#we have more termite jokes where that came from too!

[vampimull3t]

^ Real conversation between me and my friend

Context:

I have a million tabs open at all times and they hate it

I talk about mcr too much

They call mcr "mct" cuz I misspelled it as that ONCE

[artsyxabbyx]

Chapter 11

Family Fortune

As he looked around the surrounding room, Axel realized some of the weapons held more familiarity than he believed. Something in the way the walls reminded him of the broken down home they lived in made him believe that the weapons adorning them held nostalgia as well.

For the first few moments that light filled the room, he believed they were relics of the past or maybe something he saw in a dream. He was nothing but shocked as he took in his surroundings. Weapons as far as he could see, but a clear path to another door. There was organized chaos, something that Griffin THRIVED in. Upon a closer inspection, Axel found there was no way the door could actually work, it was too mangled for use.

But an even closer look at the actual weapons themselves would open multiple doors in his memories. One item that he stopped in front of made him stop in his tracks. Something about the bright blue hilt struck a chord of nerves that could only be described as bittersweet nostalgia. As he picked the weapon out of the broken barrel it was sheathed in, he realized what it was that made him remember the item.

“Wait, I had a fake sword that looked just like this when we were kids! The blue hilt, the streaks of green that look like lighting in the middle… all of it- how did you remember the exact look?”

Griffin nodded as he picked it up, then carried it to the back of the room where the broken door stood.

“You wanna know how I remember? It never left me. I never let them out of my sight.”

The closer the men got to it, the closer the details became more clear.

“Let them..? I don’t think I’m following.”

The door looked like it was about to fall off its hinges if he simply placed a hand on the termite-ridden wood, but as he opened it, Axel’s eyes widened as they found the treasure trove created out of their childhood toys.

“You kept it all… The bows, the swords, “

A choked bark gained both brother’s attention as Axel glanced between the small dog that was the exact breed and the robot at his heel as the dog in question began to walk over to his ‘blueprint’.

“The first toy we ever fought over?”

Griffin held his hands up defensively.

“Sometimes you’ve gotta reminisce on the happy things. Especially when your only happy place is taken away from you.”

As the small toy let out another scratchy bark, Enforcer jumped out of surprise and picked up the toy in his jowls, breaking it in his grasp. A quick gasp left Axel as he watched the literal break-neck speed in front of him.

“Damn…”

Griffin let out a short breath

“Just another memory wasted huh..

“I’m sorry, Grif. I wasn’t expecting him to do that.”

Griffin didn’t reply. Somewhere between angry that the memory was taken, but relieved that he wouldn’t have to listen to the crackled box of the broken toy anymore, he settled on indifference.

Then, in the silence, Axel cracks another joke to ease any possible hard feelings.

“Do you think he felt threatened?”

Griffin looks between the ribbons of the toy and the animatronic in front of him, then turns back to Axel. He knew the younger brother was just trying to keep him on a light note, so he nodded.

“Oh he totally did.”

The brothers let out chuckles as they looked at the shattered toy below their feet.

“He was too quick with that attack. You’ve got him trained really well, how many dummies did this dog destroy?”

“None, I actually took him hunting with me and THAT’S how he learned to attack things quickly.”

“Holy shit..”

Axel nodded “He’s a badass. Taught him to be a lone wolf like you if the time ever came to it. He can’t be lost if he loses me.”

“Don’t say that. He’s not going to lose you, I’m making sure of it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared to lose me a second time.”

“No, I’m scared to be alone with that thing.”

The robotic dog in front of him let out an angry snarl, teeth already sharpening themselves and red irises darkening in a shade to make him more intimidating than he already was.

“Point proven.”

“He’s just showing off to assert fake dominance, don't worry. Animals in the wild do that too, to make themselves too scary to fight.”

Looking back into the room, Axel did a double take as the gleam of his brother’s bow nearly blinded him. The double pointed edges made him shiver at the realization that his bow could be used for both long range and short if it needed to be. Pulling him from the thoughts swirling in his head, Griffin spoke up.

“So, has the initial shock subsided?”

Griffin couldn’t help the smug grin that crossed his features. For once, he felt finally had the upper hand on his brother’s wit. Axel let out a scoff of his own that matched the disgust his brother’s usually carried and he offered a small smile.

“I wouldn’t say that it’s shock at this point. More so amazement that you did all of this by yourself.”

Griffin shook his head, knowing that he would be at least a little surprised in his skill.

“What can I say, I have a genius for a brother and a workaholic for a father. I had to do something with those skills.”

Axel let out a tiny huff of a laugh.

“You flatter me.”

“Eh, just wait until I screw it up somehow.”

Griffin looks away to the corner of the room, allowing himself to remember that it was always a matter of time before he (or something he created) messed up the situation at hand.

“Ever the optimist. C’mon, lighten up.”

Axel gave him a playful shove to his shoulder, something that he would do even when they were children to get Griffin to play back.

“Trust me, I try.”

“I doubt that.��

“Lightening up like a lightbulb.”

“Missing one of the main conductors I bet.”

“Rude.”

Silence took over the room once more before the brothers broke out into laughter. There weren’t many times like this, so they knew to enjoy it while it could.

Griffin was the first to bring himself back to composure and keep the task at hand in the forefront of their minds.

“Regardless, we’ll get what we want and then we have to make a small four day trip to see our monster dearest.”

A brief look of shock and annoyance flashed across Axel’s face. While he didn’t mind the exercise, four days sounded a little excessive.

“Ah, right. I forgot the promenade is over.”

He leaned down and picked up as many weapons as he could, then handed some to Enforcer to hold on his back. The duo loaded with bows, swords and a rifle if needed.

“There was never a-”

“Let me have this moment.”

“Right.”

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

Edit: I am trans masc (Vanilla was preordering a boyfriend) and don't use this design anymore! You can still like but please do not reblog 💙🏳️‍⚧️

Tip Tip and their his stand Sapphire Heart!

Lore I came up with... (Suspend disbelief because this is a half joke/comfort/fun universe)

Dio Brando was bored af one day and decided that his mansion was severely lacking in portraits of himself. So he wanted to find somebody who would be a full time live-in artist who would draw pictures of him or whatever he wanted for a shit ton of money. That's where Tippy comes in. Tippy won the art contest because Dio thought their art was funny.

(EDIT: Changed it a little bit. Dio wanted a stand user specifically. So he asked people to redraw one of 8 pictures of him. Tippy was the only one who could see his stand and drew him alongside Dio. So he was like,"Cool we got ourselves a stand user now..." It turns out it wasn't Dio's stand, it was Cream as a substitute because Dio didn't want anyone seeing The World just yet. Also I crossed some things out. I might actually make a short one off fanfic about the Sapphire Heartverse in the future!)

One of the requirements to live in Dio's mansion is that you have to have a stand. Tippy has Sapphire Heart but doesn't like to use them unless it's just for fun. Dio told Vanilla to keep an eye on Tippy and make sure they don't get into any trouble, as well as protect them. Tippy became real annoying real fast to Vanilla and got into a bunch of shenanigans that drove him up a wall. Tippy didn't like to be watched all hours of the day by some weirdo in a leotard, so they would sometimes use invisibreak to get away from him.

One day, Tippy used invisibreak for too long and fainted in front of Vanilla. Luckily he caught them in his arms and stayed with them until they came to. Vanilla asked wtf that was all about and they explained to him that they don't know how to use that ability without passing out.

Vanilla realizes that they may have a similar type of stand... He reveals that he used to not be able to use Cream that well- Tippy laughs because his stand's name is funny. It wasn't so funny once they saw how fucking terrifying that thing was. Slowly but surely, Vanilla taught Tippy how to use their stand to their benefit better than escaping from him and stealing things.

Dio grew quite fond of Tippy as a friend and would often give them gifts and coo over how precious he finds them. Vanilla would be silently jealous of all the attention they got which would result in the two arguing and calling one another names.

Vanilla's go to insult would be to call Tippy "Termite" because of how short they are compared to him (Vanilla: 6'7, Tippy: 5'3). Tippy's insult for him would be "Lucky Charms" because of all the charms and pendants he wears. Though they fight a lot, they don't seem to mind each other's company for the most part. The two find ways to irritate the hell out of each other, sometimes on purpose, sometimes on accident.

Sometimes Hol Horse would just hang out with Tippy while they draw and would talk about anything and everything. They were actually friends way before Tippy got hired by Dio... Hmmmmm

Tippy's relationship with Dio got stronger as he began to talk to them more and more. The vampire asked about their life and how they like it there so far. The blonde admired their enthusiasm and became enchanted by them. Tippy and Dio soon had nightly chats and their company was greatly welcomed by Dio. After a while, he finally decided to take them on a date and had Vanilla cook a nice dinner with wine for them. Dio confessed his feelings in his own way and Tippy was very flattered and fell for him as well. Vanilla watched all this and, though he was happy for his Lord Dio, he wished so badly he could have been the one in his arms.

Dio overheard Tippy and Vanilla talking and would watch them interact with each other. He thought their little rivalry was quite charming and kind of shipped them tbh-

He could tell the two, though they seemed to have a surface dislike for each other, really enjoyed hanging out together. Dio devised a plan to get them to fall in love with each other, so he would do all kinds of things involving stopping time and putting Vanilla and Tippy into fun little situations to get them even closer.

One time Dio made Tippy fall off a ladder to see if Vanilla would catch them. Vanilla didn't hesitate to save them and got all flustered when Tippy thanked him. He's always had a soft side for the little termite.

Dio would frequently talk to the both of them together and tease them, suggesting that they might be in a relationship. He would call it an "office romance" and tell Vanilla to bring his "little lover" into his office so he could speak to them.

Dio's plan finally came into fruition when he found Vanilla and Tippy kissing in the hallway. Vanilla thought his lord would be enraged but, to his surprise, Dio was ecstatic and even yelled,"YOU OWE ME 20 BUCKS, N'DOUL!! Oh that's right, he can't hear me." To which N'Doul yelled back,"I'M BLIND NOT DEAF, YOU IDIOT- I MEAN MR DIO SIR."

And after the good ending happened, Tippy and Vanilla decided to travel the world together and get married 💙💜

[enderbird]

Anniversary Special

Summary:  The 65th Anniversary Special for the Warner Siblings happens. Yakko learns some things that, in the end, don't matter.

Words: 1808

Warnings: talk of the canonical neglect of the warners : i am staring at the water tower :, mention of attempted murder? that is. kinda it. 

Notes: I watched the 65th Anniversary Special of the original Animaniacs yesterday. I had some feelings and shoved them on through Yakko tgyhu  They’re probably OOC as I have never written the Warners before. I threw in the beginning of the story from Wakko’s Wish in here because I thought it’d be cute. and I also have no idea when they actually started working on the movie. we out here.

AO3

This wasn’t beta-ed... or like. yeah. It’s probably got a few mistakes in it because I did start this at 1am today. but yeah.

He shouldn't have been surprised as he was, not that it was clear he was surprised about anything. Yakko was drawn an actor and, even though he can't die, he likes to say he'll die one too. It's just... everyone knew they were in the water tower. Everybody. Other toons, the staff, the big man upstairs too.. probably. Everyone except the public seemed to know they were locked up in a water tower for sixty years of their toony lives. 

 He can't express his anger, of course, it's their 65th Anniversary Special! He should be celebrating sixty-five years of wonderful time with everyone, not wishing he hadn't spent most of them locked away with his siblings. 

 Yet here he is. About to explode he's so upset. 

 Yakko always thought maybe the other toons were working on trying to free them and such other things. They were fellow toons! Trapping children in a space with nothing but their half-formed hammerspaces and imaginations in a fucking water tower isn't how toons should be treated. He'd hoped someone, maybe Bugs, the very face of the company, had tried to get them free or something, you know? But no.

 In the end, it seemed  everyone  at Warner Bros was happy to have been rid of them for sixty glorious, glorious years. Not a full sixty, though, they still got to be free one day every few years so the tower could be checked for termites and whatever. He never bothered to listen to what they were let out for because it honestly never mattered. For one day, even if it be only every few years, he got to be somewhere else. 

 That was something they all had always looked forward to. Running around in search of new things. Everything was always changing and it was so hard to keep track of it all when you only get to see snippets of it every few years. But it was okay! Even if they always got caught at the end of the day after the company was done doing god knows what, they still at least got to see something new. Something exciting.

 Yakko grabbed his siblings' hands in an attempt to pull himself away from his thoughts as if they wouldn't just return later in the night when they got back home. Back to the tower.. back in his ball pit. For now, though? He might as well enjoy what was left of the show, as much as his revelation hurt him. He really did hold onto the hope the other toons would try and free them. 

 Honestly, when they were first locked away, he'd thought it was a joke. He sat there for almost two months just waiting for the punchline to kick off. He'd only actually thought that because everyone just seemed so excited and happy when they were put in the tower.. he wanted to hold onto that, not that he was able to for long.

  When he'd looked back up at the screen he saw Daffy, talking about their original nonsensical cartoon. The one about the flypaper or whatever it was. Complaining about how it went on for eight hours. This was kinda rude to show at an event that was supposed to celebrate them, right? It felt rude at least. Whatever. 

 He just squeezed his siblings' hands and ignored the show, seeing as nothing good had come from actually watching it so far.

 --------------------

 Hours later, he couldn't sleep. The night had gotten better after they got back home. After Buddy tried to kill them out of jealousy for his old, ruined reputation, and after he'd found that no one cares about them stuck in the tower. You'd think Yakko would be a little more shaken up about the dying thing, but no. 

 It seems he was the only one not able to sleep so far, as he could hear Dot moving around in her sleep above him, and Wakko making noises in their sleep on the top bunk. He'd probably wake them up so they could all sleep together if that didn't just make him feel a little iffier. He was the oldest, right? The oldest doesn't need to ask his younger siblings if they could all sleep together because he couldn't just sleep alone. That's stupid.

 He just gave up and got up. Wakko would probably be up soon, as the middle child always got up for something at some point in the night. Dot would follow after Wakko accidentally wakes her up, etc etc. Yakko probably knew his siblings better than anything, more than any song he's had to memorize the lyrics for or the very backs of his paws. 

 He placed any balls that had fallen out when he got up back in his ball pit bed, rubbing his eyes and wandering off in the dark towards their little kitchen. He might as well wait there... it's where everyone ended up at some point in the night. 

 --------------------

 A few hours later, give or take, Yakko heard the unmistakable sound of Wakko climbing down the bunk bed ladder and making their way around the water tower. They sometimes sleep-ate or talked.. or walked.. so if that ended up being the case tonight then he'd wake up Wakko, but only then. 

 He'd pulled a light out of hammerspace to read with, but ended up messing around with and breaking it. How he broke the light didn't exactly matter as he saw, heard more than anything, his sibling finally stumble into the kitchen. 

 What really sucked about the dark was, even if they were supposed to be animals and such, they had terrible night vision. It didn't help with gags, and they weren't any specific animal, so they didn't have the luxury of most other toons when it came to the dark. That was what really got him about being stuck in the dark for so long. 

 He squinted at the other toon from his spot at the kitchen table, only to find he was being squinted at back. 

 "What're you doin' up?" Was the only thing he found Wakko saying, who now standing in the doorway and waiting for an answer.

 Now obviously he can't just answer with "Oh I was thinking about all our time stuck in here with no clear way of being able to ever leave" because that's upsetting. This was one of the last people he could ever find himself trying to upset, not that'd he'd want to go and just do that anyway. It's against his very purpose as a toon, isn't it? 

 "Just couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come in here and run into you sooner or later, you know? Did you wake up Dottie?"

 Both brothers knew never to call their sister Dottie, it was Dot or Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Third, and she made sure it stayed that way.. but it didn't seem she'd wake up yet tonight. Maybe later. It should, at least, be safe to joke about until then. 

 Wakko seemed to accept that answer as they continued their journey to the fridge, blinding a very tired Yakko when they opened it. They pulled out a giant cake from god knows where before going over to sitting across from their brother.

 "I didn't hear her getting up this time. Just her normal movin' around. Did you wanna talk to her or somethin'?" Is what Yakko finally got in response, but only after Wakko had taken a huge bite out of the cake.. as well at their plate. 

He just shook his head, laying it down on his arms. "Thought maybe we could spend the day after our 65th Anniversary Special doing something together. Only if you guys want to, of course."

 It took longer to get a response, as Wakko had just swallowed the cake and plate whole, which wasn't anything new. "Maybe you could tell Dot the story from that script we got a few days ago. She'd like getting to practice.." 

 "I'd like to get to tell you both the story, even if it's mostly about Dot. You're not there for it in the movie, are you?"

 Wakko just shook their head, laying it on their arms as their brother had done a bit before.

 "Well, that just can't do. How about.. we all sleep in my ball pit tonight. You could go grab Dot after you're finished snacking, and I'll see about finding those scripts to look back over, yeah?" 

 Wakko nodding along, seeming pretty happy with the idea before running off to get their sister. 

 While Wakko did that and about got their fingers bitten off for it, Yakko just continued to sit there, looking happier than he had earlier. Not that anyone could see his face. Wakko probably knew he didn't have to look over his lines but agreed so he could be alone a little longer, or maybe they were just that tired. He didn't care which.

 Yakko probably needed Wakko and Dot more than they needed him. He was okay with that, but it's not something he'd tell them. All that mattered right now was getting to his siblings before Dot or Wakko got impatient and came looking for him, which he was completely fine with doing. 

 He stepped into the little spot they'd sectioned off from the rest of the water tower and called a room before clearing his throat, which he mostly did just to let them know he'd finally gotten back. 

 "Dot, if you didn't murder Wakko over your 'cutie sleep', I'm gonna go ahead and say sorry for waking you up. If Wakko��did perish by your hand I'm taking it back." 

 That was mostly a joke. They'd never kill over sleep, not usually at least. Dot did just get annoyed if woken up for almost any reason. 

 He slid into the ball pit he, for some reason unknown to him, called a bed. The last time they were out he found some kind of time-traveling dohickey Brain had made for one of his failed schemes and decided to go and mess around for a bit. See what the future was like. Just found some ball pit laying in the middle of some convention hall.

 He can't remember what it was called now (Mashcon? Stashcon? Dashcon??) and it didn't matter. What mattered now is he could feel both of his siblings with him that he needed to start on a story for. 

 "Alright, you two. Here we go," he cleared his throat again, with no real need to... again. "Once upon a time, a brave knight married a beautiful princess-" 

 Yeah. This would turn out okay, even if he wasn't too happy with the other toons right now. He'd always be just fine with these two. That's all that was important.

[caranfindel]

Initial reaction 15.14: Last Holiday

Well, friends, here we go. Are you ready?

(I'm not. But here we go anyway.)

THEN: Cuthbert Sinclair. (Really? That's a deep cut.) Abbadon. Larry Ganem. (And S8 Sam, who is fucking gorgeous.) Oh, and God and Jack and all that stuff, in case you forgot.

NOW: Sam's in the library, doing research, and is distracted by some ominous noises. Ominous in a machinery-breaking-down kind of way, not in a monstery kind of way. Enter Dean, wearing an apron. "What's with the apron," asks Sam, "because it's only protecting your jeans, not the Red Shirt of Bad Decisions." At least that's how it sounded in my head. I mean, who only gets dirty from the waist down when they're cooking? (Well, that lends itself to all kinds of double entendres, doesn't it?) Or maybe Sam doesn't say that because he hopes the RSoBD will be destroyed in a tragic burger accident.

Seriously, Dean, that shirt is precious and you need to protect it, no matter what Sam thinks.

Dean complains that the pilot light keeps going out, and the hot water is unsatisfactory (and we know how he feels about his showers), and Sam reminds him that if the bunker was ever state-of-the-art, it was in the 50s. They exposition for us that Jack is hiding in his room. "Can you blame him?" Sam says. "His soul is back. Everything is hitting him. Everything he's done..." And Sam continues, but I'm sorry, I'm stuck here, thinking about re-souled Sam with everything hitting him. {sob} However, neither of the Winchesters seem to be thinking about this, so. Carry on.

The guys remind us that if Jack kills God, he'll have to kill Amara as well. Which I assume means Amara isn't going to get killed? Just saying. As much as I talk about foreshadowing (too much, please stop!) this show teases us with anti-foreshadowing with equal fervor. And Cas is apparently looking for Amara? What does he hope to accomplish? "Excuse me, but we're killing your brother, so you have to die too. Condolences. But if we follow canon - not that there's any reason to assume we will - you have to die at about the same time. So I need you to come with me while we figure out where he is and how to kill him."

There's another ominous noise, and Dean says "Oh, come on. Now the air?" I hope he means the air conditioning, and not the air purifying/exchange/whatever that Ketch shut off when he locked them in the bunker back in... whatever the BMoL season was. Hey, remember when the guys were locked in the bunker and they were running out of air and they wore single layers and goggles and got all sweaty and depressed? Because I've kind of never gotten over it. But I digress.

Sam is surprised that Dean expects them to fix it. "We've fought the devil," Dean says. "I've killed Hitler. I think we can handle a few old pipes." Surely this isn't the first time they've had to do some repairs around the place.

Deep within the bowels of the bunker, Sam reads some ancient instructions and complains that they can't just call a plumber. Dean refers to the bunker as the most "secretive, secure supernatural hideout in the world," which makes me laugh, because remember when Larry Ganem told Sam it was secure against all manner of evil? What a joke. Is there anything or anyone evil who hasn't been able to get into the bunker? My house is more secure against evil than the bunker, and all I have for protection is a circle of termite bait and a couple of ancient dogs.

They locate the "bunker grid control center thing thingy" (oh Sam, I adore you), complete with reset and standby buttons. Standby is glowing. Dean hypothesizes that it will work just like his computer, which needs to be shut down when it gets too many popups (I suspect you need some virus protection, dear boy), and slams down the reset button before Sam can stop him. Everything goes dark, but then starts up again, so Dean considers it a success. He calls himself "Meat Man" again and heads upstairs to finish cooking his burgers.

Time jump. Dean goes into his room, carrying a burger and a beer, and is astonished to find a middle-aged woman there. She's wearing a plaid wool skirt I owned in the 80s and is folding his underwear. "Oh, hello dear!" she says cheerfully. Dean yells for Sam.

Gosh, Dean, it's like this place isn't secretive or secure at all.

The horrified Shaggy and Scooby boxers are ~chef's kiss.~ Well done, someone.

Title card!

Library. The woman tuts at dust and wonders how they've lived in "this filth," which reminds me of an awesome Tumblr post which theorizes that faeries actually keep the bunker clean, and only first-born son Dean can see them. "Lady, who the hell are you," Dean demands, and is chastized for his language. He calls for Sam again, and gives him the story of how he walked into his room and found her "folding my underthings."

She explains that her actual name is indecipherable in "your tongue," but "Mr. Ganem called me _Mrs. Butters."_She's a wood nymph. And she's not in the woods, nymphing (thank you Dean) because she has more important things to do - she lives in the bunker and takes care of the Men of Letters. I.e., "my boys. My family."

Dean invites her to leave, but this is her home, and she's been here since "before the war." And she thinks it's 1958. "Well, I hate to tell you," Dean says, "but it's 2020." YES, DEAN, WE ALL FEEL THAT WAY ABOUT 2020. Mrs. Butters is horrified to learn all her boys are dead. And for some reason Dean tells her they were murdered by a demon instead of saying old age, or they went to a farm upstate, or whatever. She spots a photo of the last group of MoL, which we've never noticed before, and realizes that this is why they never came back from that last ceremony. When they didn't return, she decided to put the bunker - and herself - in standby mode.

But she also realizes that if these boys are like those boys, it's been a while since they had a home-cooked meal or celebrated a holiday. Or washed their clothes, as she makes a face. That's uncalled for, lady. We all know that Sam Winchester smells like rosemary and mint no matter how long it's been since he did laundry. Sam explains that they're not really "holiday people," which rings true coming from the guy who didn't want to celebrate Christmas and hates Halloween. (And only had one real Thanksgiving in his life and his brother still holds that against him but NO I'M NOT BITTER.)

Dean is more interested in what "standby mode" is. Mrs. Butters says the MoL used her magic to give the bunker "extra oomph," and snaps her fingers. Voila, extra oomph! There's some humming noises, the telescope alcove lights up (!), and an alarm sounds. Because the map table is actually a monster radar, and it indicates a nest of vampires 50 miles away. And gives the address. WELL.

{Sidebar: Why didn't the BMoL know the AMoL had this capability? Why was their focus on "you're not as good as us" instead of "you used to be as good as us; what happened?" Discuss.}

Do I care? No. Because look at these precious perplexed faces.

Dean's ready to go (and it earns him another stern warning about his language), but Sam wonders if they can trust her. "Look at her," Dean says. And I agree. She's a dumpy middle aged woman in a brown plaid wool skirt. She's basically me. And who could be more trustworthy, more concerned with the Winchesters' health and safety, than me?

Um. Anyway.

Not to change the subject or anything, but the pretty is strong tonight, y'all.

Dean suggests they give her the benefit of the doubt, and if it turns out she's not what she says she is, "then we deal with it." The music turns ominous. "What about Jack?" Sam asks.

Oh, Jack is actually in this episode? I thought maybe they were explaining his absence earlier, like they always do with Cas. (Because I always cover the guest star credits on first watch. Spoilers.) But it turns out Jack is actually with us tonight. Sitting on his bed, looking depressed. Dean knocks on his door and tells him they're going out, and there's a "probably harmless" guest making snickerdoodles. This sparks Jack's interest. It would work on me, too. I love snickerdoodles.

Impala. Sam's not sure it's a good idea to keep Mrs. Butters around, even if she is legit. He's concerned about Jack, but Dean brushes him off.

He'll be fine. I mean, I've been through worse and look at me. I'm the picture of health.

Ignoring your trauma doesn't make you healthy.

Sure it does.

Oh, Sam. Just listen to yourself. No, I mean, please. Listen to yourself.

Sam feels like Jack is hiding something, and I wish there were someone around who had also done awful things while un-souled, and remembered what it felt like to deal with that afterward. Someone sympathetic and empathetic. With soft puppy dog eyes and beautiful hair. Oh well. I guess Jack will just have to go unburden himself onto whoever he comes across.

Bunker. Mrs. Butters brings Jack a sandwich. He doesn't open the door, but she leaves it for him.

Vampire nest. A couple of vampires are watching Dark Shadows (so meta!) and drinking blood stolen from a blood bank. So, are these, like, maybe not bad vampires? Maybe they don't kill people? We'll never know, because Sam and Dean walk in and cut off their heads. And come home to... Christmas. Lights are strung all over, jazzy Christmas music is playing, there's a huge decorated tree and gifts, and Mrs. Butters has a tray of homemade cookies. "We are so keeping her," Dean says. Sam looks unsure.

Kitchen. Mrs. Butters tells Sam that since he and Dean have been so busy killing monsters, they haven't had a chance to celebrate anything. But I can barely pay attention to a single word that comes out of the woman's mouth because LOOK AT SAM IN THIS T-SHIRT. LOOK AT IT.

Single-layer Sam is something to celebrate.

She insists that Sam "enjoy the world you're fighting for" (which is never gonna happen, lady) and excitedly talks about all the holidays she wants to make up for. Then Jack enters, and her mood changes instantly. Even Jack's adorable little dorky wave doesn't melt her. "What are you?" she asks coldly.

Enter Dean, wearing a real-life version of the purple "sleeping robe" and nightcap he wore in "Scoobynatural." OH MY GAWD. I really hope this was a surprise for the rest of the cast.

And I also hope he's not really going commando underneath... or do I?

Mrs. Butters is distracted enough to decide that if the boys vouch for Jack, he must be okay. She hands Jack a smoothie but tells Dean he must have tomato juice due to his cholesterol. And she pronounces it the Patrick Stewart way, not the Mark Hammil way.

Before Dean can drink his to-mah-toh juice, the monster radar alarm goes off, and the guys rush off to prepare for a hunt. For future reference, when you leave the kitchen, Sam's room is to the right and Dean's is to the left. We next see the guys fully dressed, receiving sack lunches from Mrs. Butters. Dean's sandwich has the crusts cut off. {Sidebar: Sam never had someone to cut the crusts off his sandwich. Hold me. And also, how many reminders am I going to have of "Dark Side of the Moon" tonight?} She tells Sam the monster is a lamia, the blessed knives are in the trunk, and she just waxed the car so Dean needs to take it easy.

As the guys rush off, she turns to Jack and his smoothie mustache. "Well. What shall we do with you?"

NOTHING GOOD, I'M SURE.

As Jack helps wash dishes, he fills her in. Lucifer was his father, Mary was his family and his friend but he killed her. Mrs. Butters is very supportive, telling him "life gives us second chances and it's our obligation to hold onto them." And she presents him with another smoothie.

Montage! Thanksgiving dinner. More hunts. More sack lunches. Halloween (and even Sam seems to enjoy it). Fourth of July. (Yet another "Dark Side of the Moon" shoutout). A hunt requiring the grenade launcher and Thor's hammer from that episode whose title I can't remember! Sam's birthday! By the way, none of these holiday celebrations include Cas.

Mmmm. So worthy.

Time jump. Jack catches Mrs. Butters looking at something in a file cabinet and being very sneaky about it. He requests another smoothie to get her out of the room, and then finds what she was looking at. It's her MoL file, including a reel of film. The film shows Cuthbert Sinclar talking about File 5150 (aw, RIP Eddie Van Halen). The subject was actually recovered from the Thule (aw, "Everybody Hates Hitler") and we learn that wood nymphs "react violently when home or family are threatened." Sinclair says he "conducted a series of experiments designed to show this strange and magical being of our mission" and convinced her to join the MoL family. Huh. Wonder how he did that. Then Mrs. Butters demonstrates her devotion by literally ripping the head off a Thule. "Son of a bitch," says Jack, because he's been spending a lot of time with Dean.

Jack runs into the war room looking for Sam (and yes, I'm petty enough to love that he looks to Sam first), who is off getting ready for a "big date." Huh. Okay. Mrs. Butters offers him soup, but then Sam walks in, giving off some pretty strong Hot Professor Sam vibes (hello again, "Everybody Hates Hitler") with a sweater vest and tie, and I am thrilled with this development.

Thrilled, I tell you.

Mrs. Butters tells him he looks wonderful but offers to trim his hair (back off, lady, I will cut you) and Dean enters in time to make a weak Abercrombie and Bitch joke. Sam tells him Eileen's in town, and he's taking her out to dinner and "some privacy, something."

"Heavy on the something," Dean says, and we're going to talk about that later, I promise. But for now, Mrs. Butters tells Sam to take one of the old cars from the garage. Finally. Can we just make this permanent? Can Sam have his own fucking car, please? She produces a bouquet of roses from nowhere and sends him on his adorably anxious way. Then she tells Dean she found a broken TV in one of the rooms and fixed it. "The Dean Cave?" Dean is off like a shot. I wonder if that's the TV he smashed with a hammer, and if so, how did she fix it? (Also, hello again, "Scoobynatural.")

Jack is still unsettled. He follows her into the dungeon and tells her he saw the film. {Sidebar: The film showed her killing one of their enemies because she's protective of the MoL. Is it really that awful? Discuss.} "And how did that make you feel?" she asks. "You relished his pain, didn't you, Jack?" Oh, turns out that was a setup - she wanted Jack to see the video, so she could confirm that he was a bloodthirsty little monster. And do the Winchesters know how powerful he has become?

They should be scared of you!

I would never hurt them.

You have before, haven't you? Have you ever thought that Sam and Dean keep you in here, closed in, secure, because they're scared you'll do to someone else what you did to their mother?

Well, I mean. Now he has. She flings Jack into the wall. He tries to use the glowy eyes on her, but he finds himself powerless. She snaps the magic handcuffs on him. "You didn't think those smoothies were for your health, did you? Oh, I've learned a few things while I was doing the dusting around here. A little yarrow root, some ground jawbone for texture, and voila! You are as weak as a puppy."

Wait. That's all it took? To power down a nephilim, who is canonically more powerful than his archangel parent? So when the Winchesters were trying to take down Lucifer and AU Michael, all they needed was some yarrow root and ground jawbone? And the answers were all right here in the bunker?

(Sigh. Don't think about it. That way lies madness.)

(Also, canon! Ha ha ha ha.)

She tells Jack she's making the bunker safe again and getting rid of all the monsters. Like you, sweetness. Aw. Sad Jack.

Kitchen. Dean comes in looking for a snack and is immediately presented with some kind of grilled sandwich. She tells him to eat it, because he'll need his strength when they go kill Jack. Aw, that's the sound of a heart breaking.

Dean is disappointed that their good thing has gone "full Nurse Ratchet," and glances longingly at the sandwich he has to leave behind. He takes Mrs. B's knife and suggests they let Jack go and pretend this never happened. The only logical conclusion is that Dean is under Jack's spell, so he gets tossed into the dungeon too. Oh, cool. Does that mean Sam gets to be the hero and save them?

Spoiler alert: Ha ha ha ha no.

Hello, Demon Dean. That's the only other time we've seen this expression, isn't it? {Or is it simply the only one branded onto my brain? Discuss.)

Map table room. Sam comes in and is met by Mrs. B. "Bit past your curfew, Samuel," she says curtly. He's no longer wearing his tie. Hmm. So, let's talk about the Eileen situation. Isn't it weird that (1) Dean didn't know she was in town, and (b) she's not spending the night at the bunker? Wouldn't you think she'd be a house guest? I mean, she's not "in town" for the heck of it. The only thing that would bring her to Lebanon would be Sam. So why isn't she here seeing Sam? Is she just driving through on her way somewhere else? She can't even spend one night in the bunker? And the tie? If Sam removed his tie, doesn't that strongly suggest Dean was right about the "something" going on? Did they do it in the back of the old car? At a hotel? I have questions, friends.

Anyway. Sam asks where Jack and Dean are, since it's late and they should be sitting around the map table waiting for him to come home and not, like, in bed or anything. "Well, I have some good news, and some bad news."

HERE IS SOME GOOD NEWS INDEED.

Honestly, I like this look better without the tie.

Time jump.

So, Jack has taken over Dean's mind. And they're both downstairs, right now, ready to be killed by us.

You were always the smart one, yes.

Sam, who is the smart one, says he's going to go to his room and get his gun, and he'll meet her in the dungeon. "And we can... get to the killing." I LOVE HIM. {Sidebar: I have watched his fake relieved sigh several times and it makes me smile every time.} Once he’s safe in his room, Sam calls Dean and starts to tell him about Mrs. Butters.

Went psycho, we know.

Why didn't you call me?

Well, I mean I, you know, I figured you were "practicing your sign language."

And that's more important than coming to save you?

...

Dean?

It's been a while for you, man, you know?

Aw. Always the supportive big brother. {Sidebar: As long as Sam is doing something Dean thinks Sam should be doing. But I digress.}

{Sidebar: I love Dean, y'all know I do. Warts and all. He'd be boring if he were perfect.}

Dean suggests Sam shoot her, although they don't know if a gun will kill her because neither of them got around to researching it because they were distracted by Christmas and Thanksgiving and breakfast on Boxing Day. That's how you get killed, guys. {Sidebar: How much do I love that Sam calls it Boxing Day? For my Brit friends, that's not really a thing in the U.S., although it's gradually starting to become one. And I love it.}

Dean then suggests that putting the bunker in standby mode might put Mrs. B in suspended animation again. Meanwhile, Jack and Dean are stuck in the dungeon. Jack suggests using his power to remove the cuffs, but Dean points out that the power surge would catch Chuck's attention. But what power surge? Jack already tried to use his power against Mrs. B and it turned out he didn't have any.

Jack suspects there are other reasons Dean doesn't want him to use his power, and suddenly decides it's time for a deep conversation.

Do you still think I'm a monster? Okay, I'm just gonna say this, okay? Just get it out there. Jack, I'm trying, okay? I really am. But what you did, that's not easy to forget. Now, I was angry with you. For a while. And maybe I still am a little bit, okay? But I'm not gonna let some evil Mary Poppins take you out. You understand?

Okay. Good talk.

Sam shows up in the library looking for Mrs. B, and trying to hide his gun, as if he hadn't told her he was going to his room specifically to retrieve said gun. But Mrs. B realizes he's trying to kill her, and freezes him. She's not mad, she's just disappointed. She tosses him into a chair and keeps him there with the power of her mind, not with rope or anything, in case you were wondering. {Oh, hello, "Funeralia" and "The Trap."} She tells him that when the MoL first found her, she didn't realize how important they were. But Mr. Cuthbert explained it to her. And since Sam is her favorite, she's not going to give up on him. Yet. She's going help Sam the same way Mr. Cuthbert helped her understand. Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all.

He's my favorite too! And I also think he needs to be hurt! See, she's basically me!

Dungeon. Dean is going to try to chop Jack's handcuffs off.

You're sure this is gonna work?

Let's say yes.

Aw. That was a perfect opportunity to bring back "maybe 90% sure." And it doesn't work - Jack is sent flying into a glassed-in cabinet that I've never seen in the dungeon before. Dean says "dang it" before remembering that he can use his big boy words, which is adorable. And then he gets an idea.

Upstairs. Mrs. B tries to convince Sam that Jack is a monster because he's Lucifer's son. Sam, of course, takes the opposite side of this debate. "Now, Mr. Cuthbert taught me that pain can be a wonderful teacher. Let's see if it can't correct your ways."

I SWEAR, Y'ALL, SHE IS ME.

Sam could sneer at her and say "I've been tortured by the devil himself; what can you do to me?" but we don't have that version of Sam any more. Mrs. B, without tools, yanks off one of his fingernails. {Oh, hello "A Very Supernatural Christmas!"}

Meanwhile, downstairs, Dean has a different theory on pain. It's just "weakness leaving the body," he tells Jack. We get a little "on three" bit, where he actually does the thing on one. And the thing is that he tries to cut Jack's handcuffs again, but this time Jack is strategically placed in front of the dungeon door. So when he's thrown back by the blast, he ends up breaking the door down.

Upstairs. Sam's been relieved of even more fingernails.

Downstairs. Dean takes a hammer (!) and smashes the reset button. Why doesn't he just push it with his hand? I mean, sure, we get the hammer, and the red lights and warning klaxon, and all of that turns me into Pavlov's dog {Hello, "Soul Survivor"}. But still. Seems unnecessary.

Upstairs. Mrs. B seems to be gone, and Dean bends over like he's untying Sam's wrist. But Sam's wrists aren't tied to anything, so. I got nothin'.

Downstairs. The runes that seem to hold Mrs. B in stasis light up, but do not stay lit. Well, that can't be good. And then the bunker grid control center thing thingy starts shaking and springs a leak. Ooops. Here she comes, complete with glowy green eyes.

Upstairs. Dean finishes untying Sam from the chair he wasn't tied to, and remarks on how gross his tortured hand is. Mrs. B shows up, yells that they've all been very bad, and flings them across the room. She's sure Sam will thank her someday for killing Jack, because it's so important to kill monsters and keep the MoL safe. It's why she couldn't go back to her forest. Sam explains to her that Mr. Cuthbert tortured her and used her, and Dean tells her Jack is going to save the world. Oh, okay then. The regular lights turn back on and Mrs. B tearfully says she misses the MoL so much.

Aftermath. Mrs. B heals Sam's hand and apologizes and all is immediately forgotten and once again, Sam gets to forgive his torturer and turn the other cheek. Yay! Sam, what was it you said earlier?

Gif stolen from @michaeldean

The guys send Mrs. B back to the woods, but first they have this conversation:

Sadly, without my magic, the bunker will revert to standby mode, so. Ah well, things were getting too easy anyway, you know? Who needs a monster radar? Or whatever that telescope thing is? It's an interdimensional geoscope. It's a what? I looked in it earlier; I didn't see anything. Oh. Well that's not good.

Holy crap, you guys. Interdimensional. It let the MoL look at the alternate worlds. And now you can't see anything because all of the alternate worlds have been destroyed. Gotta admit, this is an excellent little twist.

Jack presents Mrs. B with the photo of the MoL. "Oh look," she says. "The man who tortured me and kept me from my home, right here, front and center." Well, no, she doesn't. But I do.

Mrs. Butters gives them some last instruction. "Dean, eat your vegetables. And Sam, cut your hair. And Jack, go save the world." Well, I'm in favor of one or two of those things.

Try to tell me I'm wrong. Just try.

After-aftermath. Jack tells Sam that he doesn't know if he can kill God, since he was sidelined by a wood nymph "because I was stupid." He asks if Sam thinks he can do it.

"Jack, you're the only who can." No pressure.

Dean shows up with a truly awful-looking birthday cake for Jack. "I made it myself. Obviously." But Jack is thrilled because it's from Dean, and it means Dean loves him and has forgiven him, until the plot requires otherwise. He makes a wish and blows out his single candle. Fade to black.

So! There were parts of this that were simply marvelous. There were parts that were kind of dumb. There were parts that would have made me very angry if I weren't so tired and jaded. But the good parts were darn good, and the pretty was dialed up to 11, and we all know I'm a sucker for a pretty episode. And there was NO B PLOT. AT ALL. Thank you baby Jesus.

And let’s just refuse to consider the possibility that these were, in fact, their last holidays. Thanks.

Now I get to see what you thought about it. And, as always, please help me stay unspoiled for future episodes, including episode titles and casting info. {smooches}

[ducktracy]

happy birthday, tex avery!

today’s an important day for every cartoon fan. 112 years ago today, tex avery was born! probably one of the biggest contributors to animation, the man responsible for bugs bunny, elmer fudd, daffy duck, droopy, screwy squirrel, chilly willy, wild animation... there’s much to celebrate.

born in texas (hence the nickname, real name frederick), tex arrived in los angeles on january 1st, 1928 to start a new career. nothing much, just menial jobs: working in a warehouse, loading fruits and vegetables at the docks, painting cars, and finally painting animation cels for the oswald cartoons. moving from the short lived winkler studio to the universal studio, he became an animator in 1930.

(courtesy of tom klein.)

perhaps his work at universal spawned the most important event in tex's career. in 1933, he and a couple of his animation buddies were horse-playing. the game: shooting a spitball with a rubber band at the backs of peoples heads, yelling “bulls eye!” if shot successfully. the game evolved from spitballs to paperclips. animator charles hastings was armed with a paperclip and had his sights set on tex. someone yelled “look out, tex!”, and tex’s initial reaction was to turn around. vision in his left eye was gone in an instant. some people attribute the lack of depth perception to tex’s unconventional, warped point of view inserted in his cartoons.

universal was proving to be a lousy job for tex. he himself admitted that he wasn’t much of an animator. “i was never too great an artist. i realized there at lantz’s that most of those fellows could draw rings around me... i thought, brother! why fight it? i’ll never make it! go the other route. and i’m glad i did. my goodness, i’ve enjoyed that a lot more than i would have enjoyed just animating scenes all my life.” he was let go in april 1935 after the quality of his work declined thanks to a lack in interest. two days later, he and his girlfriend (an inker at the studio) got hitched and honeymooned in oregon. they arrived back in hollywood in may, where tex approached leon schlesinger.

to say warner bros was short staffed in terms of directors was an understatement. ben hardaway had just left, and friz freleng and jack king were the only directors there. tex flubbed his way in, citing his experience "'hey, i’m a director'. hell! i was no more a director than nothing, but with my loud mouth, i talked him into it."

(the termite terrace crew in 1935. from left to right: virgil ross, sid sutherland, tex avery, chuck jones, and bob clampett.)

though there were few directors when tex arrived, the staff was beginning to outgrow the studio. tex and his unit (virgil ross, sid sutherland, chuck jones, and bob clampett) moved into a rickety building they unceremoniously dubbed termite terrace as a result of the termite population within the bungalow.

tex’s first directed cartoon was gold diggers of ‘49, where he borrowed friz freleng’s characters of beans, kitty, and porky from the cartoon i haven’t got a hat. while beans was beginning to have his own small series of cartoons, this marks the second ever appearance of porky and is thusly an important occurrence. if tex didn’t use him, who knows what porky’s fate would be? gold diggers beans and porky are in the heart of the gold rush. beans strikes it big (tex’s love of gag shining brilliantly already as beans pulls a slot machine lodged into the side of a mountain) and invites all of his friends to dig for more gold. porky’s bag of gold is taken away from a villain, and he bargains that if beans can get the bag back, he’s allowed to marry his daughter (kitty). beans eagerly accepts and follows the villain. what ensues is an exhilarating gunfight turned car chase, tex’s knack for speed drastically picking up the pace of the cartoon. it’s exhilarating, rushing, and brought a much needed energy to warner bros at the time. perhaps even more amusing than the chase is the payoff itself: porky gets the bag back, which isn’t gold at all, but instead a hearty sandwich.

almost right away, tex rose to the top at the studio. some of his earliest merrie melodies (which had been exclusively reserved for friz freleng prior) include page miss glory and the classic i love to singa, both beautiful cartoons in their own ways. tex now served as the model. his gags were funny, his pace was quick, his cartoons GOOD, friz freleng and eventually frank tashlin adopting the change in pace. jack king, unfortunately, wasn’t faring well with the change, and his slower, duller cartoons stuck out like a sore thumb. he returned to disney in april of 1936.

porky’s duck hunt serves as an especially important cartoon directed by tex, marking a number of firsts. it’s the cartoon debut of daffy (who is unnamed, though model sheets label him as that crazy darn fool duck), and he first time mel blanc voiced porky. porky is also considerably slimmed down. the cartoon is exactly as it sounds: porky embarks on a duck hunt, but a screwy duck prevents him from getting anything accomplished.

the cartoon itself, in comparison to tex’s others, isn’t really that special. a bunch of drunken fish hilariously singing a rendition of “moonlight bay” serves as the highlight. it’s not a bad cartoon at all, i love it a lot and it’s one of my favorites, but it IS rather repetitive, and daffy is pretty stark in personality. 75% of his dialogue is reduced to quacks. but what DOES have personality, which would shape his entire character, is a particular exit animated by bob clampett.

porky fires his gun and strikes daffy, who flops into the water. ecstatic, porky sends his dog after him. all we see is a black blob in the water, and daffy haughtily tosses the unconscious dog on the shore instead of the other way around. flummoxed, porky pulls out some paper, flipping through it and protesting “hey, that wasn’t in the script!” daffy laughs it off. “don’t let it worry ya, skipper. i’m just a crazy, darn fool duck!” with that, he gives his signature hoo-hoo laugh as he literally flips into the horizon, twirling and hopping, clicking his heels, hoo-hooing all the way along. great animation by bob clampett and definitely entertaining, and a scene that would serve as the basis for his trademark laugh and his truly daffy personality (that would begin to die down as early as 1938).

tex made a number of other good cartoons, experimenting with daffy some more and playing with porky a little more until exclusively dedicating his time to merrie melodies in friz freleng’s absence (who was at MGM). the one that truly changed looney tunes was released on july 27th, 1940, titled a wild hare.

bugs bunny had existed before tex touched him, but didn’t at the same time. he was conceived by ben “bugs” hardaway in 1938 with porky’s hare hunt. very similar to porky’s duck hunt, the screwy rabbit taunts porky and prevents him from getting a good shot. the only thing bugs has in common with his prototype self is his species and name. (he wasn’t formally called bugs then, and thanks to a false story by mel blanc where blanc referred to the prototype as “happy rabbit” fans have assumed that was his prototype name. in reality, model sheets and illustrations from picture books around 1938-1939 name him as bugs’ bunny, possessive after ben “bugs” hardaway.) bugs is portrayed as a white rabbit with a hayseed voice and woody woodpecker laugh in hare hunt, not at all the cool new yorker we know and love him as. he reappeared in a few other cartoons, still his hayseed self in hare-um scare-um and a more collected take by chuck jones in cartoons such as elmer’s candid camera and elmer’s pet rabbit. hare-um scare-um turned the previously white rabbit into a gray and white rabbit with yellow gloves.

nevertheless, tex borrowed this strange rabbit and paired him with another character of his by the name of elmer fudd. elmer’s hunting wabbits, but bugs predictably taunts him the entire time and makes his life a living nightmare. the cartoon isn’t much different than the other hunting cartoons: prey drives hunter crazy, and prey ends up winning. it’s really just a glorified porky’s hare hunt. but at the same time, it has a certain charm. this previously unappealing, obnoxious rabbit is now cool, calm, and collected. an era of cartoons dominated by screwballs like daffy is now interrupted by the opposite, a smooth talking rabbit who always wins. bugs was rather temperamental in his early 40s cartoons, much more thin skinned, abrasive, and often a downright bully, but there was still something so different about him that audiences resonated with him regardless. so, while tex isn’t the true father of bugs, he absolutely is at the same time.

many fans believe that tex left warner bros after a dispute with schlesinger pertaining to his cartoon the heckling hare. in the cartoon, bugs (as the title suggests) heckles a dimwitted dog repeatedly. at the end, the two of them end up falling off of a cliff. both bugs and the dog cling to each other, screaming all the way. the scene is LENGTHY, nearing a minute of nonstop screaming. which, of course, is the joke. to see how long the audience can stand it. however, the cartoon cuts to an end rather abruptly. evidently, bugs and the dog were going to stop, with bugs remarking “hold onto your hats, folks, here we go again!” and thusly launching into a second fall. however, the “hold onto your hats, folks!” was a rather crude joke at the time, and thusly that’s assumed how the cut came to be.

story goes that avery left the studio as a result of the censorship, which seems plausible. however, that’s not the case. tex was itching to do a series of live-action shorts, with real, live-action animals talking and cracking jokes with animated mouths. tex wanted to do it, schlesinger didn’t. tex lived out his dream at paramount for a short amount of time, and thankfully for the rest of us got some sense and moved to MGM in september 1941 to make cartoons once more.

i’ve gone on way longer than i intended, and there’s still so much to be said about tex! all of tex’s best cartoons were at MGM, no doubt. he invented droopy, red, the wolf... red hot riding hood is considered one of the greatest cartoons of all time and spawned a number of sequels starring red and the wolf. all of the great qualities of tex’s cartoons from warner bros exploded at MGM. the fourth wall breaking, the gags, the speed... he also made the iconic “tex avery take”. limbs flying off characters and super big eye bulges... they’re absolutely fantastic. there’s so much to say about tex that can’t be articulated! he’s one of my favorite directors for sure and such an important figure in animation. he deserves all the praise and respect he gets and more.

happy birthday, tex!

[queenofspades20]

Scream 3

Here is Chapter 3 of Avengers AU of Scream for @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho spooky challenge (I know I’m a bit late with this one. Been dealing with termites and the election, so motivation to write has been a bit lacking). Planning on final chapter to be up by the end of this week at the latest. I have Wednesday off from work, so plan on writing.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Weathers; Avengers x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: suspense, angst, curse words, inappropriate jokes, mentions of murder (this chapter is tame. Last chapter will have most of the gore)

CHAPTER 3 – Aftermath

When Natasha screamed, Bucky dropped the mask he had found by the front door in surprise. “Natasha! Are you okay?”

Natasha could barely get a word out. She merely pointed up the stairs. Officers ran past her and up the stairs. She heard Clint struggling with them as they took him into custody.

“Nat! It wasn’t me! Tell them!” Clint yelled at her as he and the officers moved outside.

Bucky ushered Natasha to his patrol car to take her to the station for a statement of what happened. When they got to the station, Bucky took her to an unused office, so that she could have some privacy. While giving her statement, Natasha looked out across the station and saw Clint standing with officers, being booked. Natasha didn’t want to believe Clint was capable of something like that. After finishing giving her statement, Wanda rushed into the room.

“Are you okay, Nat? Do they know who did it? You’re staying with me tonight. We’re not staying at your house.”

Natasha morosely looked at her best friend. “I was attacked at home. Clint came in just as the attacker disappeared. I don’t want to believe he did it, but he got there so fast.”

Wanda looked horrified. “I don’t think he would. He loves you too much.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Across the station, Clint and Chief Stark were talking. “Chief, I swear I didn’t attack Nat. I was coming to check on her because I knew she was freaked out over the murders last night. Between the anniversary of her mom, her dad being out of town for the weekend, and the murders, I didn’t want her to be alone.”

“Well, Wanda was coming over. She wasn’t going to be alone.”

“I didn’t know that. Nat hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Well, we’re checking your phone records to verify that you didn’t call her during the time she was being attacked. If your records check out, you’ll be free to go.”

Clint was anxiously shaking his leg. “How long will that take?”

“A few hours. We’re rushing it as best we can. We can’t just go by your phone because call logs can be deleted. We have to find out who is attacking and murdering people.”

Clint sighed in defeat, knowing he wasn’t going home any time soon.

Natasha and Wanda were allowed to leave. Because there were so many reporters out front, Bucky led the girls out the back entrance. As they waited for Bucky to bring Wanda’s car to the back, a commotion could be heard from the front of building.

“Natasha! Is it true they caught the attacker?” Y/N ran towards Natasha, with her cameraman, Sam, keeping up behind. “Is there any connection to your mother’s death a year ago?”

Natasha felt herself go tense, wondering if she would ever get away from Y/N Weathers. “I heard your book is coming out.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll send you a copy.”

Natasha reached back and threw a punch, straight at Y/N’s nose. “Bitch.”

Natasha could hear the clicking of cameras in the background. Wanda led Natasha to her car that had been pulled up.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Back at Wanda’s house, the girls were laying on the bed, snacking on popcorn. “That was awesome, Natasha.” Imitating Y/N’s voice, “I’ll send you a copy.” She hit the stuffed bear in her hand. “Bam! Natasha, badass.”

Natasha had some ice on her knuckles. “She just said so many horrible things about me when Bruce was arrested. She tried to make me seem like a liar. I know what I saw. I saw Bruce, wearing his coat, leaving the house. My mom was raped and murdered.”

Wanda looked at her friend, brows furrowed. “I know. She’s just a bitch reporter, trying to sell a story. You know what you saw.”

Natasha was scared that she wasn’t sure any more, but she wasn’t going to voice that fear out loud, even if she was certain Wanda would never judge her for it. “Yeah,” Natasha said weakly.

Wanda’s mom came into the room. “Hey Natasha, you have a call.”

“My dad?” Natasha said hopefully. The police still hadn’t been able to get in touch with him.

“I don’t think so.”

Natasha went downstairs and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello, Natasha. You got the wrong guy. Poor Clint. It seems to be a theme with you, id’ing the wrong guy.”

Natasha dropped the receiver and backed away, her hand over her mouth. She felt tears gather in her eyes. Wanda’s mom saw her and called for Bucky. Bucky rushed out with his gun out, thinking there was an intruder. He picked up the receiver. “Hello?” There was nothing but a dial tone.

The next day at school, there was a media circus outside of the school. Natasha was determined to get just inside and not talk to anyone. As she made her way inside with Wanda, they ran into Thor.

“Hey, Thor,” Natasha said. “Have you seen Clint?”

“They let him out early this morning. He’s heartbroken,” Thor said, as he was pulling Wanda into a hug.

A yell tore through the hallway and someone dressed in costume ran through the hall.

“Why are they doing this?” Natasha demanded, upset. She had flashes of the night before when she had to fight for her life.

“What are you talking about? This is like Christmas!” Thor exclaimed.

Natasha stormed off, heading towards the bathroom. As she turned the corner, she crashed into a body.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Natasha said, not yet looking up to see who she crashed into.

“It’s okay,” Clint said.

Natasha’s head jerked up. “Clint. I. . . I heard you got released this morning.”

“Yeah. The phone records cleared me.”

Natasha nodded her head. She was scared of what the arrest would mean for their relationship. Things had been rocky and this could put them past a point where they couldn’t come back from. She couldn’t quite look Clint in the eye. “Clint, I am sorry.”

Clint held up his hand. “Nat, I get it. You had just been attacked.”

Natasha felt herself tear up. “Still, I should trust you. I mean, we’ve been together long enough that I should’ve known you’d never hurt me.”

“I think you need to move past your mom’s death. I mean, my mom’s gone and I moved past it.”

Natasha stopped and started getting mad. “Your mom left. She’s not buried in a cemetery somewhere.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I gotta go.” Natasha stormed off.

Clint slapped his hand to his face. “Stupid!”

After school, Natasha, Wanda, and Thor were walking. “Party at my place!” Thor exclaimed. “Thanks, Nat for making this all possible!”

Cheers could be heard from students around them.

Later on, Natasha and Wanda were sitting on Natasha’s porch, talking about everything that was going on, before going to the party.

“Nat, how are you, really? I know you like to give off this whole I’m-okay-nothing-phases-me vibe, but you were attacked and it’s close to the anniversary of your mother’s death.” Wanda looked at her friend, concerned.

Natasha just stared out into the yard. “I’m not okay. Even though she’s a raging bitch, Y/N Weathers has made some good points during her coverage of my mom’s murder. I saw a person wearing Bruce’s coat leaving. What if I was made to think that? I was so sure he killed my mom. He admitted to having an affair with her. What the attacker said last night on the phone? It sounded like they knew something about the murder.”

“Maybe they were just trying to get into your head. Which it appears they did. Nat, you know what you saw.”

“I guess,” Natasha hesitantly said. “I just wish I knew for certain. There’s still the trial coming up. If he didn’t do it, as the attacker suggested, then I don’t want to be the reason the wrong person is in jail. And nevermind that he’s been in jail all this time.”

“Nat, you told police what you saw. There’s so much evidence that connects him to the crime. You shouldn’t feel guilt. What matters is that you tell the truth.”

“The truth? The truth, and what I told police, is that I saw a person wearing Bruce’s jacket leaving the motel where my mother was found. I know my parents weren’t in a great place towards the end and that’s why I followed her that night. I saw her go in with Bruce wearing the jacket. And I’m sure it was him because I saw his face. I left for a while and when I came back, I saw someone wearing the same jacket leaving. I didn’t see the face that time.” Natasha groaned in frustration. “But Bruce admitted to being there. He says he doesn’t remember leaving or how he got home. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Wanda looked at her friend with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Nat. I know this is hard for you. Still no word from your dad?”

“No. And that’s the other thing that’s stressing me out. Dad is always good about checking in. He didn’t check in after his flight and the hotel is saying he never checked in. That’s not like him at all. I’m scared something happened to him.”

Wanda moved over and hugged her friend. “I’m sure he’ll show up safe. He might have just gotten distracted, maybe with that violinist you told me about?”

“Maybe,” Natasha said, unconvinced. She sighed and made up her mind. “Let’s get ready for the party. I need to get my mind off all this fucked-up shit going on, even if just for a night.”

With that, the girls went back into the house to get ready for the party.

Across the town, Thor was at the liquor store, talking to Loki. The store was filled with customers. “It seems a bit crazy in here, Lokes.”

“Don’t call me that. And of course it’s busy. There’s a city curfew and an unknown killer on the loose. People need to stock up on provisions before shutting themselves in for the night.” Loki rolled his eyes at his brother and continued to stock the shelves.

“You going to make it to the party?”

“Of course, I’m off early.” Loki looked over to where Clint was standing, chatting with a few people from school by the store’s Halloween display that was made up of photographs of classic slasher movie icons, including Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, and Freddy Kreuger. “If you were the town’s only suspect in a senseless bloodbath, would you be standing next to the Halloween display?”

“What, he didn’t do anything?” Thor said, confused.

“You’re such a little lapdog. He’s got killer printed all over his forehead.”

“Why’d the cops let him go then, smart guy?” Thor challenged Loki.

“Because obviously the cops haven’t watched enough horror movies. This is standard horror movie stuff.”

“Why would he want to kill his girlfriend?”

“There’s always some bullshit reason to take out the girlfriend. Maybe she wouldn’t sleep with him. It’s all about the simplicity of the reason. If you get too complicated, you lose your target audience.”

“So, what, you think Natasha is saving herself for you?” Thor said with a laugh.

“You think Nat would sleep with me?” Loki said, hopefulness in his eyes.

Thor started laughing heartily. After Loki stared at him for a few moments, Thor stopped laughing. “No. I don’t think she would at all,” Thor said, seriously.

“Who do you think it is then, if you’re so smart, Thor?”

“I think it’s her father. I mean, why can’t they find her?”

“Because he’s probably dead. His body will probably pop up in the last scene somewhere. Eyes gouged out,” Loki said, getting louder. “Fingers cut off. Teeth knocked out.” Loki was practically yelling at this point.

Thor looked at him in a panic and tried to quiet him down.

“See, the movies always try to throw you off their scent with this shit. Prom Night revisited. There’s a formula to it! A very simple formula! Everybody’s a suspect!” The store was quiet at this point.

Loki turned away to put more stuff on the shelves behind him. “I’m telling you, the father is a red herring. Clint did it.” Loki bumped into Clint, who grabbed Loki by the shirt.

“How do we know you’re not the killer, Loki?” Clint said, with a dangerous look on his face.

“You don’t,” Loki said, timidly.

“Maybe your movie-freaked mind lost its reality. You ever think of that?”

“You’re right. If this were a movie, I’d be the prime suspect. I’m the first to admit it.”

Thor moved behind Loki and hung himself on Loki’s shoulders. “What would be your motive, Brother?”

Loki turned to look at Thor. “It’s the millennium. Motives are incidental.”

Clint smiled and patted Loki on the cheek. “That’s a good one.”

As Clint walked away, Loki looked at his brother. “You’re telling me that isn’t a killer?”

[cilliankelly]

DRUNK ON HALLOWEEN

FEAT: cillian & @judetaylorhq​

WHEN: the halloween party (2020)

DESCRIPTION: the thread that started it all, for the first time ever, coming to a dash near you. cillian kisses jude for the first time and everything he’s ever known changes forever. in the best possible way. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: gay panic, light internalized homophobia\

Cillian

cillian was nice and drunk. not so much so that he couldn’t see straight, but he was definitely feeling good, almost kind of floating from one room to the next, though in reality it was more of a clumsy stagger. he was wandering around, exploring the house, admiring the spooky decorations that he really couldn’t appreciate until he was like, 5 drinks deep, when he stumbled into the bedroom. he was pretty sure someone was sitting on the bed and the first thought that came to his drunken mind was aw hellz yeah because admittedly, cillian was a pretty horny drunk. once he realized it was his best friend though, he got even more excited because finally, he’d run into someone he actually knew at this damn party. “dude, you dunno how stoked i am to see you, man,” he enthused, words a bit slurred as he crossed the room to sit beside jude. “now the party can really begin.”

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫.

Jude had only stepped away from the party to smoke a joint, sure getting drunk was a blast and all, but being around a bunch of people he didn't know? Made him a little on edge, he'd slipped into a bedroom, opened the window and made himself at home, and high. Once he was done, he'd decided to take a nice nap, and it wasn't until the door opened and a drunk Cillian stumbled in that he remembered he was at a party, "Bro..." He chuckled, looking up at Cillian, "Duh, homie, we are the party." He grinned, sitting up further and staring at Cillian. "Every chick I've talked to here has a baby." He'd talked to one person, but that was enough for him to draw his own conclusion, "I'm not ready to make a baby momma." He shrugged, perfect logic was clearly top of mind for him tonight and he picked up his mask, holding it up over his face and leaning closer to Cillian, "Cil, would you still love me if I was a worm? Or this dude?" He asked, nearly giggling behind is mask before he dropped it, only then realize how close he was to Cillian's face, "I'd still love you if you were a termite, but I draw the line at worms. Slithering bastards, you know?"

Cillian

cillian couldn’t help but snort at jude’s comment about making a baby momma, his own mind straying to the 0.2 seconds he thought ellie’s baby was somehow his even though they hadn’t seen each other in over a year. he certainly wasn’t ready for that either. “wouldn’t be surprised if there was already a jude jr running around somewhere out there,” he joked, nudging his friends shoulder playfully. god, he was so glad he’d run into jude. things were just so much easier when he was around, honestly. cillian didn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease, though the alcohol was certainly helping with that. cillian didn’t really do the whole i love you thing. there were very few people in his life that had ever told him that and even fewer who’d actually meant it so it was a kind of tricky emotion for him, even in playful situations like this when it didn’t really have to mean anything. but for some reason, probably alcohol fueled reasons, cillian was giving this some serious thought. “a worm?” he asked, and now he was leaning in a little closer because it was actually kind of dark in here and cillian’s vision was already kind of shit, and he wasn’t sure who jude was even supposed to be and suddenly, the mask was gone and his nose really wasn’t all that far from jude’s. and cillian, the guy who couldn’t even tell jude his ass looked nice in a joking matter was sporting a shit eating grin just thinking about the next words to tumble out of his mouth. “of course you’d still love me of i were a termite. i’d be all over your wood.” it wasn’t a good joke but it was definitely an attempt at a joke about sucking jude’s dick and honestly??? as shit a joke as it was it was at least progress. and because he was in a rather playful mood, he leaned forward and lightly booped jude’s nose with his own, hovering close afterwards instead of pulling away. 

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫.

Jude shook his head, "you wish, buddy." he shrugged though, maybe he did have a kid out there somewhere, maybe that would be cool, to have a little person just like him around, but he was pretty sure he wasn't ready for that. he always thought he'd do the whole, have a wife before kids happen thing and so far, he hadn't met any girls lining up to play the part. "mm, a worm." he repeated back, his face still close, grinning when Cillian spoke and letting out a soft laugh. If he was sober he might have more to say, he might throw a friendly punch, or shove Cillian away, but up close and drunk, he never really had been this close to Cillian before. Not like this, and he wasn't hating the way he felt to almost feel the other against himself. "If you were on my wood I'd make sure you had a great time." He finally spoke, leaning up, sure that Cillian was going to kiss him before their noses touched and Jude let out a breath of surprise, "You're an asshole." He murmured, but he didn't pull away, instead lifting a hand to rest on Cillian's thigh, "So...if I was a chick, you'd totally be into me, right?" 

Cillian

this was usually the point where cillian would pull away, laugh this off, push jude away and make some snide comment like he always did. but something about jude’s hand on cillian’s thigh was both scary and exciting and cillian didn’t want to pull away. there was something there between them and it definitely wasn’t just drunken horniness. if cillian was being honest with himself, a small part of him always kind of wondered about them in a different way. a more than friends kind of way. and he told himself that it didn’t mean anything because he’d thought those things about girls before but he didn’t actually want to date any of them. he was just curious. and was being curious really such a bad thing? usually when cillian started thinking like this he could hear his dad’s voice echoing in his head, telling him he was a fucking fairy and that he needed to be a man and that was usually enough to shut him down and quiet those thoughts for awhile. but here in bed next to his best friend, being this close to him, their lips inches apart, cillian couldn’t help but feel like there was something right about this. and for once he didn’t feel the need to bury those feelings way down deep below the surface. at jude’s words, cillian wrinkled his nose. “i can’t even picture you like a chick, man.” and cillian didn’t want to. he liked jude just the way he was, wanted him like that. there was a bit of fear turning his stomach, warning him to step away from the ledge before he got to close. but there was another stronger part of him that was urging him forward. without really thinking about it, cillian poked jude gently in the abs. “i’d miss those,” he sighed, drunk enough now that the idea of missing jude’s abs was making him actually sad. “n’ those...” he continued, his fingers continuing upwards and ghosting lightly over jude’s pecs. “and...” his fingers stopped when they reached the neckline of his shirt, his fingers hooking into the material as he hesitated for a moment, hovering just over jude’s lips. he was conscious of his own actions enough to know that this was a big deal and that doing this was crossing into something that he couldn’t undo. but he was also drunk enough not to care. fearful he’d lose his nerve, cillian pulled jude in by his shirt collar, their lips crashing together into a kiss that was far from hesitant.

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫.

Jude pouted, "I could try, I'm really pretty, you know." He spoke softly, watching Cillian's face as his hand moved, he was surprised, usually about now was when he'd expect some sort of homophobic comment, maybe a shove at the very least, but instead Cillian was touching him, his abs, his chest, up to his collar and Jude's eyes widened, "So you have...been looking?" he questioned with genuine curiosity, usually it was just a joke, between friends, the was Cillian protested always made Jude laugh and he'd never really truly considered the idea that Cillian might be so loud about it because he secretly did have feelings towards him. He almost stopped Cillian, opening up his mouth to speak, to make a joke, a comment, anything to get the lump in his throat to go away but before he could think of anything clever, Cillian was pulling him close and oh, they were kissing. Cillian was kissing him, and all Jude could do was decide how to react. And that choice was easy, he slide one hand further up Cillian's thigh, leaning in, kissing him back, in a sloppy manner, that was just how Jude did things, is free hand moving to Cillian's waist and pulling him in. It felt good, in a way Jude wasn't sure he'd felt with anyone before, but then, he didn't usually go around making out with his best friend, so it made sense that this was new, exciting and unique for him, and he already felt a sense of dread for the moment it would end.

Cillian

cillian hadn’t really known what to expect when he kissed jude. cillian didn’t usually think too much about the consequences, like ever, so he hadn’t even taken a moment to consider what would have happened if jude hadn’t kissed him back. but he did and a cillian felt a weight slide from his shoulders as he relaxed into the kiss, surprised at how happy he was that his best friend was kissing him. cillian liked to think that he’d been around the block enough times that he really had this kissing thing down, but kissing another dude was so wildly different than anything he’d ever experienced before. thank god for alcohol because there was a messy tangle of conflicting emotions swirling around in his gut and he didn’t know that he could fight them off for very much longer without the help of booze. cillian hummed against jude’s lips, leaning into it when pulled closer. he tasted like alcohol and he smelled of weed and him and the familiarity was both comforting and somehow arousing in a way that cillian wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced. everything about this was so new and honestly really scary and while cillian usually had no trouble pushing away those uneasy feelings in the name of a good time, he was starting to panic a little about how good this felt. the uneasiness was only that much more unavoidable when cillian felt himself becoming hard in response to jude’s lips on his, and the way his hand was moving up cillian’s thigh. cillian broke the kiss, taking in a shuddery breath, though he didn’t pull away, still hovering near. he was disoriented and confused, knowing what he wanted but too afraid to just let himself have it. “holy shit,” cillian breathed, because his brain wasn’t working properly enough to put together a more coherent response. 

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫.

Jude had never really been the type to fully think out his actions before he went through with them, but under normal circumstances he would have thought a lot more about this action before he allowed himself to indulge. Of course, he'd always felt a certain level of attraction towards Cillian, he was cute, he was a lot of fun, and they were buds, they'd seen each other through a lot, and Jude was pretty sure they'd make a dope bro-couple. But Cillian had always been a little...unaccepting of things, he wasn't exactly what Jude would call open-minded, that was the main reason Jude always teased him about liking boys, and wanting to touch Jude's butt. Only...apparently he'd be right, and for a moment he felt a sense of guilt about not being more understanding towards someone who'd been struggling, much to his own oblivion. Still, all he really could focus on in the moment was the way Cillian's lips and body felt against his own, and even as Cillian pulled away, he found himself leaning in closer, chasing after that feeling still as Cillian spoke. "Yeah...whoa." He chuckled breathlessly, finally relenting, pulling back, staring at Cillian for a moment before he broke the silence again, "Okay...hit me." He shrugged, "Do your worse, buddy, it's cool. I mean that was totally hot, but...this is the part where you call me a slur and punch me, right?" 

Cillian

under normal circumstances cillian might have done just that. though honestly, under normal circumstances, cillian doubted they ever would have kissed in the first place. everything about this was a weird tangled mess of newness and cillian didn’t know what to do. he was quiet, his eyes lifting to meet jude’s before looking away again. jude had been right, this is the part where cillian’s supposed to shove him away and act like this didn’t happen and deny deny deny because that’s what he’d always been good at. but cillian hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much and it honestly had him kind of shaken up. “i’m not— i mean this doesn’t make me—“ he couldn’t say it. he just kept hearing his dad in his head berating him and making him feel small. “i mean it’s you,” he breathed, not really knowing what he meant by that but feeling that it somehow made sense. like it couldn’t have been anyone else. this was somehow different than... shit, this was all so confusing. 

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫.

It was surprising, when Cillian said nothing, even more when he did speak, and Jude let out a long breath before looking to Cillian, studying his face for a moment before he fell backwards against the bed, pulling Cillian with him so they laid on their sides, face to face, "It's me. Which means this can mean something or not. Totally up to you, dude." He offered a weak smile, "If you want to act like it never happened, that's cool. And if you want to start coming over and finally seeing what all the fuss about my butt is, be my guest." He shrugged his shoulders, "You know I have some edibles in my backpack if you want?" 

Cillian

cillian allowed himself to be pulled down on the bed beside jude, conscious of the way his heart rate went up as a result. if he hadn’t been so drunk he would have been really grateful that jude was being so cool about this when cillian was so obviously out of sorts. kissing your best friend was always risky even when there wasn’t that whole questioning your sexuality layer and cillian hadn’t even given thought to how this may have affected their friendship. did cillian want this to mean something? regardless, it already did, and try as he might to shake it, cillian knew he wouldn’t forget it. but jude was giving him that option. and it was a really tempting option. it was so much easier to just go on pretending. but cillian remembered that moment of bliss when jude had kissed him and the weight had slid from his shoulders and cillian wasn’t sure he’d trade that for the current mess of weird confusion and unease he was feeling right now. that’d he’d felt for most of his young adult life, really. “well, what do you want?” cillian asked quietly in an attempt to remove a bit of the pressure on him, though admittedly, once the words were out of his mouth he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫.

"Me?" Jude asked, as if Cillian could have asked someone else in the moment, Jude wasn't used to being the one with the choice, in relationships or anything else, but he took a moment to think about it anyways. What did he want? Being in a relationship sounded nice, it had been a long time since he'd tried to do that, but then, Cillian probably wasn't open to that. And Jude hadn't really ever considered it before, because he never expected this to happen, still, it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. "I dunno man. I want like, whatever you're cool with. Because I mean, this is kind of huge for you. And I'm proud of you and all that shit. But like, I wouldn't mind making out with you some more, if that's one of my options?" He grinned, "That part was pretty dope, if you ask me." 

Cillian

this was kind of huge for him. and honestly? the fact that cillian hadn’t left already in an angry sort of confused storm of... something? progress. he couldn’t remember the last time someone had told him they were proud of him and it felt kind of really good to hear someone say that. and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy that jude wanted to do it all over again because yeah, it was pretty dope. and cillian couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a kiss as much as he had that one. but this was also really overwhelming and before cillian knew what he was doing he was sitting up and putting distance between them. “i think i need a minute. or like... a lot of minutes,” he said finally. because cillian really wasn’t sure what he was “cool with” right now, and being this close to jude wasn’t helping. “but um... thanks man,” he said, his smile small but genuine. because really he was lucky that jude was such a good friend. because this could have gone a whole hell of a lot worse. 

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫.

He half thought Cillian was about to lean in and kiss him again, but when his best friend pulled away he wasn't really all that surprised, he'd been expecting it this whole time, he wasn't trying to kid himself, Cillian wasn't the man of his dreams, he couldn't even accept the fact that he was into dudes, let alone actually be with one. Still...it stung a little, the way he pulled away, asked for time, and Jude tried to be understanding as much as it sucked. "Yeah man." He shrugged it off, as if he didn't care all that much, but much to his own surprise it did hurt. A lot. "It's whatever, you know? We're both faded as hell." He got up, standing and collecting his wallet, shoving it into his pocket and pulling his backpack on, "See you around, bro. Bring M&Ms next time." 

Cillian

cillian hadn’t expected to feel so shitty when jude shrugged it off like that. seconds ago he was contemplating pretending this had never happened, knowing he’d never forget it and now that jude was halfway out the door, cillian was miffed that jude was acting like they were just both really faded? cillian knew that jude was probably doing this for his benefit but at the same time it kind of stung. because yeah, this had been a big deal. there was a panic rising in his chest at the idea of really having fucked this up because cillian really didn’t have that many friends and jude had stuck by him through pretty much everything. shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck, why did feelings have to be so confusing. this is precisely why cillian had never given thought to being in an actual relationship with anyone. it was too much. and despite all that, all cillian could think to do was kind of nod in jude’s direction as he left, sitting alone on the bed wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now. 

[thetrueenemyofhumanity]

"There is only one bed" with Ashe and widowmaker? Thanks

Im very unsatisfied with these, it seems I have forgotten how to english. Here’s hoping some practice will help me get back into things???

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

ASHE

It took a few hits for the old door to finally give an encouraging budge. You sucked in a deep breath and thrust your full weight against it a final time. At last it flew open, sending you with it. A strong hand closed around your arm and stopped you from hitting the foul carpet face-first. Ashe pulled you upright but rather than release you, she instead looped her arm through yours to escort you inside.

“Well this certainly ain’t the Ritz,” She remarked with a sneer.

“Hey, it was you who wanted to escape the life of luxury. Don’t think we could possibly get any further-“

A loud thunk had you and Ashe turning to face the door. The termite-infested woodframe creaked and splintered as B.O.B. tried to join you. You bent to retrieve the hat which had rolled off to now lay at your feet. Brushing the dust off you realised it was actually much bigger than you thought. It was merely B.O.B.’s enormous stature which made it appear comically small.

“Dammit, B.O.B.!” Ashe snapped, shoving him back through the doorway, “State of the art processors and ya can’t even figure out the size of a damn door?”

She took the bags from him and marched back into the room. You stepped forward and gave B.O.B. an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, B.O.B., guess you’re powering down out here for the night.”

He lowered his head to allow you to place the hat back in place. You tilted it just how you knew he liked before stepping away. B.O.B. waved as you retreated until the door tucked him out of sight, but now you faced the problem of not being able to get the damn thing fully closed. You once again flung yourself at it until to no avail. Suddenly it was pulled back and clicked closed.

“Thanks B.O.B.!”

Ashe flung the bags onto the bed and that’s when you realised a whole different issue.

“Notice something?” she sighed.

“There’s only one bed…” you huffed, imagining you’ll have to spend the night in the hallway with B.O.B.

You expected her mood to only get darker. Instead you were surprised to hear a chuckle. A smirk slowly grew and she licked her lips, watching you from the corner of her eye.

“Well, at least one good thing came out of this crap-shack.”

  WIDOWMAKER

“Area clear. For now. Doubt that’s going to last long.”

“Copy that. We’ll keep an eye out. You’re relieved until things get exciting,” came the voice from the other end of the comm line.

“Heading back to base now. E.T.A. twenty minutes.”

You began throwing your equipment back into your bag. Admittedly you could have been a bit neater- not to mention safer- with your packing skills, but the unease that knotted your stomach told you to get out of there and get out of there fast. Something didn’t feel right. It felt like you were living on a bomb and the fuse was getting smaller and smaller. Sombra’s intelligence had been highly questionable of late and be it treachery or plain stupidity, you weren’t going to pay the price for someone else’s mistake.

“Negative. You’re to stay with the asset. Someone needs to keep an eye on her.”

The knot in your stomach only grew at that and you fell silent.

“Agent, is that clear?”

You shook your head and drew in a deep breath. Throwing your bag over your shoulder you left in a lot less of a hurry.

“Clear.”

--

You made sure to make as much noise as possible upon entering the room. The last thing you wanted was to spook the world’s finest assassin. But when you entered that wasn’t the sight you were met with. Perched on the widows ledge was Amelie, who had swapped out the skintight catsuit for a plush jumper and loose-fitting trousers. The costume itself was neatly folded atop the case which held her rifle. Her long hair now fell freely around her face and there was a weariness to her you had never seen before. She didn’t even look at you when you entered. Instead her sharp eyes were fixed on nothing, lost in a daze.

“Widowmaker,” you greeted with a curt nod.

She didn’t reply. But you doubted awkward conversation would be any better than the awkward silence. Looking around you could only see one bed. Unsure of where to go you simply…hovered for a moment.

“There is only one bed,” Amelie finally spoke.

“Clearly times are tough, Talon can’t even stretch the budget to two beds in here?” you tried to joke.

“Why buy a steak for a vegetarian?”

Your poker face melted to one of pure confusion.

“E-excuse me?”

“There is no point Talon providing a bed for someone who doesn’t sleep. At least until they’re told to,” she explained, lifting her head to lock her piercing eyes with yours. And like a fly in a web you were paralyzed.

“They tell you when to sleep?”

You couldn’t hide the distaste in your voice. She nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving you. Well that certainly explained why she looked so tired. Shrugging off your jacket you sat on the edge of the bed. Only when the weight was taken off them did you realise how truly weary your legs were. Your back cracked as you rolled your aching shoulders and you struggled to stifle a yawn.

“Amelie, you look as tired as I feel. You need rest.”

She shook her head.

“What Talon doesn’t know won’t hurt them,” you pressed.

“It is not that. Whenever I close my eyes… Talon’s drugs are the only way I can sleep in peace.”

You sucked in a deep breath and tentatively placed a hand on top of hers. The cool touch sucked the warmth from your own skin.

“Nightmares are intimate friends of mine too,” you assured her.

“Nightmares I can deal with. You wake up to a better reality. It is the memories that haunt me. There is no waking up, no running. No freedom. Yet as much as these ghosts plague me, they are all I have to remind me I was once human.”

You were lost for words for a moment before finally rising to your feet. Reaching over her you pulled the blinds closed.

“You’re still human. You’re not what they made you. You’re so much more. C’mon, lets get some sleep,” you suggested, “Whatever demons come I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She took your hand and slowly stood. A tense moment passed before she suddenly threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around you. Your heart momentarily stopped and every possible ulterior motive she may have rushed through your mind. But once you realised there wasn’t a knife in your back you finally accepted that the Widowmaker just didn’t want to be so alone. As much as she didn’t want to open her heart- having lived the truly worst that can happen- the starvation crushed all her senses and she wanted nothing more than to melt in your warmth. 

[prorevenge]

Let's see how he looks at you now.

A few background information before I get into the story.

I am a bastard child, child born out of wedlock, but I am not the only one. I have a fraternal twin brother, we'll call him Dill. When my mother and father, who were both 25 at the time, found out they were having twins, my father left my mother in the hospital the day after we were born. Growing up, he was never in our lives and my mother didn't have any ill intent towards him. We resented the mention of a father who we never seen or met in our lives and was generally happy with my single mother. Even there was days my mother would share old Polaroids of them together, saying things like how we look like our father and how those we great days, but how nothing could compare to the day we were born.

Fast forward to 18 years old, Dill and I were at our graduation from high school. My entire moms side of the family was there to celebrate, take pictures and then have an after party at my aunts home. Before that could happen, my mother said she had a surprise for us as between the crowd, a man was emerging. Dill and I soon felt a terrible distaste as we could tell this man was the man who seemed to walk out on my mother all those years ago. We felt hatred towards this man even if my mother smiled whenever she would talk about him.

Our father cried, in turn making my mother cry as they soon told us how he was involved in our lives even if it wasn't in person or physical.

My parents told us that when we were born, they agreed that they couldn't take care of twins with the income they had. With a worded agreement, my parents agreed that my father would have to walk out for most of our lives to support us and sent money off from a job miles away from our birth town. So the years of birthdays, cars, Christmas presents, Halloween costumes and thanksgiving dinner wasn't only paid by my mother, but our father as well. They handed us envelopes that they said was for our college tuition. Our father even took us by the hands and got on his knees while crying. As if on an instant, it was like our resentment towards this man fluttered away. I cried and Dill was helping him up. Without a second thought, we embraced our parents and my father wouldn't stop apologizing.

Our relationship with our father 9 years later couldn't be stronger, we bond any way children and their father could have.

With their help we graduated from college, me in business and fashion while my brother in computer sciences. We are both 27 now, doing things we both love.

Now, you are probably wondering: "Maybe they got pro revenge on their father who abandoned them for 18 years."

I'm here to tell you, No, it isn't. My pro revenge story is about the woman our father brought to our high school graduation.

Our step-mother, her name being Heather for this story as for privacy reason.

Heather was and still is married to our father. At first glance, she was a very nice looking woman and we were happy that our father was in love with someone. Our mother had no qualms about the marriage as she was partially the instigator for my fathers proposal.

Heather was about 5 years younger than my father who is 53 years old now, and has 3 other boys (6, 8 and 19 then. 15, 16 and 28 now) with another husband. We also get very well along with them, my brother and I loving the fact we have friendly, kind and sweet step-brothers who would step in if anything was wrong.

But, what we first thought was not at all what we seemed.

The story:

Within the first 6 years we got to know our father and Heather, we noticed that Heather was extremely babied and spoiled by our father. She and our step-brothers wore clothing brands and had expensive devices. My father told us that he would shower us the same way if we pleased, but we passed on the offer as just reconnecting our father and the times he spoiled our behinds off when we were children while we resented him was enough to spoil us rotten.

The days we would spent at our fathers house, I would wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom or drink water to hear Heather shouting at my father, who would attempt to quickly calm her down in a nonthreatening fashion. I didn't understand why he was being yelled at but it slowly pricked at me whenever I experienced it.

It wasn't until I realized my father would often visit us with scratch marks, cuts and bruises on his face and sometimes his arms. That was always unsettling to my brother and I when our father would joke that a cat would dig in their trash or some random excuse that was a obvious lie. We figured we couldn't do anything until our father would stop bottling up his truth.

Our step-brother, the eldest who we will call Matt came with us to go drinking and dancing on our 25th birthday. My brothers got wasted, I had a bad experience with an ex-boyfriend and drinking so I stayed away from drinking. Therefore, I was the designated driver for that day. With the help of a few, less drunk, friends, I managed to get my brothers in the car. Matt in the front and Dill in back, his face pressing against the leather cushion while bumbling something silly.

As we drove home, Matt was slowly getting sober but I could tell he couldn't fully comprehend what he was saying. He smiled at me with his silly drunk face and slur some stuff about how lucky we were to have such a caring father and how much his younger brothers loved us. That made me happy until he would blurt out something that made me uneasy. What came out of his mouth would make me seethe with rage.

"Our mom always talks bad about him and your mother to us. Mom hits him too." He said with a laugh before he leaned against the door, said he was tired and went to sleep.

How dare she.. I would think as I got to my mothers house and got my brothers up enough to help them stumble into the house. I would tell my brother and my mother what Matt had said when he was drunk.

My Dill was pissed when he found out and my mother was just in shock as she thought she was good friends with Heather. Dill confronted Matt 2 weeks later about what Heather would do to our father and why?

Matt said that he knew Heather was extremely manipulative and spoiled, so much so that Matt's father was angry with Heather and divorced her after she had cheated with his slightly more wealthy friend. He told us Heather would scratch, throw stuff, threaten and belittle my father whenever she didn't get what her or any of her children wanted immediately. My father, being the kind man he is, would tolerate it and give her anything she pleased with a smile. Matt would be forced to stop her before anything worst could happen. There would be days where she took her kids and stayed at her parents house if my father would attempt to refuse or tell her that funds were low. It was terrible when she had found out our father was tucking aside money for our college funds.

She would talk terribly, in text and in person to her children, about my father being a filthy, broke Cambodian immigrant and not loving her, my mother being a gold digging woman "white bitch" trying to coax my father into help pay for our lives on the side.

We were disgusted and pissed at Heather. She would hurt our father and talk horribly of my parents without looking at her entitled self. This was a moment where we would need to put her where she belonged, we wanted to ruin her but we settled on changing the way our father would look at her, which would be damaging her in a special way.

Dill, Matt and I came up with a plan. Dill and I were our father's pride and joy after all, so why not put one of ourselves as bait. With the three of us, we scrounged up money we saved up together from jobs, birthday money, gigs and side tutoring from the several years we grew up together. Dill and I were saving money to buy my mother and her boyfriend a new place to live as their place was being littered with pests ranging from rats to termites each summer. So the money we pulled together came up to around $2800. After a argument with Dill, it was decided that I would be the one to enact the pro revenge.

The revenge:

After the 3 months of gathering and careful planning, I had taken the money and told my father and Heather that we wanted to buy mother and her boyfriend a home to live in. My father asked my budget and I pull out the money, making an effort to count it in front of them to push the bait. When Heather saw the money, I could see her eyes widen in surprise. My father told me that we were good kids, that he was proud of us that we grew up to be kind people. I felt kind of guilty, I was going to contort my father's feelings towards this woman. I was hesitant but looked at Heather's face, I was determined.

We spent the next hour finding a good home for mother, settling on one as we would visit the real estate place the next morning. I took the money and went to my room, I hid the cash under my bed mattress, the most obvious place a person would hide it, right?

During the whole house finding, my brothers were setting up something in my room, something that wasn't in my room before. One of those large Valentines teddy bears that Dill had got me when my ex-boyfriend dumped me on Valentines day.

Matt, Dill and I would leave the house, going to our mothers house under the guise of saying we were going to tell her the surprise. Fast forward to 5 hours later, we go back to my fathers house, he was at work, doing the night shift as a security guard. When we walked into my room, I will visibly surprised as all my drawers of my dressers were pulled out, my closet was ravaged through and my bed mattress was flipped, we didn't expect a hurricane to go through my room needlessly. The teddy bear was also disturbed though, thrown on the ground with it's face to the ground. We were slightly panicked as Dill had picked up the teddy and rip out threads of its back and pulled out something.

I went call to my father, a little panicked and said my room was rummaged through and the money was gone. Honestly, I was actually scared because it was most of the money Dill and I saved to actually get my mother a place, thinking it would have been spent soon enough. My father was panicked, saying he'd be home as fast as he can.

As soon as my father got home, I was joined in my room with Matt, Dill and our father. Dill and I expressed our disappointment and anger to my father about Heather. Next to my laptop was camera that Matt had received from his dad. It was plugged into the computer as Dill asked my father to sit down and watch the video.

The video played.

It had showed an empty room before Heather had walked in, not at all sneakily as she pulled out my drawers, pulled my clothes out and threw it to the ground before repeating it with my closet. She even walked over straight to the bear and picked it off before frustratingly throwing it to the ground. It was facing most of the ground for the time as there was no sound either.

As the video ended, Dill and I could see the gears clicking in our father's head. Our father was kind, not dense, after all. In our 9 years of knowing this man, we have never seen him angry until that night alone. Dad had called Heather, telling her to come home immediately. She got home 4 hours later with three bags of brand name clothing. I felt my heart break as I already knew she had probably spent all of that money. I started to choke back my sobs as Dill would try to calm me down, being angry himself. Matt just staring at his mother with a face of disappointment.

My father began to ruthlessly shout at Heather. He reprimanded her for spending all the hard earned money of their children. She scoffed, handing over the envelope with only three-fourths of the original money and some change. This only made father more angry as he would shout at her to get out of his house, threatening to divorce her and throw her onto the streets without the items. Her eyes got wide and her face contorted into a face of 'oh no.' She began to plead and beg as my father forcefully turned her around and pushed her out of the house, still yelling at how horrible she was. Matt was forced to follow because even if she was a horrible person, she was still his mother. For only 10 minutes, Heather banged and begged to be let back in before she was forced to leave my father's property.

My father apologized profusely that night as I did nothing but stare at the leftover money and cry in my room.

My father is still married to that woman, but he refused to look at her, most of the time or sleep in the same bed. He still loves her in a way as a husband would a wife, but now it is different for him as his wife was the filthy thief of his blood and flesh. We had given Matt his portion of the bait money and was given back a little of the money when Heather returned a few of the items back to the stores.

Fortunately, 2 years later, we finally bought my mother a three bedroom, 2 bathroom house in a non-infested neighborhood. She was unbelievably grateful.

Maybe now its time to help save up divorce money.

If you read this far, I'm so glad you had wanted to stick around to the end. That is all.

Thank you for reading.

(source) story by (/u/Heart_Garden)

[bluepenguinstories]

Intention Headaches Chapter Ten

Silence in the barroom.

Everyone, a cold hush. The chill of saltwater. Nobody ordered the taffy bourbon, it was due to go out of style.

Continued silence.

Few minutes earlier, there was an incident, but just one:

Groaning and moaning, a little in mourning. Befuddled man spoke with confidence words almost too slurred to deliver.

“That last one was an overkill, eh? I mean, the whole thing. It left a bit of a bitter taste. Li’l funny, admittedly, but sheesh!”

Everyone lifted their heads just a few centimeters high, then faces low. No one spoke, only signaling agreement.

“Anyway, bartender, how about another?”

Bartender, man about duty as he was, shook head like the blenders in the tattoo parlor.

“No, I agree. Was overkill. Think you’ve had quite enough.”

“Oh, come on! You’re the bartender! All drinks are given to all gang members regardless of affiliation!”

“No more drinks for you, Mr. Waits. Lest we have to clean up the mess on our new minted floors.”

The establishment, home for the disordered and chaotic, was in full order once again. That metallic appearance a thing of the past, unpleasant; though the sign outside may be neon, inside were wooden floor boards, with the new addition of a chrome static finish, so the environment would feel both like a tavern, saloon, or, of course, the bar. But the environment served as well as a source of energy; deploying domesticated termite machines to build the infrastructure of an automated simulation.

Afterward from an explanation and the departure of the binge of waiting, the sight of a solitary squatter on a table made for two caught the attention of two at the counter.

One of the two to the lady with the hair spikes and little else but an image: “Hey Elaine, what you doin’ alone?”

Looked up, not to ceiling or sky. Previous sights on table.

“Just felt like it.” Entrenched words from the very same Elaine, who held the two time record of having a six-letter name.

One of the other gang members, of a gang that made little difference. Woolf? Sexton? Let’s stay on topic, call it gucci. Gucci gang member, the one who didn’t speak prior, now spoke: “Don’t you usually hang around someone, though? What was his name again? Rodney? Rooney?”

“Riley,” a one word line delivery.

“Ah, yeah! That’s the one! Why you ain’t with ‘im?”

“The guy died. Stepped on a landmine during a gang war and got electrocuted. Think it was last week?”

“Oh! So sorry!”

Cracked laughter tore through the egg of Elaine. Egg was a yolk called a mouth which rested gently below the nose, but on many an occasion, opened up to reveal a cavernous system.

“Kinda funny, really! We in the Plaths always called him ‘Turtle’ because he always carried that big ol’ backpack full of surprises! So it’s like a turtle stepped on a landmine!”

Fist slammed on the table, an uproar of humor crafted from the aforementioned cavern.

No one else laughed. All else bore the gift of silence.

“Well, I thought it was funny,” Elaine looked away, possibly toward a more crowded gang of various gangs. Amore!

“But Elaine, weren’t you two friends? How could you laugh?”

“You’d have to have been there! His whole body got burnt to a crisp and I could see electricity crackling! You could stick a fork next to him, or a marshmallow!”

Again, and for the effect of repetition, no one else laughed.

“We all know the risks, it was bound to happen. Part of the Plath pact is that we rush headfirst into the heat of battle. Bud just held up the pact, and so it happened.”

“But aren’t you sad?”

“Are any of us sad? We just lost an entire gang the other day. Cranes. No one want to talk about them? Is it ‘cause they were poets? Well, anyway, if you insist on such a meandering topic, I’ll give a call for celebration.” Whistle signal to bartender flared. “DRINKS FOR EVERYONE! HERE’S TO RILEY!”

Soon the crowded silence crowded around the table of Elaine, upheld silence.

One and one, the two, congregated to the crowd in the room. The two guys who had been speaking. Yes, they had names, but it went without saying (not that their names were obvious or that there were any indication, rather the names were so incidental and forgettable that it went without saying what their names were). One upended the conversation:

“You two were best friends, right?”

Elaine drank. After a courageous belch, gave commemoration.

“Sure, but I’ve been in this game long enough. Lost plenty of friends, and some day, someone will lose me. That’s just the life we have here.”

“Say, wasn’t Riley not originally from here?”

“Indeed. Asked him about it one time back at the base, just him and I. I was like ‘Hey Riley, what was the outside world like? How did you manage to make your way here?’ You know what he told me?”

Silent faces turned side-by-side.

“He told me, he said, ‘Elaine, why does the chicken cross the road?’ I didn’t know how to answer, so I said ‘I don’t know, man, why does the chicken cross the road?’ You know what he told me? He said, ‘don’t look at me! I ain’t no chicken. Listen. I do what I do ‘cause I do it. That’s how it’s always been with me. I’ll live because I live and I’ll die because I’ll die. There ain’t much more to me.”

Ooh’s and Aah’s, round of applause, Elaine again with the drinking.

“Pretty much the same with me, I suppose. Same with all of us. Sure, who’d want to live like a place like this where someone constantly dies? But that’s our life. If I could choose another life, I could’ve been a ballerina, learned shorthand, or been a burlesque dancer. I don’t know what any of those are, but I’ve heard of such things from random parsing through neural manuscripts.”

“True enough! I often forget the names of all the people I chat with cause they usually die the next day!” Hearty laugh from one of the two guys. Were they the same two guys as last time?

Question never minded, the with the bat steps to the heels and the thundering cackles cracked, an electrifying entrance.

“How dare you disrespect the dead?!” Mother of Sexton pointed her crone finger every which way. Elaine, who knew the way, could address the one with the entrance.

“How could you know whether or not I’m disrespecting him? He’s dead, I can’t ask his opinion. Maybe he wants us to celebrate in this way.”

“You still show disrespect! Cracking jokes and trampling over the very concept! Those were people’s lives, who could very well not have wanted their fates to be that way! And you, you find levity?”

“Bah,” bitter, sour tongue. Elaine took a swig, a gulp and a set, mouth open once again. “I choose not to dwell on the dead. It doesn’t do any of us any good.”

“Wrong again! You can learn a great deal from the dead!”

“Oh yeah? Wanna know what happens when you talk to a skeleton? You know what the skeleton says? Nothing. Because the dead cannot speak. All you have to learn is that they have ceased to be.”

“Ah, but they do speak. Listen to their bones and what came before. The ashes and their power. It fills me. After all, death itself is life.”

“Again, I choose not to dwell on the dead. Does none of us any good. All it does is make you obsess. You wanna know what led someone to such an end? What it means for them? ‘Surely, there must be a reason. Imagine if they could’ve been saved’, you must ask yourself. ‘what can we learn from this?’. I’ll tell you: nothing. You can speculate all you wish, but leave me out of it. I’ll learn what I can from what exists and live while I’m alive. That’s what I’ve chosen.”

“Such disrespect!”

“You wanna tell me about disrespect? The one who respects the very concept of women?”

No answer given. Only a storm that passed, damage restoration.

At the usual counter comes the kid elderly, Ernie. Sipping wine or champagne, relinquished lamentation.

“Crane gone. I also partake in men. I was craven. My shotgun could have salvaged some. Had I the knowledge.”

“Mm. Just as Elaine said: it happens to us all. Your truths and your falsehoods, they become trivial in the face of it all. Faction and fiction, death knows no discrimination.”

Hemingway drank a heavy shot. Down the chin, it went.

“Well known knowledge. Knowledge of the war remains. Absence of the Crane as an entire entity, signifies return.”

“Return of what, dear friend?” Spoke tender, the wiper of the glass.

“War.”

“As a bartender, I can neither confirm nor deny that. My duties lie in preserving the one place of neutrality.”

Neutrality may seem in the center of it all, but the true point is zero. Move two spaces to the X-axis, two spaces down, into the negatives, lies Plath leader, hands on head. Beside her, down west, Virginia.

“What’s wrong, my fellow woman?”

Plath with the aching head, but only from within.

“It’s the hospital...they did something to me...but I can’t remember…”

“Why now do you think of this?”

“Because I want to know! I feel myself slipping, but I can’t recall what happened last time! What did they take from me to make me like this?”

“Take or give? I have gone there rather often each time I reach peak madness. They give me something.”

“Yes! You were there with me! Tell me! What do you remember?”

“I was cured. I don’t remember of what. I know they treated me. Yes. Oh dear. I may have to go back.”

“No. None of us goes and finds it; when they sense our illness, they take us back. But if I could just remember what happened. It hurts so much. It was like a pain I’ll never know of! That’s why…”

Passed by. Sexton once again. Laughed. Her own form of respect.

“Oh my, my, my. You have forgotten your hospital visit?”

“Yes! Do you remember yours?”

“Of course. I recorded it. They taught me a great many things.”

“What did they teach you?”

“Death and all that surrounds it.” Her grin was a shadow when compared to the bright spot above her forehead. “I’ll even let you listen.”

Chip was thrown, just as it would have had it been an explosive die (the singular form of dice). After Sibylline Sylvie stressed the sweaty palm, the index finger went to work and clicked. It all played to her ears, her ears alone. Her own.

Within the mind, recording went as follows, an interview:

Doctor: What brings you in today?

Sexton: I am afraid of reaching an end.

Doctor: Administer the shock.

[Electricity Crackles]

Doctor: What brings you in today?

Sexton: The hospital itself.

Doctor: Correct. Do you know the process?

Sexton: Yes.

Doctor: Do you fear death?

Sexton: Yes.

Doctor: Do you wish for immortality?

Sexton: No.

Doctor: Do you fear an end?

Sexton: Yes.

Doctor: Do you believe that children are the future?

[No answer]

Doctor: Do you believe that children are the future?

[Shock administered]

Doctor: Do you believe children are the future?

Sexton: I despise children.

Doctor: Think of them as an extension. If you wish not to see an end, repeat the process. Create them like any other invention. Like a weapon. Do you remember who came before you?

Sexton: Yes.

Doctor: She was you, once. Make a child that can become you and you will never reach an end. Understand?

Sexton: Yes.

Doctor: Do you believe that children are the future?

Sexton: Yes.

– Recording ended –

Such was the mother Sexton’s treatment. Silvery scent sent the chip away. Such a cross toss. As for the parent herself, she laughed. Her voice carried over the merriment.

Slipped past the crowd, Sylvie stroked over the silence, right where Elaine sat.

“What I heard confirms it,” she told Elaine, lower in her voice than her own posture. “Karen gave us our next mission. Was a simple one. I will accept.”

“What is it?” Elaine, humble in her ignorance.

“To find the artifact known as The Bell Jar. With it, our gang shall surely flourish.”

“You should refuse.”

“What? How could you?”

“I don’t think you’re in the right condition.”

“Even with us separated, you still act like you have a say in it!”

“If you don’t want me around, kick me out. I’ll respect it.”

“No!” Her own throat a tinny sore. “I cannot keep you with me, but I cannot let you go too far!”

“Ladies, ladies,” a man in the Plaths. “You’re both pretty.”

Elaine snapped. Five fingers, in a twist. “That’s true, but not the matter at hand!”

Already angered, Sylvie stormed away, stood tall and took off. Before through the door, declared: “I will accept! I am the leader! I am! I am! I am!”

Some Plaths looked toward Elaine, whose name was six letters long. “What will you do about this?”

Six letter word shrugged.

“She said she’ll accept.”

“Yeah, but you seemed against it.”

“Indeed. Let me finish my drink. It’s last call.”

“Then, after bartender sacks us?”

“I’ll have a smoke.”

No further on the subject. One last drink for good ol’ times before the neon sign sparked ‘Closed’ on the door outside. Bartender needn’t say a word.

[fangirlinghard-spoilerson]

The ‘I pardon myself’ theory: Why it could work and don’t be that easy.

[With The Wicked King’s Spoilers]

A small edition (March 2, 19): The ‘I pardon myself’  Theory says that Jude can pardon herself because she is Queen. Here, I will say that it can be a bit harder than that.

Let’s beging with was said in TWK Chap. 30:

I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life.

You know what are my favorite part of the world of The Folk of the Air? YOU HAVE TO PLAY ATTENTION FOR THE WORDING! This Faerie world give me an excuse for by the the obsessive wording person that a like to be when I’m reading a book.

So... (back to the subject) I get back to another part that the word crown caught my attention.

TWK Chap. 19

“You requested an audience with the 👑,” Cardan says. “No, brother, it was you I wanted to speak with, not the ornament on your head.” Balekin’s sly disrespect makes me wonder why he wanted this audience in the first place.

Here, we can’t see that Balekin is differentiating the 'crown' object from the person who was crowned. I'm not saying he's right or wrong on this remark. I'm saying that Jude is the Queen but she doesn’t have a crown and has not even been crowned. Maybe this is what we were looking for, a breach. First she needs to get a crown and be crowned and then pardon herself.

A small edition (March 6, 19): We can also see that distinction between the crown (object) and the King(person Faerie) in first book.

TCP, chap. 20:

"We do not swear to the king, but to the crown," someone cries. It is Lord Roiben of the Court of Termites.

We must not forget that Crown is a magical object.

But that would not be enough to convince me. 

TWK Chap.18

I have a reputation to rebuild, my lady, and not just as a maker of trinkets. Once, kings and queens came to me as supplicants. Once, I forged crowns and blades to change the world. It stands within the High King’s power to restore my fame, and it stands within my power to add to his power.  

Grimsen has desire and ambition. And Jude knows that.

And worse - or better - Jude may be the embodiment of that ambition.

Maybe he has another reason to believe in this, other than the fact that she is a queen without a crown, but with much resentment. But, I will say more about it in other post. 

TWK Epilogue

Grimsen is still in play. If he could make a crown for Balekin, what could he do for me?

A small edition (March 2, 19): The 'I Pardon myself' Theory is not my theory. It's a theory I found on more than one tumblr. In the same way I found the same criticism to her several times: It seems too easy. So I wanted to present my own opinion on 'I Pardon myself' theory. How and why it makes sense to me. Because it should not be dismissed so easily because it looks like something ... easy.

Holly Black said the wording is important. So I thought, where's the joke? Which word has more than one meaning? 'Crown' and 'Forfeit'. (But truth be told, I speak Portuguese. Many times during the reading I felt that I understood only half a meaning of some words.)

During the book, I did not see 'forfeit' in any meanings game, but I saw 'crown'. And I found it odd to be prominent in that conversation from the first reading.

Balekin could separate his brother’s image of  the king’s image and try to diminish Cardan in another way. But Holly chose to demonstrate that the word crown had more than one meaning.

So my theory on The Theory is based on this, my spider-sense. And no, I've never been bitten by a radioactive spider, so my spider-sense isn’t unimpeachable.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

William

Note: My version of Wilford is written where he has no memories of most of his life. To him, it isn’t a big deal (”bad memory an’ all that”), while most don’t realise this problem. However... He does. He remembers everything about his life as the Colonel, but it is all locked away behind a giant mental block, with only snippets coming through. It can all be briefly accessed provided he is triggered. Such an extreme reaction can only really be the result of something traumatic, so I asked myself the question - what if one last event happened after Who Killed Markiplier?

Under the read-more is my attempt to answer that.

Warnings for abuse (emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping), trauma-related flashbacks, mentions of blood, death, and implied murder.

Word count: 1,544

---

His friends weren’t dead.

Damien had played a joke, that’s all. He and Celine had hidden themselves away, told everyone else to leave, and played a trick on William. That was it, right? He searched the entire Manor from top to bottom, and there was no sign of anyone. The Colonel had managed to ram the locked door off its hinges with his shoulder. Even though the room was in disarray, no one was there. That only emphasised his absurd logic. 

If they were dead, there would be bodies. If there were bodies, he could check if they were alive. Where did the Detective’s body go? But even then, they might not be dead. That attorney proved otherwise.

He didn’t kill anyone. None of this was his fault. Everything would be okay. 

He just wasn’t trying hard enough to find them.

By now, he was back in the living room. The ‘crime scene’ where everything happened, despite the clear recollection of being in the cellar when that shot was fired. The room was in the same state it had been in the last time he had stepped foot in it. William hesitated by one of the cones. What if he had taken Damien’s concerns more seriously? What if he had tried to be the better man and reach out to Mark first? It was something he knew he could never face again, but he would make a better effort when he found Damien. At the very least, William owed him that for keeping him oblivious to what happened.

“Ah, and here I thought I wouldn’t find you~”

William was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts and turned to see someone standing there. At first, he thought it was Damien, as the suit  and cane looked similar at a glance. However, a proper examination made him realise that the cane was slightly different, and the suit lacked its normal adornments of a mayoral badge and flower, which meant:

“... Mark?”

“Not quite the ‘homo necrosis’ you were so keen to hunt, but yes. It’s me.”

In an instant, William’s gun was aimed straight at Mark. One shot could go in between his eyes without a moment’s hesitation. His aim was always impeccable. The actor knew he would need to act fact to avoid another bullet from that gun.

“Whoa, whoa, old chap! This isn’t the time for bringing up old grudges. I have other matters to deal with, but I needed to talk to you first.” 

“Oh no. You first, ‘old chap’. Where’s Damien? Where’s Celine?” Mark lifted one hand, as though that simple action would stop William in his tracks. Surprisingly, it did. The gun was only lowered slightly, ready to be used in an instant should the need arise. Once Mark knew the initial danger passed, he let out a heavy sigh and put both hands on his cane.

“You can’t find them either, can you? A man of your calibre ought to be better equipped for tracking people. Me, well, I’m just an actor. How do you expect me to find people that are hiding? What did you do to them, Will?” Mark could see that this was giving the ideal result of confusion. Just another push more, and William would become the perfect character of tragedy. Utterly broken and in despair. How fitting!

“What on earth are you babbling on about? I did nothing to them. If they would want to hide from anyone, it’s you. Don’t think for a minute I’ve forgotten about the horseshit you played while I worked here. I know you better than anyone else.” Slowly, the gun was raised as the Colonel continued. “You had the ideal life, and for what? Bragging rights? Is that why you married Celine and made her miserable?”

“I did no such thing!” Mark’s composure snapped as he glared daggers at the man he once considered a brother. “I loved her, and I placed the whole world at her feet! You’re the one who corrupted her!”

“Corrupted?!” William scoffed. “I made her see sense! She wasn’t happy! Why stay married to a man who makes her feel useless? She could be anything she wants, and she was stuck with a termite for a husband!”

“She ran off, and put us all in this mess!” 

For a moment, the entire room grew distorted. It darkened as their surroundings began to stretch out and blur into nothing.

“You’re a murderer, William.”

A crack of thunder.

“You killed me, William. Everything was fine until you pulled that trigger.” Mark began to walk forward, relishing how the soldier was frozen to the spot. “Damien and Celine are dead because of you. The detective and the attorney too. How many more lives are you willing to hunt, murderer?”

A flash of lightning.

“Let me tell you something, William. You should have stayed on the drink when you came home from the war. Have you never noticed how much of a beacon of doom you are?” Mark prowled around William as he spoke. By now, William was holding the gun loosely with one hand. The words were taking hold, Mark realised with glee. “Everything was fine until you came along. Celine would have been happy. Damien would have been safe. I would not be dead. You ruin everything, you MURDERER!”

William’s vision briefly went white. He couldn’t argue with any of this. He knew Mark was right. He had a habit of ignoring serious matters in terms of having fun and goofing around. How much pain had he caused? How did he fail so badly in protecting those he cared about?

Images began to flash in William’s mind. Fallen soldiers, friend and foe. Men he had to hide from when trapped in Jumanji. Mark’s body sprawled on the floor. Celine and Damien slumped somewhere dark like two ragdolls abandoned by a child. Death. Death. Death.

He couldn’t breathe. It was suffocating. His hands twitched. The sounds of bullets echoed faintly in his mind. Tears began to break through. All the people he had failed to protect. All those good people who died for needless causes. The harrowing fact that he was here and they were not. Why did he always survive? He didn’t deserve that. He should be the one that died so they could live. He was the reason they all died. 

His chest felt tight. He couldn’t breathe. This eternal blackness was suffocating him. He had moved on from this, and yet it all hit him as hard as it did nearly ten years ago.

“... Murderer.”

The words were uttered from the Colonel’s lips as another roar of thunder broke the silence. He blinked. The gun was gone, now in Mark’s hand. There was a gentle smile on the actor’s face as he spun the barrel of the gun and aimed it at William’s forehead.

“But that’s all in the past. I have always supported you through those dark times, haven’t I, friend? So let us try again and let bygones be bygones. One last game, and then we both move on?” What a hero Mark was! Despite all the pain and suffering William had put him through, he was willing to put it all behind and move on. He waited for a response, one that came in the form of a slow nod from the soldier.

The actor’s smile darkened as he fired. Of course he didn’t set the ‘game’ up properly. It only adds to the tragedy if William never had a chance to begin with.

The gun fired.

Blood went everywhere. 

Some landed in William’s hair, some fell onto his moustache, briefly dying both red. Even so, William was paralysed, like nothing had happened.

“You’re a murderer. That’s all you are, Will. Your real self is a murderer. It’s your fault any of this happened. Accept your fate, play your part, and let that guilt consume you, murderer.”

No thunder. No lightning. Just silence.

Everything went black.

When Will stirred some time later, he was in a living room. The room should be familiar, but it wasn’t. He rose to his feet, hand on his head like he was checking for something, but his forehead was clear and dry. Nothing strange there. Was he expecting something to be there?

Chocolate eyes glanced behind him. Why was there a crime scene? For that matter, why did something in the back of his mind beg to feel sad, guilty, and miserable? He didn’t feel any of those things. He felt... 

He felt empty, but more akin to an empty glass instead of hollowness. An empty glass has potential, and he could start trying to fill his life with new, interesting things!

With a surprisingly upbeat demeanour, Will took his leave from the eerie building and set off to find... Something. He wasn’t sure what, but he’d think about that as he walked!

One character had been cast in the role of the tragic fool. However, too much of a push was given, and he appeared to be more oblivious to the truth. No matter. Mistakes were made. Once Damien is found and moulded, Mark would look for William and correct him. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the former mayor, after all.

[dragon-in-a-fez]

I really think all of what makes Grimmel such a new and frightening kind of villain for the series comes through in two specific dialogue choices:

(spoilers below)

“history has shown that we are the superior species”

and

“dragons are [nothing] but thieves and murderers”

this is where my joke post the other day about Hiccup being antifa came from. Grimmel is a straight-up fascist.

Stoick was the closest thing the first movie had to a human villain. I have less sympathy for him in this movie than a lot of the fandom, but he’s definitely not a “villain” in the true sense of the word because his primary motivation is fear for the safety of his people, and his tragic failure is his inability to recognize dragons as more than mindless beasts. sure, he has no problem killing dragons, and he wants to find the nest and destroy it, but he’s not doing it out of bloodlust or hatred or for personal gain. he’s doing it because to him, dragons are something along the lines of extremely large, fire-breathing termites. they’re pests whose presence puts people at risk, and it’s his job to get rid of them. he changes because Hiccup and Toothless show him that dragons are worthy of being treated as equals.

Drago, meanwhile, sees dragons as beasts of burden - useful ones, perhaps, but it never occurs to him to see them as more than animals. his understanding of their nature and behavior is more advanced than Stoick’s was in httyd1, but it’s all within the same sort of framing as a naturalist who’s really good at understanding the social order of wolves, or a trainer who’s really good at breaking horses. he doesn’t understand how Toothless can break through the bewilderbeast’s control and command the other dragons because he doesn’t recognize a dragon as someone that can love, and be motivated by that love, as a human can.

now, Grimmel, on the other hand - he sees dragons not as pests to be eradicated or as beasts to be tamed but as competition for humanity’s place in the world. he understands that their thoughts and feelings are on the same level as ours: an animal can kill, but only a thinking, sentient being can murder. he hates them because they’re different in the way humans hate each other for being different, which is not at all like the way you “hate” a wasp that only knows how to sting you. he demonizes dragons on moral grounds because that’s how you justify seeing your equals as your inferiors. he appeals to history - not biology - for “proof” of dragons’ inferiority because he doesn’t see humans’ superiority as natural, but as hard fought for and won, and as something that could someday be lost - and if the dragons were to turn the tables, he wonders, what would happen to us? to him?

in httyd1, Hiccup believed that all anyone needed to accept the idea of peace and cooperation with dragons was to have their eyes opened to the truth about dragons’ intelligence and capacity to love, as his had been. it worked with his fellow Berkians in the end.

in httyd2, he learned, at great cost, that there were people who would never understand - but he came out of that still able to believe that anyone who could be made to see the truth about dragons would accept the wonders of a life lived in harmony with them.

in httyd3, he learns that there are people who completely understand what dragons are, and hate them for it. hate them not in ignorance, but in complete awareness.

Hiccup’s drive has always been to help the world overcome its differences, but he’s never really encountered this kind of bigotry before. he’s never seen how fear of the other can twist people into acting with such viciousness, into taking such pleasure in causing pain. to hit the allegory maybe a little too hard, Hiccup’s kind of like that person who came into 2016 thinking education had solved racism and has no idea how to live in a world where we need to discourse about punching nazis in the street.

Grimmel isn’t just an enemy, he’s someone who represents an ugly side of humanity Hiccup has never dealt with before, and that’s what ultimately makes Hiccup realize he can’t make our world safe for dragons.

[opheliawillowbrook]

Let the Record Show

A/N: So as stated, this fic has been written to provide closure to the infamous arc brought about in Nightwing #93 in which (if you are unaware-so spoilers!) Nightwing is raped by Tarantula (Catalina) after the death of Blockbuster because, (if you think like Devin Grayson) why the fuck not, right? Thankfully for those of you reading this, I don't. But in any case, my friend (Embrlee Frith) and I have discussed this arc in-depth and thought it (aside from most untactful) very poorly handled. Which is a shame since there really were some good bones to discuss, not just about rape, but also male rape victims in our society and the aftermath that all victims of sexual assault and rape survivors go through. However, as most of you are probably aware, DC and Devin Grayson sorta dropped that ball and refused to pic it back up. Though, to be fair, Ms. Grayson, being, well-Ms. Grayson, did try and clarify the scene by referring to it as "non-consensual sex" which is probably the most accurate example of an oxymoron one can bring to fruition, but that's a subject for another time. But given the sort of "mishandling" of the canon, I was commissioned by our lovely Ms. Frith to cover this subject matter and try and bring some closure to this event for both the reader and the character.

I'd also like to apologize to anyone offended by my words of Ms. Grayson. I'm clearly not a fan of her work (as I'm sure I've made it very clear) I just think as a writer this subject matter deserved far more respect than it got and this is my attempt at providing that.

I Also recently re-edited this story and hope the changes help make it feel finished. Please let me know what you think :) I also found a great song to go along with this fic. It's called "They're Not Horses, They're Dead Unicorns" by Bayside. So if you like a little music with you reading, you might enjoy it!

So if you're still reading this, I'd like to thank you. Let me know what you think and let's see if we can put this ghost to rest now, shall we?

As Always, With Love

-Ophelia

“She was a termite, Eating away at my roots. I was just a lost soul, who needed a home, I was filling, a void, with you.” --Bayside

He sat in a dark corner of the crowded bar at a small table by the foggy window. This was far from how he'd normally spend an evening, but tonight was far from a normal night. It had begun to rain over Gotham, the air thick with its dewy metallic scent. It almost smelled like blood—like her . He looked down at his half empty beer bottle, a little distressed that he was three drinks in, and the edge still wasn't off.

Drinking was always something he'd avoided, something he looked at as unnecessary and otiose, but in the wake of the past year, he'd built something of a tolerance to it. It was all he could do to cope at times. He didn't consider himself an alcoholic; he mostly only had a drink or two, but he still wasn't proud of the fact it was something he required now, that it was the only thing that came close to washing away that bitter taste.

It had been a year since he'd lost everything he'd worked so hard for. A year since he'd lost friends, his city, and the thousands of innocent lives within it. But worst of all, he'd lost a significant piece of himself, and he blamed himself for all of it. All because of one night, one choice and her.

The thought of her was nearly enough to make him sick as he downed a sip of beer to try and flush her foul taste from his mouth. However, the cheap beer and whisky was not enough to drown out the bitterness—that rotten taste he could just never get off his tongue. It was like he'd unknowingly bitten into a spoiled piece of fruit, only to find its sweetness was replaced with decay and maggots. He could still feel the invasive parasites crawl beneath his skin every now and then. At just the right moment, with just the right touch, or the right set of words. The feeling always left him feeling dirty, and no matter how hard he scrubbed or scratched, her touch would never wash off him. He'd wear her mark for the rest of his life.

What was worse was that he'd never told anyone about what had happened to him; he himself had a hard time believing its validity. In his mind, he tried to tell himself that what he thought happened was nothing of the sort. That the trauma of watching a man die was the reason for his physical and mental discord. Or at least that's what she'd told him.

Still, it never mattered how many times he tried to talk himself down, or how many times he tried to tell himself that what happened, hadn't happened at all. He could still never get that bloody taste out his mouth. He could even taste it on the air.

"I would have never pegged you as the drinking alone type," he heard a familiar voice say.

He looked up to find a single blue eye staring down at him, her lily-white hair draped around her black leather jacket.

"Rose," he said in a genuine shock, "what are you doing here? Why aren't you with the Titans ?"

"Yeah, about that," she said, taking a seat next to him, "that wasn't exactly hooking up. So I'm currently between jobs right now."

"Okay," Dick replied perplexed, "then what are you doing here?" he asked, entertaining some guilt that she'd gone out on her own. He was after all her mentor.

She shrugged somberly. "Well, I just found out that the closest thing I had to a best friend died…"

"Eddie…" he said ruefully, recalling that Tim recounted the incident, but he hadn't mentioned that Rose left the team. "I'm sorry."

She gave him a weak smile and stole a sip of his beer. "Don't be. Eddie died a hero, and in my book, he couldn't have gone out like more of a badass." She paused a moment, clearly remembering her friend. If anything, she was sad for herself, but refused to admit it. A lot like him.

"But with that being said," she added, "I'm here to drink my feelings and have a meaningless hook-up… Care to help a girl out, Grayson?"

She smiled at him coyly. He'd like to have thought she was joking, but he knew she wasn't. If Rose Wilson was anything, she was brutally honest, and he respected that.

"I can help you with the first half of your missions of self-destruction, but you're on your own with the latter."

"Eh, it was worth a shot," she shrugged, "but it's your loss."

"Somehow I'll live."

Sadly enough, part of him wanted to take her up on her offer. The idea of losing himself in another for a few hours was a tempting way to momentarily ease him of his current torment. However, he knew once the sheets were dirtied and the sweat was dried, he'd be right back where he began. Rose was also a little too young for him, and he didn't feel like adding statutory to his already stained morality. Though it seemed to be the least of her worries. But if nothing else, she'd make good company for his misery.

He ordered her a drink, mostly because he knew that if he didn't, she'd find someone else who would. And he'd have much rather been the man feeding her alcohol than one of the many seedy low-lives who'd jump at the chance to hinder the autonomy of a pretty 17-year-old girl. Not that Dick worried about Rose's ability to take care of herself. He knew she was more than capable, but if breaking one rule prevented her from making a horrible mistake, then he didn't see the harm in it.

The two sipped their beers and talked about their losses and gains. Though somehow they felt their losses were what made them who they were.

Dick took notice at how much Rose had matured, she'd oddly grown up a lot in the past year. She was still very much the same: Hot-headed and unpredictable, but she'd begun to understand how to use those things to her advantage. Dick couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. At least he'd done something right.

They both finished their drinks, and when Dick glanced up to the bar to get a second round, he froze.

It's never gonna stop...

Rose noticed his sudden shift, his face paused, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

"You okay?"

He snapped out of it and looked at her. "I have to go."

He took out his wallet and threw a couple bills down on the table, hurrying himself to leave. But it was too late, she saw him.

She stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to fix her drink. She looked like she were dressed for a funeral, as though she were burying her third husband. Her black dress was low, showing off the prominent curves of her breasts, her lips painted red, like they were stained with his blood. But it didn't matter how pretty she looked. For beneath that low black dress and behind that lipstick smile she flashed at him, he could see just how ugly she truly was.

Suddenly it was like the world stopped turning and the ground fell from beneath his feet. He was back in that moment again, like the scar had been ripped open with a dull knife, the blade delving deep into his dignity.

It's never gonna stop...

"Dick?" He could hear Rose's voice, distant, like she were 100 miles away. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know..."

He took off, practically running out the door, pushing past the crowd of people until he was out in the pouring rain. It was as though he couldn't breathe, like his lungs had filled with a toxic smoke, smothering him in with past he just couldn't shake. He could feel the rain hitting his face, a sensation he'd once found clean and refreshing, only now it felt like an affliction, like a cancer burning into his skin. Convicting him with the sins he'd committed, and the ones committed against him.

Rose had immediately run after him, knowing something was deeply wrong.

"Dick! Dick, wait!" Rose called, her platinum hair looking grey beneath the foggy rain. "Are you okay—what happened?"

He didn't stop, he just kept moving, not sure what to say. "I just need to go home, Rose."

It was a terrible excuse, but it was the best he could come up with. Plus, what could he really say? He couldn't even admit the truth to himself, never mind a teenage girl who held him in such high standing.

"It's okay, you can tell me," she urged, but he still wouldn't stop. "It was that girl, wasn't it?"

He stopped. The rain beating down on him like it had in that very night a your ago.

"She did something to you, didn't she?"

He turned, at a loss, not even sure what to say, but before he could speak, he saw her again.

She'd stepped out of the bar, just under the overhang, looking out at him through falling sky. He stared at her for a minute, part of him wanting to show her how badly he hurt. How deeply that scar through his heart ran. But another part of him was still too afraid to even look her in the eye. For a moment he thought she'd try and approach him, but she didn't, and at first, he couldn't understand why. Then it hit him. And no, it had nothing to do with melting Wicked Witch of the West style.

Rose...

She had now locked her eyes on the woman beneath the overhang, keeping herself from the damp air.

Dick wasn't sure what would come next. Part of him wondered if Rose would, well, pull a Rose and throw a right hook across Catalina's face. Or if Catalina would say something in an attempt to dismiss the younger girl. Something he knew wouldn't go over well.

However, Rose surprised him. She turned her scowling face away from the woman in black and walked toward Dick.

"Come on," she said over the percussion of rain. "This place will let anyone in, we're better off at your place."

The whole speech was a jab at Catalina. She didn't need her mentor to tell her anything, she already knew. Like she could smell that primal fear radiating off him, or possibly even something about the way that woman looked at him. Her smile gilded with something predatory, hungry for self-satisfaction and the taste of blood on her tongue.

Rose took him by the arm and led him away, the rain still pouring down around them. It's humid smell rising from the flooded pavement beneath his feet. Dick could still feel her eyes on him, a feeling of shame ricocheting down his spine as he was whisked away by his own protégé, the old one merely watching as she did so. He'd faced murderous mad men, violent Metahumans, and bloodthirsty demons, but somehow, a simple human woman was the greatest monster he'd ever faced. A woman he could have easily overpowered, yet somehow couldn't. The thought left a deep wound in his masculinity, like he failed as a man, like maybe he'd let it happen. These poisonous thoughts were something he'd become accustomed to ever since Catalina had taken matters into her own hands.

By the time they made it back to Dick's apartment, they were both soaked to the bone. He could feel the filthy rain collecting along his jaw and dripping heavily from his chin as he unlocked the door. Rose noticed his hands were shaking and he cursed at himself as he struggled to steady them. He finally got the key into the lock and turned it, looking around before entering the safety of his home. They entered the reasonably sized studio apartment, and Dick flicked on the light. He closed the door behind them, locking the knob, deadbolt, and key chain. Rose, of course, thought it was a bit overkill, but given his reaction to the woman at the bar, she'd have done the same thing.

"She's really got you on edge," Rose said, pulling off her soggy coat. "Who is she?"

"No one."

"Well, then she's a whole lot of no one ." Rose grimaced. "I'm sensing "They're Not Horses, They're dead Unicorns," vibe?"

"Something like that…" he sighed, wiping the rain from his brow, "only in the darkest context possible."

"What do you think she wants?"

He looked up at her. He hadn't really thought of that. It had been a year since he'd seen her last, since he just walked away and never looked back. She got what she wanted, why would she come back now?

"Fuck," he huffed blankly and sat down. His mind digging up an old thought he'd once had, one he prayed wouldn't come to fruition.

Rose could see the lost look in his eyes and the disparity quaking in the space where his heart used to be. This was nothing new to her. Whatever he lost, he'd lost it before they'd met. Only now she was beginning to understand what that was. She could now see just where that jaded and cynical nature came from, exactly what cracks left him shattered. Unlike many, she was actually about to see exactly what slipped through those cracks, exactly what had been taken away from him.

"I take it whatever she did to you, you're not over it?"

He looked at her with an ill expression and ran his hand through the fringe of his damp hair. "I don't know if I'll ever be over it," he said ruefully. That was the closest he'd ever come to admitting it, to saying it aloud.

Rose looked down, that was all she needed to hear. He didn't need to say more.

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

He glanced up at her and smiled at a loss, but also for the fact that she didn't laugh at him, that she didn't seem to judge him for it. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do," he admitted. "Some days I can live it, then come days like this, where I can barely get my shit together."

She could understand that feeling, knowing how it felt to want to shed the scars that bind you, only you can't help but be who they've made you.

"You can talk about it if you want."

"Thanks," he said, and smiled falsely, "but talking about it is something I'm still not quite able to do." He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, like it were they that had betrayed him. "I just don't understand it completely. And honestly, I just wanna forget it ever happened."

"But your body won't let you."

He nodded painfully, almost feeling like he had to vomit. He had to change the subject. "Sorry I ruined your night."

Rose smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. "No big deal, you probably saved me from making a poor life choice."

"That's probably true," he conceded with a nod.

"Yeah, seriously. Once my brain tastes alcohol it's like it's go time! Let's make some fucking mistakes! And see how quickly you can ruin the life you work so hard for..." she broke into a slight giggle. Rose was often amused with her on sense of humor.

Dick shook his head, well aware that Rose Wilson and alcohol were not meant to be in good company with each other. That girl could do a whole lot of damage and end up with one hell of a hangover. But he laughed anyway.

"But hey, now I can technically say I went home with Nightwing. I got braggin' rights now."

He shook his head at her shit-eating grin, realizing she'd probably use that to piss off daddy . It would also do little for either of their dwindling reputations, but he had bigger problems to worry about.

"I know you don't wanna talk about it, but I get the feeling you think she found you," Rose said. "Is she capable of that?"

Unfortunately enough, she was. She was an ex-FBI agent, after all. She probably knew exactly where he was this entire time and he never even thought to look behind him. But truth be told, he didn't want to know. It was easier if he didn't go looking for her in every shadow that haunted every corner.

"Yeah."

"Do you think she's been following you?"

He didn't want to think of that either, but he wouldn't put it past her. "Yeah, and it wouldn't be the first time."

"Jesus." Rose scowled. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"A year ago."

"So what's she doing, slinking up from Hell for some fresh air, thinking she'd just drop by, say hello?"

Dick grimaced. "I'm honestly really afraid to find out…" The look on his face hardened, consequence tying his tongue.

"Oh…" She paused a minute, thinking about how devastating that would be. To have something so heavy thrust upon you; forever tied to the person who'd already taken so much. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, and I really hate to say this, but there's no way she'd look like that if she'd dropped a fucking kid like three months ago."

Dick looked up at her. Only Rose would say something like that.

"I mean her tits would be like on the floor," she added crassly. "She could take a fucking eye out with those puppies, and I should know."

He glared at her, not sure whether to scowl or laugh. On one hand, her banter was oddly amusing, and on the other, he had a really hard time accepting humor in that moment. But maybe that was his problem.

"Rose, I know you're just trying to help, but if you could stop talking about how hot Catalina is, that would be great."

"Hey, I never said that walking gash was hot, I just said her fucking boobs could have their own gravitational pull," she corrected. "Life's not fucking fair, man," she added referring to her own humble cup size.

"Yeah, it's not," Dick accorded coldly, and he couldn't have agreed more.

His life had literally become one horrible montage of one bad thing after the next, and it all started the second she showed up. In the beginning, he actually felt guilty for feeling that way, like it was somehow unfair of him to blame her for things that came of his own volition. But with time, it simply just became part of his coping mechanism. Catalina equaled death, devastation and rape, and he just couldn't see past that. He liked to think if he'd just never met her, or if he'd just thrown her ass in jail when he had the chance, that everything would be different. Maybe nobody would have died, and that Blüdhaven would still be standing today.

What was worse, and the thing that ate at him the most, was that he'd willingly invited her into his life. He'd delivered himself like some naive lamb to slaughter because he'd actually once felt sorry for her. That's what it had always come down to. She had a shitty life, it wasn't her fault. If he had just been a better man, or a better mentor , she wouldn't have turned out like that. It didn't seem to matter that she was a grown woman and should have known better, he still made excuses for her. But now, he couldn't excuse that she was stained in his blood and the blood of others, and he couldn't do shit about it. Catalina was literally like a flesh-eating bacteria to him. A termite eating away at his body and soul.

"You've never actually confronted her, have you?" Rose asked, once again pulling him into the now.

He sighed and shook his head. "Not really—no. There was so much going on after it happened and I was still kinda in shock. She told me I wasn't thinking straight and that the trauma I'd experienced made me look at it that way. I believed her because I wanted to, but as the shock wore off and I began to see how far she'd burrowed into my life… I knew I was right."

He seethed a moment, that foul metallic taste overcoming his mouth.

"She was literally taking over my life, acting like she'd done nothing wrong—acting like she belonged with me. I couldn't take it, so I left."

"That's when you started mentoring me…" Rose said, having a rough idea of the timeline.

Dick looked up, it really was ironic. He'd been so badly burned by one protégé, and the other was the only thing keeping him from crawling out of skin.

"Yeah, you turned out fine, though."

"Yeah, because of you," Rose urged. She owed him everything. Without Dick Grayson, who knew where she'd be. "Without you, I could never be a hero."

He looked at her fondly, but he knew she didn't feel like one. He didn't feel like one either.

"Y'know," Rose began, "sometimes you gotta take your pound of flesh and just walk away."

"I'm really not one for revenge, Rose."

"I saw the way you looked at her, Dick," she said, sitting next to him, "like if you could kill her and get away with it, you would."

He didn't say anything, but that was exactly how he felt, only he knew it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't fix him.

He rose from the couch and walked to a drawer, he opened it and took out an old shirt, throwing it over to Rose.

"You should change out of those wet clothes. There's a laundry room downstairs if you wanna throw your stuff in the drier."

She caught the shirt and nodded. "Yeah, there's no way in Hell I'm leaving you alone tonight. Not with Psycho Bitch on the prowl."

He smiled. "Wanna order a pizza?"

"You paying?"

After that, the two talked about why Rose left the Titans, and why she felt she didn't really fit there. They talked about Eddie, and how Rose had asked him to leave with her. That was a little painful.

Rose asked how things with Barbara were going (they were supposed to get married, after all.) However, the answer was nowhere. Apparently Dick was having a hard time functioning in the relationship, specifically because Barbara was always so micro-focused on everything he did. From what she understood, that was nothing new. Barbara had a reputation for being a little unforgiving, especially when it came to Dick. And Rose could totally understand why he didn't feel comfortable opening up to her about what he'd been through. He wanted her to see him as strong and competent. He'd probably feared she'd think he were exaggerating, or scold him for being too trusting with Catalina in the first place. And though his fears weren't necessarily warranted, she understood why he felt that way. Nobody wants the love of their life to see them as damaged.

He apparently tried his hand at a few other relationships, but nothing really seemed to fit. Everything just seemed uncomfortable, and in some cases, much like with Barb, they just didn't have the patience for his newfound affliction. It's like everything just felt so disconnected.

His concept of touch was altered, and not the violent sort, the intimate kind. Little gestures made his stomach sink, especially if he wasn't expecting them. There were times when a woman he was deathly attracted to would lean in, and he'd pull away without a second thought. It had just become instinct. Even something as simple and comforting as a hug had become a perversion of itself. He hated how things of such simple kindness now held such rue and disdain. Things that once breathed of love and strength were now among the things he feared most. It was like the ties to his humanity were cut clean from his bones.

Dick looked at the time to find the hour was far beyond late, and he was beginning to feel it as well.

"I think I'm gonna turn in," he said. "You can take the bed."

Rose shook her head. "No, I'm good with the couch. Unless, you wanna share the bed with me," she said with a sly grin.

"No offense," Dick said, and smiled, "but I'd rather take the couch. Nice try, though."

"What can I say, I'm not a quitter."

"And I admire that, but you're off-limits."

She smirked at him, as if his comment gave her some vague validation. "Yeah, but if you change your mind, the offer's still on the table," she added mischievously. "But for real, I'll take the couch. You're much taller than me, it's not really fair to make you sleep on it."

"You're not making me, I'm offering."

"And much like my offer, I'm not taking yours."

"Okay, then," Dick said, picking up a pillow. "Oh, and Rose…"

She turned and looked over at him questionably.

"If you pull that shit you pulled on Tim, I'm gonna kick your ass."

He threw the pillow at her and she smiled, actually looking a little embarrassed.

"Um, I plead the fifth," she replied, catching it. "But, I will say that I was absolutely shit-canned that night and my crowning achievement of the evening was that I didn't die."

"Sounds like you made some fucking mistakes."

"Oh, you know it."

"Night, Rose," he said, crawling into bed.

"Night, Deathwing."

He rolled his eyes. "I hate that name."

"I know."

He didn't get much sleep that night. For even in the still silence, his brain would not shut off. His body desperately ached to shut itself off, but this primal force would not allow it. He lay in bed, just staring at the ceiling, shuffling through the thoughts and fears. Counting the losses, wondering if there was anything gained through any of it, but he just couldn't seem to find anything.

Rose was fast asleep, curled up in a ball on the couch. He took a deep breath, both out of loss and boredom.

He couldn't help but wonder where she was then, where'd she'd been. If she'd been there this entire time, and he just hadn't seen her until now. What did that say if she had?

He finally found the word that he'd been searching for. The word that best described the vile taste in his mouth. The one that brought validation to the feeling he'd been struck with when he'd noticed her dressed all in black.

"Violated," he whispered into the darkness. That's how he felt—how he'd felt ever since the moment she'd touched him. Everything she'd done after that, and even before, was a violation of his life, his morality, his body and above all—his sanity.

He wondered if she'd even seen it that way. If there was one thing wrong with Catalina, it was her moral compass, but he couldn't see that as an excuse any longer. He couldn't accept that she just didn't know any better. If anything, that made it worse.

When the morning finally came, Dick had managed to snag a few meager hours of sleep, but it was better than nothing. He got up, showered, and made some coffee, the smell rousing Rose from what he could only describe as a near coma.

Lucky little bitch.

She stretched out on the couch like a lazy house cat who wanted her belly rubbed, but she wasn't so lucky.

"It lives," Dick said, bringing her a cup of much-needed coffee.

She smiled tiredly, sleep fresh in her eye. "Yeah, there were a few hours there where my soul was like, I should probably go …"

"Well, then consider this coffee the rejection notice to your DNR."

She took the mug and thanked him, taking a generous sip.

"So where you off to from here?" he asked, heading back behind the counter.

She shrugged. "Not sure yet. I'll probably just wander around until something sticks."

"And what if it doesn't?"

"Then I'll revise the game plan," she replied flatly. "Or maybe retire to Florida and die."

"You're kinda young for that," he laughed.

"When has age ever stopped me?"

He raised a brow. "Good point."

"What about you?" she asked. "What's next for Nightwing? "

"Breakfast." He took a carton of eggs from the fridge and a package of bacon. "You like bacon, right?"

"Uh, yeah," she replied, stretching again. "Anyone who doesn't can't be trusted."

"That's what I like to hear. Eggs scrambled?"

"Sure," she laughed, rising from the couch and leaning against the counter.

He noticed the shit eating grin on her face, he had to ask. "What's so funny?"

"Um, I'm wearing your T-shirt and you're making me breakfast, and the best part is, I didn't even have to blow you."

God, she has no filter, he thought. If that was her way of flirting, then at least one would always know where they stood with her.

"Well, I hate to ruin your little school girl fantasy, but would you mind beating the eggs?" he said, handing her a bowl and a whisk.

She smirked and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off at the pass. "And do not say what I know you're about to say."

"Oh you're no fun—I'm only kidding."

He laughed. "Rose, we both know you're not kidding."

She smiled coyly. "Guilty, but what do you want from me? At least I'm fun—unlike Kara. Now that girl's got a serious problem. You should see her Pinterest page. It's fucking creepy, and so is Cassie's…"

"I don't even understand what Pinterest is."

"Keep it that way, I wish I had. Girls get uber creepy on Pinterest." Rose paused a moment. "Speaking of creepy. I can only imagine what Cuntberry's Pinterest page looks like."

"Now I'm really happy I don't know what Pinterest is."

They went on to make breakfast and eat, continuing their banter, going on about old teammates and who was where. Dick offered to clean up while Rose took a shower, not that she needed an excuse to skip out on the cleanup. When she was done, she got dressed and ready to head out.

"You need anything," he asked, walking her out of the building, "like money or—"

"Thanks," she said, cutting him off, "but I'm good. Plus with a face like this, free alcohol won't be in short supply."

"I meant like... for food and a place to stay." He scowled playfully.

"I'm fine, my mom left me some money. So I'll be good until I figure out what the hell I'm doing."

"Well, I think you should go back to school."

"I have my GED, that's fine."

"A degree would better," he replied, pushing the door open. "You're a smart girl, it would be a shame to waste that."

"That coming from the boy who dropped out of Hudson University ... and became a cop."

"Hey, I got great benefits with that job."

"Yeah, 'cause being a trust fund brat doesn't pay, right?"

He pushed her playfully, and she punched his arm. "Ah," he whimpered, forgetting how strong she was. "So violent."

"Like you can't take it," she said, stepping out on the sidewalk. "So I guess this is me…"

He shrugged looking back at her and stepped out the door. "So where you staying?"

"Shitty motel, other side of town."

"Sounds swanky."

"It's kinda charming… if you like crime scene tape, the smell of burnt cigarette ash and a gratuitous amount of prostitution."

"Sounds a lot like your childhood."

She burst out laughing as if she didn't laugh she'd cry. "Sadly true. Lord only knows the damage I've suffered at the hands of my parents."

He smiled, reaching into his pocket, and took something out. "Here," he said, holding a pre-pay phone. "My number's already programmed in it. If you need anything, let me know."

She smiled gratefully and took the device. "Does that also include—" she began mischievously, until Dick stopped her.

"3am booty calls—no."

"Damn," she sighed. "Worth a shot though. And thank you… for putting up with me and my nonsense."

"Well, your nonsense actually helped me get through a pretty tough night so… thank you."

"Well, if you need anything, I'll probably be around later."

"I'll keep that in mind." He smiled.

She began to turn, but stopped and turned back to him. "Y'know how you're always telling me to not be so hard on myself and that I shouldn't be dwelling on the past because I can't change it and all that shit?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, vaguely."

"You should do the same," she replied. "You can't change what happened, but you can be stronger for it."

He looked at her a moment. She may not have been without her faults, but she really did possess a heart of gold. And he couldn't have been prouder of her.

He pulled her into a hug, slightly taking the girl by surprise, but she quickly relaxed into it.

"Thank you," he whispered. "It's nice to know I did something right."

She smiled against his shoulder. "You saw the good in me when I couldn't, I thought you deserved the same," she said, then finally pulled away. "Well this has officially gotten far too sappy for my liking. I'm off like a prom dress, Grayson."

"Bye, Rose!" He waved. "And be good!"

A smug expression fixed on her face. "I can make no such promise," she droned, "but for you, I'll try…"

He watched her leave, hoping she too, would find her place in the world. It would be a shame if she didn't. When she was gone, he turned to go back upstairs when a thought crossed his mind. A thought that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He looked around, it was like he could feel her , like he knew she was there, but he just couldn't see her.

I'm just being paranoid, he thought. I need to stop thinking about this.

He grudgingly shook off the feeling and headed back into his building. When he reached his apartment, he dug into his pocket, and his heart dropped.

"Damn it," he hissed, realizing he'd misplaced his key.

It wasn't really that big of a deal, he was more than capable of breaking into his own apartment. He just didn't really feel like doing it. He looked around, and noticed an old bobby pin lying on the floor, not far from where he stood.

"Perfect."

He picked up the pin and bent it back, he'd have the lock picked in no time. He placed his hand on the knob and inserted the pin, but before he could go to work on the lock, he realized the door was unlocked.

He froze. "No, it can't be…"

He turned the knob with an unsteady hand and slowly pushed the door open. He peeked his head in, looking around to see if anyone was there. He finally found the nerve to step inside. Part of him actually contemplating calling Rose and asking her to come back.

Fucking man up, Grayson , he thought, silently scolding himself, especially since a year prior this would have been nothing to him.

He looked around, nothing seemed to have been touched or out of place, everything was just the way he'd left it… except for one thing.

His eyes fell on his pillow; there was something lying there, something that just didn't belong. He approached his bed, slowly, readying himself for anything that came his way in that moment. Deep down, he hoped he was just over-exaggerating, that maybe Rose had left it there for him. But any hope of that was dashed when he peered down at the envelope and saw her handwriting, scratched across the white paper in red.

Mi Amor, it read as he picked it up, a vile mix of anger, fear, disgust and bitterness pressing into his flesh as he held it.

She was here…

His knees buckled and he collapsed, too overcome by the thought that she'd been in his home. That she could, and did, actually take that security away from him. How could she? Did she actually think this tactic was romantic? Or was this simply just a power play? How long had she been waiting for him to leave? She had to have been watching him.

He felt sick and threw the letter down, scrambling for the waste basket, his body violently purging the contents of his stomach. He dry heaved a few times, his breath tight, his heart pounding in his throat. His face was hot, everything was hot.

He tried to focus, and pull himself out his current state of duress. "Think of something else…"

But he couldn't. And the truth was, that was what she wanted. She didn't want any other thought to cross his mind, she wanted that space for herself. She wanted to consume him.

He sat there a while, forgetting about time, his mind just completely racing until it finally grew numb. Everything went numb.

He resented it—feeling like a victim, but he was one, and he hated her for it. He hated how weak he'd become and how easily he crumbled at the mere thought of her. He hated that she'd infiltrated him and festered in his mind. That she was the source of such rotten memories, each one decaying as he slept, the infection spreading through his consciousness and destroying his sanity cell by cell.

He looked down at his hands, flashing back to an image that had burned itself in his mind, one that made him recoil. He could see her face through the billowing shadows and the silver flecks of rain, her eyes cast down on him. Through the still frames, his quaking hand reached up to stop her, but failed to do so, his objection falling on not a deaf ear, but an ignorant one. He felt empty, like he'd died, his heart ceasing to beat, but somehow, left watching from his empty shell. Like a cage with a dead bird inside.

Now, in that very hand, he held the letter, nearly forgetting it was there. He didn't want to open it, he didn't care what she had to say, or how she felt, or how fucking crazy she was. None of that mattered, she'd already taken too much. She could kill him for all he cared, at least then it would be over.

He pulled himself together and tore the envelope open. He took out the piece of fine paper, a faint scent hitting him like a ghost he was far too familiar with. It was her perfume, an odious blend of mahogany and teakwood. It was slightly musky and wreaked of her cruel brand of femininity. The smell was enough to force his flesh to crawl, his hand aching as his eyes flashed with the loathsome image of her shadow in the rain.

He took a heavy breath and unfolded the note, the same red ink staining the purity of the pale page, his stony blue eyes growing grey as the storm rolled in.

To my dearest Amor, Mi Tesoro,

(And if that wasn't enough to induce vomiting...)

It's been far too long, I know. My time away from you has been nothing but agonizing. I tried—I really did—to stay away like you asked of me, but… I just couldn't. And to be honest, if I could find a way to tie you to me so that you'd never leave me again—I would. No one could ever love you the way I do, or as much as I do, Mi Amor.

As for the last time we saw each other, I forgive you. I know you were in a dark place then, and I'm hoping you'll let me help to ease that pain. I would die for you, I hope you know that.

I'm sorry to contact you like this, but I cannot stand the thought of you rejecting me in person—not again. I want to start over with you, I want things to be different between us. Please meet me tonight at the bar. After seeing you last night, I can't wait any longer. I don't know what I'll do if you don't show… Please just give me this one thing.

If for whatever reason you decide not to show, just know I love you with my dying breath, and know I always will…

Todo Mi Amor, Catalina

Her words read like sugar laced with cyanide, delusional and so far removed from the suffering she'd caused. Like she'd come back to rip what was left from his half-empty chest. The letter still hung in his hands, the red ink somehow disturbing to him. Granted, the whole gesture was disturbing to him. She'd violated his privacy, his home, his body, and written down every word of it as though it were love. And maybe it was-the deadly kind .

He looked again at that last line, those deathly sweet words bring him back to one moment.

It's never gonna stop…

And, indeed, it was never going to stop.

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes, trapped in grief. He just didn't know what to do. He tried running off, he tried sending her away. He'd literally had her locked up and thrown away the key, and still, she somehow managed to slither her way out of that. What could he do now?

He finally removed himself from the floor and made sure every window and door was locked up tight. He immediately ripped off all his clothes and took another shower in a feverish, angry fashion, the water so hot it nearly blistered his skin, and remained that way until it finally ran numbingly cold. But he still felt dirty.

He got out of the shower and looked at his worn face in the mirror. He felt as though he'd aged about a thousand years, yet he was trapped in the body of a twenty-something year-old man. A shell of who he used to be. That foul taste still sour in his mouth, mixing with the sick taste of bile. If only she were like old gum to him, momentarily sweet, but tasteless, something he could spit out and forget. He did his best to brush away the putrid flavor, but like so many nights he'd endured, he just couldn't rid himself of her aftertaste.

He didn't bother getting dressed, he just crawled into bed and lay there, wishing he could sleep, but such a mercy was not granted to him. As the hours passed, he thought about the yesterdays: The long sleepless nights, the following days after Blockbuster's death and what came of it. Each frame passed by him like a fog, like ghosts without names, aimlessly moving through him. Their cold hands removing pieces of him and burying them beneath wilting flowers where they'd lie forgotten, rotting away into nothing.

After a few hours of silently wasting away, he looked at the time. It was a little after 5pm. He was hungry, but he didn't really care, mostly because it didn't matter what he ate, he'd still taste her.

His phone rang, startling him. He missed the days when he wasn't so jumpy. Now if someone so much as touched him, his skin would crawl. He didn't want to bother getting it, but knew if he didn't, it might raise some concerns on the other end. He just hoped it wasn't anything important. Or better yet, he hoped it wasn't her.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he heard Rose say, "whatcha up to?"

Lying in bed contemplating killing myself. "Nothing, thinking about making dinner. You?"

"Eating dinner, and binge-watching Dexter. "

"That sounds… like a weird combo…"

"Yeah, this show makes me hungry, as do most things, really."

Dick shook his head. She really did take after her uncle Wade.

"So did you just call to tell me about how watching a serial killer dismember other serial killers makes you wanna polish off a second plate of ribs, or did you actually need something?"

She giggled a moment, but then got back to the matter at hand. "No, I was calling to see how you were. Y'know, that whole song and dance…"

He smiled vaguely, but felt guilty. He didn't want to lie to her, but that was exactly what he was going to do.

"I'm fine, Rose. You don't need to worry about me," You have enough to worry about…

"You sound a little…" She paused, trying to find a delicate way to put it. "Y'know, like you're thinking of going down the street instead of across it." Well… delicate for her.

He sighed. "It's not like that."

It kind of was.

"Anything I missed?"

He looked down at the letter. "Nope, just still a little shaken from last night, that's all."

"Y'know, if you want me to, I can come over…"

Part of him really wanted the company, but the other part of him didn't want to drag her in any deeper than she was. "I'm fine, Rose. I'm still trying to figure shit out."

"I know," she replied. "I just know how hard it is when the very thing that emptied you is out there and you know it."

She may have been young, but she knew a lot about betrayal, abuse, and heartbreak. Though in Dick's case, heartbreak wasn't at all the right term. It was more like having his heart cut out.

"Do you think if I confronted her," Dick asked cautiously, "it would be a bad idea?"

There was a pause from Rose's end, and he could hear her breath hitch slightly. "No," she finally began, "I think if that's what you need to do, then you should do it." There was conviction in her voice. She understood all too well. "But Dick…"

"Yeah."

"If you do, just know that it will probably end badly. You never really know what you're capable of when someone who's hurt you that deeply is standing right there in front of you… You might not even know what she's capable of."

She wasn't wrong. Dick could think of one particular moment where he'd come dangerously close to bludgeoning Catalina to death. His outburst frightened him. He'd never before been that angry or volatile, and the fact was, in that moment, he wanted kill her.

Maybe I shouldn't go…

"But I understand that maybe you need to face her, let her see what she did to you. Let her know what will happen if she ever tries to do that to you again…"

He took a deep breath, he'd never really gotten the closure he needed. He was too wrapped up in everything else. Not to mention, part of him was still in denial, trying forget it ever happened. But it didn't matter how many times he told himself it was a simple "misunderstanding," or how many times he tried to chalk it up to guilt, it still happened, and it happened to him.

"So what do you have on the agenda tonight?"

He could hear Rose click her tongue, and she replied, "I was gonna polish off a third plate of ribs," she joked, "but if you have a suggestion, I might be down…"

"I was thinking of getting a drink… "

A few more hours had passed. Dick had gotten dressed and finally left his apartment, which took more effort than he liked to admit. However, it helped to know that he wasn't going into this situation blindly or alone.

The rain from the night before had dissipated, the air cool as the wind blew over his shoulder. The street was unusually quiet for once. It was peaceful, but unnerving, much like the past year. Hopefully that meant something—something good.

Each step took a little more persuasion than the last, each muscle recalling the touch of her cold hands, the stink of the rain and emptiness that followed all of it. The only thing that drove him was the notion that this might lead to the end. That whatever followed tonight was for the better. He just hoped, silently prayed it was true.

He finally approached the bar, and that uncomfortable feeling grew tighter in chest. It reminded him of how he felt after he'd lost his parents. The loss and uncertainty colliding together like the harsh winds and rains of a hurricane, leaving a lifetime of devastation in its wake.

He paused when he got to the door. Part of him wanted to turn away and just forget about the whole thing. However, he wasn't sure what would happen in the fallout if he did. He took another deep breath, and pulled the door open. The bar wasn't overly crowded, unlike the night before. The table by the window was open, and he sat himself down like he'd never left. He looked around, trying to get a better sense of his surroundings. Rose was already sitting in the back corner, polishing off what looked like a Mai Ti, the poor guy next to her probably striking out. She glanced over at Dick with a sly grin, and bit into the cherry left in the boozy remnants of her drink.

Yeah, the poor bastard's not getting very far with her.

Dick looked around. Catalina was nowhere to be found, and part of him hoped it would stay that way. But he knew he wouldn't be so lucky, she'd show eventually, and if she didn't, he didn't even want know what would happen then.

A period of ten, then twenty minutes went by. Rose was already finishing her second drink and chewing through her second guy, while Dick hadn't even taken a sip of his beer. He heard the door open and he looked up, a cold wash of fear running straight through his veins. She looked over at him and smiled, disturbingly, as if nothing were amiss. Like she couldn't even see that he was practically crawling out of his skin.

She went straight to the bar, happily flirting with the bartender who remembered her. He fixed her a glass of red wine and poured a few fingers of whisky. The whole time Dick glared at her, noticing her lip color was the same, her frame now covered in a form fitted black coat. He heard his phone vibrate, and quickly checked it.

Rose: Something tells me Tits has your whole funeral planned out on Pinterest.

He shook his head and replied: Seriously, she looks like she's dressed for the occasion too!

"What's so funny?" he heard, and looked up. There she was.

She set down her wine and pulled out her chair, placing the whisky in front of Dick.

"I thought you could use this," she said, pulling off her coat and sitting down.

"I think I'm good," Dick replied, pushing it away. "I remember the last time I accepted a drink from you."

She was still wearing black, this dress being a little different from the last, but cut just as low and shamefully short. Once again, she looked like some rich trophy wife burying the husband she killed.

"So you do blame me for that ?"

"You got me shit-faced and tried to make me marry you," Dick scowled, "how is that not your fault?"

Catalina smiled as if nothing were wrong. "I didn't come here to argue, Mi Amor, I—"

"DON'T, call me that ," Dick snapped angrily.

She glared at him, nearly speechless. "I've always called you that—"

"Well, I don't want you to," Dick growled. "I never did."

"Like I said," Catalina continued cautiously, "I didn't come here to argue, I came here to talk."

"You have five minutes and that's all you're getting from me."

She lifted her wine and fraughtly sipped it. "So I see you're still upset with me."

"You could call it that, yeah."

"I thought giving you time would help, I guess I was wrong." She peered down at the drink she'd bought him, still untouched. "You're really not gonna drink that?"

"No," Dick replied coldly, "I don't want anything from you."

She looked back at him, insulted. "I didn't know what I was doing then, okay? I was just as lost as you were."

"Really, because it felt like you were leading the way. Leading me right off a damn cliff."

"Because you let me," she asserted. "You did the moment you got out of my way."

His stare hardened, and for a moment, he almost saw red. "You bitch," he hissed. "You still want me to believe that it was my fault . You still want me to feel guilty for what you did."

"I did what needed to be done." She lifted her glass again. "I did what you couldn't."

"Because it was wrong. "

"Sometimes a little wrong can serve a great right." She smiled at him, like she didn't feel anything. "I know you have a hard time seeing that, it's why I did what I did. So you didn't have to."

"So what, you want me to thank you?" Dick asked bitterly. "That's what you want, isn't it? Because if I thank you, then I own it, right?"

"No," she replied with a chill, and placed her glass on the table. "I wanna know it was worth it."

"I've given you enough, I'm not giving you that too."

"You really believe that?" she asked, wounded. "You haven't given me nearly what I've given you."

Dick laughed patronizingly. "You're a liar. The only thing you have ever done is take, Catalina. And I don't know what else you want from me, but I have nothing left for you to take."

Her face softened, but he wasn't sure why. "I don't know what you mean… but heartbreak can bring out the ugliness in all of us."

He thought he was going to lose it.

"Heartbreak?" he questioned. "Fucking heartbreak!"

"Keep your voice down, people can hear yo—"

"No, Cat," he declared, leering at her, "you didn't break my heart, you ATE it. That way I could never get it back!"

She grimaced. "I don't understand where this is coming from, Mi Amor. I would never intentionally hurt you like tha—"

His hand fell on the table with a slamming percussion. "Then why did you fucking rape me, Cat?" Dick hissed, so that only Catalina could hear him.

Her brow creased as she leaned in. "What the hell…" She was speechless, a little taken back. "What are you even talking about? I would never do such a thing to you..."

"The rooftop, Cat! What, you don't remember? Was me telling you not to touch me just a minor inconvenient detail to you?"

"We went over this," she reasoned, hushed, "you were in shock, you didn't know what you were saying—"

"Then why the hell would you think it'd be a good idea to fuck me then?"

"There is no need to be vulgar. I—"

"Vulgar," Dick laughed. "I'm sorry my choice of words is making you uncomfortable—I mean you raped me, so I guess I owe you some sense of decency, right?"

"Stop saying that—it didn't happen like that."

"Yes, it did," he insisted. "You fucking raped me and you do it every time you sit there and act as if you're entitled to a part of me—to a part of my life . Or when you act like it's me—like I'm the one with the problem!"

"Because all I've ever done is love you and you've given me nothing!" she spat, her face beaming red.

"So you fucking took it, you bitch," he seethed, his voice poisonous.

"You never appreciated anything I did for you," she hissed. "I almost spent my entire life behind bars for you!"

"For what you did, in my name," Dick corrected. "How the fuck do you think that makes me feel?"

"Loved," she replied with a warning, like it was some end all-be all. "I did it because I love you, because I saw how much you needed me, how much you needed me to do that for you . And you let me. Tell me that isn't love ."

He was honestly frightened. He could see that deep in her eyes she believed what she was saying. That she thought by killing Blockbuster, it would make him love her, but it didn't. It only pushed him away, and she couldn't let go of that.

"You need help."

"I need you," she countered. "I love you more than anything, and I can't live without you ."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Dick asked. "Because I'm not falling for it, not this time."

"So what? Blockbuster's death is a stain on your conscience, but my life, what—not so much?"

Dick looked away from her, he knew she would probably play this card. The truth was, he would care if she did something to hurt herself, especially to spite him—it terrified him, in fact. But if he played into it, she'd win, and he'd never be free of her.

"No, of course I'd care, but if you really loved me, you wouldn't leave me with that guilt. That would destroy me, and you know that. How is that love?"

He could see her blood practically boiling. He had her cornered logically, she wasn't getting out of this one.

Lucky for her, she didn't have to. The bartender approached them, standing behind Cat and looking at Dick as if he were the bad guy.

"If there's a problem here, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," he said, obviously addressing Dick.

He looked over to the man, he was just doing what he thought was right, rescuing the damsel. Dick would have done the same if he didn't know any better. But still, it made him sick that everyone would assume she was the victim—that she actually thought and acted like the victim.

Dick pushed out his chair when Catalina turned and raised her hand.

"There's no problem here," she said calmly, "this is just a simple misunderstanding ."

She looked over at Dick, she wanted him to agree. Only he wasn't interested in doing what she wanted—not anymore.

"It's okay," he said, letting his eyes drift down to Catalina, "I was getting ready to leave, anyway."

The Bartender looked over at Dick as though he were one lucky son of a bitch, and smiled at the Catalina. "Well if you need anything, just let me know."

Yeah, wait till she bites your apple, hero, Dick thought a little bitterly as the man walked back over to the bar, his eyes still trained on Dick like a hawk.

Dick began to rise from the table, but the black widow protested. "We're not done here."

Dick looked back at her warningly. "I am."

She sneered from across the table and stood up as if to block his exit.

"Well I'm not."

Dick looked back at her, a little intimidated, not so much for the fact that she was standing in his way, but for the fact that if he even touched her he'd probably get his ass thrown in jail, and she knew that.

He peered over her shoulder to see Rose stand up, ready to kick "Tits" into next Tuesday if need be. Dick looked back at her, visually telling her to stand down. He couldn't allow her to take the fall for him—as much as she wanted to.

Catalina noticed his line of sight and looked behind her, a thick scowl casting over any beauty left on her face. She trained her sight back on Dick, the scowl taking on a mocking expression.

"What? Not man enough to face me without your little pet ? Nice, Dick."

Like she had any right to talk about pride or strength. She didn't know the first thing about being strong or brave. He needed to let her know that.

"You're the one who's jealous of a 17-year-old girl, but if you really must know, she replaced you, and she's ten times the hero you could ever dream of being, Catalina. You'll never be anything to anyone."

Out of anything he said, that seemed to hit her the hardest, but he wasn't sure why. Was it because he'd replaced her, or was it because he valued the replacement more than her? Or was it because he took away her validation as a hero?

She looked down bitterly, and made a fist. "Fine," she growled, "if that's how you feel, fine! But this isn't over…"

He didn't like the way she said that, but regardless, he let her continue.

"…Not by a long shot," she continued harshly. "So when you're done playing with little girls , I'll be waiting."

She leaned in as if she were going to kiss him, his lips hardened and cold, but she only smiled mockingly, hoping whatever stains she'd left on his soul would fester one last time. She placed her fist in his hand, her smirk deepening, feeling him writhe at the contact, but he still held his ground. He felt a small piece of paper fall into his palm and she closed his fist around it, holding her hands around his. He knew she was aware that he could do nothing, that's why she was doing it. He leered at her with a burning hatred, but that was all he could do. For now.

"Until then, Mi Amor."

He watched her walk out the door, the bartender still glaring at him. He wanted him out, and Dick was happy to oblige.

Rose finally moved from her corner, trying to mask the fact she was nervous for him, but covered it smugly.

"Ready to go?" she asked, and he nodded.

Within moments, the two were nearly out the door, but not before one last outburst.

"Wait," the frat boy who'd bought Rose a few drinks said, "you're going home with him? He didn't even buy you a drink!"

Rose looked back at the guy like he were wearing a helmet or something. "Yeah, last time I checked, buying a girl a few drinks was about as binding as a pinky swear. Stop acting like you bought me a lobster."

Dick shrugged at the guy, as did the bartender. Yeah, it sucked, but hey, home girl owed him nothing.

"Ready to go, Rose?"

"Like a prom dress."

And with a roll of the bartender's eye, they left.

They walked outside, the wind blowing a little harsher now. The sky above was clear, the stars managing to shine over the cityscape despite its dull radiance lifting into the air.

Dick admittedly felt a little freer, like some of the weight he'd been shouldering was alleviated, the space in his chest aching less. He'd said everything he needed to say to her, even if she wouldn't own up to any of it. He wasn't stupid, he knew she'd never acknowledge her wrongdoings, but it would have helped if she had. He may have even held some hope for her, but he knew now he should have never placed such a fragile thing in her hands to begin with.

"So was it worth it?" Rose finally asked, uncertainty bleeding from her eye.

Dick took a breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm not fixed, but I'm better. And that's a good start."

Rose smiled weakly at him, she knew what it was like to feel that way. Just always short of whole.

"Yeah, it gets better with time."

Dick shuddered at the thought. Time was something that had become unbearable to him, to think it could actually help mend his wounds, seemed a little deceptive.

"I hope you're right." He walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder blade, guiding her down the street. "Thanks again. I don't know if I could have faced her without someone I trusted to back me up."

Rose smiled coyly. "You trust me?"

"Yeah," Dick said, and looked at her oddly. "I wouldn't have pushed for you to be a Titan if I didn't. What makes you think I don't?"

Her eyes fell on the ground. "Cause no one really does. Eddie did, but he's gone now. You just never really said it, so… I don't know—I guess I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't…"

He stopped and turned to face her. "Trust is something that you shouldn't have to say out loud, Rose, it's just something you feel. I trust you because at the end of the day you wear your heart on your sleeve and you don't bullshit anyone. I know you think you're not a good person, but you are, and deep down, you just want people to see that. You're a hero because you want to be a better person, and when you help people, you do it because it's right, not because you're looking for a favor, or to be favored."

"That's because you haven't received my bill yet, Grayson. You've racked up quite the tab, too," she joked, trying to get the focus off of her. "I'm kidding, by the way."

"I know. Humor is how you deal with crazy shit, it's that or anger. I'm glad you're turning to the former."

"I learned that from you," she said softly. "I saw how much you were hurting, yet you still found a way to make light of everything. I thought I'd give it a try."

"I'm glad you did."

They reached her Harley and she turned to her mentor with a sentimental half-smile. "Well, it's been real, but like every great adventure, my time here has come to an end."

"Yeah, I'm really gonna miss you. I'm shocked you haven't made a sexual innuendo all night."

"Well, it didn't seem appropriate given the circumstances, but, I found out the age of consent is 16 in the state of New Jersey… So y'know, if you wanna make out with me before I ride off into the horizon, I'd be cool with that."

Dick smiled and shook his head. "I'm aware what the legal age of consent is, and no, no offense."

"You and your morality, Grayson," she said, picking up her helmet. "Maybe I'll have more luck with your brother."

"My brother?"

"You know, the guy with the red helmet, what's his name?"

"Oh… Jason," Dick said, less than enthused, "he comes with a lot of baggage."

"And you don't?"

"Touché."

"Well, I'm gonna head off now," Rose laughed. "No more psycho stalkers, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he said with a smile. "No more letting creepy guys buy you drinks."

"I let you buy me drinks."

He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. "Please take care of yourself, Rose."

She looked up at him and nodded. "I will, I promise… Deathwing."

"Okay, now get the hell out of my city and stop calling me that."

As he watched her go, he realized he finally understood. Understood why Catalina, a self-centered, ego-driven narcissist wanted to be a hero. It had nothing to do with helping humanity, or even making one life better. She had no need for that, it was all about power. Everything she did, every move she made was self-serving or a display of dominance. Killing Blockbuster, that was simply her playing God, forcing herself on Dick; that was taking what she wanted, but couldn't have, and she'd just reminded him of that. She couldn't leave him until she'd had the last word, till she'd sunk her fangs in him one last time to poison him. She just had to take away his power. Well, not anymore. If she wanted to act like an insect, he'd just have to crush her like one.

She waited, a glass of wine in her hand. She took as sip and looked down at her phone, recollecting the call she'd received. She was a bit shaken when she heard his voice, her heart teetering on its tipping point. He told her he was too rash, that he let his anger get the better of him, but he was ready to talk now. Ready to hear what she had to say. That he couldn't wait. She'd smiled at that, she knew he'd come around, he always did.

Without a second thought, she gave him her address and invited him over, telling him she would make it all better and left him with that.

She took another sip, her anticipation pumping through her veins, the heat of the wine mingling with her blood. She'd been waiting an hour, though it felt like a decade, but that hour was nothing compared to the lifetime she'd spent waiting for him.

A knock rapped at the door, and her heart skipped a beat. Her breath hitched and she placed her glass down on the table and went to the door, taking a moment to check her makeup and fix her dress. She composed herself, taking a moment to quell her near giddiness. She finally opened the door, doing her best to display her most convincing bedroom eyes and found him in their fabled stare.

"Mi Tesoro," she said, sickeningly sweet, "I knew you'd come."

He smiled at her subtly. "You gonna invite me in?"

"Oh, of course, Mi Amor," she said huskily, "you're always welcome."

She shifted out of his way and he stepped inside. He took a quick look around. Her apartment wasn't big, but none of them were in that neighborhood. He should know—it was his neighborhood, after all.

"So tell me, darling," she began, closing the door, the faint click of the lock following, "why the sudden change of heart?"

He looked over at her and shrugged nonchalantly. "You were right, I was just upset. I wasn't being fair to you… I'm sorry ."

She smiled, flashing a hint of victory. "I forgive you," she said, walking toward her prize. "Now why don't you let me heal you, Mi Amor." She placed her hands on his chest, a sinful look in her eye. "I promise, baby, I'm gonna take good care of you now."

He brought his hands to her face and smiled, cradling it as she closed her eyes, leaning in to seal her prey's fate. Only Dick had other plans.

His hand slid to the back of her neck and his face hardened to stone. His grip on her became cold and tight as he suddenly conjured an unnecessary amount of strength. Channeling every ounce of hatred, every violation, and every last bit of fear he held for her. He threw her, face first, into the high table beside them. She collided with the object with a violent force, the tempered glass surface cracking, and her wine glass shattering as it hit the the tile. She collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from her nose and into her mouth. She lifted her head, her body still in shock, as a rough hand tangled itself in her hair and pulled her motionless body around to face him.

He knelt down, hovering over her with an infuriated look in his eyes. She tried to look away from him, but he gripped her jaw and forced her to stare in his direction. She was going to hear this, whether she wanted to or not.

"If you so much as cast a shadow in my fucking direction, I will finish this job," he growled in a low voice. "As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me, Catalina—and I never wanna see your fucking face again! Got it?!"

She whimpered a little and nodded, but refused to cry in front of him, as though she could keep some sense of dignity if she didn't.

"Bitch," he huffed in her face, a faint spray of saliva hitting her cheek with a hateful breath.

He released her heartlessly and got up, storming out of her apartment as quickly as he'd struck her. She heard the door slam shut, cutting the last tie left between them. She flinched at the sound, like it hurt, and began to cry. She was finally afraid of him; she didn't have any power left to play. She had lost him, for good this time.

Dick threw on his hood, stepping out onto the street and into the cool night air. The wind had subsided and for the first time in a year, he felt his stomach calm. He didn't feel the need to look over his shoulder anymore. The bleeding in his chest had finally quelled.

He couldn't change what had happened to him, and he couldn't change what happened in the wake of it all. But he could change who he became as a result of it all. He knew he wouldn't be cured overnight, but he knew, in time, he'd be fine again. He could move on now. He could finally breach the surface and breathe—he could live. And for that, he could find enough strength to embrace the tomorrows and move out of the yesterdays.

The air somehow smelled sweeter—cleaner, even. Like the smoke had lifted, and the fires burned out, no longer hindering his senses. He could see beyond the rubble to a path beyond the ruins. He took a deep breath, taking the cold air in like it was the first time he'd ever done so.

Clarity, he thought, feeling the ground beneath his feet again, the world indeed still there. He wasn't afraid anymore. He wasn't waiting for some unspeakable thing to pull him into its undertaking. No. For the first time in so long, he was free of her. Free from her hold and presence, and more importantly, free of her memory.

He couldn't taste her anymore.

[henryclaremontdiaz]

“in the middle of my set my string broke and as i tried to deal with my bloody hand you came on stage and told jokes and i appreciate it but they were so bad i’m sorry” jimon for @magnificentbane

This is where Simon was in his element, where he felt right. Just him and his guitar and the people of the Hunter’s Moon watching him as they sipped their drinks. What more did he need? The lights were nice and dimmed, everyone seems entranced in his voice, he felt lost in his own music. So lost, in fact, that he didn’t realize that one of his strings had snapped right in the middle of Royal Blue and ripped his hand wide open.

He felt the blood before he felt the pain, it was hot and it dripped down his hand and he stopped to examine it. His eyes grew wide at the nauseating sight and he looked up in panic, not really knowing what to do. He laughed awkwardly and started to try to fix it so he could continue, the show must go on and all that. It was almost impossible with the amount of blood that was coming from him, but the faster he could fix it the faster he could finish his set and go to the hospital.

“So I've been reading this book about anti-gravity. It's impossible to put down!” Simon heard coming from the speakers next to him and he looked up, confused, to see a blond man at the microphone. The man turned to look at him for a moment with a shit-eating grin as everyone groaned. “A ham sandwich walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bartender says, ‘Sorry we don’t serve food here.’.” Another wave of groans filled the room and Simon rolled his eyes, but at least the focus wasn’t on his bloody mess anymore so who was he to complain?

“Why do chicken coops only have two doors? Because if they had four, they would be chicken sedans!” was met to a room full of boos. Maia threw a dirty rag and booed louder at “a termite walks into a bar and asks, ‘Is the bar tender here?’” and blondie just winked at her.

Every single pun and bad joke was met with more and more boos, even Simon chiming in after a while. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the man, he was, but the jokes were just so bad. It was like he had every terrible pun in the world memorized for just an occasion like this. “What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? Frostbite.”

With that, Simon got up and carefully pushed him aside. “Okay, I think that’s enough,” he chuckled, getting a good look at the man and smiling softly. He was a lot cuter than he was funny, he had to give him that. He started to play again once the man sat down, deciding to just play one last song before ending the show. He held his hand as he went to leave and the gorgeous man walked up to him, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Let me walk you to the hospital,” he said and Simon was almost too tired from bloodloss to turn him down. So instead they walked to the emergency room together and he quickly learned that the man’s name was Jace. “I’m not a comedian,” he said as he watched Simon get stitches in his hand, smiling.

“You could’ve fooled me, ‘What do you call a lonely cheese? Provolone.’ was killer,” Simon teased, smirking. “Sorry for booing, by the way. It’s just… it was so bad. Absolutely terrible,” he said, bursting out laughing when Jace looked so hurt and offended. “Thank you though. For saving my show. What could I do to make it up to you?”

“I mean, you could take me on a date,” Jace said like it was nothing, shrugging. “On one condition: you’re not allowed to make any jokes.”