#when i say i cackled -- EVIL CLAIRES | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

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Thunderfam Appreciation Post

I’m giving this a new post to prevent scroll city, but the original and several reblogs can be found by clicking the above link. Also, it’s an excuse to post a piccy of Virg cos any excuse, really :D

Many thanks to @willow-salix for writing this question list :D

Before I start, I just want to say that I value every member of this fandom. I’m often hopeless at communicating in group settings so I don’t speak to many peeps, but that is my failing, not anyone else’s. You are an amazing group and you have supported me and each other just brilliantly over the last nearly three years that I have been hanging with you guys. Thank you ever so much for all your wonderful support and encouragement. I’ve had so much fun and created so much stuff…you guys are amazing. Thunderfam rock!

Please note that my memory is pathetic and I will fail to mention everyone. Please do not take any offence if you aren’t listed below. That does not mean I don’t value you, I do, it just means I have swiss cheese between my ears.

-o-o-o-

Your favourite writer of your favourite boy.

@i-am-chidorixblossom You are a whumper and comforter after my soul. You speak the Virg :D @vegetacide I adore your turn of phrase and your description is to die for.

The person who's stories you will always read.

I try to read most fics that come across my dash, but there are a few that have me jumping up and down. @i-am-chidorixblossom , @vegetacide , @tsarinatorment , @scribbles97 , @the-lady-razorsharp , @janetm74 Of course, I regularly fail at this as some of you write a huge amount of fic and I am often playing catch up, but fic!

Who wrote the first fic you read in this fandom.

I landed on FF.net back in May 2018. I immediately ran into @the-lady-razorsharp who I knew from another fandom ten years prior and she was absolutely wonderful, drawing me in and introducing me around. I gobbled up several of her fics in the process.

Person you can talk to for the longest without a break.

I am hard to get started, persistence is required, but once started, it is usually hard to shut me up. @scribbles97 @vegetacide and @tsarinatorment have all discovered that. Dangle a Virg, a plotline and stand back.

Person you can't be trusted to be left alone with.

Um, @vegetacide and I have plotted out the entirety of Warm Rain together…poor Virg. Add @the-lady-razorsharp into the equation and Virgil ends up with a beard, dressed in leather and riding a Harley – that was a hilarious evening. Between @tsarinatorment and @janetm74 Virgil gets grey hairs and has to go rescue Scott – because Scott inevitably ends up in the story :D @scribbles97 gets the blame for Gentle Rain – expand your horizons she said ::headdesk:: But then there was the time I left one random line about Eos visiting Virgil in the shower and went to bed. I woke up to hilarity and chaos as Thunderfam took the idea and ran with it! Love you guys :D

Person whose fic made you cry the most.

I know there were at least two fics that made me cry, but for the life of me I can’t identify them. I did cry writing my own fic – Flannel – and don’t tend to reread it for that reason. Purupuss traumatised me with A Quiet Day to the point I had to put it down and walk away for a bit ::wails::

Person whose fic made you laugh the most.

I have no idea. I know there are fic out there and I know I’ve read it, but without a complete list of everything I’ve read, I don’t have a clue.

Person whose fic made you think the most.

Aaaargh, I don’t have a master list so can’t remember everything. Staring at my paltry favourites list on FF.net (which was mostly gathered three years ago and never maintained), Purupuss’ ‘Brothers in Arms’ and her whole Quiet series has me wanting to write a Scott-Virgil telepathic fic (and she has given me permission to run with the idea, I just haven’t actioned it yet). Counterpoint by Swallow and Amazon is amazing and likely contributed to Sotto Voce.

Person you have laughed with the most.

I’m really not liking this ultimate one person idea. I’ve laughed with a lot of people in this fandom. I’ve candy cannoned a bunch of you as well :P There has been mad plot cackling, evil conspiring, fic written to stir pots and delight on purpose. Hell, I’ve even written fic that was purposefully a giant virtual hug because I’m so far away that even if half the world wasn’t in isolation, I couldn’t hug most of you. Sure, I talk with some of you more than others, and there is laughter in those chats…oh, god, so much cackling, poor, poor Tracy boys. But then there are also so many smiles both vocalised and not. Thunderfam is one of my happy places. Bring on the belly laughs :D

Your comfort fic that you'll go back and read again on a bad day.

I will often resort to my own fic when I’m really down simply because it helps me get to sleep :D and it is kinda tailored to me ::grins:: (and my memory is that bad I often forget what I wrote anyway – yes, it is that bad) But there are also a few on my FF.net favourites list. Mostly hurt/comfort in a Virg flavour. Cheesycheese, nhsweetcherry, A Small Rescue by Nalina, Breathe Easy and Under the Weather by @loopstagirl – several of hers, in fact – the Virg ones :D Pretty much anything that has Virg fainting and being looked after apparently :D Chiddi and Veggie fic, of course.

Favourite piece of fan art.

I have never been so honoured by artists before. This fandom has some amazing skills and I have been gifted some beautiful works. You guys are amazing (I keep saying it like a broken record, but you are).

Again, I’m stuck on having to list one and I can’t. I think Fanart Appreciation Month in January pretty much summed up my opinion.

Who have you known the longest in the fandom.

@the-lady-razorsharp followed by @vegetacide both wonderful peeps. I can’t miss out on @weirdburketeer either for her amazing support almost from day one.

Favourite OC.

I have to say that I really enjoy reading about Ray from @i-am-chidorixblossom ‘s fics :D He is so gentle and kind and just ::sigh:: Virg likes him lots :D Selene by @willow-salix is, of course, a major presence in the fandom and amazingly written. @hedwigstalons ‘ Claire is lovely.

Person who supports your work the most.

The Thunderfam? There have been some wonderful people who support all the time. @hedwigstalons @cg29 @janetm74 @weirdburketeer in particular have been amazing support liking and commenting on just about everything I write. I honestly don’t know how they do it. Plus several peeps over on FF.net and Ao3 who support me over there.

And then there are the poor souls who put up with me in chat and listen to my wibblies and whining and character checks and field random chunks of writing that get thrown their way. @scribbles97 @vegetacide @the-lady-razorsharp @tsarinatorment @i-am-chidorixblossom @onereyofstarlight @godsliltippy @willow-salix @janetm74 all have had random passages thrown at them at all times of the day and night by a crazy me begging for feedback. Does this work? Is this in character? Am I insane? What the hell is Scott doing? Is this John??? I give up, tell me what to do? Virgil is driving me insane! So, um, yeah

Person who's progress you are the most proud of.

I love those peeps who appear in fandom who start off poking around commenting and generally being lovely and then all of a sudden get out their own pens and start writing and they are frickin’ amazing! Both @janetm74 and @hedwigstalons come to mind in this department. Like holy cow – ‘here is my first fic and I’m not sure’ ::reads it:: Omigod! Where did you come from? That was amazing. Sit down here now, keep doing that writing thing, bloody hell! I think being brave enough to pick up a pen and join in is a major thing :D

Person who's story you think is underrated and should be read by more people.

If I find fic I like, I reblog it and shout about it. What I like is definitely skewed in a Virgil direction and this dictates often what I’m going to read first. I can’t reblog what I haven’t read. So, this equation will always be skewed by ‘reasons I haven’t read a fic’ which mostly involves either Virgil or the fact I’m juggling RL. So, my answer to this is if I think a fic needs to be shouted about, I shout about it.

Something you think people would say about you.

She’s nutty.

Silliest 'thing' you do with someone.

I’ve been known to write fic on the fly directly into chat windows to try and distract peeps going through shitty times.

Favourite pairing you now Stan because of someone's fic.

Virgil/Kayo because of @vegetacide for reasons I have blamed her for multiple times. @the-lady-razorsharp and @weirdburketeer were accessories to the fact.

Favourite headcanon from someone's fic.

Um, Virgil and coffee? I got that from somewhere and it has infiltrated my fic…a lot.

Ultimately, though, I feel most people I interact with contribute to my fic and how I’m feeling. This has been a wonderful experience. I try to return the support as much as I can, but sometimes it is a juggle between writing more, my stupid fluctuating mood, the demands of RL and my own creative drive. I hope I’ve helped a few peeps, because you guys have certainly helped me ::major group hug::

And yes, I hug a lot, because to be honest, I have no other descriptor to communicate how I feel, so you get buckets of hugs :D

Tagging the Thunderfam. Feel free to grab these questions and run with them. You’re all part of the gang whether you write, read, art, gif, screenshot, chat, babble, stare at Virgil all day...I know I do a lot of staring.

Nutty

(Thunderfam rocks!)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderfam #thunderfam rock

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tickle-fic-chick · 4 years ago

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Mr. Tough, Ticklish Athlete || A Breakfast Club Tickle Fic

Author’s Note: Andrew has to be one of my favorite lees to write for. I just love supposedly tough guys who bust into giggles the minute you wiggle your fingers in their direction. Bender would also make a stellar ler, in my humble opinion. Anyways, this fic has taken a little longer than expected, but I still hope you all enjoy!

What was happening? How had things gotten to this point? No one knew for sure. Things just tended to happen to the so-called Breakfast Club and they took it all in stride. None of them were what you would consider normal, besides maybe Claire and Andrew, so the odd directions their conversations and actions took rarely surprised them. The boys had been hanging out in the library, enjoying a much needed break from their school work. The room was completely empty; no one would choose to be in the library, after all. Claire and Allision had skipped school, deciding that a girl’s day out would be beneficial before the stress of exams, leaving the boys completely unsupervised. As expected, things went south quickly.

“What did you just say to me?” Bender growled, getting to his feet. The athlete's eyes widened, his mouth going dry. Still, he forced a smirk back onto his face. “I just suggested that you might not be as tough as you say you are.” Brian, the innocent bystander in this oncoming war, simply watched it happen. “Those are fighting words, Clark.” The criminal replied, taking a step towards the blonde. Andrew barely held back a flinch. “Oh really? What are you gonna do, snuggle me to death?” Bender’s cheeks instantly went red. The rest of the group had caught him and Claire snuggling a week ago and no one would let it go, especially Andrew. Well, he would show him! “That’s it!” Bender lunged towards Andrew, who barely managed to scramble away in time. “You’ve done it now, Andrew.” Brian chuckled, shaking his head as he watched the two dance around each other.

Andrew was looking for any possible escape route. His heart was hammering with excitement and nervousness. While he loved being tickled, a fact that his friends knew quite well, that didn’t mean he would make it easy on Bender. He couldn’t let himself be taken so easily; that would be downright embarrassing. He had to maintain his image as the tough athlete, after all. He slowly backed away, eyes darting towards the double doors on the other side of the empty library. If he could just make it to them, he could find a hiding place. Then again, moving to the hallways meant a higher chance of someone seeing them. That was the last thing he wanted. Still, if he made it to a more crowded area, maybe Bender would leave him be? The criminal wasn’t one for public displays of affection, after all. He would be safe if he could just make it to the...

The blonde was suddenly on the ground, his butt sore from the fall. He had tripped over something. Glancing over, he saw Brian slowly move his leg back into its previous position. That bastard had tripped him! He was so going to get him for that! Before Andrew could blink, Bender was upon him, pinning him to the floor. “Brian, keep watch. Warn me if anyone comes in.” He instructed. The nerd nodded, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Will do.” He replied. Andrew was squirming, trying half-heartedly to break free. “You cheaters!” Bender smirked down at his trapped prey, positioning his free hand over Andrew’s exposed stomach. “You aren’t in a position to be making such accusations.” That smirk was downright evil. “Now, I’m going to give you one chance to apologize.” Silence. “Alright, you had your chance!”

Andrew’s eyes widened, a plea tearing from his throat. “W-Wait! Bender, don’t you-” He was cut off as laughter overtook him. Bender’s hand vibrated ruthlessly into his toned stomach, driving his friend up the wall. “We’ve only just started and you’re laughing this hard? Jesus, man! You’re more sensitive than a girl.” The brunette teased. Andrew blushed, attempting to hide his face in his shoulder. “SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT UP!” He cackled. Bender gasped, face showing exaggerated shock. “Take that back!” One of his fingers slipped into Andrew’s belly button, drawing more hysterical laughter from the blonde. “NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHO WAHAHAHAHAY!” The other shot back, determined not to give in. Bender kept up the attack for a minute before giving Andrew a break.

Since regular tickling seemed to be getting them nowhere, Bender decided to take it up a notch. “Oh really? We’ll see about that...” He tugged up Andrew’s shirt to expose his stomach. Andrew’s eyes widened, giggles erupting from his lips. “Dohohohon’t you dare!” He yelped. Bender’s smirk was downright evil. “What was that, tough guy? Did you say something?” Andrew instantly clammed up. Before he could gain his bearings, Bender was glowing raspberry after raspberry into his stomach. He shrieked, hips bucking as he cackled his head off. Brian winced; he could only imagine being in that position. This ruthless attack kept up until Andrew’s cheeks hurt from laughing so hard. He never could handle raspberries or tickle bites; they were absolutely killer for him. He panted when Bender finally decided to give him a break.

“Well, since you have refused to cooperate, I’m afraid I’ll have to take drastic measures.” Bender moved down, sitting on Andrew’s lower legs. The athlete instantly knows what is about to happen. “N-No, wait! Bender, wehehe can talk about this!” He was already giggling. Brian and Bender couldn’t help but grin; Andrew’s laughter was downright infectious. “Just apologize if you really don’t want him to do it.” Brian replied. They were once again met with silence. Just as Bender was about to take of Andrew’s shoes, they heard the door open. “Librarian!” Brian yelped in an excited whisper. Bender was instantly back in his chair, leaving Andrew on the floor. The librarian glanced at them as she passed but didn’t question them.

Andrew looked up at the two, disappointment clear in his eyes. He resembled a kicked puppy, which just broke their hearts. Bender smirked, leaning over and whispering to the dejected Andrew. “I’m not finished with you, tough guy. As soon as we’re alone, you’re mine.” Andrew’s cheeks instantly returned to their red color, his heart leaping with joy. He tried to stammer out a reply, his words jumbling in his mouth. What could he say to that? Did he thank him? Or did he keep up the visaed of the big, strong athlete? In the end, he chose to say nothing. It didn’t matter because, in truth, he didn’t have to say anything. Bender got the message loud and clear.

A few hours later, when school ended, Bender was waiting for Andrew outside the school. The blonde instantly filled with nervous excitement. Bender’s lips curled into a smirk, hands slipping into his pockets. Despite his casual stance, he was extremely intimidating to Andrew. Not that he minded, of course. “My parents are out of town for the weekend. Want to come over and finish our little discussion?” Andrew nodded, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Only if you’re finally going to admit that I’m right.” He shot back playfully. Bender glanced around, making sure no one was watching before growling his response into the athlete's ear. “You’re going to regret that, Clark. Just wait until we get to my place.”

Andrew did not regret it one bit.

#andrew clark #john bender #brian johnson #the breakfast club #tickle fic #tickling #tickle community #tickle blog #writing blog

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razieltwelve · 4 years ago

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Routine (Final Rose AU)

Willow opened her eyes and bit back a smile. As usual, Snow was already up although he’d taken care not to wake either her or Serah. It was equal parts thoughtfulness and self-preservation. Serah might have been the smallest out of the three of them, but she was also the most ferocious. It was also a horrible idea to anger someone who could mess with time.

And speaking of time, it was about time for her to get up and check on her father. He hadn’t wanted to move to Vale, but his worsening health had not been helped by the climate in Atlas. Thankfully, a combination of Willow’s pleading, Serah’s tyranny, and Snow’s good natured cheer had eventually won her father over. It hadn’t hurt that he’d be able to see his grandchildren every day either since he’d be moving in with them.

Some wealthy men might have chafed at moving from a mansion to a spacious but not gigantic home in the suburbs. However, her father had not grown up wealthy. He’d become wealthy through hard work, perseverance, and intelligence. He might enjoy being wealthy, but he prized his family above everything else.

She dressed quickly, taking a brief moment to tuck the blankets back in around Serah, before making her way downstairs. There were voices coming from the living room, and she was pleased to hear her father’s amongst them. His voice was strong and clear. It must be one of his good days.

“Good morning.” Willow pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek and grinned as the children looked appropriately horrified. “What are you up to this morning?”

Her father chuckled and gestured at the blocks scattered on the living room floor. “The children are building a Dust mine.”

“Are they?” Willow eyed the blocks scattered on the ground with a more discerning eye. Her father was right. It might be far from complete, but they were putting together a Dust mine. In fact... “Would you happen to be helping them with the design, father?”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, grin widening a fraction.

“Unless I’m mistaken, it’s based on the very first mine you ever found. You’ve told me about it enough times that I can recognise the layout even if it’s not complete.”

He chuckled. “Ah, you’ve got me. The kids asked me about it, so I thought it would be nice to build a copy, so they’ve got something to help them visualise the stories.”

Winter, the oldest of the children, nodded. “Since we’ve never been there, it would definitely help.” She shrugged. “I mean... we could look it up on the InfoNet, but building it ourselves just feels right.” She gestured at Claire, Weiss, and Whitley who were all doing their bit to add to the model of the mine. “And it’s something we can do together.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Willow glanced toward the kitchen. “Is your father cooking?”

“Yes.” Winter sniffed the air. “I think he’s making bacon although he did mention something about pancakes and omelettes too.”

“I’ll go help him out. Keep working on the mine with your grandfather.”

“Is Serah Mom going to be up soon?” Winter asked.

“She’ll be up when she’s up.” Willow giggled. “You know how she is.”

“So right before breakfast?” Winter asked.

“Most likely.”

As Willow headed for the kitchen, she thought about the other woman. Serah was not a morning person at all, which usually left her or Snow to handle breakfast. However, she was definitely an afternoon and evening person, so she was perfectly happy handling lunch and dinner.

“Morning.” Willow would have kissed Snow, but the tall man was in the midst of cooking several things at once with the aid of his Semblance. “My father looks like he’s having one of his good days today.”

Snow continued cooking, but she could hear the relief in his voice as he worked on the omelettes. “He always does a little worse when it’s cold at night, even with the heat on, but we’re coming into spring now, so I think he’ll have more good days than bad ones.” One of his Semblance’s hands flipped over a pancake. “I think having the kids around helps. I just hope Vanille will have a cure ready in time.”

“I hope so too,” Willow said as she slipped into place next to Snow, taking over the pancakes. “Although he’s already grateful for the time her treatment has been able to give him. Still...”

“It’s Vanille,” Snow said. “She said she’ll get it done, so she’ll get it done - by hook or by crook. That’s just how she is. And just think of how many other people any cure she comes up with will be able to help. There’s a lot of former and current miners out there with problems like your father.”

“I know.” Willow sighed. At the moment, Vanille’s treatment was basically keeping her father from deteriorating, but the prospect of a cure - something that could actually get him healthy again was tantalising. She could remember her childhood. Her father had been a strong, larger than life figure. His illness had robbed him of much of his vitality, and he was a shell of his former self from a physical standpoint. If it wasn’t for his willpower, she was certain he’d have died long before Vanille had gotten a chance to stabilise his condition. “I just worry.”

“Hey, we all do,” Snow said. “I never knew my parents,” he murmured. “I grew up in an orphanage. Your dad, well, he’s been kind of like a dad to me too.” He paused. “And I’m just glad that Vanille isn’t here right now because hearing me say your dad was like my dad would have a sister fixation joke thrown at me so fast.”

“Don’t worry. I’d stab her with a fork.” Willow turned away from the pancakes briefly as Serah shambled in. “Or I’d try. I don’t think my sister would actually let me stab her.” She yawned. “You two want coffee?”

“Sure,” Willow said. “Snow?”

“Yeah, some coffee would be good.”

“Fantastic, because I could definitely use some.” Serah got the coffee going, frowned at it, and then gestured with one hand. A second later the coffee was done.

“Did you just use your Semblance to make coffee faster?” Willow asked with a grin.

“Of course, I did. If you can’t use your Semblance to make every day life easier, then what is it good for?” Serah poured out three mugs of coffee.

“I don’t know,” Snow drawled. “Saving the world?”

“I can save the world and make coffee faster.” Serah shook her head. “Did you know Vanille built a rebellious coffee machine? I don’t even know why she felt the urge to make it sentient. On the upside, it likes Lumina and the kids. Its rebellion is entirely specific to her.”

“That’s Vanille for you.” Willow gestured vaguely at the pancakes. “A little help?”

“Sure.” Serah waved her hand at the pancakes. “Just keep a close eye on them. If they cook faster, they’ll also burn faster too.”

“I know.” Willow had gotten used to working with Serah’s Semblance. For one, it made making a roast far quicker and easier. And it had saved the day when she’d forgotten to put the turkey in before a big meal. “You two don’t have any missions for a while, do you?”

“A whole fortnight off,” Snow replied. “Well... unless the apocalypse happens, then it’s all hands on deck.”

“The same.” Serah sighed contently as she drank her coffee. “I’ve got the next two weeks off, as well, so my students are going to have to live without me.” She cackled. “I wonder if they’ll get complacent? It’ll make the surprise survival test I’ve got planned even more fun if they do.”

“You’re evil,” Willow teased.

“Hey, being a hunter isn’t easy. I’d rather my students suffer during training, so they don’t have to suffer out in the real world.”

“That’s true, I suppose.” Willow patted her cheek thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely free over the next two weeks. I still have to go into the office at least twice a week.”

“It’s fine,” Serah said. “You’ve got to run the company to give your dad more time to get better. I’m amazed you only have to go in two or three times a week, actually.”

“It helps that my father and I have made a point of hiring competent subordinates instead of bootlickers, and that we’ve partnered with Vanille’s company on a lot of our projects. I’d hate to get into a corporate war with her, and she’s got minion management down to a science.”

“But you’ll be okay for the visit to Sazh’s ranch, right?” Snow asked. “The kids have been dying to go. Winter has already ridden a chocobo, but the others were too young the last time we went. In fact, Whitley might still be too young although maybe not if Sazh still has that easy-going yellow chocobo.”

“I’ll be there,” Willow said. “I wouldn’t miss it. I know my father will love seeing Mangler again.”

“That thing is pure evil,” Snow muttered. “Lightning punched the crap out of him, and instead of being freaked out, I swear he was impressed.”

“Well, my father and Mangler get along pretty well. He actually looked a little worried the last time they met. I think he was shocked by how ill my father looked.”

“He’ll be happy then since your father is looking better.” Serah started making some hot chocolate for the kids and Willow’s father. “He’s a jerk, but I think he’d miss your father if something happened to him.” She made an exasperated sound. “We just have to remind the kids that, no, they can’t try to ride Mangler.”

“Yeah, no.” Willow shuddered. “Lightning and Fang won’t let Diana try, and she’s got Ragnarok. There is no way we’re letting the kids try. They can all ride nice friendly chocobos.”

“I’m going to start setting the table,” Serah said, sniffing the air. “By the smell of it, everything should be done soon.”

“Do you need a hand?” Snow asked, a glowing blue hand appearing beside her.

Willow snickered. “You say that every time, Snow.”

“Because it’s funny.”

“I beg to differ,” Serah replied.

X X X

Author’s Notes

A glimpse into what Willow’s life could have been...

#final rose #fanfiction #snow villiers #willow schnee #winter schnee #nicholas schnee #serah farron

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carib0us · 3 years ago

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Harry Potter and the magical academy 01

Harry Potter's adventures continue at a magical school in England where he rescues a girl named Hermione from a troll. But no one is what they seem, including Harry him/herself.

A School of Magic! Harry Meets Hermione

As Harry Potter ran to the unused classroom where the sounds of a struggle were coming from, she didn't have time to ponder where she was or why. She really, really hoped this would work, and she only had a few seconds to fret over what would possess a girl to be so stupid as to wander off where a troll could get her. A revelo wouldn't work here. As a boy (and, in his own estimation, a very handsome one) he'd gone through all of Jeanette's naked rituals by various kinds of trees to "build up magical potential" but despite being a nymph, she hadn't taken any liberties as he'd rather hoped she would. On paper, conturbabimus would work long enough to drag the idiotic girl away before the troll could gather its wits and start serious spell-casting.

She kicked the door open and yelled the incantation without even looking around. Both figures struggling on the floor suddenly went slack and stared around them.

Harry dragged the girl (not bad looking but very dowdy) through the dusty, nondescript door and cast adfigo on it — another first attempt that worked. She owed Jeanette a debt of thanks. Eunice St. Clair, too. From the pounding the door was now taking, it was more than holding up. The girl was coming to her senses, so they dashed toward where she told Harry her room was. When they reached the section, the girl first made a complex gesture and said, "Nuntius Amelia Cackle hazardous being in the North Tower corridor, last room!", causing a white bird to appear and fly off with a scrap of paper in its beak, then spelled Harry in, and they ended up sitting on her bed. The girl was still shaking a bit but she smiled at Harry.

"Thank you for saving me from .... was that a troll?"

"A troll wizard, I guess you'd call it."

"That's supposed to be impossible, you know. But in any case, thank you ... "

"Harriet Potter. Named after my father, Harry Potter, senior. I go by Harry preferentially."

"Ah, I am Hermione ...... " the girl paused. " ... Grant. Hermione Grant."

Harry had never prided himself on his intellect. When it came to the things that interested him, like friends, girls, girlfriends (you get the picture), he'd seen that having a pretty face was far more important than whatever you had going on behind it. Not that that applied now. He'd barely had time to see his new form in a mirror, and had wasted that having a breakdown (what Madame St. Clair called 'throwing a tantrum', in fact). But who would blame him? He'd been a 15-year-old boy, his family's weirdness behind him, his little sister in one place for once, and nothing to worry about in the future but juggling phone numbers from hot girls. Now, thanks to what Eunice St. Clair had had Jeanette and the other Fae do to him, he was a dowdy, four-eyed eleven-year-old girl. Moreover, he wasn't in San Francisco anymore. He was in Wimbledon, and not here as a tennis champion, which would have been hot and garnered abundant female attention. He - or rather, she — was at a crazy school of magic the other people in Wimbledon could not even see.

All that said, even someone like Harry could tell the girl was lying.

"Umm, haven't you even checked in here?" she said. "I hope you were able to remember your name a bit better then, if so."

"Well, then, Harry Potter, if we're talking about not being what we seem?" she responded, looking her in the eye. Somehow, she knew. Maybe not everything that was up with Harry, but some of it, for sure. She decided it was the better part of valor to drop the subject. But that led to a different one.

"You are certainly powerful and educated in spell-crafting for an eleven-year-old, I have to say," Harry began.

"Oh?" asked Hermione, raising one eyebrow. Really, she could be actually cute if she'd taken the least little care for her appearance. Her dark, bushy hair was medium length, but cut as if someone had brushed it all out then cut it all off at the same length, then done for her bangs with a mixing bowl and a fabric shears.

"I almost am surprised you didn't overcome To .... the troll," Harry continued, catching herself.

"Your friend To the Troll has magic I've never encountered. That did not seem to be the case for you." Once again, she met her eyes, and Harry had to look away.

"Well," Harry responded clumsily.

"Well, indeed. Let's go have some tea and something to eat, shall we?"

With that, Hermione turned to bend over her bed and reach her bag. She came up smiling for some reason, and then they left, with Hermione spelling them out of the common area.

En route to the dining hall, she pulled Harry to a halt. "I realize we have a sort of detente going on, Harry, and I am genuinely grateful, but we must talk. You were staring at my breasts — what little I have — more than meeting my eyes when we were talking. When you did meet my gaze, you were thoughtful, as if evaluating how much better I might look if I fixed myself up, and paused when you got to my lips, at which point you licked your own. When I bent over to get my bag, in the mirror I saw you were drooling over my bum." She had her hands on her hips and a satisfied expression on her face. "I am sorry if I was short with you when you pointed out my mistake. It's elementary that you pick a name, stick to it, and say it automatically. The answer to your question is that nervousness such as to make you stammer out your name is quite expected here at Miss Cackle's, and in fact, the faculty and other students find it endearing. But I wished to return the favor, if your goal is to be discreet."

When they got to the dining hall and summoned tea and a small lunch, Harry and Hermione sat away from the others. Hermione said, "murmurati" as they sat down, which she explained would not silence them, just make it tricky to make out anything they were saying. Then she asked Harry, "Would you agree both of us have secrets, and our own agenda, here at Miss Cackle's?"

Harry nodded.

"And am I correct in saying you are lamenting the fact that your social life will be somewhat truncated? I honestly suspect you are a bit older than you look, probably in your prime dating age."

Harry looked at her, astonished.

"Well, if that surprised you .... Harry, we are going to have to be allies. If you did not mean me well, you could have let that troll you know finish me off, for one thing."

"Well ..." Harry interrupted.

"Well?"

"He doesn't do that. He's evil, all right but he thinks killing is a waste."

"Oh? So what was my fate to be?"

"He would put you in a glass coffin, probably. It's what he did to my sister, Wendy. And then assume your form and wreak havoc."

"And what's preventing that now? Well, Amelia will probably sort him out."

"Uh." Harry looked a little ill.

"What?"

"Well, he can expand a room like that until it's so big he won't be found easily. It's one of his spells."

"So, regardless of my plans, I have to help deal with a shape-changing troll wizard who could be anyone? Am I hearing this correctly? And of course you are aware that trolls are mostly resistant to magic — here in an academy devoted to nothing but?"

Harry could only nod.

"Does he take liberties with the girls? Or are there some small mercies here?"

"I think he's still obsessed with my little sister ... Or, well, now she'd be a bit older than me, wouldn't she? He wanted her to be his consort in his dark kingdom, after all."

"At any rate, Harry, if you wish to keep me company here, I would not mind. My own experiences at girls' academies have made me open to such arrangements, and I can be very discreet, and instruct you as well, if it comes to that. But, hmm... okay, enough secret-sharing. Let's get you up to speed about Miss Cackle's Academy, shall we?"

She paused. "My true surname is actually Cackle. Since I share that with the headmistress, Amelia Cackle, and her twin Agatha - who is, I assure you, quite the piece of work - and since my existence has been heretofore absolutely unknown, you can see how that could be confusing at "Miss Cackle's Academy of Magic?"

After Harry nodded, Hermione gave her a brief overview of the school. She encouraged Harry to meet a few of the students over lunch and meet up with her afterwards. Since it was, after all, an all-girl school, Harriet had no objection to that plan whatsoever. It was time to see if girl-Harry still had game.

#writing #harry potter and the magical academy #harry x hermione #yuri

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renee-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Songs of An Outlander Chapter 18 Home and Family

The months went by and Claire and Jenny get bigger and bigger. When they reach 7 months, they are asked by their concerned husbands to confine themselves to knitting and sewing.

“Knitting and sewing,” Jenny grumbles from her seat in the great room. Her feet are up and a pile of Ian and Wee Jamie's shirts that need repaired are beside her. “I can do much more than this!”

Claire smiles at her from the couch where she sits knitting. She has just recently picked up this skill. Her husband had taught her to her surprise. “Och Sassanech, we Scot learn to clank the needles as soon as we can hold them. Something to keep our hands busy when we can’t do other things.” She smiles as she attempts to form the soft yarn into booties.

“They know we can. But the servants have it in hand and some of the tenants wife’s are also assisting. We will have more to do then we have hands for soon. With two year old boys and newborns.” Fergus is on the cusp of two and has recently started sharing a room with his cousin of the same age.

“I ken your meaning sister. I just feel like I am doing nothing.”

“You are growing a life. That is not nothing daughter.” Brian replies as he comes in. Jenny smiles at him. “Where is Fergus?”

“Jamie has him out in the stables with the horses.” Claire bites her lips. It worries her a bit, Jamie's insistence on teaching their toddler son how to ride, feed, and brush down the ponies.

“Dinna fash Claire. Jamie has been around horses since he was younger then the lad. He will teach my grandson how to be a horse man while seeing nae harm comes to him.”

She knows he is right. Jamie will make sure their son is safe. He has a touch with the animals. A gift. He is taken that gift to start a breeding program for the infantry that both King George and King James have need of. The horses of Lallybroch have a reputation of being the best in all of the Highlands. She smiles when she thinks of all they have done since their return. The awe inspiring change in history.

Besides providing horses for King James, her Jamie and Brian have also helped him start his government. Scotland ruling herself in peace made her wellup with tears whenever she thought of it. Brian is also making, with the help of his son and son-in-law, some of the finest spirits in the distillery started just since they have returned. Jarrod is helping with the selling across Europe. Lallybroch is prosperous and growing. Her hand runs across her bump and her daughter( she firmly believes) rises to meet her.

It is getting cold and she stands, after a few attempts, and grabs the shawl. Wrapping it around her, she walks to the window. It looks like snow and she wishes Fergus in. Just when she is about to sent someone after him, Jamie walks in with a giggling Fergus hanging off his arm.

“Claire, my heart, seems I have a growth on my arm. Can you help me get it off?” Laughing with them, she lifts Fergus into her arms.

“Offf, you weigh a ton, my wee lad. I soon won't be able to lift you.” He kisses her. Her husband and son returning home, smelling of hay and the fresh crisp air, brings peace to her. He is building a smaller house, by the big house, for their growing family but she wants to stay in the big house until she delivers.

Later that night, she sits between her son and nephew. She intends to finish the story of Snow White tonight. She had to go back and catch Wee Jamie up. Fergus recalled part of the story but didn't mind hearing it again, especially the songs. He still loves to hear her sing.

“So, the animals keep trying to warn Snow White but she just doesn’t get it. Finally, they run off to get the dwarfs. Snow White takes the offered apple not aware of the evil intent of the disguised auld woman. One bite is all it takes and she falls into a sleep like death. The apple falls out of her hand and rolls across the floor.” The boys gasp. “The drawfs realize that the animals want them to follow them home. The do and find Snow White, laying as still as death on the floor. The wicked stepmother had left with a cackle after completing her evil mission. The bury her above ground in a glass coffin, see, she is far to beautiful to be hidden. Time passes and a prince hears of the beautiful princess in her glass coffin guarded by the forest animals and dwarfs. He must see her. He comes and looks upon her beauty. He must kiss her. So, he lifts the lid of the coffin and does. At the touch of his lips, she awakens! True loves kiss from her prince breaks the poisons spell.” She stops seeing the boys are both asleep.

“They love your stories.” Jamie says from the doorway.

“There are plenty more.” She lifts herself up and frowns, her hand going to her belly.

“My heart, are you alright? Is it the bairn?”

“I am okay. The baby is just kicking hard.”

He comes up and places his hands over his heaving child. “Bad form lad. Be still and give your mam a break.” He takes Claire’s hand. “Come love. Let’s to bed.”

As the winter deepened, Jenny gives birth to a lass, a fine dark haired baby they name Margaret that will be called Maggie. That is in Nov. Claire knows that her own child will be born soon and asks the midwife to stay, fearing she won't be able to travel over the snow.

Mary was back after having asked for leave to see her beau in Paris. They send Murtagh with her. She returns a few months later, on the arm of Alex Randall! It is shocking to see her with the brother of Black Jack. They soon learn he is the polar opposite of his evil brother. Right before Maggie is born, Alex comes to Jamie and asks for Mary's hand. Permission he gives. The lad has proved himself good for the lass and he is a huge help and a willing hand to help with anything asked of him.

They move into a croft on the property. She still helps with Fergus, as well as Wee Jamie and Maggie. So, she is available one snowy day when Claire’s pains start.

“Go fetch the midwife, Jenny, and Maggie. It is time.” She calmly tells Jamie. He hurries off to do it, with his heart in his throat. She had to use the loo when her waters broke.

Jenny helps her into a new shift. The commotion wakes Fergus, who comes in rubbing his eyes.

“Mam?”

“It is okay lad. Your mam is just having her baby. Come, let me read you a story.” Mary leads him back to he and Wee Jamie's room.

The midwife comes and they begin to walk, pacing off the hours of labor. She curses freely as they make laps around the room. Jamie both wishes to leave and to stay. It matters not as his wife is letting him go nowhere. She holds tight to his hand through the pain.

“I need to push!” She announces after an eternity, or so it seems. The midwife leads her to the birthing stool and she leans against Jamie and grunts under the force that desires to bring her child forth. It isn’t long before the midwife is guiding the child out.

“This a lass.” She announces as the red haired child is lifted into her mam's arms.

“A daughter, I knew it.” Said through her tears.

“You did.” An overwhelmed Jamie says as he looks down at his daughter.

“You don't mind that she isn't a boy?”

“Och nae. I've a son. She is a beauty.”

“Yes, our beautiful Iona Janet.”

She is cleaned up, her and her mam. They are placed in bed where she takes her first meal.

“I ma going to tell da he has another granddaughter.” When he and Brian returns, they find Fergus cuddled to his mam's side, staring awed at his sister. Brian's eyes fill with tears. A new granddaughter. A blessed man is he! Two bawl grandsons and now two beautiful granddaughters.

“We did good Ellen.” He whispers in his heart before he steps forward to meet the latest of his blood.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #songs of an outlander #home and family

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hibiscusangel15 · 5 years ago

Text

And Two-Brains Got Away!

Hey @newsiegirlscout! So sorry it’s late, but here’s your Secret Santa gift! You asked for either Tobey having family fun with his mother or Tobey and Two-Brains bonding, but I decided to write a fanfic covering both at once! :D

I hope you had a lovely Christmas and have a very happy new year/decade!

Thanks to @void-apocalypse for hosting the gift exchange, too!

Tobey’s life was always full of last-minutes. Last-minute plans, last-minute cancellations, last-minute, well, everything.

It’d been this way as far as he could remember. This constant unpredictability might have fazed some people, but never him. At least he could construct his robots in peace while she was out.

So when his mother suggested they go out and get a nice Christmas tree right on Christmas morning, Tobey wasn’t at all surprised.

The tree lot was barren save for a few ramshackle bundles of sticks that hardly qualified as a “tree”. That didn’t stop the overexcited salesman from trying to push one onto his mother, though.

He sighed, and the crisp winter air spooled out before him like a puff of smoke. What a foolish endeavor. Didn’t the salesman know who he was even talking to? There was no way his mother would shill out a penny for a pathetic twig like that.

Tobey eyed the enormous pine tree by the salesman’s cabin. It had a massive trunk nearly as wide as it was tall, and the tree was tall enough to rival even his robuts’ heights. Not a practical Christmas tree by any means, but it was by far the best option here.

“Pardon me, Mr. Salesman,” Tobey piped up right as the man showed off yet another pathetic excuse of a tree. “But would you be willing to part with that one over there?”

The salesman hardly glanced over at the towering pine before he burst out laughing. “Ol’ Piney’s been there since before I was born! Family’s tried fer years to tear ‘er down, but ain’t nobody’s been successful yet!”

“So if I were able to take it down, would you let us bring it home?” Tobey pressed.

The salesman roared again. “Persistent lil’ feller, ain’t ya?” He wiped his nose and looked up at the tree once more. “Tell ya what. If you can somehow cut Ol’ Piney down, I’ll let ya have ‘er, free of charge!”

A wicked grin split across Tobey’s face. “‘Free of charge’, hm?”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “Tobey? What are you plotting?”

Instead of answering, Tobey dug a remote from his pocket and pressed a sequence into it with a needless flair. The ground rumbled as something massive approached closer...and closer.

The few crows that had settled on “Ol' Piney” scattered away just as one of Tobey’s robots strolled casually down the street up to them. The shady salesman sputtered out a few incoherent syllables as the robot stooped to pluck Old Piney up like a flower, roots and all.

“You...You cheated,” the salesman wheezed, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Tobey nearly burst out in maniacal laughter. What a sore loser.

“You never specified how I was to take this tree down, my good sir. I thought using my robut would be fair game.” He blinked innocently up at the two adults staring down at him.

Much to his surprise, his mother started to laugh. A lot.

The sound was infectious, and soon, the two of them found themselves laughing all the way back home again.

Claire wiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Oh...Oh goodness, Tobey! You really showed him!”

“Serves him right for trying to peddle mere twigs to a lawyer and the world’s most formidable boy genius!” Tobey huffed.

His smug guise soon dispersed into childish giggles when his mother ruffled his hair. “Tobey, your mischief has proven to be rather valuable this time, so I’ll let the use of your robots slide just this once.”

They leapt up in their seats when the robot set the tree next to their house with a resounding boom, garnering even more foolish laughter from them both.

Most of their day after was dedicated to decorating their new Christmas tree. It had been some time since he and his mother had been downtown, but Tobey would bet that their tree was far superior to the shrub in front of City Hall.

At last, his robot daintily placed their enormous Christmas star on top. Tobey held the switch to his mother, and she flipped the heavy lever “On”.

A gentle flood of light washed over their yard like light snowfall. Not bad for having set it up just that day.

Claire wrapped an arm around her son’s shoulders, her eyes gleaming with a keen pride. “Merry Christmas, Tobey.”

“Merry Christmas, mother,” he whispered as he settled against her.

After watching the lights dance along their tree for a few moments longer, the two headed inside to stir up some hot chocolate and pop some kettle corn.

Last-minute tree. Last-minute cocoa. Last-minute present exchanges.

Yes, some people might not appreciate the rushed nature of it all. Tobey McCallister, however, couldn’t imagine a better Christmas with his mother.

It was perfect.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Or at least it was until someone knocked insistently on their front door.

They exchanged glances with one another, but it was clear from the puzzled looks on both their faces that neither of them were expecting anyone.

The door burst open as soon as his mother unlatched the last lock.

“Merry Christmas!” Doctor Two-Brains and his two henchmen yelled. Two-Brains was dressed up in a horrid Santa suit while the two henchmen flanking him had put on green hats with jingling bells on the end of them.

Claire put a hand over her heart. “Oh my!”

“Ho ho ho and etcetera.” Two-Brains rolled his hand as if he couldn’t be bothered to introduce himself properly. “I heard that a very naughty boy lives here! I’ve come to give him a lump of coal!”

The henchmen giggled to themselves as they fished out a large black lump from the red bag their boss toted around. The “lump of coal” in question was in reality just a poorly wrapped gift plopped right onto his lap. Tobey even saw the end of a ray gun poking through the wrapping but decided not to say anything about it.

“Oh, how...thoughtful…” Tobey mused as he caught his mother’s stern eye. Once he managed to tear off all the crumpled wrapping paper, Two-Brains cackled like he had pulled the greatest prank known to villain-kind.

“Did I say lump of coal? I meant ray gun!” Two-Brains-Santa said. “Naughty boys get lumps of coal. Evil villain boys, on the other hand? They get evil villain accessories.”

There was a metallic switch on the side of the ray that said “Shrink” on one side and “Grow” on the other.

Two-Brains flopped onto the couch next to him, moving the switch back and forth like he couldn’t contain his energy. “Just flick the switch, aim, then bam! Make your robots travel-size for easier transport! Flip it back and blam-o! Fifty-foot robots in the blink of an eye!”

He swept his arm out in front of him as if he could picture the scene.

“Now Tobey, what do we say?” his mother prompted.

Tobey resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Thank you, Doctor Two-Brains. I’m sure this will actually prove useful to me in the future.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, but you’re welcome anyway, kid. Aaaaand I got your mother a little something, too, since she’s been very good this year! Almost too good considering how many times I—I mean—renowned villain Doctor Two-Brains ended up in jail.”

Claire blinked when he handed her a gift card to her favorite tea place in town. “Oh! Why, thank you very much! I’m sorry I couldn’t get you anything. I didn’t even know you would be stopping by!”

She threw her son a questioning look, but he just shrugged. He certainly didn’t invite them over.

“This was all a surprise my henchmen and I planned for this year! We got gifts for every villain in town! In fact, Tobey was our last stop, and I gotta tell ya, I am exhausted.” Two-Brains ripped off the fake, itchy beard and fanned himself with his Santa hat.

“Oh! Well, the least I could do is offer you and your henchmen some hot cocoa!” Claire said as she rushed off to do just that.

The henchmen’s eyes brightened. “We love hot cocoa! Thank you so much!”

“It’s my pleasure!” Claire spooned hot chocolate into some chipped Christmas-themed mugs. “Would you like marshmallows?”

“Yes, please!”

A hush fell over the McCallister living room as everyone sipped their delicious cocoa. Considering most of the people there were villains Claire McCallister had sentenced to jail several times, it was unbearably awkward.

“So...cozy place you got here,” Two-Brains began just to lighten the tension.

“Thank you,” his mother said.

“Surprising lack of robots.”

“My room’s full of them,” Tobey replied.

The small talk only fueled the awkwardness even more.

Two-Brains drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch and looked all around, hoping a topic would simply appear out of thin air.

Charlie whispered something in the other henchman’s ear and he smiled.

“Hey, Boss!”

“Yeah, what?”

“Me ‘n Charlie were wondering...since we didn’t get the chance to go caroling at the other villains’ houses...could we sing a few holiday carols here? For Tobey and his mom?”

Again, Tobey and his mother exchanged questioning glances. Just how well could they all sing together anyway?

“Eeeeh, I don’t know….” Two-Brains took Tobey’s shrink ray, switched it to “Grow” mode, then shot it at a wheel of cheese he fished out of his pocket.

“Aw, c’mon, Boss! This could count as your Christmas gift to us!” his henchman begged. Charlie nodded silently along.

Two-Brains jumped at the chance like the cheapskate he was. “Alright then, that’s your present! No take-backs!”

His henchmen giggled to themselves. “Could you...Could you sing that one you made up about WordGirl?”

Tobey sat up straighter in his seat. “A song about WordGirl, you say?”

His eyes darted to the floor when everyone turned to look at him. “I-I mean, boo, a song about WordGirl. Must be a rather boring song.”

Two-Brains snorted. “Nah, I think it’s one you’ll like. It goes a little something like this!”

The doctor took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and began, “Dashing through the snow, in a van made out of cheese, o’er the streets we go, laughing all the way, HAHAHA!”

Despite the inherent ridiculousness of the lyrics, Tobey and his mother couldn’t help but stare in awe at how well Doctor Two-Brains sang. One would expect that his singing would sound just as nasally and near-grating as his speaking voice. Not this beautiful operatic melody before them.

“C’mon, everybody now!” the doctor urged, throwing his hands up in the air.

His henchmen joined in with a low baritone. Charlie waggled his finger to the beat. Even his mother chirped along: “Jingle bells! WordGirl smells! Two-Brains got awaaaaay! Oh what fun it is to steal a great, old, big cheese wheel! Hey!”

Just as they were about to go into the second verse, Two-Brains nudged Tobey’s shoulder. “Don’t you wanna sing along?”

A rare nervous expression flashed across his face for a moment before he replaced it with feigned boredom. “Not really. It’s a rather silly song.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s supposed to be! The holidays are always full of silly stuff like this! Don’t be such a curmudgeon.”

His face flushed. “I...I’m not a curmudgeon!”

“Then sing along with us, kid! C’mon!”

Tobey made a show of rolling his eyes, but eventually joined in anyway. If they chanced a look outside, they might have caught sight of Tobey’s robot peeking in with a wide smile.

“And Two-Brains got AAAAWAAAAAAYYYY! HEY!”

Their voices and warm laughter floated through the window into the winter night.

#Tobey McCallister #Claire McCallister #Doctor Two-Brains #WordGirl #WordGirl Secret Santa 2019 #my fanfiction

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gsbrandson · 5 years ago

Text

Buttermilk

I am the debutante’s offspring.

Streaks of marigold and straw.

My Grandmother once said to me,

“Your cadence, your tongue,

Must mimic a rosewater ellipsis.

It must linger.”

We are the modern-day courtesans.

The muses from Xanadu.

Bathing in the buttermilk,

Poured from a white porcelain pitcher.

A southern delight.

I am a figment of your imagination.

The sensation of fingertip on rose petal.

The unthreatening presence,

That lingers in your grace.

But in reality,

Or something like it,

I am just a dancer.

Living day to day,

Leotard over breast,

On the subways of New York.

I was taught quite young,

How a lady speaks,

Without saying a word.

You don’t have to tell me,

That I have broken the mold.

I already know.

The book that I learned from,

“The Language of Flowers”,

Was written by Sheila Pickles,

In 1989.

The Miss Sheila who taught me how to arabesque,

Ended her professional dance career,

In 1972.

To this day,

Nothing quite compares to the moment,

When she positioned me center stage.

My pointe shoes were colored peach,

And the rouge of my cheeks,

Matched them perfectly,

On opening day.

We performed the Tarantella,

Beginning in a V formation.

Corseted, red and green.

In the grand ballroom,

Underneath the crystal chandelier.

As we finished,

The crowds,

They threw red,

Long stem roses at our feet.

I picked one up,

And placed it between my teeth.

“Passion,”

I thought.

“They want passion.”

Months earlier,

I sat in the study,

At the estate on 108th Avenue.

“Recite to me, dear one,

The meanings,

Of the colors,

Of the rose,”

My grandmother demanded.

I began, meekly:

“Red is for passion,

Blush, for first emotions of love,

Yellow for friendship and remembrance,

And white,

For a love that is spiritual.”

Many an afternoon was dedicated,

To southern etiquette,

The symbols of beauty,

And improving my posture,

A book balanced on my blonde head.

These are the makings of a woman,

In the upper echelon.

A woman whose art,

Is found in her restraint.

The skillset of the demure woman,

Can only be taught,

By studying the most delicate of flowers.

But I had a question.

“The Marigold is oh, so sunny,

In its disposition,

And so robust,

In its form.

Why then is it a symbol for death?

Are there other symbols, Grandmother?

For death?”

Through the beginnings of my dance career,

I received two pieces of advice.

The first,

Being ‘bend so that you do not break’,

And the second,

Being ‘A hint of evil does wonders for the art form.’

I listened,

And moved from the oil money territory,

Of deep Texas,

To a salted soda cracker box,

In Brooklyn.

But my buttermilk would never go completely sour.

I would remain pure and sweet.

“A being of moonlight and cream.”

That’s what you said to me when you found me in the village.

The mink coat I wore,

I bought second hand in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.

It used to belong to someone else’s Grandmother.

The mink coat that you wore,

Belonged to yours.

We were on the naked intersection.

The two tea roses,

In the one bouquet,

Atop the front desk,

Of the Chelsea hotel.

Blooming for all the wrong reasons,

And the fairest of the seasons.

Amongst the baby’s breath,

And the folly.

We were dreaming of men tremendous in stature.

Reminiscing about the times,

When we had our own.

The marksman of the cotillion,

And the king of Buckaroo Ball.

How the Blue Waltz from their mouths,

Was on our pressure points.

And how we allowed it to decant.

But that was all before.

And so we set sail to Coney Island,

On a ship named Susie Q.

The look I gave you was telling.

Yours, in return,

Knowing.

And from your silk garter,

Underneath the petticoats of splendor,

Appeared your golden flask,

Filled with a buttermilk liqueur.

We could see the heat,

The blurred mirage on the horizon.

There was HP-5 in the film compartment,

And visions of Suavies Island on the deck.

The young bucks,

They came out of their cages.

And they asked, quite desperately,

For the directions to our hearts.

After a simultaneous drag,

From French cigarettes,

We pointed them all,

To the ocean.

You are the toast of New York.

Celebrated throughout the generations,

Via streets echoing ragtime jazz.

You were a cocktail waitress back then.

Throwing your pearls,

Not before swine,

But before the Wallstreet banshee’s,

With the most overflowing of wallets.

A fine dining hustler.

And I was the Boutonniere on your lapel,

Reminding you that traditions,

Sometimes,

Were meant to be broken.

In the back of a taxi,

On New Year’s Eve.

We carried Champagne from the wine cellar,

Underneath our mink.

We were cackling,

The witches of the Alamo,

Out of our elements.

High.

The driver asked for our destination.

We exclaimed,

“To Mercury!”

We were speaking the language,

Of the wildflowers now.

Vibrational.

Transcendent.

This really is what makes us girls.

We were suffering,

From a horrible case of root rot.

One the botanists,

Could never explain.

For you, it was,

A witnessing of the decay,

Of a love that,

Sent the Kachina’s to the rooftops,

On the night of your conception.

And for me, it was,

A witnessing of the decay,

Of the beings who had conceived me.

For I am the daughter of Rage.

He would never speak,

The language of flowers,

From his final resting place.

And neither would the perfected loveliness,

Of the Camellia’s that drove him mad.

But we knew what love was.

We were carved,

From the same block, you and I.

It is the demi plie,

The bread and butter,

The basics,

The sustenance,

Of the soul.

We fell asleep each night,

To the riverbed sirens.

The lights of Times Square,

Had replaced La Bella Luna.

We were known in the speakeasy circuit,

As a package deal.

You performed under the name Ambrosia Michaels,

And kept a bottle of Chanel No5,

On the blues piano.

It aided the alto fingering.

I kept desert poppies,

Pinned to the tulle I danced in,

And violets pinned to my furs.

We were the modern-day vaudeville,

Swimming underground.

Carrying our floral hat boxes,

Full of our accoutrements,

On the A train,

To Manhattan.

To them, we were a local favorite.

An offering that was never on the menu.

If you knew,

You just knew.

My pointe shoes were blood colored at last.

And the lacquer on my lips,

Matched them perfectly,

On our opening day.

We had become them.

Flightless in their disdain,

And their bewitching.

The quail and the kakapo,

Of the Marsh.

The lonestars were out yonder,

And I was a civilized lady,

When it was convenient.

I’m afraid I danced,

Until I turned blue.

Because I wished to embody the cornflower,

And all of her delicacy.

Through the primal act,

Of performing,

The dance of the velveteen belles,

Of New York.

And where are we now?

We’re on Eighth street.

Pounding the cobblestone,

In soft, Italian leather.

Water spotted, almost ruined.

Because freedom,

Is jumping into the puddles,

Of the holy water,

And the buttermilk,

Uncaring.

I learned that from you.

The people of our city,

Have flower mounds under tongue.

And in the blue,

Behind their eyelids.

Because we are the indigo children.

And they speak of us often.

Of our arts and our leisure.

We are forever stamped,

In the passport,

Of the history,

Of death and rebirth.

What they love about us,

Is our lingering in frivolity.

Our return to analog.

Our floral, syllabic homage,

To the divine.

Our repeating praise of Delphine.

We aren’t as crazy as sixth street,

But we’re close.

We can smell the smoke of Winter,

Before it is real.

We can feel the chest fluttering,

Soul excitement,

Of our evening show.

“Introducing,

Ambrosia Michaels,

And Violet Crawford.

But you can call her,

Buttermilk.

Please,

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Deliver them from evil.”

#poetry #writer #artist #short story #gs brandson

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secretblog1212 · 6 years ago

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What Klaus Needs

finally finished this prompt from an Anon, it only took me five years. XD Ticklish Klaus being a needy lee is amazing and I am here for it, here is some content my dudes.

AHH THANK YOU FOR RESPONDING TO MY ASK ABOUT TICKLISH KLAUS!! 💓 i can try to give some ideas I’m not too good at it though so I’m sorry, also the one you said is super sweet and would be adorable! Using what you said maybe like Klaus is starting to annoy/tickle someone in hopes they’ll tickle him and they catch on?? Maybe he tickled Diego and then Diego figures out Klaus just wants tickles?? That would be so cute!! That’s all I’ve got baha but thank you so much if you could write it!! 💓

To put it plainly, Klaus was bored.

He had spent hours entertaining himself in his room, trying on all of his outfits and makeup. Ben and him had talked through all of their usual conversations already, from random ideas to conspiracy theories.

After a truly fulfilling debate on what truly defined a fruit Klaus took to wandering around the lonely house.

A few of his siblings were out doing their own things, Allison had booked a flight to go see Clair and to finally settle the public on her temporary disappearance. Luther was exploring the city for the first time in his life, finding everything he missed out on during his ‘out of the world’ journey. Klaus chuckled at his own thought.

The house was not empty though, he could hear Vanya playing her violin behind her door and practically skipped down the hall towards the serene music.

Vanya, she had slowly become more confident now that she had her siblings supporting her but seemed most at ease when he or Diego were around. Maybe it was because they had tried to defend her against Luther first, or she saw how they had all suffered most similarly compared to all the siblings paths. Klaus had been one of the siblings to not completely orstricise her during their childhood, they had shared many hours hiding away together until their Father found him and forbade their continuing friendship (not that it ever stopped them fully). Klaus was the disappointment of the Umbrella Academy, and his powers sometimes made him wish to trade places with the smaller girl. Was it better to have something and not be able to use it or to never have it in the first place?

He was shaken from his thoughts as the melody sped up within the room. She had been working on her control for weeks and while not always 100% she had gotten farther than Klaus had in decades.

He debated knocking on her door, maybe they could talk like they did when they were young, before puberty hit and he found a different outlet.

The music stopped and pages turned before another private performance began. As ,uch as Klaus would of loved to barge into the room and demand her attention he had, contrary to belief, some self restraint. Instead he walked back down the hall to his… smaller brothers room.

Klaus didn’t even think for a second before opening the door. Five sat on the floor, book propped up on his knees and didn’t give Klaus enough thought to look at him before sending him off with a quick “Not now, go find Diego or someone.”.

Klaus surprisingly didn’t put up much of a fight. He did throw a lovely bird to his brother carrying a kiss from the depths of his heart to his still distracted brother. Five did not react.

Shutting the door and heading further once more Klaus came to his other brothers room. Number Two. He did not bother to knock this time around either, much to Diegos annoyance.

“Diego, my buddy, my pal, mi hermano! Wanna hang? I’m bored to all shit and you never fail to entertain.”

Diego, who had been laying on his bed triedly scrolling through his phone, rubbed his temples. “Not now Klaus,” He sighed, truly looking dead tired. “I just got back from an overnight. All I want to do right now is sleep.”

“Oh come on. Just a little bit.” We never hang out anymore, y’know? What happened to the good old times?”

“Klaus please be quiet, I am going to take some headache pills then fall asleep for about a week, then we can do something.”

Klaus did not appreciate the refusal of his company. With Five it was expected but Diego normally would put up with him for at least a few hours.

“No fun…” Klaus whined. “I chose you Diego and I am not feeling the love-”

“Because there isn’t any.” Diego raised his eyebrow, a smirk on his lips.

Klaus slapped a hand to his chest, agast with this treatment. “Excuse me? Have you been misleading me this whole time sir? The outrage! Complete blasphemy!”

Diego cringed at the volume, was Klaus always this loud? Diego didn’t know but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. He stood up and moved towards the ex- junkie, giving a playful poke to the ribs as he moved him outside his door, shutting it with a soft thus.

Klaus panicked, he knew Diego had seen him flinch, he had seen the smirk he was wearing before he shut his door. The best thing Klaus could think to do was walk back to his own room and think. He wasn’t expecting to feel anything ticklish,he hadn’t braced himself for it at all! But it hadn’t felt… bad? No, he kind of wished Diego would try again later but… no. No he needs to go to his room, he can just ask Ben, he would die of embarrassment if he went to Diego now.

And so he went to his room only to find Ben gone, wandering somewhere. He as left in silence with his thoughts switching back and forth on the exact feeling, repeating the tingles he felt over and over. His face was in flames, he knew exactly what he wanted but it wasn’t like he could comfortably just go and ask someone for.. that. No, That would get some looks.

Klaus was at the peak of his delima. He was never shy to ask about this type of thing before with his partners, and it wasn’t that he couldn’t ask he decided. He just wasn’t sure how any of his siblings would react, least of all Diego. Sure when they were kids they had tickle fights, at least when dear old dad wasn’t around, but now they were well into adulthood.

He had asked Ben a couple of times more recently but he was never able to hold focus for long. It only ended in making him more needy.

And so the craving began.

He couldn’t stop himself, never one for patience, so it was no surprise when he found himself marching over to Diego’s door only half an hour later, knocking before letting himself in.

Luckily the other boy was fully clothed and still on his phone. A pillow hit it mark against Klaus’ face before he could get a single word out.

“Rude.”

“What do you want?”

Klaus hummed to himself before deciding to stretch himself over his brothers lap , stomach up, not unusual behavior but this time with an ulterior motive. “Can’t I just want to spend quality time with my family?”

Said family sat up, hands laying innocently on Klaus stomach, unknowing of the mental screaming fit that ensued.

“It’s rarely that simple. I don’t know what you want me to do if you’re bored, I’m tired to you’re out of luck, go harass Five or something.”

Klaus did not move, he was so close but the words he anted to say would not come out. Instead he settled for, “Nah, He’s probably reading some book. BORING.I would much rath-” He stopped in shock.

Never one to keep his hands still, Diego had begun to drum his fingers over Klaus stomach.

Torture. Mean. Evil. Rude. Klause felt personally attacked.

Diego only tilted his head, “You ‘kay? Not acting yourself.”

Klaus cleared his throat, “Yeah, yeah fine. Just um. Nothing. “ He said, barely able to force the words past his lips. He could practically feel himself vibrating, but Diego just gave him a skeptical look and his hands, his fucking hands kept horribly drumming along to some pop song.

Diego watched as Klaus sat stiffly, a blush slowly spreading across his cheeks as he fought an internal battle. Diego had realized what Klaus had wanted as soon as he practically threw himself over him. He used to do the same thing till they were deemed ‘Too old for childish nonsense number two and number four, stop that this instance.”

He could drag this out a bit longer though.

“So wha’cha want to talk about Klaus?”

Klaus wasn’t even sure if he could talk at this point. He could feel every bang of Diego's fingers against his ribs, they were practically vibrating through his entire body. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Before he could think of something convincing to say Diego’s hands changed into claws, digging into his ribs. Klaus practically screamed at the unexpected change. Questions flew through his mind, how did he know? He thought he was being subtle. He wasn’t prepared yet!

“Ruhuhude!”

Diego felt his lips pull into a smile looking at his brother, it was the first time in a long time he had heard him truly laugh. The thing was, Klaus didn’t even try to pull away from the feeling besides the usual squirming, and even that seemed less intense.\

Klaus curled into a ball before frantically uncurling after a few seconds. His head tossed left and right.

God, he had forgotten how much he needed this. How fun and free it made him feel.

Diego decided it was time to switch spots, re experience his brothers ticklishness. Of course he remembered his worst spots, his hips and ribs, but he forgot how he would squeal if you lightly tickled over his belly, or cackle and kick when you went for his feet.

It only took minutes for Klaus to feel weak with laughter, he didn’t want it to stop though.

When he opened his eyes he saw Diego looking down at him , a smile across his face. He must of been waiting for Klaus to open his eyes because as soon as he did the teasing began, and boy did it start strong.

“Y’know, I forgot how much you liked this. I mean, you haven't’ told me to stop once or pulled away.”

Well shit. Klaus hadn’t even thought about masking how much he wanted it after it had started. It was much too late to salvage now. Instead he flung his head back and kept laughing. What else could he do? Deny what Diego already knew, he wasn’t Five. No, Diego was the one who used to tickle him most when they were kids, it would be dumb to think he wouldn't remember. Why hadn’t he just gone to Five, at least then he (probably) wouldn’t of had thought Klaus was in desperate need to be destroyed by tickly fingers, he could of convinced him that the entire thing was his idea!

But now he had every coo and tease ever heard of being thrown at him. He knew that the words couldn’t attack him themselves but it sure felt like they were! Each sentence made the pokes and scribbles double in ticklishness. God was this Heaven or Hell? Klaus could only guess a mixture of both.

His face was bright red, both from laughter and embarrassment, but the fingers didn’t stop. In fact once found his wrist and pried his arm away from his body. Shit. Shitshitshit.

“Shihihihihit! Diehego Noho.”

“Awe, is it finally getting to be too ticklish for you Klaus? Because I could go for hours more. I think that would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

Klaus shook his head, hair a tangled mess, while trying to pull his now pinned arm down.

“What about this spot? I remember your armpits used to be pretty bad..”Diego said, he was so cocky and full of confidence that even just looking at him made Klaus tingle. His voice was smooth and almost patronizing in the best way possible.

Klaus couldn’t will himself to respond as his brother slowly brought his wiggly fingers down. All he could do was giggle and shake his head. A completely hopeless case.

“I’m not even touching you yet Klausy, why’re you laughing already?” can you feel it coming? I bet you can.”

Four felt his face getting impossibly redder. Then, when his eyes were squeezed tight and his face tucked into the crook of his elbow that wasn’t quite strong enough, Diego made contact.

Klaus screamed, there is no other way to describe what happened. He could hear Diego laughing after him but couldn't make himself focus on much of anything except the fingers digging into his upper ribs and dancing in his hallows.

No matter what he tried, rolling over, kicking, rolling the other way, trying to pull his arm down, holding Diego's wrist, even at one point trying to fling himself off the bed, he could not separate from the point of contact. He thought he was going to go mad, and he loved every second of it.

Diego’s hands found his hips next. Nope. nopenopefuckingnope.

This must of gave Klaus some super strength or something because he was suddenly able to rip his hand from Klaus grasp and hold on to his evil, cruel brothers wrists in hope of regaining some control.

Diego jst laughed some more. “Did you think I would forget your worst spot? How could I forget Number Four and his deadly ticklish hips?

Klaus felt himself getting more and more flustered, when they were young he could of been tickled from an hour and barely be phased, now he didn’t even know if he could last a second longer.

“Dihihiegoho! Noho- noho mohohohore. Ihihi canhan’t!”

“You can’t? I thought this was what you wanted Klausy?? Just a minute longer, then I’ll stop.”

Klaus wasn’t sure how he survived. He knew it was only a minute, literally. Diego counted down the seconds, but it had felt like an hour. By the time Diego removed him horrible, mean, absolutely rude fingers Klaus was wheezing for breath.

Diego moved to lay back down, “Next time you want tickled just ask, okay.” was the last thing he said as Klaus got his feet shakily under him.

Klaus did all but run out of the room. He could feel that there would be a lot more laughter filling the halls of the Umbrella Academy in the upcoming weeks. He didn’t feel any shame for being excited for it either.

#klaus hargreeves #ticklish klaus #tua #tickles #ler diego #diego hargreeves #just living my best life #they deserve to be happy #this was way too long for what I thought it would be but im not sorry #oof #the umbrella academy #tickling #tickle fic #fic

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rainythefox · 6 years ago

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Nightfall (Resident Evil WeskerxClaire fanfiction, CH3)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can't call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can't tell Chris. She is trapped...ClairexWesker. Slight ChrisxJill. (An old FF.Net multi-chapter fic of mine that I’m revising and publishing to AO3)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794784/chapters/41982563 (Chapters 1-3 are up, Chapter 4 coming soon)

Chapter 3: Blood in the Snow

Chris glared at the two women. Their giggles sounded roughly at the same time, grins wide on their pretty faces. Luckily, the Christmas music drowned their laughter out where other people couldn’t hear them as Chris held on for dear life.

"I fail to see what’s so amusing!"

Jill tugged on Chris’s arm. "Chris, it's just ice skating!"

"Yeah…it's skating, you know…on ice!"

Chris's legs wobbled and slid on the ice as he held onto the railing of the ice skating rink. Claire stood graciously next to Jill on the ice in her skates, arms crossed and breaths coming out in puffs. And even Jill had the audacity to stand on one leg so she could fix the tongue of her skate. The rink was moderately full with people ice skating, but not near as what it usually was. There was plenty of room to skate around; meaning Chris had plenty of room to crash.

The Christmas lights casted a magical glow around the trio. The snow glowed under their aura as music played in the park. The smell of food from nearby food vendors lofted in the air. It was the closest thing they were going to get to a Winter Wonderland in the middle of Raccoon City.

"The guys will never let me live this down if they see me doing this!" Chris huffed. "How the hell did you two talk me into this?"

"Because," Jill stated, looking over her pitiful partner as he was glued to the rail. "You said you’d ice skate with us if we went over to Barry's house with the guys to watch the football game."

Claire folded her arms with a smirk. "Which we would have gone anyways.”

"Don't be such a baby, Chris!” Jill’s attempts at pulling Chris away were futile. He wasn’t budging. “Look, I know you have more balance than that!"

Claire elbowed Jill, and then leaned in to whisper in her ear. Chris looked between them with a warning glare, immediately suspicious of their mischievous grins as they whispered. His fingers dug into the railing even harder, if that was even possible.

"Don't even think about it!"

Claire and Jill grabbed Chris and worked together to tear him away from the railing. They pushed him towards the middle of the skating rink. Chris looked like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, arms out and waving and legs slipping and sliding as he fought for balance, desperate gasps and profanities spewing from his mouth. Claire and Jill cackled at the sight, skating out towards him. Finally, Chris was able to get a grip on his balance and worked at getting himself to go forward without face planting first into the ground.

"Whoo! I'm doing it!" He sounded like a gleeful child.

"They grow up so fast," Jill joked.

Claire and Jill skated behind Chris as he practiced and tried not to crash. Raccoon City Park was full of excitement and good spirits under the starry sky. Outside of the rink, kids made snowmen and snow angels with their parents. There were even a few families decking it out with a snowball fight.

Claire thoughtfully looked over at Jill. "So…I was supposed to be sneaky about this, but I know it won't do any good. I’m just gonna be upfront. Chris is going crazy trying to find you a Christmas gift. Is there something you want he can get you so he’ll shut up?"

Jill laughed, shaking her head. "He doesn't have to get me anything."

Her smile, though amused, shaped more into an affectionate up-curve of her lips. Her cheeks had been rosy from the cold, but now they seemed extra-rosy to Claire.

"Oh, but he does…badly. Please, you gotta help me or I’ll have to deal with his whining the whole time I’m here visiting."

Jill was quiet, and Claire hoped she was thinking of something. "Well, how about something practical like a new toaster?"

Claire gave her an unamused glare. "C’mon Jill, a toaster? Really? Who wants a toaster for Christmas?"

Jill shrugged. "I really wouldn't want Chris spending any kind of money on me."

"Oh, how about that really nice sofa back in that store we checked out earlier? That would actually look really nice in your living room."

"No way! That thing was like $500!"

"Yeah, you’re right." Claire sighed, thinking. "Hmm…how about a hat? You like hats!"

"A hat sound simple, cheap, and easy. I'm all for it!"

Claire was relieved. "Glad that's over with! So, do you need my help deciding what you’re getting Chris?"

Jill waved her off. "Nah, I ordered his nearly two months ago."

"What? Really? What is it?"

"Well, I went to Robert Kendo's gun shop and had him customize a brand new issue Samurai Edge with a steel slide and a silver-glided trigger just for Chris. It’s a one-of-a-kind gun, made just for Chris. He had one, but it got blown up, and that fucker Irons wouldn’t pay for a replacement."

Claire gave a baffled look. "Blown…up?"

"Don’t ask. Long story. Basically, while dealing with a terrorist, one of the STARS vehicles got blown up with Chris’s gun inside. Everything turned out good in the end, but he sure was upset that his Samurai Edge was destroyed. It was the gun he won that last marksmanship trophy with. He's been using an old Glock instead for awhile."

"Wow, he never told me about that. How much did that cost?"

Jill looked away, mumbling. "Oh, not important."

"Jill!"

"Alright! It cost $780."

Claire’s jaw fell agape and then she glared at her friend. "I'm totally telling him to buy you that sofa and a hat…and a toaster."

"You better not! Don't tell him the gun cost that much. I'm gonna lie and say that Wesker convinced Irons to issue him a new one."

"And what if Chris asks Wesker for that story?"

Jill bit her lip. "I…uhh…I'll tell Wesker to go along with it! Besides, Chris wouldn't dare ask the Captain for the truth!"

"Maybe so," Claire said. "But if you do that, then Chris wouldn’t know it was a Christmas gift from you. He would think it was a Christmas gift from Wesker…sort of."

Jill slumped her shoulders. "Yeah, you're right. I suck at coming up with stories."

"I won't say anything about the gun, but you should really tell him the truth when you give it to him. He deserves to know it’s really from you. And, just so we’re clear, don't be surprised if Chris buys you something just as expensive."

Jill heaved a defeated sigh. "Fine."

"Hey, kiddo!” Chris hollered. “Check this out!"

He was skating on one foot, grinning and proud of himself.

Claire covered her forehead, groaning. "He called me a kiddo…how embarrassing.”

Jill cupped her hands over her mouth, her breath coming out in white puffs. "Pretty soon you'll be an ice skating champ, Christopher!"

"Don't call me that!"

Jill shook her head. "Why does he hate being called Christopher so much?"

"I have no idea."

Chris yelped, and a crash followed. They saw Chris slowly sliding across the ice on his stomach, arms and legs spread out. Claire and Jill skated over to him while laughing and helped him to his feet.

"I think that’s enough ice skating for one day," Chris said, feeling his lip with a finger. "I think I bit my lip!"

"Alright, we better leave anyways if we’re going to get over to Barry's in time for the game," Claire replied, holding back a laugh.

Barry Burton lived with his family in eastern Raccoon City in a safe, quiet suburban community. They lived in a large, two-story house with a built in garage and large backyard. The Redfields and the Burtons went way back. Claire had known Barry and his wife, Kathy, since she was a little girl. She considered Barry’s two young daughters, Moira and Polly, as her nieces. It was the Burtons who helped look after Claire after her and Chris’s parents died, and he was forced to enlist into the military to take care of Claire. It was Barry who eventually helped Chris get hired on at the RPD as a member of STARS. They considered each other family.

While over watching the football game, they enjoyed the good company and the home-cooked food and drinks. Barry's house was full of snacks, good food, drinks, and off course friends. Claire and Jill were just as into the game as the men were, cheering for their home team. Barry left just long enough to put Moira and Polly to bed for the night. Claire wasn't surprised that a few of their STARS teammates were here to enjoy the game and visit as well. Joseph Frost, Forest Speyer, and Richard Aiken cracked jokes and stuffed their faces while the football game went on. Even Barry’s good friend, Robert Kendo, came over to watch the game and have some drinks.

Afraid they would wake his daughters from their rowdy banter, Barry slapped Joseph with a rolled up newspaper and told them to keep it down. However, when the home team scored their first touchdown, the scolding was forgotten as all men jumped to their feet whooping and cheering, Barry included.

The game lasted a couple of hours, and they rejoiced as their home team won the game, clanking beer bottles together. They helped the Burtons clean up for a short time before departing for home.

By the time Chris and Claire got to Chris's house, she was beat. She had cheered just as much as the men, and probably ate just as much too.

The Redfield siblings weren’t home long before going to bed. Chris would be returning to work in the morning, and Claire would to have to take him in because Jill’s shift started earlier.

They got up early the following morning to have breakfast downtown before Claire dropped her brother off at the police department. He grabbed the door handle of the truck and turned to her before getting out.

"Be careful if you go anywhere. We’re supposed to get more snow later," Chris informed.

The sun was rising on the icy morning, but dark gray, overcast clouds warned of more winter weather to come.

"Will do. I think I’m gonna hit the hike trails and run a mile or two before going home. I feel fat from all that good food last night."

Chris rolled his eyes. "You women. Can’t you just run at the track in town? That’s kinda far."

"It’s closed, remember? Besides, I like the scenery out there better."

"I dunno, Sis. Anything could happen that far out by yourself. Might get hurt and no one be around to help. Hell, there might be crazies out there right now."

It was Claire's turn to roll her eyes. There were times Chris’s brotherly protectiveness got on her nerves. "Chris,we’ve taken the Arklay Hiking Trails lots of times and never had any problems. If there is anyone out there, which I doubt from the weather, I bet it’ll only be that old couple Mr. and Mrs. Willow and some of those good looking track guys from Raccoon University."

"Good looking track guys? Now wait just a damn minute, I-"

"Oh c'mon, Chris, I was just joking! I knew you would freak out as soon as I mentioned hot guys!”

“Well, just run a mile around my house.”

"I’d look like an idiot running around the house."

"Fine, whatever. Just don’t take too long and please call me when you get home, alright? If I don’t hear from you in a few hours, I’ll come searching. I mean it!”

"Yes, sir!" Claire stated sarcastically and stuck her tongue out at him.

After her brother got out, Claire drove the truck away from downtown Raccoon City and took the main highway out of the city’s limits. Dreary clouds snuffed out the early morning sun. Claire knew it would snow again soon, probably before noon. It was cold and snowy, but Claire felt the jog would do her some good. She had neglected her exercises since arriving to visit Chris on her winter break, and knew it would also be nice to get out of the house and clear her head for awhile.

Claire smiled. Yes, it was a good day for a jog.

The Arklay National Forest was a vast wilderness that surrounded the city with mountains and rivers for miles around. It was a popular tourist attraction within Arklay County. There were several camping and hiking locations throughout the county, but the more popular ones included the Arklay Hiking Trails to the northwest of the city, off Route 6. They explored Arklay Mountains and provided beautiful sightseeing, rock climbing, and breathtaking vistas.

Claire parked the Dodge truck in the parking area of the hiking trails. The small forest center stated the hiking trails were closed due to the weather. Claire had never seen something like that before, as closing the national forest to people seemed far-fetched. She saw other vehicles in the parking lot, so figured the sign was forgotten about from the ice storm a couple weeks ago.

She climbed out, bundling up in her parka and gloves. She wore dark pants and snow boots and a scarf around her neck. The forest around her was quiet, only the soft cracks of snow falling off tree limbs could be heard. Claire took a good look around. The snow had transformed the forest into a winter wonderland. And though Claire was more of an autumn person, she had to admit that the snow made everything seem mystical.

As she walked over to the start of one of the scenic trails, she noticed the other vehicles parked in the lot, just a few slots down from her truck. She was surprised to see them. In this biting cold and snow, only the determined came out here to walk or hike the trails. She didn't recognize them either. The older couple see saw often drove a Ford car, and they also didn't belong to the track guys from the university.

There were three of them parked side by side, and the models surprised Claire. There was a brand new black Jaguar XK8 that caught her eye. Luxury cars weren't uncommon in Raccoon City, thanks to the booming economy and high-paying jobs from corporations like Umbrella. The Jaguar wasn't one of those more commonly seen though. Whoever owned this car had a lot of money. The other two cars were not near as stunning as the Jaguar, but also were high dollar luxury cars. There was a silver BMW M3 sedan, as well as a dark green Mercedes-Benz S320. The cars were mostly clean save for some dirty snow and mud caked up under the fenders.

Well, it looks as though we got some rich buddies going for a stroll. I hope one of them is good looking!

She laughed inwardly at her own joke, shaking her head and moving on. She was sure whomever owned these cars were not her type and were probably much older. Claire picked the trail that she and Chris would go on all the time, wondering how the snow and ice had changed its beautiful scenery from the spring and summer seasons. She pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail and did a few warm up exercises before starting to jog along the trail.

The scenic trail she took was the one of the longer ones, but Claire knew she could always turn back if she started to get too cold. She jogged along the snow-covered path, careful not to slip on any ice. She took in the sights as she followed the trail. Icicles hung from tree branches, thicker branches held snow. The wind whistled as it whipped through the forest, picking up dusts of snow. There was even wildlife nearby. She could see and hear birds as they flew from branch to branch, tweeting and singing. A few squirrels were out, their tails twitching as they chased each other through the trees. A red fox that watched the snow for a mouse saw her and vanished into the woods. Not far from the trail, Claire saw a small herd of deer and stopped to watch them. They ate the bark from the trees, and there were even does with fawns. A buck turned his head towards her, mouth chewing and tail flicking.

I wish I had my camera!

Suddenly, the deer turned and fled deeper into the forest. Disappointed, Claire carried on, but decided to walk for a bit to further enjoy the vibrant wildlife that surrounded her. Her lungs burned from the biting cold and running, and came out in white puffs as she caught her breath. She walked the trail deeper into the mountains, still seeing wildlife here and there.

The deeper she followed the trail, the more it became deathly silent and unmoving. Then it was gone. There was no life whatsoever out here anymore. Even the wind had died down, and so not even the tree limbs groaned or cracked in the distance. Claire's nerves twitched, and she felt a knot growing in her chest. The kind of knot that told her it was time to turn back. Something wasn't right at all, and she suddenly remembered the three cars back at the entrance by her truck.

I should’ve seen somebody by now…

She halted on the path. She looked all around her, that feeling in her chest getting worse. Something bright and red caught her peripheral vision, and Claire looked down onto the snow-covered trail. A few feet away from her was a couple of quarter-sized blood splotches. The sight of the blood itself was enough to make hers curdle. She noticed the other flecks of blood, and even a trail. The dark red spots had melted the snow into a thick syrup-like substance, and were fresh.

Did someone get hurt?

A sharp, pained cry hit her ears and startled her. Her heart jumped to her throat, nerves sizzling as she backed away from the sound. Claire swallowed hard, frozen in place. Her gut urged her to turn back and flee, but she couldn’t just leave without making sure someone wasn’t hurt or dying out here.

The snow crunched quietly below her boots as she followed the blood drops along the path. There were footprints here other than hers, and grooves in the snow that looked like there had been a struggle. Voices carried through the trees, and her breath caught in her throat with a shaky sputter. She went off the path to hide behind a thick, large oak tree. She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked around the trunk into an opening not far off from the trail.

Claire saw a man, maybe in his forties, with graying five o'clock shadow on his knees, wincing in pain. Blood stained his shirt, and his face was welted and bruised. The blood on the trail had to have been his. Claire’s pulse rose as she realized the man's arms were tied behind his back. There were two other men, and they stood in front of him.

One of the men was thin, handsome, and looked to be in his mid-thirties with dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and five o'clock shadow. He wore a coat with a white shirt and a sloppily tied tie and dark slacks. Claire didn't recognize him. The other man was one she recognized all too well. Her eyes widened, heart catching in her throat as she recognized Albert Wesker. The leader of the Special Tactics and Rescue Service wore his dark uniform, the same one she saw him wear the other day. He had a handgun aimed at the bleeding man.

What the hell?!

The man beside Wesker rolled his neck, yawning as if he was bored. "C'mon, Finley, we don't have all day."

"Fuck you, William. I'm not telling you two anything!"

“This is a strange spot to board the Ecliptic Express. The train doesn’t stop out here, unless of course you bribed the engineer because you were trying to avoid us.”

“What?! You’re crazy!”

"You had a contract, Mr. Finley. You are obliged to tell us what you know," Wesker said coolly, the gun unwavering near Finley’s face.

The battered man glared at the STARS Captain. "Yeah, I did have a contract. But not to you, Albert! Just because you killed Crawford doesn't mean I have to answer to you."

"Well, that's too bad," William stated, smirking. "I guess that means we’ll have to resort to other measures, isn't that right, Al?"

"You two are fucking insane! I’ve kept up my end of the deal. I didn't do anything!"

"On the contrary," Wesker interrupted. "You informed a different party about the change in the Tyrant Project as well as gave out crucial information on the Golgotha. That is quite a problem you’ve caused for Spencer and Umbrella, and well as for us."

Finley spat blood from his lips. "You have no proof!”

Wesker bashed the pistol across the man’s face and he yelped.

“William and I do not like our time wasted. The longer I have to play pest control, the less desirable your fate will be.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“Well, you never were very bright, Fin,” William retorted with a chuckle.

"William, how about we head over to Finley's house to dispose of his family and make him out to be the killer who shot himself?"

"You always come up with the best plans, Al."

"W-Wait, n-no! Not my f-family! I'll tell you everything; just leave my family out of this!"

Wesker purposely put the barrel close to the beaten man’s eye. "Then where are the disks?"

Finley took a deep breath, his body shaking, but Claire doubted it was from the cold. "I-I gave them to S-Steve Morgan."

"Oh, for crying out loud," William groaned. "Steve Morgan? You’re siphoning information to the Ashfords?! I should kill you where you stand!"

"He’s still in town! You can stop him! Besides, you can’t kill me! Spencer won’t allow it! I demand you two to take me to him!"

Wesker lowered the gun, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. "Of course, Finley. I won’t go against Spencer.”

"R-Really?" Finley gasped.

William rounded on Wesker with wide eyes. "What?!” Then he suddenly calmed, clearing his throat and smiling. “Ohhh. Right. Sure, Fin. Whatever Al says, goes.”

Finley looked between them, pale and sweaty. “G-Good. Now take me to him.”

Wesker rubbed his chin. “Then again, I hate snitches.”

Finley barely got a plea out before Wesker aimed the gun and pulled the trigger. The gunshot pierced through the woods like a cold dagger.

Claire almost screamed when she saw Finley's head explode. The body fell limp to the ground, blood gushing out onto the snow. Claire covered her mouth, not trusting herself to make a noise at the sight. Her breath became shallow gulps, her heartbeats quickening in fear.

William sighed. "You made a mess…again.”

"I'm running late, William. I'll call Sergei and make him send a group out here to clean everything up and dispose of Finley's car."

"Fine. Next time, let's try to move them somewhere a bit more private. I know he was coming back from the express, but someone could’ve been walking the trail, ya know? Not everyone listens to those closed signs."

Wesker shrugged. "We weren't expecting Finley to pull a gun on us, now did we? He was ready for us. It’s why the train stopped out here instead. He knew I killed Crawford and we were coming for him next. This did not go according to plan. He has been in contact with somebody other than Morgan. We should look more into this.”

"Agreed," William replied, kicking Finley's limp leg. "Goddamn rat."

Claire slipped behind the tree again, her heart pounding so fast, it was about to burst from her chest. They were heading back to their cars! There was no way Claire could get back to the truck and leave before they saw her. And she knew Wesker would recognize Chris's truck. She was in a very bad position. She couldn't believe that Wesker, the Captain of the STARS force and one of Raccoon City's Finest, was a dirty cop.

They were talking about something big, she knew. The Umbrella Corporation was one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the world, and had actually played a big part in the building of Raccoon City. Besides that, between the pharmacies, facilities, and warehouses, Umbrella gave more than 25,000 jobs for the city alone.

Claire desperately thought on what to do. She couldn't make a run for it without them hearing or seeing her. Wesker obviously had a gun and was not afraid to use it. If she remained in hiding, Wesker would recognize Chris's truck, and would either be back on the trail to hunt her down, or heading back to the police station to confront Chris and possibly lead him into a trap like they did with this poor fellow out here. At this point, Claire had no idea what Wesker was capable of. She always heard that he was one of the most honored and respected men at the RPD, with a prowess like no other. Now it seemed he was a two-faced traitor that used his position in law to his advantage.

"Wait a minute. Look at these shoe prints, Albert!"

Claire froze, the rough bark of the tree digging into her back. She dared not to look around the tree. They sounded right on the other side of it on the trail.

"Woman, size seven and a half. Interesting," Wesker commented.

You've got to be shitting me…

"Alright, little lady, come out! Don't be shy! We know you’re here! We promise we won’t hurt you!" William said, his tone friendly and comforting, but Claire knew better. She then heard him whisper to Wesker. "I knew this was a bad idea! We're going to get caught! I blame this on you!"

"Shh!" Wesker hissed.

They went silent, further antagonizing Claire. She was so terrified, she felt she had frozen herself with the tree and become one with it. Her mind ran a million miles a second, trying to come up with a plan, and fast.

"The footsteps go towards that tree. Stay here," Wesker said.

William scoffed. “Psh! Yeah, better you than me!”

SHIT!

Claire could hear his footsteps heading in her direction off of the trail. She looked down, hoping to God she could find something to use as a weapon against the both of them and escape. All she saw near her feet was a rock twice the size of her fist. She bent over to grab it up, making not even a peep. She struggled to keep her throat from letting a cry out. Why did she have to leave her gun and knife in the truck? Chris always told her to carry them, and the one time she didn’t, she needed them.

Wesker’s footsteps neared the tree, and so she braced herself. Maybe if she was able to knock Wesker out and take his gun, she would be able to get away. William didn't seem much of a threat, but Claire didn't want to take any chances.

As Wesker came around the tree, Claire swung the rock. Wesker barely evaded it, his reflexes quick and nimble. He grabbed her arm, twisting it around her back and slamming her into the tree. It made her drop the rock. Claire yelped, fighting his hold, but he tightened his grip, threatening to break it, and she gave in with a cry.

"Well, well, well, this is quite a small world. Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Redfield?" Wesker greeted, sounding amused as he let her arm go.

Claire turned around with a glare. She tried to push past him, but Wesker shoved her back into the tree and held her there. It didn't take long before William came around to where they were.

"You two know each other?"

"Chris Redfield's younger sister. He’s a member of STARS," Wesker answered simply. Those sunglasses focused on Claire once more, and his grip tightened on her shirt just above her breasts as he kept her in place. He used his free hand to take of his sunglasses, pocketing them. A dark smirk formed on Wesker's lips, his gray-blue eyes piercing her and making Claire's bones freeze. "You better have a good explanation for this, dear heart. I'm just dying to know why you are here."

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #claire redfield #albert wesker #chris redfield #jill valentine #william birkin #umbrella corporation #raccoon city #re2 #re2 remake #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #clairexwesker #chrisxjill #fanfiction #fanfic

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lady-o-ren · 6 years ago

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The Witch and The Red Man

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Dawn had come and gone but two souls would never have known so, as it's gentle ray's had withered to dusk by the vast treetops where all beneath the boughs was still a shroud of secrets. As the wearied two trudged deeper into the wilderness a looming fog began to drift along the bramble. Plumes of purple and pink petals (deceptive in color and covered in thorns) dotted the ground like stars piercing the white to guide a tentative step away from small pools of water that were scattered about, reflecting only what ones imagination could invision in it's boggy depths.

A creature barely human, vacant eyes turned up to the neverending infinity of a starless sky with a blueberry mouth parted for one last gasp of air, one more plea for a kiss never to be bestowed, lost to the watery darkness. Perhaps there was nothing more but the floating specks of dragonfly wings and fallen leaves, to the sunken remains of songbirds from a dive taken far too deep. Or was it a long fingered snatch of a claw hiding in the ripples of elsewhere down, down, below.

Now and then a slender hand would brush up against a bush of berries to be shared, ripe and sweet, only to be ignored in stomach churning regret. One would insist despite the protest, the other would finally yield in red smeared hunger. But then an ankle would roll from a slip of verdant moss - a hand clasped for balance ripping at an already ruined sleeve, a hard press to a chest with a grunt of a language harsh and cackles more akin to hyenas, spewed from jaws eager for a fall of meat. A pause in their trek however would do.

Claire held her chin to her chest with a glare at the winding fog as if it would disperse. But more so to lessen the dizziness pulsing in a swirl behind her eyes and striking waves across her mind everytime Jamie would stir with emotion befitting of his savage title. But she had the fortitude to withstand the pain of what had killed her master, and the strength of spirit to quell the ravenous evil battling her over a man's soul.

Jamie for his part felt the unnerving sensation of fear, having never experienced it's crippling hold for so long without it triggering his deadly trance where he woke to a horror of his own doing. And he knew why that was. The woman leaning on his arm was growing more cumbersome, more laboured of breath that melded with the ghostly wisps around them. Jamie was torn between letting her plummet to a split of skin or to say to hell with it all and throw her over his shoulder. Better then pulling him into chilly ponds.

With frustration flaring and a sharp spike in adrenaline rising from the blurs of four legged movement ahead, Jamie felt her touch, warm under his skin, pushing further within. A grasp to steady. A balm to soothe.

Jamie's lungs expanded with a breath of cool morning dew that reddened his nose and chapped his lips as he wrapped an arm around Claire's waist, drawing her closer, upright. They shared a shiver from a passing gale, then a budding heat nestled between. She mumbled a thank you, gripping his belt under the cloak for support and he replied with a loosening of his, a warning that his opinion of her was still lower than that of a midge.

Claire sighed without argue, at least he hadn't rolled his shoulder to dislodge her cheek, allowing her (unknowingly so to him), to rest her sight however brief.

Jamie steered them from a soggy drop to an incline of ground that strained his legs, his mortal fatigue catching up with him spurred forward only by the watchful stalks of the pack that glinted through the frosty air.

"Seeing as that white mammoth was familiar wi' ye," Jamie cocked his chin to the far distance where the elder wolf had scampered off from the pack. "Do ye ken where we're being led?"

"That mammoth I'm almost sure is Fenrir the maneater, and it's not he that I'm familiar with but possibly the one inhabiting it's form." Claire could feel a quiver pass over Jamie and she glanced curiously his way.

"You've lived in these forests, surely you must've seen the like here and there. Even in Scotia, I thought it the land of faerie and water horses."

Jamie huffed, bowing his head from a low hanging branch. "All my time in these forest I've seen spirits who mind themselves as long as I return the gesture but never have I seen creatures as olden as they. As for my homeland, we have wonders to fear and praise but monstrosities like that." Jamie shook his head. "We've done away with." And for once he agreed with mans judgement of the different.

It was then Claire dug her fingers into the leather strap of his waist as she felt a shifting of elements in the air, saw slashes of charms cut into the bark of a rowan tree marked in old blood. Hopefully invisible to Jamie's senses. But she was not.

"What is it? I can feel yer pulse jittering in my chest."

He could? But that was a question for another time.

"I don't know where we're being led but it's by who I think it is you must control yourself when -" Claire's voice trailed off as Jamie froze in his step, catching sight of the markings that began to shimmer like the moon on black waters, and grabbing her by her shoulders to face him.

"What is it that awaits us if not another one of they?" Jamie growled, as his back of scarred symbols began to sting as if freshly carved.

No answer was given as a young wolf (yet still big as an elk) came snarling and snapping at them, saliva dripping from it's jaws gummed bright red. Jamie shoved Claire quickly behind him, readying for the crushing blow of flesh and bones, while she curled her fingers around the hilt of blade knowing it was a useless defense. Another one of the wolfs sisters leaped out from the mist to tackle the other, either to prevent a gruesome carnage or to be the first to relish in a feast upon their fatty marrow. The latter it seemed as more wolves joined the fray, disappearing into the fog with only the sounds of their rabid rampage cutting through the air like a thundering storm.

Claire and Jamie pulled at each other in escape, to be lost in the thicket of clouds not caring if their acrid scent of fear would make them easy to track, preferring to be hunted then find their fate in the mouth of the victor.

They ran with the last bolts of stamina they had, not bothering to mind the trails of flowers when the ground beneath them vanished with only a shout and high screech left in their wake. It was a steep bruising tumble to the red horned fungi protruding from the soil, meant to constrict the lungs that blackened the tissue with it's noxious spores and swell the heart to cease it's beating.

Unless you have the ability to purge death from your organs…albeit slowly.

Claire managed a good deal better, having fallen to the wet leaves, and maneuvered herself to Jamie, touching his chest and back lightly with her hands, drawing the poison from his vein's more quickly then he could, sending him into a coughing fit that he spewed to the dirt. She smoothed his damp copper locks away from his brow, wiped the blood the shade of ashes from his mouth and nose thanks to the shrooms that could only wrinkle her nose at their odor.

"You're lucky you have a skull harder then iron and blood thicker then oil, you know." A hint of a smile had barely shone through when his eyes freed of their daze changed to a stare of ice.

"You aren't going to bite me again are you?" Jamie's lips almost twitched in humor before jerking away from her caress with palms to his cheeks, rubbing the kindness that once was there away that then slid straight to his eyes groaning at what he saw off in the distance. Underneath the grove of trees, saplings of protective oak and blackthorn had bundled together to form a twisted dwelling where the wood began to ripple in a slither, scrapping against one another to weave into spiraled knots and blooming leaves.

What lied inside had awoken.

A wicked hag of black leathered skin was what Jamie's mind had conjured. Who would be adorned with a crown of his and Claire's gnawed bones dripping with the last drops of their blood that hadn't been licked clean by her viper tongue.

He gave Claire a vehement shake of head.

"No!"

"Yes." Though her answer was less then confident with her face mirroring his and their link a mutual trickle of dread. Even so.."This is where you trust me. No matter how you feel towards me, what calamity you wish to fall on my soul, calm yourself in her presence until I know if she means us harm. Trust me to protect you, Jamie. It's what I vowed to you."

Jamie could see the strain of keeping him whole line her features, swaying her frame. Fitting for what she had done to him yet still the nagging tug of a man he thought long gone urged him to relinquish himself to her care. He hung his head with a slump of shoulders.

"Mhac a 'chas!"

The door opened before they arrived on the threshold, a molten light flashing on their faces invitingly warm with the shade of a figure not at all like the triple eyed, leathered being Jamie was expecting. She was a woman with hair the blood of Scotia itself, flying loose past her breast white as the mist that had enveloped them, barely covered by her silky gown that parted low in such a way Jamie had only ever seen down the back alleys in Par-sii. But what caught his attention most that had him tight throat with an involuntary call of mind to Claire, were her eyes. Large to intimidate, to hypnotize. So like a luminous jewel that held the forest within them, cut sharply down the center. A cat-eyed creature she was.

"Hello, Geillis." Claire called cautiously as she carefully positioned herself in front of Jamie.

"Mo calman geal." She breathed with so lovely a smile, her face aglow, that continued still even after…"Ye look of shit."

Before Claire could answer Geillis made a move towards Jamie who was fighting mightily with himself as his back flared hot again in warning, flinching away from her outreach of hand in a glare she found wholly amusing.

"And this skittery thing." She crooned. "Ye want to tear yer teeth to my gullet don't ye lad?" Geillis' eyes dilated to obsidian as she saw beyond to the scar at his chest that sang of enchantment. "I can see why ye don't."

She grinned devilishly wide to Claire. "He's a blood drenched stag this one. Tell me, lass do ye sleep with a knife in yer hand with him? Or is it with his -"

No more was remembered as Jamie, the poor lad who had been hunted for eight days with little rest and nourishment, who had been blood shackled to a witch and then ran from the threat of beasts, finally succumbed to exhaustion.

____

Claire laid a blanket atop Jamie's sleeping form by the hearth, dragged there by the two woman, and feeling the burden of her own doing lighten, she almost felt compelled to join him on the floors. But an impatient squawk at her back had Claire back on her feet with a lean against the walls of saplings, where her fingers traced the sprouts snaking between the crevices, rustling and twirling for her touch and smelling of home.

"Yer making my hemlock blush, lass." Geillis purred as she gave a gentle stroke to the fine feathers of her raven Boromir, who sat with her at the blackwood table, scorched at the edges and grooved in frantic claw marks in others. Be they human or animal Claire did not question as she swiped away the hanging vines that tickled along her face, sitting across from Geillis with a cup of tea, thickly made with seeds stuck to the rim, pushed her way.

"Ye look as if I had poisoned yer brew." She said with an added mumble lost in a sip, coating her lip to a shiny plum, "Does nothing to ye anyhow."

"Considering how we ended things on a bad note..." That was putting it mildly. Theirs was a friendship formed under starlight that shattered when a question of alluring paths elsewhere arose, places away from the only home she knew. Claire remembered quite vividly the starlings that ravaged her garden and that had stalked her walks down streets with stabbing plucks of her curls for weeks long after their parting. "And if my memory serves me well you called me a great many horrid insults with the only word among them I understood being, Sassenach."

Geillis licked her lips, leaning her chin to her palm. "Sassenach ye are and still an t-amadan. If you had followed me like I had asked then ye wouldna be in this mess now would ye?"

Claire sighed at the impending argument building from her old friend, pressing her fingertips between her tired eyes with her wrist bare, the single slash still visible. Geillis eyes stared wide in startlement.

"Claire, what have ye done to yerself?" Geillis' voice was of hushed tenderness Claire had only heard her use with her most precious of animal kin and the once when she had asked her to leave Raymond.

"It's not that, only the blood bond," she explained, tugging at her cuff.

"After our quarrel, I never would have thought ye had it in ye to use the dark forces for yer bidding."

"My bidding?" Claire uttered barely above a whisper, offended at the word. "I went weeks with little rest terrified I'd find the butcher Randall in my dreams, his hands upon me until his touch seeped past my skin, squeezing my flesh bringing it to his lips and mine. That I would wake with him standing over me, his breath on my cheeks waiting for me to scream. I was alone and I - I just wanted to feel safe."

Claire looked over to Jamie, still furrowed brow even in sleep. "I did not slit my wrist to gain a servant and in the end if all I manage to do is damn my soul to saves his then it won't be such a waste."

Geillis swallowed the last of her prickling spite, reaching over the table, covering Claire's shaking hand, spread along the table, with hers.

"Randall," she began softly "has been terrorizing the folk of our circles searching for ye, tis how I heard of yer Raymond's fate. I sent my Boromir to scope the land for ye, had to make a deal with Fenrir and his daughters to bring ye here." Though considering the state of the two Geillis didn't think their deal still stood.

"Do you know Randall's whereabouts then?" Claire asked hopefully.

"He crawls around from every gutter to alley and by the time I hear of his presence he's gone like a puff of smoke." Claire finding no comfort in the press of Geillis' hand, pulled away from her to the cup of seeds and froth, contemplating the reveal of her fortune at the bottom.

"You could stay here ye ken." Geillis gently urged. "Randall is no friend to any beast that lives in these forests, he willna find ye here."

"You can't promise that he won't. If you found me how far away is he from doing just the same?"

Geillis tilted her head to the hearth where Jamie was curled by, her features growing hard. "So ye would rather trust yer life to a man who reeks of blood and yers soon enough if yer no' strong enough to master him?"

"Despite what lies within him Jamie will not harm me, he hasn't the soul to do so." Claire affirmed even as her hand, slightly swollen, still stung from his bite."Our time together will be brief, only to the coast and then no more will we ever see each other again. My power will hold until then."

Geillis' tea changed to a tepid rosey pink, much to her disgust, scooting the cup to the edge of the table with a clink at its rim that Boromir delightfully answered with a dip of his beak.

"On yer head then." Geillis muttered then under her breath, that left a small grin to Claire's lips, added, "Why do I let my heart grow weak for such a fool?" She stood to cross the room where her cloak was draped over a chair at the hearth.

"My room to the back is yers to wash and sleep. Or ye can eat whatever is stewing away in the my black as soot cauldron if ye dare to." She joked…or possibly not.

"Thank you, Geillie." Claire spoke rising as well with a question of where she was going.

"Another deal with the spirits, this time much more pleasant I reckon." She winked. "And you." With a kick at Jamie's leg that had him scrambling to a sitting position. "Wash the stink from yerself outside before I boil it out of ye. Boromir will provide ye clothes won't ye, my sweet lad?" A loud squawk was her ravens reply and Jamie didn't bother to ask how a bird could fetch him cloth.

Geillis left with a swish of her now cloaked form, to follow crystal streams to a secluded brook most wonderfully familiar, leaving Jamie and Claire alone in the house that creaked with the wind.

Claire bent to her knees in front of him, keeping a comfortable distance between. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." Was Jamie's curt reply as he stretched his shoulders to a pop, stiff from the hard stone he was left to sprawl on. Without casting his sight her way Jamie's asked, "Do ye trust her enough to stay or do we go?" He hated that he had to ask and so did Claire.

"We're safe here for now, but I leave the decision to you.”

Jamie raised his gaze what he considered a feeble gesture she offered and found earnesty in the sheen of eyes of the woman dipped in the gentle burn of firelight. "Tired as I am it's no' like I can refuse. I'll take ye for yer word, Sassenach."

With a last quip that gave Claire a light chuckle despite the insult, Jamie felt his back meet the wall puffed with soft blades of green, his eyes drooping to a close, feeling the beat of her heart a calming rhythm to his own.

_____

*Fenrir is from norse mythology

*Boromirs name is from Lord of the Rings

#Outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #now I can watch ep 2 of outlander #I fell like im going to get really annoyed watching it though

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jusdisslotus · 6 years ago

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Attack on Stainglass #7: Brighton the Mass Murderer (Rant)

Oh boy, these two chapters made me MAD. If you didn’t get my hate for Brighton before, you’ll probably understand it now.

http://fav.me/dbpnvka

See, Brighton CHOSE to drop the bombs on the protesters. It didn’t fall out of his hand, he made the conscious decision to let it out of his grasp onto a hoard of people. Commando even describes it in horrifying detail.

Loud screams emitted from the entire group of protesters as the front of the group was incinerated in a bright, orange blaze of fire and smoke. Lainey watched in horror as she watched the silhouettes of her friends painfully convulse within the flames.

And that sick fuck, Brighton is even getting a kick out of it.

Brighton could see just how big the group of his sworn enemies was once Pitchfork had flown over them but he would not let the size of his enemies’ group discourage him as he dropped another bomb onto the remaining group. The screams of his enemies were one of the most pleasant sounds to Brighton’s ears as the flames quickly spread throughout the group from the previous explosion. Once the flames had ceased to spread, Richard dropped another bomb onto the remainder of the group as Pitchfork rode alongside the rapidly, spreading flames.

To enjoy the fight is one thing, but to enjoy causing pain and listening to people burn alive is fucking sick. Why wasn’t Helva like this?? That would’ve made me want to root for the protagonist if she acted like Brighton!

So Helva and her family try to fight back and then this happens.

“Take cover!” Helva warned before ducking behind a parked, flaming car. Helva’s relatives held their protest-signs in front of their faces in a vain attempt to shield themselves as Brighton threw another bomb onto all of them. Helva peaked out from behind her hiding-place to check on her relatives and for a short while, she actually believed that they had managed to survive the explosion until the wind had picked up, reducing them all into nothing more than scattered ashes.

“No…” Helva quietly gasped, exasperated from the shock as she dropped to her knees from the grief of losing her family.

“Ha-ha! Yes!” Brighton cheered triumphantly as he and Richard exchanged a high-five. As Thorn and Chrysanthemum arrived at the horrific scene, they were appalled by what was happening before them.

“Guess the Snowflakes won’t be a problem to us no more…” Chrysanthemum sighed as Thorn focused in on the sight of dying people. One man was running from his best-friend, who was on fire and blindly chasing after him from the pain until he finally dropped dead. Another person was painfully removing the bandana that was practically welded to his mouth from the heat while another was pouring water from his water-bottle onto his melted face.

Yeah! Lets cheer, for we have killed thousands of people in some of the most painful ways imaginable and rejoice as if we won a COD game while our enemy grieves over her family that we just killed! I hate Brighton so much like you have no idea.

“Maybe we should just go back to the Church; I think we got enough of ‘em…” Richard fearfully suggested.

“Heck nah! How many, more bombs to we got left?” Brighton snarled.

“O-One more…” Richard stuttered after he had checked his costume-purse.

“Give it here!” Brighton demanded when another one of Helva’s scimitars had pierced Pitchfork’s shoulder. Pitchfork let out of squeal of pain before beginning to drop from the sky.

“Brighton! Richard!” Thorn cried out in terror as he watched Pitchfork spiral toward the ground. Brighton and Richard both winced as they struggled to hold onto their plummeting bovine for dear life. Helva, Lainey and Ian all began to cheer triumphantly until Pitchfork had managed to catch himself. Since oxen were significantly stronger than most humans, Pitchfork was able to endure the scimitar without suffering from a potentially, fatal injury.

“No!” Helva shouted after receiving an evil glare from Brighton. She knew what that glare meant as she had begun to rush to Lainey and Ian’s aid. Lainey and Ian both leapt out of the way, in separate directions as Brighton threw down the last, remaining bomb where they had once stood. Helva was blown back by the explosion as the flames licked Lainey and Ian’s back.

Pitchfork let out a triumphant whinny as he landed amongst the carnage, beginning to stomp through it. Pitchfork then turned his head to watch Helva sit up from the rubble, recognizing her as the one who had harmed him as he delivered a rough mule-kick to her face, knocking her unconscious.

“Helva!” Lainey cried out as she watched Brighton leap down from Pitchfork’s back.

“Lainey, run…” Ian whispered to himself as he rushed to Helva’s aid. Pitchfork let out a loud cry of pain as Brighton struggled to remove Helva’s scimitar from his shoulder. With a sudden burst of courage, Lainey picked up a shard of glass and began to charge toward Brighton with a war-cry.

“You idiot…” Ian muttered beneath his breath as he placed the unconscious-Helva into their Van.

How are we supposed to even root for the protagonists??? Brighton’s throwing bombs at enemies who are already down and out (except for Helva) and just genuinely enjoys being an evil cunt. Even the Ox kicked Helva in the face. The “snowflakes” actually care for one another, such as when Ian carried Helva to the van and told Lainey to make a run for it, they’re not completely lost causes who don’t care about anyone else, good God, HOW DO YOU MAKE ME FEEL BAD FOR THE TERRORISTS??? I hate people who try to physically harm others over opinions and petty talk but somehow you managed to make me feel bad for the Terrorists. How can you possibly be this bad at making likeable protagonists?

http://fav.me/dbqp2ro

“Did ya see the look on that wuss, Helva’s face when I blew up her family?! It was classic!” Brighton cackled as Thorn angrily treated Pitchfork’s wounded shoulder.

“I can’t believe Lainey actually attacked ya…” Richard remarked. With his previous fear of women, he knew that they had a tendency to be violently unpredictable but he was sure that Brighton’s bombing would have scared Lainey enough to make her not try anything.

“Snowflakes are idiots! That’s why they get beat up so easily! Good thing Chrys’ came to our rescue at the last minute.” Brighton smirked.

“I was just doin’ what The Lord led me to do but I do think our victory calls for a celebration.” Chrysanthemum grinned as she approached the boys with a jar of Kale’s homemade, marshmallow balls.

“Did ya see the look on that wuss, Helva’s face when I blew up her family?! It was classic!” Brighton cackled” YIKES. I mean, FUCKING. YIKES. And you Commando tried to call ME a terrorist for feeling worse for Helva than I do for this piece of shit character.

After that, Thorn rightfully yells at Brighton for murdering thousands

“Oh, Brighton…WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” Thorn finally shouted at Brighton after a moment of silence, startling Brighton.

“Huh?! What?! Did I do somethin’ wrong?!” Brighton began to stammer.

“You know very good and well you did something wrong! You just killed thousands of people!” Thorn angrily reminded.

“Who cares? They were all a bunch of Snowflakes anyway…” Brighton scoffed, causing Thorn to fall silent.

Brighton’s shitty, moving along.

“Not all of them were pure evil, Brighton! Some of them were just lead down the wrong path by Helva! They could have been saved but instead of saving them, you permanently condemned their souls to Hell! When I saw you attacking those people like that, you were no different from them!” Thorn shrieked, finally getting through to Brighton.

I can really get behind Thorn here, Brighton had little to no consideration for the thousands of lives he was about to take. This isn’t some courageous war where many are fighting against each other resulting in casualties, this is one man dropping bombs on a crowd of misguided people. I know Brighton’s a Sociopath, but omfg, he’s such a piece of shit.

“Thorn…c’mon buddy, you’re not a bad preacher…I was just…angry, that’s all…I’m sorry…” Brighton apologized as tears began to cascade down his cheeks as well.

“I am not the one you need to apologize to…” Thorn reminded Brighton of how The Lord must be feeling about the loss of his children.

“I’m sorry, God…” Brighton apologized to The Lord with a shameful sigh as tears continuously dripped from his eyes.

“Promise us you’ll never do it again…” Thorn tearfully begged with a sniffle.

“I won’t…I promise…” Brighton sniffled before he and Thorn embraced each other in a tight hug. The boys’ moment was soon interrupted by the Church’s doorbell ringing.

Yes...apologize to God and not Helva, you know, the person who’s family you just mercilessly killed...CAN THESE PEOPLE SHUT UP ABOUT THEIR RELIGION FOR ONE SEC AND ACKNOWLEDGE THE REALITY OF THEIR SITUATION.

After that, the mayor invited the church to a celebration party after they saved them. Did I mention this story is both politically and religiously charged? Listen to this line.

“Mayor Claire? It is an honor to have you on our doorstep!” Thorn beamed as he stared up at his voted mayor of choice in awe. Mickey could not help but chuckle at how much Thorn admired him. It was not often that he met a fan after all.

No one cares who Thorn voted for. Just say he was a fan.

#commandomal #creepypastajack #therealredleader #Attack on Stainglass #Stainglass #Terrorist #Rant #Brighton #Critique #Words #Story #criticism #review #AoS #Angry #Bomb #Helva

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treason-and-plot · 6 years ago

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REPLIES TO ROY AND VIOLET PART 2

@rillensora

Awww

@rillensora

There are so many different ways this interaction could have gone, and this was definitely one of the better outcomes.

@dandylion240

I'm holding my breath for the real Roy to come out and say something to bust her bubble.

@parystrange

I'm bothered by this exchange and it leaves me wondering if he's going to try to take the children away or something.

As @ktarsims says below, Roy is very invested in making sure his kids are okay. He said he knows Violet will be a good parent to his kids here. It would not serve him in any way to be mean or nasty to Violet. Being friendly to her is only going to be to his advantage. Also she makes Sonia happy, and if Sonia’s happy then life is much easier for Roy.

@ktarsims

It's interesting to see here how pleasant Roy can be when he wants to be. He's obviously very invested in making sure the kids are okay, and keeping things amenable so that there's no strife to worry the kids in the new arrangement. Which doesn't mean for even a moment that he's not still an asshole. He just knows how to turn on the charm when it's what's required to get what he wants.

@hyperkaos

Apparently I'm reading this differently. They both have game faces on, Roy is all pretense. He's puts on a sympathy face FFS, "here I'm going to pretend I hope things are going well, do you hate the kids/do they hate you yet?" And she is not the self-dep type, but to appease for now, she will. She'll eventually make it clear "Look idiot I love these little kids, don't think for a moment your tactics are going to get over on me." She's a challenge -not a threat- to Roy.

Heheheh yessssss, but I wouldn’t say Roy is all pretense. 99% maybe ;=). Seriously, he has a bit of internal conflict happening- his head tells him it’s best for everyone that Violet is getting on with the kids and bonding with them, but of course his heart and his ego hurt to know that there is an usurper to his throne. Even if he is responsible for orchestrating the coup d'état himself, lmboooo! He looked at Violet with pity because he needed to convince himself that his kids would never love her as much as they love him, and nobody would love them as much as he does either. And you perfectly summed up the fact that she is a challenge to Roy. She is a challenge because she knows about Claire, and because she called him ‘an evil, manipulative, Machiavellian arsehole’ and Roy being Roy has to prove her wrong. Because he loves a challenge, but also because he likes Violet and it bothers him when people he likes don’t like him back. It’s a thorn in his side. Violet is willing to let her guard down slightly for the sake of household harmony, but she still doesn’t trust him. And yes, she totally thinks he’s an idiot too, lololol!

@miraakles

Ahhh!! That's refreshing! Roy supporting and getting along with Sonia's new lover is just, yes! However, i'm realizing that no one has once mentioned housekeeper, who Roy seems to be hiding like she's a dirty little secret... *cackles & grabs popcorn*

I'm happy you approve! 🙂😙 And as mentioned in the previous post, the reason Roy is not bringing up Saoirse is because he’s being considerate and understanding of his kids’ feelings. They have a lot of pretty overwhelming stuff to process right now. He will bring up Saoirse when the time is right, but now is not that time.

@shhhushhh

I like your Bridgeport in this exact moment (I'm referring to this post the the last few ones in Anita/JoJo house). Surely the kiddos has grown up, but what a growth in all the adults!! ❤ Maybe I'm wrong and naive but I read this as a honest conversation between two people who realized they have to find a way for a healthy communication for the sake of there mutual loved ones.

There are a few interesting undercurrents and a bit of tip-toeing but basically, yeah, you are right. That is what is happening in a nutshell. And I felt happy and optimistic after the scene, so there’s that too ;=)

@kscriba

"rich motherfucker" everything you write is golden

@unbridledsims

This is quite nice. Laughed when Roy tried to decipher RMF.

@sweetnovember77

Lol. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.

@simcatcher

I like that these 2 are breaking the ice... I like that very much actually

@skyburned

This is a nice moment. It's an awkward situation. Divorces and new partners are usually messy, sometimes ghastly, and this trio has a really complicated history. Roy did a good thing. It feels like it was hard for him not for a bad reason but just because it naturally would be. Violet surprised me, not sure why. I'll have to remember RMF!

Thank you for your lovely comment! Yes, it is a very awkward situation of course, but I feel that everyone is really trying their best for the sake of the children. Violet is on totally unfamiliar turf, and I think she is coping admirably. She is suspicious of Roy but willing to accede to his charm because hostility between them is only going to make an awkward situation intolerable.

@mysimsloveaffair

Rich Motherfucker! 😂😂😂

#rillensora #dandylion240 #parystrange #ktarsims #hyperkaos #miraakles #shhhushhh #kscriba #unbridledsims #sweetnovember77 #simcatcher #skyburned #mysimsloveaffair #replies #character development

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years ago

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Kieran Culkin's Shirt Is Off

https://fashion-trendin.com/kieran-culkins-shirt-is-off/

Kieran Culkin's Shirt Is Off

When Kieran Culkin first started reading the script for “Succession,” he wondered whether it had been sent to the wrong person. The HBO powers that be originally thought he’d be a good fit for the character of Greg, a bumbling nitwit who gets high in his first scene and spends the rest of the first season failing to sidle his way up the ladder of a massive media and entertainment conglomerate owned by his great-uncle, Logan Roy.

Almost from Greg’s first line, Culkin knew he was wrong for the part. “He’s already a lot younger than I am, and just the voice ― I was, like, this is not me. I am not right for this.”

When I met Culkin at a small restaurant in the Noho neighborhood of Manhattan last Monday, it was just as clear to me as it was to him that he’s too old to play a character like Greg. But something in the Roy family’s dark saga held Culkin’s attention anyway. He said he kept reading the script, which follows the foibles of the billionaire Roy clan as its individual members vie for power within. A few pages later, Logan’s overconfident third son, Roman, appears, led into a meeting by a man hired explicitly to burn sage.

“Hey, hey, motherfuckers!” Roman proclaims to a room full of his father’s business associates.

“And I was, like, ‘Oh, who’s this fucking guy?’” Culkin said.

Culkin eventually got the part of Roman, an incompetent and lazy man-child who believes he wholly deserves the title of chief operating officer, even though he has little interest in doing any of the work that comes with it. Among the many nefarious faces that make up Logan’s Waystar Royco empire, Roman stands out as perhaps its most cynical ― a ratings-obsessed media executive motivated solely by profit. At one point, in his interpretation of corporate disruption, he takes off his shirt in a meeting, flexing and joyfully screaming “Blood!” at the thought of layoffs. During another, he gleefully tells his sister about a new viral video that is “evidence of precisely the kind of disgusting, liberal, metro butt-love that makes our viewership angry enough to buy pharmaceuticals.” To Roman, nothing could be better.

Culkin can’t say exactly what drew him to the morally depraved heir, described by his father as a “moron” and his brother as a “walking fucking lawsuit.” But it’s not hard to imagine some small part of Culkin was intrigued by the idea of playing such a sneering member of a media empire.

After all, Culkin’s distaste for the tabloid industry is beyond well-established. (“No matter what’s written there, it’s a total lie, even the person’s name, lie, lie, lie, lie, everything’s a lie,” he once told New York Magazine.)

But let’s not lump Culkin into that hyperpartisan Level 10 “FAKE NEWS” category of 2018 American paranoia. Mostly because when he told me “Now it’s a thing, ‘fake news,’” and I said, jokingly, “Fake news. You’re a believer,” he got nervous and pushed out a quick “no,” immediately realizing the millions of different ways such a quote could be aggregated, recirculated, quoted out of context and otherwise misinterpreted. You can almost see it now, can’t you? “Kieran Culkin Joins the Chorus: Media Is ‘Fake News.’”

Culkin’s distrust is of a more justifiable form, born out of a lifetime of his surname showing up in headline-grabbing tabloid fodder. From the moment his parents, Kit “The father from hell” Culkin and Patricia Brentrup, entered into an ugly, obsessively covered custody battle to when the National Enquirer proclaimed his eternally famous brother, Macaulay, had “6 Months to Live” in 2012 (he’s still alive), Culkin’s last name has served as a way to move and make paper ― the most intimate moments of his life repackaged as factually questionable entertainment content to sell ads against.

Ron Galella via Getty Images

Macaulay and Kieran Culkin at the fifth annual American Comedy Awards back in 1991, just months after the release of the blockbuster hit “Home Alone.”

“There are things that are out there in the world as fact because it was written in print that are just completely false. My brother did not divorce his parents. They did not fight over his money,” he said. “But that’s out in the world as fact.

“I learned at a very young age to be, like, ‘Oh, I get it: It’s bullshit,’ shit that’s written in print.”

In person, Culkin ticks most of the boxes of adulthood: In his 30s. Takes his coffee black. Enjoys talking about his favorite East Village dives. Married five years. Nice watch. Clothes that fit. Hair slicked around his head just so. Like Roman, Culkin drops a “fuck” or “shit” every ninth word or so, as when he said to me, “Hold on, I’m going to eat the fuck out of these pickles. You say something for a minute, ’cause I’ve got a mouth full of shit.”

But no matter how many fucks he lets out ― and by my count, he let out around 25 over 40 minutes ― Culkin remains stuck with a membership to the official Former Child Actors club. Macaulay, or Mac, if you’re in the know, was always the main draw ― history’s most famous kid actor without a drink named after him. But Kieran was there too, in “Home Alone” and “Home Alone 2.” He found himself on the stage of “Saturday Night Live” before the age of 10, and schmoozed with Jay Leno on “The Tonight Show” before his voice dropped.

Which is probably why ― and here I’m guessing ― Culkin might have been a bit annoyed when HBO suggested he audition for Greg.

But after 10 episodes of watching Culkin-as-Roman take part in his family’s imperious game of human chess, it’s hard to imagine the actor playing anyone else. If Jeremy Strong ― who plays Kendall, Logan’s cocaine-addicted second son ― is the show’s tragic star, Culkin is its nervous energy. There’s something in the way he pushes out a phrase like “What a pathetic beta cuck,” or belittles doctors and waiters alike.

What sealed Culkin’s interest in his character came in the first episode during a family softball game, when Roman points to a kid on the sidelines, the son of the site’s groundskeeper. Everyone grows quiet as Roman whips out his checkbook and starts writing a check for $1 million. Hit a home run in their game, Roman tells the boy, and the money is his. For the child and his family, it’s a potentially life-changing moment. For Roman, the child is nothing but a momentary subhuman toy to mess with and cast aside. After the child is tagged out at home, Roman can’t control his laughter. “I’m sorry, I can’t give it to you,” he says as he tears up the check. It is a degrading, truly awful moment of television.

“Oh, I get it,” Culkin remembered thinking, “he’s a fuck face.”

When Culkin filmed the scene, he embodied evil, letting out a cackle so cruel it sets the show’s moral compass for the remaining season. Culkin himself is not sure where his ability to play somebody like that came from.

“Being able to connect to some degree, not in a positive way, with these characters is odd to me because I don’t know the multimillionaires, I don’t know the super-rich, yet I know assholes like that,” he said. “I can’t even quite specifically pick out who I know that is exactly like that, but it’s weird that you can still, for me, relate.”

“Succession” suffered from a slow start, only truly hitting its stride around Episode 6, when Kendall leads the board in a tense vote of no confidence against Logan, who’s recently suffered a stroke, unleashing a sequence of events within the Roy family that are both comical and horrifying.

Culkin owns up to that. “The first three episodes to me, it’s not like they’re unwatchable,” he said, “but it’s not quite the show yet.”

Which, according to him, is fine. Some shows don’t grab you on first watch, and one in particular in his opinion: “I probably shouldn’t even say this on record. The example I have is actually [the British comedy] ‘Peep Show,’” which was coincidentally also developed by “Succession” creator Jesse Armstrong.

But the first season of “Succession” gained enough momentum before concluding Sunday evening for HBO to pick it up for another season ― making this the first time Culkin has ever been part of a television show that made it to Season 2, according to his IMDB page, a small victory in his more than two decades on-screen.

Culkin’s most acclaimed role came in 2002, when he earned a Golden Globe nomination for his role in “Igby Goes Down.” But that time the victory led to a full-blown existential crisis.

United Artists via Getty Images

Claire Danes and Kieran Culkin talk at a coffee shop for a scene from “Igby Goes Down.” Culkin entered an existential crisis after the film and took a breaking from acting.

“[I] found myself at the age of 20 with a career I never chose, [and I] freaked out,” Culkin said. “I think everybody around that age has some sort of crisis. Usually, it’s like a straight-up ‘Oh, I don’t know what I want to do.’ Mine is, ‘I don’t know what I want to do with my life, yet here I am doing it.’”

Culkin took a break before eventually returning to acting, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to do. “I was just sort of doing it in the meantime,” he says now. He took parts in movies like “Lymelife” and “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.” Did two episodes of “Fargo.” Performed multiple versions of a stage play he loved, Kenneth Lonergan’s “This Is Our Youth.” In 2014, he was still apprehensive. “I often think about getting out of this job, but I’m terrified that there’s nothing else,” he told The Daily Beast.

Since then, Culkin said, something clicked. He remembered coming home from work one day and thinking, “Oh, I think I’m actually enjoying this.”

“I think I know what I want to do now,” he said to himself. “I think I should do this.”

Now deep into his 30s, Culkin has established himself as a stronger and more serious actor than the “essentially retired” Macaulay ever did. And in Roman, Culkin has stumbled upon something as special as it is sinister. TV Guide described Roman as “the very definition of the hate-f―k,” but he’s probably more accurately categorized as sexual overcompensation personified. He tells his brother that his “face is drowning in pussy,” despite the fact that his various partners claim he rarely wants to have sex. He masturbates to his office view of New York City while a string of emails piles up behind him. (“It’s to gain some sort of control,” Culkin surmised.)

More interesting than his sex life, though, is Roman’s complex relationship with his manipulative and emotionally abusive father. While most people want to prove their competence to the people around them, “Roman, for the most part, doesn’t give a fuck about that,” Culkin said, adding, “If his girlfriend says, ‘No, but you did a great job,’ it’s like: ‘Fuck you. Don’t patronize me.’” What he wants, Culkin said, is his dad’s approval: “That’s the only person that can get him, the only person that can look at him and make him nervous.”

Logan does exactly that when Roman prepares to stand against the tycoon in the vote of no confidence. With his father staring down at him, Roman can only muster a meek “maybe” before he slouches into his chair like an admonished child and votes with his father. Thanks to Roman, Logan lives to fight another day atop his dynasty, while Kendall is forced, temporarily, to surrender.

Earlier, in Episode 2, Roman finds himself watching as the world repackages his family’s tragedy into viral content. He and his family are huddled together in a New York hospital, awaiting information about their famous father’s deteriorating health post-stroke, like characters in a Gothic novel, when Roman starts scrolling through Twitter. His sister, Shiv, asks what people are saying.

“Eh, rumors, you know,” Roman replies matter-of-factly. “Some of Twitter says he’s dead ― and also a good deal of rejoicing at our father’s potential demise.” He notices a short video of the “South Park” kids yelling, “Oh my God, we’ve killed Logan! We’re bastards!” and asks an employee to “find out who these fuckers are and report them or screen grab their shit.”

When Culkin’s own father was hospitalized after suffering a stroke in 2014, TMZ, The Daily Mail, Perez Hilton all repackaged the tragedy as well. The National Enquirer pounced, too, running a headline that read, “Macaulay Culkin Rejects Dying Dad: ‘Rot in Hell!’” But unlike Roman, Culkin wouldn’t have been sifting through Twitter. “That would never be something that I would do willingly,” he says of social media more generally. “Because already at a young age, there was a public perception of me.”

Francis Apesteguy via Getty Images

Kit Culkin, Macaulay Culkin, Kieran Culkin and Patricia Bretnup pose for a photo one month after the release of “Home Alone.” The father is now estranged from his children.

Like Roman, however, Culkin and his siblings have a less than ideal relationship with his father. By all accounts, they have been mostly if not entirely estranged from Kit ever since their mother won custody of the children in the 1990s. Patricia, the mother, claimed during the custody battle that Kit had been abusive, and Culkin’s brother Macaulay has continued to do so throughout his life.

“He was a bad man,” Macaulay Culkin told comedian Marc Maron earlier this year.

When I asked Kieran Culkin if he has spoken with his father recently, he answered with two no’s so quickly that I couldn’t bring myself to ask a follow-up question, only saying, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, “Fuck ’em.”

“Fuck ’em,” Culkin agreed. “I’ll go on record: Yeah, fuck ’em.”

After a lifetime of his last name being splattered across the front pages of tabloids, Culkin seemed ready to move on from the controversies that have dogged him since he was a child actor with moppy hair and oversized clothes. That’s not him anymore.

What we’re looking at instead is Kieran Culkin, age 35 ― no longer a Greg and fully embracing life as Roman.

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hellyeahomeland · 7 years ago

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“Paean to the People” | Directed by Lesli Linka Glatter

“Paean to the People” picks up right where “All In” left off. Carrie and Anson are speeding through the streets of Budapest Moscow Budapow. In this opening shot, their car is the only one on the bridge, adding to the feeling of just how on their own they are, without diplomatic cover, as they try to distract Yevgeny long enough to get Simone on that plane.

The arrangement in this shot!! Everyone whose face is visible is serving so much face. Simone is like, “don’t look at me.” Bennet (with facial hair!) is like, “are you fucking kidding me?” Doxie (with some pretty great side eye) is like, “I am NOT getting stuck in Budapow.” And Ms. Pink Scarf is like, “What am I doing here again? What is my job?” You and us both, Pink Scarf. You and us both.

Let’s give a full round of snaps to Sandy this season. She brought the sassy realness and Russian know-how the whole dang time. This show needs all the female energy it can get and this shot of her pulling out the chair for Clint’s “time out” is incredible. We’re not sure if she’ll be back for season eight, but if she won’t, we will miss her so.

Both Carrie and Anson know what’s at stake in this mission but in this moment, it’s Carrie who has to convince Anson how far she can and will go. We hate to say it, but the moment of recognition shared here between them screams “America First” when Quinn tells Carrie to get in the car and stay down. If seven seasons of Homeland have taught us one thing, it’s that these people all follow the same code: Get in. Get down. Shut up. Mission over self.

IJLTP.

We will hand it to the Homeland props department for getting the birthday right on Simone’s fake Carrie Mathison passport (it’s April 5, 1979). But!! Her middle name is spelled Anne, not Ann.

Simone spent a lot of time obscuring her face from the Russian officials in that car, but this glimpse of her expression after she asks Saul if he’s really going to leave Carrie--the Carrie who CLIMBED A FUCKING ROOF LIKE TWENTY MINUTES AGO TO GET TO SIMONE--in Budapow. That is a pursed lip and evil eye if we ever saw ‘em.

...And, of course, the guilt is written all over his face.

We are CACKLING at the dude in the white jacket in the background. We are not sure if he is just a really bad extra or some random stranger who saw Claire Danes in a Budapest train station and needed to share else he was met with a chorus of “pics or it didn’t happen” from his friends.

Sara and Doxie have the same birthday (November 4), which further solidifies that he is her forever man and the best Carrie Angel of them all.

We talked about the strong “America First” vibes above and the whole sequence of Carrie running through the train station is giving us heavy “The Smile” vibes, too. After seven seasons, it’s difficult for some moments not to feel like explicit callbacks from earlier episodes. After all, maybe looking at a mirror in a crowded marketplace is just Carrie’s favorite American spy woman move. But this shot, and Carrie’s smile later, are so specific that we think the homage is intentional.

IJLTP, II.

Real talk though, you really get a sense of the loneliness of the office here, as Beau faces away, back to the camera, surrounded by those heavy curtains.

Lesli Linka Glatter is a choreographer by training and she’s talked before about the diligent preparation she does before directing a Homeland episode. In sequences like these--filmed, acted, and edited with such specific clarity--that training and preparation come through loud and clear. Every shot has a purpose and we’re exposed to all angles of the action. It really is like a dance.

Here, the slow reveal of Yevgeny coming around the corner ratchets up the stakes as Carrie waits, a sitting duck in the locked room.

And here’s our duck. What’s so great about thrilling and suspenseful action sequences like this is the human moments they’re contrasted with. We can see the fear in her face as she contemplates whether to go down in a blaze of glory. She’s not made of steel. She may only have seconds left to live. She may be a hero but she is not a superhero.

Yevgeny delivers a BudaPOW (sorry, we couldn’t resist) with his punch to Carrie, but her moment of defeat is quickly transformed into one of triumph with the news that Saul and his “package” have achieved lift-off.

This smile, guys. Damn. Claire Danes is in a class all her own.

Delirious, glorious laughter. When was the last time we saw Carrie laugh?

It doesn’t last long, of course. The first rule of Homeland is that if Carrie smiles, shit’s about to get fucked up. “At least she had this moment,” we all whisper quietly to ourselves.

The shots of Saul looking down from his window at the city of Budapow--Carrie in it God knows where, the proverbial needle in the haystack--are powerful. He has left her there. And now he has to get her back.

We love this shot of everyone arrayed out like this, watching Simone’s testimony in The Room Where It Happened. Though we would like to point out that it’s hard to take Bennet seriously without facial hair. Dude, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere. Get on it! (Also there are so many VESTS this season! We count two in this shot alone.)

IJLTP, III.

This is the sequence of shots after Keane says she’ll do everything she can to get Carrie back. There was some chatter about going to Anson first (looking pensive), then Saul (looking sorrowful), and finally Max, who looks the most doubtful and suspect of them all (and, of course, almost hidden behind the others in the back). Sara actually thinks closing with Max is the most powerful. He’s been by Carrie’s side, through thick and thin, all seven seasons of this show. And after the trauma of losing Quinn last season, it’s easy to see how history may be replaying itself for him, this time in agonizing slow-motion.

So many “Pilot” vibes. This show loves playing with reversals and bookends, and having Carrie be the prisoner now is one of the most stinging of them all.

Sara would just like to say that she even looks beautiful in a Russian prison.

The book Carrie’s reading here is called Where Avon into Severn Flows, which is actually a short story by the American writer Harold Frederic and part of his book The Deserter and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars.

Here is the opening paragraph of the story:

“A boy of fifteen, clad in doublet and hose of plain cloth dyed a sober brown, sat alone at one end of a broad, vaulted room, before a writing table. The strong, clear light which covered him and his work fell through an open window, arched at the top and piercing a stone wall of almost a yard's thickness. Similar openings to the right and left of him marked with bars of light a dozen other places along the extended, shelf-like table, where writers had now finished their day's labor, and, departing, had left covered horns of ink and cleansed utensils behind them. But the boy's task lagged behind fulfilment, and mocked him.”

It’s easy to see the parallels. Carrie is held in a Russian prison, also dressed in plain, ill-fitting clothes. She sits in a broad, vaulted room with a plain writing table nearby. Carrie might have won the battle, getting Simone back to the United States, but here in this cell, her success must feel fleeting and the irony of her current circumstance mocking.

Some major “There’s Something Else Going On” vibes here. (Sorry, we’re just gonna point out all our vibes.)

We’re just gonna call this pose from Costa Ronin the Yevgeny Lean (#IJustLikeHowHeLeans). On a more serious note, some credit needs to be given to Ronin, who brought Yevgeny to life and made him feel like a fully lived-in person. His habit of leaning back, feet propped out before him, is just one small example, but it’s representative of the care and attention he put into crafting such a three-dimensional portrait of one of the most interesting villains in the series’ history.

IJLTP, IV.

And that IJLTP shot of Carrie, alone in that Russian prison with the stakes (i.e., her mental health) now clearly defined, is followed by the rather astounding hero’s welcome that awaits Keane back in the West Wing. This reminds Sara of those tunnels that sports teams would form after a game for everyone to run through. And now Sara wishes Keane had run through the tunnel, high-fiving everyone.

It’s Tie Color Time! Note that Beau is now back to the blue tie, having resumed his position as Vice President.

Talk about sweet karma. The scene between Paley and Keane is remarkable for a few reasons. First, Paley does all the talking. Keane doesn’t even give him the respect that comes with a response. He lowers himself to his knees, literally begging for her mercy.

Keane is often shot from below, highlighting her stance and power. But here, it’s a point-of-view shot. We see what Paley sees: this woman, whom Saul once claimed could not “rise above her own vindictiveness,” closing in on him, a bird of prey who’s finally made her catch. And then she spits in his face.

The Washington Monument, which sits due east of the Reflecting Pool, adds great dramatic effect to this beautifully shot (and scored) moment after Keane leaves her meeting with Paley. Despite the monument’s great size, in these shots its height matches Keane’s, which is likely intentional.

As the monument was being completed. Joseph R. Chandler, a Freemason and member of the House of Representatives said:

“No more Washingtons shall come in our time ... But his virtues are stamped on the heart of mankind. He who is great in the battlefield looks upward to the generalship of Washington. He who grows wise in counsel feels that he is imitating Washington. He who can resign power against the wishes of a people, has in his eye the bright example of Washington.”

As she drives back through the DC streets at night one last time as President, she’s clearly at a crossroads. History has its eyes on her. (We will also continue to make ALL the Hamilton references.)

We’re not sure if this moment was scripted or if it was a choice by Claire in the moment. Either way, what’s happening? If she praying? Thanking God? Carrie’s relationship with religion and atonement has been basically nonexistent since the show devoted attention to it in season five. We wonder if, like Brody before her, she may be discovering--or rediscovering, as it were--it while in captivity, a salve for her inevitable isolation.

A few things to note from this headstone:

It’s the tenth anniversary of Andrew’s death.

Are we really meant to believe Keane is old enough to have had a kid in 1979? Elizabeth Marvel was born in 1969, which means she’s playing at least ten years older than she actually is. Sara does not buy this, but whatever.

Andrew is born mere weeks before Carrie, which in hindsight kind of shifts the relationship between Keane and Carrie in season six. Carrie really could be Keane’s daughter, and if Carrie indeed did see her in some small part as a mother figure, it frames her conflict with Saul last season--and the battle for Carrie’s loyalty--in an even sharper light.

This is just a gorgeous light, the rows of headstones filling the bottom half of the screen and the large, overgrown tree framing Keane in the top half. It’s her figurative “moment alone in the shade” (figurative because she’s not really in the shade, but y’all catch our drift).

Again, it was impossible to properly capture the moment when Carrie congratulates Aleksandr through anything other than a gif. The quiver in her voice, her attempt at a forced smile. After this moment, the lighting in the room shifts--she is literally forced to see the light, as the direness of her circumstances are fully revealed.

This is the last time we see Carrie before the “seven months later” coda, so now’s as good a time as any to talk about the truly tremendous work she did this season.

From the opening episode, Claire took us on the tenuous, tumultuous journey of Carrie’s war with her own mind and the battles waged within. Every episode, every moment was brought to life with exacting precision. Sometimes we loved her, and sometimes we hated her, but Claire’s commitment to every moment never wavered, whether it was seducing Dante, having nightmarish visions of her bloodied daughter, or inching her way across that GRU roof.

The throughline of this season of Carrie’s mental health makes this moment and the final scene land with even more crushing weight than they otherwise would. When Carrie experiences a breakdown so harrowing and frightening, she goes to extreme lengths to restore her own sanity. In the last three episodes of the season, we see just how invaluable that sanity is--her mind is both her greatest asset and greatest liability.

Carrie knows here what’s about to happen. She stares, eyes wide open, almost as if she’s glimpsing into the future at what lies before her. There’s no safety net this time, no pills or ECT to pull her back or hit the reset button. But for as much as she knows that she’ll lose her mind (in every sense of the word, it turns out), there is also great uncertainty, looking into “the bottom of a black hole with no walls.”

Something we find super interesting about this sequence is just how many perspectives LLG gives us of Keane’s speech, whether it’s Wellington’s from inside the Oval, Saul in his office, or Yevgeny in Budapow. Again, LLG’s choreography background comes shining through. For almost the entire speech, we see her presidency--and what turns out to be its final moments--through everyone’s lens except her own.

LLG doesn’t shoot Keane center-frame, without some extra filter of a screen, until the very end of the scene, after the speech is over. Keane talks earlier about wanting to speak directly to the American people, from the heart, but what we actually get is everyone looking at screens, at the filtered version of this woman and her office, a metaphor if ever there was one for her short-lived presidency.

As her speech (which, like Washington’s Farewell Address, focuses on the need to not let political parties and divisions tear apart the country) nears its end, we do see Keane center-frame. But, again, it’s a shot of her center-frame on the screen, and her appearance is somehow altered and filtered.

(A quick note about her wardrobe: Keane starts the day grieving for her son at Arlington, and she keeps on the same black clothing during her speech, a signal of the impending end of her presidency. The dangling earrings are also an interesting choice, and an unusual one for Keane, who usually wears studs or conservative-looking hoops. Like Carrie in “Species Jump,” this is as close as she’ll get to “letting her hair down,” and the unconventional jewelry choice conveys the peace she’s found with her decision.)

And now the lights come down on Keane and her presidency, in every sense of the word.

The dynamics of this scene remind Sara of the end of “The Choice,” when Saul sees Carrie in that hall of dead bodies after thinking she’d died in the explosion. They shared a moment of recognition at the end of that scene, standing in stark contrast to what unfolds here.

Here’s our first good shot of Carrie, and there’s a lot to take in. The swollen face and unkempt hair are startling, to say the least. Under her bulky black coat she’s wearing white (you can see a peak of her shirt here but her pants--not visible in this shot--are also white), indicating she’s been in an asylum.

The season opened with Carrie running on a treadmill, athletic and strong, the buzzy chords of jazz blaring in our ears. It ends with our heroine on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She’s feeble and unsteady, running away from the Russian guards and straight past Saul. We hear jazz again, but it’s slower and somehow weightier.

As Saul gently brushes the hair from her face and looks into her eyes, calling her name, she is seemingly unable to recognize him. Her eyes dart from side to side, up and down, but his remain steady on her, and we can see (and share) the concern and devastation etched on his face.

She’s searching, and so is he.

#homeland #homelandedit #paean to the people #lesli linka glatter #*#in the director's chair #by: sara #by: gail #vibes on vibes on vibes

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