose, you lose to yourself as well as the situation. You will know for the rest of your life you failed yourself and could have done more. This is unbearable loss and self-destruction

Page 193 - the Buddhist parable of a man standing on a riverbank in a storm and needs to get across to the other side. He makes a raft and get across. He is this getting stuck in the forest on the other side as the raft sinks into the mud and gets caught on trees. He has to let the raft go even though it saved his life earlier. The raft is our outdated ideas and ways of thinking that no longer serve us

Page 301 - "The Sermons We See" poem: I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day; I'd rather one should walk with me than merely tell me the way, The eye's a better pupil and more willing than the ear, Fine counsel is confusing but example is always clear

Page 356 - Kahlil Gibran quote: Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping, For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts, And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart

Will also mentioned books that he has read that's had an impact on him, so I have added these to my list

Pema Chodron - When things fall apart

Edgar Guest - The Sermons We See

Kahlil Gibran

Joseph Campbell - The Hero with a Thousand Faces

Overall, 4.5/5 🌟🌟🌟🌟⭐️

[violetrose-art]

Corpse Bride Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Victor and Victoria were born and raised in a small English village close to the Atlantic Ocean called Burtonsville

-Victor’s full name is Victor Ichabod Van Dort

-When he was about four years old, Victor found Scraps as a mixed-breed puppy in an alleyway. Nell and William refused at first, but William saw how his son quickly became attached to the dog, so he let him stay. Sadly, when Victor turned eight, Scraps was brutally mauled and tragically killed while trying to defend his beloved owner from a bigger, nastier dog

-Victor’s favorite toy as a child was a stuffed horse he called Usher. He begged his mother to let him keep Usher until he was fourteen

-Victor learned to play the piano when he was about five years old. He was a fast learner and he picked up on it very quickly, and his tutor was greatly impressed by his skill. His favorite musicians are Mozart and Beethoven

-Victor works as an artist to draw many types of butterflies for the Lepidoptera Community, as well as a professional pianist. Originally, his father wanted him to work as a fish merchant and take over the family business, but Victor politely told him “no thanks” because he wanted to follow his own dreams. William was disappointed, but deep down he wanted his son to be happy. So he usually encouraged him, especially when Nell wasn’t around

-Outside from his butterfly works, Victor does paintings during his free time at home. The color theory that he studied was written by Eugene De La Croix·         Victor has been drawing since he was a child. His favorite things to draw are animals, butterflies, and other insects. He also does landscapes and people sometimes. He also likes to write sometimes, mostly a few poems and a couple musical compositions. Nothing he took too seriously, though. He also likes to sing when he thinks he’s alone

-In his childhood, Victor used to have a somewhat regular playmate named Humphrey. They were almost friends, but when William’s business became very successful and Victor’s family became rich when Victor was about eleven, Humphrey stopped coming over and the two boys haven’t seen each other since

-When he was a boy, he learned how to speak French because his mother thought it was “high-class” to be bilingual. Victor was diligent in his studies and thus has a good knowledge of spoken and written French. He may not be perfectly fluent, but he can carry on a decent conversation

-Victor is severely allergic to walnuts and poison oak

-Victor had a cousin named Mary whom he was very fond of, but she passed away when she was seventeen and he was six. She got lost in the woods and was attacked and devoured by a pack of wolves

-Victor doesn’t drink anything more than the occasional glass of champagne or wine. The reason? Mayhew once got him drunk and it turns out Victor is a CHATTY drunk. As in, he’ll tell you his life story at the slightest provocation. Victor was so embarrassed when he sobered up that he nearly swore off all alcohol forever. It’s very unlikely he’ll ever knowingly get wasted again·         After he and Victoria were finally married, Victor gained confidence and he stood up against Victoria's parents earning him some respect

-Victor HATES smoking. He was secretly offered a cigarette from Mayhew when he was fourteen and after the first inhale, he was coughing and gagging so much that he nearly threw up

-Victor is the tallest member of the Van Dort family, making him stand out quite a bit during family reunions

-He may not be a sporty person, but Victor enjoys cycling. He also loves a good game of chess

-Victor adores reading. His favorite writers are William Blake, Charles Baudelaire, Lewis Carroll, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Shakespeare

His favorite books are “Les Miserables”, “Dracula”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Fall of the House of Usher” and other works by E.A. Poe. The play/book that he hates the most is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because he strongly dislikes this style of a love triangle in the plot line. He also has a fascination with penny dreadful. Yes, he knows the serial stories are really nothing but lowest common denominator trash, but he loves them anyway. He got hooked on them as a teenager thanks to Mayhew’s nephew, and he used to keep a secret stash under his mattress

-When she still rather young, Victor noticed that his daughter, Emily, became very interested in music, so he taught her how to play the piano as well as the violin

-Victoria was the one who taught her son, Edward, how to read and they bond over books and stories they both enjoy

-The worst day of Victor’s life happened about three weeks after Scraps died. Victor’s parents had some business friends over for tea, and forced a still-grieving Victor to come down and be social. Poor Victor made a bad impression, being quieter and clumsier than normal, culminating in knocking over one man, tripping his wife, and insulting said wife’s coat in apologizing. Nell, humiliated and enraged, turned on her son once the guests were off, screaming at him about what an embarrassment he was while they were still standing on the front steps. Victor was so horrified, embarrassed, and depressed that he came too close to taking his own life. He got his hands on his father’s straight-razor, snuck into the bathroom, and actually had it to his neck when a noise from outside the bathroom spooked him and he dropped the razor and ran back to his room as fast as he could. Fortunately, the distraction gave him time to realize suicide wouldn’t fix anything, and he made a promise to himself never to stoop that low again. His parents also apologized the next day, which helped a lot. Victor avoids telling anyone about it unless he feels he has to, certain they’ll think less of him for it

-Victor was born June 9th, 1867

-Victoria’s full name is Victoria Elizabeth Everglot

-When she was very little, Victoria had always wanted a pet (like a cat or a small dog) but her mother said that having a pet in the house was uncivilized and improper and that all animals were filthy and uncouth creatures

-Victoria’s favorite hobby is sewing and knitting. She often designs most of her husband’s clothes and others in her spare time

-As a child, Victoria tried to be closer to her parents, but often found the family maid Hildegarde as more of a mother figure

-Victoria loves to read in her spare time… even though most people call it scandalous for a woman to do such a thing. Her mother even said reading was too passionate for a young lady. At a young age, Hildegarde, taught Victoria how to read (something her parents never found out about)

-Her favorite books are “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “A Christmas Carol”, and any classic fairy tale. And her favorite writers are Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen, and the Brothers Grimm

-Victoria’s favorite toy as a child was a china doll she called Miss Liddie. By the time she was about eleven, she had grown out of it. Even though she knows she’s too old for toys now, she still misses Miss Liddie

-Victoria isn’t allergic to anything, but she does tend to sneeze if dust is in the air

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was nearly trampled by a horse-drawn carriage, which made her develop a slight fear of horses

-Victoria likes to sing whenever she thinks she’s alone. She doesn’t believe it, but she has a surprisingly lovely singing voice

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was entranced by the piano in her house and she immediately wanted to learn how to play but her mother had told her daughter many times that music was improper and too passionate for a young lady. But Victor always tells his wife that music is a wonderful way to express oneself and that he would be more than happy to teach her how to play

-Victoria used to have a regular playmate named Gwyneth in her girlhood. They were good friends, but when Victoria reached her pre-teen years, Gwyneth stopped coming over to play for some reason and she never heard from her since

-Victoria is the most beautiful member of the Everglot family

-When she was in her early teens, Victoria secretly dreamed of becoming a writer someday

-Victoria was born February 3rd, 1868

-Victor and Victoria had two children. Their names are Emily Alice Van Dort (age 15) and Edward Daniel Van Dort (age 10)

-When Victor and Victoria were married, they moved out of their parents houses and bought a beautiful two story house that sat at the edge of a large meadow that was right next to the forest… plus, the house was a good mile or so away from Burtonsville

-The Corpse Bride’s full name is Emily Charlotte Cartwell

-Emily was born into a wealthy family. Her parents, Lord and Lady Cartwell, couldn’t say ‘no’ to their daughter and they practically gave her everything she asked for, so she became incredibly spoiled, selfish, and incredibly naïve·         Emily was a hopeless romantic, often spending time reading romance novels and daydreaming about her wedding when she was alive

-When she was alive, Emily was blonde

-When she made it to Heaven, Emily was finally reunited with her mother and father

-When their daughter disappeared, Lord and Lady Cartwell were so sad and depressed that they wasted away and passed away in their sleep

-Before ascending, Emily considered Bonejangles to be one of her best friends. They used to sing and dance together all the time. He even taught her how to play the piano

-When she was alive, Emily knew how to ride horses. She even had a pet white mare she called Aphrodite

-Emily Cartwell died at age eighteen

-Lord Barkis’s full name is Barkis Finbar Campbell Bittern

-Emily met Lord Barkis while she was on an outing with her parents. Her parents had their backs turned while Emily was talking with Barkis. After only a few minutes of talking, she was instantly smitten with him and she accepted his immediate proposal of marriage�� and her mother and father were not happy about it at all. Emily and her father had a huge fight and she decided to elope with Barkis… but for her, it didn’t go as planned

-Barkis told her that if they were going to be together, they would need money. Emily wasn’t sure, but in the end, she agreed

-On the night she was running away, Emily stole not only her mother’s wedding dress, veil, gloves, and best shoes, but she also stole the jewels from her mother’s jewelry box and a large bag of gold from her father’s office

-As Emily was waiting for her fiancé that night, Barkis snuck up behind her, stabbed her, knocked her out cold, took all of her money and jewels, and buried her alive. She woke up in a shallow grave and tried to claw her way out before suffocating to death. That's why her hand was sticking out of the ground

-Barkis was married six times in his life. He and his first wife were married out of love until he found her cheating on him and killed her. The second was an elderly widow for her money. The third one got away before he could even hurt her, but she drowned herself in a deep, rushing river. The fourth was a drunken lonely woman who “accidentally” fell out of a two story window. The fifth being Emily and the sixth being Victoria

-In the Land of The Dead, Barkis was brutally beaten and ripped apart before he was imprisoned in an iron coffin chained seven feet underground with other criminals like him for all eternity

-After he ran away, Barkis studied linguistics in French, Latin, German, and Russian in order to impress others… or use different fake accents to fool them with

-Barkis’s original first name was Bradford and he had a rough upbringing. His father was a violent alcoholic and his mother was a reckless prostitute and they both abused Bradford as a child until he ran away from home at age sixteen and changed his name to Lord Barkis

-Barkis has a twin sister who had a son named Hector. Hector greatly looked up to his uncle and when he heard about what happened to Barkis, he was taken aback, but he also felt he could use that to his advantage. When he turned 30, Hector came to Burtonsville to exact revenge on the Van Dort family… but he also developed a vile infatuation with Emily. Whenever he tries to woo the young girl (which always fails since Emily finds him repulsive and cruel), Victor gladly steps in the way every time and he always sternly tells Hector to stay away from his daughter

-Mrs. Van Dort’s full name is Eleanor Minerva Fitzackley Van Dort

-Nell came from a lower class family. She lived with her father, mother, and three sisters. However, Nell wasn’t happy with her place in society and she wanted to became something more

-Nell and William first met when she was caught in the rain one stormy day and he offered her a ride home in his fish merchant carriage. She declined at first, but quickly gave in when it started to bucket down. As they rode together, they started chatting and soon became very interested in one another

-Nell and William made their way back to the village just in time to witness Emily's soul disappear into the night as a swarm of blue butterflies

-When she learned about Mayhew’s death, Nell quietly wept in her room about it. She might be overbearing, but deep down, she truly does care for the ones closest to her. She also adores her husband and son, even if she does find them a bit irritating. She just has a hard time showing her emotions

-Mr. Van Dort’s full name is William Oscar Van Dort

-William loves talk about fish and his business, he always tries to weasel in the topic whenever possible to his wife and son's annoyance

-William used to take Victor on fishing trips when he was younger, which practically bored Victor to death

-While he tends to be the more passive one in their relationship, William does put his foot down when the situation calls for it

-It may not seem like it, but William adores Victor and he tries to do whatever he can to be there for his son

-When Victor turned sixteen, William gave him a silver pocket watch with a design of a fish on the front and his initials

-Lady Everglot’s full name is Maudeline Hortense Glottberg Everglot

-Maudeline and Finis didn’t plan on having a child in the first place and Victoria came as more of a surprise

-Maudeline had a sister named Marie who loved playing the piano. They didn’t get along in their youth and they drifted apart as they grew up. Maudeline wasn’t even invited to Marie’s wedding to Lord Frederick Cartwell

-When Marie died, she left her piano to her sister, but Maudeline never touched it. She felt it brought back too many memories and forbade Victoria from going near it was well

-Lord Eveglot’s full name is Finis Augustus Everglot

-While he was disappointed in not having a son, Finis deeply cares for his daughter. He just doesn’t know how to show it

-Even though they’re not good at sharing their feelings, Maudeline and Finis do care for each other to some extent

-Hildegarde has lots of grandchildren and she visited their home in the countryside as often as she could before she passed away

-When he was alive, Bonejangles was a freelance jazz musician from America and his original name was Dexter. He was finishing a gig in England when he died in a horrible carriage accident (he was run over), which also caused him to lose his eyeball

-General Bonesapart and General Wellington were actually General Napoleon Bonaparte and English General Wellington, two real historical figures. However, even though they hated each other at first, they became real pals eventually

-Although they don't say it out loud, people in Burtonsville make fun of Maudeline's hair cut, calling her names like "Rump Head" or "Hairmungus"

-Elder Gutknecht is one of the many Afterlife Lords, responsible for managing the dead after they pass. Among them include God, the Devil, King Vince, Hades, Hel, Osiris, Odin, Freya, and, the Hindu God Yama

-The Underworld is actually thousands of miles underground and due to the magic surrounding it. Mortals can't access it unless they die themselves

-After his death, Mayhew kicked the habit of smoking altogether and is very glad he did

-Elder Gutknecht has a fearsome Hellhound by the name of Infernius, his fierce and ever loyal pet. He guards the entrance to the Land of the Dead and can breathe fire that heats up to 900 degrees

-The fellow who was cut cleanly in half was an English gentleman by the name of Herman, who lived in Burtonsville years before. He ended up meeting his death due to an accident involving a rather large guillotine

-Generals Bonesapart and Wellington are the leaders of army of the Land of the Dead, but are only called into combat in times of great peril

-The people of Burtonsville sometimes call Lord Everglot “Everglut” behind his back

-Victoria has a cousin by the name of Dolores. Dolores is something of a freeloading con artist who moved to America when she left home. She considers herself a very attractive woman, but she just wears too much makeup and rather revealing clothes and is actually rather sleazy in reality. She also smokes, which Victoria and the rest of the Everglots are strongly against

-When he was alive, Elder Gutknecht used to be a wise sage that helped people in their time of need. He passed away when he reached the age of 102

-The Everglots were a family of nobles with a significant amount of money, but due to a bit of excessive gambling (by Dolores), they lost almost everything

-Almost every member of the Everglot family is rather ugly due to bad genetics. Victoria considers herself very, VERY lucky to have not inherited such genes (she unknowingly received her natural beauty from her late Aunt Marie)

-Pastor Galswells was raised in a strict environment. He was taught that kindness was weakness and to be stern and firm with everyone. He passed away shortly after the official wedding of Victor and Victoria and a new pastor took his place. His name is Pastor Ivan Blackthorp and he’s much kinder and friendlier than Galswells ever was

-The reason Victor named his dog Scraps was because he only ate table scraps

-The people of Burtonsville have a secret inside joke about the squatty walk Finis Everglot does where they assume that he would jump like a toad and snatch up a fly at any moment

-Burtonsville is well known for its raven population and there's an old legend saying they're messengers to the Land of the Dead

-For some weird reason, William Van Dort is known to mutter the words "Fishy, fishy, fish" in his sleep and it honestly creeps Nell out

-Paul, the decapitated head waiter, was actually a French man who served Marie Antoinette during her reign. Unfortunately, he was unjustly executed by association with the queen when the French Revolution broke out and he was never able to find his body after he died

-Several people have assumed Maudeline's hair is an actual wig and she's bald under it… only to be mistaken, resulting in a whooping

-Lord Barkis was a master of disguise in life and was never caught by the police as a result

-The Underworld has a prison known as the Iron Tomb and it holds some pretty infamous inmates who include Bluebeard, Caligula, Henry VIII, Mary I of England, and many more

-The Town of Burtonsville was actually built on an ancient burial ground, which is possibly why the Land of the Dead is connected to it

-After her death, Emily was made the official guardian angel of the Van Dort family

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[toloveawarlord]

You can find my masterlist in my bio!

Event: Edgar Birthday Countdown 2021

Characters: Clari and Edgar

Story Setting: Young Brights: Clari is 7 and Edgar is 14. There is also mentions of Serene, the middle sibling, who is 12.

A/N: It’s almost my boy’s birthday! I just had to write some fics for him. 7 Days till his birthday! It’s not Edgar with some ducks. We represent the creeks in this household.

There were no real celebrations in the Bright manor.

Gifts were given by Uncle Claudius, and perhaps a special dinner menu, but no cake, no guests, and certainly no fun. Even the littlest hadn’t experienced a traditional birthday, even if her brother and sister sneaked into her bedroom late at night to entertain her as best they could. All in all, a Bright birthday was nothing special.

However, the youngest hadn’t quite grasped that.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, Clari. If Uncle catches you, he’ll be furious with you,” Edgar said, gaze flickering to the mop of copper hair poking up over the arm of the couch he occupied. The teenager would be leaving soon to attend boarding school, leaving his baby sister and Serene alone with their uncle. Clari certainly didn’t have enough fear of him, unaware of his true nature.

He wished for her to never know, to remain innocent and carefree as she was right now. But he also wanted to prepare her for the possibilities, especially without him here to protect her.

“He won’t know. I’m super-duper sneaky,” Clari replied, climbing awkwardly over the arm, doing a roll across the cushions to land beside him. Her eyes settled on the large book, head tilting as she pretended to read some words. “Watcha reading?”

Claudius kept the girls separated from Edgar, in another wing of the house, keeping them as hostages. Clari would sneak into the west wing all the time, regardless of how many lectures and punishments she was given. He’d tried to placate her by convincing their uncle to allow her to sit next to him at dinner, but it did little to dissuade her.

Recently, she’d discovered an abandoned servant’s hallway, giving her even easier access to sneak in without detection.

“You would be bored with it.” Edgar closed the book that he’d no longer be able to focus on, as if he actually wanted to, setting it aside. He chastised her out of love for visiting so often, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t adore her. She was unbelievably cute. Clair took the opening on his lap as an invitation, flopping forward onto his thighs. “Clari.”

He listened carefully for any passing staff. He’d dump her on the floor to hide her if anyone got too close. Only Rick was trusted not to tell Claudius of her misadventure.

“Oh yeah! I almost forgot why I came! Being sneaky takes a lot of focus.” As if she needed an excuse other than she wanted to. Her socked feet kicked gently. Jade irises turned up to him, and she grinned. “Happy Birthday! I tried to sneak in some candy, but Martha caught me and took it away.”

A typical occurrence.

“Did she? Well, it’s no matter. I’d much rather have you than candy,” Edgar said, patting her head. He couldn’t handle how sweet she was, and it made him happy when she thought of him. She tried to smuggle in a lot of things, from sweets to small, injured animals, insistent on his guidance and help, anything to spend time with him.

He pondered quietly. This could very well be their last birthday together. It’s unlikely that Uncle would approve of him leaving the school to see her on her birthday, nor would he allow Clari to visit him at the boarding school.

“I know where Martha hides all her confiscated candy, if you want to get it back.”

Clari gasped, wiggling on his lap in excitement. “You do? Where? I bet she has all kinds of good snacks!” Because she took any sweets she found from Clari, and the little girl only liked the best.

There was zero hesitation. She hadn’t even been truly punished by Claudius. It almost seemed like he had a soft spot for her. Clari was only an infant when their father died, and mother soon after. She’d never known any other parental figure besides Claudius.

But Edgar believed it to be her age. Being only seven, Clari wasn’t useful. The older she became, the more likely that Claudius would become colder to her.

“Come on. I’ll show you. But you have to promise to not tell anyone.” They made plenty of promises. Clari adhered to all of them, holding her brother’s word as gospel.

Out in the dark hallway, Edgar snickered at how her excitement couldn’t be contained in her small body. Clari vibrated beside him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

He really shouldn’t be doing this.

But he wanted to do something wild for his birthday.

“In the kitchen? But that’s so obvious.” Clari’s jade eyes scanned the moonlight kitchen for hiding spots while Edgar quietly closed the door. She came in here often to snack, grabbing whatever was on the counter and darting out to hide in a nearby closet.

“Yes, but how many times have you looked here for the candy?” Of course, he already knew she hadn’t. As much as she tried to emulate him, Clair was always looking for the craziest answer. He’d found her attempting to reach the chandelier in the dining hall, convinced that must be the place that Martha hid the box of chocolate. 

Clari tugged open one of the lower cabinets, peering inside the dark hole. Only pots and pans were stored in the lower sections, largely because of her penchant for stealing. “Never.”

“That’s why she hides them here.” Edgar grabbed the back of her collar, pulling her out of the cabinet the little girl was halfway in. “There’s a hidden compartment in this one up here. You must be careful if you do this on your own. I don’t want you to fall.”

As he reached up to unlatch the hidden door, Clari was trying to climb up on the counter to help. Latching his arm around her waist, he held her like a sack of potatoes, ignoring her disgruntled hey. “I’ve got them. Let’s retreat before we’re caught.”

Her giggles were hardly muffled by her hands as he carried her like that all the way to his bedroom. She was already hyper enough. Adding more sugar to the mix wasn’t ideal, but he’d treat her this once. 

“Mission success. We could be professional stealers.”

“You mean thieves? I’m not sure that’s a good career goal, Clari.” It was exactly like all her other goals, strange and ridiculous. An animal creator. A crystal farmer. A duck. There were a variety of things that she made up and insisted that it would be her future. He found them amusing and usually didn’t correct her.

Tossing her on the bed, Edgar sorted out the sweets on the bed between them. He was surprised at the number of boxes and bags that she’d attempted to sneak in, and the variety. “Where did you even get these?” Some of them were limited flavors. I

“I have a supplier.” Her tone was genuine.

“You have a what?”

How?

Clari tapped her index finger against her lips, eyeing the different options before her. “It’s a secret, but they are very good at getting the very best.” Chocolate or gummies? A very serious decision to make.

Clearly, it had to be Rick. Edgar couldn’t fathom anyone else assisting her in breaking the rules, and the girl never left the manor but a handful of times over her short seven years. Claudius never allowed her to. She couldn’t have met anyone else, could she? He was slightly worried that some shady character might have come and was in contact with her.

He’d have to broach the subject with Rick tomorrow, just in case.

But for tonight.

“What are we gonna eat first?”

They would both end up with tummy aches by the time the sun rose. 

[xxxsoukokuxxx]

Hii, could i request for platonic!Poe friendship. As well as him reacting to her being all so nice to karl. Buying him food and just melting whenever she sees him. Thank youyu!!

Platonic!Edgar Allan Poe friendship headcanons:

Character: Poe x reader

Warnings: none

Notes: Thanks for requesting. If this is not what you wanted feel free to request again. Aww this sounds so cute! I apologize for taking so long with this. Life’s just been hectic. Sorry if it’s short

____________________

You guys became friends over both of your passions for reading and/or writing books/novels

He appreciated the fact someone had a love for books

So expect for both of you to have dark circles and to be tired most of the time from long nights of constant writing/reading

But that just bonds you both even more somehow

You would visit Poe often and vice versa

Those visits can last for hours. He really enjoys your company

And you enjoy his

Karl is the same, he absolutely loves you

His eyes just light up whenever he senses or sees you coming

Karl gets all excited and you buy him food and toys etc.

You’re an absolute sucker for him

Poe just adores the fact that you love Karl

He considers getting you one of your own raccoon to keep you company whenever Karl or he isn’t around

But you’ll think about it

Karl would obviously get jealous if there was another raccoon for you to give your attention to

On late nights when you would get sleepy whilst writing one of your new stories/reading and fall asleep on your desk/couch, Poe would gladly carry you to his guest room and tuck you in bed

Karl follows and jumps on the bed to cuddle up by your head

You’re literally the only person he doesn’t have anxiety with or isn’t incredibly shy of, of course it took a while for him to get used to you but it was worth it

Ngl if it came to it, he would give up his life for you

Please, he’s such a good friend and just as cute as Karl is

Sometimes you both would even fall asleep covered by a ton of blankets on the couch together after watching some movies late at night

[spellnbone]

edgar’s unaesthetic apartment

The first and most important thing to know about Edgar’s apartment, is its lack of aesthetics, of assorted furniture, of matching colours, of a coherent theme. Instead, Edgar’s apartment is a perfect mix between practical and cheap, as most pieces of furniture were either bought for few pounds on flea markets or found on the street, left behind by others. There are no pretty plants to create atmosphere, no art work on the walls, and no neatly folded blankets lying over chairs and couches for depth. It is also ridiculously small.

Located in Muggle China Town, you’ll have to pass the Thai restaurant (run by a Vietnamese family) on the first floor, the entire stair house decorated in a traditional East-Asian style all the way up to the third floor for the customers who might not find the entrance and wander a bit too far. It always smells of coriander there, and Edgar has begun to connect this scent with a sense of safety. Second last floor is Edgar’s.

As you then enter from the front door, you’ll walk straight into the living room. There’s a large, brown corduroy couch pushed against the wall on the right hand side, there where the window hangs above, facing a tiny TV-set from the 60s, which Edgar adores, even if it makes him believe that all TV movies are still entirely in black and white. The couch is the kind of couch that swallows you as you sit down. It’s soft and worn, and once you sit it makes you want to never get up again. It happened more than once that people thought it was charmed to be like this.

Through the small window comes not much light, London’s rainy weather not really helping. At night, however, there’s a red glint falling into the apartment from the restaurants downstairs, and Edgar not only refuses to put up curtains, he also leaves the window tipped open, always. One protection charm keeps it sealed from intruders, another connects a silent bell to the entrance door downstairs, activating only when a Wix were to enter. It’s activation feels like a tug on his finger.

Sitting on said couch, you’ll see, to the right, a large, unused armchair on which house a pile of books. Edgar was often told to just get a bookshelf but he hasn’t found one to adopt yet, so the armchair it is. The floor as well. And that little dresser. This one, too, is buried under books, its drawers heavy from their inhabitants.

On the left, you’ll see the kitchen. No one is quite sure if it was painted yellow by the last owner, or if time just wore the white out, either way, it doesn’t look modern at all. It houses an oven, a sink and a multitude of cupboards filled to the brim with mis-matched cutlery, dishes and cauldrons. There’s no fridge, much to the surprise of any Muggle friend Edgar ever invited in. He does own a microwave, however, his name is Michael, and it’s definitely more used than his stove. Edgar barely ever cooks, mostly lives of anything he can quickly eat while being on the way somewhere (e.g. fruits and sandwiches) or Amelia’s baking. If he does find the muse to cook something, it’ll most likely go into Michael, and he’ll watch him perform his technological magic with his nose pressed to the window. There’s no table in this kitchen (contrary to the above shown picture, which mostly served to show the style and colour), only a single chair, usually where he puts his keys and coat upon entering, as it stands right in the way between entrance door and couch.

If you were to follow the wall against which the couch is pushed, over to the kitchen, and followed it some more, you’d get to the bathroom. Contrary to most anything in this apartment, it’s surprisingly big. Elongated with a window at its end and even a bathtub. Not a beautiful one with feet, but a block-like pastel-pink one, which, again, was probably the previous owners’ bold choice. When Edgar first visited the apartment, he thought the entire thing dreary and suffocating, but upon entering the bathroom, upon seeing all the pastel-pink tiles and retro-futuristic design, he laughed so loud that it made him want to move in as soon as possible. 

Back to the couch. In front of it, behind the TV-set, there’s a door, and it’s usually open, allowing a view to the bedroom. Like in the bathroom, the window here shows to the inner courtyard, a grey little thing where the most interesting thing to see are the trash cans, the occasional cat, and the workers from the restaurant coming out to take a smoke. What matters however is that it’s quiet, and allows for good sleep. There’s a wardrobe to one side, which stores cleaning utensils and shoes, hung up on the plastic hangers for some reason, a plastic desk with, for once, a matching chair, and a drawer to the other, which is filled with mostly Amelia’s stuff and the things his guests forgot here over time. Also his collection of keys. His clothes are stored in the suitcase under his bed, enchanted to be a walk-in kind of situation, but so horribly tidied up (that is, not at all) that usually he just reaches in and hopes for the best.

The bed is large and comfortable, however, and always made. Over it’s head hangs the only art work Edgar ever purchased (from a homeless man by Covent Garden) which is either magnificently psychedelic, or horribly disturbing (tw), depending on which parts you focus on, under which substance’s influence you’re on, and which layer of paint wishes to present itself to you that day. And to the foot of the bed is a bronze copy of Michelangelo’s Bacchus, who Edgar finds divinely charming and spends most mornings admiring. His chalice is charmed to always have fresh water in it, so if you’re ever thirsty at night you can just take it from Bacchus and have a sip. There’s no night-stand in this room.

However, there is a large, silver-and-blue oriental carpet, which Edgar stole from the Ravenclaw common room upon his graduation from Hogwarts. Its colour is actually just blue, but he asked his friends to please weave memories into it from their time together so as to never forget them after they’d lose touch. They weren’t perfect replica akin to memories enjoyed in a pensieve, more like photographs taken by a disposable camera. A simple jinx which required nothing but to caress the silver thread to see a brief moment of the memory unfold in your mind. At that time it seemed like a cute idea, meant to be nothing but nostalgic and fill lonely nights with some laughter. But as the years went by, and some of his friends turned to follow the Dark Lord, others died in their resistance, Edgar stopped waking those memories up, the carpet now but a reminder of happier times.

Nevertheless. While all other furniture had been adopted solely after Edgar moved into this apartment -- perhaps a way to indeed never bring old memories with him to the present -- the carpet was never left behind. After Hogwarts he travelled through Europe for a year, and stayed at least another couple of months with his oldest brother in Mexico for a while. After returning to England, he moved out from the House of Bones into an apartment in Wizarding Manchester. When the Order asked him to join, he moved to Wizarding London. Not long after he moved again, now to Muggle London, where he moved yet another three or four times before finding this one at the age of twenty-seven. All of his moves were either prompted by reasons of protections, or by an ended relationship with a romantic partner. Always eager to leave memories behind, indeed...

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@thecorteztwins

I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop myself.  Inspired by Pyro’s gothic romances, and that ridiculous Slate letter.  Sorry also for the purple prose, I’m sure St. John is a much better writer than I am.

           It had been a few weeks, and Tansy was starting to settle in to her role as governess.  The manor house, which had seemed to loom menacingly at her first approach, now settled around her like a faithful watchdog, although she would not roam at night without a candle in hand.  Sometimes she thought she saw flickers of movement in shadowy corners, odd reflections in the mirrors, but it was surely her imagination.  She had to be strong and sensible, with a fanciful child like Rowan in her charge.

           “There’s things in this house that you cannot see, child,” said old Mrs. Scragg when the two of them took tea alone at the kitchen table, far out of earshot of Lord Edgeware.  “Believe me, there’s old blood in this house.  But none of the spirits will mean you any harm, not a sweet girl like you. It’s the living you’ve got to fear.”

        ��  There was only one man in the house that Tansy truly feared, and that was Lord Edgeware himself – stern and cold, with a face as hard and sharp as a bare mountain crag.  Tansy could barely bring herself to speak in his presence.  But the rest had found a place in her affections.  Lord Edgeware’s son Edgar, a beautiful, gentle soul whose eyes were haunted by tragedy of his wife’s passing.  Their son Rowan, who had inherited his father’s dreamy, melancholic disposition – Tansy often had to call him to attention during lessons. Edgar’s sister, the Lady Estella, a lively and intelligent woman, although there were times when sadness seemed to creep over her as well.  Perhaps it ran in the family, or perhaps it was simply living in the shadow of their tyrannical father.

           She got along with her fellow servants.  There was the family lawyer, Paul Bryson – every inch a gentleman, but always kind rather than condescending, and he treated her with such warmth.  Bill Wick the groundskeeper, brawny and rugged, who made up for his lack of manners with open-hearted good cheer.  Despite his rough manners and immense strength, Tansy always felt completely safe around him.  There was Ambrose Lockley the valet, who radiated peace and calm no matter what mishaps befell the household – he was often on the receiving end of Bill’s chatter, but never seemed to mind.  Mrs. Scragg the housekeeper, who spun wild stories but seemed to take a motherly interest in all the manor’s inhabitants.    

Unfortunately, there was one other guest at the manor.  Lord Edgeware was the only man that Tansy feared, but there was only one man that she hated – the Spanish nobleman Fernando Cortázar.

           It wasn’t entirely clear what his connection was to the family – no one seemed to want to claim him.  Paul said that he was the son of Lord Edgeware’s old business partner, although the two of them never seemed to discuss any actual business.  Fernando seemed more interested in drinking up the family’s good wine, and cornering the maids in stairwells.  Mrs. Scragg proclaimed him to be the Devil in human form, and would cross herself whenever his name came up in the kitchens.  

           He’d set his sights upon Tansy from the moment she’d crossed the threshold, a predatory stare that made her shiver.  He was an attractive man, that much could be said.  His face was noble and well-formed, and he had long scarlet hair that made Tansy think of a crown of autumn leaves.  But, just as hints of cruel Winter lurked beneath Autumn’s glory, malice peeked out through Lord Cortázar’s handsome visage – a certain gleam in his eyes, cruel lines around his thin mouth.  Tansy hated to be alone with him, but he seemed to track her through the house, like a hunting dog on the trail of a fox.

           She had just finished putting Rowan to bed, telling him stories and stroking his hair until the poor, nervous child drifted off to sleep, when Cortázar found her again.  She was in the drawing room, searching for a suitable book to pass the lonely evening hours, when he suddenly came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her golden hair.  She could not stop herself from shrieking, pulling away with a startled jolt.

           “Forgive me, my sweet, I did not mean to frighten you,” the Spaniard purred, grabbing her hand and pulling it forcefully up to his lips.

           “My Lord Cortázar, please do not take such liberties.  Perhaps things are different in Spain, but I am a proper English girl,” Tansy scolded as harshly as she dared, folding her arms around herself as if to protect from further assaults.  He seemed to occupy a place of importance in the household, despite being disliked by nearly everyone, and she could not risk offending him.

           “So you are,” Cortázar chuckled indulgently.  “I apologize for such unseemly behavior, but I was so moved by your beauty that I could not help myself.”

           “I am not so beautiful,” Tansy said, turning away.  It was true.  Her arms and legs were too slender, her eyes too large, and an old shade of blue that in certain light appeared almost violent.  With her pale blond hair, she seemed almost unearthly – a fairy-like creature that could not exist among normal folk.  It was her curse to bear.  How she longed for a plain, simple face like a proper English girl.

           “My darling, you are ethereal.  You are angelic.  You are la belle dame sans merci, and I am in your thrall.” Cortázar took a step forward.  Tansy stepped back.

           “Then I release you, good sir,” she said, attempting to walk around him, but he blocked her path.

           “You cannot.  That face, it haunts me.  Your voice sings in my blood.”  He grasped her hand and began kissing his way up her arm.  Tansy wished desperately that Paul would suddenly appear. Although she couldn’t stand the shame of such a compromising position, surely he would see her reluctance. Surely he would put a stop to this.    

           “Please, control yourself,” she begged, managing to pull her arm away with a jerk.  “Surely you should not lower yourself to the likes of me.  I am but a simple governess, from a poor family.  You could have your pick of any woman.  Someone closer to your station.”  Not she wanted Cortázar to unleash his passion upon Lady Estella, but she suspected Estella could deal with him quite easily.  Estella did not suffer fools.

           “Oh, I already have many,” Lord Cortázar said, waving his hand as if it were trifling matter.  “My wife, she understands.  And my many mistresses.  But I am always looking for a new member of my harem.  They would welcome you with open arms.”

           “Harem?”  The word was unfamiliar to Tansy, but she was more focused on what she did understand. “Did you say you are married, sir? Then surely you must cease this behavior and keep faith with her.”  

           “I have a wife who understands.  There are many women in my house, and they all understand.  I am a man of extreme passion.  My appetites are larger than normal men.”

           “This conversation is quite inappropriate,” Tansy said, retreating again. This time she moved towards the doors on the far side of the room that let out onto the veranda.  

           “Ah, you English are so prudish,” Lord Cortázar laughed, following her again.  “But that is part of your charm.  You are so innocent.  Pure and untouched.  Let me take you away from here.  With me, you would not be a servant.  You would live in luxury.  I think my English was mistaken previously – I said ‘house,’ but I really meant ‘palace.’ You would have your own set of rooms, maids waiting upon you hand and foot, the finest foods.  I would drape you in silk and diamonds, as such beauty deserves.”

           “Surely you have enough women, sir,” Tansy tried.

           “Never enough.  You must understand, I am cursed with…certain problems.  It is difficult to speak of –“

           “Then perhaps you should not speak of it.”

           “Oh, but I must!  For you to understand.  As I said, I am a man of appetite.  And I am too much for any one woman.  I require such extensive…..stimulation…that as much as I delight my partners, they quickly tire.  My wife could not bear such a burden alone – it would destroy her health and send her to an early grave.  I must look for outside conquests for the sake of my wife, so that I will not harm her with my relentless passion.”      

           Through the drawing room doors, the full moon shone upon the windswept moors, and just beyond that, the cliffs that overlooked the ocean.  When the window was open in her bedroom, she could hear the dark waves crashing against the shore, seeming to murmur dreadful secrets. Lord Edgeware forbade anyone from venturing near the cliffs, citing the danger, but Tansy had often seen Lord Edgar staring out across the moors with a hungry, longing expression.  And of course, it was forbidden to speak of the white-shrouded figure that was sometimes seen wandering through the bracken towards the sea, although she had heard servants whisper of their own encounters. Even so, Tansy was at that moment weighing in her mind whether or not to fling open the doors and run wild upon the moors, even to those dreadful cliffs, if it meant an escape from Cortázar’s company.

           “It can take hours, you see,” Cortázar continued.  Tansy placed her hand on the door handle.  “And I am….not built like most men.  I can take a woman to the heights of ecstasy, but the toll upon her body and mind…..It is like looking upon the true face of God, no mere mortal can withstand –“

             “So, when will the silly girl realize her mistake and fall in love with Cortázar?”  Fabian asked, putting the book down for a moment with his finger keeping his place within the pages.

           “That’s not exactly the direction I’m going with it,” said St. John.  He had been watching Fabian read in much the same way that he might watch someone open a lovingly gift-wrapped dog turd.

           “No? Don’t tell me he’ll die some beautiful, tragic death!  Or perhaps he’ll find another woman more worthy of him.  Perhaps this ‘Tansy’ is not really the main character, and she’ll soon be replaced by some fiery noblewoman who will join Cortázar’s harem.”

           “He’s not really meant to be the main character.”

           “But why not?  He’s so handsome, strong and virile!  The perfect epitome of machismo!  How could you put such a man in the book and not let him be the hero?”  Off to the side, Avalanche choked on his beer, and had to spend a moment coughing before taking another swig.

           “I mean, he’s a bit of a prat, isn’t he?”  St. John suggested.

           “I can’t imagine what you mean.  He must be charismatic to have charmed so many women.”

           “Yeah, about that.  He’s also a bit of a liar.”

           Fabian’s eyes widened in surprise, then he began to nod sagely, as if he’d just solved a difficult riddle.

           “Oh, of course, of course.  I should have seen it.  He is a fraud.  What a brilliant twist.  You set up the image of a perfect man, then shatter the reader’s expectations.  It is a shame, though, to waste such a likable character.  Perhaps he has a twin brother, who really is brilliant and handsome and virile, and Fernando is copying his life out of jealousy for what he can never be.  And then the twin shows up at the end and sweeps Tansy away in his arms.  Why aren’t you taking notes, these are brilliant suggestions.”

           “I’ll consider it for the sequel,” St. John shrugged, taking no notes whatsoever.

           “So, is that really the only thing you noticed about Fernando Cortázar?” Dominic pressed.  He seemed to be getting impatient.  St. John preferred to just quietly wait for the bomb to go off, it was more fun that way.  Although Cortéz was so unbelievably thick, it seemed like perhaps it never would.  “He didn’t seem at all familiar to you?”

           “Well, I am well acquainted with a handsome Spanish aristocrat,” Fabian preened, putting a hand on his own chest to emphasize the obvious.  “I was flattered at first, but from what you’re telling me about the story’s development, obviously he can’t possibly be –“ Fabian stopped abruptly, realization dawning in his eyes once more.

           “Oh. Oh, I get it.  This is all a bit of a joke.  The suave Spanish nobleman who is not what he seems.  You’re making fun of that pendejo de la Rocha, aren’t you?”

           This time Pyro was the one to choke on beer, while Avalanche thumped him helpfully on the back.

           “Yes, yes, mate, you’re exactly right.  I’m making fun of Empath, and not anyone else,” he said when he could speak again.  “You should go tell him that right now.  Read the book aloud to him and the other Hellions.  It’ll be great.”

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Seventeen → in which Violet doodles

IMPORTANT NOTICE FOR TODAY’S CHAPTER

TRIGGER WARNING - Another implied panic attack happens in this chapter, and while self-harming behavior is not shown onscreen, it is made very clear that a character is self-harming by scratching. Proceed with caution, and stay safe! 

“Well,” Solitude said, “Fuck.” 

The children backed up, with Klaus picking up Solitude as they moved. “Fiona, do you think we’ve been poisoned already?” he asked. 

“No.” Fiona said. “The spores shouldn’t reach us here. As long as we stay on the far end of the cavern, and the mushrooms stop advancing, we should be safe.” 

“They do seem to have stopped advancing.” Lilac said, watching the line of gray mushrooms, which did, indeed, seem to stop getting closer. 

“We’re lucky the mycelium has only grown that far.” Fiona said. 

“I don’t feel lucky.” Klaus said. “How are we going to get out?” 

“If we go through the mushrooms, we’ll be poisoned.” Fiona said. “I could find a cure in my mycological library, but we don’t want to take that chance.” 

“We could climb out that passage.” Lilac said, turning to the side. “Wait, no, it could be miles to the surface.” 

“We can’t go out that way anyway.” Fiona said. “If we don’t return to the Queequeg, someone will have to go investigate.” 

Lilac flinched. “And I feel like your stepfather would send our siblings right into the poisonous fungus.” 

Fiona bit her lip. “He might come instead-” 

“Fiona,” Klaus said, “Your book said the mushroom waxes and wanes, right? So we’ll wait until it wanes, and then run to the water and swim back.” 

“But I don’t know how long until it starts waning.” Fiona said. “It could be a few minutes, or a few hours, or a few days.” 

“In a few days, we’ll miss the VFD gathering.” Solitude said, worried. 

“In a few days, Violet, Nick and Sunny will have ripped apart the Queequeg.” Klaus muttered under his breath. 

“It’s our only choice.” Fiona said. 

“It’s a Hobson’s choice.” Lilac sighed, sitting down on a chest. Klaus sat beside her, giggling slightly. 

“What’s that?” Fiona asked. 

Klaus smiled. “Thomas Hobson lived in Britain in the seventeenth century. He was in charge of a stable, and according to legend, he always told his customers they had a choice: they could take the horse closest to the door, or no horse at all.” 

“That’s not really a choice.” Fiona said. 

“Precisely.” Lilac said. “It’s something that’s not a choice at all. Our Mother used to give us Hobson’s Choices. She’d say, ‘Lilac, you can dust the furniture, or I can play polka music all night.’” 

“You can do the dishes,” Klaus remembered, “Or read the poetry of Edgar Guest.” 

“Eat your dinner or stay in the chair.” Solitude said. 

“She’d do that with the others, too.” Lilac recalled. “Violet could clean her room or we’d stand in the doorway and sing Row Your Boat, and Nick could be nice to guests or be made to read that third book about those kids in a maze, and Sunny could have a bath or a pink dress.” 

Fiona smiled. “Did your mother always joke around like that? Mine would get mad if I didn’t clean my room.” 

“Our mother would get mad, too.” Klaus said quietly. “One night, Violet and I left the window of the library open, and that night it rained.” 

“She really flew off the handle.” Lilac sighed. 

“We spoiled an atlas that she said was irreplaceable.” 

“Our father came down from his study to see what was the matter, and then he started yelling, too.” 

The Baudelaires looked at each other uncomfortably. They were silent for a long moment, remembering that, yes, there were times their parents weren’t perfect, and times they hated, and memories from before the fire that they didn’t want. 

That wasn’t a feeling they liked. 

“My brother used to get angry, too.” Fiona said quietly. “Before he disappeared, when they thought I was asleep, he’d have awful fights with my stepfather.” 

“Your stepfather didn’t mention that.” Lilac said. “He said your brother was charming.” 

“Maybe he only remembers the charming parts.” Fiona replied. “Maybe he doesn’t want to remember everything. Or keep some things secret.” 

“Do you think your stepfather knew about this place?” Klaus asked, glancing around. “He mentioned we might find a place to take off our diving helmets.” 

“Maybe that was just another secret he was keeping.” Lilac said. “Like the Sugar Bowl.” 

“Which we should look for.” Solitude sighed. 

They stood up, and took distant positions in the sand, careful not to step any closer to the Medusoid Mycelium. For several hours, they dug through the sand, but no matter how many objects the children found, no matter how much junk they dug through, there was no Sugar Bowl to be found. 

“Nick! Nick!” 

Violet pounded on the door that led to the dorms. She had to have been standing out there for two hours, but even after she gave him several minutes to himself, and then went back to knocking and shouting, her brother didn’t open the door. She’d debated running off to find Sunny, but she knew Nick would want to show his emotions even less around their baby sister, and Sunny was probably fine in the kitchen with Phil. 

“Nick Liam Baudelaire, you will open the goddamn door right now, or I’m kicking it down!” 

No response, again. Violet sighed, tying her hair back, and then she backed up down the hall. She took a running start, and then slammed her weight against the door. The submarine, as old and broken as it was, was not prepared for the full force of an angry older sister, so the door lock slid away, and Violet barely managed to keep her footing as she stumbled into the room. 

Nick was sitting on a bottom bunk, curled up around a pillow. Whether he had been screaming or crying into it, Violet wasn’t sure, but she knew that she definitely didn’t want anyone else to come in and bother them. She closed the door behind them, before moving to sit on the other edge of the bunk. “Hey.” she said gently. 

No response. 

“Hey, listen, Widdershit’s wrong.” Violet assured him. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

He mumbled something into the pillow that she didn’t quite catch. 

“Nick, listen. Whatever you need to tell me, you can. I’ll listen, and- and I won’t judge, or- or get upset. I won’t even react if you don’t want me to. I won’t cry. I won’t tell the others if you don’t want them to know yet.” 

He mumbled something else. 

“Nick, I can’t understand you.” 

Nick pulled the pillow away, and Violet struggled very hard not to react, like she’d said she would. Her brother’s face was red, and she thought she could still see tears falling. 

“I said go away.” 

“Well, that’s not happening.” Violet moved a little on the bed so she could get closer to her brother and still face him. “If you want, we can just sit here in silence.” 

“I don’t want people around me.” 

“And I’m not leaving you alone.” 

Nick shut his eyes. “You didn’t have a problem leaving Sunny alone.” 

She knew instantly that he wasn’t talking about Sunny being in the kitchen with Phil. “She wasn’t hurt, and she wanted to spy. You, right now, need someone.” 

“I don’t need you!” Nick threw the pillow at Violet, who swiftly caught it- she’d been in enough pillow fights to have fast reflexes. 

“Now, Nick,” Violet tossed the pillow aside, “Listen, I-” 

“You weren’t there! No one was there!” Nick screamed, throwing his hands over his face. “Widdershit doesn’t- he knew! He knew what they were doing to me! And he didn’t care! He wouldn’t have cared if they got any of you!” 

“Nick-” 

“He told me!” Nick screamed, staring ahead blankly, almost as if he couldn’t see Violet, as if he was just yelling to himself, he just had to get it out. “He told me too much! Widdershins keeps- keeps talking about secrets too- too terrible for young- young people to know- I know too much! I felt too much! I- I- I know too much and I can’t-” 

Violet reached forwards, but Nick pushed himself back. “Do you know what he did, Violet? Do you have a fucking clue?” 

Violet bit her lip. “I have… a few guesses.” 

“I- I tried to escape. In the woods. In the-” he shut his eyes. “Third or fourth time. Or maybe sixth. Maybe first. I can’t remember. I can’t even remember if I tried six times, Vi. Something’s wrong with me.” 

“No-” 

“He wouldn’t- he wouldn’t stop-” 

“Nick-” 

“He- he said-” Nick shut his eyes, trying and failing to stop the sobs. “He said if I kept trying to- to run- he’d take someone else. He- he said- he told me what he’d do, Violet! He told me exactly what he’d do to each of you!” 

Violet gasped, and Nick started rocking. “He told- he showed- he said- he said he’d pick a sibling and- and- and I’d have to watch, and then he’d kill me. Vi, he was going to kill me…”  

“Nick…” 

“He was going to kill me- kill me, slowly, long enough so- so he knew I knew I was leaving you alone-” 

Violet didn’t know what to say. 

“I know- I know what he- what he wanted- what he and what she… what would happen to you, and to Lilac or Klaus or Soli or Sunny- and- and I want it out!” He slammed his fist onto the wall, not even flinching at the pain. “Vi, I want it out! I want it out of my head!” 

“Nick-” 

“I want it out! What he could’ve done! What he did! What they did! What everyone has done! All this bullshit, I want it gone!” 

Violet reached to hug him, but he backed up some more. “I want it gone… Vi, I can’t… I want to forget. I want it all gone.” He was crying softly now, not looking her in the eye. 

She opened her mouth to speak again, and then stared down at his arms; his sleeves had been pushed up. 

Oh no. “Nick…” she began. 

Nick saw where she was looking and flinched back again, but Violet just leaned forwards, grabbing his forearms. 

“These, um… your skin’s getting pretty red.” she said quietly, trying very hard to remain calm after what she’d heard. “I don’t… I don’t know what itches, but I’d suggest you stop bothering it for a while. You scratch your arms any more and you could cause damage. Maybe break skin if…” 

Nick didn’t say anything. 

Violet bit her lip. “Nick. Does something itch?” 

Slowly, very slowly, he shook his head. 

She ran a hand over her ponytail, and then she said, “Nick, I will be right back, but you have to promise not to lock the door.” 

“I don’t-” 

“I won’t tell anyone, promise. Nothing you just said leaves this room. But leave the door open, and don’t scratch any more.” 

He didn’t look at her directly, as tears still streamed down his face. Slowly, Violet got up, and ran out of the room. 

As soon as she was out of Nick’s sightline, she buried her head in her hands, struggling to remain calm. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Help him now, freak out later. You need to help, Vi. Just keep moving. She shut her eyes tight, took a deep breath, and then started running again. 

It took a moment to navigate the halls of the submarine, but she eventually found the kitchen. She peered in, seeing Sunny shaking a jar of sprinkles. “Sunny-” 

“No come in!” Sunny shouted. “Surprise!” 

“Sorry.” Violet covered her eyes. “Sorry, but… do you know where there are pens or markers? I was going to ask Phil, but- where is he?” 

“Nodnaba,” Sunny said, and Violet heard her sliding from the counter. “He and Widdershins stepped out a moment; they’ll be back soon.” 

“Okay. Well, um, pens? Markers?” 

“Crayola,” Sunny said, which meant, “There’s a whole box of markers right here, for writing labels on cannisters. Can you bring them back when you’re done?” 

“Honestly, I can’t make any promises.” 

“Alzatadispalle,” Sunny said, which meant, “Eh, fine, I don’t care about this submarine much anyway.” 

“Thank you, Sunshine.” Violet said, stepping back and out of the kitchen. 

After a moment, Sunny dropped a box of markers at her feet, and then said, “Surprise later. Go now!” 

“Alright, alright.” Violet nodded, picking up the markers. “See you in a bit.” 

As soon as Sunny closed the kitchen door, though, Violet raced back to the dorms. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the door was still open, and she knocked a little before entering, to let Nick know she was coming in. 

He’d retrieved the pillow and had buried his face against it again. Violet sat beside him, and said, “Hey, can we ditch that for a sec?” 

Nick sighed and tossed the pillow against the wall, glaring over at her. “What?” 

Violet slowly took his arm again, holding it out and trying to ignore the thumping in her chest when she saw the red skin. Then, slowly, she took a marker from the box, and started to draw on his arm. 

“What are you-” 

“Shh.” Violet said. “Hold on a moment.” 

She continued to draw, no set idea on what she was doodling in mind. But she swirled the marker- a light blue color- around her brother’s arm, until there was just a jumble of color. Then, an idea finally coming to her, she took a black marker and drew some squiggles above it, mirroring the shape of their Uncle’s prized snake, the Incredibly Deadly Viper. It felt like a lifetime since they’d seen him. 

“Now, Nick,” she said quietly, finally releasing his arm. He lifted it up, staring at the drawing. “How was that?” 

“Huh?” he sniffled. 

“Did that… help?” 

He glanced down. “It… it kept me… grounded. Yeah.” 

Violet took his hands, squeezing them softly. “When you feel… feel like you want to scratch without an itch, I want you to take these markers and draw where you… where you want to hurt. Do that instead. It should help. And if it doesn’t, I want you to tell me, okay?” 

Nick narrowed his eyes. “I can keep the markers?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I, um. I’m not an artist.” 

“Just draw squiggles. It’s not like we’re submitting it to an art show.” 

A smile flickered briefly across Nick’s face- not for long, but enough that Violet felt relief course through her. 

“Where, um…” he paused, hesitant. “Where’d you get this idea?” 

Violet waited until he met her eyes, and she admitted, “About two years ago, I asked Father why he had pen drawings on his arm.” 

Nick’s eyes widened. “He- Dad?” 

Violet nodded. “And he said if I ever felt this way… well, now you have an outlet that doesn’t involve hurting yourself.” 

Nick bit his lip. “I… I’m sorry-” 

“No. No, it’s not your fault.” Violet said, almost sternly. “None of this is your fault, do you understand?” She waited until he nodded to continue. “Do you want me to keep this to myself? Or do you want me to tell the others?” 

“Just… quiet. Please.” he said. 

“Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind, or if you need anything else.” 

Nick looked up at her, and then he threw himself at her, clutching her very tight. Violet hugged him back, and he whispered, “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, baby bro.” 

She hadn’t called him that since he was four. But she could tell he didn’t mind.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Like Ghosts In Snow (Ch. 2)

While your guardian is keeping a huge secret you take on the nightlife and find yourself in a mad supernatural hellzone.

Vampire au, villain au

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence

A/N: I had written 90% of this before I started requests and figured I’d finish it before continuing. I’ll get on to do more requests Thursday at the latest! Deku is here! I’m stoked.

Previous

Chapter 2: Ambrosia

You sat on the passenger seat of Bakugou’s Oldsmobile and listened to his shitty gangster rap music. Eijirou moved around in the back seat from window to window allowing his head to pop out to catch the cool salty pacific air, occasionally popping his head over your seat to give kisses and sniffs.

Bakugou parked the car on the side of the road. You knew immediately by looking around that this was a college town. Kids around your age walked in groups up and down the street, shopping, finding hot spots, looking for places to get a drink or go to dinner. They skipped and cheered and laughed with one another. You felt a twinge if jealousy watching other kids having fun with their friends.

“The comic book store a couple blocks away so we’re gonna have to walk,” Bakugou said letting Eijirou our of the car. Eijirou sat on the sidewalk waiting patiently for the two of you to start walking. A good boy.

Before you got out of the car, you bent down to tie your shoe. Bakugou opened your door for you. You looked up at him surprised. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you said slightly slurring the word ‘chivalry.’

“Hurry the fuck up.” Woah there, partner.

You slid down your seat and out of the car and walked fast paced towards the sidewalk however you managed to trip over your own leg and nearly fell into the road.

It was like you were frozen in air. You started at the street but your face never met it. At that same moment a 1967 black mustang sped down the road. The would’ve hit me, you thought yourself.

Bakugou pulled you onto the sidewalk. He had caught you by your hand just in time. “It would be really nice,” he growled at you, “if we could make it to this damn comic book store without you getting yourself fucking killed.”

You blinked at him. He had saved you by he was still so mean. You looked into his glowering red eyes. He did look a bit concerned. Still he was being so rude to you, and why?

You laughed. “I just wanted you to hold my hand,” you said innocently. You looked down at your hand still intertwined with his.

He threw it away stalking off down the street. You thought for a second you had seen him blush. You just shake your head.

You walked in silence for a while, watching as Eijirou sniffed every lamppost, ever plant, and every trash can you passed by. People avoided Bakugou on the street, making sure to walk into the road to avoid being near him. It probably didn’t help the Eijirou was a growling machine whenever anyone looked his way.

“We’re going to cut down this alley and walk behind the buildings. The dog is wasting our time stopping every second he can to get his damn fix.” So you followed Bakugou down an alley with Eijirou watching carefully behind you.

The alleyway was plastered with ‘Missing Person’ posters. Faces of all ages stared at you with messages from loved ones pleading for the viewer to call specified numbers if there was any information on their whereabouts. You read some of the names. ‘Momo Yaoyorozu’... ‘Denki Kaminari’... ‘Hitoshi Shinsou’... You came upon a poster where the person’s face was torn away from the wall. The name read ‘Izuku Midoriya.’

Bakugou has stopped walking to watch you look at all the posters. You turned to him and asked, “is this town safe?”

“Does it feel safe?” He glared at you. He was so cryptic.

You gulped. It didn’t. But you weren’t going to let this smug fucker spook you out when you wanted to enjoy your night. You sarcastically fluttered your lashes gave him a smile, curling a lock of hair around your finger and gushed, “I feel safe knowing that a big strong man such as yourself is here to be my personal body guard.” You could nearly see steam fuming out of his nostrils. Eijirou barked at you, as if to say, I’m here too you know! You turned away from him and skipped down the alleyway.

The back of each building had something beautifully painted on it. You were mesmerized by the swirl of blue mixed with an orange and pink hue that painted a landscape of a giant wave crashing against a bluff. The next building had the scene of a thunder storm in the middle of a desert, the cactus and dunes were silhouetted against a purple night sky with a white lightning bolt bursting through it.

The last building on your trek really caught your eye. An incredibly bulky man stood over a mound of skeletons that had pointed teeth. His blonde hair seemed to be blowing in the wind. He held a medieval axe in one hand while his other flexed showing off rippling muscles. He had a huge conquering smile on.

“We’re here,” Bakugou snapped you out of your daze.

“Wow,” was all you said.

“Tch,” Bakugou looked down at Eijirou who seemed almost as amazed as you were at the painting. You didn’t think dogs could understand artwork. “You’re staying right here,” Bakugou said to the dog.

Eijirou let out a whine but he sat down obediently.

A bell dinged as you entered the store. At the front, an older man sat staring blankly through the window at people walking by. He was scrawny, nearly skin and bones, eyes sunken in casting a shadow over his face, but he had wild blonde hair, with bangs parted down the middle falling to either side of his face. When you walked by, giving him a smile, he slowly put up a hand to greet you but continued to stare outside, as if his greeting was only a reflex. Bakugou didn’t look at him.

The place was filled. Different swords and weapons decorated the walls, comic books grew in stacks, there were standees of heroes from recent movies you’ve watched in theaters, and separate sections for old movies, games, and cds were labeled in pictures and stickers, and there were stairs towards the back of the store labeled ‘records,’ with a sign pointing up.

You slowly walked to a stack of books and fingered the folds of a random book before picking it up. It had been a manga from the mid 2000’s called, ‘My Date With a Teenaged Vampire.’ You snickered to yourself as you flipped through the pages, watching the heroine blush and swoon over a very cheesy looking vampire.

Bakugou scoffed over your shoulder causing you to jump and throw the book back into the stack. “Jesus! Hover much, Katsuki?”

“It’s Bakugou,” he rolled his eyes at you. “Of course you’re one of those girls that believe in that ‘vampires are romantic, star crossed lovers, fate’s kiss’ bullshit. Vampires feed, kill, and burn, in that order.”

“And werewolves howl, piss on trees, and hump each other, in that order,” you wanted to defend yourself but you didn’t want him to think you cared about what he thought about you. You didn’t.

“Werewolves don’t exist,” he said crossing his arms, challenging you.

“And vampires do? Honestly, Bakugou, if you are gonna be a killjoy, you could just wait outside.”

“I don’t see why the fuck not. It’s not like I wanna be here.”

“The door,” you said, motioning towards the outside, “is right over there.”

He narrowed his eyes and slammed his hand on the table next to you and started leaning in to you causing you to move away from him. For a split second you thought he was going to kiss you but the thought quickly left your mind when he stopped right in front of you, his hot breath on h s face. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he whispered and shoved something to your chest before stalking away towards the front. You watched as he swung the door open, causing the bell to ring, and the shopkeeper raised his hand to say goodbye to his guest.

You looked at what Bakugou had left you. It was a comic book from the 1980’s. The title of the book was blacked out with sharpie pen and over it written in chipping whiteout was ‘10 Ways To Absolutely Destroy a Vampire.’ You flipped through the comic and saw various different scribbles over the original work, seeming to correct or call bullshit on certain things the comic had written in it. You read through a strip where the hero dramatically piles a stake through the heart of a vampire the words ‘obviously’ were messily scribbled next to the perishing vampire. You scrunched your face. Why did Bakugou give you trash? You flipped to the last page of the book where ‘property of Edgar and Alan Frog: vampire hunters’ were written. “Well, Edgar and Alan Frog, you guys are psychos,” you said aloud.

A sudden ring from the door front caused you to jump. You glanced up to see the shopkeeper put up his hand in greeting but didn’t see anybody in the store. A shiver went up your spine. Maybe it was someone lost or confused and turned back immediately? You shrugged it off but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

You made your way up the stairs to look at the collection of records. You flipped through the $2” stack and read through dozens of bands you hadn’t heard of. Your hand ghosted over some lapel pins representing music labels. You made your way over to the rock bands that were in an alphabetized order. You scanned through through the D’s; David Bowie, Dead Kennedy’s, Depeche Mode, and your fingers landed on the Morrison Hotel album by the Doors. You pulled it out of the stack and you felt eyes on you again.

You turned abruptly and your eyes met with mesmerizing emerald ones. You smiled at the messy haired boy who was fixated on you before returning reading the back of the album.

“Jim Morrison... quite the inspiration,” a friendly voice rang in your ears.

Nervous at the stranger speaking to you you didn’t look up from the album when you replied, “yeah... I think my dad is a big fan of his. I’m thinking about getting him this album.”

“You should get it for yourself,” the voice was right up against your ear. You took a step away and turned to the boy, giving him a surprised look.

His green irises peaked through half lidded eyes, face dusted in freckles, his red lips stretched into a lazy smile when he got a good look at you. He almost looked like a doll. He wore a white dress shirt with a black vest, black slacks, and converse. His cute face did not match his clothes at all.

“M-maybe I will,” you felt an uneasy tension creep up your back.

Taking a step closer he reached behind you, his arm pressing uninvitedly on your shoulder, and pulled a different record back into his hands, his eyes never leaving yours. “If you’re going to get an album by The Doors, might I suggest ‘Strange Days,’?” He flipped the vinyl over to show up the list of songs, rubbing his shoulder against yours. “Some of the songs feature a harpischord, an elegant instrument that’s not usually associated with rock and roll.” When you didn’t say anything he continued, “you know, when Morrison died they didn’t do surgery on his body to see what his cause of death was. Some believe he might still be alive.”

That made you laugh. “Yeah he’s probably somewhere sharing a drink with Elvis, right?”

The boy grinned at your joke. “Yeah, something like that,” the spirit of eerie irony filled his voice.

You took the vinyl from his hands and admired the odd photo they used as the album cover.

“What’s your name?” The boy asked.

“F/N L/N,” you said without hesitation. You felt you should be cautious around him but you couldn’t help but blurt out the honest answer immediately. A shiver shot through your body.

“F/N L/N,” your name was drawled our through his lips, slowly, as if he was savoring the taste of it on his tongue. “You’re a friend of Kacchan’s?”

“Who?”

The boy chuckled humorlessly. “Katsuki Bakugou. I can smell him on you.” Another uneasy wave hit you, still you were unable to move away from the boy. “He has a hard time making friends.”

“I can’t fathom why,” you said rolling your eyes.

The boy jumped up to sit on top of the counter holding the records. He smiled down on you. “I like you, y/n,” he said slightly kicking his feet. He reached over to the box of lapel pins and held it in his lap. He tilted his head to the side and asked, “Will you do me a favor?”

I don’t think so. “Sure.”

“Give me your hand.”

Your right hand involuntarily reached up to reach the boys. Taking one of the lapel pins he pricked your pointer finger. You winced, shooting your hand back. A drop of scarlet oozed from the tip. You sucked at your wound.

The boy’s smile grew, his tongue pressed against his white teeth. “What does it taste like?”

Leave. Turn around and leave. Go find Bakugou and go home. “It takes like,” you licked your finger, “skin and copper.” Why do you want to know?

He bit his lip, looking pleased. He held out his hand to you once more. “Let me try.”

Again your hand met his. He caresses your arm as he brought your bleeding finger to his lips, keeping eye contact with you, he kissed your finger. “Oh,” he took your finger into your mouth, you felt his tongue swirl around the wound, and he sucked. A greedy moan escaped his lips.

You felt a different kind of tingling envelope your body. It’s like you were entranced by this man who was sampling your blood.

Looking pleased, he let your hand fall to your side. “You taste magnificent. Like honey, sunshine,... ambrosia.” He licked his lips as if the taste of you lingered on them. “I can’t wait to have you when you’re not intoxicated.”

How does he know? How am I not screaming? Why can’t I call for help? Questions ran rapidly through your head as you stared at the green haired boy, paralyzed.

He hopped down from the counter and started walked towards the stairs. “Sadly, we’ll have to save that for another... date.”

Your body was burning to move. “What’s your name?” Was all you could muster.

He tossed his head back, sleepy eyes landing on you. “*Izuku Midoriya*, but you won’t be remembering that anytime soon.” The boy disappeared down the stairs.

Chapter 3

~

Tags for EVERYTHING: @yandere-inamorata @doriichii @miitaart @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @kido-is-not-a-ghost @wickedlewicked @chickennuggetsarequestionable @nevermorelenore @kpanime @jetblackjessie @ayeputita @bokunoheroes-stories @captain-sin-allmight-queen @diisasterbii @iceformer @meganofmars @colagirl5 @colorbookshd @grimmjadeskye @sm0kingcrack @sarcastictextstuck @zellllyyyy @psionicsnow @mynahx3 @andie-in-tumblland

If you asked to be tagged in Like Ghosts In Snow please remind me. The list slipped through my silly seal flippers and I misplaced it.

[all-the-cliches-lwa]

The Life We Share Ch. 7 (End)

I’m a day late I know ;-; I had a lot of difficulties with my Dianakko week day 7 prompt... and like, it took me way too long to figure out how to do it! I’m.. honestly still all that sure how it came out, but I wanted to get out asap, so here it is!

Oh also s/o to @undersea-anchor. You are lovely and have been such a big help throughout this whole week. I also got inspiration for one line in the middle of the fic from this picture by @bibnella. Completely different context but I mean. I love this pic and I felt like it needed to be said. . 

I hope you enjoyed this Dianakko week! Please feel free to tell you what you thought of this chapter, or my submissions in general. But of course, thank you so much for reading my fic! It’s meant so much to me that you guys read my things.

Day 7: Free day

Summary: In which Akko and Diana finally have their wedding. 

Word count: 5.4k words

ffnet link ao3 link

Diana paused and turned to look at herself in the mirror, for what was probably her fifteenth time in the last couple of hours. She took a second to take in her appearance, and her lips curved down into a dissatisfied frown.

“Honestly Amanda, I haven’t the slightest clue why I let you talk me into wearing this ridiculous suit.”

“Oh c’mon Di, would you quit worrying?! You look hot... Besides, we both know I wasn’t the one who talked you into wearing that.”

Diana looked up at Amanda’s reflection in the mirror and narrowed her eyes.

“You were the one who suggested it, however.”

Amanda flashed a smug grin as she leaned back against the armrest of the couch.

“Yeah? And I remember Akko practically begging you to wear it… and as we both know, you can’t say no to those adorable puppy dog eyes.”

Diana sighed, ignoring her best woman’s little quip, and glared back down at her own reflection, one hand fiddling with the edge of slacks while the other pulled against her collar.  

Months.

They had been planning today for months. Fifteen months to be exact.

What Diana, and likely Akko, had assumed would be a relatively simple affair, one that would take no more than a couple of months, had quickly grown into the greatest trial the two of them had ever faced.

Considering they had literally stared down a possessed missile together in their youth… that was saying quite a bit.

To be honest, if Diana truly had to pick between facing that missile once again and spending hours arguing over something as pointless as how the napkins at the reception would be folded… she would gladly choose facing almost certain death over those damned table cloths anyday.

Never mind the headache that was deciding the guest list.

If Akko and her didn’t have the support of their friends throughout the whole process… there’s no telling how this would have gone.

Still, after all of their preparation, not to mention their years of being engaged, what was to be the biggest day of their lives had finally arrived.

Akko was on the other side of the Cavendish estate, Lotte, Sucy, and Andrew keeping her company. There was absolutely no doubt in Diana’s mind that Akko looked absolutely stunning… If only she could know just what Akko was wearing.

Out of all the details that the two of them had spent forever ironing out, practically burning it into Diana’s mind, the one detail that neither of them were allowed to know, as per Akko’s request naturally, was how the other would be dressed.

All that they knew was that Akko would be wearing a bridal gown and Diana would be wearing a suit.

And while Diana knew Akko’s dress would be nothing short of spectacular, something that would undoubtedly leave her absolutely breathless…

Diana did another once over herself in the mirror and felt her heart drop down to the pit of her stomach.

She felt no doubt that her own attire left much to be desired. After all of  that insistence on secrecy, Akko was probably expecting something that would leave the girl absolutely floored… but this?

“Surely you don’t think Akko was expecting something like this?” Diana pivoted away from the mirror to face her friends.

“What’s so wrong about that?” Amanda asked, a brow raised. “Like I said, you look hot! That Anna sure knows how to tailor a suit. It hugs your waist just right.”

“Amanda would you quit ogling me? I’m serious,” Diana scolded. She then rapidly gestured up and down her suit and let out a defeated groan. “Akko is expecting something jaw-dropping, and truthfully I feel this suit is rather dull.”

“Jeez Diana, stop fussing about it!” Barbara interjected. Diana turned towards the door, where Hannah and Barbara stood. “Amanda’s right, you look amazing. Honestly, Akko’s going to be completely head over heels for you!”

“Well, you know, more than usual,” Hannah added.

“Seriously, knowing her, she might actually fall head over heels during the ceremony.” Amanda chuckled as she sat up on the couch. Diana turned back to her best woman, who was sending her an unsettling smirk.  “Though if you’re really looking to drop some jaws, I’ve got a couple of suggestions.”

“Here we go,” Hannah laughed, as she shook her head, though her lips were curled up in an amused smile.

“If you really want to leave an impression…” Amanda continued, clearly ignoring Hannah’s little quip. “Lose the vest. Oh, and the tie.” Amanda leaned forward and winked, which sent a shudder down Diana’s spine. “Maybe even undo a few buttons off the top. Show off a little boo-”

“Amanda O’neill! I will not be doing any of that!” Diana screamed, causing her bridesmaids to burst into laughter. Diana leaned back against the mirror and crossed her arms, doing her best to ignore the flames that had lit up in her cheeks. “Honestly, I would have thought that, on today of all days, my bridesmaids and my best woman would have the courtesy to hold off on their jokes at my expense.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have picked us for the jobs if we did, now would you?” Amanda laughed.

Diana sputtered at the accusation for just a moment, only to drop her head and chuckle in defeat.

“Perhaps not,” Diana admitted.

“Anyway, you really needed to relax,” Hannah said. “You’ve been worrying over nothing since you woke up.”

“And honestly, we thought this would be the best way to calm you down,” Barbara continued. “Give you a bit of normalcy and try to keep your mind distracted. It worked for Edgar in Nightfall volume 369.”

Diana froze for a moment, staring wide-eyed at the floor below her. Her arms fell to her sides as the words of her friends sank in.

“Have… Have I really been worrying over nothing?” Diana mumbled. When all she heard was the sound of birds outside her window, she looked up, only to see everyone else staring at her with an almost deadpan glare. “... What?”

The three turned to each other for just a second. They shared a brief nod, and Amanda then lifted herself up from the couch and began walking towards Diana.

“... Di, you literally just worried that Akko, the same Akko who actually spent hours drooling because you ‘accidentally’ got your hair cut too short a few years ago, wouldn’t be all crazy about you wearing that fine ass suit,” Amanda said. “Trust us, you need to chill.”

“Yeah Diana, Amanda’s right,” Barbara, who was now standing by Amanda’s left, agreed.

“We get that your nervous,” Hannah said from Amanda’s right. “Who wouldn’t be? But if we’re talking about Akko here… we’re pretty sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Diana bit her lip, and her eyes darted down to her black leather shoes. Her hands clenched into tight, almost shaking, fists.

Then, Diana closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“... I just want today to go absolutely perfect for her,” Diana admitted. “Something we can look back at together forever.”

“And it will be,” Barbara answered. “As long as it’s you and her together, any day would be perfect for Akko… honestly I can’t tell you how much of my weekly Nightfall book clubs has been replaced with Lotte talking about how excited Akko is.”

And that thought made Diana smile. The thought of Akko gushing about everything to her friends because she just couldn’t contain her excitement. Her eyes twinkling with that trademark thrill that was just so Akko.

“I… suppose you three are right.”

“But, if you need something to calm you down, I think I’ve got just the thing,” Amanda said. Diana opened her eyes to see Amanda digging into the pocket inside of her own suit. “Ah, found it.” Amanda then pulled her arm out and opened up her palm.

Diana looked down, and her eyes widened when she saw red strings, all interwoven together.

“My bracelet…”

“Yeah, remember you told me to hold onto it a few days ago?” Amanda said.

“... Considering the sort of things you had us do on my so-called bachelorette party at the time, could you blame me?” Diana replied. “I’m pretty sure had I worn it that night, I would have truly lost it in all the chaos.”

“Yeah well, nothing says party like-”

“I never wish to be reminded of what transpired that night Amanda,” Diana scolded, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room. “You three did delete all photo evidence of that night, correct?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah don’t worry about it,” Amanda waved off, to the sound of agreements from the others. “But, you gotta admit, you did have fun right? Pretty sure watching what we did gave you some ideas for the honeymoon.”

Diana’s face heated up at the thought, but she refused to acknowledge Amanda’s obvious taunt with a response.

Still, she took the string from Amanda’s hand and nodded gratefully. She wrapped it around her wrist, and a wave of calm rushed over her. She smiled and ran her fingers over the fibres of red string Akko had given her one day in between their months of hellish planning.

Diana then looked up at her bridesmaids, all giving her smiles and grins, and her arms reached out to grab all three of her friends in a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” Diana said, her voice slightly shaky, “thank you all so much.”

“Of course Diana,” Barbara said.

“Anytime,” Hannah added.

Diana continued to tightly hold the three girls in silence, with their arms eventually wrapping around Diana as well.

However, their moment together was cut short by beeping that sounded from Amanda’s wrist.

“Oh uh, well, that’s all fine and great but…” Amanda was the first pull back, and Diana saw her look down at the watch on her wrist, “We’ve got like 10 minutes ‘till you have to meet with Akko… right before you two walk down the aisle.”

Diana’s heart stopped, and the butterflies in her stomach returned, fluttering even more wildly than they had before.

She felt like she was back in high school, waiting on Akko to knock on her door for their first date… and she never wished to be back in that room, hiding beneath her bed covers more than she did now.

Before Diana could act upon any of that, however, Amanda’s hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“C’mon Di, wouldn’t wanna keep Akko waiting right?” Amanda said. “Besides, I can’t imagine how freaked out she is right now.”

Diana took another deep breath and gave a nervous smile.

“Yes… yes, we should go,” Diana said. “Thank you.”

“Alright, Han, Barb, I’mma take Di down myself,” Amanda said.

“Fine, fine” Hannah said. “You make sure she gets down in one piece, or you’re not hearing the end of it from either of us, right Barbara?”

“Yeah Amanda!”

“Ha, ‘aight,” Amanda laughed. Then she looked back at Diana. “Let’s go.”

And Diana nodded, doing her best to calm her, now absolutely stampeding, heart as they began making their way out of the room.

However, even she knew she wouldn’t be able to. Her heart was just beating far too fast.

And who could blame her? She was about to meet her fiancée-

“Diana! Don’t forget about your brooch!”

Diana stopped and turned towards the table at the center of the room, only to see she had, indeed, forgotten her family’s brooch, a pin in the shape of the Cavendish familiar, a unicorn.

“Woops, can’t leave that Di,” Amanda chuckled.

“... Right, my apologies.”

Akko paced back and forth along the west wall of the entrance hall, each of her steps accentuated with the loud clack of her heels slamming against the tiles. All the while, her attention was centered on the east corridor. Just waiting for Diana to make her entrance.

She could faintly hear Lotte, Sucy, and Andrew conversing behind her, but she couldn’t really tell what they were talking about over the sound of her own hammering heart, threatening to burst out of her chest.

Akko knew she should probably calm down. Try to stay still and not scuff up the floors that Anna and the rest of Diana’s house staff had spent so long cleaning… but she couldn’t help it! No matter what she tried, she couldn’t find anyway to stop her legs from bouncing, kicking, or stomping on the ground. Couldn’t find a way to stop her arms from shaking.

And, of course, with every second that passed, that excitement coursing through her veins only continued to build.

After all, the moment that Akko had been waiting for forever was about to come.

Soon, she would finally get to see how amazing Diana looked in her suit!

When Amanda made the suggestion all the way back when they first started planning, Akko would be lying if she said she wasn’t immediately on board with it. Ever since that day, Akko had spent so much of her free time just daydreaming about it!

Sure, she could have gotten a chance to see what Diana looked like a long time ago… but there was that thing about seeing the bride in their wedding outfits being bad luck. And sure, Diana told her that was just some silly superstition but… Akko didn’t want to take any chances.

She’d already burned all of her luck by having Diana in her life.

But, if Diana didn’t walk in through those doors in the next five minutes, Akko swore she would stomp through the halls and get Diana herself!

… Thankfully, she didn’t need to do that.

A click echoed from the door across the room, and Akko froze, her heart jumping high up into her throat.

Butterflies scrambled around in her stomach, and her heart felt like it would explode at any moment.

Then the doors split open.

The very second Akko laid eyes on Diana, they popped out of her head, and her knees immediately buckled. Thankfully, Lotte and Andrew were quick enough to catch her before she collapsed onto the ground, providing the support her legs could no longer give.

Sure, this was just a little pathetic, but who could blame her?!

Akko always knew Diana would look absolutely gorgeous wearing a suit. There was just something about the way Diana radiated cool and confidence that made it painfully obvious…

But damn.

How the suit just… hugged Diana’s waist and hips in all the right ways. The way its dark fabric showed off Diana’s flawless, alabaster, skin and fluffy, blonde tresses, swaying with every single step.

It all left Akko completely breathless. Her eyes couldn’t help but roam up and down Diana’s figure multiple times, burning every last detail into her mind. The silver brooch pinned onto the lapel. The dark blue vest and tie, further emphasizing Diana’s wonderfully fair skin.

Heat poured into her face, and her mouth felt completely dry.

The second Diana looked up, and Akko could finally look into Diana’s icy blue eyes, which, more than once, sent shivers down her spine, Akko felt her mind halt.

Before Akko knew it, words began to form on her lips, her mind far too consumed by her fiancée’s sheer beauty to even think about stopping them.

“H-Holy shitto da.”

Diana spent the entire trip from her dressing room to the entrance hall taking deep breaths and calming her nerves.

After all, as Amanda and Andrew had told her multiple times throughout the months, one of the suit’s strongest points was how it could exude the wearer’s own confidence and poise.

Well, that’s what Andrew had told her.

Amanda had told to ‘strut’ her ‘stuff’, with absolutely no care. Which was essentially the same, given Amanda’s own way of speaking.

However, the very second she walked into the entrance hall and saw Akko standing before her… she felt all of her composure fly away. The world froze around her, and everything else melted away, leaving just her and this angel alone together in a void of white.

All at once, the butterflies returned to wreak havoc in her gut, and her palms once again began to sweat. Just like in her dressing room, Diana suddenly felt like she was back in high school, only this was far worse on essentially every level.

Diana knew she could never have been prepared for what was to come. She knew that no matter what she tried, no matter how long she spent visualizing and imagining, Akko would leave her stunned speechless, would leave her, for lack of a better term, completely bewitched, trapped under her spell.

Even so, as Diana stared at Akko, at how the bodice, beautifully decorated in ornate, lilies and roses, clung onto Akko’s curves in a way that should have been absolutely criminal, at the skirt, which softly flared out from Akko’s hips down to hem on the floor, Diana found herself more lost for words than at any point in her life.

And that feelings only grew worse as, somehow, she was now standing right in front of her positively stunning fiancée. Diana’s eyes couldn’t help but wander, starting, of course, from Akko’s beautiful face. From those wide, absolutely hypnotizing red eyes, down towards the pure white, strapless dress that had, once again, left Diana truly speechless.

Carefully, Diana inched to reach for Akko’s hand, desperate for a touch, to know that this was all real… yet afraid that it would all slip away if she moved too quickly.

The very second Diana felt the soft skin of Akko’s hand in hers, her entire body filled with warmth, and her eyes had suddenly begun to sting, herself overwhelmed with joy.

Diana felt a soft thumb wipe away a tear, only to cup her cheek. She then stared into Akko’s alluring red irises, and slowly felt herself drawn towards them, slowly getting lost within.

Before she knew it, soft lips pressed against her own, and the whole world, once again, faded away.

Outside of the Cavendish Estate, at least a hundred people were seated, waiting for the ceremony to start. Rows and rows of chairs were lined up into two separate aisles, and pink and light blue lilies floated overhead, all thanks to Constanze and Jasminka.

Music played around the courtyard, setting up the sort of light, yet romantic, atmosphere Diana and Akko both said they wanted.

The sky was perfectly clear too, with not even a single cloud floating overhead.

It was, probably, the perfect time for an outdoor wedding, just like Akko had wanted.

… There was just… one problem.

“Amanda! You said you brought Diana down to Akko right?” Hannah scolded.

“Yeah, of course I did!” Amanda said. “Do you really think I would have let that mess walk through the house alone?”

“Then where are they?!” Hannah asked. “Akko’s parents have been wondering when the ceremony is going to start! And I don’t know what to tell them because it was supposed to start ten minutes ago!”

“Look, I brought her to meet with Akko at the entrance, and Lotte, Sucy, Andrew, and I gave them their privacy, just like we all planned!” Amanda said. “Good thing we left too, cause I swear those two were about to-” Amanda’s eyes shot open “-you dont think…”

“By the Nine, of course that’s what they’re doing!” Barbara groaned. “Jeez, they really are like-”

“Edgar and Arthur yes!” Lotte gushed.  After a quick second, however, she suddenly stopped, and her eyes widened, clearly in fear. “Wait, no this isn’t good.”

Sucy just started snickering behind everyone.

“Of course those idiots would do something like this.”

“Well, I suppose one of us will have to go and get them,” Andrew cut in. Amanda then saw him stare right at her, a twinkle in his eyes. “And I do believe that job should go to the best man, or woman as it were.”

“What?!” Amanda screamed. “I don’t wanna see that!”

“Just earlier, you were checking Diana out in the dressing room,” Hannah quipped. “I’m pretty sure you wanna see that.”

Amanda glared at Hannah, but all she got was a shrug and a chuckle. She then slumped, and peeked outside.

The guests were beginning to talk, wondering where the happy couple was. Thankfully, none of them were really mad, they did all know who Akko was, after all, but… who knows how long that would last.

Then Amanda caught Jasminka, looking back at her from the front row, and she immediately felt a shiver run down her spine.

“Fine,” Amanda groaned. She took her wand out from the inner pocket of her jacket and opened it up. “The things I do for those two.”

Amanda made her way back to the entrance hall, hoping that maybe, just maybe, those idiots were still stuck staring into each other’s eyes. Hoping that maybe she wouldn’t walk in on them... for probably the second time in her life.

She knew it was pointless, but, still, a girl could hope.

Amanda stopped in front of the wooden doors and took in a deep breath, preparing herself for what was inside.

“Yo! What are you guys doing?! Akko, your parents are wondering where the hell you two ar-” Amanda immediately froze when she saw Diana pinned against the wall, Akko’s hand tangled in tousled blonde hair, and the look of horror on the, apparently extremely, happy couple’s faces.

“... Jeez you two, I’m all for breaking the rules, but I’m pretty sure you can’t have the honeymoon before the wedding.”

“Yera Retoure!”

Light flew out from Amanda’s wand, encircling both Diana and Akko. Instantly, the reversal spell returned their clothes - disheveled from their… ‘activities’ - back to their original state.

“Please do not tell anyone about this,” Diana pleaded, her face absolutely scorching, as she, Akko, and Amanda made their way outside.

“Oh trust me Di, everyone already knows,” Amanda said. “And those who don’t can definitely put two and two together when they see the marks Akko left on your neck.”

“What?!” Diana screamed. She immediately reached into her pocket to grab her phone to use as a mirror. When she saw small dark marks scattered all around her neck, she nearly fainted, overwhelmed by the mortifying embarrassment that filled her being.

“Don’t worry! I can fix it!” Akko immediately cheered. “Tiosel Sol Aré!”

Diana felt herself engulfed in a warm, soothing light, and one by one, each offending mark faded away.

Diana let out a sigh of relief, as she inspected herself to find that, thankfully, Akko’s spell had worked completely.

“Thank you so much Akko,” Diana said, turning to send a smile towards her fiancée.

“No probs!” Akko answered, a bright smile on her face. Almost instantly, however, that smile grew more impish, sending a tingle down Diana’s spine. “Besides, there’ll be more of those tonight!”

“Akko!” Diana quickly scolded, and Amanda burst into laughter in front of them.

“At least you’re leaving it for tonight,” Amanda chuckled. “Now let’s go! Everyone’s waiting.”

The ceremony went by in a blur.

Just as they had rehearsed countless times, Akko and Diana’s entourage walked down the aisle first, Diana’s on the right and Akko’s on the left.

Then, Akko and Diana walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand, as Akko's parents guided them towards the front where Professor Ursula stood, ready to officiate their wedding.

All the while, Akko and Diana focused solely on each other. Hands joined together, as they gazed into each other's eyes. Diana marveling at the bright light of joy radiating off of Akko's smile. Akko lost in the warm love held within Diana's crystal blue eyes.

“Now, it's time for the couple to exchange a few words. Akko?”

Then, before they knew it, the stage was theirs.

Akko felt Diana squeeze her hands, saw Diana’s smile soften, and her heart filled with a familiar warmth. A warmth that could make any day better, one that enveloped her and made her feel safe. Just like a hug from her dear fiancée.

Akko took in a deep breath and let that warmth guide her.

“Diana, I… when we first met, I… I never thought that we’d even really be friends. You were perfect in so many ways and could do everything I couldn’t. It was… really frustrating. Then there were all the times you scolded and lectured me! I thought you were so mean… but I, I was wrong.”

Akko paused, her voice having begun to crack. She shut her eyes and let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm down.

“You… weren’t anything but nice. You were always looking out for me, trying to make sure I didn’t get hurt. You were always just… taking care of me. And when I’m with you, I just feel so safe, so happy. I… everyday is fun with you, and you help me be the best me I can be! I.. always want to feel like this. To be with you.”

Akko looked back into Diana’s eyes, which were also moist with tears. Akko chuckled and reached up to wipe a drop from the corner of Diana’s eyes. “I know that I can’t keep talking about everything I love about you… cause if I did we’d be kind of here forever… but I love you so much. And I hope I can keep doing whatever it is that makes you want to keep me by your side.”

Diana stood still, locking her jaw in place and trying desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to flood down her face. The only things keeping her together were Akko’s hand gently caressing her cheek and the face splitting grin on Akko’s face, as her fiancée also tried to fight back her own tears.

“Akko, I… I love you too. Far more than I could ever hope to put into words,” Diana said, as she leaned into Akko’s hand. “So forgive me for making this brief… but otherwise, just as you said, we would all be here forever.

As a child, I allowed the weight of my own responsibilities to pull me down, letting it slowly dull the color of my world. And then you came into my life, blindingly bright and full of vibrant colors. It was… distracting. Irritating. It showed me just how colorless I’d allowed my life to become… how the wonder I used to have for the world had just faded away. And I could not stand it, so I tried to run away from you.

But, no matter what, you found me. You, you brought color back to my life. You let me experience that sense of wonder once again, experience the joy of being a child, at least every once in a while. I’d… always assumed I was destined for one thing, and one thing only, but you showed me that I didn’t have to let that destiny shackle me from reaching out for other things.

You’ve given me a world of unlimited possibilities Akko, and I cannot thank you enough for that. A world where I don’t always have to be strong, a world where I can do anything I wish. And, truly, with every fibre of my being, I always hope… that I can do the same for you. No matter the cost, I swear that I will always be by your side when you need me most.” Diana finished, her tears falling down her face.

It was quite clear Akko wasn’t doing much better.

Diana smiled and took out the handkerchief from her suit. First, she used it to wipe away the tears from Akko’s eyes, and then did the same for herself.

When the two looked at each other, eyes red and puffy from tears, but their lips still smiling, full of love for one another, they both completely regretted the fact that they were not allowed to kiss until the very end of the ceremony.

“And so… Akko,” Diana said, doing her best to wrap up her final part, as quickly as possible. She removed the brooch from her lapel and held it on Akko’s dress, right above her heart. “Would you do me the great honour of joining my family?”

Akko bit her lip and nodded furiously, causing Diana’s heart to melt.

“Very well,” Diana said. She pinned the brooch onto Akko’s dress and smiled. She then turned to Professor Ursula and nodded. “You may continue.”

Professor Ursula smiled, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Understood. The rings?”

“Of course,” Andrew said, as he and Amanda walked up towards Akko and Diana. “You two look a mess.”

Akko and Diana both looked at Andrew and Amanda and struggled to hold in their laughter when they saw just how red their eyes had become.

“So do you,” Akko said, allowing her and Diana a moment to chuckle. “The both of you.”

Andrew just rolled his eyes while Amanda laughed alongside Diana and Akko. They both took out a ring from their respective suit pockets and gave them to the couple, Andrew to Akko and Amanda to Diana. The two then walked back to their spots beside each to-be spouse.

Akko and Diana both turned back to each other, and they slipped the rings onto each other’s fingers.

“And now, could the couple please clasp each other’s left hand?”

Akko and Diana both reached out, and with the clack of their new rings, held their hands together. Diana looked down and smiled, looking at the bright blue string on Akko’s wrist, one to match the red on her own.

“Very good, now may we please have the ribbons?”

Lotte and Sucy, as well as Hannah and Barbara, walked up to the front of the aisle, holding two red silk and two blue silk ribbons, respectively.

Hannah and Barbara began to wrap the blue ribbons, starting from Diana’s forearm down to Akko’s. Lotte and Sucy did the same with their red ribbons, wrapping it above the silk blue ribbons, beginning from Akko’s arm down to Diana’s.

Professor Ursula finished the job, pulling out a purple ribbon from under her sleeve and wrapping it around Akko and Diana’s hand.

Akko and Diana looked at their hands, smiling all the while as they felt each other’s heart beating in time with their own. They then gazed back at each other and giggled, finally, officially, tied together in life.

Professor Ursula stood straight up and placed her hand atop Akko’s and Diana’s.

“May the Nine witches, both old and new-” Professor Ursula winked “-bless this wedding. May you two be blessed with a long, happy life, full of the love you both share… and by the power vested in me, by both the country of England and the Council of Magic, I now pronounce you two officially married!”

The second Professor Ursula announced those words, Akko leapt up into the air, in time with her jumping heart, cheering out in celebration along with the crowd.

However, the second she landed, her foot slipped, and she fell backward onto the grass, pulling Diana along with her.

Akko looked up to see Diana, just inches above her, surprised and in shock.

And as the crowd joined together in a chorus of laughter, causing Akko’s face to heat up with embarrassment… she could only really say one thing.

“I, uh,” Akko giggled, “It looks like I fell for you!”

Diana sputtered, before breaking into a chuckle of her own. She shook her head and rolled her eyes in amusement.

“You are such a silly girl.”

Akko looked into Diana’s eyes and grinned, her wife’s giggle causing her heart to stampede in her chest.

“But I’m your silly girl right?”

And Diana’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes quickly darted down towards Akko’s lips, and she smiled.

After all, the formalities had concluded, and the ceremony simply needed one last act to be completed.

She quickly leaned down pressing a kiss upon her wife’s lips, and her entire body filled with warmth as that thought rang through in her head.

Akko was her wife. And she was Akko’s. Officially.

Finally.

Diana lifted herself up and couldn’t help but laugh at the dazed look on her wife’s face. She then leaned back down, to the side of Akko’s head, and whispered a wish.

One she sincerely believed would come true.

“Of course, Akko. Now, and forever.”

[thecomicsnexus]

The Joker

BATMAN #1 SPRING 1940 BY BILL FINGER, JERRY ROBINSON AND BOB KANE

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC FANDOM)

The Joker announces on the radio that he will kill Henry Claridge and steal the Claridge diamond at midnight. A cordon of cops guard Claridge's home, but he dies anyway, at midnight with a grotesque smile on his face. (He's been dosed, much earlier, with a delayed-action treatment of Joker Venom.) The police then discover that the diamond was already stolen, and that it was replaced with a glass one, and the Joker has left behind his calling card, a Joker.

Later the Joker goes on radio and announces that he will kill Jay Wilde and steal the Ronkers Ruby. Once again a cordon of police fails to safeguard the victim, who is killed at exactly midnight, with a poison dart, by the Joker, hiding in a suit of armor. The Joker deploys a paralyzing gas against the police, and departs with his loot.

But a mobster named Brute Nelson, who is enraged that the Joker is pulling off all these jobs that he had planned to do, sends word out that he thinks that the Joker is a coward. Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson hear about this and suspect a trap. Batman goes to the mobster's house. The Joker is also there, and he shoots and kills Nelson, but he is pursued by Batman. However, the Joker gets the upper hand by knocking Batman off a bridge.

Luckily Batman survives. The Joker then resumes his work by announcing that he will kill Judge Drake. The Joker impersonates the police chief, and kills the judge with Joker Venom, and leaves. Robin has been stationed outside, to follow whoever comes out, and he trails the killer to an abandoned house, where the Joker turns the tables on him and captures Robin.

The soles of Robin's shoes have been painted with an special chemical, and Batman used infra-red goggles to follow his trail, arriving just in time to save him from an injection of Joker Venom, and there's a big fight. The Joker sprays Batman with the same paralyzing gas that had taken out a whole squad of cops, but Batman just shakes it off, grabs Robin, and escapes. The Joker also manages to escape. Robin then tells Batman that the Joker was saying that he was going after the Cleopatra Necklace, owned by Otto Drexel. Batman and Robin arrive while the robbery is still in progress; the Joker uses all his ammunition shooting Batman in the chest; Batman has on a bullet-proof vest; Joker loses and is sent to the State Penitentiary.

Professor Hugo Strange returns with a growth formula that changes asylum inmates into 10-foot tall "man-monsters" that wreak havoc on Gotham City. Batman is captured and injected with the serum, but manages to escape and create an antidote. Batman then punches Strange out the window into the murky waters below. Batman then pilots the Batplane and kills many of Strange's henchman, and some of the monsters, with machine-gun fire. He also manages to hang one of the monsters with his Batrope. He finally kills the last monster by throwing tear gas pellets while it is atop a skyscraper, causing it to fall to its death.

An elderly socialite, Mrs. Travers, is going on a yacht trip with several select friends and a $500,000 emerald necklace. Suspecting that some crook or other will try to steal it, Dick Grayson gets a job as a steward, as Batman has other business elsewhere. Soon, Dick has some suspects: Denny, Mrs. Travers' favourite nephew, who has borrowed lots of money from his aunt in the past (and brought an elderly guest, Miss Peggs, with him), Wallace, Mrs. Travers' doctor (who frequently borrows money to pay off gambling debts), and Mrs. Travers' brother Roger (who wants money to cover stock market losses).

Denny throws a piece of paper over the side of the yacht, but the wind blows it back to Dick. The letter is from The Cat, asking Denny to keep Mrs. Travers away from her room. Suspecting the theft is about to take place, Dick hurries to the cabin, but Mrs. Travers has already discovered the theft. A boat claiming to be the Coast Guard approaches, but it is actually full of mobsters, after the necklace. The mobsters content themselves with stealing everything else, but when they go to shoot someone for protecting his wife, Dick barrels into them and gets knocked into the sea. He takes this chance to turn into Robin.

Meanwhile, the mobsters leave, satisfied with their takings. They race away, but Batman appears and knocks them around. Robin has surfaced and joins in, with an object lesson. consisting of him versus four unarmed mobsters. The crooks quit (to stop Robin from hitting them any more), and Batman proves that, without their guns, crooks are cowards through and through.

They return to the yacht and Batman crashes a fancy dress party, to be awarded with the first prize. He returns the stolen loot and Robin sets off the fire alarm. This is a trap to persuade the Cat to reveal him/herself. Mrs. Peggs races off surprisingly well for someone with a bad ankle, but the Dynamic Duo still catch her. Batman pulls off her wig and removes her make-up to reveal a pretty girl. The necklace is hidden under her bandage. Denny tries to take the necklace, but Batman knocks him out. The Cat tries to persuade Batman to join her as King of Crime, but he refuses.

Then, despite leaving Denny on the yacht, Batman takes the Cat to the police himself. However, the Cat jumps over the side and Batman lets her escape. He's clearly smitten.

Two days after the Joker is captured, he manages to escape using explosive chemicals hidden in some false teeth, and begins to cause more trouble. At home, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson hear the news on the radio and Bruce speculates that Joker is probably after vengeance. The Joker enters his secret laboratory through a hidden entrance in the graveyard, and starts plotting. He threatens Chief of Police Chalmers, and kills him a dart, released with a phone call.

The next day, a painting is stolen, and the owner of a stolen gem is found dead, grinning. Then the Joker threatens to steal the Cleopatra necklace. Bruce Wayne, hearing it on the radio, promises to stop him. That night, in the museum, the Joker emerges from a sarcophagus, and uses his poison to incapacitate the guards. Batman appears and disarms him. The Joker seizes an axe and knocks out Batman. The Police arrive, and find the unconscious Batman AND the missing necklace. Before the cops can remove Batman's cowl, he snaps awake and escapes out the window.

A reformer, Edgar Martin calls for the capture of the Joker, and is marked for death. That night, Martin is under guard and plays cards to calm down. But the pack is all jokers, and poison-laced, killing Martin.

The next day Bruce Wayne suggests a trap for the Joker to his friend Commissioner Gordon. The press prints a series of articles on the Fire Ruby, and despite suspecting a trap, the Joker goes for it. When he arrives, the police surround him, and he shoots, making for the roof. Robin, waiting for him, follows. Joker knocks him off the roof, but Robin grabs a flagpole to save himself. Running down to see if Robin has died, the Joker takes aim and is intercepted by Batman. Robin falls down and lands on the Joker. Batman and Joker fight, and Joker stabs himself in the chest. Batman and Robin flee, leaving the Police to find out that the Joker is still alive.

REVIEW

There is very little that hasn’t been said about the Joker influences. But I think this issue is pretty much a 70% influence for “The Dark Knight” film. Most of the things that happen here, happened in the movie as well (Jerry Robinson was a consultant for the film). I always read that “The Long Halloween” was an influence for the Nolan trilogy, but I cannot really see that much of it in the movies (at least, not more than Year One).

This is also Catwoman’s first appearance (as “The Cat”), and it is established that Batman has the hots for her. This brings some friction with the pre-prepubescent Dick Grayson.

It is also noticeable that Batman is trying not to kill now that Robin is with him (and they dedicate at least two pages to make a point about not using guns to fight). The contrast is very obvious, because in the one story in this book without Robin, Batman kills at least four people (AT LEAST!). He also has a machine gun in his bat-plane. You never know when that might come useful.

Of course, the Joker wasn’t still fully developed. In this story, the motivation for his crimes is mostly jewels. This would make no sense for modern Joker. I also understand the idea was for the Joker to die in the end of the issue, but someone at DC decided to change the ending to allow him to be a recurring villain. Well, knowing comics, he would have come back anyway!

I give the issue a score of 8

[thefeministherald]

Your Ultimate Women-Write-The-Best-of-Everything 2019 Reading List

The Voyeurs (Graphic Novel)

"The Voyeurs is the work of a mature writer, if not one of the most sincere voices of her literary generation. It's a fun, honest read that spans continents, relationships and life decisions. I loved it."—Chris Ware, Acme Novelty Library

"As she watches other people living life, and watches herself watching them, Bell's pen becomes a kind of laser, first illuminating the surface distractions of the world, then scorching them away to reveal a deeper reality that is almost too painful and too beautiful to bear."— Alison Bechdel, Fun Home

"A master of the exquisite detail, Bell provides a welcome peephole into our lives."—Françoise Mouly, The New Yorker

The Voyeurs, was named one of the best books of the year by Publishers Weekly, Kirkus Reviews, and the Atlantic.

Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity

In this brilliant, breathtaking book by Pulitzer Prize winner Katherine Boo, a bewildering age of global change and inequality is made human through the dramatic story of families striving toward a better life in Annawadi, a makeshift settlement in the shadow of luxury hotels near the Mumbai airport. As India starts to prosper, the residents of Annawadi are electric with hope. Abdul, an enterprising teenager, sees “a fortune beyond counting” in the recyclable garbage that richer people throw away. Meanwhile Asha, a woman of formidable ambition, has identified a shadier route to the middle class. With a little luck, her beautiful daughter, Annawadi’s “most-everything girl,” might become its first female college graduate.

Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me: A Graphic Memoir

Cartoonist Ellen Forney explores the relationship between “crazy” and “creative” in this graphic memoir of her bipolar disorder, woven with stories of famous bipolar artists and writers.

Shortly before her thirtieth birthday, Forney was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Flagrantly manic and terrified that medications would cause her to lose creativity, she began a years-long struggle to find mental stability while retaining her passions and creativity.

Searching to make sense of the popular concept of the crazy artist, she finds inspiration from the lives and work of other artists and writers who suffered from mood disorders, including Vincent van Gogh, Georgia O’Keeffe, William Styron, and Sylvia Plath. She also researches the clinical aspects of bipolar disorder, including the strengths and limitations of various treatments and medications, and what studies tell us about the conundrum of attempting to “cure” an otherwise brilliant mind.

Darkly funny and intensely personal, Forney’s memoir provides a visceral glimpse into the effects of a mood disorder on an artist’s work, as she shares her own story through bold black-and-white images and evocative prose.

The Woman in Cabin 10

From New York Times bestselling author of the “twisty-mystery” (Vulture) novel In a Dark, Dark Wood, comes The Woman in Cabin 10, an equally suspenseful and haunting novel from Ruth Ware—this time, set at sea. In this tightly wound, enthralling story reminiscent of Agatha Christie’s works, Lo Blacklock, a journalist who writes for a travel magazine, has just been given the assignment of a lifetime: a week on a luxury cruise with only a handful of cabins. The sky is clear, the waters calm, and the veneered, select guests jovial as the exclusive cruise ship, the Aurora, begins her voyage in the picturesque North Sea. At first, Lo’s stay is nothing but pleasant: the cabins are plush, the dinner parties are sparkling, and the guests are elegant. But as the week wears on, frigid winds whip the deck, gray skies fall, and Lo witnesses what she can only describe as a dark and terrifying nightmare: a woman being thrown overboard. The problem? All passengers remain accounted for—and so, the ship sails on as if nothing has happened, despite Lo’s desperate attempts to convey that something (or someone) has gone terribly, terribly wrong…

1222

Nominated for the Edgar Award for Best Novel, from Norway’s #1 bestselling female crime writer—a “beguiling” (The Washington Post) “good old-fashioned murder mystery” (The New York Times Book Review) set in an isolated hotel where guests stranded during a monumental snowstorm begin turning up dead. A train on its way to the northern reaches of Norway derails during a massive blizzard, 1,222 meters above sea level. The passengers head for a nearby hotel, centuries old and practically empty. With plenty of food and shelter from the storm, the evacuees think they are safe, until one of them turns up dead. With no sign of rescue and the storm raging, retired police inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen is asked to investigate. Paralyzed by a bullet lodged in her spine, Hanne has no desire to get involved. But when another body turns up, panic takes over. Complicating things is the presence of a mysterious guest, a passenger who traveled in a private rail car and now stays secluded on the top floor of the hotel. No one knows who the guest is, or why armed guards are needed. Hanne has her suspicions. Trapped in her wheelchair, trapped by the storm, and now trapped with a killer, Hanne knows she must act before the killer strikes again.

Robot Dreams

A Kirkus Reviews Best Book of the Year A PW Best Book of the Year An ALSC Notable Children’s Book A YALSA Great Graphic Novel

This moving, charming graphic novel about a dog and a robot shows us in poignant detail how powerful and fragile relationships are.

Borderlands / La Frontera: The New Mestiza

Rooted in Gloria Anzaldúa's experience as a Chicana, a lesbian, an activist, and a writer, the essays and poems in this volume profoundly challenged, and continue to challenge, how we think about identity. Borderlands / La Frontera remaps our understanding of what a "border" is, presenting it not as a simple divide between here and there, us and them, but as a psychic, social, and cultural terrain that we inhabit, and that inhabits all of us.

Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things That Happened

Every time Allie Brosh posts something new on her hugely popular blog Hyperbole and a Half the internet rejoices. This full-color, beautifully illustrated edition features more than fifty percent new content, with ten never-before-seen essays and one wholly revised and expanded piece as well as classics from the website like, “The God of Cake,” “Dogs Don’t Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving,” and her astonishing, “Adventures in Depression,” and “Depression Part Two,” which have been hailed as some of the most insightful meditations on the disease ever written.

Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking

Now a Netflix series! New York Times Bestseller and Winner of the 2018 James Beard Award for Best General Cookbook and multiple ICAP Cookbook Awards Named one of the Best Books of 2017 by: NPR, BuzzFeed, The Atlantic, The Washington Post, Chicago Tribune, Rachel Ray Every Day, San Francisco Chronicle, Vice Munchies, Elle.com, Glamour, Eater, Newsday, Minneapolis Star Tribune, The Seattle Times, Tampa Bay Times, Tasting Table, Modern Farmer, Publishers Weekly, and more. A visionary new master class in cooking that distills decades of professional experience into just four simple elements, from the woman declared “America’s next great cooking teacher” by Alice Waters.

Monstress Volume 1: Awakening

Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900's Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, MONSTRESS tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers. About the Creators: New York Times bestselling and award-winning writer Marjorie Liu is best known for her fiction and comic books. She teaches comic book writing at MIT, and leads a class on Popular Fiction at the Voices of Our Nation (VONA) workshop.

Persepolis

Marjane Satrapi's best-selling, internationally acclaimed graphic memoir. Persepolis is the story of Satrapi's unforgettable childhood and coming of age within a large and loving family in Tehran during the Islamic Revolution; of the contradictions between private life and public life in a country plagued by political upheaval.

Nobody Nowhere: The Remarkable Autobiography of an Autistic Girl

Donna Williams was a child with more labels than a jam-jar: deaf, wild disturbed, stupid insane... She lived within herself, her own world her foreground, ours a background she only visited. Isolated from her self and from the outside world, Donna was, in her words, a Nobody Nowhere. She swung violently between these two worlds, battling to join our world and, simultaneously, to keep it out. Abandoned from all connection to the self within her, she lived as a ghost with a body, a patchwork of the images which bombarded her. Intact but detached from the seemingly incomprehensible world around her, she lived in what she called 'a world under glass`.

After twenty-five years of being misunderstood, and unable to understand herself, Donna stumbled upon the word 'autism': a label, but one which held up a mirror and made sense of her life and struggles, and gave her a chance to finally forgive both herself and those around her.

The Ice Princess

The psychological thriller debut of No.1 bestselling Swedish crime sensation Camilla Lackberg.

A small town can hide many secrets

Returning to her hometown after the funeral of her parents, writer Erica Falck finds a community on the brink of tragedy. The death of her childhood friend, Alex, is just the beginning. Her wrists slashed, her body frozen in an ice-cold bath, it seems like she’s taken her own life.

Meanwhile, local detective Patrik Hedström is following his own suspicions about the case. It’s only when they start working together that the truth begins to emerge about a small town with a deeply disturbing past…

The Vampire Chronicles: Interview with a Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, and The Queen of the Damned

In 1976, nearly 80 years after Bram Stoker published Dracula, Anne Rice's bestselling first novel, Interview with the Vampire, breathed new life into the vampire myth. Now, in one chilling volume, here are the first three classic novels of The Vampire Chronicles; Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, and Queen of the Damned.

Adulthood is a Myth: A Sarah's Scribbles Collection

Do you love networking to advance your career? Is adulthood an exciting new challenge for which you feel fully prepared? Ugh. Please go away. 2016 GOODREADS CHOICE AWARD WINNER FOR GRAPHIC NOVELS AND COMICS! These casually drawn, perfectly on-point comics by the hugely popular young Brooklyn-based artist Sarah Andersen are for the rest of us. They document the wasting of entire beautiful weekends on the internet, the unbearable agony of holding hands on the street with a gorgeous guy, and dreaming all day of getting home and back into pajamas. In other words, the horrors and awkwardnesses of young modern life. Oh and they are totally not autobiographical. At all.

Nimona

Indies Choice Book of the Year * National Book Award Finalist * New York Times Bestseller * New York Times Notable Book * Kirkus Best Book * School Library Journal Best Book * Publishers Weekly Best Book * NPR Best Book * New York Public Library Best Book * Chicago Public Library Best Book

The New York Times bestselling graphic novel sensation from Noelle Stevenson, based on her beloved and critically acclaimed web comic. Kirkus says, “If you’re going to read one graphic novel this year, make it this one.”

Nemeses! Dragons! Science! Symbolism! All these and more await in this brilliantly subversive, sharply irreverent epic from Noelle Stevenson. Featuring an exclusive epilogue not seen in the web comic, along with bonus conceptual sketches and revised pages throughout, this gorgeous full-color graphic novel has been hailed by critics and fans alike as the arrival of a “superstar” talent (NPR.org).

Cultural Anthropology  Barbara Miller

Cultural Anthropology presents a balanced introduction to the world’s cultures, focusing on how they interact and change. Author Barbara Miller provides many points where readers can interact with the material, and encourages students to think critically about other cultures as well as their own. Featuring the latest research and statistics throughout, the eighth edition has been updated with contemporary examples of anthropology in action, addressing recent newsworthy events such as the Ebola epidemic.

Captain Marvel Volume 1: Higher, Further, Faster, More

Kelly Sue Deconnick

Hero! Pilot! Avenger! Captain Marvel, Earth's Mightiest Hero with an attitude to match, is back and launching headfirst into an all-new ongoing adventure! As Captain Marvel, a.k.a. Carol Danvers, comes to a crossroads with a new life and new romance, she makes a dramatic decision that will alter the course of her life - and the entire Marvel Universe - in the months to come. But as Carol takes on a mission to return an alien girl to her homeworld, she lands in the middle of an uprising against the Galactic Alliance! Investigating the forced resettlement of Rocket Girl's people, Carol discovers that she has a history with the man behind the plot. But when the bad guy tries to blackmail Carol and turn the Avengers against her, it's payback time! Guest-starring the Guardians of the Galaxy!

[coffeetoxication]

the link to ch 9 of without hesitation doesnt work :( btw love your fanfic so far!! i adore the characterization that youve put in

With the witching hour rolling in and Ren being wide awake due to the number of naps that he’s had today, he was playing around on his phone while Stimpy is fast asleep. After their little fun that they’ve had in the bath including having a long make out session in the shower, Ren couldn’t really get Johnathan out of his mind. He hasn’t really texted him ever since this morning and he was starting to worry if he was making Johnathan feel left out. With a sigh, he got out from the bed quietly as he could and went downstairs towards the kitchen. He was debating if he should make some coffee or not. Though he didn’t want to be too wired, he pulls out his messages to see if Johnathan messaged him yet.

Of course, nothing.

Putting his phone down on the kitchen counter, he peeked through the blinds of the window to look to see if there was anything going on. To his surprise, nothing. However, he did notice …. something just across the street. No, it was someone. Someone leaning against their car with what seems to be a cigarette in his hand. Considering that the guy was right under the street light, his hat had completely overshadowed his face. This was creepy beyond Ren’s comfort levels. The fact that this guy was just …. standing there and possibly staring right at him made his skin crawl. The guy probably knew that he was in there. Ren thanked himself that he didn’t turn on the living room lamp on. Though making sure that all windows and doors are locked is a must.

“Creepy fucker.” Ren mumbled to himself as he quickly went to make sure that all doors and windows were absolutely shut and locked.

God only knows of what this guy wants. Frankly, Ren didn’t WANT to know.

Kitchen, bathroom, living room, guest room, … everything seemed locked and untouched from the first floor. Now, the last room to check was upstairs bedroom and bathroom. Looking up, he suddenly hated on how the stairs looked. Dark and ominous. Letting his imagination get the best of him like a scared child. Thinking such irrational silly things like hands coming out of the walls and underneath the stairs and drag him away.

“ … run up the stairs you fuckin’ pussy …” Ren tells himself, taking a deep breath and closes his eyes tightly.

Just like that, Ren ran up as quickly as he could, almost tripping a couple of times.

Reaching upstairs, Ren felt the relief overcome him. Knowing that Stimpy was in the bedroom practically snoring made him feel calm for once. Tip-toeing around the remaining rooms, Ren felt something that was rather … off. He really couldn’t put his finger on it, but it felt as if he was being watched. He didn’t dare to think that there were more of them out there. God, he had hoped and prayed that the one by the street light is just the one.

Making sure, and very much sure that he was going to regret it, he goes by the bedroom blinds and goes to check outside carefully. The worst part of it was that it was completely dark. Not even the street lights were bright enough to pierce the darkness of their backyard. In a way, it kind of relieved him. If it was too dark to see outside, it would be too dark for anybody to see anything from the inside. It was possibly his own paranoia that was making him feel this way. He was contemplating about calling the cops, but the guy would’ve been far from gone by the time they get here. What would he tell them? That some creepy fuck was outside his house and he had no idea of what he looked like? Yeah. Sure.

With an exhausted sigh, he got into bed slowly and crawled inside the covers. It was hard to believe, but Ren was scared. Very scared to the point where he began to shiver.

Feeling Stimpy’s warmth radiating from him, Ren scooted himself closer to him. Even tightly wrapping both of his arms around Stimpy’s. Closing his eyes tightly. Ears picking up the clanks and creaks of the house resting making him think it was someone lurking around.

“S-stimpy …?” Ren whimpered, “S …… stimpy?”

With a few shakes and even a good harsh nudges with his knees, he finally got him to wake up and to cease his obnoxious snoring.

“Mmmmm, hmmm?” Stimpy groaned, one eye peeking at Ren.

“I … I can’t sleep …….” Ren whispered.

“Oh? …..” Stimpy rubs his eyes, almost on the verge of falling asleep again. “How come?”

Ren wanted to tell Stimpy about the man he had seen. However, it would probably turn out to be one of those cliche scenes where he would say something and then the man would be long gone by now. Ren didn’t really know of what to say. He was conflicted if he should tell another lie or tell Stimpy of what’s really going on for a change. Did he really need to worry about it? Would he really understand? Probably not.

“N-Nevermind, … I’ll tell ya in the mornin’.” Ren mumbled, pulling the covers over him.

“Mmmm, …. okaaayyy …” Stimpy yawns as he wraps an arm around him.

From there, Ren felt an immediate sense of security. Stimpy pulling him into a sleepy embrace made him feel so stupidly warm and fluttery inside. Letting Stimpy do whatever he wants, he closes his eyes to drift into a calm sleep.

*~*~*~*~

With the remaining hours left before sunrise, Johnathan remained awake in the home of Mr. Horse. The environment around him was … overwhelming. He wasn’t used to being in homes that were filled with expensive furniture, antiques, and bookcases larger than himself. All he’s ever known was cheap hotels, trailer parks, and beat down apartments. Everything was a struggle. To do what he had to do to keep a roof over himself along with his father, it didn’t matter how filth-ridden the place was, it was home.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t envious. To be in a high-class house like this, it was like a dream. A dream that was his a long time ago back in college. How all of his hard work studying and working long-shifts would pay off. How life would owe him in the end.

But life has it’s own set of rules. How cruel and unfair it can be. Johnathan understood that reality. If only his father would. If he knew then of what he knows now, none of this would’ve happened.

However, …. there’s no point dwelling on it now. Johnathan was far too tired to really cause his body anymore stress. He didn’t want to bother to look at his phone either.

Maybe a book would help. It’s been a while since he’s really picked up a book. Not that he wanted to. Just never found the time.

Getting up from his bed in the guest room, he makes his way towards the living room as he turns a lamp on. The hardwood floor cold beneath his feet, it was oddly comforting. The room itself had a cozy atmosphere. An unlit fireplace with a widescreen t.v above it, two leather reading chairs, a couch that looks to be soft to the touch, a mahogany book case that was filled with a variety of books it seems, and finally … a simple rug in the middle of the room. Letting out a content sigh, Johnathan begins to scan through the book case with the tip of his index finger. Psychology, sociology, psychopathology, neuropsychology, philosophy, some written by independent authors about their experiences as therapists, and … even some poetry. H.P Lovecraft, Tennessee Williams, Sylvia Plath, and even Edgar Allan Poe. Haven’t heard that name since high school, he thought. Feeling nostalgic, he pulled out the book of which contained all of Poe’s notorious writings and poems.  

Johnathan remembered how he had to do a report about Poe and what writing of his influenced him the most while Ren had Emily Dickinson. The echoing voice of Ren’s complaining ringed in his ears.

“Seriously, how am I supposed to understand this poetic shit? If I really wanted to be THIS depressed I would’ve gone through my ol’ man’s ‘secret’ stash.”

“The whole point of understanding these poets, Ren, is that they’ve used this type of writing to expel their anguishes even if may seem out of the norm. Not a lot of people back in those times really understood depression or how to properly deal with it.”

“Okay there, Mr. Analysis, no need to go all out on me. Ya might choke. Who you workin’ on?”

“Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Hmm, never heard of ‘im. Is he just as depressing as dickson or whatever the fuck her name is?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but he has a unique style of writing. He kind of adds a little bit of horror in his works which gives it an extra edge to it, but I guess if I had to pick any of his works that I can relate to in a sense, is ‘Alone’.”

Alone.

Flipping the pages of the book, Johnathan had found it.

From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were–I have not seenAs others saw–I could not bringMy passions from a common spring–From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow–I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the same tone–And all I lov’d–I lov’d alone–

“And all I loved … I loved alone …” Johnathan whispered to himself, frowning as he did.

The nostalgia he felt now were tugged heart strings. Feeling the repressed pain that he had felt all those years were now swarming like a dropped wasps nest. This was not how he wanted to spend the rest of the night. Being all melancholy in a home that wasn’t his.

Deciding to put the book away, he started to look for something less depressing.  

While searching, his ear caught the sound of the floor creaking only to realize that someone was stepping inside of the living room. It startled him as he swiftly turned his head to find Mr. Horse by the entrance way. With his heart racing he stepped back from the bookcase as if to say “I wasn’t touching anything!”. However, seeing a small smile on Mr. Horse’s face made him relax.

“I see that you have taking a liking to my collection here …” He said, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up.

“Y-Yeah, … I c-couldn’t really sleep, so I thought that reading would help. I … didn’t wake you up, did I?” Johnathan looked down, rubbing his arm in embarrassment.

“Of course not. I suppose you can call it an intuition. I always know when one is restless, so my body acts accordingly.” Mr. Horse shakes his had, placing a hand on Johnathan’s shoulder.

Johnathan can’t really have himself to forget on how gentle Mr. Horse with. The way he talks, how soft his touch is, and the welcoming aura around him makes Johnathan wish that he knew more people like him.  

“So, … may I ask of what is troubling you?” Mr. Horse took a seat on the couch, patting the spot right next to him.

With a deep sigh, Johnathan sat right next to him as he drooped his head. Elbows resting on his thighs with his fingers holding his chin, he wasn’t sure on where to start.

“Just …. everything. Me questioning of my own sanity, my … fucking dad, the thought of the mafia looking to serve my ol’ mans head on a silver platter to the head honcho, and ya know … asking myself of what the fuck I’m doing here.” Johnathan said, “Why ….. did I have to come here ….?”

Lowering his head even more, Johnathan felt as if he was tearing apart inside. He felt so lost into everything that it was hard to really try to tackle all of these problems at once. Johnathan had always had this sense of pride that he could try to outcome any situation even if it meant life and death. However, one could only handle the same situation multiple times to where they have come to the end of their rope. Johnathan, … was very much at the end of his …

“My dear boy, ….” Mr. Horse starts, “It doesn’t take a therapist to know on how much you’re currently going through. How emotionally and mentally straining everything is on you.”

Johnathan could only scoff at the obvious, not that Mr. Horse was wrong but just how true his words are.

“If I may be so bold as to give you suggestions to make it easier not only for you, but for your father as well. In return, you have to do something for me.”

“ …. Suggestions?”

“Yes. Now, listen carefully …”

[coryperlaportfolio]

Artie Lange: Crazy Funny

(Originally published 8/30/2012)

For comedian Artie Lange, heartbreak and catastrophe go in, and humor comes out. It’s really that simple for the 44-year-old best-selling author, comedian, radio show host, and actor. Lange has learned to take the pain of addiction and depression and turn it inside out. He hasn’t had the easiest life, as anyone who has read his New York Times best-selling book Too Fat to Fish has learned, but Lange has persevered if only to make people laugh, and work out his problems on stage.

Lange and his radio show partner Nick DiPaolo will perform comedy on Saturday, September 1, at the Seneca Niagara Events Center in Niagara Falls.

When you sit down to an interview like this are you ready to answer anything thrown at you or are you just sitting there thinking "For the love of god, don't let them ask me about drug addiction or suicide"?

Artie Lange: I’m ready for anything. Whatever you want to talk about brother.

I think most of your fans know by now that you attempted suicide a couple of years ago. You spent some time in a psychiatric ward for a while. Obviously those were some dark times. Were you thinking about comedy at all while you were going through that?

AL: Was I thinking about comedy?

Yeah, when you were sitting in the psyche ward did you ever think about comedy or your career?

AL: Oh well yeah, when I was in the psyche ward, sure. Everything that I had ever done that was normal was on my mind. I was wondering if I would ever do any of it again. It’s funny because no matter how dark it gets you never stop being a comedian. Stuff would happen to me on the ward and I would go “God this would be a great story to tell on Letterman or a funny thing to put in my stand-up act.” So sure, you never stop thinking about it, but at that point I didn’t know what was reality or what wasn’t. I thought maybe I did die and I’m in fuckin’ hell, because that place was disgusting. The biggest thing in my mind was how the fuck do I get out of here?

What popped you back into reality?

AL: Time, really. Everyone who I talked to who was clean or in some sort of program told me that everything that I was thinking at that point, I couldn’t really count as being real because of how warped my mind was from drugs, specifically heroin. They said the longer that you’re off that shit, every single day that you’re off it you’ll start to think clearer. You’ll start to think normal; you’ll come back to the real world. You’ll realize that there is a chance that you could get back into life and maybe be as good or better than you were. That’s what it was for me, being literally locked down in a facility where I couldn’t take drugs. It took time; it took almost a year and a half of not being on dope to get back to normal. Time is what happened.

When did you realize you were funny?

AL: When I was really young. I grew up in an area that had a lot of tough kids. I realized I could get out of fights with someone who I knew could kick my ass by being funny. I can remember there was this black chick, Tanya Davis, and she was big. In the fourth grade she was big and she broke my friend Joey’s nose in a fight. Joey was a tough kid but she punched like Muhammad Ali. She came over with a right hand. I tried to break up the fight but then she wanted to fight me so I started doing a Howard Cosell impersonation, like I was the announcer of the fight or something, and I made everybody laugh. That sorta freaked her out a little bit and she didn’t know what to do, so she didn’t break my nose. That’s when I first learned I was funny.

As a stand-up comedian you're essentially talking to yourself on stage. You have audience reaction but there is no conversation really, at least hopefully not, unless someone is heckling you. As a radio personality it's all about having an interesting or funny conversation. Which do you prefer?

AL: That’s a hard question, radio or stand-up. I love stand-up comedy but when stand-up comedy goes well—and by that I mean not just killing. I’m talking about when you’re killing the material that you actually like and respect and it’s not just something you know people will laugh at so you can get out of there and get a check. When that’s happening, it’s fantastic. But you know, I never really did radio until I sat in on Howard (Stern’s) show. I’ll never forget what Howard said to me after that first show. I knew I did really well because everyone was laughing, and Howard looked at me and said “it’s fun, isn’t it?” and I said “my God, yeah.” Just sitting in front of that microphone and just goofing around and it’s going out to all of these people live. It’s amazing. I got to learn how to do this radio stuff by literally sitting four feet from the best guy who has ever done it for nine years. Talk about a training school for radio. I would see the way he would handle callers or guests, and I’d see the way he’d change and what he would do. There is nothing about radio that I don’t like. If I could only do one thing for the rest of my life, it would be a radio show.

Is radio more spontaneous?

AL: Oh God yeah. Absolutely. Stand-up is supposed to seem spontaneous, but normally it’s an act you’ve been doing forever on stage. It’s a comic’s job to make it seem like he’s thinking of all of this stuff off the top of his head. Even heckler responses are something you’ve done a million times. But radio is. It has to be spontaneous.

Tell me about one of your favorite moments on the Nick and Artie show.

AL: A woman called up, it was probably a woman doing a character because nobody could be this crazy, or maybe she was just crazy, who knows. But she said that if you kill and boil a cat, and eat its bones you would become invisible.

Was she a witch?

AL: She claimed to be a witch, yeah. She had a really funny voice, I think her name was Jen and she was from Naples, Florida. She kept saying that she was stalking me and she wanted to kill me.

When you talk to someone like that are you thinking like “Yes, this is the caller I’ve been waiting for” or are you just a little freaked out?

AL: No, with this person I wasn’t freaked out at all. I could tell she was either too crazy to pull it off or it was a joke. She had a real entertaining voice and I wanted to bang her by the end. But anyways, I tell her that I want to try the cat thing and Nick makes a really funny cat sound—he can make a sound almost like you’re choking a cat. So he started doing it into the mic and she started almost having an orgasm and she’s screaming “kill that thing, kill that thing!” That’s the hardest I’ve ever laughed.

You appeared on Louie this month as a Chemical Truck Driver. I see a very, very subtly ironic message there, you being a Chemical Truck Driver. How was it working with Louie CK?

AL: I’ve known Louie for a long, long time, from the comedy scene or whatever you want to call it. He would always tell me he wanted to do something with me on the show, and I would always tell him that I’d love to do the show. He called me probably about 12 hours before he wanted to shoot the thing and told me “Tomorrow I’ve got this thing you can do, it’s a small thing but I think it’ll be funny. Would you want to do it on the show?” and I said “Heck yeah, whatever you need.” So he gave me his address in the East Village—it’s funny because we didn’t go through an agent or anything, he just called me on the phone—so I stopped by and he told me what to do and it was hilarious. Louie has the perfect combination to become successful. First of all he’s brilliant, second of all he’s really funny, and third of all he does everything. He’s got a work ethic like a Mexican who comes here illegally and wants to stay here. I’ve never seen anything like it. He holds the camera, he directs the stuff, he writes it, and then he acts in it. I’m going “My god I just don’t have the energy.” It was impressive to see a buddy of mine doing all of that. He’s a true sort of auteur, and he’s got a deal with FX—what they call the “Woody Allen” deal—where he just tells them; “look, give me money for a season of shows and you can’t give me any notes, no one from FX can come from the set, and at the end of the year I’ll give you 13 episodes and you can’t change anything.” That’s impressive to see. I’m very, very happy for him.

I have some friends who won't watch Louie because they say it's too depressing, which is funny because it's a comedy show...

AL: [Interrupts] Well it is and it isn’t. I understand where they’re coming from but I mean look, those friends sound like pussies. They gotta man up and just watch it. Here is how I describe a Louie episode: It’s like an Edgar Allen Poe short story. Louie is great because he knows how people behave. Even in a Woody Allen movie you’re going to get unbelievably funny stuff or you’re going to get depressed because he’s a realist. This is how people act. People act in ways that are very, very disappointing most of the time. Louie keeps it real like that in every episode and also gets hilarious comedy out of the way people really act. The episodes have both, so I don’t think you can call it a comedy show. It’s just its own thing. If you read Edgar Allen Poe, some of the stuff is so dark it’s funny, but ultimately it’s depressing. That’s what I think it’s like. If those buddies of yours appreciate art it’s a chance to actually see it happening on TV. They’re not going to see it on Two and a Half Men.

I feel like you kind of walk that same line, taking something that is very depressing and working it into your comedy. Is that a tough thing to do?

AL: Yeah, sort of. I’ve dated girls who have told me that when they watch my act and I’m telling a story about, you know, shitting my pants on heroin or drunk driving—and even though everybody laughs—they wish that I could do something more like Jerry Seinfeld. For the people that love me it could be depressing to hear because maybe they were there the night that that happened and it was anything but funny. It’s like being in the psyche ward. I have jokes in my act about being in rehab and being in a psyche ward. I do an impression of a counselor I had in rehab in Miami. While it was happening it was anything but funny, but people laugh at it during my set and the people that are close to me are thinking “well shit, I wish it was that funny when it was happening.” It depresses them but I’d rather tell my tale in a funny way and maybe people will get something out of it.

Looking at the way your life has gone, it seems like there is nothing you could do but be a comedian.

AL: [Laughs] I’m not going to be on the police force. Now a days, with background checks—you’re right man—with my background, forget it. I can’t even vote for Christ’s sake. You’re right when I think about it. I better make this work.

Tell me about the best thing you've ever done in your life, and the worst thing you've ever done.

AL: Well the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life was stabbing myself in the stomach that morning because I knew that the only two people who could have found me were my mother and sister. I wasn’t thinking like that, I wasn’t rational, but in the back of my head I had to know that. They did find me and I’ll never get over that guilt. Thank god they seem better and everything seems fine but the guilt of that will never fully leave my body, so that’s a no brainer. The best thing I’ve ever done I think was going to do stand-up in Afghanistan for those guys. I always said I wanted to do it and my agent kind of called my bluff and told me there was an opportunity to do that. I said to myself “Wow, I can’t pussy out here. I gotta do this.” I realized I was going into a war zone and my mother was worried but I was with Marines and everything. Guys would come back from missions doing God-knows-what, and they’d sit down in all of their gear, in that heat, and they would just be like “Ok make me laugh, dance like a monkey or something.” I would have done anything at that point, dance around like a monkey or whatever. How grateful they were. So if I had to pick one thing, it would probably be that and I would do it again if I could. I just hope we get all of those guys the fuck out of there soon.

Can you tell me a little bit about your new book, Crash and Burn?

AL: It picks up where Too Fat To Fish left off. It’s about what happened to me. My stand-up act has a quick snippet, a comedic version, of some of the stuff that happened. Crash and Burn is what happened in long form: What I was going through and the darker side of the rehab and the psyche ward, and what was going through my head the morning I stabbed myself. What I was thinking afterwards. What it was like waking up after that. It’s got a lot of comedy in it that comes from that, but it’s the real, full story, which has a lot of darkness in it. The title comes from when I was working at a port as a longshoreman. I was deciding whether or not I should quit the port and become a comedian. I was sitting at the bar with my buddy’s older brother, Chucky, and he goes “fuck it man, go for the good life. If you got talent just go do it. If you crash and burn at least you tried. You’ll feel better if you crash and burn than if you never tried.” So every time I’d see him after that he’d shout “crash and burn!”

[elisabettacormac]

Ian Rankin

No Sanity Clause

It was all Edgar Allan Poe’s fault. Either that or the Scottish Parliament. Joey Briggs was spending most of his days in the run-up to Christmas sheltering from Edinburgh’s biting December winds. He’d been walking up George IV Bridge one day and had watched a down-and-out slouching into the Central Library. Joey had hesitated. He wasn’t a down-and-out, not yet anyway. Maybe he would be soon, if Scully Aitchison MSP got his way, but for now Joey had a bedsit and a trickle of state cash. Thing was, nothing made you miss money more than Christmas. The shop windows displayed their magnetic pull. There were queues at the cash machines. Kids tugged on their parents’ sleeves, ready with something new to add to the present list. Boyfriends were out buying gold, while families piled the food trolley high.

And then there was Joey, nine weeks out of prison and nobody to call his friend. He knew there was nothing waiting for him back in his home town. His wife had taken the children and tiptoed out of his life. Joey’s sister had written to him in prison with the news. So, eleven months on, Joey had walked through the gates of Saughton Jail and taken the first bus into the city centre, purchased an evening paper and started the hunt for somewhere to live.

The bedsit was fine. It was one of four in a tenement basement just off South Clerk Street, sharing a kitchen and bathroom. The other men worked, didn’t say much. Joey’s room had a gas fire with a coin-meter beside it, too expensive to keep it going all day. He’d tried sitting in the kitchen with the stove lit, until the landlord had caught him. Then he’d tried steeping in the bath, topping up the hot. But the water always seemed to run cold after half a tub.

‘You could try getting a job,’ the landlord had said.

Not so easy with a prison record. Most of the jobs were for security and nightwatch. Joey didn’t think he’d get very far there.

Following the tramp into the library was one of his better ideas. The uniform behind the desk gave him a look, but didn’t say anything. Joey wandered the stacks, picked out a book and sat himself down. And that was that. He became a regular, the staff acknowledged him with a nod and sometimes even a smile. He kept himself presentable, didn’t fall asleep the way some of the old guys did. He read for much of the day, alternating between fiction, biographies and textbooks. He read up on local history, plumbing and Winston Churchill, Nigel Tranter’s novels and National Trust gardens. He knew the library would close over Christmas, didn’t know what he’d do without it. He never borrowed books, because he was afraid they’d have him on some blacklist: convicted housebreaker and petty thief, not to be trusted with loan material.

He dreamt of spending Christmas in one of the town’s posh hotels, looking out across Princes Street Gardens to the Castle. He’d order room service and watch TV. He’d take as many baths as he liked. They’d clean his clothes for him and return them to the room. He dreamt of the presents he’d buy himself: a big radio with a CD player, some new shirts and pairs of shoes; and books. Plenty of books.

The dream became almost real to him, so that he found himself nodding off in the library, coming to as his head hit the page he’d been reading. Then he’d have to concentrate, only to find himself drifting into a warm sleep again.

Until he met Edgar Allan Poe.

It was a book of poems and short stories, among them ‘The Purloined Letter’. Joey loved that, thought it was really clever the way you could hide something by putting it right in front of people. Something that didn’t look out of place, people would just ignore it. There’d been a guy in Saughton, doing time for fraud. He’d told Joey: ‘Three things: a suit, a haircut and an expensive watch. If you’ve got those, it’s amazing what you can get away with.’ He’d meant that clients had trusted him, because they’d seen something they were comfortable with, something they expected to see. What they hadn’t seen was what was right in front of their noses, to wit: a shark, someone who was going to take a big bite out of their savings.

As Joey’s eyes flitted back over Poe’s story, he started to get an idea. He started to get what he thought was a very good idea indeed. Problem was, he needed what the fraudster had called ‘the start-up’, meaning some cash. He happened to look across to where one of the old tramps was slumped on a chair, the newspaper in front of him unopened. Joey looked around: nobody was watching. The place was dead: who had time to go to the library when Christmas was around the corner? Joey walked over to the old guy, slipped a hand into his coat pocket. Felt coins and notes, bunched his fingers around them. He glanced down at the newspaper. There was a story about Scully Aitchison’s campaign. Aitchison was the MSP who wanted all offenders put on a central register, open to public inspection. He said law-abiding folk had the right to know if their neighbour was a thief or a murderer – as if stealing was the same as killing somebody! There was a small photo of Aitchison, too, beaming that self-satisfied smile, his glasses glinting. If Aitchison got his way, Joey would never get out of the rut.

Not unless his plan paid off.

*****

John Rebus saw his girlfriend kissing Santa Claus. There was a German Market in Princes Street Gardens. That was where Rebus was to meet Jean. He hadn’t expected to find her in a clinch with a man dressed in a red suit, black boots and snowy-white beard. Santa broke away and moved off, just as Rebus was approaching. German folk songs were blaring out. There was a startled look on Jean’s face.

‘What was that all about?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She was watching the retreating figure. ‘I think maybe he’s just had too much festive spirit. He came up and grabbed me.’ Rebus made to follow, but Jean stopped him. ‘Come on, John. Season of goodwill and all that.’

‘It’s assault, Jean.’

She laughed, regaining her composure. ‘You’re going to take St Nicholas down the station and put him in the cells?’ She rubbed his arm. ‘Let’s forget it, eh? The fun starts in ten minutes.’

Rebus wasn’t too sure that the evening was going to be ‘fun’. He spent every day bogged down in crimes and tragedies. He wasn’t sure that a ‘mystery dinner’ was going to offer much relief. It had been Jean’s idea. There was a hotel just across the road. You all went in for dinner, were handed envelopes telling you which character you’d be playing. A body was discovered, and then you all turned detective.

‘It’ll be fun,’ Jean insisted, leading him out of the gardens. She had three shopping bags with her. He wondered if any of them were for him. She’d asked for a list of his Christmas wants, but so far all he’d come up with were a couple of CDs by String Driven Thing.

As they entered the hotel, they saw that the mystery evening was being held on the mezzanine floor. Most of the guests had already gathered and were enjoying glasses of cava. Rebus asked in vain for a beer.

‘Cava’s included in the price,’ the waitress told him. A man dressed in Victorian costume was checking names and handing out carrier bags.

‘Inside,’ he told Jean and Rebus, ‘you’ll find instructions, a secret clue that only you know, your name, and an item of clothing.’

‘Oh,’ Jean said, ‘I’m Little Nell.’ She fixed a bonnet to her head. ‘Who are you, John?’

‘Mr Bumble.’ Rebus produced his name-tag and a yellow woollen scarf, which Jean insisted on tying around his neck.

‘It’s a Dickensian theme, specially for Christmas,’ the host revealed, before moving off to confront his other victims. Everyone looked a bit embarrassed, but most were trying for enthusiasm. Rebus didn’t doubt that a couple of glasses of wine over dinner would loosen a few Edinburgh stays. There were a couple of faces he recognised. One was a journalist, her arm around her boyfriend’s waist. The other was a man who appeared to be with his wife. He had one of those looks to him, the kind that says you should know him. She was blonde and petite and about a decade younger than her husband.

‘Isn’t that an MSP?’ Jean whispered.

‘His name’s Scully Aitchison,’ Rebus told her.

Jean was reading her information sheet. ‘The victim tonight is a certain Ebenezer Scrooge,’ she said.

‘And did you kill him?’

She thumped his arm. Rebus smiled, but his eyes were on the MSP. Aitchison’s face was bright red. Rebus guessed he’d been drinking since lunchtime. His voice boomed across the floor, broadcasting the news that he and Catriona had booked a room for the night, so they wouldn’t have to drive back to the constituency.

They were all mingling on the mezzanine landing. The room where they’d dine was just off to the right, its doors still closed. Guests were starting to ask each other which characters they were playing. As one elderly lady – Miss Havisham on her name-tag – came over to ask Jean about Little Nell, Rebus saw a red-suited man appear at the top of the stairs. Santa carried what looked like a half-empty sack. He started making his way across the floor, but was stopped by Aitchison.

‘J’accuse!’ the MSP bawled. ‘You killed Scrooge because of his inhumanity to his fellow man!’ Aitchison’s wife came to the rescue, dragging her husband away, but Santa’s eyes seemed to follow them. As he made to pass Rebus, Rebus fixed him with a stare.

‘Jean,’ he asked, ‘is he the same one …?’

She only caught the back of Santa’s head. ‘They all look alike to me,’ she said.

Santa was on his way to the next flight of stairs. Rebus watched him leave, then turned back to the other guests, all of them now tricked out in odd items of clothing. No wonder Santa had looked like he’d stumbled into an asylum. Rebus was reminded of a Marx Brothers line, Groucho trying to get Chico’s name on a contract, telling him to sign the sanity clause.

But, as Chico said, everyone knew there was no such thing as Sanity Clause.

*****

Joey jimmied open his third room of the night. The Santa suit worked a treat. Okay, so it was hot and uncomfortable, and the beard was itching his neck, but it worked! He’d breezed through reception and up the stairs. So far, as he’d worked the corridors all he’d had were a few jokey comments. No one from security asking him who he was. No guests becoming suspicious. He fitted right in, and he was right under their noses.

God bless Edgar Allan Poe.

The woman in the fancy dress shop had even thrown in a sack, saying he’d be wanting to fill it. How true: in the first bedroom, he’d dumped out the crumpled sheets of old newspaper and started filling the sack – clothes, jewellery, the contents of the mini-bar. Same with the second room: a tap on the door to make sure no one was home, then the chisel into the lock and hey presto. Thing was, there wasn’t much in the rooms. A notice in the wardrobe told clients to lock all valuables in the hotel safe at reception. Still, he had a few nice things: camera, credit cards, bracelet and necklace. Sweat was running into his eyes, but he couldn’t afford to shed his disguise. He was starting to have crazy thoughts: take a good long soak; ring down for room service; find a room that hadn’t been taken and settle in for the duration. In the third room, he sat on the bed, feeling dizzy. There was a briefcase open beside him, just lots of paperwork. His stomach growled, and he remembered that his last meal had been a Mars Bar supper the previous day. He broke open a jar of salted peanuts, switched the TV on while he ate. As he put the empty jar down, he happened to glance at the contents of the briefcase. ‘Parliamentary briefing… Law and Justice Sub-Committee…’ He saw a list of names on the top sheet. One of them was coloured with a yellow marker.

Scully Aitchison.

The drunk man downstairs… That was where Joey knew him from! He leapt to his feet, trying to think. He could stay here and give the MSP a good hiding. He could… He picked up the room-service menu, called down and ordered smoked salmon, a steak, a bottle each of best red wine and malt whisky. Then heard himself saying those sweetest words: ‘Put it on my room, will you?’

Then he settled back to wait. Flipped through the paperwork again. An envelope slipped out. Card inside, and a letter inside the card.

Dear Scully, it began. I hope it isn’t all my fault, this idea of yours for a register of offenders …

*****

‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Rebus.

Nor did he. Dinner was over, the actor playing Scrooge was flat out on the mezzanine floor, and Rebus was as far away from solving the crime as ever. Thankfully, a bar had been opened up, and he spent most of his time perched on a high stool, pretending to read the background notes while taking sips of beer. Jean had hooked up with Miss Havisham, while Aitchison’s wife was slumped in one of the armchairs, drawing on a cigarette. The MSP himself was playing ringmaster, and had twice confronted Rebus, calling for him to reveal himself as the villain.

‘Innocent, m’lud,’ was all Rebus had said.

‘We think it’s Magwitch,’ Jean said, suddenly breathless by Rebus’s side, her bonnet at a jaunty angle. ‘He and Scrooge knew one another in prison.’

‘I didn’t know Scrooge served time,’ Rebus said.

‘That’s because you’re not asking questions.’

‘I don’t need to; I’ve got you to tell me. That’s what makes a good detective.’

He watched her march away. Four of the diners had encircled the poor man playing Magwitch. Rebus had harboured suspicions, too… but now he was thinking of jail time, and how it affected those serving it. It gave them a certain look, a look they brought back into the world on their release. The same look he’d seen in Santa’s eyes.

And here was Santa now, coming back down the stairs, his sack slung over one shoulder. Crossing the mezzanine floor as if seeking someone out. Then finding them: Scully Aitchison. Rebus rose from his stool and wandered over.

‘Have you been good this year?’ Santa was asking Aitchison.

‘No worse than anyone else,’ the MSP smirked.

‘Sure about that?’ Santa’s eyes narrowed.

‘I wouldn’t lie to Father Christmas.’

‘What about this plan of yours, the offender register?’

Aitchison blinked a couple of times.

‘What about it?’ Santa held a piece of paper aloft, his voice rising. ‘Your own nephew’s serving time for fraud. Managed to keep that quiet, haven’t you?’

Aitchison stared at the letter. ‘Where in hell…? How…?’

The journalist stepped forward. ‘Mind if I take a look?’

Santa handed over the letter, then pulled off his hat and beard. Started heading for the stairs down. Rebus blocked his way.

‘Time to hand out the presents,’ he said quietly. Joey looked at him and understood immediately, slid the sack from his shoulder. Rebus took it. ‘Now on you go.’

‘You’re not arresting me?’

‘Who’d feed Dancer and Prancer?’ Rebus asked.

His stomach full of steak and wine, a bottle of malt in the capacious pocket of his costume, Joey smiled his way back towards the outside world.