#my head is unburdened by thoughts such as ‘this is ridiculous the characters would never do that’

[rosereview]

Chain of Iron Review

Like my Chain of Gold review (which you can find on my post list or here) this is going to be a hot mess of emotions and feelings with very many spoilers. If you’re wondering if you should read this book (a review without spoilers) my thoughts are go fricking read everything by Cassandra Clare and fall in love with me. Yes, I highly recommend everything that woman has touched with a pen. But besides that, let's get into this review.

Characters

James Herondale- first let's start with one of the main characters who was a big part of this novel. To be honest I don’t have much to say about him personally without getting into his relationships with others and the plot points in the book (which I will talk about later), but I guess I will talk about my love for him. I was unsure at first (before Chain of Gold) how I was going to feel about James and if he would be a typical Herondale boy and be very similar to his father or his descendant, Jace. I was worried that he would be too similar to Will and Jace that he would not stand out, but like in Chain of Gold, I was very happy with his individual character traits and personality. While he is like Will and Jace, James is also very different and his own person. He’s a typical heart throb Herondale, while still having this very reserved and responsible side to him that I love so much. His only flaw is something he can’t control, so yeah… strong character.

Cordelia Carstairs- Like last book, I LOVE Cordelia, although this book was harder to read because of what she went through. Multiple times I wanted to just give her a hug and let her cry on my shoulder. I wish she hadn’t had to go through so much trauma in this book, but I know she’ll become a better character because of it. The whole ordeal with being Lilith’s paladin hurt very much, her unrequited (not really) love for James was heartbreaking to see continuously played on (I JUST WANTED THAT DAMN GRACELET OFF), and the parts about her father also hurt. I need to read Chain of Thorns now, just to make sure that Cordelia is alright in the end.

Matthew Fairchild- talking about Matthew makes me sad because I absolutely love him as a character and I just need him to get better. I’m so happy that he opened up to Cordelia in this book, but I need him to start loving himself again. The pain I feel when reading about him trembling and drinking himself to honestly too much (especially since he’s just a fictional character). And that’s really all I want for Matthew, is for him to be okay one day.

Grace Blackthorn- this was very interesting in Chain of Iron because we got a lot of flashback scenes from Grace’s point of view and that made me not hate her as much anymore. I still am very annoyed at her, but I like that I can finally see more of her side and sympathize with her. I’m very interested to see more of her character development, especially individually without all the stuff with James obscuring my image of her.

Lucie Herondale- someone else that I found I loved much more in this book was Lucie. In the last book, from what I can remember, Lucie was a little interesting at parts (I kind of want to say annoying, although that’s a little too harsh of a word), but I loved her in this book. She had much more character development (I thought) and her personality came out more in a less hectic way. Her inner thoughts started to make more sense to me, and I loved learning more about her as not someone who is just James’s sister, or Cordelia’s future parabatai, but as her own person.

Jesse Blackthorn- Another character I loved to see more of although we mostly just saw him through Lucie’s eyes, and I also already loved him even before. He became a much more understanding and developed character in this book and I can’t wait to see more of him now that he’s alive!

Alastair Carstairs- I totally fell in love with him in this book too! Holy shit, all I wanted to do was hug him and tell him that it would all be alright. Because he is an older sibling I think I can relate to him a lot more now, especially with all this baggage that he was keeping and trying to protect Cordelia from. I found the scenes with just him in them (like when he’s thinking about the future while looking out the window in his house after his father dies and thinking about his new baby sibling that will be born) absolutely amazing and captivating. Obviously I used to hate him because of the short stories that he was in the Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy and other extra short stories, but now I need more of him and I’m internally hurting for him.

Thomas Lightwood- Another character I am hurting for and I just need him to be okay. I loved and hated the fact that he felt so hurt for James because of the killer and he wanted to unburden James by catching the killer. I was just so moved but also so angry that he was putting himself in danger that it was a very emotional time reading (like me clutching the book and shouting at Thomas to stop and go back). But I will always love Thomas and can’t wait to see more of him. 

Christopher Lightwood- Last but certainly not least, is Christopher, who I am obsessed with. That one POV moment that we had from him was one of my favourites and now I need to hear from him more. I love all of his quirks and his inner thoughts are the most adorable thing but also makes me sad because he has no one but Henry to share them with and who fully understands and appreciates him for who he is. Also I still really find it wild that he’s the son of Cecily and Gabriel, who aren’t science-y people at all and who are both much more sarcastic characters, while Christopher is just so sweet and perfect. (Not saying Cecily and Gabriel aren’t perfect, but still never would have imagined them to have a kid like Christopher, but at the same time I find it so perfect that they did). Also I just love Christopher so much! I know I said that already, but I just can’t get over it. I need more of his inner thoughts and just more of HIM. 

Relationships

Now we can finally talk about the characters in terms of their relationships with other characters and since I was just talking about Christopher I need to start with…

Christopher and Grace! — I loved that little moment they shared when they were in Henry’s laboratory and were bonding of the pithos. It was the best moment in the whole book and I keep thinking about it in my head. I know of the family tree from the Clockwork Princess inside cover, it says that Christopher and Grace will get married and have the Lightwood offspring, but I just hadn’t really realized that significance until now. They are so cute together and even though I have expressly said I hated Grace in the past, the way she understood Christopher and the way they could talk together, warmed my heart so much and was the most redeeming part of Grace’s character for me. I just need more moments of Grace and Christopher. 

Now to the next most pressing relationship…

The James, Cordelia, Matthew love triangle!

Let's start with Cordelia and James— I love them together. Even with all the annoying shit with James and the bracelet, their relationship shone in this book and I was so happy about it. They are so perfect for each other and all of their moments together I was bursting with joy. Their chemistry, but also their solid foundation for their relationship is so well written that it’s impossible for me not to see them as together. This is their story and I’m in love with it.

Now Cordelia and Matthew— I also love them, but probably not as much. The thing is, I’m just obsessed with Matthew, so while I love the relationship just because I want Matthew to find happiness, I think James and Cordelia are better together. The problem is with Matthew is that he needs to work on himself first before he could ever hope to fully love someone else and share a life with someone else. I’m very happy for the moment though that Matthew has Cordelia at his side and that he even shared his biggest secret with her because I do think that Cordelia has the capacity to help Matthew (maybe even on this trip to Paris) but I also don’t want it to be too much for Cordelia since she already had to deal with similar issues with her dad and I don’t want it to bring up hard memories for her. But either way I just need the next book to see what happens after that VERY emotional cliffhanger. Cassie did me dirty with that one. 

James and Grace— Well I hate the fricking bracelet (also side note, I absolutely love that the fandom nicknamed the bracelet, gracelet. I love that so much). But I also see why Grace felt like she had to put it on and why she couldn’t take it off, but it still makes me so mad. Especially the way she still felt she could manipulate James in the end because she had nowhere else to go. I hate that part of her, the part that her mother taught her that it’s okay to manipulate men. But I was also so happy how James went off on her at the end, it was very satisfying until Cordelia ran off, but still very happy that James got to yell at Grace like that. 

Lucie and Jesse— another couple I am now fully invested and in love with. This book made me like Lucie more BECAUSE of her development with Jesse. I liked Jesse before, but this book, where we got to see lots of their development as a couple and be completely honest with each other, sealed the deal for me. I can’t wait to read more about Jesse and Lucie in the future because I am so happy for them and so in love with their love, it’s actually kind of ridiculous. 

Alastair and Thomas— again, I just fell completely in love with them in this book. The scenes with them locked up together were some of my favorite scenes, but I was beyond sad when Alastair still broke it off with Thomas in the end. I needed one couple to find some sort of happy at the end of this book, but all of them ended badly! I was very mad, but I can’t wait for the next book to see them get together (because they have to get together). 

Anna and Ariadne— I just love Anna so much and I want her to be happy, but in this book I also felt for Ariadne too. At first I didn’t like her because of the fact that she broke Anna’s heart, but now seeing her try so hard to make up with her… it just makes my heart break for the both of them. Also the only parts in this book that had these two in it, were scenes about their relationship, which is why I didn’t have anything to say about their individual personalities, but I would like to add that Anna is definitely one of my favourite Lightwoods and one of the best minor characters in the Shadowhunter universe. 

Lucie and Cordelia— for these two I wish that we had more scenes of them as friends, but I think one of the most powerful parts of this book that made it so sad, was the fact that Cordelia and Lucie didn’t talk. The way the two girls were by themselves with their problems definitely was a huge factor of why everything went bad, and I’m very certain that if Lucie and Cordelia had talked more, things would have ended differently. So I see and understand why they weren’t able to be the parabatai pals that I wanted them to be, but I still am waiting desperately for more scenes of the two of them just being friends. Another reason I cannot wait for the last book of the series. 

Grace and Jesse— because of all the flashback scenes of Grace, I was able to appreciate her relationship with her brother more. The bond that they have between brother and sister is so strong and beautiful that it’s another thing that redeems Grace as a character, and makes me sympathize a lot more with her. 

The Merry Thieves— just want to say that I love them so much. I will always love them and I just need more scenes of the group of them plus Lucie, Anna, and Cordelia. That is all.

Plot

For plot details in this book, I just have a couple things to talk about, the first being: WHERE THE FUCK WAS THE REAL MAGNUS! Honestly, I know where he was, but I felt so betrayed when Lilith revealed herself to be a pretend Magnus. Every Shadowhunter book has Magnus helping to save the day, and my theory is that the reason everything went so shitty was because Magnus wasn’t there. Jem and Magnus are always needed for these Shadowhunter children who just keep getting caught up into shitty situations. He better help more in the next book (which I already know he will, since at the end of Chain of Iron he was there with Will). On that note, I also thought it was clever of Cassie to have Will and Tessa gone for the majority of the book, because I feel like if they had been there, shit wouldn’t have gotten that bad, both concerning Belial and the kids’ love lives. It wouldn’t have been believable if they had been there but all the events happened in the same way, because I’m pretty sure Will or Tessa would have given more advice to James and Lucie. 

Secondly, that was some crazy business with Belial and Lilith, and also I’m so excited that Lilith is back. I think she’s such an interesting villain being Adam’s first wife and all. But also I don’t like who she’s a manipulative bitch, but I think that’s part of her charm. 

Next, the gracelet. I hate it. Period. Glad it’s off. 

Next plot point— all the stuff with Malcolm! Oh my goodness that was so interesting to see how Malcolm’s villain origin story started. I can’t actually believe that it was Grace that told Malcolm straight up about Annabel (I can actually believe it, I just think it ironic that she’s also a Blackthorn, and really only Blackthorns seem to have messed up Malcolm’s life). I’m very interested to see more of what he does with Jesse and Lucie now that Jesse is alive and Malcolm knows more about Lucie’s powers. 

Lastly, I wanted to touch on the extra short story from the first editions of Chain of Iron, with Magnus and Jem. I think that it was an important scene concerning the future Eldest Curses novel, The Black Volume of the Dead, and maybe even the Wicked Powers series. It just made me even more excited for the future Shadowhunters books and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for us moving forward!

And that’s all I have to talk about. Thank you if you read to the end and were able to sift through my thoughts. This is totally unedited, so sorry for stupid mistakes and such. 

Until next time!

~Rose Reviews

#cassandraclare #shadowhunters #chain of iron spoilers #chain of iron #the last hours #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #matthew fairchild #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #anna lightwood #ariadne bridgestock #chain of iron review

[helahades]

Can’t Give You Love

(Steve Rogers x Black!Fem!Reader)

A/N: ***Important*** This story has strong noncon concepts, and delusional thoughts from Steve, who is the aggressor. None of these things are okay irl, and because of the sensitive nature of these concepts, warnings are below the cut.

This is my entry to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor’s recent challenge. ♥️♥️♥️My prompt: (#21) Character A meets Character B at a nightclub. Character A wants a one night stand but Character B wants more.

Summary: You take Steve home after a night out, celebrating your graduation. You fall asleep. Steve decides he hasn’t had enough.

Warnings: Smut. NSFW. Somnophilia, Delusional Steve. Justification of terrible thoughts via Steve’s POV. Mentions of blood and violence. Steve pretending to be a good guy.

Word Count: about 3.1k

—

Steve’s favorite part of the night is the beginning. Club goers come in all shapes and sizes, in all levels of modesty. To be in a world of such varied and unburdened interactions reminds him of the true simplicity at civilian level. Makes him feel almost human. Despite all his moral dilemmas, he is still a man though, and he isn’t just here to be thoughtful. He likes to look, and he’s he’s delighted when his eyes find you.

Watching you from the bar, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the way you constantly pulled down the skirt of your curve hugging dress, the way you adjusted your “Congrats Grad!” pin like it would spear you to death right there on the dance floor, the way you would go to dance, swinging your hips each way like no one was watching. It excites him watching you, because you keep throwing tells that you’ve never done this before, that this isn’t your scene. For a while, he had been bored with that, but you’re not just a shy lamb, there’s something else.

Your laugh is uninhibited, and there’s a starter spark threatening to flame behind your eyes, dare any man get too touchy with you or your friends. Steve loves a protector.

When you approach the bar, it’s hardly for your first drink, but there are no indicators in your demeanor. He only knows because he’s been watching you all night.

You’re there for a moment, watching the workings behind the bar before turning to him.

“So,” you giggle, flame coming to life, “come here often?”

He’s hooked.

“Not at all actually. This isn’t really my scene.” A lie. He fidgets with his drink as a special touch.

Your eyes soften, empathetically and imperceptibly to anyone who wasn’t analyzing the fine details.

“To be honest… it’s not really mine either. Think I’d rather celebrate graduating by sleeping—But anyway, why’d you come out tonight if it’s… not your scene?”

You’re fully engaged. It seems that you love the game of conversation.

“The truth is… long winded.”

“Well,” you say softly as possible, still wanting to be heard over the pulsing of the bass, “I’m pretty tired of dancing, so you’d be doing me a favor giving me a reason to stay.”

You pull up a stool and prop your head on one arm.

With a soft chuckle, Steve continues.

“I guess…I had been looking for love. For… the one, yknow? And I didn’t realize until tonight that it’s not gonna happen.”

“What changed tonight?”

Your drink arrives.

“It’s nothing about tonight in particular, tonight’s just a night—but I’m sorry. You’re here to have a good time,” he finishes, scooting away just a bit as he does so. A test.

Your brow furrows and you think a bit before closing the gap. Smart girl. But he’s got you.

“I’d have a better time, literally anywhere else,” you giggle again, shifting and sitting up to sip your drink. Seeming to realize what you implied, you gather the boldness to finish it.

“So… do you wanna get out of here?”

—

You decide to drive, saying you only had that sip to drink. Steve says he believes you. He doesn't really mind anyway, and he can’t tell you he knows a different truth, lest he reveal himself.

Watching you as you talk as your minidress rides up your thighs, he realizes upon arrival that he can’t remember whether the drive was long. Sloppy of him.

You park the car and shift in your seat.

“I really want to kiss you—what was it?”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you repeat, sitting back in the driver's seat.

“God I want to kiss you. I can’t show you love,” you taunt gently, in a comfortable way like you’ve known him forever, “but I can make you feel really good,” your voice finishes sweetly.

He feels his cock swell, and in that moment, a large warm hand is cradling your jaw and pulling you close for a sugary, tequila spiked kiss. His lips are plump, warm, now wet as you run your tongue over his bottom one.

From between your legs, heat rises all the way to your chest, and you break away to fumble for your house key.

As Steve sits, collecting air while you fumble with your pineapple keyring, he tries to recall, but he knows he’s never tasted anyone so sweet. You’re warm like muffins fresh out of the oven. You have just enough fight to convince yourself you’re hard to get, and that makes him dizzy.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re already wet. Because he’s a gentleman. Always a gentleman first. Always the golden boy. Since retiring, he knows his role isn't what it used to be. Sam holds the shield with ease, and honestly, Steve had never pictured life without that shield and moniker before going on the run. When he was on the run, he was living from one moment to the next. Between here and there, he was never really thinking about his own wants, what would make HIM feel alive.

He’s living a different life, though, because now he can. He’s got all the time in the world. After too long of fighting some new cosmic force, of each threat being crazier than the last, he wants the old school life. That sentiment is one he had thought had left, and he wants to taste with you in case it does again.

Seeing your dress ride up your thighs tonight, he thinks of how his flannel might do the same while you cook him breakfast. But he would be right beside you helping, and you wouldn’t look as out of place as you did in that club, because secretly, domesticity with him is what you’re made for.

He’s no fool. He knows you don’t see it yet. But tonight he will bring you to the edge again and again before pulling you into a world of pleasure you’ve never known. And then you’ll know.

—

As he curves his hips up to meet yours, the squelching sounds your pussy makes are obscene. The ones from your mouth are even sexier, and it makes this all seem like a lucid dream. You’re riding him, and he’s...encouraging you by taking control from where he lies. You love it. He’s a gentleman, so he won’t be any rougher.

You say you like it rough, but you’ve never had rough from him. That’s a test for a later time. He doesn’t want to scare you.

“Ooh yea—Steve, please! Right there—like that, don’t stop!”

He doesn’t. He won’t. You don’t need to beg, but he loves it when you do.

Your thighs shake, your mouth falls open in that cute way it does, and you fall forward, catching your hands on his chest. You seem to be in love with the hair there, and everywhere on him. Something about that appeals to a monster in him he doesn’t address.

You wince when you finally dismount, pulling yourself off his incredible length, and looking down for the millionth time to check if the condom is still there, before he discards it. He tries not to roll his eyes as he comes back to lie with you. It’s ridiculous, really. You’re his now, there’s no need for this barrier. He holds the monster back that gives him thoughts of you round with his child.

You plop on the bed next to him and shuffle under the sheets.

“That was sooo good. Thank you. I’m so glad you’re not some creep,” and you giggle it like you do.

Scratching softly at his beard, your eyes close sleepily.

“You can let yourself out. I trust you.”

Hm. Of course you do. You’re his and he is yours. It’s already that easy.

He can’t understand why you want him to leave though, and as you drift off, he wonders if you noticed that he hasn’t shifted from his spot.

The crickets are chirping happily with the night, and after a few seconds, your sprinklers turn on. He thinks about kissing you goodnight, eating dinner together, cleaning the pool while you braid your hair.

Cool and light, fan turned air swirls over him as his back moulds into the mattress. It’s too soft, and somehow he's feeling a little too warm, but maybe that’s what new beginnings do.

Scratching his neck, he sighs at the ceiling before trailing his hand lower...lower… under the sheets, and down to squeeze his cock. It’s still damp with the wetness of you, and he gives it one more slow squeeze. There’s excitement there lingering, and he knows he hasn’t had enough yet.

He could jerk off right here next to you. You’re asleep and you would never know. Maybe he could even cum on your naked stomach, rub it in a bit. Maybe he could cum in your mouth. He tries to blink that thought away. But his cum would look so nice on your pretty skin, or even…

Inside you.

He can’t. You’re asleep. He’s already had you once. He should be sated. All of a sudden, he remembers asking about your New York license plate. He remembers you saying you’d lived there for years before coming out here. And it’s easy for him to conclude that he’s saved you. At least once.

For every threat that plagued New York while he was an Avenger, you’re alive and snoring softly next to him, and that has to be fate. He may not be a hero now, but he was once, and that counts for something right? And he saved your life, at least indirectly. And he can’t ignore your soft breaths pushing past your plump lips, and the way you face him in your sleep like he’s your lover. He’d only be taking what he’s owed. It’s the least he can accept in return for your life.

Tentatively, he shifts and lifts an arm and gently strokes your bottom lip with a thumb. Pushing it just past where your mouth is slightly open, and behind your teeth to push gently on your tongue. The wetness of it is arousing enough, but he pushes further back, and feels your throat constrict in a gag, wetness moving around him pushing his finger to the roof of your mouth.

Then, you’re pulling your head back, gentle discomfort clouding your sleeping features. A pause. And with a rolling slow stretch, you’re lying on your back, legs spread. It’s practically an invitation.

Moving over you, he winces at the way the rubbing sound of his skin on the sheets sounds like an earthquake in the quietness of your room. Propping himself up, covering you like shade, he's aware of the shape of your body’s heat pressed up against such a large surface area of him, and it stirs something deep and dormant. He can practically feel the blood rush to his cock again.

He pushes your thighs further apart with his own, and notes the smoothness of your skin against his, which is hairier. (He abandoned shaving entirely once he dropped the life of being an international symbol. It’s the small protests.)

A choked groan escapes him as he rubs the tip of his cock over your clothed clit, and his breath blows a couple hairs against your forehead.

He pauses.

He hears your fan slicing through the high air.

He hears your refrigerator make a shifting sound as the ice machine starts in the distance.

Most importantly, he hears your breath, still coming even. He chances another rub, pleasure shooting through him like lighting.

Something about both being so close to you again, but also the thought of getting caught in this compromising position has his body alive.

It’s the way he would feel in fights as his younger self, when being a hero was new, and he didn’t know where the next attack would come from. Before violence turned to muscle memory.

Steve decides you’re much prettier than violence, and he likes the wetness of your cunt, of your tongue swirling, much better than the feel of blood streaming over his hands. He lives for this, and the chance of having you while you’re sleeping is a new thrill.

He doesn’t want to take too long really, and he’s not proud of it, but he moves slowly, and pulls his knife from his pants on the floor, inches down your body, and slices your panties open with the blade.

The sound of the fabric ripping is new. Taboo. And he’s harder than before, excitement squeezing his chest. He pauses there for a moment, eye level with your cunt, noticing the slight glisten, noticing flower like curves, remembering how you feel inside.

Scooting a pillow out of the way, he straightens up and sits back on his calves, appreciating you fully. Then, he’s closer, quicker, less careful, as his hands land just over the bend of your knees to turn your thighs out, opening you up to him, then pushing your legs further apart.

It’s really not the time, but he thinks about his life before the serum. On the days when all he could do was sit in bed, draw—but most importantly—think, he would think about a wife. His brain would tease him with fantasies about things he thought he could never have. He would think about being stronger, able to make love to his girl the right way.

He won’t waste his chance now. Coming back up and positioning himself over you once more, he grips the base of his cock and bites his lip, tapping it a couple times on your sensitive pussy.

He freezes when you shift your hips.

A moment.

A breath.

Then the head of his cock breaches your walls and the rest of him follows. You’re not as wet as you were when he first had you, but that can be remedied. It makes the squeeze feel tighter, the moment feel longer. He’s kissing on your neck now, slowly pulling all the way out, before pushing deep back in, relishing in this unbearably and oddly pleasurable friction.

Your breathing quickens, somehow still even, and he needs to be closer. Rolling his hips into you, he’s right against you, damn near balls deep, and he doesn’t know if he’ll last, hearing all your sleeping whines.

He’s obsessed with how your breasts bounce. Your nipples are hardened by the cold, and this stimulation, and they draw small circles in the air with each thrust. His eyes flicker to your face one last time, and as a wave of pleasure rolls through him, his monster deciding he’s done being a gentleman.

With another thrust, and a softly choked groan into the silent night, a wave of your slick is rushing around him, and the sounds drive him crazy. Over and over, he thrusts into you. Gentleness gone, along with his cool reservation of the sounds of his pleasure, he’s damn near growling now, hooked on having you this way.

He adjusts himself, wanting to see the exact motions that are moving you up the bed, that have you whining, your sounds losing their softness. Each time he plunges into you he shudders. The wetness of you, the way he’s using you, the way he can take what he pleases, and the thought you’ll maybe only know because of the soreness.

He slows, cock pulsing, for gentler thrusts. Not for you, but for the artists details. He canvases the soft ridges inside you that have him like a vice grip. Takes the time to note the sharp, raw scent of you mixing with him.

Sitting up and back, he pulls you by the hips from where you lie, your ass lifting off the mattress, and your upper body still unresistant to his manipulations. He has a better view of you now, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit, around your entrance, tapping it on your mound to tease himself. He’s rewarded with another gush of wetness, and it runs down his cock, down his balls, into your sheets, and as he pulls you onto his length again, he growls when he catches the scent swirling through the air.

You’re so fucking pretty like this. He can’t believe he’s never had anyone this way. Then, he realizes, it’s special. For just the two of you, as lovers.

He feels a tug. A throb in the base of his cock then upwards as pleasure overtakes him. He chuckles wickedly, and that cuts off in a hedonistic moan as he knows you won’t be able to stop him. He hears you try to tease that he’s not ready for kids, hears the edge of fear in your voice from before. You don’t do this all the time, and it’d be terrible for a stranger to impregnate you.

But Steve is different. He’s not a stranger. He’s the one for you. You just don’t know it yet. He fucks into you angrier, ignoring how he's overstimulated, how your pussy is puffy and raw, remembers how you told him to let himself out. It would be another joke to laugh to had you not meant it. He just has to feel you. Has to see you take his cum like you were meant to. It’s not his fault. It would have been easier, more gentlemanly had you let him while you were awake.

He’s only a man, really, he has to take what he wants. The feeling swells in his balls again, the pressure of coming release running up his shaft, and his cock feels even harder somehow.

Rushing through him as his thrusts get weaker and he leans more weight on you, the bliss of your wetness squeezing and tugging him involuntarily is indescribable.

He gasps, filling the whole of his lungs, curving his hips into you with short, desperate stutters, stronger pressure pushing up the base of his cock, before finally releasing into you with a deep groan. The new loose feeling, this mess, has him seeing stars.

Steve can’t help but to pause, not because you’re waking up, but because he’s feeling his cum take form wherever it can fit around his cock thats pulsing inside your pussy that’s throbbing too. What can’t fit spills out of you, dripping and smearing, and in his post orgasm haze, he slowly fucks it back in. He pushes it in deep with a wicked moan, thighs shaking in pleasure.

It’s done.

And when the clouds leave your eyes, and you’re really awake as he pulls out of you, flinching at your own sensitivity, your eyes widen in horror as a hand flies between your legs, still processing what he’s done.

And because he’s a gentleman, he has to ask.

“What’s wrong, lover?”

—

(reblogs appreciated!)

tags: (only tagging people I know are comfortable with dark fics) @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @threeminutesoflife @honeychicanawrites @avintagekiss24 @xbuchananbarnes @sapphirescrolls @jtargaryen18

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #darkficswithroo #dark fics with roo #writing challenge #dark fanfic #black!reader #woc!reader #steve x black!reader #steve x woc!reader

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/17/2020: SPOOKIES

What do we watch, when we watch movies? This question was sparked by my SOV experience with the very different, and differently interesting BLOODY MUSCLE BODYBUILDER FROM HELL and HORROR HOUSE ON HIGHWAY 5. Within the Shot On Video category, one can find inventive homemade features that are driven entirely by blood, sweat, and the creators' feeling of personal satisfaction. The results are sometimes fascinating, in their total alienation from the conventions and techniques of mainstream filmmaking, and after all, one rarely sees anything whose primary motivation is passion, here in the late stages of capitalism. But, all this talk about what goes on behind the camera points to a discrepancy in how we consume different kinds of production. The typical mode of consumption is internal to the movie: What happens in it? Do you relate to the characters? Are you able to suspend your disbelief, to experience the story on a vicarious level? One hardly needs to come up with examples of films that invite this style of viewing. Alternatively, we can experience the movie as a record of a time and place in which real people defied conventions and sometimes broke laws in order to produce a work of art. SOV production is usually viewed through this lens, where the primary interest is not the illusory content, but the filmmakers' sheer determination to create. We find some overlap in movies like EVIL DEAD, which simultaneously presents a terrifying narrative, and evidence of what a truly driven team can create without the aid of a studio, or any real money to speak of. See also, Larry Cohen's New York City-based horror films, in which a compelling drama with great acting can exist side by side with phony but beautiful effects, and exciting stories of stolen footage that would be dangerous or impossible to attempt today. I'm thinking about these different modes of consumption now because I just watched SPOOKIES, a legitimately cursed-seeming film whose harrowing production history has superseded whatever people think about what it shows on the screen. The lovingly composed blu-ray from Vinegar Syndrome includes a feature-length documentary that attempts to explain the making of the film--which is accompanied by its own feature length commentary track by documentarists Michael Gingold and Glen Baisley. The very existence of this artifact suggests a lot about the nature of this movie, in and of itself. The truth behind its existence is as funny as it is tragic.

I'm not going to do a whole breakdown of the tortured origins of SPOOKIES, which is much better told by the aforementioned documentary. To summarize: Once upon a time in the mid 1980s, filmmakers Brendan Faulkner, Thomas Doran and Frank Farel conspired to make a fun, flamboyant rubber monsterpiece called TWISTED SOULS. It was wild, ridiculous, and transparently fake-looking, but it was loved by its hard-working creators; as a viewer, that soulful sense of joy can rescue many a "bad" movie from its various foibles. Then, inevitably, sleazoid producer Michael Lee stepped in--a man who thought you could cut random frames out of the middle of scenes to improve a movie's pace--and ruined it with extreme prejudice. Carefully crafted special effects sequences were cut, relatively functional scenes were re-edited into oblivion, and the seeds of hatred were sown between the filmmakers and the producer. Ultimately, everyone who once cared for TWISTED SOULS was forced to abandon ship, and first time director Eugenie Joseph stepped in to help mutilate the picture beyond all recognition. Thus SPOOKIES was born, a mangled, unloved mutation that would curse many of its original parents to unemployability. For the audience, it is intriguingly insane, often insulting, and hard to tear your eyes off of--but in spite of whatever actually wound up on the screen, it's impossible to forget its horrifying origin story as it unspools.

As far as what's on the screen goes: A group of "friends", including a middle-aged businessman and his wife, a vinyl-clad punk rock bully and his moll, two new wave-y in-betweeners, and...a guy with a hand puppet are somehow all leaving the same party, and all ready to break into a vacant funeral home for their afterparty. Well, this happens after a 13 year old runaway inexplicably wanders in to a "birthday party" in there, that looks like it was thrown for him by Pennywise, and he has the nerve to act surprised when he is attacked by a severed head and a piratey-looking cat-man who straight up purrs and meows throughout the picture. Anyway, separately of that, which is unrelated to anything, the island of misfit friends finds a nearly unrecognizable "ouija board" in the old dark house. Actually this thing is kind of fun-looking, having been made by one of the fun-havers on the production before the day that fun died, and I wonder if anyone has considered trying to make a real board game out of it...but I digress. Naturally, the board unleashes evil forces, including a zombie uprising in the cemetery outside, a plague of Ghoulie-like ankle-biters, an evil asian spider-lady (accompanied by kyoto flutes), muck-men that fart prodigiously until they melt in a puddle of wine (?), and uh...I know I'm forgetting stuff. One of the reasons I'm forgetting is because of this whole side story about a tuxedo-wearing vampire in the basement (or somewhere?) who has entrapped a beautiful young bride by cursing her with immortality. That part is a little confusing, not only because it doesn't intersect with the rest of the movie, but because sometimes it seems contemporary--as the bride struggles to survive the zombie plague--and sometimes it seems like a flashback, as our heroes find what looks like the mummified corpse of the dracula guy, complete with his signet ring. So, I don't know what to tell you really. Those are just some of the things that happen in the movie.

Some people like this a lot, and have supported its ascendance to cult status, which is a huge relief when you know what everyone went through to make this movie, only to have it ripped away from them and used against them. I found SPOOKIES a little hard to take, for all the reasons that the cast and crew express in the documentary. It holds a certain amount of visual fascination, whatever you think of it; something of its original creativity remains evident in the movie's colorful, exaggerated look, and its steady parade of unconvincing but inventive creature effects. But then, you have to deal with the farting muck-men. What was once a scene of terror starring REGULAR muck-men, that sounded incredibly laborious to pull off, became a scene of confusing "comedy" when producer Michael Lee insisted that the creatures be accompanied by a barrage of scatalogical noises. Apparently this was Lee's dream come true, as a guy who insisted everyone pull his finger all the time, and who once tried to call the movie "BOWEL ERUPTOR". But, of all the deformations SPOOKIES endured, the fart sounds dealt a mortal injury to the filmmakers' feelings, and even without knowing that, it's hard to enjoy yourself while that's happening.

Actually, all the farts forced me to ask myself: Is this...a comedy? Like for real, as its main thing? As the movie slogged on, I had to decide that it wasn't, but I was distracted by the notion for around 40 minutes. I was only released from this nagging suspicion when the bride makes her long marathon run through throngs of slavering zombies who swarm her, grope her, and tear off her clothes, before she narrowly escapes to an even worse fate. The lengthy scene is strangely gripping, and sleazy for a movie that sometimes feels like low rent children's entertainment. Part of the sequence’s success lies in its simplicity; it is unburdened by the convoluted complications of the rest of the movie, whose esoteric parts never fall together, so it seems to take on a sustained, intensifying focus. The action itself is unnerving, as the delicate and frankly gorgeous Maria Pechuka is molested and stripped nearly-bare by her undead bachelors, running from one drooling mob to another as the horde nearly engulfs her time and again. Actually, it feels a lot like a certain genre of SOV production in which, for the right price, any old creepy nerd can pay a small crew-for-hire to tape a version of his private fantasy, whether it's women being consumed by slime, or women being consumed by quicksand, or...generally, women being consumed by something. I wish I could describe this form of production in more specific or official terms, because I genuinely think it's wonderful that people do this. Anyway, Pechuka's interminable zombie run feels a little like that, and a little like a grim italian gutmuncher, and a little like an actual nightmare. Perhaps it only stands out against its dubious surroundings, but I kind of love it--and I'm happy to love it, because apparently the late Ms. Pechuka truly loved making SPOOKIES, and wanted other people to love it, too.

Which brings me to the uncomfortable place where I land with this movie. On the one hand...I think it's bad. It's so incoherent, and so insists on its impoverished form of comedy, that it's hard to be as charmed by it as I am by plenty of FX-heavy, no-budget oddities. Perhaps the lingering odor of misery drowns out the sweet joy that the crew once felt in the early days of creation--which is still evident, somehow, in its zany special effects, created by the likes of Gabe Bartalos and other folks whose work you definitely already know and love. But I feel ambivalent, about all of this. On the one hand, I can be a snob, and shit on people for failing to make a movie that meets conventional standards of success. On the other hand, I can be a DIFFERENT kind of snob--a more voyeuristic or even sadistic one--and celebrate the painful failures that produced a movie that is most interesting for its tormented history and its amusing ineptitude. I'm not really sure where I would prefer to settle with SPOOKIES, and movies like it. (As if anything is really "like" SPOOKIES) With all that said, I was left with one soothing thought by castmember Anthony Valbiro in the documentary. At some point, he tells us how ROSEMARY'S BABY is his personal cinematic comfort food; he can put it on at night, after an exhausting day, and drift to sleep, enveloped in its warm, glowing aura. He then says that he hopes there are people out there for whom his movie serves that same purpose, that some of us can have our "milk and cookies moment" with SPOOKIES. Honestly, I choke up just thinking about that.

#blogtober #2020 #spookies #horror #supernatural #vampire #zombie #creature feature #old dark house #cursed film #thomas doran #frank farel #eugenie joseph #michael lee #vipco #twisted souls #brendan faulkner #maria pechuka

[senlinyu]

Going back through your works, you’ve improved an incredible amount in the time you’ve been publishing fan fiction. What different factors do you credit with your writing improvement?

Haha. I’ve answered questions related to this a few times, you can find all my posts on the topic under my on writing tag.

So, this time around I thought, “I bet @notanadult has never had anyone write an allegory about her. What an excellent way to get back at her for that ridiculous post she wrote about me a while ago.”

Here is my allegorical writing journey, written in a stylistic homage to Bunyan, Hinds Feet On High Places, and a lot of other books I was forced to read as a child. I was only slightly drunk, probably not drunk to excuse composing this.

Truly, I owe any bit of genius I possess to Jamethiel! When I first began, I was like a child lost in the vast wilderness, but then, a light! Jamethiel descended from the heavens like the Virgin Mary!

Like gentle shepherdess, guiding a lost and bleating lamb, she led me to the higher pastures of writing craft.

I was but a helpless babe! Uncertain and not yet understanding the difference between a dialogue tag and an action tag. But with the patience and perseverance Gandhi, Jamethiel herself, taught me, starting with the most simple matters of punctuation and rewarding me with gentle words!

Then! I grew stronger and more willful, like a young ox, she made our lessons hard. Showing me the disastrous downfall that would await those who followed the path of Alternative Dialogue tags.

Alas! Despite Jamethiel’s gentle guidance, I went astray! And fell in with a motley crowd of adverbs, who possessed me in ways unnatural!

Again, like a goddess, Jamethiel appeared and saved me from sinful impulses. Guiding me back with words of reproof to the safety of action tag fold. Then I was baptized in vinegared wine, that I may remember my wounds and not repeat my mistakes.

When the tribulations of the adverbs had passed, it was through the Valley of Physicality. Oh how I did suffer! I, a creative soul, unburdened by the afflictions of the flesh, was made to come to earth and pay heed to the physical suffering of emotion. But Jamethiel stood across the way, beckoning me down that narrow, twisting path of thorns, and I followed her voice until I saw the dawn once more.

As I journeyed, with my hard-earned words clutched tightly in my fingers, I came to the desolate Bog of Pacing. Jamethiel’s light shone across the way, but there was no bridge, no stepping stones, to cross. I wandered far from my path, trying to find a way around it, but the Bog stretched endlessly in both directions. No way over it! No way under it! No way around it! I had to go through it!

I sank one foot into the clawing ooze, and then the next. Trying to walk quickly, looking for bits of marsh grass whose roots would hold me, but I was only a few steps in when I began to sink, down, the muck rose up, swallowing my ankles, my knees, I struggled forward, as it rose to my waist!

I lifted my treasured words high above my head, trying to keep them safe. I slaved so painfully for them, I could not let them be consumed. The bog swallowed me deeper as I struggled for purchase. There was nothing solid beneath my feet.

“Put them down,” came Jamethiel’s voice.

“I cannot,” I cried.

“They’re weighing you down,” Jamethiel boomed. Her voice had a frightening tone of warning. “Cut them off and leave them.”

With a cry of anguish, I opened my hands and my precious, beautiful words cascaded down into the murky depths of the bog. I cried bitter tears as I swam through the cloying water and mud and crawled exhausted and broken-hearted on the far bank. As I lay gasping and weeping, deep in mourning, a hand was laid gently on my shoulder. Jamethiel gazed down at me, her expression solemn, “That was your own fault. Come, it is time to practice Action Sequences and the Tempo of Establishing Horror.”

I thought I had reached the end of my journey. Surely a poor pilgrim could rest and know a moment’s ease from their weary journey. But then Jamethiel stood aside and revealed the mountain cliffs of Rhythm and Character Voice.

Now I climb up, ever further, striving for a mountain peak that seems always a little higher and out of reach! Sometimes I think I have climbed far enough. I pause and wipe my brow, thirsting for relief, wondering if perhaps I have found a smooth cliff that I could make a home. But each time I pause, Jamethiel’s voice, soft and sweet as a Phoenix song, calls out, “A little higher, my child, I know you can.”

And so I climb on.

#senlinyuspeaks #asks #jame #this is all jame’s fault #on writing

[bigskydreaming]

How would you go about a good Spyral Dick Grayson storyline? I like the idea but not the execution (if it was stated he was acting like an idiot I'd like it better). Also in the same vein how would you do DickTiger/how do you think it'd work?

I’m side-eyeing you a little anon, lol, because I’m not sure what you mean by it’d be better if it was stated he was acting like an idiot. Because see, as far as I’m concerned, nothing about Dick’s actions was out of character....so long as you center Bruce’s actions as the real driving force behind Dick ending up stuck undercover at Spyral. Dick’s actions make perfect sense....as the fractured attempts at recuperating from a massive trauma without any semblance of a support system or any time or space to actually dedicate to acknowledging and accepting what he’d just been through before leaping right back into danger.

It remains extremely troubling to me that even WITHOUT taking into account Bruce’s victim blaming him for his own death, emotional manipulation and physical beating...all of that only stacks on top of what should already have been the takeaway, IMO:

And that is that its absolutely ridiculous to think that Dick could have remotely been emotionally and mentally composed enough to make an informed, non-coerced decision about undertaking the Spyral mission AND keeping it from the rest of the family.....mere days after being extensively tortured and then briefly died.

He wasn’t in a sound state of mind to make that decision with full awareness of all the implications and repercussions like he would have at other times. Nobody would have been.

And the rest of his family might not have known about him dying, but they did know about him being tortured for days and then unmasked, since they literally saw that on TV....and they know, post Dick’s return, that Dick had been in place undercover before his funeral was even held...the same week he was thought to have died. It should have been obvious to a family of geniuses that all choices made in a matter of days after being tortured and unmasked and who knows what else might have happened offscreen that they could only know about by ASKING him about his ordeal instead of jumping straight to punching him for the choices he made while in the immediate aftermath of massive trauma....like, point is, even without knowing he died, there was always more than enough info they were privy to that there’s no real excuse for their response to his return being judgment instead of concern for how the hell has he been coping with all of that, out there all on his own without anyone he could fully trust, let alone unburden himself to.

None of them spared a single thought for what any of that had been like for him, because they were too focused on their own hurt, and I’m always going to be pissed about that, lmao.

Anyway, apologies if none of that was anything you intended with your word choice, but to be perfectly honest I need very little excuse to go off on a rant about how even the rest of his family’s response to that storyline was like, fundamentally flawed.

NOW. On to your actual question! Because I do have an answer as I’ve thought about this particular thing a LOT, and my ire at both the Spyral storyline and the amnesia storyline coalesced into conjoined seething frustration because of how EASILY they could have avoided making all of the Batfam seem shitty, EVEN BRUCE, and like, also avoided them driving Dick further away rather than bringing him back closer to the family.

All you gotta do....is smash those two stories together and do them both at the same time.

LOL, a few months ago I actually literally wrote out a whole post outlining it in detail here:

https://bigskydreaming.tumblr.com/post/187334221591/if-dc-had-just-combined-their-spyral-and-amnesia

And I’ve copied and pasted the content of that post below the cut here too, just to keep it all in one place for convenience.

As for Dick/Tiger - that’s a whole other post I don’t have time to get into at the moment, but in a nutshell, I’m hugely a fan of their pairing but in specific ways...I mostly see them as each other’s angsty kinda ‘the one that got away, that they could never shake how they got under their skin, but can’t find a way to actually be with, longterm.’ Because the thing is, so much of their dynamic and interactions with each other were clouded by the layers of deception they both wore at all times, and how many different lies they had to tell in service of their whole reason for being there, and how much of themselves they had to hide.

Like, I tend to picture them as kinda both wistfully thinking if they’d met in another life, in another way, without all the cloak and dagger and lies from the very start...they could absolutely be happy together. But as it is, there’s no getting around that they both feel in any kind of relationship, there’d always be some part of them, even if just deep down, that was always keeping an eye open for a crack in the other’s mask, a sign that once again, they were not what they professed to be.

So I see them as being very much that spy vs spy trope, even after Dick goes back to vigilantism and civilian life and even when he and Tiger are theoretically on the same side.....like, I could see them having very emotionally charged, physical, almost desperate kinda encounters in secret whenever they’re in the same city or whatever....because they’re past denying that there’s definitely something between them, always has been, probably always will be...but without even talking about it, just with mutual understanding and implicit agreement, they always know these encounters are just for the night....and then its back to reality. With them thus becoming a kind of escape and fantasy for each other, all rolled up in one and thus inevitably romanticized even further within their own minds...

But they’re also both very pragmatic people, and used to taking what they can get and making the most of it. Its nice to picture the could-have-beens in a world where they met under more honest circumstances, but they live in this world, and here, this is what they can make of what they have, this is what they can make work. So its not all terrible, because if they both ultimately decide this is one of the better outcomes resulting from where they began, which neither of them can change...then it becomes more possible to appreciate what they have for what it is. Even if its not ideal. Or conventional. Or even forever....because I think they both are prepared for it to end if either one of them meets someone who can give them those kinds of nights and still be able to be there in the morning...

But none of that means that what they do have isn’t real, isn’t significant, isn’t as powerful and worthy in its own way as any more conventional relationship.

After all, neither of them are conventional people. They wouldn’t even have met if they were, making a lot of those might-have-beens a moot point. Probably wouldn’t even be as drawn to each other if they were other than what they are, because so much of their dynamic is tangled up in their respect for each other’s skills and convictions and more along those lines.

To be honest, I imagine both of them value and prize each other’s acting ability, their skills with deception and subterfuge....even as those are the very things at the root of why they’ll never be that conventional, longterm couple.

Because it keeps things even between them, and thus even when lying to each other’s faces, there was still an honesty to their dynamic, a balance. Neither is burdened by excessive guilt for deceiving the other, because they both were doing it and they understand why. Thus even when outright deceiving each other, there’s a weird kind of balance there that wouldn’t exist in relationships they had with others who couldn’t match what the other brought to the masquerade, so to speak.

Idk. I have a lot of thoughts on them obviously, lol, and totally meant that all to be another post but got carried away as usual, but I’ll leave it on that note for now, lmao.

How To Make The Spyral Storyline Work (If You Ask Me, which someone literally did so I can get away with saying this).

Ahem.

So. If DC had just combined their Spyral and amnesia stories into one, instead of like the mess we got, we could’ve actually had a good story.

Like, literally all you gotta do is back during Forever Evil, find some way to separate Bruce and Selina from Dick’s body BEFORE Luthor revives him….so Bruce too is of the belief that Dick’s dead, and Luthor being heralded as the one who saved the day from the Crime Syndicate protects him from Bruce or the Batfam’s reprisals.

Then all you gotta do is…instead of Dick getting amnesia like a year later from being shot in the head by KGBeast….Dick gets amnesia from complications in how long it took Luthor to revive him. And of course Luthor capitalizes the HELL out of this.

And then, you can pretty much do everything the same….without it being ANYONE in the Batfamily’s fault, or anyone taking anyone for granted?

You can still have Dick go undercover in Spyral, be Agent 37….only now its on Luthor’s orders, because Dick woke up with no memories and all he knows about himself or like, anything, is whatever Luthor tells him.

And he knows SOMETHING’S not right about everything, like, something’s off about the person he feels like he is and the person Luthor claims that he is, but Luthor’s savvy enough that he’s not forcing Dick to do anything that might trigger some buried memories or built in moral resistance to an order, he’s invested in keeping Dick as fully cooperative for as long as possible, because he knows Dick will be way more effective if he’s on board with stuff than actively fighting things. So Luthor has Dick sold on the idea that he’s infiltrating Spyral on behalf of the good guys, like Dick thinks he’s fine with doing morally gray stuff but isn’t full on trigger happy so Luthor doesn’t force him to kill people on his behalf and thus Dick’s time in Spyral and his character conflicts with Helena, Tiger, etc, remain largely the same.

And meanwhile, Dick’s in the dark about his real identity and past because not having any clue he’s alive, the Batfamily reluctantly has been doing their best to bury details of the late Dick Grayson, no matter how much they hate it, because they have to worry about the living members of their family and try and distance themselves from Dick post being-unmasked, so nobody connects the dots to all of them.

And then of course, eventually one of them runs into someone who reminds them suspiciously of Dick on a case, like his face is still all swirly because of the Hypnos implants but he says or does something that’s so quintessentially Dick Grayson that they can’t NOT wonder. Because here, Dick doesn’t KNOW to tamp down on his natural quips and banter or mannerisms around the Batfamily, and so they give him away even as he remains faceless, and there’s not really any way Luthor could have seen that coming or prevented it, without like….scripting everything Dick says or does in every possible encounter he has, which of course is impossible.

And so THEN ultimately, you can have one or two Batfam members pursuing possibilities that Dick’s alive on their own, and then eventually comparing notes and realizing Dick really IS alive, what Luthor must have done, and that Dick didn’t come home because Dick literally doesn’t remember where or what home is…..

And then whammo ka-blammo, its Fully United Batfamily To The Rescue as they basically just invade Spyral and blow it to Kingdom Come whilst convincing Dick that he’s their brother/son/friend and belongs with them and Lex Luthor is a lying liar who lies, SEARCH YOUR HEART, FEEL YOUR FEELINGS, YOU KNOW WE SPEAK THE TRUTH and blah blah blah et cetera et cetera et yada yada.

And nobody ever has to read Tom King and Scott Lobdell’s like…..*gestures disgustedly in the general direction of their utter tripe*….That.

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 115: Only You

Imagine a world where everything you thought to be fiction or myth turned out to be real. Imagine a world, larger than life, where Gods ruled, a simple kiss from a Prince really could wake a Princess, and the lines between good and evil were not as defined as one might think. Imagine that all the stories you think you know so well turned out to be much different than you thought. Imagine if magic was as real as science. Imagine if you didn't have to imagine any of that and it was all true…

"This is what you have so far?" Greg asked, as a barrage of real footage they had collected and images they had captured played on the screen after Landon's voice over ended.

"Yeah...it's great, don't you think?" he asked.

"It looks like a movie trailer. No one is going to think it's anything other than that," Greg complained, as he paced the room.

"I can't believe that three years of work and this is what we have," he growled.

"Hey...this is good. We have some really damning footage of real magic being performed and real life depictions of actual people that are thought to be fictional characters," Landon admonished.

"That no one will believe!" Greg argued.

"After three years...we have nothing! My father's bones are buried in the FBI crime lab, because no one cares about a thirty-three year old crime! And you've just made a fancy movie trailer that I'm sure any Hollywood studio would love to fund, but I have nothing!" Greg raged.

"Calm down...we can take a different approach with the footage. Maybe I got a bit cinematic with the voice over," Landon agreed.

"You think?" Greg snapped. Landon sighed.

"The crime lab is still our in with all of this. I know it's been a long time, but they will get back to us. They'll get a match. They may already have, but opening a cold case will have to go through proper channels. But that's good for us," he continued.

"How?" Greg asked.

"Because if they do match your DNA to the remains and identify him as your missing father...that will attract the attention of some of the higher ups. Opening a cold case that's over thirty years old doesn't happen every day," Landon replied. Greg sighed.

"Fine...just do something about that silly voice over," he said.

"Relax…I'll get rid of the voice over and turn on the regular audio. Maybe if we just go with the bare bones footage, people will see that it's completely unedited," Landon replied, as they watched some of the unedited footage.

"I just want her to pay…" Greg growled.

"I mean...she killed my father, but they allowed her to remain free and move on. All this bull about how she's redeemed herself and even found love! It's ridiculous! She deserves to be in prison!" Greg ranted.

"I agree with you...and maybe we can take a different strategy," Landon said.

"Like what?" Greg asked.

"Well...we've managed to acquire a few beans without them knowing over the years. Hell, they've grown so many that they'd never miss them even if we took a bushel. Maybe it's time to go to the FBI and make them listen. Maybe it's time to find a way to make her confess. We get her outside Storybrooke...there's no magic there to protect any of them," Landon replied.

"How are we going to do that?" Greg asked.

"She has a son...she has someone she loves now. We can use them to get her to do whatever we want," Landon replied.

"We'd have to lure them away from the rest," Greg reminded.

"Not easy...but not impossible either," Landon surmised.

"Okay...let's do it. Let's make her confess and then take her to them," Greg agreed.

"Great...in the meantime, I'll shop this tape around the Internet. No credible documentary company will pay it any mind. But on the dark web...that will be a different story. If we can get people talking about it...then eventually, it will go viral," Landon said.

~*~

Snow's emerald eyes opened and she smiled, as she found herself firmly ensconced in her husband's arms.

"Good morning," he said in a husky tone, as they shared a kiss.

"Good morning handsome," she purred back, as he held her close and they heard some babbling coming from the baby monitor.

"Sounds like someone else is awake," she mentioned. He smiled and kissed her cheek.

"I'll get her," he said, as he ventured off to the adjoining nursery. She heard their bedroom door open at that point and smiled at the sound of tiny feet beating it toward the bed. She leaned over and pretended to jump in surprise.

"Boo!" little Xander exclaimed and Snow gasped, as she helped him climb onto their large, King sized bed.

"Good morning sweetheart," she cooed, as she settled him in her lap and kissed his blonde haired head.

"Morning mommy…" he cooed in return, as he was focused on playing with the toys he had brought with him. About that time, David returned with their baby. Ten months ago, Snow had given birth to their third child, a little girl they decided to name Iris. While their son had inherited David's coloring in hair and eyes, their second daughter had very fine raven colored hair like Snow and David's blue eyes as well.

"Daddy!" Xander called, as David sat down on the bed with them and let the baby crawl between them, while his son jumped into his arms.

"What do you have there, little man?" he asked, as he noticed the toy horse in his hand.

"Horsie," he replied, as his baby sister had crawled into Snow's lap. David had changed her, but she was ready to nurse. He helped her settle down in bed and she began to nurse their daughter. These were their typical mornings, spent quietly together, before their daily routine would set in. They ruled together equally. David spent much of his time overseeing the defense side of their Kingdom and Sheriffing all the Realms with Emma, which he greatly enjoyed. Snow handled the day to day tasks on the diplomatic side, though there were many meetings they attended together, especially when military officials visited from other Kingdoms.

During the day, Ruth, Serafina, and Robert happily watched their grandchildren, as did Hades, Persephone, and Eli when their ruling duties allowed it. But Snow and David's children weren't the only ones keeping their six grandparents busy. There had been many changes to their family and it had grown in more ways than one.

"You go ahead and clean up first. And then we can switch," Snow said.

"You sure?" he asked. She nodded and cuddled the baby and their son, who was very occupied with his toys.

"Okay...then I'll get the munchkins dressed while you clean up. Then we'll go get breakfast," he said, as he kissed her tenderly.

"Granny's?" Xander asked. David chuckled.

"Yeah...we'll go to Granny's," he agreed.

"I want pancakes," he announced.

"Mmm...pancakes sound good. With blueberries," Snow said.

"No...chocolate chip, like Emmy has," Xander replied, making them chuckle.

"Okay...chocolate chip it is," Snow agreed, as he smiled at them and went to shower.

~*~

James looked out over his Kingdom from the balcony of the King's bed chambers. It was almost mind boggling how much his life had changed in the last three years since he had been miraculously resurrected. He was sure now that if Cronus knew for certain that he couldn't count on James' loyalty, he probably wouldn't have chosen to bring him back. But the God of Time had much bigger problems than him. He didn't know much about Cronus' original plan, except it had involved eliminating Zeus and then claiming the power of the skies. But that power had chosen Persephone as its new champion and had almost guaranteed that Cronus would never rise to power. He had settled into ruling his own Kingdom for the last three years and while they would always be leery of him, he was not the biggest threat out there.

After Leopold unfairly took back his own Kingdom, James had opened his castle to Regina and Henry, giving them a place to stay close. While they could have returned to the mansion in Storybrooke, Regina knew Henry wanted to be close to his biological family and Regina was sincerely working on repairing her relationship with Snow; much to his sister-in-law's delight.

It was a surprising thing to see Regina and Snow become good friends, especially after all the bad blood between them. But Regina had really committed to becoming a better person, for herself and for Henry. He understood her journey better than anyone, so it probably shouldn't have surprised them when they fell in love. But they did and after the shock had worn off, they had entered into a loving relationship, one like he had never had and never expected to have. And one she like she hadn't experienced since Daniel, except for what she found with James became far more powerful. With Daniel, it had been true love, but quite innocent and unburdened. But with James, they both still had darkness in them and would always struggle with it. But among all that, they had found kindred spirits in one another and ultimately a love neither of them expected or was even looking for, or so they thought.

"Why are you up?" Regina complained sleepily, as she put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his back. He smirked and turned so he could put one arm around her.

"Sorry...you know I get this way before we have big diplomatic meetings with the other Kingdoms," he said.

"Yeah...I kind of miss the days where I could just storm in and they would agree to whatever I want," she mused.

"This democracy thing definitely comes with more bickering than I like and having to be in a room with Midas and Leopold for hours makes me want to drink," he agreed. She smirked.

"Well...we still have a while until we have to be ready. I can give you something to think about during the meeting," she purred. He smirked and turned to her, as they engaged in a passionate kiss.

"We're supposed to meet everyone for breakfast," he reminded, as she led him back inside.

"Henry is with Emma and Neal so we can be a little late," she replied, as he eagerly followed her back to bed.

~*~

Henry sat in front of the television that morning in their sitting room, playing video games, while his parents shuffled around. The blonde baby girl in Neal's arms fussed a bit, while he dug through her diaper bag.

"Henry...have you seen Tallie's stuffed unicorn?" Neal asked.

"Nope," the teen replied and Neal rolled his eyes.

"Then stop playing the game and help me look. You know how fussy she gets without it," he said. Henry paused the game and started to look around, before finding it behind the sofa.

"Hey...big brother to the rescue," Neal said, as he showed their six-month-old daughter the stuffed toy. She grabbed onto it with chubby hands and calmed down, allowing him to put her in the stroller, as Emma came downstairs.

"Okay...let's go have breakfast and then we'll get you off to school, kid. Do you have your homework?" Emma asked.

"Yep," Henry replied, as he grabbed his backpack and turned the television off.

"Hey sweetheart...are you giving Daddy a rough time?" Emma cooed to their daughter.

"Like her mother," Neal deadpanned.

"Please...you love it," she said, nudging her fiance.

"Yeah...I do. I probably should have my head examined," he joked.

"Wouldn't do any good. No doctor can fix you," she joked back.

"Haha," he mocked sarcastically.

"Are we going or not? I'm starving," Henry complained.

"You're fourteen. You're always starving," Neal quipped, as he pushed the stroller out and they walked through one of Hades insta-portals, as they had come to call them, and arrived in front of Granny's for breakfast.

~*~

"Okay sweetie...there all cleaned up," Belle cooed, as she blew a raspberry on her little boy's tummy and he giggled. Rumple smiled from the doorway of the nursery in their castle.

"Everything in order?" he asked.

"Oh yes...we just had a bit of a diaper emergency. I don't think we'll be having anymore strained apricots for dinner anymore," she replied, as she finished dressing him and picked him up.

"You know, I could have cleaned him up with a wave of my hand," he quipped. She shot him a look.

"And I told you I don't want you changing Gideon's diapers with magic," she chided.

"Fine...but can I at least get rid of the dirty one?" he countered.

"Now that would be okay," she agreed, as the dirty diaper disappeared. She looked at him suspiciously.

"Where do all those dirty diapers go when you poof them away?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Who says that I don't just disintegrate them?" he answered with his own question.

"Because the other day, when we were at Snow's and David's, you made one disappear and Hades seemed to think it was funny," she responded. He smirked.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.

"You're right...it's probably best that I don't," she replied, as she handed their son to him and got his diaper bag. An insta-portal opened and they stepped through, arriving in front of Granny's.

~*~

"Ohhh...there they are. Come to Nana…" Persephone gushed, as Snow and David arrived at Granny's with the little ones.

"Nana!" Alexander called, as he rushed to her and she lifted him into her lap.

"Hello my handsome boy," she cooed, while Hades poofed a stuffed three-headed dog for him to play with you.

"You three spoil them rotten," Snow admonished, as she hugged her father.

"That is what Grandparents are for," Eli said, as eagerly took his tiny granddaughter in his arms. Snow shook her head in amusement and sat down beside her husband. Since her father's royal role these days was simply as an adviser, he had been very happy. The stress she had seen upon him while she was growing up, at least in the alternate reality, was gone and for that, she was very happy for him. Surprisingly to some, Hades was happy ruling beside her mother and gladly maintained his supportive role to her. He had naturally worried about his former Throne and who was taking care of the dead. It was very big job and one he took seriously. He regretted the years where he had ruled unjustly, but when they managed to learn that Prometheus had exited Elysian to take up the mantle, that had been a relief to him. Prometheus was a fair man and had always been an ally to mortals, being that he had gone against Zeus long ago when he gave fire to mortals. He had paid for it dearly, but had been rewarded a hero's afterlife in Elysian by Hades, centuries ago, much to Zeus' chagrin.

Persephone had proven equally that her new role as God of the Skies was very well suited to her as well. The last three years in the United Realms had yielded peace and for that, Snow was incredibly grateful. There were still conflicts, crime, and the normal day to day strife that any society faced, but peace had mostly reigned.

"Hey…" Emma called, as they were the next to arrive.

"Hey sweetie," Snow said, as she hugged her parents, while David eagerly lifted Tallie out of her stroller.

"Hey there peanut…" he cooed and patted his grandson on the arm.

"Oh...that reminds me," David said. Snow smiled and dug out some comic books from the pocket on their stroller.

"Wow...thanks Gramps," Henry said, as he accepted the gift.

"And Nana and Papa didn't forget you, sweetie," Snow cooed, as they presented her with a new stuffed sheep.

"You seriously just lectured us about spoiling our grandchildren," Hades mentioned. Snow smiled at him.

"Well, like you said...it's what grandparents do," she mused.

"Grandparents usually don't have kids the same age as their grand kids though," Emma teased.

"You shush and Iris got a new stuffed toy too when we picked out one for Tallie," Snow replied, as Rumple and Belle were next to arrive with Gideon.

"Hey…sorry, we're a bit late. We had to change clothes already this morning," Belle mentioned. Snow winced.

"We've had those mornings too," she replied. Gideon and Iris were only about a month apart. Snow and Belle had gotten pregnant nearly at the same time and being pregnant together had made them even closer friends. It had served to do the same for David and Rumple as well.

"Sorry we're late…" Regina said, as she and James finally arrived and she kissed Henry on his head, as they sat down.

"It's okay...our order is already in," Snow said.

"How do you know what I want?" Regina replied.

"Apple pancakes, mom...you're kind of predictable," Henry teased, making James chuckle in amusement. She nudged him.

"Very funny, you...new comics?" she asked. He smiled and slid one over to her.

"Yep," he answered, as she opened it to read, while they waited on breakfast and conversation flowed effortlessly as usual when they all managed to get together. Robert, Ruth, and Serafina arrived last, completing their family gathering, just as breakfast was delivered.

~*~

Ravenna paced in the secluded chamber of her palace, where Claude Frollo had conducted his work and experiments for the past three years. It was painstaking work and she felt no closer to any of her goals. If she didn't hold control over him, then she might think he wasn't doing what she asked. But unfortunately, the particular thing she was asking for was not easily accomplished.

Originally, she had wanted to find a way to curse her former step-daughter. She wanted her to suffer a fate worse than death, but she had quickly learned that there was no curse that existed that true love could not overcome. It became clear that death was the only thing that true love could not save her from. And so the search to find the perfect way to kill Snow White began. She wanted her to suffer and she wanted those around her to suffer losing her. She was so tired of her being the one that all the Kingdoms adored. She had everything. True love with a handsome, loving husband, who thought the sun rose and set with her. Three beautiful children and a large family full of people that would do absolutely anything for her. In addition to that, most of the people in the Kingdoms, particularly her own adored her and still called her the fairest of them all.

Her jealousy had steadily grown and her hatred with it. Hans had implored her to let it go, as he could see nothing good coming of it for their Kingdom. His older brothers agreed as well, but with Arawn still imprisoned for war crimes, Ravenna was next in line and had ruled flippantly. Her own interests were first, while the people did without. She was a very unpopular Queen and their own people constantly discussed how much better the rulers of some of other Kingdoms were. Snow White was always mentioned among them, which only further enraged their sister.

But Ravenna refused to work for her people in favor of fulfilling her own interests. She was always harshly criticized at the United Realm Council meetings and Hans was sure today would be no different.

"We may finally be onto something today," Frollo said.

"You've said that before and it always goes up in smoke," Ravenna retorted.

"And without this cauldron, you may never have gotten this far," he argued.

"Fine...do you have it then?" she asked.

"Not yet...but my research has revealed one crucial ingredient we need for success. Unfortunately, it is not available in our Enchanted Forest," he replied.

"Then where can we get what we need?" she demanded to know.

"Another magical forest...across the ocean," he answered. She had heard of this place and could even see it in the distance from her vantage point. It was still a mysterious place and the only place that had not sent a dignitary to join the United Realms Council. Very little was known about it still and there were even plans to send a group of diplomats there to make contact. No one was certain of why no one from this land had sent their own individuals out, but they had so far respected their obvious desire to remain isolated. If they still planned to send a team, she knew they would never choose to send her. They were always claiming she was too volatile and had an irresponsible rule. But that would not stop her from going there if the ingredient she needed was somewhere in that forest.

"Then we will leave for this new land, in secret, after today's Council meeting," she decided.

"Yes, my Queen," Frollo agreed, though he had little choice. As long as she held the Promethean flame, the very first and famed flame the God Prometheus had given to man, she would be able to control his every move.

~*~

Breakfast was finishing up and they paid their checks, while preparing to hand off all the little ones to Ruth, Robert, and Serafina, who were happily watching all of them, while they were attending the monthly Council meeting that morning.

"Okay kid...bus is pulling up outside," Emma said, as she hugged him and Regina did as well, as she kissed him on the head. He and Neal bumped fists, as he headed out to the bus

"Have a good day sweetie," Snow called, as he waved to his family. Just as they prepared to head back to the castle, Emma's phone rang.

"Sheriff," she answered, as she listened to the complaint on the other end.

"All right...we'll be right there," she said, with an eye roll.

"Another active bar fight at the Rabbit Hole," she said, as she put her jacket on.

"I'll give you a hand," David said, as he kissed Snow quickly.

"I'll catch up to you at the meeting," he promised. She nodded.

"Be careful," she called to both of them.

"Need an extra hand?" James asked.

"Couldn't hurt," David agreed, as his twin kissed Regina and followed them out. Snow smiled, as she watched her husband and daughter do what they did best. Helping and protecting people. She kissed her little ones and Ruth smiled at her.

"Off to save the day again, those two," she said fondly.

"As always. Thanks for watching them," Snow said.

"You know we love it," Seraphina replied. To have the three of them to help out was invaluable. Snow was not a fan of hiring a nanny and since her children had so many grandparents to help out, such had not be necessary.

"Well, I guess we better get to the Council meeting," she said, as they left the diner as well. She couldn't say that they ever accomplished a lot in their meetings, but they were still important to get all the leaders together in order to discuss the issues. She always hoped for less arguing and more solutions, which she did not always receive. Thus was the reality of politics. David usually got even more annoyed than her, for her husband was always one for action. But the diplomacy and this process were important and necessary, even if the results were slow to be realized most of the time. But she felt that the future had never been brighter as far as she was concerned and she only hoped that their relative peace continued to reign...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #Swanfire #Rumbelle #AU #PersephonexHades #Greek Mythology meets fairy tales #The United Realms #romance #adventure #family #dreaming out loud

[bakechochin]

The Book Ramblings of January 2019

In place of book reviews, I will be writing these ‘book ramblings’. A lot of the texts I’ve been reading (or plan to read) in recent times are well-known classics, meaning I can’t really write book reviews as I’m used to. I’m reading books that either have already been read by everyone else (and so any attempt to give novel or insightful criticisms would be a tad pointless), or are so convoluted and odd that they defy being analysed as I would do a simpler text. These ramblings are pretty unorganised and hardly anything revolutionary, but I felt the need to write something review-related this year. I’ll upload a rambling compiling all my read books on a monthly basis.

Wise Blood - Flannery O’Connor I haven’t read much American literature, but far be it from me to state that the sole reason for this is my position as a staunch Englishman. In truth, I genuinely just don’t have much of an interest for the great American texts; the enforced reading of such literature during GCSEs and A-Level taught me that even the American texts with the best prose were not on the most interesting of subject matters, concerned with social progress or supposedly deserving of merit because of relevant historical context, as opposed to actually just being, well, enjoyable. Yes, I am obviously over-simplifying to a ludicrous extent, but these were the thoughts that I had way back in the halcyon days of school, and subsequently these are the thoughts that I’ve carried with me since, simply because I haven’t been arsed to actively try to challenge them. However, my infatuation with the grotesque was bound to bring me to the realms of American literature at some point, and so asking my American friend to procure me a copy of this book with a decent cover, I started on this Southern Gothic classic. I love the idea of transposing the gothic genre to a setting different than one would conjure up from the word ‘gothic’, and the fictional deep South town of Taulkinham does a bloody good job at capturing what I want; there’s madness and isolation and a sense of oddity in the air, and the town is populated by a gallery of fantastic and memorable grotesques. The fantastic and evocative prose, almost comical at points, belies how fucking odd the story’s events are, and breathes life into this setting in a similar way to Hammett’s Red Harvest; this is perhaps one of my favourite techniques in literature, simply because I’ve never thought of envisioning America in this fantastical way. The story is rather fragmented, with many of its major scenes basically being some of O’Connor’s short stories stitched together (and the Frankensteined nature of the story does result in a few chapters having noticeably different writing styles to the rest, or some characters’ decisions that would develop into these slotted-in short stories seeming odd and poorly explained). With this awareness, I remain unconvinced with critics’ dogmatic statements along the lines of ‘O’Connor evokes an individual voice/style, unburdened by the rules or conventions of story writing’; if she had that in mind, as a deliberate means of creating a fragmentary narrative in the name of the genre or in reflection of the characters or what have you, she came up with that shit after she started writing. It is a view that I could subscribe to, on account of the fact that this is not a stereotypical narrative. Characters don’t do much or evolve much, with the decisions made by the characters seemingly motivated more by manic episodes than actual rational thought; Hazel, for instance, is depicted as basically coming up with the teachings and philosophies of his Church without Christ as he goes along, repeating his new discoveries to himself and to anyone who will listen as soon as he formulates them, and it is this improvisational drifting (motivated by his own warped thinking) that defines his story’s progression. What separates gothic stories set in recognisably recent times to gothic stories set in the distant histories of castles and deep dark woods, is the changed understanding of madness, and I’ve talked about this a lot in my rambles on Le Fanu but I’ll delve into this book’s treatment of it. In the words of Bakhtin, ‘in Romantic grotesque, … madness acquires a somber, tragic aspect of individual isolation’, but before the advancement of scientific knowledge as to what actually constituted ‘madness’, it often took the form of histrionics and melodrama. This is all fine and dandy when you’re writing a story about tormented murderers hearing hearts beating under the floorboards, or masked men with skeletal faces scuttling around opera houses, but when you’ve got to transpose this madness to a recent-ish society, with said madness being expressed or brought out via recognisable themes such as religion, you’ve got to tone it down a bit. As such, Hazel and Enoch are manic, not mad, and this is excellently conveyed through their individual speech styles and the ways that other characters interact or interpret the two; my favourite example of this is Enoch running down his day’s activities to himself as a strict and sacrosanct ritual of undeniable importance, swiftly followed by the reveal of the actions’ trivial nature (and his co-workers negative opinions of him as a result). WOULD I RECOMMEND?: HELL YES

The Crock of Gold - James Stephens Trying to ascertain the seriousness of this text boggles my brain. Let it first be said that I rather like this book, despite the shoddy John Murray publication that I have it in; I was prompted to purchase it on account of its place in the great ‘Irish comic tradition’, basically expecting something along the lines of The Unfortunate Fursey, but I instead was greeted with a much more thoughtful and interesting read that I advise everyone to pick up at some point, with the caveat that you have to be in a very specific mindset to read it. It’s a funny story, but it is quietly funny; the humour comes from little quirks in the writing, in the speech and actions of its characters, in the ultimate charm of the story. The dialogue is deliberately circumlocutive and often rather meaningless, pondering incessantly on philosophical matters big and small, and ofttimes the narrative itself reflects these rambling trains of thought, most notably a long aimless pilgrimage wherein the Philosopher stumbles across snippets of other peoples’ lives, experiencing quibbles and learning folk wisdom and ruminating on the head and heart. The book’s world is charming, all made up of storybook character archetypes and Irish folklore (described matter-of-factly and easily accepted as truth); ofttimes, the information that we are given is ultimately unimportant and has no bearing on the overall story, and this is a statement that can, truthfully, be applied to much of the text, but it is all the same delicately written and rather pleasant. The book does perhaps toe the line on this point with its rambling philosophical paragraphs from the Gods, with its grand allegories and metaphysical nonsense getting a tad wanky and mind-numbing, but it’s not the most egregious thing in the world. In any case, the philosophising of the Philosopher is entertaining enough to make up for the rather more dense philosophising of the Gods, being much more like the aforementioned circumlocution, going off on unrelating tangents and eventually bringing the rambling back around to the initial point that catalysed said rambling. I bring this up not only as a point of comparison, but because it ties in nicely with the commonly-utilised storytelling method of basically going off on a tangent, following one person off on their quest before jumping back to where the narrative left off to see how things are doing then. This can perhaps be attributed to this book’s lack of urgency or real danger, and thus lack of a need for hastiness and rapid jumping from one person’s story to another. This extends even to the final resolution of the humans’ storyline, which basically amounts to one sentence saying that what they set out to do was done and dusted; there isn’t even a scene to show everyone happy again, because it is simply implied that things will go back to the jolly equilibrium. Hell, when the book incorporates wistful or thoughtful or even flat-out sad tales, no resolution is offered for them. The story just goes on, and we are presumably meant to just assume that all will end up alright in the end, or at the very least, all will just end, and then it’s not worth worrying about any more. Reading what I thought would just be another fucking The Unfortunate Fursey type of fantasy book has really evoked some unexpected feelings in me. So that’s nice. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: YES, IF YOU’RE IN THE RIGHT MOOD

Gulliver’s Travels - Jonathan Swift I’ll level, I went into this book expecting a low-brow adventure story about little dudes and fucking massive units. It is, in fact, a tad more complex than this. This book is a lot of things; it can be read as a storybook adventure novel, but it is also a satirical piece, both of Swift’s society in general and of the travel writings form, and it is this satire that I am not too fond of. But we’ll get to that. The main technique utilised in this novel (yeah I’m just going to call it a novel for simplicity's sake) is optical conceit, and the idea of viewing familiar things from different perspectives or in different ways, presenting them in a new light as ridiculous or laughable and perhaps to make us reevaluate the workings of society so farcically presented. This technique is noticeable mainly in the first and second travels, coincidentally the two travels that are most widely known, and this optical conceit is a concept that I like a lot more in theory than in practise. The first travel takes us to Lilliput, the island of the small blokes, and here the small size of the people links in with their small-mindedness and melodramatic quibbling over minor matters, but in the second travel to Brobdingnag, land of the big dudes, the size of the folk is seemingly unrelated from the satire. With the possible exception of the pompous Prince, none of the natives have any sort of comical largesse or egotism that might have related to the satire. And then when I had this in my mind, I began scrabbling around to try and find some other snippets of how the native people tie in with the satire, to little to no avail. The Lilliputians put great faith in long and formal written legislations and diatribes (related in full in Gulliver’s account), suggestive of shrewd ink-nosed clerks hiding behind their papers, and much of the Brobdingnagian report is one long rambling philosophical back-and-forth between Gulliver and the Prince, suggesting these large people have large mouths and loud opinions, but the satire, in my opinion, is a) tenuous and b) not what I’d consider engaging reading. And that’s not even considering the specific basis of the satire: contemporary politics! This book is striking an interesting balance between being entertaining in its own right, and ostensibly being entertaining because of its significance as satire, that every character or event in the story is comically reflecting some real-life event in English politics. To this, I have to compare it to Calvino’s story Invisible Cities, and it’s varying depictions of Venice through different disguises; it doesn’t matter how you tart up your source material, or how colourful your new layer of paint is, because if I’m not interested in the original source material then I probably won’t give too much of a toss about how it is newly presented. And contemporary English politics really could not appeal to me less, even if Swift does dress them up as Lilliputian acrobatic displays or thinly veiled warring kingdom allegories. That’s not to say that there is nothing funny to be found in this text; the details in the stories that are not intended to serve any satirical purpose, and instead merely to emphasise the differences between worlds, are always great fun. My favourites are the Lilliputian’s alien descriptions of the gigantic contents of Gulliver’s pockets, and two great instances of humungous monstrosities in Brobdingnag, namely the huge lice on the giant beggars and the scene of a Brobdingnagian mother breastfeeding; the sheer revulsion that Gulliver has to this spectacle is fucking hysterical. The travel to Laputa has got a good grasp on linking the fun content with the satirical aspect (not only is the flying island a great pisstake of science-minded learned folk, but is also like something out of a fucking Lem story), but the overall story is generally rather boring and without much in the way of obstacle or threat. The Land of the Houyhnhnms doesn’t really have the optical conceit, being more of an abstract switcharoo of horses and people, with not much relationship between the two races and a lot of obvious satire about man’s bestial nature. There are occasions of overt physical comedy, again tied in with these changes in size; Gulliver is in one story dousing great fires with his almighty piss stream, and in another being dressed up like a doll or dunked in a bowl of cream by a mendacious dwarf (or rather, a dwarf by Brobdingnagian standards). I am fully in accord with the former sort of comedy, not only because such imagery of dousing fires with a slash puts me in mind of Gargantua and Pantagruel, but because it reflects this book’s fun indulgence in crude toilet humour. Crude toilet humour is fun to begin with, but Swift uses scatalogical humour to demean the noble form of travel writings, taking a moment from seriously discussing the learned folk and their cultures and customs to describe his shitting habits. The latter sort of comedy, however, that serves to emasculate Gulliver by having him toyed with by giant folk or entrapped by tiny folk, only highlights to me the lack of character that Gulliver has, beyond being our narrator. I’m sure that critics will argue for his supposed egotism or pomposity or whatnot, but such details in the text are thin on the ground, and if Gulliver is not characterised as being a dick, why should the reader find it entertaining or cathartic when he gets his shit handed to him? These problems perhaps originate with Swift’s worries of the character of Gulliver being a reflection of himself; he is willing to put the character through light slapstick shenanigans, but he hasn’t got the balls to go too far lest it tarnish his own reputation. Apparently in one early publication of this text, Gulliver partakes in the custom of eating shit with the ape people, but oh no no, Swift couldn’t possibly have something that funny in the story in case anyone thought that he himself might truly be a coprophagous ninny! There is a strange bequeathment of snooty scholarly worth unto this book, considering that it does have talking horses and ape men who shit everywhere, as illustrated by the study done around this book (handily referenced in the editor’s annotations). Let me briefly give some examples. This book uses a lot of nonsense ‘little language’ for its place names and whatnot, and as you can tell by the fact that I’ve taken every opportunity to use the word ‘Brobdingnagian’ in this ramble, I’m rather fond of it all. However, amidst all the daft place names (all bizarre anagrams of existing places), the editor makes sure to highlight some as being ‘obvious, and therefore uncharacteristic’, as though there is a scholarly level of obfuscation or stupidity to adhere to in order to be respectable. This sense of superiority continues to the demeaning of one particularly transparent and obvious satirical paragraph, which is described as being ‘artistically weaker’ than the rest of the text; not that I’m defending the aforementioned insulted paragraph, because it isn’t that good, but the implication that the text deserves artistic merit because of the obfuscation of its satire rubs me up the wrong way a bit. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: PROBABLY NOT

The Nightwatches of Bonaventura - Bonaventura The new introduction to this text, written by the uppity translator Gerald Gillespie, is rather dogmatic in its excessive insistences of all of the things that this text is, or takes inspiration from. As much as I like to portray myself as a learned man and top-quality dude, I’m not so invested in contextualising this book’s composition that I’m willing to engross myself in Napoleonic war history or the works of Kant. What I am interested in, however, is the Romantic grotesque, for whilst Bakhtin’s infatuation with Rabelais’ grotesque completes eclipses any appreciation he might have of any writer who deviates from Rabelais, Bakhtin manages to spare a brief word of praise for this text amidst all the wanking over Rabelais, so I was intrigued enough to get myself a copy. This a book densely populated with great grotesque imagery and content, and as such it is a book that probably warrants re-reading with a certain subject in mind so as to allow for further unpacking, but within the framework of the grotesque, Bakhtin was right to say that this book basically epitomises the Romantic grotesque, because it’s all here in amazing detail. The story is a rambling introspective on dark topics, either prompted by the morbid and corrupt sights of the world around our narrator or plucked from the memories of our narrator’s own dark past. Said narrator, Kruezgang, brilliantly speaks on such subjects with amazing and colourful prose, with literary allusions and warped rumination galore. The other characters in the watches seem more like marionettes or shadow puppets, necessary to tell separate stories or fill a hole where there should be an aspect of Kruezgang’s past, but their purpose as such is fascinating enough and so excellently done that it doesn’t warrant criticism. The world is grim and grotesque, but depicted out as a joke via Kruezgang’s own view of it, described with poetical allegories and bitterly laughing at awful events by portraying them as black comedy farces. This book’s infatuation and idolisation of the mad and the strange and the grim is something fantastic, it really is. Now, having prefaced this ramble with such positivity, I can delve into a truth that looms over this text like a storm cloud; it is so incredibly fucking dense that I could not imagine rereading this book for any reason other than literary analysis. There is so much content, rich bloody content, in this book that it is easy to equate the feeling of numbness in one’s mind with an overload of such fantastic stuff, from the prose to the ideas to the fascinating storytelling, but this process of thought precludes the very important contributing factor to said mind-numbness, which is that the book seemingly just rambles about nothing at all! Am I to assume that such rich prose in the name of maddening circumlocutive (is that a word?) nothingness actually does have a purpose, and my mind just slides over it because it can’t comprehend the information, or perhaps just can’t contain so much information? Am I an uncomprehending fool for glossing over chunks of text, or am I just inadequately prepared to cram so much prose into my bonce at any one time? Such thoughts bounced around in my head as I was reading, and the only conclusion that I could come to was that I would be hard-pressed to recommend this book to anyone, for what if they encountered the same problems, and asked me to elucidate on such matters, when I have no answers to give them? Wouldn’t I look a fool then! But I digress. The introduction snootily says that to break down the narrative’s events chronologically would only ‘contravene the spirit… of the work’, which I believe insofar as a fragmented narrative obviously reflects the fragmented mind of the narrator (real in-depth analysis going on here), but that doesn’t mean that I won’t say that the narrative isn’t all over the shop, generally rather confusing, and interspersed with fragments of other stories of seeming tangential relation to Kruezgang’s storyline, all described with Bonaventura's same grandiose verbosity but often nowhere near as interesting as Kruezgang. Sure, I could have read into the exact (and no doubt important) purpose(s) of these segments, but a) just reading this book and revelling in its dark prose is an enriching enough experience without having to learn all the context clues that contributed to such nonsense being formulated, and b) most of the research writing about this book by Gillespie is just trying to figure out who Bonaventura is, a mystery to which I honestly could not give any semblance of a fuck about. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: NO, UNLESS YOU WANT TO READ IT FOR ACADEMIC PURPOSES

Shit I read this month that I couldn’t be arsed to ramble about: Shakespeare and Co. by Stanley Wells (absolutely amazing, incredibly informative, would absolutely recommend if it’s your thing), and City of Sin by Catharine Arnold (generally fun and informative, Arnold’s voice can get annoying at times, overall would recommend just for the chapters about sex in the medieval/early modern period and the chapter on Victorian pornography).

#book reviews #book ramblings #book rambles #wise blood #flannery o'connor #the crock of gold #james stephens #gulliver's travels #jonathan swift #the nightwatches of bonaventura #bonaventura #golly didnt i look a fool when i mistook bonaventure the italian philosopher with bonaventura the german writer in one of me seminars #what an absolute goof! #that one's gonna sting for a while! #honestly all that bonaventura has done for me is give me a shit load of german authors and playwrights that i now need to read up on #if anyone's got any english translations of tieck's comedies then please gimme a shout #sorry all these tags are about bonaventura #it's the one i finished most recently so it's on my mind

[reddieaddict]

You’re Gonna Live Forever In Me (Part 5/6)

Prequel to Richie’s Eulogy

Official Cast

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

A/N: Oh and just a reminder, in my fic Richie is hispanic, his full name is Ricardo Alonzo Tozier, and he speaks fluent spanish. Why? Because it’s MY fic, fuck off! jk I love you. 

Pairings: Reddie 

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but with plenty of angst and mentions of abuse, death, homophobia, suicide, drug use and suggestive themes. 

Summary: It’s senior year and Eddie has began to notice Richie exhibiting strange behavior. He is worried he might be hiding something, but doesn’t know how to confront Richie about it without setting him off and making matters worse.

Father’s Day 1995

“Dude, I’m high as fuck!” Eddie Kaspbrak was never really much of a smoker, but Father’s Day was always rough for him and he needed some form of escape, which Richie was more than happy to accommodate. He and Richie lied on their backs in opposite directions with their heads meeting at the center of Eddie’s bedroom floor, similar to the soon-to-be infamous upside down kiss shared by Mary Jane and Spiderman in the yet-to-be-released first film. [KINDA LIKE THIS] Sinuous streams of smoke swirled deviously through the air, marbleizing the space above them. They studied the ceiling unsure how they had ended up in that position, having been sitting cross-legged facing one another when they had begun to smoke, but they didn’t really much care at that moment. 

Had it been a typical year, Bev would have been right there with them getting smoked out, but (un)fortunately this year Ben had invited her over to his house for a celebratory dinner with his parents. This left the two boys on their own, not that they had any problem with that. Neither of them ever had anything to do on Father’s Day, since Eddie’s father had passed away twelve years ago, and Richie really had nothing to celebrate his dad for. 

Besides every father’s day since freshman year, Eddie had only been high a handful of times, every single one with Richie. He hadn’t really made a hard stance on how he felt about it. He never could get used to the burning sensation he felt when he smoked and he feared that, one day, it all would catch up to him in the form of lung cancer. Yet he continued to do it, because he liked the way time seemed to ripple and fold in on itself- moments and memories bleeding into each other like a kaleidoscope- and he loved how his senses felt heightened and numbed simultaneously. Every single one of his nerve endings tingled, making everything feel as if it was vibrating against his skin. Most of all, he adored how uninhibited and unburdened he felt for those few hours. It was a taste of how he had always longed to feel, but could never achieve without assistance from some kind of substance, and he savored it blissfully.

        “Me, too. That guy said this was some good shit, but I thought he was just blowing smoke up my ass (no pun intended) to justify the higher price. He wasn’t kidding, though. This is some GOOD weed,” Richie said with a dopey grin, his eyes never deviating from the celling above him. He laced his fingers together atop his stomach with his legs extended, one crossed over the other. One of his favorite mixed tapes played in the background on Eddie’s humble but functional cassette player. “I am glad it’s just us two, today. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love Bev and she’s always a good time, but I really like when it’s just us two. Like you’re really cool and adorable and hot and you make me feel relaxed. Oh my god, I think that’s why I made you my boyfriend.”

“Okay, you are REALLY high.” Eddie giggled at his boyfriend’s ramblings.

“Oh yeah . . . I’m up there.” Richie said nodding with a smirk as he turned his head to face Eddie. “I really mean it, though. Father’s Day sucks ass, but I kinda look forward to it every year cause it’s just you and me . . . and Bev . . . sometimes.”

“Isn’t it ironic that the two guys with the most daddy issues in the Loser’s Club ended up together?” Eddie gasped dramatically and then paused with an exaggerated expression of feign realization. “Oh my god! Is it ironic, or is it WHY we’re together? Dun! Dun! Dun!” Eddie cackled, finding his own joke hilarious, and Richie, instead, laughed at Eddie’s ridiculous behavior.  

“You’re dumb,” Richie said turning back to face the celling and became entranced by the celling fan and the fuzzy shapes it created as it whirled above them. 

“Whatever, you just feel threatened be cause I’m funnier than you when I’m high.” Richie could practically hear the smirk on Eddie’s face as he teased him.

“Oh, you coming for me, Eds?” Richie challenged “You think you can dethrone me as the funniest member of the Loser’s Club?”

“I know I can, but I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, Ricardo.” Eddie said condescendingly as he turned and placed a sloppy kiss onto Richie’s stubble riddled cheek. Surprised by the sudden pricks against his delicate skin, he then pulled away with a grimace. “Ow! Babe, you need to shave!”

Richie scoffed, then turned and nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s smooth plump cheek, igniting a blush that spread across the bridge of his nose and then onto his other cheek. “Awe, You’re just jealous, mijo. (baby boy)”

The smile that had spread on Eddie’s lips as a result of Richie’s affection evaporated from his face and was replaced with a questioning leer and an arched brow. “Jealous of what, exactly?”

“That you can’t grow any facial hair, yet.” Richie confronted Eddie’s intense glare with a teasing smirk, which irritated Eddie even more.

  “Yes I can!” Eddie exclaimed with a sneer, but the tone of his voice betrayed him, dripping with insecurity. “I’m just not lazy and shave everyday, unlike you.”

  “Eddie Spaghetti, I know for a FACT that you don’t shave because you never have any razors in your bathroom. I always have to bring my own from home when I spend the night,” Richie said matter-of-factly. Eddie shot his gaze back up to the celling, embarrassed. A smirk tugged on Richie’s full lips, knowing he had Eddie against the ropes, before delivering the finishing blow. “I can even see peach fuzz still on your cheeks! If you DID shave, you wouldn’t have any. Your face would be completely smooth.”

  “Beep, Beep! . . .You’re an asshole.” Eddie voice was low and faint, but the hurt it contained was loud and evident. Richie realized he had gone too far and immediately guilt began to pool in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry, bebe! (Baby) I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It-it’s not even a bad thing! I think its adorable that your don’t have any facial hair, really! It means your face feels soft when I kiss it like this!” Richie sat up and took Eddie’s face, which was upside down to him, in his hands and began to pepper what felt like hundreds of kisses all over it, in rapid succession. Eddie giggled, no longer upset, then used his own hands to grab onto Richie’s face and pulled him in for an upside down kiss that started off gentle but quickly evolved with passion. Richie pulled away smiling contently and lied back down where he once was, his limbs sprawled out dramatically, exhaling blissfully upon impact. “Wow!”

  Richie and Eddie had always bickered like this; it was one of the hallmarks of their relationship, present since it’s conception. People often wondered, because of their explosive dynamic, how they could possible be a couple, but what they mistakenly overlooked was the love, respect and loyalty that tethered the two to each other. They were complementary, but unlike yellows and violets, they didn’t muddle when they collided, but rather created a new color all their own.

“Richie?” Eddie reached up with is right hand and began play with Richie’s thick dark curls, occasionally gently scratching his scalp with his immaculately manicured nails. The feeling felt so soothingly pleasurable that Richie almost wanted to purr, but quickly decided against it, realizing it would be kinda weird. “What’s up, Eds?”

“Who-um,” Eddie hesitated. “Who taught you how to shave?” 

“Oh!” Richie knew what Eddie really wanted to know was if his father had taught him how to shave. He understood where the curiosity came from, since Richie’s father was a total dick and teaching him would be totally out of character. “Well- um- It was Stan the Man.”

“Stan!?” Eddie exclaimed; his face riddled with a shocked grimace.

Richie chuckled softly under his breath at Eddie’s reaction. “Yup! Yup!”

“How the fuck did that happen?” Eddie interrogated expectantly after pausing for Richie to elaborate, only for the taller boy to sit there looking back at him blankly.

“Okay! So- funny story- one morning, after I had spent the night, we were getting ready and he caught a glimpse of me shaving. Apparently I must have been doing a really shitty job, because he decided to stop me and then took it upon himself to give me some ‘pointers.’ Well, as you would expect from Staniel, those pointers turned into a forty-five minute lesson in the Art of Shaving, as he called it.” Richie made air quotes as he chortled at the memory. “Honestly, I lucked out cause before Stancine taught me the proper way to shave I kinda had to figure it out on my own and I was always nicking the fuck out of my face.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed with skepticism. “I don’t mean to be rude, but-“

“I’m sure you’ll power through,” Richie interrupted sarcastically.

Eddie rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Shut up asshole! Seriously, though, who made Stan such an expert on the art of shaving?” He said the last the works in mockingly low tone.

“Okay, settle down Diane Sawyer,” Richie said teasingly. “I guess his dad had taught him a long time ago, but you know how meticulous Stan is. He took it to this whole new level with his own special technique and this long ass skin care routine. It was nuts.” 

   “Hm, well that’s cool.” Eddie hummed wistfully. “I’ve always been afraid to do it. I mean I don’t have to yet, but I am afraid that whenever I do, I am going to cut myself and get some kind of infection on my face. I know it’s a stupid irrational fear, but still it’s a sharp blade against your face. Just the idea of it frightens the shit out of me!”

“Well, I can teach you- if you want me to. O-or you can ask Stan! I’m sure you’d probably prefer him teaching you, since he’s, like, better at explaining things and-yeah,” Richie offered apprehensively, marred with self-doubt. 

“No! I-I would like that! You teach-you teaching me, I mean. I would prefer it if YOU taught me.” Eddie said with a little too much enthusiasm, stumbling through his words. “Sorry, let me start again . . . I would be honored if you, Richie Tozier, taught me how to shave.” 

“Dude, I would be honored to teach you! We can even practice on OTHER parts while we wait for your facial hai-“ Eddie’s hand clasped onto Richie’s mouth, preventing him from spewing out whatever disgusting perversion he was about to say. “Well, great Trashmouth. You ruined another moment by being a total perv. Cochino! (Nasty)” 

Richie pulled Eddie’s hand down, just enough for him to be able to speak. He smiled mischievously. “You LOVE me!”

“For reasons known but to God.” Eddie admitted begrudgingly. He looked into Richie’s rich molasses eyes and felt himself lost within them. They were dark but still managed to sparkle with life and warmth. Eddie loved when Richie didn’t wear his magnifying lenses; it was like seeing a whole new side of him. When he wore his glasses, Richie was adorable and charming in a juvenile way, but when he stripped himself of them he seemed mysterious and dapper, yet enchanting just the same. Richie had a lot of unconventionally beautiful features, but his eyes were Eddie’s absolute favorite. He smiled amorously. “I love you, Trashmouth.” 

“I love you too, Eddie Spaghetti! Since the first day I met you, until death do us part and even after that! Forever and for always.” Richie lips caressed Eddie’s again and Eddie smiled at the sensation. Richie shamelessly flirted with Eddie all the time, but rarely was he so . . . romantic. He professed his love for him frequently, but when he spoke with such daring sincerity (in a way that he reserved for just Eddie and only in intimate moments like this), it made Eddie’s heart swell and his chest burn with love, so much so he feared he might combust at any second. 

Whenever Eddie was enraptured in moments like these, it was hard for him to believe the two of them hadn’t always been like this- been together, but at one time that was the case. Their love for one other had always been effortless but that was exactly the problem. All their lives, they had been force fed this ideal archetype of what a family should be and anything that deviated from it was shameful, if not an abomination. They were two people (or, more accurately, two children) that loved each other without intending or wanting to, but did so fiercely. It was confusing and daunting, but no matter how much they tried, it could not be denied. 

“When did you know?” Eddie asked with reluctant curiosity.

“When did I know what? That I loved you? I just told you, since the day I met you.” Richie responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, not- I don’t know how to phrase it. Like, when did you KNOW, not when did you first feel it? Do-do you get what I mean?” Eddie stammered. He began to get frustrated with his inability to articulate what he was thinking. In his head it made perfect sense, but it just wasn’t translating how he hoped. Maybe it was cause he was so high. 

“Nuh-uh.” Richie shook his head as he looked at Eddie blankly. 

“I guess-Okay, so- let me try again! When did admit it to YOURSELF for the first time? THAT- the way you felt that way about boys- or about me.” Eddie eyebrows furrowed with uncertainty as he asked Richie what felt like a very personal question. He wasn’t sure why, though. 

“Oh!” Richie exclaimed, dragging out the “o.” His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up, almost meeting his hairline, finally grasping what Eddie had been trying to ask. His eyes darted around the room as he gathered his thoughts and contemplated how to best approach the question. “I dunno. Always, I guess.”

“No you didn’t!” 

  “Yes I did, Eds!” he assured, “I always knew you were the one!” 

Eddie paused with narrow eyes and pursed lips, disbelieving of Richie’s response. “Then why did it take you SO LONG to ask me out!? Why did it take you until the end of junior year to finally kiss me?”

“Why are you asking? W-Whe-Where is this coming from?” Richie questions came across like a counter, but Eddie could tell Richie didn’t mean any of it in an offensive way. 

“Well, you and I have never talked about it. Like, we just got together, and never talked about our sexuality, other than the superficial stuff. I mean, you told me you’ve loved me for a long time and that you identified as Bisexual, but you’ve never told me HOW you realized it or how you came to terms with it. Like, was it hard for you? Were you afraid? I dunno- I-I guess I am just curious, but it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal.”

“Honestly Ed’s I thought we were already together. I just thought you were taking it slow and I didn’t want to push you. I assumed you didn’t want to kiss me cause of your hypochondria, or whatever, but then I got impatient and went for it. ” This was a half-truth.

“Oh my god! Nevermind, if you’re not gonna answer honestly then forget it. We can just talk about something else!” Eddie complained.

“Eds, honestly! You can’t tell me that after the summer of 89 you and I were ever JUST FRIENDS!” Richie exclaimed, exasperated. “Friends don’t act like we did! We crossed a lot of lines . . . especially at night! All that cuddling!? Come on!”

“I’m not arguing that we didn’t have a . . . weird friendship, but I don’t believe that you really thought we were together.” Eddie contended. “If that was the case, then why did you go out with Heather freshman year or Amber during sophomore year!?”

Richie rolled his eyes at the mention of his past relationships; he had always considered them too brief to hold any insignificance. “Those relationships weren’t even serious. We barely even kissed!”

“That’s not the fucking point! You asked THEM out, which means you couldn’t have thought we were together, UNLESS you were okay with cheating on me! To some extent you must have felt a little ashamed, if you felt the need to try and date girls when you were allegedly already into me!”

“I was not ashamed, Edward!” Richie exclaimed embittered. His contemplative eyes flickered away from Eddie and then back to him intently. “My dad wouldn’t get off my case about not having a girlfriend . . . not since he caught me being too “friendly” with you.” 

Eddie frowned in startled confusion as he sat up to face Richie properly. Once the older boy saw this, he too sat himself gloomily across from his boyfriend. “What do you mean? You never told me that! . . . W-when was that?”

“ 8th grade.” Richie answered, sullenly. 

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Eddie ruminated, with furrowed brows, on one-sided memories that had long befuddled him. “Is that why you were so awkward around me for, like, half of 8th grade? I-I remember you started coming over more at night, but wouldn’t be caught DEAD here during the day. I had always just assumed it had something to do with my mom or something she had said.”

Richie’s face turned pained and stern with eyes that darted around the room pensively, but also avoiding of Eddie’s. “My dad never- NEVER comes home early, right? I mean, i-it’s a fucking miracle if he even comes home more than two nights in a row, you know? But, one day he did JUST THAT!” Richie chuckled dryly.  Eddie sensed this was much harder to talk about than he led on. “I guess on his way home he had driven passed your house, which could only means he was coming from one of his mistresses’ houses, cause it’s not even on his route home from work. Well, as luck would fucking have it, he drove by right when I was giving you a kiss on the forehead, after walking you home. He just, um, he-he just lost it.”  

A thick coat of guilt layered itself over Eddie’s chocolate eyes, threatening to spill down his reddened cheeks. “Richie, I’m sorry- “

“No-no-no-no! Don’t do that! It’s NOT your fault!” Richie interrupted, leaning in purposefully, tenderly cupping Eddie’s cheek.  Their gazes intermingled with heartfelt intensity. “He’s an asshole and it has NOTHING to do with you, so don’t you dare feel guilty. That is exactly what he would want, and I refuse to let that prick win.”

Richie instinctively hid behind his characters and voices during moments of extreme emotional duress, like this one, but with Eddie those tactics were not an option. Eddie was Richie’s best friend first and foremost and through the years he had developed a deeper understanding of him, easily seeing right through his defense mechanisms. This forced Richie to be himself- his REAL self, much to his chagrin. Those formative teenage years are usually when people try to find themselves, but all Richie wanted was to be someone else- anyone else. His voices were those of characters he imagined were stronger than him, unaffected by fear or heartache, and he preferred to hide behind them, forever if he could. 

That was the thing about Eddie, though. He wasn’t in love with the invincible characters, but rather the sensitive boy that created them. Sure, he found them amusing, but he knew they were just fabricated illusions intended to camouflage Richie’s true feelings. He wanted Richie for who he really was, not an “easier” version of him. Where other could only handle Richie in small dosages, Eddie was willing to overdose. He loved and revered his boyfriend profoundly and sincerely believed he could change the world with his hands tied behind his back, if only he could stay out of his own way.  

“Look, if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t want to love you, but I DID! I tried not to love you, but it had nothing to do with shame. It wasn’t that I thought it was wrong. I-I jus-“ Richie’s voice began to quiver and break with emotion, as tears began to stream down his face. “I just did want to give my dad anoth- another reason to hate me. How fucked up is that?”

“That is not fucked up, Richie! You do-“ 

Undeterred by Eddie attempted to comfort him, Richie continued on with his self-deprecating rant. “Not only is it fucked up, but it’s also pathetic. How could I admit that? That is something you feel unwillingly, but should never admit to yourself and you CERTAINLY don’t say it aloud- to anyone! That’s so fucking pathetic! I’m . . . pathetic.”

“Don’t say that!” Eddie interjected. He hated beyond expression whenever Richie spoke so vehemently about himself.

   “After everything they’ve done . . . after every tear and every bruise . . . I still- I- I still want them to love me.” Richie confessed resentfully between sobs. His despairing eyes finally met with Eddie’s empathetic ones after shamefully evading them up to this point. “I- I want them to love me, Eds. What’s wrong with me?” 

With overflowing tears of his own, Eddie urgently took Richie in his arms as tightly as he could. Overwhelmed by Eddie’s act of compassion, Richie wrapped his own arms around his boyfriend, grasping onto the back his shirt for comfort. The smaller boy consolingly caressed Richie’s head as he buried his face into the crook of his neck with heaving sobs. “There is NOTHING wrong with you, Richie! You deserve to be loved!” he assured, passionately. “You are not pathetic! You are the most beautiful, intelligent, loyal, amazing human being I have ever met. I love you and I refuse to let you say that! They might not have the capability to love you, but I do! And I will love you twice as hard for every person that doesn’t! Okay?”

“Okay.” Richie answered, weakly.

“Look at me!” Eddie pulled away and ardently glared into Richie’s eyes. He asked again, this time more pleadingly. “OKAY!?”

Richie eyes flickered around Eddie’s features with a melancholic smile; he wondered how he got so blessed with such an altruistic boyfriend. “Okay, Eddie Spaghetti.” He answered with more certainty and sincerity. 

“Good!” Eddie nodded with a teary eyed smile before leaning in to place a chaste kiss onto Richie’s plump lips; the older boy melted contently into the kiss. Fatigued by the arduous conversation, Richie moved to lay his head on Eddie’s lap, which the other welcomed eagerly. 

“I’m sorry I ruined our day together with my depressing bullshit,” Richie apologized, sheepishly. 

Eddie gifted Richie with a soft, understanding look. “Richie, you didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, raking his fingers through Richie’s thick waves. “You have nothing to apologize for! You can talk to me about anything and I will always be here for you. Don’t feel ashamed.” 

“Okay Spagheddie.” Richie smiled gratefully up at Eddie as he took his free hand and pressed an earnest kiss onto it. “Okay-okay! Let’s talk about something else. Something lighter.”

“Like what?”

“Literally ANYTHING else, Eds.” He insisted with raised brows.

Eddie took in a long dragged out inhale before exhaling dramatically. “Hmmm, well, there is this thing I’ve always wanted to ask you, but haven’t cause I thought you might think it’s weird,” he said, voice soaked in reluctance. 

“What is it?” Richie asked with a mistrusting tone and furrowed brows. “Does it have something to do with your secret kink?”

“Ew, no dumbass!” Eddie smacked Richie’s forehead as to chastise him, but still chuckled at Richie’s perverse humor. Laughing, Richie looked up at him with a scrunched nose and furrowed brows as he rubbed soothingly on his forehead, indicating that it actually did hurt a little. “If I ask you, do you promise to answer honestly?” 

“Of course, Ike Turner!” he teased.

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asked holding out his tiny pinky finger for his boyfriend, a wry smile adorning his lips. 

“Fucking hell, Eds . . . YES!” Richie rolled his eye and begrudgingly linked his pinky with Eddies. “I pinky promise, you dork.” 

Eddie smiled wide with a crinkled nose, which Richie found adorable, before proceeding tentatively. “Okay! Um, so, I know you’re bi, but, like, do you have a- uh- I dunno . . . a preference?”

Richie tiled his head slightly as he tried to decipher Eddie’s question. “Are you asking if I like one gender more than the other?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“Y-yeah,” Eddie answered, abashed. 

Richie chortled. “Why would you be afraid to ask me that?” he asked, incredulously. “Well, I guess . . . um, honestly I like both almost equally, BUT if I had to choose I guess I like girls a little more.” 

“Really!?” Eddie asked, flabbergasted. “Well we all have our flaws.” The tone of his voice was dismissive, but it was obviously intended to be taken as a joke.  

“That’s not a fucking flaw!” Richie laughed. “But, it’s not like it matters cause I like you more than anyone other person in the world, besides your mom.”

Eddie cautiously contemplated whether or not to ask the question that hovered about in his head. He knew if he did, it would make him seem insecure, but it wasn’t like he didn’t actually struggle with insecurity. “Fuck it!” he thought. “Is that why you like that I don’t have facial hair?”

“Wha-“ Richie was taken aback by the question. “No!” 

Eddie continued, despite Richie’s futile attempt to dispel his insecurities. He had come this far, might as well trudge on. “So, are you not going to find me attractive when I finish puberty? Are you not gonna want to kiss me when I have a stubble of my own? What about when I have a full beard?” Eddie had always felt insecure about his place in Richie’s heart. Richie was tall, dark, and handsome with charisma and charm to boost, and Eddie felt he paled in comparison. Eddie believed himself to be average (at best) in appearance and annoying in personality; he couldn’t understand what redeeming qualities Richie saw in him. He fearfully expected Richie would get fed up with him and his attitude someday; god knows he would have years ago. 

“The hell . . .?” Richie wondered out loud. It was almost a whisper; and although it was both phrased and said as a question, it was clearly more of an exclamation indicative of bewildered exasperation. “Eddie, are you fucking serious!? I’m BISEXUAL, not bi-curious! I’m not dating you as some sort of-of experimental phase! I love you, Eds! I think you’d look hot with facial hair . . . if you had hair all over or-or even if you were bald! It makes no fucking difference to me. You could stay cute and petite, or get all buff like a dwarf Schwarzenegger and- I’m telling you- it would make absolutely no difference to me. Trust me, babe, you have nothing to worry about!” 

“Oh. Okay . . . Good!” Eddie nodded, relieved and embarrassed. “Well, don’t get your hopes up, cause I’m not planning on getting buff anytime soon. I’m way too lazy to that shit. I mean track? Cool! Weights? Fuck that shit,” he joked, trying to distance them from the awkwardness that lingered in the air just seconds ago.  

“That’s fine with me.” Richie insisted. “I like you just the way you are, Spaghetti Man! . . .even if you are extremely ticklish.”

“What does that have to do wi-“ Before Eddie got the chance to finish his question, Richie sat up from his lap and lunged towards him, fluttering his fingers up and down his clothed ribs. Surprised by the unexpected attack, Eddie cackled involuntarily and threw himself back onto the floor in an attempt so squirm away. Richie swiftly climbed atop the smaller boy and sat himself over his lower stomach, then proceeded to pin both of Eddie’s arms over his head. Both of Eddie’s slight wrists fit effortlessly within Richie’s giant claw, leaving his other hand free to continue gleefully torturing his boyfriend.  

“Stop . . . it!” Eddie begged between fits of laughter.

“What’s wrong, Eds?” Richie asked mockingly, his fingers still tormenting Eddie’s sides. “Can’t handle a little tickling?”

“Stop! Stop . . . fucker!”

Richie laughed maniacally. “Nope, not until you admit you like your nicknames!” Eddie helplessly writhed and convulsed beneath him, trying fruitlessly to get away, but to no avail. “NEVER!” 

“Then I guess I can’t stop!” Richie warned with faux remorse.

“Seriously . . . Richie . . . Please!” Eddie pleaded, panic beginning to set in. He desperately wanted to get away, but Richie was much stronger than his gauntly physique would lead one to believe.  

“Nope! Sorry! Cant!” Richie chanted cheerfully. 

“RICHIE . . . I CAN’T . . . BREATHE!” Eddie howled with tears running down the sides of his face, which was entirely fire engine red. 

  Richie chuckled skeptically. “Nice try, Eds.” 

“I’M . . . SERIOUS!” Eddie began to wheeze and cough between laughs. ” . . . CAN’T . . . BREATHE! . . INHALER!” 

Richie’s fingers abruptly ceased their onslaught at the sound of Eddie’s labored breaths and rough coughs. “Oh shit, you’re serious?” 

“YES, YOU DUMBASS!”

“Oh fuck! I’m so sorry, babe!” Richie lifted himself off of his boyfriend and scrambled towards his backpack. He rummaged through the sack, searching for the spare inhaler he carried for Eddie. It had been years since Eddie had used it or even carried his own, but Richie still hauled it around in case of an emergency- like this one. Richie could hear Eddie continue to wheeze and cough on the floor, and he cursed his inability to move quicker. Unable to locate the aspirator, which was lost in the abyss that was his bag, he flipped the entire sack upside down and emptied its contents all over the bedroom floor. There, between his notebook and pencil case, was the teal green apparatus. He picked it up and hastily clambered over to his boyfriend and inserted the opening into his mouth. Eddie wrapped his lips around it and Richie pressed down, releasing the medication into his mouth, which then traveled into his struggling lungs. Immediately Eddie’s labored breath became stable, much to Richie’s relief.

As a precaution, Richie pressed down one more time before pulling the inhaler away. He remained close, incase he needed it once more and continued to monitor the smaller boy’s breathing. Eddie’s breaths were deep and could have easily been mistaken for consecutive sighs. “I honestly thought you were kidding!” Richie was beyond apologetic. “I thought your asthma was fake! What the hell was that?!”

Eddie remained silent as his eye retreated away from Richie’s. His face became blank and Richie, knowing Eddie so well, began to suspect it might have all been a ruse. Eddie knew he was on to him and if he tried to lie his way out of it, Richie would immediately figure it out. There was no point; lying would only make things worse. Fuck, he knew Richie was about to be super pissed at him. The jig was up, though. “Okay, fine! I was faking it.” He admitted warily.

“You dick!” Richie exclaimed, fury written across his freckle spotted face. “That’s not fucking funny, Eds! I was seriously scared!”

“Well, what the hell was I supposed to do? You wouldn’t fucking stop!” Eddie argued.

“NOT THAT!”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Eddie apologized, resigned. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Whatever,” Richie grumbled bitterly, as he sat himself against the side of Eddie’s bed, a bright red aura of fury radiating from him. Eddie was sure if he tried to touch him his finger would burn on contact. 

“I’m sorry, Richie!” Eddie begged. This time his apologies came out more whiney and supplicating than before. “Please forgive me?”

“No, that was fucked up!” Richie asserted loudly, his face displaying a look of resolute indignation. 

Eddie paused, realizing Richie was genuinely upset and passively asking for forgiveness would get him absolutely nowhere. When Richie got like this, Eddie knew there was only one way for him to quell his anger. He had to pull out the big guns. Smiling mischievously as he locked his now half-lidded eyes with Richie’s, he got on all fours and sensually ambled his way over to him, resembling a cheetah stalking it’s prey, ready to pounce at any second. The lanky boy gulped loudly as Eddie erotically climbed his way onto his boney lap, straddling him. Richie threw his head back, shutting his black orbs as Eddie weaved his fingers into his curls and began to trail soft kisses from his cheek down to his neck, slowly increasing in intensity. Eddie worked his way back up from his neck to his ear and began to nibble on it gently, inciting a sigh of contentment from his boyfriend. Eddie knew he had Richie right where he wanted him, so he leaned in and in a low seductive whisper pleaded once more. “Will you forgive me? Please . . . Daddy?”

Richie’s cheeks emblazed with an intense flush and his breath hitched deep within his throat. Eddie always did this! Every time he wanted to get his way or wanted Richie to do something he knew he wouldn’t want to, he would use that triggering word and Richie would melt into a compliant idiot. Richie would leap head first into the mouth of a volcano if Eddie asked him to- like THAT. He pulled away with an annoyed sigh and gave him a look that clearly stated “Goddammit, Eddie! That is NOT fair!” before smiling dopily in enthusiastic defeat. “You’re lucky you’re so adorable, you little brat.”

Eddie chuckled loudly, wrapping his arms around Richie and taking him into a tight joyful embrace, and pressed a firm beholden kiss onto his temple. Leaning back and sitting on Richie’s upper thighs, Eddie looked into his eyes with his own bloodshot ones.  “Dude, I am so stoned, it felt like you were tickling me for hours.”

“For real?” Richie asked, leaning back onto the palms of his hands.

“Yeah, it was intense.” Eddie replied with wide red eyes. 

Richie chortled mockingly. “You sound like such a stoner.”

Eddie gasped, horrified. “Okay, I’ll stop.” 

As Eddie straddled his lap, Richie reached for the cherub-faced boy’s hands. He wrapped his massive hands around Eddie’s smaller ones, engulfing them protectively, and began to play with them absentmindedly. He ghosted the tips of his fingers up and down Eddie’s palm, tickling him slightly. His gaze met Eddie’s at the sound of his faint giggle, biting his lip as he smiled at the smaller boy. Eddie’s hands looked elegant and dainty, but were actually quite dry and somewhat rough due to his constant washing and scrubbing. His palms were plump and spongy with translucent pale skin and often times were clammy due to his anxiety; but his was not one of those times. 

Thinking Eddie had grown tired of it, he stopped playing with his hands and tried to let go, but Eddie immediately reached back for them and began to massage his hands from his knuckles all the way down to the tips of his boney fingers. Where Eddie’s digits were smooth and tapered longingly, Richie’s were blunt and knobby, with dirt underneath his fingernails. Eddie admired their stark differences in physicality. One would expect Richie’s hands to be rough because of their masculine appearance, but, while they were large with square palms and some callouses, his hands were surprisingly soft and smooth. Freckles spotted the pale skin on the back of his hands and Eddie ran the pads of his thumbs over them. Richie’s hands were strong and logical, and Eddie felt safe within them.  

“Hey so you never told me how it was for you.” Richie commented, nonchalantly.

“What?” Eddie asked still admiring his hands.

“When you realized you were gay, or whatever! You never told me what it was like for you.” Eddie froze, but didn’t look up at Richie.

“Oh . . . Um . . . C-cause you didn’t wanna talk about it anymore.” He explained unconvincingly.

Richie chuckled at Eddie’s inability to conjure up a believable excuse. “I didn’t wanna talk about ME, anymore. I love hearing about YOU!” he insisted.

“You really wanna know? It’s kinda a depressing story,” Eddie warned apprehensively, his amber orbs were still avoiding of Richie’s. Anxiously, he set Richie’s hands back down, resting them atop of his thighs.

“Of course I do, amor (love)!”Richie maintained with less enthusiasm, but still very much sincerely. “Only if you want to, though. If it’s too hard you don’t have t-“

“N-n-no-no, it’s okay!” Eddie interjected. “It’s only fair. You showed me yours, now I show you mine.”

“Eddie, careful with those kinds of jokes!” Richie warned with narrowed eyes as he wiggled his brows suggestively.  “Don’t start something you aren’t willing to finish.”

Finally confident enough to meet Richie’s gaze, Eddie leaned in dangerously close once again, near enough in proximity that he could whisper and still be fully heard by his boyfriend. “Who says I’m not willing to finish it?” 

“Well then, lets get to it right HERE . . . on this floor . . .” Richie challenged lewdly. “I want YOUR body all over MY body!”

Eddie’s face contorted in shock. “No, it’s dirty!” 

“I knew you wouldn’t want to.” Richie griped, shaking his head tauntingly. Eddie’s cheeks burned as they became crimson, both abashed and annoyed because of Richie’s barb. “You’re a fucking tease.”

“I don’t want to fucking do it on this filthy ass floor, DICK!” Eddie retorted, offended. “Later, when we go to your house . . . I promise.” Richie’s smile widened so much that his cheeks actually started to hurt. Eddie was so stubborn and plagued with pride that it made embarrassingly susceptible to reverse psychology, and Richie knew how to use this to his advantage.

“Okay, fine. Well, how about we kill some time until then by listening to you tell me about your childhood traumas.” Richie suggested jokingly.

“Beep beep, Richie.” Eddie’s voice turned soft, almost defeated.

“Okay, sorry. Not funny.” Richie admitted, remorseful of his insensitivity. “Seriously, though. I am all ears.” Eddie, clearly unsure, paused hesitantly. He climbed off of Richie’s lap and sat himself against the bed, next to the taller boy. He stared off at nothing in particular, but clearly avoiding Richie, as he began to speak, while his hands began to fidget nervously.

“Well, you know how you said that you never felt ashamed or thought that being gay or bi was wrong? I-I feel that way, too- most of the time, but I didn’t always feel that way.” Eddie’s licked his lips nervously before releasing a ponderous sigh. “My mom always said horrible things about people like us and- I- dunno- I didn’t want to be gay.” Eddie scoffed dryly with watery eyes. “You know, I HATED going to church on Sundays, I always felt even more disgusted with myself whenever I was in there. I-I used to sit though the service and just pray in my head- I would ask God why-“ Eddie’s voice began to break, but his demeanor remained almost placid. “Why me? O-Out of all the people in the world, wh-why did I have to be gay? There are literally BILLIONS of people in the world, but-but-but I had to turn out this way. I used to ask, genuinely expecting an answer, but . . . I-I never got one. You would think I would take this as a sign that there was no God, but nope. Instead I believed that He didn’t want to answer me. I started to believe that because of my-my perversions I was unworthy of His response.”

Richie’s heart felt as if it had suffocated and withered dry behind his sternum. He had known Eddie struggled with his sexuality, but he had no idea to what magnitude. He felt unbearable guilt for not noticing how much pain his Eds had been in for years, so selfishly wrapped up in his own. “Do you still feel this way?” 

“Sometimes.” He answered blandly. “I never question the way I feel about you, though. My love for you is the only thing in my life that feels . . . right. It’s just- sometimes when my ma says things- she gets to me. I get confused.”

“What does she say?” Richie asked with cautious concern. 

Eddie paused pensively as his eyes darted around, his tongue poking out the slightest bit. “Richie, you know how I never talk about my dad?”

Richie hesitated. “Yeah?”

“I know that you guys all assume that I don’t remember him because I was so little when he died, and-and I liked it that way because then you guys would never ask me about him or force me to talk about him.” Eddie began to fidget more with his hands as he spoke. “I do remember him, though. I remember a lot, actually. I remember we used to play catch in the backyard.” Eddie smiled nostalgically, despite his tears. “I remember how he used to carry me on his shoulders on the fourth of July so I could see the fireworks. We even used to watch cartoons together every Saturday morning, while eating sugary cereals. Then when he started working more, we couldn’t play together as much, but he would tuck me into bed every night and we would talk about our day. He said that even though he wasn’t able to be there, he still wanted to know everything I had done or learned that day. It became my favorite part of every . . . single . . . day.” Eddie let out a melancholic chuckle. “I always wanted to try something new or do something fun so I would have a new interesting story for my dad at night. I used to look forward to it all day.” 

“Eddie . . .” Richie felt an unbearable pressure within his chest as a flurry of intense, conflicting emotions accumulated in it with no form of release to alleviate their burden.

“After he got sick- after- a-a-after he . . . died . . .I started to get scared of the world and I-I didn’t want to try new things anymore. I began to think the whole world was-was dangerous and my ma only reinforced those fears. But-bu-but I still wanted to talk to him, though. So, every night I would lay in bed and l would talk to him until I fell asleep. I would- uh- tell him about my day, about all the new friends I made- about you. I would tell him- I- I-” Eddie’s small voice began to tremble and break as be stammered through his story. Richie’s heart felt like it was trying to violently claw it’s way out of his chest. “I- I-uh– I would tell him how much I loved him and . . .  and how much I missed him. It was still my favorite part of the day, because I still felt like he was there, e-even if I could see him.” Eddie sniffled as tears cascaded down his rosy cheeks. His eyes seemed distant and full of unimaginable sorrow. “I did that every night until I was 12 . . . until that summer . . . until . . .  the leper.”

“Why?” Richie asked apprehensively.

“What the leper said- It made me start t-to suspect I was . . . different. I didn’t understand how, or-or, you know what, maybe I did be-because I knew enough to be ashamed. I was SO afraid to talk to my dad after that. I-I was afraid he would find out about me-I was TERRIFIED to tell him about what I felt- how I felt about you.” Small sobs began to develop in Eddie’s voice, which he desperately tried to will away. Even though tears were streaming freely down his face and sobs were escaping his chest, Eddie seemed oddly calm and collected- emotional, but not hysterical. “I was afraid I would disappoint him. I-if God was disgusted with me, then how could my father not be? I began to hate the nighttime, as STUPID as that sounds! . . . I would to cry myself to sleep every night.”

Richie began to deduce Sonia’s role in Eddie’s story. “Is that what your mom- does she talk about your dad?”

Eddie hummed and nodded in agreement. “S-she says that my dad- my dad would’ve hated me, if he saw the person that I became. That he could-could’ve never loved a-a . . . a faggot.”

Richie lifted himself off the floor and kneeled himself in front of Eddie, who seemed completely unfazed, and cupped his cheek, looking deeply into his eyes. “You know that isn’t true right?”

“I just- I think about how much my mom loved me, before I came out. I wonder sometimes if she’s right- if he would- if he would have reacted like her. D-does he hate me, too?” Eddie’s eyes burrowed into Richie’s after evading them for most of the conversation, darting around as he tried to extract coherent words from the jumbled thoughts in his head. “I keep going over all the memories I have of us together, his face- his voice. I don’t want him to hate me, Richie!” he said in a hoarse whisper, tears continuing to fall without any sign of stopping.

“Eds, if your dad truly loved you, he could never hate you for being who you are- for something you can’t control. AND, from what you’ve told me, it seems he really loved you UNCONDITIONALLY! I’m sure wherever he is, he is happy that you’re happy. He must be so proud of you for facing every day with such bravery. All these people hate us for loving each other, and it would be so much easier to hide- to deny who you are, but you DON’T. You face the world and all it’s hate and hostility valiantly!” Richie said, as he leaned in, cradling Eddie’s face in his warm hands. “You are such an astounding person, Eds. You just can’t see it, but I can . . . and I’ll be here to remind you whenever you forget.”

Without hesitation, Richie leaned in and closed the gap between the two of them- soft plush lips colliding with dry chapped ones. The kiss was intense, as if Richie was attempting to draw out all of Eddie’s pain and suffering through his lips and adsorbing them into himself. It was passionate, but also with purpose, not just to coax but also to heal. 

“I dunno how I could have made it this far without you, Richie Tozier.” Eddie whispered as he pulled away, but immediately leaned back in, pressing their forehead together. A faint, but sincere smile began to creep onto his lips. “I forget how secretly brilliant you are, sometimes.”

“Awe, shucks!” Richie mumbled as he scrunched his nose with a lopsided smile, as if to say “Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” He paused briefly. “Wait, but I used to come over all the time, and I never heard you crying.”

Tilting his head slightly, Eddie smiled and looked at Richie tenderly through his tear soaked lashes. “That’s because I didn’t cry when you came over. The nights we spent together were the only nights I slept. I, kinda . . . used to hope you would come over every night because you made them easier.”

Taken aback by Eddie’s confession, Richie looked away with raised brows, nodding to himself. “And that fucking whole time I though I was annoying you!”

“Oh no!” Eddie chuckled. “You were the only reason I even made it through my early teens!”

Richie’s eyebrows furrowed at Eddie, who immediately regretted what he had just said extemporarily. “What do you mean by that?” Eddie’s eyes retreated anxiously and Richie’s chased after them, but, due to Eddie’s determined evasiveness, never caught up.

“Sometimes I- I wasn’t always in the best headspace.” Eddie said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He allowed it to drop back onto hip lap only to immediately begin fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “It was just a lot to deal with. I mean, we joke around about it now that we are on the other side of it all, but before I accepted who or what I was- whatever- I was really depressed. I felt a this-this hopeless despair and I didn’t know how to get out of it. I had all this shit going on inside my head and I thought I had no one I could talk to. I was afraid everyone would hate me- I was afraid YOU would hate me, so I had to handle it all on my own . . . I was just a kid . . . It was just too much, sometimes.” 

“Do you still feel that way?” Richie asked attentively as he reached for Eddie’s hand, massaging his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. 

Eddie deliberated for a moment. “Sometimes.”

“You’re not alone, though. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Eddie stated blandly, his eyes fondly admiring their intermingling hands.

Richie leaned it and proceeded to affectionately nudge at Eddie’s jaw with his nose, making way for himself to press soft kisses onto his neck. An amorous smile began to break through Eddie’s somber visage. “I am here for you, no matter what . . . and so are all the others.”

“I love you, Rich. I don’t know how you always manage to do it, but you are always saving me!” Eddie confessed as he tilted his head back, granting Richie more room for his lips to roam. His eyes fluttered shut as he continued, “I’m not certain when I fell for you, but you’ve always been the most important person to me. I know I don’t say it often, because we are always bickering, but you are everything to me.”

When they were children, Eddie immediately felt drawn to Richie, much to his perplexity. He was everything his mother had taught him to fear: dirty, defiant, foul-mouth, and reckless. Despite this, Eddie cared deeply for the raven-haired boy. Richie lived his childhood the way Eddie believed one should, carefree with skinned-knees and bruised elbows in all their filthy glory. He envied Richie, but was also happy that he got to experience the youth Eddie knew he never would. 

Eddie fondly remembered little Richie, with his adorable buckteeth, wild mane, and massive frames that made his eyes look cartoonish in size. Richie had a smile that could light up the night and Eddie thought it was (ironically) the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. Richie always managed to get dirtier than any of Eddie’s other friends, but when it came to him it didn’t matter (and with Eddie’s mysophobia, that spoke volumes). If anything, he felt it added to his charm. Eddie loved Richie with all of his little heart and, even then, knew he always would. 

Richie grinned smugly as he continued to press soft kisses down the length of Eddie’s neck. “Mmh, Tell me more words!” 

“Seriously!” Eddie pulled away to get a proper look at Richie for emphasis. “If anyone else- any other guy- would have kissed me that night, I would have ran away. And I CERTAINLY wouldn’t have come out of the closet, but because it was you- because I already trusted you and had loved you for so long . . . because it felt so right, I did it. Before you, I was fully ready and willing to live the rest my life in the closet.”

Richie’s cheeks illuminated with a rosy glow. “Really!? How could you admit to yourself that you were gay, but be willing to DIE in the closet?”

“I figured if I was going to lie to the rest of the world, I might as well be honest with myself.” Eddie confessed with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. ”I didn’t need act on those feelings, especially if no one else felt worth it. Whenever I thought about dating a guy, it just seemed wrong or only made me feel worse. Not with you, though. It was all worth it for you. I am willing to face all these homophobes, my mother, my fears, the fucking clown- for you.”

  Richie couldn’t help but beam euphorically. Eddie had always felt Richie could light even the darkest night in December with that beautiful lopsided smile. “You’re worth it too, Spaghetti head! I would do anything for my little munchkin! Mi bebe henanito preciosos! (My precious little short baby!)”

“Okay seriously don’t call me that!” Eddie complained with an all too familiar roll of his eyes.

“Don’t call you what? I just called you a bunch of shit, baby.” Richie asked tauntingly with a cheeky smirk across is sharp features.

With a deadpan expression, Eddie responded flatly. “You pick.” Eddie began to list each of his complaints with the use of his fingers. “They’re all humiliating! 1. I’m not a baby, I’m a man! 2. I’m not a fucking munchkin and 3. I certainly don’t have a head made of spaghetti!” 

“Don’t lie, you love my nicknames!” Richie retorted as he pinched Eddie’s bright pink cheeks.

“NOT THOSE!” Eddie yelled, swatting away his boyfriends hands. 

“AHA!! SO YOU FUCKING ADMIT IT!” Richie cheered, earning an irritated sigh from Eddie. “Ugh, okay so some of them aren’t THAT bad. ‘Eds’ and ‘Eddie Spaghetti’ are kinda cute, but not ones where you’re making fun of me, asshole!”

Richie’s smug grin fell- replaced with a frown of sullen disappointment. “You- you think I’m making fun of you?” The dynamic of his voice disintegrated into a soft mumble.

“Yeah! You tease me for my height, for looking young, my fucking shorts, and a bunch of other shit!” Eddie asserted.

“Ssshhh . . . Shut your pretty, pretty, pretty little stupid mouth.” Richie cooed as he pressed the length of his finger against Eddie’s lips, silencing him on contact. Rolling his eyes, Eddie giggled underneath his digit. “Eds! I don’t do that cause I am making fun of you! I do it because I love you. All those things you hate about yourself, I genuinely adore. I like that you’re short and that I can easily wrap my arms around little body! I love your adorable baby face! AND I don’t think you’re just cute, I think you’re fucking hot ESPECIALLY in those little shorts! I love you, mijo! (baby boy)”

Richie really did love Eddie with all of his broken heart. On the surface, Eddie could seem like a snob, but Richie knew that Eddie was just a person who had been burn to many times to let his guard down. Eddie didn’t like most people, but Richie understood that he is just scared, not evil. Richie saw things in Eddie that most people chose to ignore or overlook because of his aloof demeanor. Richie believed Eddie was kind and nurturing with unwavering loyalty. He often wondered how such a tiny body could house such a giant heart. 

Bravery was not something Eddie was known for, but Richie knew, when it mattered, he had it in spades. In fact Richie wished to be more like Eddie in that regard. Richie was fearless, but Eddie was brave. Richie wasn’t afraid of spiders, heights, bullies, or monsters; he was afraid of much more intangible things and whenever forced to confront them, he would cower and retreat. Eddie was the exact opposite. He had many fears that plagued him all throughout his life, but unlike Richie, Eddie never ran away. Eddie would face anything head on, no matter how frightening or menacing. Richie grew to believe fearlessness was the trait of a fool and only truly strong people could be brave.   

Warmed by Richie’s heartfelt declaration, Eddie climbed back on to his lap and linked his arms behind his boyfriend’s head, leaning atop his shoulders. He leaned in and softly grazed his lips without actually kissing the taller boy, whose breath hitched in his tensed throat. “You really mean that?”

From such a close proximity, Richie could see every breathtaking detail of Eddie’s face, from his dark, impossibly long lashes to the constellations of freckles that danced across his smooth caramel skin. He felt his heart raced in his ears as he nodded like an idiot, struggling to articulate a response. “Of-of course I do! You a-are the most perfect bo- MAN in the entire world and I-I-I love you!” 

“I love you too, Trashmouth.” Eddie whispered before finally closing the small gap that divided their lips. Richie snaked his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and pulled him flush against him; Eddie giggled but didn’t break away from the kiss. Richie murmured and smiled at the dulcet tones of Eddie’s little laugh. After a brief but very heated mini-makeout session, he pulled away with a sly grin. Eddie knew from plenty of experience Richie’s trashmouth was about to ruin the moment. 

 “Plus, I love how red you get when I piss you off. It’s such a fucking RUSH!”

“Ugh! Nevermind, I hate you.”

taglist: @bloggingandstruggling @bitchardtozier @purejaeden @breakmyreddieheart @reddieformeerkat @greywatertozier @11stayradstaybad11 @julietissue

#reddie #reddie imagine #reddie fic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #the losers club #it movie #it chapter one #it chapter 1 #it 2017 #stephen kings it #stan uris #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #stozier #stenbrough #benverly #it 2019 #reddieaddict #Youre Gonna Live Forever In Me #Jack Dylan Grazer #finn wolfhard #Ezra Miller #dylan schmid #my writing #20gayteen

[head-and-heart]

I've seen a lot of talk about C in your page lately and I came here to add something. C always striked me as someone who deep down inside thirsts for human connection in general, but at the same time the walls she has built over the years, her private personality, the compartmentalization and isolation have had a huge impact in her psych. I think we often tend yo forget that C is a broken soul too, and maybe she's not as expressive as B or R, but everything is there. (pt1)

As you said, her struggles and emotions are there, she’s just adept at keeping her pain hidden, until some people break down her walls. (pt2)

First off I just want to apologize for taking such a ridiculously long time to get around to your ask. I was unprepared for how much busier my life has gotten this fall and I’ve neglected some of my asks/writing/meta that I usually do during the hiatus.

There has been a lot more Clarke discussion on my blog this hiatus, and I do appreciate it a lot! I find a lot of the time people get so frustrated with Clarke’s decisions that they don’t take the time to look and consider just how complex and dynamic she really is as a character. 

I agree with everything you have stated in this ask. In fact, your words about Clarke being a broken soul are eerily similar to something I wrote in one of my Bellarke meta’s months ago:

“We often talk about Bellamy’s self-loathing and I feel we very rarely talk about the fact that Clarke is a broken soul, as well.”

Not a whole lot to take away from that, of course, but clearly we are on the same wavelength, nonny.

Clarke has always struggled with putting what’s best for herself above what she believes is the best choice for her people. And, a lot of time, that means compartmentalizing her emotions and closing herself off to the outside world. It means “bearing” the pain so her people don’t have to - it means pretending she doesn’t feel it in order to protect those around her from feeling the weight too. Clarke seems to view vulnerability as a weakness that she can’t afford - if not to spare herself from the consequences, then to spare her people from it. Shutting herself down offers her the distance she needs in order to make the decisions she feels she must. In Clarke’s mind, compartmentalizing is an unfortunate necessity.

Because the way she sees it, if she lets herself put her emotions first, then how can she ever trust herself to make the pragmatic, detached, and selfless sacrifices that her people ask of her?

The whole “love is weakness” ideology really fucked with Clarke’s head. I don’t think that she really managed to shake it until - perhaps - in Season (but we’ll have to wait a few more months to know for sure).

And yet, as much as Clarke embraced that concept in Season 2, it conflicts with what we have seen and heard and know of Clarke. She has this huge heart, and she loves her friends and family and her people so much, and yet she stops herself from indulging in it. It’s almost like she has this idea in her head that there are two kinds of people in the world and the first are those who are meant to live an unburdened, peaceful and happy life and then there are those who are meant to work and fight for those things, yet never experience them for themselves.

But she wants to. God, she wants to so much, but she doesn’t believe that hoping for that is realistic. 

A line that I rarely see talked about in the Bellarke communy but that I believe to be absolutely essential for analyzing Clarke’s character is when she says to L.exa: “Shouldn’t life be about more than just surviving?”

It’s so heartbreaking in retrospect because that line represents a much younger, much more idealistic version of Clarke than the one we see in Season 3 and for large portions of Season 4. It shows that, deep down, Clarke really does desire that: she wants her life to mean something. She wants to love and be loved in return. She wants to learn not just how survive, but how to live. It’s just never been in the cards for her, and every time she’s felt like she’s come close, it’s been ripped out of her grasp just as quickly. So this is how we find her in Season 4, when Jasper says much the same thing as she said to L.exa in Season 2, except now she no longer seems to believe in that image of a life that has more to it than survival.

The only thing life seems to mean anymore is air running through lungs and hearts beating in chests.

That’s why the flash-forward with Clarke radioing Bellamy was so amazing. Because finally we have this version of Clarke as she is meant to be: liing and loving and not just for her people anymore. She’s breathing for love - because there are people out there that she cares about and wants to see again and suddenly her life has meaning. Suddenly her future isn’t just about much food will keep or people alive or what shelter will ensure their survival over the winter or how many people will leave beyond the apocalypse and how many people will not. It’s not just cold strategy and leading detached from her people anymore It’s about emotion, it’s about feeling, it’s about more. It’s about life and love and it’s about hope. Because, above all, those are the things that were important enough to hold onto when everything else was gone. And those are things that are keeping Clarke Griffin alive now.

To be truly honest, as much as I love all those things I just talked about, I really don’t think that they would mean half as much if we didn’t have all the darkness and the isolation and the cold that came before it. We’ve seen Clarke at her worst, now it’s time to see her truly rise from the ashes. 

I find Clarke to be one of the most relatable characters on television, at least for me. I too compartmentalize my emotions and isolate myself - I think a lot of people in this fandom do. It makes me feel safe. Because if people don’t see me when I am vulnerable, if they can’t hear my thoughts or read my emotions on my face, then they can’t touch me. And if they can’t touch me they can’t hurt me, and I’ll be just fine to go on with my day and do what I need to do and pretend that I am made of steel and nothing affects me because it’s just easier that way. But that’s not how it is and I’m not indestructible and words do hurt and pretending they don’t hurts too.

It’s easier, but that doesn’t mean that it’s emotionally healthy for me to compartmentalize in the way that I do. I know it’s not.

But it’s also not easy for me to open up and let myself be vulnerable with … anyone.

So maybe, for me, that’s why Clarke’s story and her character in general is so important. She represents hope and she represents living and she shows that it is possible to lift yourself up from the depths of hell and keep on walking. Not just for the sake of it, but because there is something waiting for you at the end of it. And, god, it might just be worth the trouble.

At the end of it, it all comes down to that emotional vulnerability. For so long Clarke kept her walls built strong and high above her but it only ever brought her pain. And now they’re down and she appears to be more emotionally open than we’ve ever seen her, and I’m just so excited to witness her character in a new dimension next season.

With that, I should probably wrap this up because I realize that I’ve started rambling and moving away from what your initial ask was. I appreciate you sending this in though! Here’s to more development for Clarke in Season 5. 

#the 100 #clarke griffin #the 100 meta #kate's ask box #clarke griffin: i am become death #meta: what all great things are made of

[eucharistsamruby]

you know what i take back the bad things i’ve said about people who ship destiel and haven’t watched supernatural sometimes it’s fun to read fanfiction for shows you’ve barely seen bc then you don’t get frustrated when it’s ooc because u don’t really know what in character even is

#the ppl who try to argue shit about the show without having watched it are a different story #anyway i’ve been reading fic for a show i have seen approximately 6 episodes of and i’m having a good time #my head is unburdened by thoughts such as ‘this is ridiculous the characters would never do that’ #instead i just get to enjoy the silly fic plots and think things such as ‘this is ridiculous no human would behave this way’ #obv i’m not gonna like. actively participate in the fandom but i’m having a good time with fic #also like. when i care more about media i get frustrated by the lack of complexity in the fanfiction #i want something deeper and more interesting for spn fic than i do for this random show

[blitzkingful]

Ever After High: A Twisted Plot Ep. 1 - Raven rebels for good

Raven was genuinely sure she could have turn the page this once too. After all, she shouldn’t have been too much surprised that Headmaster Grimm bowed his head to Snow White’s request (order) about ignoring her daughter’s big mistake (as well as the ones of Snow herself): in Ever After, biased treatments like that were everyday life stuff. Especially for those, like her, who went against traditions. And yet, while leaving her mother (who still lived in her own world, both metaphorically and literally) and heading towards the Dragon Games arena, the young Queen was far from being serene.

Raven surprised herself, when, in the arena, seeing Apple greeting her with a carefree smile, ended to think that the princess had really some nerve to act like everything was magically fixed again. What happened in the last week kept appearing in the witch’s mind, endlessly. A mood that didn’t help her performance in the game. Raven kept to make Nevermore flying around, unable to focus on a specific target. Her mind was clouded, and Apple’s team had the lead of the game, much to the public’s joy. But when Braebyrn fled right in front of her, having a glimpse of Apple, something snapped in the witch’s head and she urged her dragon to the chase. Thanks to the force of desperation, rather than actual skills, Raven managed to intercept the blonde princess, catching a handful of gems which was the original goal of her opponent. A series of boos erupted from the public: clearly they didn’t like that the villain dared to catch up. Audience’s hostility didn’t help Raven, who was going to abandon the game once again. But Darling Charming, member of her team, managed to pass the ball, waking up Raven from her confusion. For a moment. With the ball in her hands, riding Nevermore and with Apple right in front of her, Raven remembered when, during the opening match, Snow White’s daughter deliberately hurt Darling and then tried to provoke her so that Raven could snap into the villain of her tale. Suddenly feeling herself empty, Raven threw away the ball, catched by Lizzie Hearts, member of Apple’s team. They won in the end.

Raven didn’t stay for the awarding ceremony. At first, she had forced herself to not go away, in the name of sportivness, but when the Headmaster started to praise again and again White family, for the bright example they were for the good guys of the entire kingdom, something inside her just broke. A purple puff of magic and she was gone. Apple noticed,during the game, taht something was wrong, and she would have been happy to find the witch to see what was happening, but Blondie Lockes reached her asking for an interview. Stucked once again in her Royal PR duties, she forgot about her roommate.

Far far way from the school building, leaning on the banister of a bridge in Book End suburbs, Raven tried without succeeding to fight anger and bad thoughts which kept dominating her mind. It was weird, in the worst way possible: Raven never had been the type of person who holds a grudge, especially because she knew too well how it feels when the entire world is against you. This time, however, she couldn’t help to wish to worst for everyone at school. Ok, no one listened to her about letting her mother free, and even her friends helped her only when the damage was already done…  the Evil Queen was still completely crazy and, despite she continued to state otherwise, totally indifferent to her own daughter’s feelings… and, yes, she would have never expected Apple to act like that, and even the rest of the students, at the first sign of problems, returned to hate her pretty quickly… But, really, thinking about it, Raven dealt with this kind of experiences pratically since her birth! What was different, this time?

 “Excuse me” someone suddenly murmured behind the girl, “are you Raven Queen, by any chance?” Interrupted her thinking, Raven turned to see a boy,  apparently around her same age, with golden eyes and dark hair combed in a ponytail long enough to reach his waist. Judging by his clothing, it had to be a commoner, with a simple life and certainly without any Destiny or similar drags. “And you are…?” Raven asked, not too gently. Her mood persisted in to not getting better. 

“Oh! Yo-you’re right, sorry!...” the young boy stammered, embarassed, then he bowed slightly with his head “Hiram Patchfield, nice to meet you. I’m just a farmer who came here in Book End to buy some stuff, and, hum, I just wanted to take the chance to thank you.” Raven widened her eyes. The initial shock was replaced by a slight sense of satisfaction, since that someone for once approved her actions, but… “Thank me for… what, exactly?” “For all the Dragon Games matter. You know, going against the Evil Queen, imprisoning her in the mirror again… You saved everyone. Thank you.” He ended, solemnly. Raven blushed. She was very little used to positive feedback, especially when it was about her behaving good. Hiram frowned: “It must have been difficult. She was your mother, after all.” was his insecure comment. Raven smiled sadly “I gave up long time ago in having a decent relationship with that woman.” She explained. Then why I still go to talk to her?! Asked to herself. Before she could reason on that question Hiram returned to talk: “Sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your day, Raven… may I call you by name?...  Thanks.  I just wanted you to know how much it means for a humble subject that at least one who sit on a throne has a brain under the crown.” “What do you mean?” Raven asked, raising an eyebrow. Hiram leaned to the banister, tilting his head towards Raven “I mean, other people didn’t do exactly brilliant… Grimm, your teachers, your schoolmates… they even accused you for setting fire to the arena, totally randomly… They woke up just at the last moment. Tch! Even Snow White, our queen, the one who should protect every living being under her leadership…  just let your mom free for her own reason. And her daughter? She confessed she was the one who broke the mirror-prison. And in the end, both of them never payed for what happened. Heavens forbid if the fairest ones have to be called out.” Hiram Patchfield wasn’t wrong. Raven thought about it really much, right some moment ago. She would have wanted to defend Apple, but it was pointless. There were no justifications. Neither for Snow White, nor for Apple nor for anyone at Ever After High and surroundings.   All the pain caused by that story had messed up her heart and brain, but… now there was someone who shared her opinion, and by talking with him the young witch had been able to clear up her thoughts. And to voice them: “It’s ridiculous.” She murmured. Hiram kept watching her. “After everything I demonstrated, everything we’ve been through together… it still takes very little to return to page one.” “It’s hard to change your mind when you have the same ideas for generations, I guess” Hiram stated “It still does not justifies all the mess.” “You know” Raven commented “You clearly know a lot. Usually, commoners question traditions even less than the Royals. No offense…” “None taken,  it’s true.  I’m different because my parents were different. They must have found out something when they were younger, ‘cause they never bought the pretty maiden act. And about other fairytale characters? They didn’t have a better opinion. Hex, they didn’t even like to tell me those fables for my bedtime!” “Really?” Raven was surprised. “Yup. Mom always told that they weren’t able to teach anything anymore. And dad preferred to tell me different stories, written in distant lands, where, he said, they still had a sense.” A brief pause “I remember one, especially” the young countryman then said “The Kind Moose, or something like that.” “What was about?” Raven asked, interested“About a kind moose, obviously. Too much kind, I dare to say.” Raven was eager to listen that fairytale. Hiram was eager to tell it.

“It starts with a little bug who asks to the moose to ride on his antlers. The moose, gladly, grants the request, but the bug takes advantage of that and starts to invite other animals. Who invite other animals. Bigger and bigger ones, needless to say. The moose'd want to make them acknowledge that the situation is now very umcomfortable for him, that with all that load is difficult for him to even move, and that his “room mates” could be less loud, especially now that humans’ hunting season is about to begin. But those ungrateful twerps don’t listen to him and they even call him selfish for thinking to his own good, even if he has any right to do so.” Raven strangely felt like she already knew that tale. “Things go down quickly: human hunters appears and, seeing the moose, foretaste a brand new trophy. The poor animal runs as fast as he can, with that drag on the antlers, who even have the nerve of complaining because with all the bumps they can’t get comfy. But what the moose should do, stay still and being captured?” “Of course not!” Raven agreed. Hiram continued: “Somehow, the moose manages to escape and reaches a lake. It would take just crossing it and he would be outside the hunting zone! Buuut the idiots in the antlers forbid it, ‘cause they don’t want to get wet. On the other hand, the hunters approach.” Hiram did a dramatic pause “At this point, exasperated, the moose heavily shakes his head and the antlers, as long as the unpleasant guests,  detache. Unburdened, the moose cross the river and saves his life. Happy ending.”

“Wow.” Raven commented, impressed.  She had a doubt, though: “Wait, what about the animals on the antlers?” “Does it really matter?”Hiram answered back “They took advantage of the moose and it would have been the end for him. Why being worried about them?” finished, with a suddenly harsh tone.  “Anyway” he then announced, melanchonic “I must go now. Sorry if I disturbed you for so long. Goodbye.” “Goodbye.” Raven managed to say. The girl stayed on the bridge, staring at the horizon. Hiram Patchfield, far far away from Book End, took a look on his right hand. It was quickly coloring grey, and in the position of the veins, a pale green luminescence started to grow. “Just in time.” He commented, looking up and… “Cut to the next scene, now.” Uh… ok…

 B.P.: Eh?! Hiram can hear us?! Like Maddie and Kitty…! I thought he was from Snow White’s kingdom, not from Wonderland…

N.N.: Right… that’s weird… but interesting. See? It was worthwhile to explore this story deeper, wasn’t it?

F.N.: Are you realizing you two could have just made another mess?

M.N.: Too late anyway…

 Raven heard a sugarcoated voice calling her, and she turned to see Apple, still wearing her Dragon Games gears, running towards her. The bad mood of some time ago returned. “Apple.” She grumbled. 

“Raven! There you are! Is everything OK?” Raven nodded, apathetic. “You disappeared so suddenly after the match… I looked for you everywhere!” “Right after your exhibition in front of the camera, right?.” “Oh, hum, you know how it works…” “Yeah, I know it too much well.” “Come on, don’t be mad, you’ll be luckier next time...” “Hope that your fans don’t get mad, then.” “Raven, are you sure you’re OK?” “Like you’d care.” “What?” “Nothing.”

 B.P.: Now we have all the part with Crystal Winter…

N.N.: Don’t care. Keep the focus on Raven.

The so-called Epic Winter just made Raven’s mood even worse.  First, she had to bring her mother (inside the mirror)  to some conference… she didn’t even understand about what. Bring her, like it was nothing, like she was a totally normal parent and not a crazy criminal that not too much time ago threatened the entire realm and messed up her daughter’s life. For the nth time. Then, when the father of a certain Crystal Winter freezed the school, everyone demanded Nevermore’s fire to warm them. They thanked her, yes, but that didn’t hel a bit. You’re willing to believe I’m good, when you need something the young witch thought. 

Raven was ready to bet that, hadn’t the Snow King went mad in front of everyone, she would have took the blame for the magic blizzard. Actually, someone made similar comment once they found out that all the chaos was born due to the shards of the Evil Queen’s mirror prison. A mirror shattered by Apple White, but no one pointed that out. Of course. That didn’t make Raven too much willing to listen to Apple about not having anymore a prince for her fairytale. She let her talkig, without really listening, hoping that could finish quickly and asking to herself for how long could have still go on in that school.

Hadn’t Maddie and the others reminded it, Raven would have forgot to go to visit her mother. To think that, some time ago, she would have shivered at the idea... Entered in the Headmaster’s office, she went near the man to sign the register as usual. Milton Grimm, once again, was going to warn her not to touch the mirror. “It’s not to me you have to tell it.” Raven interrupted him, gritting her teeth. Even if he understood the allusion , the man preferred to act like nothing had happened. Looking away from the girl’s cold stare, he told her to hurry up and opened the secret door. Raven climbed the stairs for the basement with even less enthusiasm compared to past times. She knew exactly what would have been the topico f conversation with her mother, the same topic she always talked about, apparently the only one thing she cared about and that, in her delusional state, thought was interesting to her daughter too, no matter how many times Raven tried to make her understand it wasn’t. Arrived in the room, dusty and isolated from the rest of the building, she placed herself in front of the mirror, said a half-hearted greeting and magically on the glassy surface the image of the Evil Queen appeared. “Raven! My child!” the woman said, with sweet but malicious voice. “It’s been a while since your last visit!” “Hm-mmm.” Raven answered, without even trying. Her mother noticed the low interest: “What’s wrong, birdie?” “Take a wild guess.” The girl talked back, emotionless. She didn’t give any detail, she knew it would have been useless. It was always useless.   “It’s for the last match, huh? I know ‘good guys’ can be unsufferable…!” the Queen stated. Raven rolled her eyes. It had been months since that dragonsport match that, whenever someone noticed Raven’s bad mood, immediately connected it to her loss in the game. “Let me guess: you’re conjuring some absurd plot to hijack my opponents next time?” she asked then,interrupting her mother’s gloating. “Huh, well, I… why are you interested?!” the woman asked, surprised and creepily enthusiastic. “Gotta go.” Raven blurted, going backward and rapidly reaching the stairs. “He-hey! You’re just arrived…!” her mother stuttered, watching powerless the closing door. “Raven…?” was the insecure murmuring of the Evil Queen, in the silence of the room.

“Hey Mr. Narrator, lately Raven has been, well, way less wonderlandiful. She talks less and less with the others, especially with the Royals. And even to me, Cedar and Cerise, she says very little… I get that she didn’t like what happened when her mom escaped, but…” Look, Maddie, I’m sorry  but I’m afraid that this time the ending won’t be that simple… Raven’s issues have very deep and old roots, and what happened in the last period is just… oh, there she is. I’m really sorry, Madeline. Have faith. Believe me, you’ll need it. “G-got it…” Everyone was very surprised to see Raven getting out from the tower so soon. Usually, the meetings with her mother never lasted less than fifteen minutes. Raven ignored her peers’ stares. Blondie tried to intercept her, curious for the atypical attitude, for an interview. The only result she got was seeing her MagicPad incinerated by a purple lightning. This could have made the  others thinking she was going to become evil, but Raven didn’t care anymore. Right in that moment she cared only for going into her room and lay on the bed to take a nap.

Reached her destination, Raven grabbed the door’s knob, hoping that Apple wasn’t inside the room. She was. Opening the door, she heard Apple’s murmuring:: “…I dunno it that will be possible…” Raven, suspecting something, took a peek from behind the slightly opened door and saw her roommate talking at her magicphone.  Having an unpleasant dejavu. Apple kept talking: “I know very well what my dulie are, mom, I assure you…” At that point Raven loudly opened the door, announcing her presence. Apple turned hereslf, terrified, while Raven just go near her bed, with an empty stare. “R-Raven! Yo-you came back soon!… “ the blonde princess blabbered, brusquely hanging up. “Just in time, I’d say.” The young witch talked back, gathering something behind her bed “How’s Snow White?” she asked then, with a knowing tone. Apple looked away “Uh… she’s fine. She called me to…” “… suggest you a way to make me evil.” “Raven, I…” “That’s enough.” Raven cutted her off, her voice becoming more and more exasperated “Everytime we go back to the beginning. And I’m to tired to keep going on. With you, with my mother, with the headmaster… with everyone around here.” She got back up again, a bag on her shoulders. Apple was horrified: “Raven, wha…?!” “At this point, it’s clear that I won’t find my Happily Ever After, not here. And I’m going to find it, wheter allo f you like it or not.” Apple was devasted: “P-please, let’s talk about it…” “So that you can convince me I’m the one in the wrong? No, thanks.” Raven was about to exit from the room, but Snow White’s daughter ran in front of her: “Yo-you can’t go away like it was nothing!”she sobbed. Raven clenched her eyelids: “I can’t?” she growled, raising her voice “After everything everyone put me through, after that nothing of what we’ve experienced together was able to teach anything, after you backstabbed me, how do you think I could even just looking people here in the face?!” Apple widened her eyes: “R-Raven… I-I thought we’ve already resolved that matter…” “Sure you did. Very convenient for your coscience, isn’t it?” Apple busted into tears: “You are unfair! If I had been so angry about Legacy Day…” Raven didn’t let her finish. A wave of her hand and a purple cloud covered her, teleporting her to the nearest magic dwell. “I’ll always be the villain to them, in a way or another.” She thought, typing a message on her magicphone “In that case, I rather being that where I can live peacefully”.

Not too far from there, ridde among the woods, a strange figure watched Raven Queen entering in the dwell which would have magically transported somewhere else. A pleased grin appeared on his pale grey face, enlightened by a sinister green light from his eyes. “About time.” He murmured “The boys wouldn’t have waited any longer.”

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First chapter, hope you like it!

#ever after high #raven queen #evil queen #milton grimm #madeline hatter #narrators #brooke page #fanfiction