#writing an angry terry is the most amusing thing of all times

[galactic-academia]

There is a fury to Terry Pratchett’s writing: it’s the fury that was the engine that powered Discworld. It’s also the anger at the headmaster who would decide that six-year-old Terry Pratchett would never be smart enough for the 11-plus; anger at pompous critics, and at those who think serious is the opposite of funny; anger at his early American publishers who could not bring his books out successfully.

The anger is always there, an engine that drives. By the time Terry learned he had a rare, early onset form of Alzheimer’s, the targets of his fury changed: he was angry with his brain and his genetics and, more than these, furious at a country that would not permit him (or others in a similarly intolerable situation) to choose the manner and the time of their passing.

And that anger, it seems to me, is about Terry’s underlying sense of what is fair and what is not. It is that sense of fairness that underlies Terry’s work and his writing, and it’s what drove him from school to journalism to the press office of the SouthWestern Electricity Board to the position of being one of the best-loved and bestselling writers in the world.

It’s the same sense of fairness that means that, sometimes in the cracks, while writing about other things, he takes time to punctiliously acknowledge his influences – Alan Coren, for example, who pioneered so many of the techniques of short humour that Terry and I have filched over the years; or the glorious, overstuffed, heady thing that is Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable and its compiler, the Rev E Cobham Brewer, that most serendipitious of authors. Terry once wrote an introduction to Brewer’s and it made me smile – we would call each other up in delight whenever we discovered a book by Brewer we had not seen before (“’Ere!’ Have you already got a copy of Brewer’s A Dictionary of Miracles: Imitative, Realistic and Dogmatic?”)

Terry’s authorial voice is always Terry’s: genial, informed, sensible, drily amused. I suppose that, if you look quickly and are not paying attention, you might, perhaps, mistake it for jolly. But beneath any jollity there is a foundation of fury. Terry Pratchett is not one to go gentle into any night, good or otherwise.

He will rage, as he leaves, against so many things: stupidity, injustice, human foolishness and shortsightedness, not just the dying of the light. And, hand in hand with the anger, like an angel and a demon walking into the sunset, there is love: for human beings, in all our fallibility; for treasured objects; for stories; and ultimately and in all things, love for human dignity.

Or to put it another way, anger is the engine that drives him, but it is the greatness of spirit that deploys that anger on the side of the angels, or better yet for all of us, the orangutans.

Terry Pratchett is not a jolly old elf at all. Not even close. He’s so much more than that. As Terry walks into the darkness much too soon, I find myself raging too: at the injustice that deprives us of – what? Another 20 or 30 books? Another shelf-full of ideas and glorious phrases and old friends and new, of stories in which people do what they really do best, which is use their heads to get themselves out of the trouble they got into by not thinking? Another book or two of journalism and agitprop? But truly, the loss of these things does not anger me as it should. It saddens me, but I, who have seen some of them being built close-up, understand that any Terry Pratchett book is a small miracle, and we already have more than might be reasonable, and it does not behoove any of us to be greedy.

I rage at the imminent loss of my friend. And I think, “What would Terry do with this anger?” Then I pick up my pen, and I start to write.

Extracted from Neil Gaiman’s introduction to A Slip of the Keyboard: Collected Non-fiction by Terry Pratchett

[anorc-writing]

Pointless Bio time.

Largely a clone of my old FFN profile.

Welcome

Have fun reading my fics. I have had a lot of fun writing them, so hopefully you can have some fun reading them. Even the non-happy ones. They're fun too, like spicy food.

To quote Terry Pratchett "Writing is the most fun you can have by yourself."

What's my problem, dude? Why can't Harry just be an Alpha male?

(That's not actually a thing. Even Wolves don't work like that.)

I like to play with the conventions of fanfiction. E.g. with  Harry Potter, messed up kid.That kid already had PTSD before the war ended, and had an abusive upbringing. He's gonna have a bad time.

I'll take a trope and apply either crack or common sense to it. Often with naturalistic characters; not Naturalists who go naked, but people who act where possible like real people. And I'm always going to think about the ecological context of magic and thus try to find a way for the original author's worldbuilding to with as few changes as possible to be a stable system. If it was unstable, it would have collapsed in the many millennia since magic was discovered. I'm not advocating (Rowlings) socio-economic conservatism, just assuming that the original works describe a world that existed before the work, and probably afterwards too.   My series of stories about marriage contracts are technically a polemic against them. Who'd have thought.

Typographic conventions

In general I use the following typographic conventions.

"Speech" 'thoughts' 'writing being read by character'

I often don't write out parseltounge in English, just putting in speech that looks like hissing. Occasional "$parseltoungue$" occurs because VMS is cool. (If you understand the reference, you win.)

Unusual words in capital case in dialogue might be Vocal Emphasis. Try saying it aloud. Ditto. For. Over-Punctuated. Speech. (they're angry, or impersonating Alan Rickman playing Severus Snape.)

Sometimes FFN imports a section and bolds the whole thing because it ate a bold sentence at the start and got stuck thinking it's all bold. Not my fault. But tell me anyway.

Oh and people with very old english surnames that have double letter like Jasper fforde (great real world author, please read him) don't necessarily use a capital. double letters predates capitals.

PLEASE NOTE

I don't speak any languages but English. Google translate is responsible for the poor state of non-english languages in my stories. Unless I'm parodying the character, who doesn't speak the language. If you do speak the language, it should be clear from context, unless it isn't. I'd do better but I'm too ignorant. For those reading along in English: Occasional non-english text inserts occur. Life's like that.

An example : In 'Careers Day ch1', Theo Nott who is from a wealthy pure-blood family, understands the Headmistresses broken French but replies in German. What could he possibly be trying to communicate? I beg of you please, get my jokes. Or my characters. Unless they write their own dialogue for some reason. Is that... method writing when the character writes their own dialogue?

I will generally write in 3d person, semi objective and may change P.O.V. character occasionally. Sections of dialogue may not contain much description. Some reviewers don't like it. Maybe I'll rewrite it one day with more description, but I tend to ignore the surroundings and focus on the conversation in real life, so it bleeds through into my text. Occasional accidental transitions into present tense occur. And occasional intentional ones: to be intentionally jarring: something very unpleasant is generally happening and the character, and you, dear reader, by association are possibly dissociating a little.

Unreliable Narrators

My POV characters are not omniscient: They may record things that didn't happen exactly as described. Some lie or are mistaken.

Official authorial excuses section

I write to amuse myself, which means when it feels like work I don't do it. This is a hobby, not a job.

Chapter-at-a-time isn't working for me so there will be a period of lack of progress on some stories. There is writing happening, and it will get posted eventually.

Typing:As I have arthritis and am dysgraphic; I can't hit the key I want to reliably. I have to type then edit every line about four times, for get readable English. On writing days I will finish the day in pain. To quite the princess bride: 'life is pain, princess, anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something.'

Beta: Don't have one. Yes, this is all un-beta'ed. I have tried getting beta's and I'm going to try again one day. Today is not that day.

Cursed Child: I will use elements from it, but don't take it as really canon. My rehashes of it are generally parody. And for the love of merlin don't read it, you might as well read My Immortal instead!

Honestly this bit is canon

BOOKS=CANON. Films not so much unless I want to.

Harry Potter: Is thin, has messy black hair and green eyes. And ends up fairly tall. So not Daniel Radcliffe, and I often have Harry disguise himself by making his hair brown and flat, eyes blue, and his face chunkier. Mr Radcliffe has a much wider chin than Harry does. And if Harry hasn't got PTSD, I'll eat a hat. For all of that, by his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry is canonically fanciable. Even Hermione says so (his eyes anyway, which are bottle-green not emerald dammit.)

Hermione Granger: Isn't Emma Watson. Get over it. She's got buck teeth, big frizzy brown hair and pale skin, she's prone to sunburn and blushing. And has some fairly bad habits. Read the books to find out what they are. Spoiler: bossy, thoughtless, resorts to violence, defers to authority figures.

Ron: Has red hair and a big (long) nose. He's tall, gangling and has a long nose and freckles. He's a 'regular bloke' who manages to get good grades with hardly all that much work. He misses out on being as pretty as Bill Weasley was before Bill got scarred up.

The Weasley twins aren't tall. Sorry, the movies lied to you. They're stocky. They play Beater in Quidditch.

Harry has a tiny circle of friends. He never talks to Fay Dunbar, who's in Gryffindor, and the same classes as him for six years.

[terrence-silver]

Thanks so much for your sweet tags on my story! I love all the content you provide us and I can't help myself but request more Terry from you. How about. . .Terry trying to seduce Reader, but Reader is oblivious and thinks they're just best friends.

@atmostories thank you so much, this one is for you 🖤

---

This never happened before.

And he’s had his conquests. Yes. He once spent several years after he returned from Vietnam and got his Business and Masters Degree just travelling Europe and fucking around. Quite literally speaking. He had the looks to pull it off. He had the charm. He had the means and the money. Also, it was the 70′s and he needed to blow some steam off and make up for all the years lost in the war and after his parents died. But, what he never had before is someone being daft enough not to realize that when a man arranges to see you in his own private steam room sauna (which you didn’t even realize he owned, naturally - hiding the truth in plain sight) with nothing but a towel on and a bottle of champagne and two glasses that it’s supposed to mean something. How does one not understand the implications? Were you playing hard to get? Did you enjoy people working a bit more then usual for you due to some sort of abandonment issues? Was he simply losing his touch? Was this some sort of mind game? Were you somehow manipulating him for covert reasons he couldn’t quite read yet? No. No, you weren’t. Terry Silver could spot a shady, two-faced individual when he saw one (he’d know, from personal experience) and you weren’t one.

You were just - you.

Happy and friendly and cheerful and just normal. He wouldn’t call you insecure. Wouldn’t call you terribly secure either. Were you one of those people who didn’t believe they were loveable to anyone? Did you just subconsciously reject all offered affection because you didn’t believe you were deserving of it? Were you afraid? Did you have a traumatic childhood? Were you abused by someone before and who’s neck did he have to snap? Was he psychoanalyzing you too much? Terry Silver was just horrendously annoyed with you for the longest time now. It’s like you were a shut book he couldn’t read. So open, yet so unavailable. And he’s tried practically everything under the sun. He’s called you beautiful. He complemented you. Occasionally brushed against you. Smiled at you. Acted beyond polite. Beyond sweet. Was always there for you, close by, for whatever and whenever. Once or twice went as far as attempting to invoke your lust first if he couldn’t your affection and just straight-up untying the upper part of his gi and pretending to stretch out after a long training session, hoping to impress you with his physique and the sweat lining his muscles. He worked hard to look like this.

You politely looked away and excused yourself out.

Giving him privacy.

Privacy!?

-”Be careful, don’t catch a cold like that. Could be dangerous.”-

You jovially mentioned with care on your way out of the dojo training hall leaving him to stand there with a naked torso, waving him an idle goodbye, not looking back as not to make him uncomfortable by peeking - no irony, no sarcasm, nothing suggestive, no meanspirited joking in your tone of voice - just genuinely good-natured concern for his health, well-being and the utmost respect for his bodily autonomy. Honestly - fuck you. First of all, you were in LA and it was the asphalt was searing mid-summer, how the heck is he gonna catch a cold? Second of all, not even John treated him with this much detached friendliness and that was actually his friend. Even John was more touchy-feely, close and warm with him just by nature of being. This was ridiculous. In fact, it was outrageous. What was he even supposed to do next? Show up in your bedroom, just lay down and wait for you to arrive? Knowing you, you’d no doubt be absolutely okay with him chastely sleeping over and you’d probably borrow him your pillow and tuck him in too and just go to rest in the other room with not a care in the world.

How could a person like that even exist?

Did you have eyes?

Maybe he just wasn’t your type. But then again, highly improbable, Terry Silver was nearly everyone’s type and if he wasn’t, he’d make himself be their type. He’d get under their skin and make them believe he was their type even if they didn’t believe themselves initially. Oh, the idea though - the idea of not being your type. Why did it fill him with so much - well - resentment? Anger, almost? Loathing? Why was there a pit deep in his belly swallowing all his pity, patience and understanding for you like an ever-expanding crater of darkness? Why did he want to take whatever kind of person you were into a just rip them to shreds until nothing worthy admiration and attraction remained? Just degrade them, hurt them and destroy them until there was nothing to love anymore? He’s been at this game for over a year now. Over a year. In his kind of life, a year was an eternity. Two was just flat-out embarrassing. Stock-markets crash, companies go bankrupt and he makes his next million. He never spent a year trying to get anyone to like him for amorous purposes. And this beating around the bush would end today.

After much self-reflection and pondering.

Consultations from everyone starting from Margaret.

Milos, Snake, Dennis and even Mike Barnes, horribly enough.

Terry decided to pull out the big L.

Because really, who could resist a confession of love, strictly strategically speaking? It was a move worthy of the Art of War. Even when not mutual (and he’d make sure it would be by any means necessary) if anything, the other person would be flattered. Put off guard. Confused. Amused at best. Literally anything but the putrid, disgusting, disturbing sense of flat-line familial kinship you’ve endued him with against his will. He wasn’t your dad. He wasn’t your brother. He wasn’t your cousin. He wasn’t your friend. Your acquittance. Don’t you realize what he wanted to do with you? He wanted to possess you whole and make you scream on every surface in every chamber of his 100 room house and keep repeating that forever and ever and ever until you live through nothing but him. How dare you? The thought of not winning. The thought of just being rejected by your obliviousness. It brought him so close to the edge of breaking out of the weak, saccharine, nonsensical, subdued character he constructed for himself. It brought him so painfully close. Just shedding his facade and taking what he wanted in the crudest, foulest way possible - it would be so easy. So easy. At this point he was insulted.

But he held back for your sake.

He didn’t even understand why he’d care to.

Why he’d care not to frighten, repulse or push you away.

Usually, that would be his most preferred part of the game.

Not now, though.

Why?

Why he’d even begin to care to read all the possible moods etched into your face, bother with the levels of your comfort and discomfort to make the setup perfect, natural, soft and intimate and just say the words as gently and with as emotion as humanly possible without trying to come off too strongly? Which is exactly what he did. Upon which your reaction was to merely smile blissfully (disappointing) just tap him on the shoulder (even more disappointing), give it a fond little squeeze like you would your favourite coworker during lunchbreak (unimaginably disappointing) and just respond with a casual and off-puttingly, wretchedly non-chalant;

-”Yeah, sure, I love you too.”-

Yeah, sure!?

Sure!?

You kept eating the ice cream he’s bought you.

Unphased, unbothered, unaware and dumb as a rock.

Terry Silver was just stunned for the rest of the evening.

In ways he doesn’t quite recall being in, well - ever.

Did you just confess to loving him as a friend?

To his face?

And he let you survive that?

Alright then. It was decided there and then. He wanted to strangle you. Yes. But he’d leave that for another time. For now, he’d say goodbye to you in good humor and cheer like he always did and leave this unfortunate, hideous fiasco of a night behind him even though you (of course) appeared to be legitimately enjoying yourself. The next time you meet him, he’ll be himself. His actual self. None of this sugary, flowery, tame tip-toeing around the substance of things. No more sparing you. No more patience. No more waiting. No more going soft on you. No more trying to tenderly, slowly ease you into things. No. If ordinary, commonplace, humble Terry was someone you considered a mere friend - a best friend, to make things doubly offensive - the actual, real Terry wasn’t going to accept that. The actual, real Terry took whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. The actual, real Terry wasn’t lenient, merciful or even remotely open to rejection. And this was all your fault. All of it. You could have had the nice, kind, darling, innocent, angelic Terry who takes you out on cute little walks, asks permission to hold your hand gingerly and buys you ice cream and smiles charmingly at you with the widest, fullest grin he could possibly manage. You wanted the other guy instead, didn’t you? You pushed his hand. Forced it even.

He went to his actual home that night despite the risk of it.

The hills overlooking the shimmering skyline of the city.

You knew this place, without realizing you knew it.

He burned all his pretend-clothes -

On the embers of a lit cigar.

And seething with cold rage -- 

He decided to re-introduce himself to you.

They say honesty was the best policy, after all.

[tmrfrank]

twenty two / blaze and nash

Blaze had woken up fairly early, not an abnormal thing for the father of two. Still, it was less his routine and more the fact that Margo and Nash were home, if only for a little while, that jolted him out of bed. With his first morning coffee in hand, he made his way into his study and began to attempt to work on his current project — a murder mystery with the twist of a sinisterly unreliable narrator. It was a bit of a dark tone for him, different from anything he had previously written, but he knew that that was what inspired him to keep writing. He read through what he had previously written, and immediately knew how to pick back up. As inspiration struck, his magical pen rose into the air and marked up his notebook full of the words that raced through his mind.

A half an hour passed, pages and pages filled of new story, when Blaze heard the front door open and close. was someone just getting home? He recalled having gone to bed before Nash returned from his plans with Sloane, but has assumed he would be home soon after. Learning he had just come home was... relax Blaze, he’s not a kid anymore. 

After ten minutes, he exited his study and heard the sound of the shower running. On the kitchen counter was a bag. upon further inspection, he found two steaks in it. The label on the bag indicated they were from the restaurant he knew Nash and Sloane to have been going through. He rose and eyebrow at Nash’s admission they were going there the night before and rose another after seeing they had not eaten their meal. He tried not to ponder on it, but made sure to put the leftovers in the fridge.

Just as he did, Nash came out of the bathroom in a towel and swiftly walked to his childhood room. Blaze let out an expected “g’morning” that was left unanswered. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to strike up a conversation. Instead, he went back to writing and returned from his study just before lunch time. His stomach was grumbling and he was feeling concerned about Nash. noticing he had not left his room, Blaze stood at the door and knocked on it. He heard a groan from the other side of the door. 

“Yeah?”

Blaze accepted that as an invitation and opened the door. 

“I, uh, noticed you just got in this morning,” he said, wondering if that would be enough for his son to open up.

Nash was lying on his bed with a book in hand. He sighed, folded a page, and placed it beside him on the bed. Blaze found the book to be familiar, remembering that he had gifted it to his son years before. His worried eyes softened a little, but only for a moment.

“I’m twenty two.”

Blaze exhaled in, growing tense at Nash”s continued attitude. 

“I know, I’m not chastising you. i just... what happened with Sloane?”

“...what?” 

Nash’s brow furrowed, refusing to look at blaze. Blaze could tell that his son knew what he was talking about. This was his thing. He would stall for time before he could figure out what to say.

“You didn’t come home until the morning, you’re clearly in a bad mood, and you have two leftover steaks from your dinner last night,” blaze frowned. He knew that Nash wasn’t going to make this easy for him. He rarely did.

“Look, i don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” Nash was not forceful in his words, but pleading. He sounded defeated, tired.

“Okay, okay,” Blaze conceded. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, waiting for a switch in Nash’s tone that didn’t come. So, he closed the door. Only a few footsteps later, Nash’s voice could be heard from inside the room.

“...I told Sloane I was in love with her.”

Blaze stood in place without turning around for a few seconds. He exhaled in relief and the smile he wore disappeared before he opened the door again. This time, he walked farther into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Nash moved his legs to allow room for his dad. A look between them acknowledged that he had clearly outgrown his twin sized bed. 

“We hadn’t even gotten our food yet, but i just couldn’t hold it in...” Nash picked up the book and fiddled around with it, flipping through the pages mindlessly. “I think I messed everything up.” 

“She didn’t...?” Before he could get the rest of the question out, Nash answered with the shake of his head. They sat there for a moment in silence, until Blaze knew what to say. “Nash, I’m really proud of you.”

“I know, you’ve been telling me all week...” Nash started, but Blaze cut him off.

“No, I... yes, i’m proud of you for making the team... but I meant that I’m proud of you for telling Sloane how you feel. It takes guts to be that open with somebody, especially a friend, so I’m proud of you. Not surprised, but still proud.”

“I feel like crap.”

Blaze had been through his fair share of heartbreak and relationship problems and felt that he could offer some valuable advice. “I know, there’s no getting around that part, unfortunately... but now that you know that she’s not into you the same way...”

“She didn’t say that,” Nash quickly piped up.

“What did she...?”

“She said a lot of things, but not that. I know that she feels the same way I do. I know she does.” Nash’s words made Blaze wonder who he was trying to convince. Blaze or himself? Still, he believed them. The clarification prompted a deep sigh out of Blaze, acknowledging the complexity of the situation.

“It’s not as easy for everyone as it is for you,” he said. He loved how open Nash was about his feelings, well, how open he was with his feelings most of the time. “You know, when I told your mom I loved her for the first time she didn’t say it back. Not right away. She got there, just not as quickly as I did.”

“So... Sloane, huh?” Blaze interrupted Nash deep in thought, teasing him the way only a father could.

“Oh God,” Nash laughed, how embarrassed he was evident by the redness of his cheeks and his he was shifting where he sat. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“I know you don’t like her, Dad,” Nash said, the look on his face encompassing a lot of emotions — Blaze could read embarrassment, as well as a smugness, and a hint of annoyance.

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Nash. I like her, she’s just... a lot sometimes.” His feelings on Sloane were complicated and he tried not to hold it against her. “I’ll be honest, I always thought that you and Terry would make a good couple.” Sloane reminded Blaze of girls he used to know, fun to be around but ultimately not the type to stick around. “Always seemed like the two of you might get together at some point.”

“Me too.” Nash shrugged, clearly not wanting to really talk about that either.

Despite the embarrassment on his son’s face, Blaze enjoyed teasing Nash. It was amusing, refreshing even, to see him drop the over confidence for a moment. “...we should talk like this more often. Why don’t we?”

“We talk...” Nash said, letting the words sit before adding what he had been hesitating to for such a long time. “When you’re not talking to Margo or Mom, anyway.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Nash rolled his eyes and Blaze searched them for a hidden meaning he was not comprehending.

“You’re like obsessed with Margo.”

“I’m... obsessed with... you too.”

“Okay,” Nash laughed at how awkwardly the words had escaped his father’s lips. Ne had been angry about the situation for a long time, but something in him wanted to just let the one sided grudge go. He did not hate his father, not even close. He loved him and he admired the hell out of him. He was exactly the kind of man Nash wanted to be when he grew up, just less dorky and more... like Nash. He just wanted to feel as loved in his fathers eyes as Margo did. He was jealous. “I know you don’t mean to favor her but you do.”

Blaze was horrified. He felt the rift between them when Nash was a teenager, but completely missed his own actions being the reason. He only wished Nash had brought it up sooner. “I wish you had brought it... I wish I had realized this was bothering you sooner. It’s not my intention to...”

“I know.”

“I’ll do better.”

“I’m twenty two, Dad.” The words were like knives and Blaze did not shield himself against them. Seconds later, Nash backtracked again. The look of his father’s face was painful. “It’s okay.”

“I want us to be able to talk like this. I do. I didn’t have this kind of relationship with my father.” He shook his head thinking about it. “Your grandfather was a good man, you know that, but he wasn’t the best with this kind of stuff.”

Having had enough of the guilt trip, Nash simply nodded and brought the conversation to his relationship problems back. 

“What should i do about Sloane?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t make that decision for you.” Blaze rose from the bed, hands in his pockets. “Just don’t ghost her.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Nash said, not entirely truthful. Blaze wondered if he was projecting.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just... just keep being honest with her and try to be fair to yourself. Your feelings are valid and if this all becomes too much, do what you need to to move on. There’s a million other girls out there that would be lucky to be loved by you.”

Nash nodded, trying his best to hide his smile. 

"Do you want the other steak?”

"Yeah, I think i’ll have it now. I’m starving. Want me to heat yours up too?”

"Sure.”

"She didn’t just leave did she?” Blaze had been clearly wondering that for a while.

“The restaurant? No, no. She wanted to but, no. Not right away, anyway.”

"What were you doing out so late?”

Blaze’s eyes were like pinwheels, all the clues coming together to one big realization about why his son had spent the entire night out. 

Nash saw the realization kick in and threw himself off of the bed to make his way into the kitchen, as if doing so would stop his father from continuing the conversation.

“What about those steaks, right?”

“Did you two...?” Blaze was frozen in place, watching his son walk away. He was overwhelmed at the idea of... well, that.

"Nope!”

"Nash.”

"Dad, he said, mimicking his tone. “We just had a nice talk. Can we not ruin it by making it awkward? It was dumb, we were safe. End of story, let’s change the subject!”

Blaze walked into the kitchen, with absolutely no intention of dropped the subject.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Terry Griffith

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I really hope this is who you were requesting! if not feel free to send in another ask and I’ll write it for you!)

- You met Terry when she transferred to your school as the androgynous Terri. When you first saw her in the parking lot you just thought she was a butch girl or something of the sort so you were genuinely amused when people fell for her act and were completely convinced she was a guy. But you didn’t know the whole story so you just watched from afar until you were pretty sure you understood what was going on.

- You were a bit of a loner (80s+lgbt=judgement) so when she walked into the lunch room determined to make any friend she could, she noticed you sitting on your own. She figured you would be a good choice for a companion, she could kill two birds with one stone by making a friend all the while appearing to be interested in the “opposite sex”. She just hoped you wouldn’t fall for Terri.

- You had to try really hard not to laugh when she sat down and put on her played up dude voice. But for her sake you pretended like you didn’t suspect a thing and let her try her best.

- She was glad when you didn’t try to flirt with her and was pretty proud of herself that she had “managed to convince you” she was a guy even though she had a few screw ups during your conversation. When school was over she caught up with you in the parking lot and offered you a ride home which you happily took.

- After she gave you a ride home she tried her hardest to befriend you which you didn’t mind in the slightest. She really began to enjoy your company and considered you an actual friend not just a means for her to further her illusion.

- You considered her a friend as well but you did wind up forming a crush on her especially after she defended you against an asshole that told her that “he was wasting his time trying to get in your pants.” She was practically seething when he insulted you and very nearly jumped him in the parking lot before you managed to pull her away. On the drive home she ranted about the guy which you found almost amusing but you were embarrassed that she had finally seen firsthand what you had to deal with.

“I can’t believe people like that exist! I mean how dare he talk about you like that, completely unprompted! I mean aren’t you upset?” She asked averting her eyes from the road as she looked at you.

“It’s alright Terri, really… I’m used to it.” You muttered, thanking the universe that you were pulling onto your block.

“How, why, I mean… why not just tell them it’s bullshit, that it’s fake? I mean I’m sure once you say it enough it’ll all be over-”

“Because it’s true Terri,” you sighed. “I’m gay.”

- Her mind has to reboot after that one, she was not prepared in the slightest to hear it. Her mind just goes ‘Shes gay? Gay. She’s gay. She’s gay! Why am I happy that she’s gay?’ It really confuses her when she feels relieved but you just gather your things and say goodbye thinking her silence is judgement.

- Immediately after you exit the car she hops out and runs to give you a hug, assuring you that it’s perfectly okay and that she’s actually happy you’re gay which sounded better in her head but whatever. She actually suggests you have a little coming out celebration which you agree to with a shy smile.

- You spend the next hour driving around gathering food and movies to bring to her house. Upon getting there she realizes that she invited you to spend the night and that you “still don’t know she’s a girl” so how is she going to keep up this act. When you arrive in her driveway she shyly turns to you and admits that she has to tell you something to which you immediately assure her that you already know.

- She’s slightly miffed that she hadn’t actually tricked you with her superior acting skills but the two of you share a laugh about it and you agree not to tell anyone. So she locks Buddy out of her room and the two of you have a great time hanging out with each other.

- As weird as it may sound she spends some time looking at you while you sleep and tries to sort out her feelings. Undoubtedly the next day when you’ve left she calls over Denise to help her figure everything out and she comes to the conclusion that she’s in love with you. Denise is a little confused but supportive so she helps her plan out ways to confess.

- The next day she gets all dressed up, calls you over to the privacy of her house, takes you onto the balcony of her room and takes your hands in hers, confessing her feelings for you. You’re more than a little shocked but smile and hug her. You go with her to come out to Buddy who really can’t care less besides the fact that his sister got a girlfriend before him.

- For your first date you take her to a nice restaurant, everyone there either doesn’t care that you’re together and making heart eyes at each other or thinks that it’s sweet that you “are such close friends!”.

- At the end of the night she really wants to kiss you but she chickens out at the last minute and kisses you on the cheek instead.

- That night she calls Kevin to break up with him, he’s obviously angry and comes over to try to talk to her but she insists it’s over and he reluctantly accepts the fact. Buddy is more than happy that she’s getting rid of Kevin and probably makes some sarcastic comment as the college boy leaves the house.

- It takes a few days before she works up the nerve to actually do it. Your first actual kiss was in her room, she sort of wound up punching you in the mouth with her mouth since you weren’t paying attention and were moving when she went in. But the few shared kisses you had afterwards made up for your slightly bruised lip.

- The start of your relationship is her learning what it’s like to be in an actual relationship and it’s during a time where her whole mindset is changing so please be patient with her.

- Shes very used to dating douchebags who only want her for her looks and people trying to get in her pants so she’s almost confused when you aren’t like that. When you two are first getting together it really stumps her when you don’t try to grope her after your dates. She spends a while trying to figure you out before she realizes you’re just treating her like a human being.

- Even though she really only had experience in dating assholes she’s still used to being pampered. Her parents have a lot of money and her boyfriends would buy her things to keep her happy so she’s a bit spoiled in that sense. But to her credit she quickly adapts to what you can provide and loves it all the same (like affection instead of gifts).

- She has you review and edit her articles. She also likes getting your input on what she’s writing, your opinion means a lot more to her than most peoples so she likes to hear it especially when you praise her.

- You’ll sometimes have to convince her to take a break from writing so that she can relax and not throw her typewriter out the window.

- In the beginning of your relationship she expects you to pick her up for school in the morning like Kevin had but she starts to pick you up after she realizes that if she likes to be driven then surely you would too.

- She’s so happy when you validate her problems and let her talk to you about things that bother her. She’s never really had a partner who actually listens to her when she’s upset instead of just insensitively brushing off her feelings so it’s a nice change for her.

- Sharing a tub of ice cream especially when one of you are upset.

- Over dramatically calls you by pet names to get you to laugh.

“Honey! Angel!”

-Is she a jealous girl? Yes, absolutely, but since it’s usually a guy trying to flirt with you it’s easy for her to take a breath and laugh about it rather then staying mad.

- She likes to judge people with you and she judges them particularly hard when she gets jealous.

“God look at her.”

“She’s looks fine.”

“She looks easy.”

- You sort of become friends with Buddy and try to give him genuine advice even though he rarely takes it. The good thing about your situation is that he treats you like a genuine human since there’s no way of him seducing you.

- He has asked you a few times if you have a straight sister but you take it as a compliment and ruffle his hair.

- He’s said before that he’s glad that his sister chose you instead of Kevin. It warmed your heart even though it’s not much of a compliment considering how much he hated the guy.

- He’ll sometimes crashes your dates when he’s bored especially if they’re at her house. He’ll just walk into the room, steal a slice of your pizza and plop down next to the two of you while ranting about something.

- Shes quite argumentative when she wants to be or is having a bad day so you’ll probably have a few fights here and there. They’re nothing too heavy but she doesn't give up easy so you’ll definitely face the silent treatment for at least a little while unless you can manage to fight it out properly.

- The babe is confrontational and will stand up for herself and you.

- She’ll jump someone for touching you like someone tries to push you around or insult you and she’s already midair and clawing at their faces.

- She’s got some quick wit, someone says something and she’s already fired back with her own comment before you can even blink.

- She’s a little egotistical so sometimes you have to take her down a notch and get her to see the truth before she tries to invade another highschool.

- Pool dates. She never thought she’d get turned on by seeing another girl in a swimsuit but she’s changed a lot in the past few weeks, hasn’t she?

- Loves sending you flowers and taking you home so she can watch your reaction when you see them.

“Oh my, who could have possibly sent those?”

- Shes like 5’8 so she’ll probably be the big spoon when cuddling. Plus her bed is super comfy.

- She calls you cute like every other minute, you do anything, anything at all and~

“God you’re adorable.”

“You are so cute. Do you know that?”

- Jokingly flirts with you and loves it when you do it back.

- She thinks it’s amusing that you’re actually attracted to her when she dresses in her brothers clothes.

- But also if you ever wanted to go somewhere that’s less lgbt friendly then you have the perfect plan.

- Her parents are gone a lot and Buddy knows you’re off limits (and gay) so her house is the perfect place to hang out.

- She can be really selfless when she wants to be like she’ll always try to be helpful even when it might blow her cover or mess up her plans.

- She’s a cute drunk; you can’t even bring yourself to be annoyed when you have to take care of her. She’s usually very giggly and touchy, throwing around pet names and planting kisses on your face while she stumbles over her own feet.

- You try your best to hold back a laugh while watching her deal with her hangover.

- She loves dressing you up and buying you clothes; it’s like having her own pretty little doll that she can try out different looks on.

- Makeovers. Makeovers. Makeovers. She will sit on you if she has to but just know you’re gonna get some sparkly eye shadow whether you like it or not. Although speaking of sitting on you~ she likes to straddle your waist and do your makeup in bed.

“Babe I need you to come over right now, I made way too much of this face mask and I’ve already forced Buddy to put some on. I can’t just throw it away! It was twenty dollars!”

-She either buys food and brings it to school for you or takes you out for lunch on your off period.

- She doesn’t like you seeing her without her makeup. Even if she doesn’t realize it Kevin left her with a few insecurities, she thinks she has to look perfect all the time and that her natural state isn’t just that. She won’t really believe you when you assure her you think she’s beautiful makeup free but she thinks it’s sweet.

- She likes listening to you talk about your interests or hobbies even if she doesn’t quite understand them. She just likes to be supportive because she knows how it feels to have nobody standing behind you.

- Gives the best hugs.

- Scalp massages; giving or receiving either way she’s happy.

- She ended up reading the book Buddy had and is now a master at any kind of massage.

- She puts on her Terri act to make you laugh, you don’t tell her that you sort of find it hot.

- Watching the sunrise with her on her balcony.

- You probably at least consider transferring to her school.

- She writes you little notes and leaves them hidden around your room when she visits.

- Shes obviously got her internship at the tribune but other than that she isn’t too sure of the future. She tries not to think of it that much because she’s sort of afraid of what the future may hold. She loves you wholeheartedly and is determined to keep you in her life but you never know with the way society is.

- Although you can be sure she’ll go up against the world itself before she lets you go.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Deadpool 2 review

THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS! READ PAST THE BREAK WITH CAUTION!

It’s about time I reviewed this.

I put off reviewing this movie because of some barely-worth-mentioning drama, and it has been on the backburner for months. But after finally watching the Super Duper Cut, it’s time to break my silence and talk about this year’s biggest breath of fresh air and its funniest comedy.

Deadpool 2 is the Aliens of superhero movies. It takes the groundwork laid out by an already fantastic first film and just amps up everything: the humor, the action, the character interactions, all of it is just fine tuned and perfected. Where the first film was an impressive work for a first-time director, blending a romantic arc and an origin story together while delivering all the fun and laughs you’d expect from a character like Deadpool, this movie features a lot more impressive action, which is fitting since it’s given to us by the man behind John Wick and Atomic Blonde, while still delivering all sorts of gut-busting laughs and wonderful character interactions.

So what sort of mess has Wade gotten into this time? Well, after a life-changing event, Wade is down in the dumps and trying to figure out what to do with himself. In his attempts at straightforward X-Men style heroism he ends up being sent to jail alongside the superpowered kid he was trying to save, Russel. Russel soon ends up as the target of the time-travelling cyborg badass known as Cable, and after getting the shit kicked out of him Wade realizes his true calling: saving this kid from Cable. Armed with guns, katanas, a bigger budget, and his all-new X-Force team, can Wade hope to stop Cable from axing Russel?

The beauty of this film is, ultimately, how it manages to subvert expectations. A lot of movies lately have made being subversive into a big selling point; sometimes it works out really well and the movie is all the better for it - see Infinity War, a film that features the heroes failing miserably and ending on a shot of the villain contentedly relaxing after committing galactic genocide, the opposite of what you’d expect from a superhero blockbuster. Sometimes, it works poorly - see The Last Jedi, which features things going the opposite of how you’d expect due to bad writing and characters acting like idiots and trusting the shadiest people possible, the sort of idiocy we thought Star Wars had moved on from after the first two prequels. And then you have films like this, where everything is subverted for hilarity. And nothing in the world is funnier than how it subverts your expectations for Deadpool’s X-Force. Filled with unique and quirky characters like Shatterstar (who remains an alien from Mojoworld, meaning that Mojo is in fact canon in the X-Men cinematic universe. Put him in a movie, Fox) and big names like Bill Skarsgard as Zeitgeist and Terry Crews as Bedlam, not to mention the hilarious everyman without powers that is Peter, the film builds up and hypes their big skydiving scene, blasting “Thunderstruck” as they leap from the plane onto a convoy to save Russel from Cable…

...And then each and every one of them dies brutally, painfully, and horribly. And HILARIOUSLY, that’s the most important thing. I don’t think there is a funnier bit of black comedy in any other film, let alone a superhero film. Even funnier is that the invisible character, who has not spoken a word and who one could easily assume did not actually exist, has an amusing reveal right upon his death, which is the most hilariously wasteful use of an actor I have ever seen. The entire scene is just brilliant in its subversion of our expectations for a badass new hero team, helped for once by the advertising, which built things up so one would expect this team to stick around.

Of course, we have one survivor - Domino, played by Zazie Beetz, a mutant with luck-based powers. She’s one of the numerous highlights of this film, and she plays the character with the laid-back, rolls-with-the-punches attitude a character like Domino deserves. Frankly, I like her a bit more than her comic version. And speaking of new characters, let’s talk about the best new element of the film, Deadpool’s beleaguered badass bro-for-life, Cable. Played by Josh Brolin - complete with the requisite references to The Goonies and Infinity War from Deadpool - he is the ultimate straight man, his gritty, grim badassery contrasting to Deadpool’s zany, wacky bullshit. Of course, that’s not to say Cable gets no good laughs; there’s something to be said for a man who can growl “Dubstep is for pussies” with a straight face. I’m fully of the mind Cable is the best addition to the movie, and I’m praying we get even more of him and Wade interacting in potential sequels.

Then we have our special guest of the hour, the character we’ve all wanted in the X-Men universe, the one, the only, the unstoppable motherfucker to end all motherfuckers… IT’S THE JUGGERNAUT, BITCH. And lord is he incredible, especially compared to the dipshit from The Last Stand. Sadly he does not utter “I’m the Juggernaut, bitch!” at all in the film, but he does rip Wade in half, confirm he’s Xavier’s half-brother, and threaten to turn Colossus into a cock ring, so it all evens out in the end. In this film, he actually FEELS unstoppable, and though he’s only onscreen in the third act, he definitely uses that screentime effectively, delivering the epic, ultimate smackdown between him and Colossus in what Deadpool helpfully informs us is the movie’s big CGI fight scene.

And speaking of Colossus, he’s even better here than in the first film. His interactions with Wade are hilarious and priceless, which is aided by Wade’s blatant crush on him - Wade at one point gropes his ass, and there is a romantic musical scene that calls back to a similar scene in the first film. He also gets a bit of character growth here, which is great and unexpected. Sadly I can’t say the same for Negasonic Teenage Warhead; she’s relegated to a bit part here, which is a damn shame since she was one of the highlights of the first film. On the plus side, not only is she revealed to be gay, but her girlfriend Yukio is absolutely adorable and charming… though, sadly, she also gets very little to do in the film aside from a cute running gag with her and Wade cheerily exchanging greetings.

Stuff like that is honestly the biggest problem with the film, and even then, the biggest problem is what amounts to a nitpick. Yes, it does suck that some of the characters are underutilized, but it’s hard to be too angry when the rest of the film is so gutbustingly hilarious and action-packed. One thing that did disappoint me a fair bit is Vanessa getting killed in the movie’s opening. Now, unlike many others, I’m not going to whine about “stuffing her in the fridge,” because I think that concept is so absolutely stupid and is used for literally every time a woman gets killed in a story, even if it makes sense for the story and progresses the plot meaningfully and in a well-done way. I don’t think this was awful or tacky, and regardless of anything else, the post-credit scene renders her death a moot point; still, I’m upset that she didn’t get to do anything in this movie aside from be a stand in for Lady Death. I would love if Vanessa got her comic book powers and fought alongside Wade, making them the ultimate power couple. It’s just mild disappointment, though much like with X-Force, it is a pretty subversive move to kill the love interest so abruptly and so quickly, especially when there was every indication Deadpool would get a happy ending… and then even more subversion comes at the end when Deadpool saves her (among many other hilarious moments) via the magic of time travel.

Aside from that, there’s not much else to complain about. The only other minor complaint is that the turn towards more serious elements isn’t always perfect, and some of the stuff with Russell could have been done better, but really, it’s just too hard to get worked up over the flaws. This is a fantastic, funny movie, and one of the best sequels I’ve ever seen. It’s bigger, funnier, flashier, and introduces so many more exciting elements into an already great series. This is how you make a superhero sequel, this is how you make an action-comedy, this is how you make one of the best movies ever. If you like Deadpool, if you like superheroes, if you like action-comedies, movies with great choreography, or love seeing a good subversive film, this is a movie you shouldn’t miss.

As for what version to watch, the Super Duper Cut or the theatrical cut… I have to say that the Super Duper Cut fleshes the story out a lot better and gives some much needed context, as well as adds in some new jokes that were cut from the original, as well as delivering callbacks a lot better and staying more cohesive… but I will say the theatrical cut had some much better jokes that were replaced with some less impressive takes in the Super Duper Cut. Still, the Super Duper Cut is the one I’d recommend watching, just because the story feels more fleshed out, and also because it features Deadpool trying to kill baby Hitler.

Also, I just want to say this: “Ashes” is a better Bond theme than the piece of shit theme song to Spectre.

[eene-fangirl]

Stand By Ed Chapter 7 [An Ed, Edd n Eddy Crossover]

Note: Here is the next chapter of @impano and I’s crossover of Stand By Ed! Enjoy!

Now it was completely dark all across the Lemon Brooke woods. Having traveled at night before the boys made camp in a safe place. It was an open grassy area surrounded by trees. If only they could sleep in the location they had last time. The city lights made them feel safe. At least the moon was out. Eddy especially felt much safer. It was still embarrassing to admit that dumb fear.

It took some time, followed with great patience, to start a campfire. After vigorously rubbing together two sticks as smoke fired out his ears, Eddy made the fire.

The humorous event reminded Eddy of a funny story he wrote.

As the Eds munched on marshmallows Eddy entertained his friends about a boy with the biggest ears. They’re length was similar to Dumbo. The boy had hearing better than any bird. One day he was in school and heard a girl whisper to a friend that she was going to ask some guy by the name of Brad out when she already had a boyfriend. But the friend already asked Brad to go out. But, Brad was asking some other girl out as they spoke! The boy with the big ears followed the commotion only to learn that the fight was occuring in another state!

Ed and Edd laughed as Eddy took a little bow. “Thank you, thank you, and thank you!”

“That was very good, Eddy,” Edd complimented.

“What happens after?” Ed asked.

Eddy’s smile faded. “What do yah mean?”

“Does the boy fly to the other state to see the drama? Ooh, that would be funny!”

Eddy uncomfortably scratched the back of his head. “Uh... I don’t know. That’s all I came up with.”

“What’s the reason why the boy has big ears?” Edd was next to ask.

Eddy shot Edd an annoyed look. Edd immediately felt guilty. He should have known better. Eddy just wrote to relieve his anxiety. Eddy enjoyed writing more then he let on Stacks and stacks of papers scattered around his room. He made up little stories about random characters, his own feelings, or even about his disco ball. Eddy had a unique mind. It was a shame he wouldn’t make it more of a hobby.

“It’s just a dumb story, guys!” Eddy huffed scarfing a half burned marshmallow down his throat.

Ed and Edd guiltily frowned. Putting another marshmallow on a stick Ed hit his against Eddy’s forming a gooey string of the dessert. Eddy laughed and playfully punched Ed’s arm.

“If only we had some buttered toast!”

“How would a marshmallow and toast go together?” Edd asked.

“Anything tastes good with buttered toast, Double D,” Ed stated matter of factly.

“Best not argue, Double D. The first thing I ever saw lumpy eat when I first met him was shrimp, two donuts, an apple, dsome steak tips, and even a turkey under two slabs of buttered toast.”

The conversation moved on to a ‘would you rather’ match, to movies, and betting which characters could beat out the other in a wrestling match. This is what the boys missing out on. Their time with no worries was quickly fading. That’s why Eddy was so anxious. There friendship would fade for sometime until they became closer. What if they actually split up in high school?

Eddy’s concern was soon forgotten when the howl of a wolf prowling some near distance alerted the boys.

“What was that?” Ed shivered grasping Edd’s arm.

“The call of a wolf, no doubt,” Edd gulped.

“A wolf?” Eddy questioned, his voice noticeably higher.

“It’s the wilderness, Eddy!”

“We never heard no wolves on the way to Bro’s!”

Before Edd could argue further another wolf howled which sounded even closer from the first one. The three boys huddled together in a tight hug. The fire didn’t light up much of the campground. Were the wolves lurking right outside the dark shadows ready to feast on their skin?

“This is not good! We won’t be able to sleep like this!” Edd deemed holding Eddy tightly. Eddy didn’t mind so much. He wondered if Edd noticed him holding him holding his hip.

“Not unless we take watch,” Ed recommended.

Both Edd and Eddy looked startled by their friends advice.

“Would you take watch, Ed?” Edd asked feeling quite humbled. Ed always looked out for them.

“Sure! Then Eddy can take watch and then you. We could keep watch by that tree.”

“You sure you’re gonna stay up, Ed?” A skeptical Eddy asked.

“Of course! I’ll just count chickens!”

Eddy grabbed something from inside his bag. “Wait Ed, take this!”

It was the gun. Terror flooded Ed’s face. He refused to take it. Edd was also giving Eddy a reproachful eye. Having learned that there were bullets inside the weapon earlier that day they had no idea how many more there were.

“Only use it if you really need to,” Eddy carefully instructed.

The crickets were chirping. Any little sound set Ed off. He tried to relax but if a stick snapped Ed picked up the gun and pointed it in every direction. Edd could hardly sleep fearing Ed may harm one of them by mistake.

As night went on Edd’s eyes grew heavy. He snuggled into his sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep.

Eddy took the next watch. He wasn’t at all tired. His mind kept him awake with irritating thoughts gradually bringing his mood down. His hand tightened around the gun in anger having to listen to his brothers voice on constant repeats like a broken record.

Noticing their fire slowly dimming Eddy left his post. He tapped at the burning sticks. What good would it do? He couldn’t even start a fire.

A moan alerted Eddy.

It was from Edd. He head tossed and turned in his sleep. He made another moan of discomfort.

Surrounding Edd were bodies. The kids were all injured. A little girl stared up at him with frightened teary eyes. That’s when Edd snapped out of it realizing what he was doing. The kids... they all looked... dead. Then there were flashing cameras in crowds of people with blurred faces asking why he injured a number of a children with dodgeballs. Someone ripped his hat off revealing the scar. People laughed. They pointed. And laughed. Edd searched for his parents. He called for them but no answer.

Then, there was his father.

The crowd of people diminished and it was eerily silent. Just Edd’s father staring coldly at his own son with no hat to cover the scar.

“Father...”

“I hate you, Eddward.”

Edd gasped away.

“You okay?” Eddy asked concerned.

Edd panted, grasping his beating heart. Tears threatened him. His whole being ached wanting a hug to relieve it all. No. Monsters don’t deserve hugs.

“Nothing.”

Eddy stared at him in pity much to Edd’s dismay. His focus returned back to the fire which steadily grew making them warmer. Without a word Eddy walked back to his lookout position miserably holding the gun. The way Eddy faced away from the campfire alerted Edd.

Years ago when they were outside of Mondo-a-Go-Go Amusement Park Edd remembered Eddy staring into the night sky for what seemed like an hour. And then the whole night turned into a deep conversation between the three friends which changed their friendship for the better.

Edd stood up and tip toed over to Eddy so he wouldn’t disturb a snoring Ed.

“Mind if I join you?” Edd whispered.

Eddy jumped, startled. “Y-Yeah, sure, sockhead.”

With some company Eddy looked a little better. Even Edd. The dream didn’t settle his worries.

“A penny for your thoughts, Eddy?” Edd asked with a nervous smile.

Eddy leaned his head against the tree. His whole body looked strained, holding back any pain. Then he shut his eyes, biting at his lip.

“I wish I could just drop out of school.” Came Eddy’s answer.

Edd’s heart ached. “Eddy, why?”

“I ain’t smart enough,” Eddy mumbled hardly looking at Edd.

Edd sighed an irritated groan. “Eddy, stop thinking that about yourself! You’ve come up with the most brilliant ideas. You always have a plan B.”

“You’re just sayin’ that.”

“I mean it! You always catch me when I overthink my studies.”

“So what?” Eddy huffed, waving his arms out. “If I’m smart then why don’t any of those wise ass teachers ever think so?”

Eddy growled staring at the ground hatefully. He still had the gun in his hand. Frim a short distance away Ed still snored.

“We’re going to the high school, Eddy.”

“Thanks for the reminded again!” Eddy snapped.

Eddy’s behavior confused Edd more and more. His friend was known for his angry spouts. “I meant that we have a fresh start.”

“Fresh start my ass! They all know me! As soon as I strut into that school they’re all gonna run for cover knowing I’m Terry McGee’s little brother.”

And with that Edd completely understood. “Eddy, they’re not...”

“Uh... earth to sockhead! Weren’t you payin’ attention at all these past three years?!” Eddy’s voice howled through the woods. Little did Eddy know he actually scared off a wolf. “None of them trusted me! I never got a say! No one ever took my side! They knew I was an evil destructive, cheating lowlife!”

“That’s not true.” Edd said calmly.

“Oh it is, don’t you try to defend me! No one ever asked if I made all those copies of an embarrassing school photo! Nope, they thought I wanted a gazillion copies to have as my headshot for when I was famous someday! And then I cleaned ‘em all up for two stickin’ hours without a ‘thank you.’ And then they go and give me a week’s detention for your impersonation of the principal.”

Edd’s heart swelled. “Eddy, I said...”

“I know! You told me and said you were sorry. It’s all in the past, Double D,” Eddy said to him. A tear escaped his eye. Eddy quickly brushed it away.

“Who were they gonna believe?” Eddy continued in a low voice. “All the kids who were torturing the victim or the kid brother of ‘Terrible Terrel’ McGee?”

Eddy sniffled. He bit at his knuckle forcing his sobs down. The skin broke, bleeding. Edd placed a hand on Eddy’s shoulder trying to calm him.

“Nope. They’d believe you. And a jock who gets bad grades. Three witches who hardly show up for school. And a spoiled brat! But not me! A kid who was abused by his own brother for no reason whatsoever! Did they even care?! No, they didn’t ask. They just assumed! No one trusts me! They all...” Eddy hid the tears and shook his head.

“I just wish I could go some place where nobody knows me!”

Edd pulled his best friend into a hug letting him cry into his shoulder. Eddy held Edd closely, shaking as he sobbed.

“I’m such a sap,” Eddy was trying to laugh it off but he couldn’t.

Or the remainder of he night the two boys held one another tightly. Once assured that nothing was coming after then they went back to the campground and slept. Eddy's hand stayed connected with Edd’s as they fell asleep to crickets chirping.

[recentanimenews]

Memoirs Most Charming, Part 1

I’ve read a handful of charming memoirs lately, and more are on the way!

I’m a Lucky Guy by Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. This was a reader suggestion from Anne!

Here, Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. (writing without sister Ernestine, his sometime collaborator) recounts various happenings and misadventures from his early adulthood, beginning in 1929 when he’s headed off to college and ending somewhere around 1946, when he has returned from serving in the Navy and resumed his career as a newspaperman. These include things like going out for football whilst scrawny, being mistaken for a gun-toting gangster whilst attempting to hide booze (prohibition was still on) from the cops, pranking an odious professor (and, later, an odious superior officer), and repeatedly failing to live up to the standards of a demanding admiral to whom he has been assigned as aide.

On the whole, I found all of these stories entertaining, though the sole moment that made me laugh out loud was when Frank’s soon-to-be wife and mother-in-law completely excused the lascivious behavior of his friend, which a moment before had scandalized them, upon learning he was Methodist (their preferred denomination).

“You don’t think he’s a Ten Commandment breaker?” I asked. “Why, I’d trust him any place,” Liz said indignantly. “So would I,” said her mother. “I’ve always said that people shouldn’t be judged by circumstantial evidence.” “You’re so right,” I assured her. “Probably,” she continued, fishing around for a likely excuse, “probably—well, probably the doctor sent that girl over to your apartment to change the boy’s bandage, again, before he went to bed.” I was tempted to break into a high-pitched giggle, but I looked at Liz and caught a warning. “That’s probably just the way it happened,” I nodded gravely.

Unfortunately, it does seem Frank shares a little of the antipathy toward overweight people that his sister possesses. I don’t mind when he accurately describes a person’s physical characteristics—if a bosom is ample and an abdomen abundant, there’s really no getting around that—but when he makes comments about fellow student Sallye—whom he later proclaims to be “a real friend”—like no “male student in his right mind” would give her their fraternity pen, it’s just unnecessarily mean. True, Sallye has a tendency to be loud and overbearing, and I’m fairly sure that’s part of what he meant, but not the whole of it.

That criticism aside, I did enjoy this book and I’m glad I read it. Thanks, Anne!

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life: A Sortabiography by Eric Idle Initially, although it was an enjoyable read, I wouldn’t have classified this “sortabiography” from the Monty Python co-founder as charming. Idle recounts his childhood, school days, introduction to the world of comedy, the formation of Monty Python, the run of the original series, and the Python movies without a tremendous amount of detail. He does elaborate more about his independent endeavors, and I especially appreciated learning more about the creation of The Rutles. Using the song “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” as a sort of framework, Idle chronicles the various circumstances after The Life of Brian where he was called upon to sing it, ranging from Graham Chapman’s funeral to the Royal Variety Performance to the closing ceremony of the 2012 Summer Olympics.

As is common for a book of this type, there is a lot of name-dropping, but in this case a lot of the names were people I genuinely like, like Harry Nilsson, George Harrison, David Bowie, Stephen Fry, Peter Cook, Robin Williams, and Eddie Izzard. And, too, Idle toots his own horn rather frequently, which is admittedly justified when you’ve accomplished as much as he has, and makes sure readers know there were times in his life when he was having loads of sex.

Where he really shines, though, is penning touching tributes to friends who are no longer with us. My husband and I listened to Idle read the unabridged audiobook version together, and by the end of the chapter entitled “George,” we were both in tears. The chapter about Robin Williams is no less lovely. I cannot stress enough how wonderful these two chapters are; they alone are worth the price of admission. It does make one wonder why he doesn’t delve so deeply into the character of his comedy partners, and only makes a few mentions of Terry Jones’ dementia, but perhaps it is because they were all still living in 2018, when the book was published. I shall have to find out whether Idle penned any tributes to Jones on the sad occasion of his passing last year.

Life Among the Savages and Raising Demons by Shirley Jackson I’d heard such good things about these books, but my reaction to Life Among the Savages wasn’t what I expected. True, some of the “lightly fictionalized” anecdotes Jackson relates are somewhat amusing, like the family’s struggle to find a house to rent in Vermont, or insisting to the hospital intake person that her occupation is “writer” as opposed to “housewife,” or her son’s fascination with all the gory details after he gets hit by a car. But the vast majority of the stories involve her children behaving badly, and I had very little patience with these at all.

I imagine that other mothers sympathize with these episodes. Perhaps they see their own experience reflected, and so they laugh but also feel all warm inside, in a loving, maternal way. Not so me, I’m afraid. No, whenever the son showed arrogant condescension toward his mother, or her daughter became intolerably fixated on proper decorum, or one kid or the other was insolent and disrespectful, it just made me angry. In fact, I might have said “Shut the fuck up!” aloud a time or two. This is why it is probably a very good thing that I am not a parent.

Thankfully, Raising Demons contains less of that sort of thing (though significantly more than none). I really loved the section in which Jackson waxes nostalgic about her adolescent obsession with making clothespin dolls and her snarky description of life as a faculty wife (who is expected to have “hemming dishtowels” among her hobbies). The story of how she got a new refrigerator was a highlight, as well.

You’ll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey: Crazy Stories About Racism by Amber Ruffin & Lacey Lamar Having seen and adored whimsical clips from The Amber Ruffin Show, I was very excited to see that Amber Ruffin and her older sister Lacey Lamar had written a book together. Although the topic is racist incidents the sisters have endured (mostly Lacey, who lives and works in Omaha), the approach at least attempts to be light-hearted. These aren’t stories where someone gets hurt or dies; instead, they elucidate the kind of crap Black people are just expected to swallow or forget.

I did laugh a few times, particularly at Ruffin’s effervescent line delivery—I listened to the unabridged audiobook read by the authors—but after a while, the unrelenting wave of absolutely flagrant ignorance and hate becomes overwhelming. The commentary on the stories is funny, but the situations themselves are stressful and horrible and eye-opening in the most abject, despair-inducing kind of way. I have never been one to deny that racism exists, but I admit to being surprised and horrified by a lot of these stories, espcially the awful things done to kids. A beautiful drawing torn to shreds, a group of teens accused of stealing car keys when none of them is old enough to drive, kids threatened at gunpoint by a crazy neighbor but nobody calls the cops because who will the cops believe… I also feel terribly naive for being surprised.

I’m glad I read this.

Our Hearts Were Young and Gay and Nuts in May by Cornelia Otis Skinner Note: The former was co-written with Emily Kimbrough.

Our Hearts Were Young and Gay recounts the three months in the early 1920s that two young American women spend abroad in Europe, written when they are older (“Emily and I have now reached the time in life when not only do we lie about our ages, we forget what we’ve said they are.”) and nostalgic for more innocent days. It’s written in Cornelia’s voice, though Emily provides many of the details, and tells of the time their ship ran aground, the time Cornelia caught the measles and evaded quarantine, the time they met H. G. Wells and Emily made an embarrassing first impression, the time they mistook a brothel for a boarding house, the time bedbugs gave Cornelia a swollen lip “shining like a polished tomato,” the time their dogs piddled in a swanky Parisian restaurant, etc. For the most part, it’s quite amusing, but there are a few comments that expose the girls’ ignorant attitudes regarding people of other races and sexual preferences.

Rather than focusing on one particular adventure, Nuts in May is a collection of humorous yet unrelated anecdotes Skinner wrote for publications like The New Yorker. Topics include but are not limited to: actors being asked to lend their talents in aid of charitable organizations, a Protestant family’s audience with the Pope, people who laugh at anything, dizzying real estate transactions, and being interviewed by Dr. Kinsey. Occasionally, the tone turns more domestic and reminds me some of Shirley Jackson, such as in “Bag of Bones,” when Skinner’s son insists that the bones they find on a Colorado trail belong to a dinosaur, or “Those Friends of His,” about her son’s reticence on the origins of his friends who come to visit. The latter also makes reference to a car “teeming with hamsters,” which is a phrase and a visual that I adore. Indeed, there were quite a few giggles to be had, and I reckon I might seek out more of Skinner’s work in the future.

By: Michelle Smith

[hogwarts-houses-as]

Another short story! This one's a little shorter. I'm still Hufflepuff :)

Amy’s notes- I love your writing so much oh my gosh. The last one you sent me reminded me of Terry Pratchett- this one reminds me of Tolkien (I kid you not I can’t decide if I like your writing better, I honestly might), any they’re two of my favourite authors. I swear, I would buy a collection of your short stories from a bookstore. I’m going to give you forty points for this one too, cause it’s frickin amazing.

The Dragon Seolfdersthai

Down, down into the earth he found his way to where the dragon lay, entombed. He emerged as if from the grave at the bottom of a cavern, his werelight like a speck of stardust lost in the immensity of the black cosmos, serving only to make the darkness seem darker as it pressed upon the tiny circle of light, so that for a moment he thought perhaps it flickered and his heart faltered within his chest. The cavern was immeasurably vast, yet it stank of the dragon’s long imprisonment: the thick, heavy, musty odor of reptile. Soon, he came to the beginning of the dragon’s hoard: Seolfdersthai had been infamous in her time, before men hunted dragons nearly to extinction and she had shut herself away in her nesting cavern; a place so layered with protective magic that here no man could possibly kill her.

He was not here to kill her. He was here to ask for her wisdom. Dragons live long lives; and in these long lives they hoard all kinds of treasure. They are exacting judges of what is valuable: only the bones of the bravest heroes are permitted lie amongst their hoards; great jewels cut from the roots of mountains; fine pearls delivered from the depths of the sea; gold and silver, copper and iron fashioned into rings, armbands, necklaces, crowns, weapons, by hands long since crumbled to dust; magical totems snatched from the men and women of power who now live only in the songs. But dragons know that not all that is of value has the glimmer of gold. Dragons, in their long years, also gather songs, eddas, poems, words, and wisdom. And for this element of Seolfdersthai’s hoard he had come.

He picked his way through the piles of treasure, careful not to touch even a single flake of gold nor to let his eyes rest on any piece too long, knowing that if he did so the dragonlust may invade his heart. As he wended his way, a voice seeped out of the darkness.

“Why hast thou come, little child-knight?”

The voice was as soft as the fluttering of a moth about a candle flame; as smooth as the sand after the wave; as round as a bell; as thin as a shiver; as cold as the mist; as patient as the water over riverstones.

“I have come to seek aid, Lady Seolfdersthai,” he called into the dark. It is always wise to be courteous to a dragon.

A gravelly laugh answered him. “From such quarter as a dragon? You must be desperate. Or daring.” The voice took on a contemplative tone. “Or perhaps mad. Tell me, little hero, which word invokes you?”

He paused a moment to consider carefully her words. Dragons often speak in riddles, finding amusement in such exercise, and to not speak in kind will cause them to become yet more indifferent than they are naturally, and can often arouse their ire in due course. However, even the mere semblance of reflection can be advantageous when dealing with dragons.

“Is not a desperate man mad? Is not a mad man daring?”

A soft, undulating hiss echoed through the cavern. After a moment, he realized this may be Seolfdersthai’s laughter. “Indeed, toy knight. Though one word may settle in a man’s shadow, it will always miss his heart; each word more comes closer to the mark; and yet it is unwise to cast too many, lest you overreach, and hide the man himself.”

“Double is too much and yet half is too little: I shall concede to your choice of amount and erase one title and add another. I am desperate, truly, to come to a dragon; I am daring, surly, by the same sense. Yet, I do not think myself mad. Perhaps foolhardy, in its stead.”

“Are they not alike, my desperate, daring, foolhardy little morsel?” the dragon needled.

“No two words are alike, Lady Seolfdersthai,” he answered gravely. “They each have a different taste upon the tongue.”

Again, her hissing laugh rang through the cavern. “Do you know, small one, the meaning of my name?”

Perhaps he had once known the meaning of her name, and could have found that knowledge again; but this was a leading question: Seolfdersthai was clearly eager to bestow that knowledge herself. Wisely, he replied, “In truth, I do not, Lady Seolfdersthai.”

“It means ‘one of the silver eye’,” Seolfdersthai explained. “Allow me to provide more light, so that you may see I am aptly named.” There was a sound like the wind before a storm, the sound of Seolfdersthai’s breath, and a shimmering ribbon of light danced across the cavern, plucking his werelight from his grasp and imbuing the enchanted stone with such a light that lighted all but the most elusive corners of the cavern as it hung just below the giant stalagmites. For indeed, as surely as dragons can breathe fire, they can also breathe magic, as well as wind: the three elements of their essence. “Hmm,” Seolfdersthai rumbled, contemplating her work, “a werelight imbued with dragon’s breath. A rare and costly trinket, indeed. But worry not, little hero,” she said with a sibilant chuckle, “if I permit you to leave this cavern, your werelight will go with you.”

He gazed at Seolfdersthai, perched on a long, high shelf of rock, and he saw the flash of her eyes: silver sclera; black cat’s pupil, thin as a razor. At the last moment, as she turned her eyes from the light to him, he remembered the danger that is in a dragon’s eye. In an effort to avoid meeting her gaze, he considered the rest of her. Like all dragons, Seolfdersthai was long, as long as two galleon ships from nose to tail-tip, and thin, as thin and taut as a wire; a creature of fire, wind, and magic; void given form. Dragons are edacious creatures, born to hunger, and this hunger gives rise to their penchant not only for raiding villages and consuming livestock, but also for their need to amass a hoard of all things considered valuable. Seolfdersthai was covered in steel grey scales that flashed sliver when she moved and each blade was wide as a shield. They fit together like the skin of a snake, so that when brushed one way they would be as smooth as glass, but the other way would cut a man’s hand to mincemeat. Her wings were black membranes through which silvery bones glimmered. Her head was white, as though her skull showed through. And along her back was a ridge of spines, serrated and hooked, like shark’s teeth; they were white as bone, and perhaps they were her bones thrust up through her hide. Her paws look eerily like human hands, though she walked with the thumb turned back, each digit tapering to a thin, hooked claw; her hind legs were equipped with wickedly sharp spurs, like a rooster’s. Her head was shaped like a wolf’s, with forward-facing eyes and wide cheekbones tapering to a thin snout that ended in a hooked beak; when she yawned, likely for his benefit, it revealed close rows of bone-white teeth. This combination of beak and teeth made her appearance even more unnerving: she was an anachronism, something that did not belong in our time, a creature that should have died away eons ago.

“Do you find me beautiful, toy knight?” Seolfdersthai asked, as vain as any dragon.

“As beautiful as wind; as terrible as fire; as wondrous as magic,” he breathed.

Seolfdersthai chuckled and twitched her tail, apparently pleased, but said, “Flattery is an old trick. Tell me, small one, for what purpose did you come here?”

“As I told you before, Lady Of the Silver Eye, I come to seek aid: this still holds true.”

“And you come to a dragon?” Seolfdersthai said with amusement. Within a dragon’s enjoyment of wordplay is a proclivity to speak in endless circles, confusing their guests.

“The wisdom of dragons is spoken of in all the songs and legends; and you, Lady Seolfdersthai, are known to be the oldest and wisest of all.”

“Such flattery brings you no closer to your goal,” Seolfdersthai warned, regarding him coyly with one eye.

“Lady Seolfdersthai,” he began, “all the world is in flux. Great changes of the natural order have been observed, shaking the world to its very foundations, and many men fear it is the end of all things.”

“And what would you do in the face of this great movement, small one?”

“Even a small man, when armed with dragonwisdom, may be as formidable as a dragon.”

“So it is for this that you have come: a piece of my hoard,” there was a dangerous grating edge to her voice, like a knife being sharpened. She turned her head to regard him with the powerful stare of both her silver eyes.

“I come not for silver, nor gold; nor jewels nor magic nor bones. I come for wisdom only. And is not the value of wisdom made greater when it is shared?” he reasoned. “The wisdom of the scholar is not half the wisdom of the teacher.”

“You are a rare thing, little one,” Seolfdersthai chuckled. “A man who may riddle with dragons.”

He lost is patience. All men do, eventually, when faced with the patience of a dragon. “You would riddle while the world falls? All things are changing, crumbling away into dust, to nothingness! And you would have me riddle?”

“Tell me of these changes, little hero,” the dragon hissed, seemingly unconcerned by his outburst.

He got himself under control, realizing he was extremely fortunate that she had not become angry with his impatience. The wrath of a dragon must not be taken lightly. “The winds blow up terrible storms; the lightning strikes the land to flames; and magic becomes impotent, its laws of governance dissolve.”

“So this is why you have come to me,” Seolfdersthai growled; and for the first time, he heard anger in her voice. She stood to her feet and leaned over the edge of the shelf on which she sat, stretching out her neck toward him. “Wind, fire, magic: these are the elements of a dragon. You foolish men. You considered my kind evil, thinking we should bow to your idea of morality. And when we refused, you hunted us, until nearly all my kind were dead or forced into the safety of self-made prisons, like this one. But you never considered that there may be consequences. How could there be, when all you do is right and just?” she asked mockingly. “Wind; fire; magic. These elements give rise to us, yet we also give rise to them. Did you men—in your infinite knowledge and wisdom—did you not know that my kind held governance over such things? Even if you had known, would you have restrained your bloodlust? And now, you and your kind finally reap the harvest of the dragonblood you have sown, and you would have me undo it?” Smoke curled up from her nostrils.

He made a conscious effort to keep his voice from shaking. Her vicious beak was merely thirty feet from him, much closer than he ever would want it to be. “Perhaps what we have done cannot be undone, nor forgiven. But perhaps it may be remedied. You would see the world fall, for the sake of spite?”

“Dragons are spiteful creatures,” she hissed, raising her head a little.

“And yet, like all creatures, they have an instinct for self-preservation. A strong one, to survive so long. If you—if we all are to survive,” he remedied, “then we must act.

“Yes, I have lived long,” Seolfdersthai rumbled dangerously, crouching a little until she was almost sitting but still poised tautly, her tail sweeping back and forth. “I have seen the world near its ending countless times. When all the world was but ocean, the wind, fire, and magic combined to give rise to my kind. I flew with my kin in our first flight—our endless flight—for there was no land where we could settle. And when the sun set for the first time—for the first night—did we not think it the end of all things? Did we not despair? Did we not believe we would all perish in the dark? And yet the sun rose again. And when land first appeared, did we not shudder at the sight of it? Did we not fear that all the seas would turn to dust? And yet the seas remain. And when other creatures first washed ashore, did we not dread that demons had invaded our world? That all would be undone? Yet these creatures were life, not death. Countless times I have witnessed the faltering of the world, until at last I understood that we forever walk along the brink of a precipice. Yet the world has endured. And so have I.”

“This may be the day that we stumble over the brink,” he argued.

“Perhaps we already have,” Seolfdersthai whispered. “What would you do to stop it?”

“With your aid, we may yet be able to turn the tide,” he said. “All the world is turned backwards, and we may have already gone over the edge, but it could still be possible to save ourselves. In all your wisdom, do you know what we must do to save ourselves?”

“What must you do?” Seolfdersthai said with a chuckle. “What must you do? Toy knight, there is only one thing you can do, when all the world is turned backward:” she crooned, “you must turn round with it.”

She stretched, unfolding her wings to their full length. “And now, little child knight,” she shouted, her voice a booming through the cavern as cracks appeared in the ceiling, letting in blades of light, “if the world is truly to fall, I would fly again, as I did when it first rose from the ocean.”

A large hole opened in the roof of the cavern, which Seolfdersthai had sealed many long years ago to protect herself from dragonhunters, raining down tons of rock, scattering the hoard below. When the way was clear, Seolfdersthai launched herself from her perch, her great wings beating the air, dragging her upward. The last sight he saw of her was the light through her dark wings, her bones traced in shadow. Then, as he dove into the small tunnel that he entered from, the rest of the cavern collapsed, entombing him in darkness.

[terrence-silver]

Could you write something for Terry with the prompt : “ thank you for seeing all the good in me” maybe after their first argument or disagreement?? Or whoever you wish to use the prompt. much love xx

Sociopath.

Addict.

Maniac.

Those were some of the few milder epithets Terry juggled throughout his life, unfettered. He mostly wore them as a badge of honor in the 80's, laughing it off with impossible nonchalance. Everything's easy when you're young. Everything's a laugh. A riot. And it was. It was unbelievably funny to watch people in their feelings around him, especially in the negative sense. He'd lie if he said that it didn't amuse him. Entertain him like an elaborate circus act. In his later years, he took to masking himself. There was therapy and then there was pretense, and the two weren't mutually exclusive to him --- meds numbed whatever proclivity he had for the darker aspects of himself. Violence. Wrath. Vices. The rest was his own self control. His own discipline. Self-maintance. Sometimes, an unspoken fact of life was that no matter how many times people repeated the age old fortune cookie mantra that you should just be yourself and let everyone accept you for who you are, flaws and all, it was all a pile of bullshit. No they wouldn't, Terry thought. Not with the type of fatal flaws Terry had anyway --- even though he didn't consider them as such, living inside and outside of himself. Biggest lie invented by society since taxing the poor. He couldn't even tell most people he served in Vietnam or that he was a Karate blackbelt most of the times without raising eyebrows, so he didn't. Be the snake and the grass it hides in.

Except, you were the odd one out.

A bit of a freak yourself, endearingly enough.

Terry's told you everything, right off the bat, going into the other end of the extreme, utilizing what his therapist called oversharing or trauma dumping during their sessions in the past. Terry supposed he hoped to deliberately scare you off. Disgust you tactically. Take perverted pleasure in watching your pretty little face twist in a mask of mistrust and anxiety as he regals you with some lovely anecdotes from his past and present. All innocence gone from your expression, so he'd have an excuse to be angry at you and hurt you in retaliation, pestered and invigorated in his rage by your hapless excuses while your tone of voice concealed true dread. Except, you never did and his desire for revenge against someone, anyone, stood there impotent, useless. Terry told you about his penchant for aggressive outburst, cocaine addiction which he treated, problems with alcohol, the dabbling of his toxic waste disposal business and a barrage of other things he'd hoped would be a mood killer. He'd even tell you about the war. How he nearly died, alongside everyone else, in that cage in the jungle, not withstanding all the countless other times he nearly got offed unrelated to that one instant and he would've if it wasn't for John. You offered to draw him a bath, after all of that. Make him a warm beverage. Help him relax.

He's told you about the horrors of his life and you were offering him a drink?

A...warm beverage?

A warm beverage.

He stares at it.

If there was a dosage of cyanide in there, he'd call it a blessing.

-“Thank you for seeing all the good in me.”-

Terry whispers into his own distorted reflection in the deep, brown liquor of a tea cup after approximately five minutes of mutual silence, his voice feeling even more gravely in his throat than it usually does, the quietude total all around you two --- not the uncomfortable kind, but silence is silence nonetheless. He feels on guard and yet not. Maybe the fact that he wasn't on his guard ironically put him on his guard because he couldn't comprehend why this felt so natural. He can't believe he's said that either --- thank you for seeing the good in me --- what the actual fuck!? Cursing himself internally, seated on a couch, legs crossed, feeling like a cretin. He's been having this thing with you for a while now and somehow, in a short amount of time, he's opened up to you more then he would've have to people he's known double the amount --- he's been accepted by you with more thoroughness out of the blue as well, than most people he's kept in his circles. Emphasis on the kept, past tense, seeing as how they were mercifully no longer in it. He looks up at you, holding the tea and there you are, smiling. Not a mocking smile. Not a fake smile. Not a rehearsed smile. A gleeful, cold smile. A genuine, true, gentle smile. Terry knows the differences like he knows the palm of his own hand. He tries the tea too, taking a tentative sip. He had a private chef fixing him up his deals and drinks, but this was...well, it was delightful. So were you. His wide-eyed little idealist.

Terry wants you.

But, he finds he wants you to see the good in only him.

Nobody else.