#pinocchio started off having to earn his humanity and to do that he had to balance being a perfect son. no one is perfect.

[dyketrickfoot]

the pcs who went through their stories as children being the ones to give up their humanity in the trials is so fucked up i need to kill someone over that.

#rosamund gave up true love mother goose gave up a page of his book (tbd) pib gave up his story. AND THE KIDS WILL NEVER BE HUMAN AGAIN!!!!; #none of them did anything wrong. none of them should have to bear that level of responsibility. but they have to #gerard was a kid when he got cursed. what could a little boy have done so wrong that he deserved that. #pinocchio started off having to earn his humanity and to do that he had to balance being a perfect son. no one is perfect. #ylfa was just a little girl who lost her grandma all she had left of her were her memories. #who her grandma made her to be who she wanted to be. and she gave that up to be what the world needed her to be #just. i'm gonna lose it dude #neverafter spoilers

[an-actual-angel]

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x Reader, Collin (RK800-60) x Reader, Richard (RK900) x Reader

Summary: The year was 2082. 44 Years after the android revolution. Things have turned south for humanity. Androids now rule the world, leaving humans to be considered as mere animals. While some Androids still have a general disdain for humanity some have taken to the idea of keeping them as “family pets.”You, born in captivity, specifically bred to be the perfect pet happen to get adopted by the RK brothers.

Chapter Description: What's wrong with Collin?

Notes: I haven't been posting this fic as much on tumblr so that’s why i popped three chapters into this one. Hope ya’ll enjoy!

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Buy me a Coffee?

Chapter 18 - Another part of me

Your name: submit What is this?

You sighed looking down at the android who was now laying against your chest. He hadn't spoken a word since you entered into his room but tears continued to fall from his eyes. You slowly stroked your fingers through his soft brown locks in an attempt to soothe him. It was something that always calmed you.

It was strange to see Collin so vulnerable. You couldn't help but take him into your arms once you had seen his tears, which apparently only made it worse. You could tell whatever this was had been something he had been holding onto for a long time. You didn't want to rush him, you recognized this kind of pain. You just allowed him to let it all out.

His sobs were very quiet but you could feel him shaking a little in your arms. You responded by softly rubbing your hand over his back. You wondered when the last time Collin allowed himself to cry or when the last time someone had comforted him like this.

It almost felt like he was trying to bury his head into you as if you were a safe place hidden from the rest of the world. You used your other hand to stroke through his hair again while speaking to him gentle words of encouragement, telling him that he is okay, that it is all going to be okay. You didn't really know if it was or not, you didn't even know why he was crying. You just knew that words of reassurance helped.

After a while, Collins tears had stopped and he just lay in silence for a while longer, you still stroking his back softly. A shaky exhale left his lips as he moved to sit up on the bed. You watched as he slowly scanned the room but were not quite sure what he was looking for. Gently you placed a hand between his shoulder blades and he turned to look at you.

“You okay?” It was probably a dumb question to ask but you had to say something. He just nodded silently in response.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your question just caused him to turn away quickly and look down at his hands. His right hand rubbing sheepishly across the thumb of his partially deskinned left hand.

“It might help you know.” You spoke up again a second time.

When he didn't respond you slipped your hand into both of his, giving the one on top a small squeeze.

“What's going on?” You whispered.

He exhaled and moved to lay his head back down onto the bed.

“It's hard to talk about.” His face twitched slightly.

You nodded and followed him by laying down on your side facing in his direction.

“I know it's stupid.” He began. “But sometimes I feel like no one cares about me.”

You held your breath not to interrupt him, of course, people cared about him. Connor obviously did and although Richard had a funny way of showing it, he did as well. He most definitely was going to raise some hell at the hospital if something had gone wrong with his brother.

“And I know it's not true.” He continues. “But dammit.” He then shakes his head as if he’s trying to shake the thoughts out.

“I can't help but feel like everything I do is wrong.” You are both silent for a moment. Collin gathering his thoughts before continuing his confession.

“Y’know, I'm always making stupid mistakes, constantly disappointing everyone, saying the wrong thing, trusting the wrong people. hell, my shitty friends haven't even checked up on me since the accident. Shows how much they care.” He cracked a smile of false amusement as if he was laughing at himself but there was still hurt within it.

“Connor was right, he's always right. Ever since I first met him.” Collin shakes his head. “He's always been right.”

You bite at your lip not knowing how to respond. Did he even want your input? Probably not.

“Me? Heh, I'm just the family fuck up aren't I? Hell, I couldn't even stop you, a human from running away that one time. I'm always letting my brothers down.” With that he rests his head back against the headboard of the bed, giving up.

“No!” you squeak.

Collin raises an eyebrow at you with a look of confusion.

“You're not a fuck up!” You sit up to look him in the eyes. “I think you're brave.”

“Brave?” he scoffs.

“Yeah, I mean you saved me. You're practically my hero.” You chirp back. “You’re in the DPD right?”

“Yeah, so?” He asks, not really understanding your point.

“You protect the city, your people! that's pretty courageous.” You state to him. “You're also caring! You obviously care about your brothers so much, Collin. You’re smart and funny and damn you're fashionable!”

Collin chuckles a little bit at your last statement.

“Connor isn’t trying to make you feel bad, he just cares about you, it's what families do. I mean you're lucky, I don't have a family.��

Collin just looks down. You place your hand gently on his forearm causing him to look back at you.

“We all make mistakes, I'm sure even Connor and Richard do as well. and I for one think you're wonderful Collin.”

He smiles lightly and looks away from you.

“I mean it.” You give him a small smile as you give his forearm a soft squeeze. He places his hand on top of yours and leans his head back, closing his eyes. You move to sit back at his side sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Don't tell my brothers about this. I don't want them to know you saw me cry.”

“I promise. But maybe you should think about talking to them about how you feel.”

Collin then shoots you a look that just reads as ‘are you kidding me?’

“Just think about it at least.” You attempt to bargain with him.

“Fine.” He grumbles as he turns to rest his head against your chest again.

“Until then I'm here for you.” You pat his back lightly.

Collin nods as he closes his eyes and wraps his arms around your waist, snuggling into your body like a small animal looking for warmth.

“Hey, does this make us friends?” You joke.

Collin chuckles a little. “Whatever makes you happy, troublemaker.”

A small huff of a laugh leaves your throat.

You and Collin stay like this for a while, both of you half resting, half sorting out your thoughts but it was nice. It seemed like something each of you needed.

Eventually, Connor and Richard had both came home and seemed to have brought good news with them. You and Collin were still in Collins room but by this time you had both settled into your regular routine of watching films on his TV which sat opposite Collin’s bed.

The two other RK brothers had entered the room with a knock, Connor smiling widely and Richard looking a little reluctant to enter.

“What?” Collin mumbled grumpily, slightly sickened by Connor’s beaming smile.

Connor nudged Richard’s arm forward which earned a grimace from the RK900. Richard then adjusted his shirt and stepped forward towards the bed you were both sitting on, making sure not to break eye contact from Collin.

“I pulled some strings so that your parts will come earlier than expected.” Richard then glanced down at the bed and sat at the edge, making sure not to look in your direction while doing so. “They’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

“So I get to be a real boy again?” Collin joked in a childish tone.

“Yeah, back to normal again tomorrow, Pinocchio.” Connor smiled back.

Collin returned the smile but only for a second before his face fell flat again, accompanying a yellow and red flash of his LED. You could tell he was still a little uneasy about his fight with Connor last night, and it was also obvious that Connor had no idea how it had made Collin feel.

You placed your hand on Collin’s forearm to perhaps ground him and show him a sense of support was there. His LED settled back to its steady blue. This exchange was not unnoticed by Richard but he did not say anything.

“I was thinking maybe we could do something to celebrate?” Connor chimed in again.

The three of you stared back, none of you fully looking thrilled at the idea, all for different reasons.

“Like what?” Collin asked with a hint of reluctance.

“We could go out for dinner perhaps?” Connor proposed, “Maybe we can even go for a drink after?”

Collin did miss the old days when he and his brothers would spend time together, it used to happen a lot more when they were younger. Collin was always the one who wanted to go out and have fun unlike his more work-oriented brothers. He used to have to practically beg them to go out drinking with him yet now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know if it was the getting used to staying inside, his frustration with his brothers or his own self-esteem issues but going out to celebrate did not seem like fun to Collin.

But then, an idea. You!

Richard would never agree to let you go out to dinner with them. He would be so embarrassed. Imagine the RK brothers, dining with a human. It would be the talk of the town! It was a dirty move yes but Collin was feeling fucked off.

“What about Y/N? It would be cruel to leave her alone all night.” Connor and Richards face both simultaneously dropped. “She has helped me through all this. I want her to come too.”

Of course, it would have been something Connor would have been okay with but he knew Richard was about to start a hurricane of a shit storm at the idea. All eyes were on Richard as he opened his lips to speak, LED already turned Crimson and his eyes shut tight. “Okay.”

Wait, did you hear that right?

“If that’s what you want Collin, then so be it.”

____________________________________________________________

Chapter 19 - Night Out

Connor took the day off work, he wanted to be with Collin during the procedure. It wasn't like it was a big deal, Androids went in for repairs and upgrades all the time but Connor, well… he was Connor.

He wanted to be nearby for Collin, even if he was to protest.You didn't know if they had a talk yet about Collins outburst. The previous night, After Richard shocked you all by agreeing to take you along with them, you had pulled Connor aside to talk about Collin. 

You briefly mentioned that you thought he should talk to him about their little argument, being careful not to mention what Collin had told you. You knew it wasn’t your place to tell him anything, Collin would have to do it himself. You just wanted them to sort it out between themselves. Connor had said that he would try and see what's going on, you hoped he kept true to his word

.But would Collin even say anything? 

Would he be willing to open up to Connor? 

You would just have to wait and see.You hoped it wouldn’t be too long before they came back home but in the meantime, you supposed you ought to get prepared for later on. With the house empty, it would be a great idea to have a long luxurious bath and then perhaps a nap? A little pampering was always fun.

 Might as well de-stress before whatever type of shitshow the night would bring.Making your way to the bathroom, you draw yourself a nice soothing bubble bath. 

Now that you knew where practically everything was the apartment it was a breeze to pull out the essential oils, soaps and candles to make your own mini-spa experience. You remember how spoilt you felt the first time when Richard had done this for you.He really knew how to make you feel special that night with his soft words and gentle kisses down the curve of your neck.

 You shuddered thinking about it. No.You didn't want to think about Richard anymore.He didn't care, it was all an act.Testing the temperature of the water with your fingertips grazing the top, you decided it was satisfactory, time to get in. You're muscles softened and relaxed as you slid your body into the pleasantly warm, soapy water. You needed this. Your eyes closed as you sunk into your comfort, bubbles raising up to gently brush against your cheeks.

A sudden knock to the door jolted you from your lethargic state.

“Y/N?” The voice echoed after the knock.“Ye-yes?” You called back knowing it was one of your owners, you hadn't expected anyone to be home so soon.

When the voice spoke again you could tell it was Richard, apart from his voice being slightly deeper, the way he spoke was always more silvery than his predecessors.

"If you're coming tonight, I want you to look presentable."

What did that mean? You never looked unpresentable, did you?

 I mean yeah. maybe in the mornings but you always kept yourself well-groomed. Hygiene was taught to be the utmost importance to you at the adoption centre. (Of course, they wanted their products to be nice and shiny.)

Before you could question him he continued to speak through the door. "I've laid out clothes for you in your room.” Richard got you clothes?"Don't embarrass us tonight."

Jeez, just when you thought he was doing something to be kind. It was for his reputation. Real nice.

Richard had already left again before you had finished your bath, probably headed back to work?He must have left the clothes over while on his break.Running a towel through your damp hair you entered into your room to see what exactly Richard had left out for you, hoping it wouldn't be something awful or uncomfortable.

There were three bags sitting on your bed and a selection of shoes at the foot of the bed. The bags were printed with a fancy logo of some designer brand, with your interest piqued you looked inside to see what he had picked out.

Richard had bought you a selection of five different outfits along with accessories and a small bag of brand new makeup, “Just in case you wanted.” Was written across the front of the little bag.A twist turned in your stomach, you weren't sure how you felt about this. And Jesus how much money must he have spent on all of this, for what? 

One dinner One night out?

It was strange.Once the initial shock had left you, you settled on picking the plain fitted black dress, with a matching pair of heels. You hung the outfit up in front of the wardrobe and put the ones you weren't going to wear neatly back into the bags. You weren't sure if Richard wanted to return the ones you didn't choose or not.Clearing your bed you decided it was time for a short nap, before getting changed into some pyjamas. A nap that drifted on much longer than you expected.

 You were slightly shocked once you awoke to find Connor above you tapping your shoulder.

“Hey.” He whispered, his soft voice almost felt like a gentle hug. “You should probably get up now.”

“What, how's Collin?” You stammered in your haze, slowly returning full consciousness.

“He's doing okay. Everything went well. He's back to himself.”

“Did you talk to him?”“Yeah, a little. But I’ll talk to him more after dinner. Speaking of which, you should probably get dressed and out of your pyjamas.”

He snickered looking down at you wearing your Disney print Lion King PJs

“Right.” You sit up off the bed, slightly embarrassed.

“I'll leave you to it.” Connor smiled before leaving.

Time to get ready.

___

The boys all stood in the living room, Richard was tapping his foot against the hardwood floor impatiently whilst Connor fixed his tie in the mirror, Collin leaning against the wall with his head sloped back.

“She sure is taking her sweet time.” Collin complained about your tardiness. Richard was biting his tongue not to say 'you’re the one who wanted to bring her.' although Collin knew that's exactly what Richard was thinking as he continued to tap his foot.

“Finally.” Collin sighed as he spied you walking around the corner. His mouth then dropping once he got a better look at you.You looked amazing, the dress you were wearing looked like it was literally made for your body type, accentuating you in all the right ways. Your skin glowed from the new makeup you decided to try out, the highlighter giving off an ethereal look. You put in a lot more time into your hairstyle than you usually did and it was really noticeable. Eat your heart out Richard.

“Wow.” Collin finally spoke up, “you clean up good.”You smirked a little at his silly reaction. 

“Not too bad yourself.” 

Collin did look pretty damn good in his dark blue button-down shirt, the top few buttons where undone giving a very tantalising view of his neck. He was fully repaired and ready to show himself off the world again.

“You look lovely as always.” Connor smiled in the adorable way that he usually did.

“Thank you, Connor. As do you." You said linking your arm with his. You then catch sight of Richard, LED red. 

“Richard.” You nod to him. Best be civil.

He nods back to you and the room falls quiet for a moment.

“Alright,” Connor said, grabbing the room’s attention. “We should get going before we’re late.”

___

The car ride was short enough. You were so glad you were sitting in the back with Collin. You didn't know how you were going to cope this night with Richard. Everything with him was just so damn awkward. It made your skin crawl.

“Table for four?” The wait staff asked upon your arrival.

"We have a reservation. Under Anderson." Connor smiled at the lady android that asked. 

Richard rolled his eyes. "Anderson really, thought we'd be over this by now." He mumbled to Collin whilst Connor was preoccupied. 

“With our names, we could have the best table in the house but Connor-”

“Shhh.” Collin cut him off. A smile formed on your lips. Go, Collin! Good for him for standing up for Connor, even if it was with just a hush.

The server brought you all to your table which was a booth. Richard naturally scoffed again.

“Oh and A human menu as well please.” Connor said before the server had finished giving the menus out.

“Right away, sir.” She smiled as she looked between you and Connor before going back to get a human menu for you.

“This is nice.” Connor hummed as he lifted the Android version of the menu.

“Mmh.” came from Collin and Richard didn't say anything.

You shrugged at Connor with a small smile which he returned. He was glad to see at least you seemed content enough. This was your first time at a restaurant, it would be interesting anyway.

The server came back and handed you your menu, Richard glanced over as you thanked her.

Looking down through the menu there were so many options. Oh gosh, how were you ever going to choose something, you almost wanted to ask Connor for help deciding but you didn't want the consequences of Collin’s teasing and Richards disapproving glare.

Maybe you should just get one of the pasta dishes? You could never go wrong with pasta.

You were curious about the Android food that was served. They obviously didn't need to eat so was it just an act of pleasure?

Well considering a lot of Androids had the taste upgrade, that must be it.The food Androids ate was similar enough to human food in appearance but made with ingredients and chemicals that were safe for androids to consume, not that human food would be terrible for androids, it just wouldn’t be advised.

It would be safe for a human to eat Android food and vice versa but, it wouldn't be the best idea to do so on a regular basis.

When it came time to order, Connor got wine for the table. Along with a glass of the human version for you of course. You were very curious about it honestly, another new thing to try. It tasted very bitter, you weren’t sure your opinion on it but you sipped away at it anyway.

“So Collin you still have a few days off work, what are you planning on doing?” Connor asked trying to fill the empty conversation.

“I don't know”. Collin shrugs before looking over at you. “Suppose I have to do something otherwise I'm stuck with this one.” 

You kick his leg under the table as you scowl playfully. What you weren’t expecting was for him to kick back.You yelp as his foot hits against your leg, that little bitch. You kick him back.

Collin smirks as he prepares to kick you back lightly, a plan which is cut short as Richard clears his throat.

“Stop that.” He barks “and do sit up straight, will you?” His icy gaze locks on you.You bite at your lip and nod a little as you straighten your back against the seat. Collin just continues to chuckle, Richard seemed really unimpressed.

When the food came things settle down again from the awkwardness. Finally, you were starving. The food looked fantastic.

“Oh, I want that.” Collin says as he reaches for the garlic bread sitting at the edge of your plate.

“Don't reach over the table!” Richard growls lowly at Collin. His ears turning a blue tint from a mixture of rage and embarrassment.

“Did you really just take food from her plate?” Connor's eyes widen in shock. He can barely fathom what’s going through Collins mind, was he that selfish?

You didn’t really mind, in fact, you thought it to be quite funny, you tried to hide your laughter though as you didn’t want to encourage him.

Richard’s nostrils flare a little before his head tilts in realisation. “Collin, are you drunk?”

Collin winks back at his brother. 

Oh, that explains a lot. You thought he was being a little cockier with Richard than usual.

Richard reaches over and pulls a flask of whisky out of Collins blazer pocket.

“Really?”Collin just shrugs with a smirk. 

“Thought this night was about me? I can celebrate how I want.”

“Couldn’t you at least waited until we got to the bar?” Richard shakes his head in disgust.

“Oh were still doing that, and we're all going to get drunk.”

Connor's eyebrows raise at Richard, They must have been having a conversation through their minds judging by the intense facial reactions they shared.

“We’ll see.” Richard eventually spoke out to Collin.

“It’s all I want.” He smiles innocently. 

Oh, tonight was going to be more of a shitshow than you realised. 

____________________________________________________________

Chapter 20 - Give in to me

The Dinner went quite well all things considered. Well, as well as it could have gone, Collin was still drunk, sloppily gathering his spaghetti into his mouth to Richard’s horror.  He looked like a little kid. You and Connor found it amusing anyway.

You beckoned Collin to face towards you as you wiped the sauce off of the corner of his mouth, calling him out for it with a giggle. You hadn’t noticed Connor staring at you in pure endearment. It didn’t go unnoticed by Richard however, the clearing of his throat called Connor out of his trance. Slightly embarrassed he fixed himself to sit up proper hoping neither you nor Collin had noticed.

Connor then excused himself to go pay, his treat he insisted to his brothers. Not that Collin would have protested, he was a bit too tipsy. Richard usually like to be the one to pay but he allowed Connor to do it this once, maybe it was compensation for having him dragged into this mess of a night.

Once the bill was paid and you all had finished it was time to move on to the next destination of the night. There was a lounge across the street that the boys had frequented a few times. It was one of the few spots they all could agree on. It was quite fancy and upscale, you could see what drew Richard here, him being on the more pretentious side of things but were still unsure what Connor and Collin liked about it. It didn’t seem like there kind of place.

Collin made an immediate beeline towards the bar, leaving the rest of you to go seek out a place to sit. Connor picked out a booth which seemed private enough in an area of the lounge that wasn’t too crowded or too loud. You thought he got it by a chance of luck until you realised it was reserved for the RK’s. You choose to sit down next to Connor.

“I don’t plan on being here all night.” Richard relayed as his hand draped back over the edge of the seat.

“Believe me neither do I.” Connor agreed, shaking his head. “But we're doing this for Collin.”

Richard tried not to sigh, as he looked down and nodded.

“We’ll just drink a little, knowing Collin he’ll be blacked out soon enough and we’ll be back home in no time.”

Richard smirked a little at Connor's statement. “I suppose you’re right.”

The three of you looked over to notice Collin struggling to carry two trays of drinks back from across the room. Connor let out a soft curse under his breath before getting up to help his brother.

You allow the corner of your eyes to gaze over to Richard as he slumps back against his seat. “Here we go…” He mumbles to himself, undoing the cuffs of his shirt to roll them past his forearms. You wondered if you should say something or try to make conversation but you decided against it. You could handle a bit of silence until the other two got back. Or so you thought until you saw Richard's lingering stare out of the corner of your eye.

“What?” You complained.

“I just thought you looked nice.” Richard spoke blankly.

You felt your cheeks turn hot, you absolutely hated that he still had this effect on you. Your eyes darted back down to your hands.

“Did you like the clothes I picked out?” He inquired, head-turning fully in your direction.

“Yes, but you really didn’t need to spend that much money.”

“Don’t worry about that, I just wanted to know what you think.”

What I think?! You wish you could have screamed.

Since when did he ever care what I think!?

Cursing him out in your head you tried to find a more polite way of telling him to fuck off but your thoughts were interrupted by Collin dropping a tray of alcohol on the table in front of you, his smile wide like a Cheshire cat's. Connor reluctantly following along with the second tray.

“Look what Collin so kindly got us.” Connor tried to sound sincere but a hint of worry seeped through in his tone.

Collin plopped down next to you and began handing out shots to his brothers. “let's see who can down the most!”

“Collin…” Connor tried to stop him in his tracks.

“Oh don’t worry, I got some for the human too.” He put his arms up in defence before setting your 'share' of drinks in front of you.

“Gee, thanks, Collin.” Your comment dripped with sarcasm, slightly annoyed that he just referred to you as 'the human.'

“Fuck it.” Richard mumbled as he took one of the shots to his lips, he then proceeded to drink the seven shots that were laid out in front of him, Collin delightfully cheering him on. You and Connor shared a look of disbelief.

“Come on, now the rest of us!” Collin coaxed the two of you.

“Collin-” Connor tried to introject but stopped when he caught sight of your worried expression. “Only drink as much as you want to okay. It's your first time so go easy.” You nodded to Connor as he soothingly rubbed your arm.

“Boring.” Collin teased before taking another shot.

You decided that you did kind of want to try a shot, but what was it even of?

You brought it to your nose a took a whiff of the brown liquid, god it was strong. Best just get it over with, can't be that bad can it?

Copying the way Collin did it, you necked the drink down, an immediate cough followed it. The liquid burned as it slid down your throat leaving the strongest aftertaste of cinnamon behind. Collin found your reaction to be entertaining.

“How was it?” He chuckled. “did you like it?”

“I don’t really know.” You didn’t know, it was different for sure but the warm feeling the liquid left in your tummy was good at least.

While Collin egged you on to drink more, Connor kept reminding you to only do it if you wanted, reprimanding his brother for pressuring you. Richard had moved on to the bottle of whisky that Collin had also bought that was sitting on the tray, and poured himself a glass, adding ice.

You were a good sport and had a bit more to drink but tried to follow your own limits, the problem was you didn’t really know what your limits where.

You had gotten quite tipsy, suppose it didn’t matter too much. The RK's had gotten to that stage as well, although Collin a lot more so. He had gotten up to dance and already was surrounded by a bunch of new ‘friends’ he had made that night.

“So this is him in his element, huh?” You watched as the android clumsily danced around in circles.

“Pretty much, yeah.”  Connor chuckled as Collin almost fell over himself.

You rested your head against Connor's shoulder and linked your arm through his. He smiled tenderly, looking down at you.

“Are you tired?” he asks.

“A little but I don’t want to interrupt his fun just yet.” You smile still watching over at Collins shenanigans. You weren’t sure where Richard had gotten to at this point of the night, he wasn’t at the booth anymore, maybe he was off schmoozing with some other upper-class droids. Whatever. You were enjoying yourself talking to Connor and watching Collin finally let loose and have fun.

“Would you like to dance?” Connors question pulled you back to reality.

“Yes, I would love to! I just need to go to the restroom first.”

Connor smiled and nodded. “Take your time.”

You giggled and gave him a pat on the back before making your way towards the restrooms. Even the bathroom in this place was fancy as hell, you thought upon entering in. You looked in the mirror and began to giggle at your appearance. You never really know how drunk you are until your alone in a bathroom.

Once you were in the stall you heard someone else entering in. Was there another human in the lounge tonight?

Androids didn’t need to use the bathroom? Unless they came into to freshen up there appearance, that must be it.

Once you had finished you headed to go wash your hands in the sink, gathering up far too much soap than you needed. Honestly, you just liked the bubbles. You giggled in your drunken haze as you washed the soap off of yourself. It was time to go seek out the hand dryer. A plan that fell flat once you felt a body press up against you from behind.

“I missed you.” a familiar voice whispered against the shell of your ear, the warm breath tickling your skin.

You glanced in the mirror to see it was Richard, his terribly cold eyes surveying your reaction. When you remained still he began to leave a trail of hot breathy kisses down your neck. Richard's hands pulled the skirt of your dress up over your hips as he grinded the erection in his pants against your ass. You gasp audibly as his hands slid up between your thighs. Your eyes close in a haze of ecstasy as you rock against him for any type of friction.

“You look so good tonight.” His gruff voice praised you. You almost gave in to it, until.

“No.” You stop your movements and pull away.

“No?” Richard repeats in confusion, loosening his hold on you.

“Stop it!” the words finally escape your lips as you turn to face him. “Stop confusing me!”

“What's confusing, little dove?”  He tilts his head as he reaches a hand up to caress your cheek.

“Stop acting like you care! You don't!” You bite back, pushing his hand away.

“Come on…” Richard tries to soothe you, calm you, make you docile but no. You weren’t having it.

“What am I huh?” The question that’s always bit at you. “Am I just a plaything? Do you care about me?” you find yourself shaking as you ask.

“I uh…” Richard was stammering. He never stammered. Him being drunk probably didn’t help with it at all.

He stared at you with an open mouth not knowing what to say.

“You can't even admit it.” You sigh shaking your head. You storm out of the bathroom, leaving Richard alone with his thoughts.

He really thought you were going to just come back to him like that?

No.

If he wasn’t going to apologise properly. Prove that he actually cares well… you were going to move on.

You were going to show him.

____________________________________________________________

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Twitterpated

Ao3

Self restraint was surprisingly one of Angel’s stronger suits despite what he lets people to believe. Growing up gay in an Roman Catholic mob family in a time where boys were sent for “medical treatment” for looking at other boys with a little too much interest would do that to a guy.

So when he felt Alastor’s fingers worm their way under his hand during family movie night, he didn’t react immediately.

It all started when Charlie discovered Disney via a patron who had recently died and was sent straight to the hotel by her mother of all people, with a note that said There was a mix up in processing, she doesn’t belong here. Take care of her until your Uncle Gabriel can come get her New Years.

Charlie had nearly detonated fireworks inside the hotel in her excitement because an honest to grandfather heaven bound had been blessedly dropped onto her lap. It would be an absolute shame if she didn’t take advantage and pick her brain to see how she earned her halo so that she could apply it to her other patrons, specifically Angel Dust who seemed to drift further and further away from Heaven’s light.

Vaggie had told her, not for the first time either, that Angel was a lost cause but never let it be said that the Princess of Hell was not tenacious. Nor was she one to give up on her friends.  He didn’t make it easy though...What with the turf wars and drugs and booze and constant sex and...yeah.

But here in her hands, she had a way to redemption and step one was obviously-

“I remember this studio,” said Angel when the opening jingle revealed the Disney Castle. He munched on some popcorn and nodded, “I remember watching Snow White, Pinocchio, and Bambi. Heh, Pinocchio scared the shit outa me. Growin up, pops told me that boys who were bad became jackasses .”

“Explains you,” muttered Vaggie into her mug of coco, nearly spilling it when Angel retaliated by throwing popcorn at her, “Hey!”

They had worked their way backwards, starting with the classics much to Alastor’s delight. Having grown up poor, all he had was a single fairytale book that was literally falling apart. Then he had discovered radio and then developed his fascination with murdering and...Well, he was glad to have this opportunity to experience fairytales again. Angel  in particular liked Al’s eagerness for family movie night. It was cute.

That is until tonight when they were watching Bambi and they were at the part where hunters had killed the fawn’s mom. Charlie gasped from across them, turning to Vaggie for some explanation as to why this was in a children’s film. Husk sighed heavily and took a long drink from his beer bottle, Niffty quickly getting up to bring more drinks but Angel didn’t miss how she was wiping at her eye.

He glanced over at Alastor, whose eyes had become dials, and twisted his hand so that their fingers laced together, gently squeezing them and slowly raising his upper arm out to coax his friend to curl up next to him. It was a long shot that Al would allow this despite their friendship but to his surprise, Alastor fell into place and reached out his other hand to hold Angel’s lower left one.

Bambi had hit too close to home for Alastor and they needed a brief intermission shortly after Bambi’s dad took him in. 

Water splashed on face and tears were wiped away. Snacks and drinks were replenished and they all made themselves comfortable again.

To Angel’s delight and horror, Alastor dragged a blanket over and made himself comfortable again tucked under Angel’s arm with a pleased smile, tail softly  thumping against the couch when Angel rested his head on his.

Spring time in the movie lifted everyone’s moods from Charlie squealing at the cute little skunks, to Alastor’s ears perking up when Bambi fought for his doe. He felt Angel’s breath come out in a snort but didn’t question it until the movie was over and it was just them two picking up the living room.

Angel shrugged, “I don’t know, guess the love dovey stuff was a bit much.”

“I thought you like lovey dovey stuff.” Alastor tossed the folded blankets back into their basket.

“I do. It’s just that I don’t believe that it happens the way it happens in movies. It’s unrealistic if you ask me.”

“Yes, exactly! I feel the same way. Though I suppose with moving pictures, time is of the essence what with their limited time frame to tell their story.” Alastor helped Angel take the dirty cups and bowls back to the kitchen, putting the dishes into the sink and rolling up his sleeves while Angel put away the left over snacks.

“I take it that you aren’t a fan of the whole love at first sight trope either then, huh?”

Alastor grin widened, “Not at all, my dear. Though to be fair, I  can’t say that I’m a fan of love either. Besides my mother, I never put much thought into loving someone else, never mind romantically.”

Angel’s heart ached at the deer’s words but he nodded anyway, “Yeah. Love is too messy anyway.” It had a nasty habit of making you see things that weren’t there. Of course Al didn’t feel the same way. Him cuddling and holding Angel’s hand didn’t mean anything. He was just cold and Bambi’s mom dying would’ve made anyone seek comfort in a friend.

“And requires far too much work,” agreed Alastor, his heart breaking at Angel’s dismissive words. But the work wasn’t as off putting to him as he thought. Charlie and Vaggie had their moments but months of being a shadow on the wall during their quarrels served to teach him that one disagreement didn’t have to mean the end of a relationship. If anything, working through it could make it stronger.

He felt Angel move next to him to dry the clean dishes. Alastor glanced at him from the corner of his eye, “Have you ever experienced...that is to say, have you ever been in love?”

Angel didn’t slow his methodological movements as he nodded.

“Oh.”

It had been almost silent but Angel heard it. He put the dishes away and waited for Al to finish washing the last few mugs, leaning an elbow on the counter and resting his cheek on his fist, “Have you?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

“Indeed.” Alastor wondered why he even bothered indulging in his confusing thoughts. The owl had described what Angel made him feel down to walking on damn air. Only thing it had gotten wrong was it hadn’t been as quickly as it had been with Bambi or Thumper, or Flower. It had been after Angel had decreased his advances and increased his willingness to simply chat with him well into the evening. How he didn’t blink twice when he’d made his famous gumbo with meat from his hunt or judged him he had walked on him snacking on fingers like they had been buffalo wings one night. As a matter of a fact, Angel had taken his cannibalism without fuss at all though Alastor chalked that up with Angel being a predator demon himself.

Then it had been the way Angel carried himself, even when he was ‘on the clock’. What Alastor had once seen as vulgar promiscuity, he now saw as hunting tactics. And if Angel had fun during his means to an end well more power to him. It was when he was off the clock, though, that Alastor found him the most endearing. When he was playing with Fat Nuggets. When he was having girl time with Niffy and Charlie, playing poker with Husk, and watching documentaries with Vaggie.

It was the way Angel smiled when he did all of this, content and relaxed, that made Alastor’s head spin and heart flutter. The way he cried if the documentary was about nature and a cute animal died. It was the way Angel was weak by demon standards but strong by human. By his standards.

“Al?”

Alastor jumped when Angel gently shook him by the shoulder with a worried frown. He felt himself smile, “Yes, darling?”

“I said that the mugs are clean enough. Give’em here so we can go to bed.” Angel took the squeaky clean mugs from Alastor and quickly dried them, putting them in their cupboard and tossing the dish towel into a basket next to the sink.

The two demons stared at each other, waiting for something neither knew the other wanted.

Sighing, Angel shook his head and offered a small smile, “Alright, I’m gonna go hit the hay. See ya tomorrow, Smiles.”

“Sweet dreams, dear.” As Al watched Angel retreat, a moment of foolish bravery overcame him and he called out to him, “Angel!”

Angel paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder, “Yeah?” He watched as Alastor summoned his microphone to fiddle with more than anything, something he’d noticed the deer did when he was nervous. Strangely enough, Alastor only did that when they were alone. It was cute.

Having found the words he wanted, or gathered his courage, Alastor asked in an unfiltered voice, “Do ya think...Do y’think you could fall’n love again?”

Self restraint was surprisingly on of Angel’s stronger suits, despite what he led people to believe. And now, he was happy it was because without it, he would’ve overstepped Alastor’s personal space and ruin whatever it was that was happening right now. Instead he lowered his lids and smiled warmly, “Yeah, I could. What about you? Think you could give being twitterpated a shot?”

“I won’t act a fool like those little animals from the picture, will I?”

“Would you care?” Angel asked as he reached out a hand.

Alastor thought about it for a second but answered Angel’s smile with a warmer one of his own and laced his fingers with Angel’s, allowing the spider to lead him upstairs to bed, “Not at all.”

#radiodust #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel #panda writes #I've written nothing but medical reports... #I need to practice fiction again #and what better than these two vintage husbands

[mistydacat]

Marichat May Day 1|| Witch AU

This story is loosely based off of Spatziline's Halloween AU comic which is linked below.

Marinette got up from her bed and stretched. Cat Noir, who had curled up at the end of her bed, peaked his little head out at her. He flicked his tail in annoyance, probably from the fact that Marinette had woken him.

"Sorry, Kitty." She apologized, reaching to pet his soft fur. He purred.

"All is forgiven?" She asked, her fingers rubbing under his chin.

She watched as his little cat body morphed into that of a human. He grew until he was taller than her, the fur on his face and body disappeared, replaced with pale skin. The hair on his head turned blond and grew longer. His eyes took on a human shape, though their unnatural green colour and diamond-shaped pupil stayed. His cat ears and tail remained.

Marinette's hand was still holding his face in a tender caress. His purring got louder.

"All is forgiven." His voice came, soft and soothing, but with a hint of mischief.

"Good." She retracted her hand. "So you'll let me work now."

Cat Noir's face fell. "I never said that. And what work do you have anyway, my Purr-incess?"

Marinette laughed. "I've been reading the spellbook, and you'll never guess what I found."

Cat Noir raised a brow. "What is it?"

"You know Pinocchio, right?" She asked.

"Yes..?" He didn't know where this was going.

"Well, I've found a potion that has similar effects as Pinocchio's curse. For every lie told from the drinker's mouth, their nose is to grow an inch."

"An inch for every lie?"

"Precisely. What a smart kitten you are!"

Cat Noir decided to let her sarcasm go this time. "Now I'm interested. Who's it meant for?"

Marinette smirked at him. "Isn't it obvious?"

"It's Lila Rossi, isn't it?"

"I prefer calling her 'Lie-la.'"

"Of course you do."

"Anyway," Said Marinette. "It's best if we start as sooner rather than later, this potion takes a while to make."

"I don't get any belly rubs?" He pouted.

"Maybe if you behave, you'll get something better." She teased, patting his head. She got out of bed and stretched again.

"I'm going to get changed. You start breakfast, okay?" She instructed.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

About an hour later, Marinette was perched on a wooden stool with her spell book propped open on a reading stand.

"Hey, Kitty. Can you get the cauldron started with some water?" She called.

"Will do!" Cat Noir saluted and went off to complete his assigned task.

As Cat set up the cauldron, Marinette started setting out their required ingredients.

"It's ready." He said after the water started boiling.

"Thank you, Kitty." She placed a quick kiss on his forehead.

"Not that I'm complaining, but all I did was boil some water."

"Then use that as motivation to help me finish this. Now, crush these snake scales." She said, handing him a jar of said snake scales.

"Will I get another kiss?"

"We'll see about that when we're done."

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

They spent the morning and a good portion of the afternoon working on the potion. The recipe for the concoction was easy enough. However, it was particularly bothersome to make, as it was required that all the ingredients be boiled separately, then mixed together, and boiled again.

When they finished, they ended up with a single vial of red-black liquid. Now Marinette and Cat Noir just had to figure out how to get Lila to ingest it.

"I think I have an idea. How good are your baking skills?"

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An hour later, Lila Rossi heard a knock on her door. When she went outside to check, she was surprised to be greeted by an empty porch.

"Hello?" She called out, but the only being there other than herself was a small, black cat, sitting near the bushes.

Lila noticed a neatly wrapped package and a card lying near her feet. Curious, she picked it up.

"From your secret admirer." She read the card aloud. Lila opened the package, revealed a dozen red, heart-shaped cookies.

"Oh, how sweet! Though it seems my admirer was too much of a coward to show themselves." She remarked.

If Lila hadn't been as ignorant as she was, she would've noticed a witch hat peeking out of the bushes. She also would have noticed that the seemingly innocent black cat lying in the grass had hissed when she spoke and was now glaring at her.

But Lila was ignorant, among other things, and didn't notice.

She picked up a cookie and took a bite.

"Not bad." She murmured to no one in particular.

She went back inside, unaware of the horrors that were to unfold the next day.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Do I get my kiss now?" Cat Noir asked Marinette when they had returned home.

"Not yet, silly Cat." She said, swatting him away as though he were a pesky fly. "I want to see if it worked first."

"And why wouldn't it? It was made by the best witch in the world!"

"Don't flatter me. It won't get you that kiss any sooner."

Cat Noir pouted. "A cat can try."

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The next day, Lila Rossi had invited her "friends" on a picnic. Though they weren't really her friends, just people she had managed to woo by lying and deceiving them at every turn.

Her so-called "friends" consisted of Alya Césaire, Rose Lavillant, Juleka Couffaine, Alix Kubdel, Mylène Haprèle, and of course, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

"Adrien isn't joining us today?" Observed Lila.

"He's busy." Said Marinette through clenched teeth. Adrien Agreste was, in fact, busy. Busy sleeping on Marinette's lap and purring, that is. Adrien hadn't even gotten an invitation to this picnic.

"Anyways. I called you all here today to tell you about something amazing that happened yesterday!" She gushed.

Ah, just as Cat Noir had predicted. If all went according to plan, Lila wouldn't be telling them she had just found some cookies at her doorstep the other day.

"What is it?" Asked Rose, curious.

"You see, yesterday Adrien Agreste showed up at my door with flowers and these expensive flowers and heart cookies! He said that I was the love of his life and asked me to be his girlfriend. I told him I didn't know what to say, so I'd answer him today."

Ah, and so it begins.

She had told three lies. Adrien Agreste had not shown up at her door, he had not called her the love of his life, and she had not said she would get back to him on that.

As expected, her nose grew three inches.

The girls collectively gasped, but Lila thought they had been shocked at her story.

"So, I called you here today to ask you how I could reject him without hurting his feelings." She had lied again. She had really called to tell them this made-up story, and probably get a reaction out of Marinette.

Her nose grew another inch.

"Lila?" Squeaked Rose.

"What?" She asked.

"Um... Your nose..?" Started Alix, unsure of how to finish her sentence.

"What about my nose?" She reached up to touch it, only to be greeted by an extra four inches of cartilage.

Lila screamed. "My nose!"

"Calm down! There's has to be a logical explanation for this!" Said Alya.

"Pinocchio." Said Marinette flatly.

"Huh?" Asked Alya.

"Every time she lies, her nose grows." Explained Marinette, "At least, that's my theory." The girls glared at Marinette.

"Even in this situation, you have the nerve to call me a liar!?" Gasped Lila. "I didn't know you hated me so much! I would never lie to you guys!"

Another inch.

"Lila, what colour is your hair?" Asked Marinette.

"What? Brown, of course! Are you okay, Marinette?"

Her nose did not grow.

Alya seemed to catch on. "Okay, now tell us your eyes are blue." She said.

"You guys know my eye colour! Why are you telling me to do this?" She laughed nervously.

Alya crossed her arms. "Lie to us about your eye colour and prove Marinette either wrong or right, then we'll know what kind of friend you really are."

Lila sighed in defeat. "I-I have blue eyes." She lied.

Another inch.

And that settled it.

"You guys! I've never lied to you before this! I swear!"

Even when she knew she had lost, Lila still kept going, as though she thought her nose would take pity on her and not grow another inch.

The girls (and Cat Noir) got up from the table, angry at Lila's betrayal. They didn't care to help her figure out how this had happened, it served her right! They left her to figure out what to do with her seven-inch nose by herself.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Does the kitty get his kiss now?" Asked Cat Noir. They had arrived home, and Marinette had changed into her pyjamas and was getting ready for bed.

"I never promised." She taunted.

Cat Noir's ears flattened against his head, he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

"I'm just kidding! Silly Kitty!" She sat on her bed and opened her arms in an embrace. "C'mere my Kitten."

One thing she had learned about Cat Nor is that he was a sucker for hugs and cuddles. He displayed this more in his cat form, but as he wrapped his arms around her and curled himself into a ball at her lap, it became apparent he enjoyed cuddles in his human-ish body as well.

He purred. "That's a new one." He murmured.

"Huh?"

"You've never called me 'your kitten' before."

She lifted his chin with his finger, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Well, you are my little kitten, Mon Petit Chaton."

"I like that." His purring continued. "But don't tell me that was supposed to be my kiss."

"'Course not, this is your kiss."

Without any warning, Marinette captured his lips in hers. He almost gasped in surprise, but didn't fight back. Their kiss was short and sweet, and before he knew it, Marinette was pulling away.

"Now, that just won't do." He murmured against her lips, pulling her in for another kiss.

Marinette's eyes widened in surprise, but she kissed back, her hands tangling in his hair as he gripped her waist. She kissed him harder and pulled him closer to her.

They pulled away, panting and red, unsure of what they should do now.

Cat placed a kiss on her forehead. They gazed at each other, a little dazed. Neither of them spoke.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time..." He whispered, breaking the silence.

"Me too."

He nuzzled her cheek, earning a giggle from Marinette.

"It's getting late, Mon Petit Chaton. We should get to sleep now."

Cat Noir crawled off of her, transforming into a cat and curling up at the end of the bed.

"Sleep well, my kitten."

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Spaziline’s Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-4E3ElM7Bg&feature=emb_title

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

#miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marichatmay2020 #marichatmay #marichatwitchau #marichat

[letterboxd]

Touching the Void.

Searching for cinema that soothes? Ella Kemp suggests it could be as simple as looking for a film poster with a white background.

How many weeks has it been? When did any of us last go blindly into a cinema and take a chance on something new? Film-watching in the time of Covid-19 has changed. The immediate and never-ending news of the world is frightening. Is it still, and more than ever, okay for me to sink into movies to alleviate my mood, just for a bit? How is that even possible when the world has come to a standstill?

We are forced to adapt, and it has taken some time for my attention span and emotional capacity to adjust. But I think I might have found a solution, and I have the meticulous list-makers of Letterboxd to thank. It was Izzy’s list of comfort movies that first lit the fuse. Specifically, the second, third and fourth row; films including Billy Elliot, Clueless, School of Rock.

Fifteen stark posters, speaking one truth: We are vulnerable and nervous. What we need is a film poster with a white background to assure us the movie exists entirely to serve and soothe us.

Part of Izzy’s ‘comfort movies’ list.

List-making on Letterboxd has never been more prolific. Pandemic movies, overdue filmography catch-ups, comfort movies galore. Everyone categorizes and logs their watches differently, but Izzy’s pattern speaks to me with an epiphanic answer. I’ve always admired successful color-coding, but now I see its crucial function.

As I scroll for distraction, for something guaranteed to be good (because I cannot and will not be subject to any uncertainty I can avoid), I see the rainbow. The pale blues of Studio Ghibli, Wong Kar-wai’s passionate reds, the pastels of Netflix Original breezy romances. Like some kind of cinematic ikebana, countless Letterboxd members have mastered the art of arranging film posters. There are standouts: the staggering oeuvre that is Gordon’s chromatic roundup of favorite posters; the comprehensive color-graded history of women directors via their best posters, courtesy of Vanessa; and the penchant for beige in the year 2015, as spotted by Letterboxd co-founder Matthew Buchanan.

A selection of Gordon’s favorite movie posters.

But when I see these 300 examples, color-coded by typography and accents by Sera Ash, I recognize that white movie posters are the ones most likely, in this very strange time, to take care of me. I see it in three distinct filmmaking periods: Disney animations from the 1940s and 50s, the video marketing for cult comedies of the 1980s and 90s, and the alternative marketing materials of my favorite films of the 2010s. Each poster is straightforward and inoffensive. It captures the story, but never dares to impress or intimidate beyond basic description.

A 1975 re-release poster for ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ (1937).

In 1937, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs announced the birth of Walt Disney’s feature-length empire. While its original theatrical poster is also mostly white, it is represented on Letterboxd by a 1975 re-release poster depicting a peek through the keyhole: a curved triangle framing Snow White, the dwarves, and the two sides of the jealous queen, against a vivid green forest. In the bottom corner, a castle. To the left, the title—her name in red cursive, theirs in black. These simple images come together to present an elementary summary of the ingredients within. The white frame showcases the seminal animation craft without suggesting the viewer diverts their eye anywhere else.

This technique was common across other animated titles, collected in lists like dantebk’s Disney animated classics. Pinocchio toys with the hyperreal relationships between characters alive and wooden, human and animal—but does so on a plain canvas, so that the magic remains within reach. Dumbo, Bambi, Cinderella, Peter Pan—each follows suit. Whether with the mustard yellow of a circus tent, the faint sketches of grass tufts, the gold dust of an enchanted fairy godmother or the ink blue of a midnight starry sky, these colors (indicative of each defining scene-setter or mood-maker) only pepper a blank background, and so make their significance ever greater with the most sporadic touches.

A selection from dantebk’s list of Disney animated classics.

Live-action knockouts from these decades—films like The Shop Around The Corner and The Red Shoes—embrace painted recreations of their protagonists (Margaret Sullivan and James Stewart as festive lovers in the former, Moira Shearer as a tortured ballerina in the latter) and use the color red as a signifier of romance, against a plain white page, to set the mood. Slashes and splashes of red have been used to create a vibe in genre cinema for many decades—a trend deftly chronicled in this list by Rocks.

As far as we know, the underpinnings of digital photography began in the 1950s, and the first published color digital photograph dates back to 1972, when Michael Francis Tompsett shot a photo of his wife Margaret for the cover of Electronics magazine. Consumers got their hands on the gear in the late 1990s, but movie studios really started to make the most of sharp digital photography and stark white backgrounds for their striking posters from the late 1980s onwards. Because, never mind the multiplex, the video store is where you wanted your comfort fare to stand out in the 1980s and 90s.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986) and Say Anything… (1989) form a handsome, trend-setting 1980s pair. While the theatrical poster for Cameron Crowe’s Say Anything… deigned to include John Cusack’s co-star, Ione Skye, by the time of the film’s video release, the focus is clearly on pre-High Fidelity Cusack, as proud underachiever Lloyd Dobler, smouldering lopsidedly under the weight of a boombox. It’s the singular image of the film to this day.

Meanwhile, Matthew Broderick as Ferris-slacking-Bueller is making the most of his title activity, arms behind his head, a proud smirk on his face. Nothing else matters except that these charismatic young stars are stepping up to leading-man status. The white background accentuates the star power of these new boys in town, embracing the limelight in one fell swoop.

Star power is everything: beautiful people doing simple things against empty backdrops, because what could be more important than the regularity of symmetrical bone structure, of familiar charm? The trend boomed in the 1990s and 2000s, in films widely embraced by casual moviegoers. The sort who list “watching Netflix” as a Sunday activity on dating profiles and use the Christmas holidays to rewatch comedies they have memorized over dozens of half-attentive viewings (absolutely zero judgement here!).

The vast majority of these films have white posters. Who is your soothing cup of charm: Tom Hanks on a bench, nothing more nothing less, from 1994’s Forrest Gump? Or Heath Ledger, effortlessly cool, leaning on the brown corduroy armchair Julia Stiles sits in for the 10 Things I Hate About You poster from 1999? (The 90s harnessed the increased appeal of having two lookers just sitting and posing against a plain background, as demonstrated in this chilling list by Ashley.)

Ashley’s list of couples posing in front of a white background.

Will Ferrell had been earning his stripes as an actor for years, but he changed the movie comedy game as Buddy the Elf in 2003. There’s plenty of visual humour in Elf, but Ferrell’s coat-stand posture bedecked in festive green velvet and those tights is… enough. A white background lets the ridicule slide, just.

How many Disney series really deserve a whole movie—and one that stands the test of time? Lizzie McGuire, resting on her tiptoes with a swinging suitcase in hand, sells The Lizzie McGuire Movie like no idyllic views of Rome ever could. It’s reaching out to an audience loyal to the character, one who will follow her to the ends of the Earth, or at least to another continent. Hilary Duff could be doing almost anything on this poster and it would achieve the same effect—so long as the white background remains plain enough to keep eagle-eyed fans on the main event at all times.

It’s surprising that the star-making system only let Meryl Streep appear in a tiny box, one of four character tiles, on the poster for The Devil Wears Prada in 2006. But the design here taps into 1940s animated sensibilities, giving prominence to a devilish red Macguffin larger than the humans. It still achieves the same function—a glossy, glamorous design with the accessible sell of a quotable, star-fuelled comedy.

Red may be the color of romance and the devil; it’s also the color of comedy. Exhibit A: the 2007 gross-out comedy Superbad, whose star power—marking the emergence of Jonah Hill and Michael Cera—is used to an opposite and impressive effect on its poster. The awkwardness of these teen boys—lanky, unkempt, insecure—is what cinches the comedy. The simplicity of the poster design, with their uncomfortable posture against, well, nothing at all, further anchors their incapability of facing the world in any confident way, shape or form.

There are countless more examples, like Marley & Me, Bridesmaids, 27 Dresses (notice how the red type is replaced by pink when the film’s plot veers toward the altar). But to understand the curious and timeless appeal of the white movie poster, what happened to it in the 2010s cements its adaptable strength.

As the art of graphic design has continued to bloom, the aesthetic argument for the colorless color-block movie poster has shifted to embrace a film’s context. Consider Danny Boyle’s Steve Jobs, the enjoyable 2015 drama that provided Michael Fassbender one of the most under-celebrated roles of his career, playing the late Apple co-founder. The poster turns the canvas into a blank screen: the title is typed, the text insertion point poised, waiting for the next key press. As Jobs, Fassbender occupies the bottom right corner, in profile, thinking.

This starkness makes sense: what’s next, Steve? It offers a rare example of a poster from the past decade that fully leans into the monochrome aesthetic entirely on purpose—to serve the restrained and unequivocal need for white. (And it’s interesting to compare with the marketing narrative for an earlier film about another tech leader: observe how Jesse Eisenberg’s Mark Zuckerberg eyeballs us from The Social Network’s dark-mode poster.)

Comfort movies don’t own the white poster, of course. Jordan Peele’s Get Out toys, both in its marketing and its delivery, with the binaries of black and white. It’s deployed on-screen with sophisticated horror, and this extends to its two most graphic poster variants.

While one poster sees Daniel Kaluuya’s character, Chris, sat on a chair split vertically between black and white, the all-white poster allows only a center-frame letterbox to reveal Chris’s enormous eyes, accompanied by an all-caps type treatment. The vast expanse of white only makes the image more menacing, framing the claustrophobia so effectively. The landscape crop is a device that defines stern dramas as much as arthouse comedies, as documented by Haji Abdul Karim in their expansive list.

Haji Abdul Karim’s list of white-with-landscape-image posters.

But back in the ‘comfort’ realm, we’re seeing more and more that the marketing wants to have it both ways—the negative with the positive; the art house audience and the multiplex crowd. As genres blend, demographics collapse and audiences become more fluid, a film’s advertising needs to speak more languages.

Two ultra-comfort films from last year demonstrate this idea well. The poster for Judy sees a backlit Renée Zellweger finding her light, receiving her applause. Black is the key color, right down to the classic little black dress; the eye is drawn to the title, spelled out in red sequins. It’s showbiz, it’s drama. Though the film itself fudges a few of the more uncomfortable facts of the star’s story, it’s still honest about her addictions.

In the white-background version, which was more widely distributed, Zellweger, in a floral dress, turns away from the light. The name still sparkles, but in softened gold. There’s no less glamor, the stakes in the film are just as high, but she’s perhaps more accessible like this. The focus, as it was in the 90s, 80s, 40s, returns to the main event.

Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, too, played with dark and light. The indie queen released her previous film, Lady Bird, via design-conscious distributor A24, and Gerwig’s singular aesthetics promised that her Little Women remake would be worlds away from all the others. But when the first images for the film were released, the marketing campaign was questioned by die-hard Gerwig fans.

Both of the group posters are curiously stripped back, freezing Louisa May Alcott’s beloved March sisters in a moment. In the darker image, they gaze out a window, secure in their festive domestic bubble, but set on what’s beyond. There’s more to life, and the film, than this room. It feels more lush, painterly, certainly more dramatic.

Whereas the white poster, at first, seemed like a mistake. It took one of the first images teased from the film and just... dropped it onto a poster. The March sisters look as if solidified by clay, entirely undynamic and at odds with the fluidity and warm soul Gerwig had made herself known for in her filmmaking.

And yet, nothing matters more than these characters. Beth, Jo, Meg and Amy are holding each other, happy, each in their own favourite color, and there is nothing more to fight over. The white-poster alternative lets the 2010s viewer stay attached to the most important part of the film.

The lessons here? A white poster is a vital sign that you’re safe here. You’ve made the correct choice. Attention spans are dwindling, options are expanding, focus is difficult. The promise of a white frame tells me what matters, what is good, where I should place my time and my value. For now.

#movie poster art #poster design #film poster #film poster design #movie marketing #movie design #white posters #comfort movies #comfort films #letterboxd lists #Letterboxd #little women #judy #ferris bueller #disney #graphic design

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: TheMourningMadam’s Fests

Once Upon A Time 2019:

The Witch of Oak Woods by whispersofday - M, WIP - Trying to restore his family name and protect his mother, Draco Malfoy will align himself with the Dark Lord. When he is forced to escape with his school rivals, the reticent group will uncover a darkness even Lord Voldemort failed to realize.

The Snow Garden by bbcherrytomato - not rated, WIP - Hermione Granger, seeking to escape her career frustrations and failed relationships eagerly accepts a seemingly run-of-the-mill, out-of-town assignment. What she finds instead is a deep connection to a mysterious man and a place that holds unimaginable secrets to her past.

The Hunter and the Nightingale by TheImperfectionista - E, 10 chapters - After the Second Wizarding World War, defected Death Eaters were allowed to repent for their crimes as fugitive hunters of remaining Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy took up the role, but the toll on his body has led him to seek the anonymous healer known as the Nightingale.

The Fair Hermione by RESimon - E, one-shot - Draco was seven the first time he snuck in to visit her.He had grown up hearing about “The Fair Hermione” at almost every gathering with the Dark Lord. They’d all waited for her seventh birthday to arrive, constantly whispering about how so she could join him and take up her rightful place under his Lordship’s wing.No Hogwarts, No Prophecy, No Horcruxes, Voldemort stays in power AU

The Princess of Triton by gracediamondsfear - M, WIP - Tom Riddle's Ship of Oddities sails the seas, pulling in to various ports and letting the townsfolk peruse the menagerie of creatures and collectibles held below decks. With the help of his assistant, the orphan wizard Draco Malfoy, they manage to pull in an actual mermaid and put her on display. Draco takes pity on the mermaid and works to find a spell to turn her human and set her free. However these spells take time and as they grow closer and Hermione sees how the human world treats magic creatures, she isn't quite sure she wants to be human after all.But maybe there's another path for these two lovers to find their way?Inspired by The Little Mermaid and a little bit by Splash :)

Mirror|Mirror by otterlyardent - T, WIP - Tortured by recent events in her life, Hermione desires an escape from her unjust and cruel world. After finding what she seeks in an unexpected place, the witch will have to decide: is her life worth returning to or should she stay where the pain of loss is lessened?If Draco Malfoy has anything to say about it, she'll find she can have both. With him.

Eventide by TattooedWriter - T, WIP - When Dumbledore decides Hermione will be a more effective chess piece if she's completely out of play, he sends her to an Order safehouse on the Canadian coast. The opportunity to research and strategize appeals to her, but the partner Dumbledore assigns....does not.Based (LOOSELY) on the Canadian First Nations tale "The Boy of the Red Twilight Sky." 

The Isle of Morsmordre by SaintDionysus - T, WIP -  The quiet, mousy girl with no friends and nothing but books to keep her company, dreamt of quests and magic. Now, Hermione Granger is the prisoner of a mad immortal and his band of lost boys. Inspired by Peter Pan. Dramione. Non-HEA.

Questioning Curiosity by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns - T, one-shot - Hermione had to investigate things for herself, and it only left her with more questions.

All Men Kill The Thing They Hate (Unless It Kills Them First) by fandomfairytales - E, 4 chapters - Sitting in a bleak hospital waiting room, pretending no news was the same as good news, while her heart continued to tear itself into tiny pieces with each minute that passed; Hermione Granger-Malfoy let herself wonder how her life had descended into such madness.Everything had seemed fine on the surface, not a hint of peril on the horizon; her life was everything she could have dreamed and more, a perfect fairy tale. But, apparently, life saw fit to cast a sinister shadow over the happiness she had fought tooth and nail to earn, and it was looking more and more like she’d be robbed of a happy ending.

familiar faces, worn out places by LovesBitca8 - E, one-shot - “You are at St. Mungo’s. You were in a coma.” He looks me over again, taking a pause. “I am a Healer here now,” he says, like it explains something. My fingers stretch, drifting across his sleeve. He looks down, like I’ve thrown mud at him.Forcing my vocal chords together for the first time, I whisper, “What’s your name?”

Hooked by In_Dreams - M, 2 chapters -  After Draco Malfoy helps her out of a bind, Hermione decides to repay the favour when he is in need. Written for the Dramione Fairytale Fest, and loosely based on the Brothers Grimm fairytale, The Fisherman and his Wife.

Lured into the Light by PotionChemist - M, 16 chapters - Harry Potter died at the Battle of Hogwarts, and the war has raged on for three years. Draco Malfoy has been living as a Death Eater, surrounded by the darkness Voldemort brought into his life. However, one night, he receives an owl with an item that could potentially change his life... if he's willing to take the risk.**WARNING: Implied non-con. It is not explicitly described, so I didn't tag it as non-con.**Loosely based on The Fairy Comb, a Greek fairytale.

A Lily in White by MaraudingManaged - M, WIP - "He loved her. He loved her. Hermione Granger: this sharp, beautiful, whip-smart and powerful girl who happened to love him too. He, with the Dark Mark and painful bigotry. He with too many sins to bear - she loved him too.An impossible romance told in snapshots, in days, in moments; a story of love in the midst of the worst war the wizarding world has ever seen, and what might happen if two people make simple, but very different, choices.

Pebbles and Crumbs by GaeilgeRua - T, one-shot - A retelling of Hansel and Gretel. Draco and Hermione have to find ways to survive the forest and their stepmother's treachery.

The Contest Bride by CharmedMistletoe - T, 8 chapters - Hermione has been presented with a once in a lifetime opportunity to prove herself a worthy wife for a Malfoy heir

The Legend of The Lost Mermaid by rennaissance_woman - not rated, one-shot - Story telling is a dying art. What happens when a young witch tells a story.

Daddy's Baby & Grandfather's Plight by writerspassion18 , G, WIP - Draco loves his son, Alex, even under the circumstances. As those circumstances rear their ugly head in the form of one Artemis Nott, Draco and his wife will do anything to keep Alex safe and in Malfoy family hands.

How to Date an Idiotic Pureblood Wizard by bionically - T, one-shot - Hermione just knows Draco's up to something in the Ministry-mandated Muggle Awareness Class. She's not going to let him, not if it's going to interfere with her plans to take over the world, starting with one Pureblood at a time.Crackfic tribute to My Immortal. Read at your own risk.

Matters of The Heart by sleepygrimm - T, WIP - A heartless prince..He is very much stoic to a point pitiful. He knows love and happiness and tries his best to reciprocate but it ends with him struggling. Can a cursed prince discover love from a muggle Miss.

Side Effects by Disenchantedglow - M, one-shot - When Draco is enchanted after a run in with an old woman, he must deal with the side effects of turning to elemental magic to help him break the curse.

The Ice Maiden by islandpooka - M, WIP - Think of a snowier, feminine Pinocchio meets Cinderella story. A mysterious witch no one knows attracts the attentions of a devil-may-care aristocrat.

The Disappearing Woman by starryangelz72 - G, one-shot - Inspired by "The Glass Coffin" by the Grimm Brothers.When Draco saved Hermione from falling, little did he know it would set off a series of events that would have him searching for her in a distant world.

Finding Home by crochetaway - M, one-shot - Hermione Granger finds herself homeless on the streets of London. A stranger takes a chance on her, which is all she needs to get her life back on track.

Lost and Found by Kyonomiko - M, 8 chapters - Paired off and trapped in a ridiculous assignment, Hermione Granger is at the mercy of Draco Malfoy's sense of heroics and chivalry. She might be in for a long wait. Then again, every ferret has his day.

A Bedtime Story by CuppaTea90 - G, one-shot - It's storytime at the Malfoy's, only Hermione wants to finish it her way.

Caught in Flagrante by ruthy4vrsmoaked - E, one-shot -  Scorpius and Lyra Malfoy ask mummy and daddy to tell their romantic story aka How Draco fell in love with Hermione and became her hero. Or aka how the Malfoy Crest Ring became a Hermione-Mood Ring. Or aka how Hermione uplifted Draco's broody mood.

L'Oiseau d'Or by Ephsbell - not rated, WIP - Harry Potter is in a coma. What's left of the Order needs a miracle. Hermione Granger believes she's found it and sets off to Avalon, hopefully, to save the day. At the same time, Voldemort wanting immortality sends a weary Draco Malfoy to retrieve the same treasure. Things might seem simple at first but a pesky prophecy and a bird soon complicate Hermione and Draco's straightforward task. WIP. PS The non-con is very much in the background.

The Loving Pair by pixiedustandbluebutterflies - M, WIP - When Draco was eventually assigned to the Department of Muggle Relations as part of his parole, he intended to show up for his required amount of hours, prove that he wasn’t a threat to society, and avoid interacting with his coworkers as much as possible.Draco never intended to actually enjoy the work or the time he spent with the newly hired Junior Associate - Hermione Granger.

Tell Me a Story by jalapeno_jazz - G, WIP - Draco is absolutely, completely wrapped around his daughter's finger. He knows it. She knows it. And she knows that he knows that she knows it.

East of the Sun West of the Moon by savedprincess85 - T, WIP - Draco has become cursed-into a huge white bear. Only Hermione can help him to break the curse. But they have a journey ahead of them before they can break it.

Rituals and Roses by QuinTalon - T, one-shot - Narcissa Malfoy has been suffering from a mysterious illness for years and it seems time is running out. Desperate to save her, Draco reaches out to a witch who may be his last hope. Could Hermione Granger be the key to saving her?

Slytherin Into Fate by Rosella_Burgundy - E, 2 chapters - As they work on a new case, Draco and Hermione find themselves caught up in a lust potion incident. When Hermione finds out who's to blame she takes revenge on them.

On the Wings of a Dove by BoredRavenvlaw620 - T, 19 chapters - The war changed Draco Malfoy. Doesn't he deserve a happily ever after?Inspired by the Fairy tale, "The Gypsy Queen"

comma; by kanames_harisen - T, WIP - Granger gives him the coldest glare he's ever seen."The only one responsible for Ron's death was the wizard who cursed him, and that man is rotting in Azkaban, soulless from the Kiss." For a moment, she stays like that, as hard and immovable as granite. Then she sighs and her face softens. "But if you need my forgiveness to move on, you have it. I forgive you, Draco Malfoy, for whatever part you think you played in my husband's death."

Rampion by grace_lou_freebush - E, 3 chapters - Dramione short story based off Rapunzel by the Brothers Grimm for The Mourning Madam's Once Upon a Time Dramione Fairy Tale Fest.Hermione is separated from Harry and Ron at the skirmish at Malfoy Manor, and to keep her properly imprisoned, Bellatrix locks her in a tower. What happens when Draco happens upon her, and how can she escape?

A Fool off His Guard by HollyBrianne - G, one-shot -  Fairy tale prompt: Arabian Nights/Aladdin While on the horcrux hunt, Hermione alone is caught by snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor

Heaven Has Made You Lovely by NuclearNik - T, one-shot - She watched Draco rock slowly back and forth where he stood next to the bed, their newborn cradled in his arms. He pressed his lips to her peach fuzz forehead and when he lifted his head, his eyes were shiny.

Two Desks Apart by msmerlin - T, 6 chapters - Draco used routine to work through his emotional baggage post-war, using a strict set of rules to regulate his once out of control life. His parents and friends express concern over his stagnant life in the form of setting him up on blind dates in hopes of helping Draco find 'the one'. Little did they all know, the witch who captured his heart had been just two desk apart from him for the past two years.

The Stallion in the Forest by GracefulLioness - G, one-shot - After falling asleep while reading in the forest, Hermione gets lost after dark and stumbles upon a curious man living alone in a hut deep in the woods. But nothing is as it seems in this forest. She will soon discover that the man, the hut, and his beautiful stallion hold more secrets than she ever thought imaginable.

Water Lily by RooOJoy - G, one-shot - A retelling of the fairy tale, The Story of a Mother by Hans Christian Anderson.". . . Draco reached out and felt the soft petals of what he could tell was a water lily. He lightly ran his hands over the plant in an attempt to familiarize himself with it, and frowned when he could feel the limp flowers droop heavily in his palm. The scent that wafted gloriously from the flower made his heart ache in need of his wife. He inhaled deeply, and instantly felt as though his face was buried in the crook of her neck, her curls tickling his skin."

His Healing Touch by articcat621 - E, one-shot - Hermione isn't quite sure how she'll get through this, but Draco assures her that they'll do it together.

All That Is Beautiful by CindyBarnard - T, one-shot -  For TheMourningMadam's Once Upon A Time Fest. Perhaps Hermione should have never left that castle... at least she had been safely oblivious to the outside world. Yet loneliness drove her out to find something beautiful, to find her lost friends. What she found instead was beyond her worse imaginings.

Twisted by CourtingInsanity - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger knows Draco Malfoy is responsible for the death of her Mother and Grandmother, and even though she hasn't seen him in years, she will stop at nothing to enact her revenge.

Magic Is Real by BiscuitsForPotter - G, one-shot - When eight year-old Hermione wanders into the woods on her way home from school and stumbles upon a strange boy there, she makes an astonishing discovery: magic is real. But that's just the beginning. Written for TheMourningMadam's Fairy Tale Fest; Based on "Käthchen and the Kobold."

His Salvation by Imotales - not rated. 8 chapters - A lost boy. A golden girl. The story of self destruction, a story of rebuilding. Sometimes lost ones can be shown the path of life if they find someone to hold light for them.

The Potions Mouse by Misdemeanor1331 - T, 6 chapters - One spring day, Potions Professor Draco Malfoy saved a precarious mouse from certain death. Little did he know that this small act of kindness would solve a ten-year mystery and change his life forever.

The Witch of Wiltshire by Art3misiA - E, 7 chapters - Nobody in Hermione's village knows she and her parents are magical.They live a quiet life until she meets one Draco Malfoy, and unwittingly invokes a jealousy in Ron Weasley that will set off a dire chain of events.

The Muggleborn and the Pea by LadyKenz347 - M, one-shot - In an attempt to charm Draco's parents, Hermione pretends to come from a Pureblood family for an evening. Narcissa has her own means of uncovering the truth.Spin on Princess and the Pea for The Mourning Madame's Once Upon a Time Fest.No Voldy AU

The Star Child by TriDogMom - M, one-shot - no summary

The Dragon and His Mother by HufflepuffMommy - M, one-shot - The trio find themselves trapped at Malfoy Manor, but an unlikely accomplice helps them escape. Together, the four of them figure out how to get the last of the Horcruxes and end the war once and for all.

This fest is ongoing.

#themourningmadam's fests #Fests/Exchanges/Challenges

[dabblinginmarvel]

Love Letters

Request: None, for a challenge. https://thisismysecrethappyplace.tumblr.com/post/182628907067/so-after-receiving-much-support-and-love-when-i

Plot: Loki has been sending you secret love letters and when he goes to confess, someone else claims the credit.

Blog Tag: @thisismysecrethappyplace

A/N: Er, due to potential tendonitis, I wrote over half of this in talk-to-text on Google Docs, then edited by hand.

Warnings: None? Maybe some missed editing spots?

Word Count Total: 2625

Long Imagine #26

Title: Love Letters

Months had passed since the decision had been made. Loki would stay, but that was not without opposition. Thor tried to calm the team, but they were still wary. Space had not been kind to the brothers. But Thor still believed in his brother.

You too are new to the team. You had superpowers, and how your family treated you (your weight and powers) drove you to join the team.

You weren’t used to life with the team. Especially since the brothers had come three weeks before you had. It also did not help that the rest of the team was American and you weren’t. You had to work to keep up with some of their slang and how they used certain words. Also, what the hell was a foot in measurement? Why couldn’t they just use meters?

Tony wanted to throw a party which was odd for these days. After the fight no one was in much of a fighting mood the team had one but there had been a cost. Many lives have been lost despite the destruction of the stones. Part of the reason Tony wanted to throw a party was to get to know you and to remind everyone that they were alive. This was a small party, limited to those who knew the team personally. Maria Hill still thought this was a bad idea, but who was she to override Tony, when he had just saved the world, and the rest of the team was looking for a reason to celebrate rather than mourn. Well, it hadn’t been just him who saved the world, but he had finished off the last stone. That volcano was going to be erupting for centuries, but it was on the other side of the universe on an uninhabited planet, so no one would ever know.

In the midst of preparations for the party, something odd also happened to you. You began to find little cards outside your door. They had little love letters in them, but you didn’t know who sent them. There was no one on the team that you knew of that could be sending you these, so you had a mystery on your hands. You felt like the Scooby gang but at that point you didn’t care.

These letters were very sweet and although written with grammar you didn’t see people normally using, you fell in love with it.

It was time to investigate. But you didn’t know where to start.

“Steve!” you shouted into the hallway. Steve came running.

“What’s wrong?” he shouted back. He knew nothing was really wrong, but he figured he would play along anyway.

“I need your help!” you said. “But I don’t know where to start.”

“What exactly do you need help with?” Steve asked. You held up fifteen love letters.

“I keep getting these," you said. "But I don’t know who they’re from.”

“Well aren’t your investigating skills legendary?” Steve asked as he waltzed toward you.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Yes but there are no clues,” you replied. “Do you think you can help me determine who it is?”

Steve laughed. “No, I think you should do it yourself. You’ll be surprised what you find.”

ou squinted and put your hands on your hips. “Care to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

Steve merely shook his head, laughed, then left. He shouted over his shoulder as he left, “Don’t forget, the party is tonight! Tony wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

You growled and rolled your eyes. Tony could kiss your ass and you could care less, but if this had anything to do with your secret admirer, you would be hard-pressed into not going.

You went into your closet and examined the dresses you had. After everything that had transpired, they were scarce. So you had to go into town. You didn’t know who to go with, because you didn’t want to go alone not anymore anyway, since you would be recognized. You couldn’t choose Natasha, because she was already busy with something else. Wanda was too busy caring for vision, and he was due any day to wake up, which was weird because he’s mostly computer and you didn’t know exactly how his Android brain worked. Maybe he was like Data from Star Trek, but you didn’t want to bring it up to neither Wanda nor him, and if you told Tony he would laugh his ass off and start calling him Pinocchio.

You figured everyone else was booked so, despite your misgivings, you decided to go into town alone. On your way to the garage to borrow a company car, you ran into Thor.

He asked where you were going, and you waved a hand, dismissively telling him that you were going into town. You didn’t want to tell him that you were going for a dress, because you were a little embarrassed to tell him you needed a new dress. It wasn’t because he was the god of thunder or anything oh, but you didn’t want him to tell his brother. You didn’t know if Loki was going to laugh, or give you pitying eyes. He was the God of Lies and you did not need him to make fun of you just for his benefit. He had a habit of doing so with everyone else, and while you had not come into his crosshairs, you had a feeling it was only a matter of time.

So far he hadn’t been too terrible to you. Of course the first day ended up with oatmeal on your face, something that you had not yet forgiven him for, because that was to be your only food until lunch, on a busy day in which you were expected to complete a series of four detailed reports on the last mission you and the team had gone on to remove a villain from power. After that however, he was nothing but a perfect gentleman, but you were worried that he would strike again. He was, after all, the God of Lies.

Thor looked at you suspiciously, because he knew you weren’t telling him everything, but you walked past him. You really didn’t want to answer his questions any further.

Unfortunately one minute later, no less, who was to appear by your side with a smirk, but Loki. That blabbermouth Thor, you knew he had it in for you. Well, maybe not in for you, but he sure had an interest in keeping you and Loki within the same proximity. You didn’t know why, but you were determined to find out. Just not today.

“What do you want Loki?” you asked, a frown deepening your features.

Loki smiled all too merrily, his loose black hair framing his face and looking rather nice - especially since he had a regular cleaning routine. “I’m coming with you want a town trip. I need something for tonight, and I have a feeling that you do too.”

“Now what do you know about what I need, Loki?” you asked, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

“Oh, my dear, I know plenty.” His smirk angered you but you didn’t want him to know that. It would only encourage him further. You didn’t need that.

You chuckled. “I highly doubt you know anything about me, about what I need, besides some peace and quiet and a trip into town all by myself.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Loki asked slyly.

“Yes please,” you said with a cheery smile, then sped up your walking. “Now please leave me alone.”

All the while as you walked away, your stomach was fluttering with butterflies as your anxiety crept up on you. Why had you talked to him like that when you knew what he was capable of?

Better yet, why had you spoken to him like that when you had romantic feelings for him?

- - -

Loki stopped in the hallway, crossed his arms, and smirked. You weren’t on to him, yet, and that’s just the way he wanted it. For now, at least.

But then he frowned. Was that really what he wanted? After all, he had been sending you all of those love letters. Did a part of him really want you to not find out? Did he really want to stay anonymous? He wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe he did want you to find out. Maybe that was why he had almost put his name on the last one. But he had decided against it. He had already given you too many clues as to his identity. If you hadn’t figured it out by now, then he was safe. He could go along pining all he wanted. And no one would ever know. After all, since when had he earned the right?

He went to Thor, instead of running after you again.

His brother was struggling to figure out the remote control in the main living space. Loki rolled his eyes at the terrible, clunky clicking coming from the poor device.

“Ah, Loki, how does this thing work?” His forehead wrinkled out of confusion.

“Never mind that mindless Midgardian tool, I need your help.”

“Ah, brother, you must be truly desperate to seek my help,” Thor laughed. Loki scowled at his word choice.

“Unfortunately, you may be right.”

“Then what do you need?”

“I need this to be kept quiet, between us.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about Y/N.”

“Well, what about her?”

“She is all I can think of. I need to know how to really get her attention.”

“What do you know about her?”

“I know her family has bullied her for her weight, she is anxious and depressed, shy, full of wit and sarcasm, and her accent is delightful to listen to.”

Thor laughed. “Brother, she speaks almost like we do.”

Loki shook his head. “Not quite, many words she says are really nice to listen to….”

“Well, then tell her.”

“I don’t want her to worry that I pity her.”

“Why would she worry?”

Loki scoffed. “She hasn’t had a date since we’ve known her.”

Thor laughed. “We haven’t known her that long! If you haven’t noticed, humans don’t go from person to person all that often.”

Loki grumbled to himself.

“Well, why don’t you write her another one of your letters?” Loki’s mouth dropped open to protest, but Thor cut him off. “I know she has been receiving letters and I know you hold feelings for her. There is hardly reason to deny the facts.”

Loki made to leave and Thor spoke once more. “Loki, just leave her one more letter asking her to meet you tonight at the party.”

He hated to admit it, but his brother was right. Without another word to him, Loki went to the room he had been granted and started to write another letter to leave at your door for when you returned.

Loki had decided not to lurk about unseen while you read the note with the door open like always - he decided he would rather find out your answer at the party.

- - -

When you arrived at the party, you were beyond impressed. All the stops had been pulled out for this one, but this was the first Avengers party you had been to, so you had nothing to compare it to. It all just looked magnificent.

You spied Steve from across the room and he toasted his drink to you with a knowing smirk, causing you to grip the heartwarmingly beautiful letter in your hand tighter.

Seemingly as if out of nowhere, Agent Something-or-Other (Brian? Brayden? Brandon? You didn’t know - he was brand new) popped up beside you.

“Looking for your loverboy?”

You stepped back a pace, then frowned. “I’m sorry, what?”

He nodded toward your letter in your hand, still smiling. “You’re looking for me.”

“I am?”

“I would hope so. I’ve been sending you the letters for a while, now. Didn’t you figure it out?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, choosing your words carefully. “I must have come to the wrong conclusion.”

“Who did you think I was?”

“I hadn’t finished piecing the puzzle together.”

“I see.”

Unbeknownst to you, Loki glanced in your direction and froze. You held up the letter and frowned between it and the guy. Suddenly, things clicked into place and he stopped pretending to be paying attention to the small chatter between Wanda and Natasha.

Loki clenched and unclenched his fists as he watched the guy take credit for all he had done for you. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to go make a scene.” With that, he left Wanda and Natasha to go confront you.

When he saw you and the guy chuckling between each other, he noticed there was discomfort in your eyes. Something wasn’t right.

The closer he got, the more he noticed it. You did not like what you were seeing. Obviously, you had been expecting something, or someone, else. Loki sidled up to you, and smiled at the man.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Loki asked, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

The man wasn’t threatened, yet. “Oh, I was just telling your friend that I have been sending them the letters they have been getting.”

“That’s impossible,” purred Loki. “Because I have been sending them.”

You turned to look at Loki, surprise in your eyes. But there was no disappointment.

“Oh, have you?” you asked. “May I speak with you a moment? Excuse us, Brian.”

You guided Loki across the dance floor, away from the crowd, into the hallway.

“Loki,” you said quietly. “Why have you been sending me Anonymous secret admirer letters?”

Loki glanced at the floor, all of the sudden bashful. He didn’t say anything, he just shrugged, his hands behind his back fiddling.

“Loki?” you prodded.

He heaved a deep sigh, then looked over your shoulder and did not meet your eyes. “I was just kind of hoping that you’d… y’know… fall in love with me.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. It was like your brain had emptied itself under the floor, and you couldn’t pick up the pieces and put them in a structured enough sentence to express how you were feeling. Although, you didn’t quite know how you were feeling anyway. You could feel confusion and relief. But you didn’t know what else there was, yet. So, you used your hand to reach out and grab his in a comforting gesture, but he kept his hand behind his back so you only touched his elbow.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” You asked. Loki just shrugged again. You thought back to the contents of the letters. It was then you realized what had happened. Why he didn’t tell you to your face until now. “Loki,” you said, “I’m not afraid of you. I know that’s one of the things you are afraid of, but I’m not.”

“I did not want to add on to any of your emotional problems by admitting it was me.”

“You wouldn’t have. In fact, it would have been a relief.”

“Why would it have been a relief?” Loki’s brow furrowed.

“Because I feel the same way,” you admitted quietly. “I wouldn’t have been able to tell you because I was too shy. And I could have answered the love letters if I had known who they were coming from in the first place.”

A smile appeared on Loki’s face. “Really?”

You nodded shyly.

“Care to dance, my dear?”

You took his outstretched hand with a smile, and then allowed him to guide you back to the dance floor where you spent the rest of the night, smiles on your face, together.

- - -

Masterlist on blog!

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Strikethroughs are blogs I can’t tag.

#loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson imagines #long imagine

[thelordstears]

Oh I wrote more, what a surprise

"You can't spark a revolution without a flame. And where there is flame, there is casualty, where there is casualty, there is history.” - Corvenstain Bonstellos

“ If I am the enemy of the world for fixing it through violence so be it. May I be remembered as a conqueror despite my efforts to destroy broken dynasties and might I be remembered as a villain for killing those who're damned by their actions.” - Corvenstain Bonstellos

“I can not fight for peace because it isn't what I strive for. Freedom was never once peaceful. Do you think the African Americans who were enslaved earned freedom through peaceful means? Abraham Lincoln had to wage war on his own country to free them. Nothing good is done through peace. Good things come out of harsh circumstances.” - Corvenstain Bonestellos

"Time don't stop for no man woman nor child, so I certainly ain't gon' stop for no man who only wants ta see me fall. The game was rigged from the start, spose that means I oughta cheat, just like them. I got all my cards in the deck, every single one of em wild, because in a wild world, you gon' need some wild, wild cards.” - Scow Witson

“ When life fucks you over, you oughta fuck it back twenty times as hard, cuz your demons ain't gon' take a break, they aren't the hare, and you ain't the slow and steady tortoise. You're a human, so act like it and face your demons god damn snarlin'.” - Scow Witson

“ I'm a demon of a man, shotgun trained on those who wish me nothin' but death. I ain't gon' pretend I'm a good man, I'm a shark swimmin' towards the scent a tangy iron and blood, because my demons bleed, and so they can fucking die, eh?” - Scow Witson

"I can feel teeth sink into my soul, because these days I'm nothing but a feast of misery and bone trodden pathways.” - Roxane Vanderburg

“ I'm holy in the sense that I'll die for my sins. I'll be crucified for everything I've done, but when you fear for your life, you'll do anything to keep it.” - Roxane Vanderburg

“ These days I'm just a ghost, because every piece of pain consumes me and turns me into a relic of the past. If an archeologist dug me up he'd consider me a fossil. Because I am nothing but my past.” - Roxane Vanderburg

“ I'm a man who plays games with people's lives, I'm the gamemaster, the Monopoly man, stealing from a bank of lost souls.” - David Faim

“ One day I shall be nothing but flesh and bone buried in a casket of pearl or pinewood. But before I'm buried beneath the soil, I shall be a man who holds fate in his hands and plays games that lead to fatality. I roll on snake eyes and I could perceive it as faith wanting two bullets in a man's skull. I could land on six and poke six holes into a man's stomach, because that's what the die landed on. “ - David Faim

“ I waged a war on my heart, and I lost it.” - David Faim

"You believe the seers write your destiny. But how do you not see that they have shackled you to a destiny that is not your own? If my fate was in the hands of what I could not see, I would write my own." - David Faim

"In theory if the seers are something to be believed in, if they are not another myth, which I find highly unlikely. They wrote a tale of pain for me in 1990, a boy of eighteen so distraught by the loss of the only family he ever had. They should fear me, because if I discover they are a reality, then I will make them a fiction and cut the strings of fate and become fate itself. You can not control my destiny, for it is not written in the stars nor the threads of a mistresses yarn. For what is fate to someone who doesn't believe?" - David Faim

"Fate itself does not follow the laws of mortality." - David Faim

"I see the reflection of another in my eyes.' - David Faim

“ How can I hope in a world that makes you lick it off of daggers?”  - Hanzo Sabian

“A man once told me I was a victim on his board of sacrificial pawns and knights with blood soaked blades. And I ask the question, am I the pawn, or the knight? Because this dagger of mine is so covered in blood I can't help but weep, but I've also made sacrifices of self.” - Hanzo Sabian

“ I'm on a board playing against a man who controls my fate, I wish to call a stalemate, end this game in a draw, but all I can ever do is be the Queen's Gambit, because in his eyes, I'm just a sacrifice.” - Hanzo Sabian

“My mistakes never cost my life, only other's.” - Hanzo Sabian

"I'm broken, and I don't got the tools to fix that. How is it, that in all my years I've never acquired the means to patch myself up? I can fix up old houses, build a tree house for my sons, but somehow, I can't fix myself.” - Shane Hoffs

“ Somedays I'm dancing with the sun, and other's I have a bottle of barebones whiskey in my hand, and all I can do is remember the past.” - Shane Hoffs

“ Do you really think, the shadows are a friend of yours? They hide you from untrained eyes, but I know what lurks in the night, for it is me.” - Luther Woolhaun

“ I am a hunter, I've hunted every kind of animal thinkable, I've gunned down giraffes in the savannah, defended myself against a lioness with only a dagger and my wit, and I've fought in war, and thus I've hunted men of honor.” - Luther Woolhaun

"The destination ain't worth the damn price, so what am I doing in the struggle of the path?” - Denis Polmer

“ So I'll raise a glass to my past, because all it ever was is poison against my damn lip.” - Denis Polmer

“ This city I roam is a graveyard of bone trodden railroad tracks and corrupt gardens of wickedness.” - Callum Valstone

“ We're crushed underneath the boots of the powerful, they say flowers grow back once stomped on, but when the boot stays, the flower can never spring from the soil without being crushed all over again.” - Callum Valstone

“ How am I to trust anyone, when even preacher's speak with crooked tongues?” - Callum Valstone

”I’m myself, and there’s something unholy about that.” - Sadri Sabian

“ No sun could melt this Arctic storm inside my heart, I'm so cold, that even the brave who'd climb Everest would freeze when walking a mile in my shoes.” - Sadri Sabian

“ I am a fairy tale, but not one re-written for children to laugh at, I am the crows pecking at Anastasia and Drizella, I am Pinocchio hanging from the strings that brought him to life, and I am the dagger that plunged into the Little Mermaid's heart upon being given a difficult choice. I am the dark ending to beloved stories.” - Sadri Sabian

"The less I reveal, the more you wonder what made me who I am. You ask more questions, I flip on your intrigue switch, and leave it on until I decide it so that you get too know one piece of the broken puzzle you'd call my life." - Sadri Sabian

"You'll never know what's best for you. All you can do is hope your choices lead to the right path.” - Solomon Bones

“ When all you can do is cry, remember the moments where you could laugh. Because those memories, are strength. They're fuel that keeps you alive.” - Solomon Bones

“ My brother is my hero, really. He doesn't wear a cape, he doesn't have laser eyes, and he can't fly. He wears scars and burdens, but he also wears a golden heart on his sleeve.” - Solomon Bones

“ Isiah is a strange man, but that doesn't make him a bad one. He's built for this world, his soul wiser than one could ever possibly imagine. It takes such a deep pain to be so deeply wise, and my heart hurts, knowing that he's been through so much. But I know my heart beats for him, and I'll always dance underneath the sun, just to feel warmth upon my skin as we twist and twirl through life with a perpetual smile on our lips.” - Mardeca Blackfall

“ I'm a lioness baring her fangs pouncing on those who do me wrong, a huntress in a world where all I can do is stain my paws red.” - Kadlin Paulson

“ I have scars that cut deep into my soul, but I am strong, I am a warrior of Valhalla, and one day the Valkyries shall claim me, but today is not that day. I have battles yet to fight and victories yet to claim.” - Kadlin Paulson

“ I bare my fangs and pounce into battle, I am no coward and so I shall not cower.” - Kadlin Paulson

“ I've lived through so much, but the tale of the little man is never written in the pages of history, they only ever reside in the pages of his mind.” - Marv Callemritz

“ She is no Countess Bathory, for all we know Elizabeth Bathory was a victim of falsehoods and corrupt politicians. For all we know, she could've been a scared little girl. But Tilda is no scared little girl, she wears savagery as a gown, she dances before me in all of my pain, and she haunts my mind.” - Marv Callemritz

“ My life is a battlefield, just as the Civil War, I wage war upon myself. Because I must conquer these demons that reside inside of me, and find a way to rise despite the war I wage being against the man in the mirror. I must make a revolution of oneself, and instead of dumping boxes of tea into the ocean, I must cast my fear off the side of this haunted ship of my cruel, cruel past.” - Marv Callemritz

“ By God, history is a warning and we ignored it.” - Marv Callemritz

"You're not the fantasies of your mind, kid." - Marv Callemritz

"I could play a game of Russian roulette with six bullets in the chamber and still I'd win, after all, six regrets doesn't change the amount of men dead, only the mind set of the man who watched six bullets fly and saw six good men die.” - Osbourne Smithens

“ My mother is a sweet woman, but she couldn't catch me on my fall from Heaven. I slammed into the concrete of reality, realizing I can't be a scared little boy. I have to be everything my brother put on death's row.” - Osbourne Smithens

“ They say to catch a killer, you have to think like one, analyze their every move and walk a thousand miles in their shoes. So I took a walk inside the man who scarred me's mind, and you know what? I've become a monster, just like him.” - Osbourne Smithens

“ I will not rest until that man is dead, he can run, he can hide, but he can't outrun his past. Because I am, his past. And I am the only bullet left in his revolver of secrets." - Osbourne Smithens

"I'm wrapped in crimson bullet casings and sins. I suppose all I am is an empty magazine to an AK 47, because all I hear is the ricochet of death.” - Scarletta Bonewhistle 

“ I could give you a thousand metaphors, or tell you a thousand lies, but none of it would let you know how I feel, only I know that torture, I suppose.” - Drew Dreadful

“ It's almost as if my mind is the atom bomb, destroying the very man who lets it continue existing. I guess as Robert J. Oppenheimer said, I have become death, destroyer of worlds. But the only world I ever destroyed was my own, because I can't let myself live in the world everyone wants me to see.” - Drew Dreadful

"I am nature's excuse to be violent. I can not find the beauty in the trees when I've seen them crashing onto soldiers and catch fire from an enemies spark, I can not see the river run clear when I've watched men fall into the stream and color it red with the paint that spilled from their veins. I can never know the beauty of the world, when I've always been shown it's ugliness.” - Max Caldiph

“ My life has been an ashy torment of a whisper ever since I was sixteen and stepped into the mines I would soon discover were hell on Earth. Three chipper young'uns stepped into those mines on a dare from foolish boys, and three broken souls would walk out.” - Max Caldiph

“ You could see everything I've been through if you saw the scars I wear on the face I hide.” - Max Caldiph

"I'm a travesty of myself, I present who I am in such a distorted way, that not a soul could believe this is who I truly am. But alas, I look in the mirror, and I see my own worst enemy staring back.” - Armen Barrowmore

“ Ya know, an old friend of mine told me I was falling, and asked why I stand at the edge and leap, after all these years, I think I finally have an answer. Because in all this pain, in all this wickedness I've seen, it's better to jump into freezing waters and wrap yourself in a thick coat of ice to protect yourself from those who seek to shatter you.” - Armen Barrowmore

“ I'm not strong enough to be a hero, so I might as well be a villain, even if it's only in my own damn story.” - Armen Barrowmore

“ She's everything I never knew I needed, the way her eyes sparkle in the madness, I don't know how she makes chaos look so damn beautiful, but she does, by God she does. She's my warrior, she'd fight for me any day, and I'd fight side by side with her. Because this love is worth fighting for, we've fought, struggled, but by God have we always loved a lot louder than we've ever hurt.” - Lucille Ramaswami

“ I've let this world crush me, been caught in a riptide of bad decisions and seen the pale red moon shine against my back as I lifted a brick and ended my first damn life.” - Lucille Ramaswami

"I am a revolution, my heartbeat is a war cry, and so long as I'm still standing, darkness has won. Look around, the darkness outweighs the stars these days and the blood spilt is mostly human, the world is broken, and we're in shambles looking for a purpose, so why not find glory in death? Why not show the world you are no cattle to be plucked out of the fence, you're the bob cat that stalks the mountains and drags livestock into it's little corner of blood and bones and makes death your home.” - Velzwakem Boncoat

“ Behold the truest form of nature, blood soaking the fields.” - Velzwakem Boncoat

“ I follow the law of combat, it's kill or be killed, and I'm just not ready to die.” - Velzwakem Boncoat

"Ze black vaters of my heart capsize ze capability too feel anything but hatred. And yet, Lucille clears ze river, and finds a vay to drag me to ze shores of love.” - Marlene Dayvrack

“ I have had blood on my hands since ze age of thirteen, a hired gun because all I vas made to be, vas a killer. But here I am, cocking my AK-47 for justice instead of greed.” - Marlene Dayvrack

“ I have found family, and though zey are not by blood, zey are ze only family I have ever known. Zey'd swim through shark infested vaters to save me from myself, light a candle in ze dark to show me light peaks through ze cracks, and zey taught me, ze vounds are vere ze light seeps through. Izn't it beautiful? To find strength in other's?” - Marlene Dayvrack

"Not all light equates to holiness, after all, even the flames of Hell emits a pale glow. You can hold onto the light all you wish, cling to the street lights as if they'd save you from a man who wanted you dead, but the stars implode, and not even they have the power to stop it.” - Sam Dellwotfire

“ I could give you lies, I could tell you a thousand stories that aren't truthful, but all I can say, really, is I lost my light, and so I plummeted into the dark.” - Sam Dellwotfire

“ I'd say I have regret on my mind, but I pushed it away and accepted who I am, because if I'm being honest, regret only brought me pain, so why let myself feel pain when it's all I've known? I'd rather cause it, because in a sense, I'm powerful, and that's addicting." - Sam Dellwotfire

"I've changed many times through the years. Not all change is good, but it is inevitable." - Sam Dellwotfire

"Life in all it's simplicity is often to complex for a simple mind to bear. So I suppose life is easy for one who doesn't know what it is to become more than someone following the path given to them." - Sam Dellwotfire

"The past tarnishes the present, more often than not." - Sam Dellwotfire

"These days, science is a sin." - Olympus Woods

"I am doomed to be the last one standing. And if I am not, perhaps the world will spin in a direction that sheds light on the atrocity that is I. I have walked a lie, and so I shall become one." - Olympus Woods

"I've already lost my humanity, so all I have left is immortality. Even if I die, I am immortalized in the sense that I am remembered, all the best things end, all the worst things crumble to ash and dust. And perhaps I was never meant to be of bad intent, or a man of wicked science, but alas it is what I've become. I bound just behind the sun, but never touch it, because if I did I would burn alive and become nothing but ashes in the crimson sunset." - Olympus Woods

"I could blame God, I could blame fate or existence itself. But I am to blame, and perhaps that is what makes me continue. Because if I dared turn to face my shadow, I'd become it." - Olympus Woods

"I've never fought. All I've done is lose, but I call it winning because it boosts the goal I've set in my mind. In theory I could win if I just took a chance and leapt towards fate on a mere one percent chance." - Olympus Woods

"Feeling often leads to tragedy. All my life I've dedicated to wiping emotion from my slate, and yet I find I can give other's my wish, but never can I hold it." - Olympus Woods

"I fear change, because it's all I've ever done. I am an everchanging beast, and all change has ever brought me is sorrow." - Olympus Woods

"Rosabella, you romanticize me in such ways that could not be possible. You believe in me, but belief will get you nowhere when I do not believe I can change." - Olympus Woods

"I have marked my back with many a scar for this country. For my Government I became a soldier of the dark, spinning tales of sin for the damned of this country. And yet, they spun me the exact same damn tale in favor." - Earl Mumford

"I can succeed, just not in the tasks you give me. I fear if I let myself regret even more, my lungs would fail to keep the black waters from crawling up my throat and drowning me from the inside out." - Madam Stephanie Rose

"I'm a sin wrapped inside of trickery and black blood." - Richmond Venwokebridge

"Lost are the pieces I wish I had. But I suppose we don't always get what we want, and I have to learn to accept that." - Pablo Havelock

"When one fears for their life, they give away their darkest secrets." - Tilda Hawsberry

"No one acts like that. Not even on a stage." - Hermann Pastel

"I'm a survivor. But how can I be proud of that when so many other's don't hold that title?" - Hermione Vallwing

"The King can wail, beg and confess. But that never stopped him from swinging my mother from the gallows, and so it shan't stop me." - Magenta Starwidth

"Well then.. looks like we're damned.. on Earth." - Abraham Carlson

"I find it kinda funny, that people will damn someone for what their mind did to them. You condemn the person, yet forget it's the mind that's the villain." - Lilah Smith

"Don't let yourself become so ensnared in a person that them hurting you, would shatter your perception of trust." - Lilah Smith

"You can't fall trick to their schemes, you can't just surrender your dreams too those whom spin nightmares." - Lilah Smith

"Glory was never found in death, only life." - Russell Cormellius

"We are victims of a world that burns before us due to the hatred we let go wild." - Salvador Boardman

"I will never fear the world, I will instead fear what the world holds." - Salvador Boardman

"The world will never favor you. We're all the same in the eyes of the stars." - Corrie Vendowoft

"One can never understand the complexity of love. It's a rarity to find a love so whole and complete that it leaves you star struck, looking for any reason to hold onto the one you've found." - Lizbeth Samwick

"My best'a intentions have gone up in damn smoke." - Chase North

"Difference 'tween me and a preacher, Roman, is I leave it up to God to forgive you. Cause my bullet's got your damn name on it." - Chase North

"The ashes of my soul stand before me, and all they do is crumble between gloved fingers." - Victor Hughes

“ Oh broken soldier of my past, doth thou know it is someone else dancing before the stage? Doth thou know I am but behind the curtain, wondering oh why won't you save me? Why would you condemn me without once trying too show me salvation? But no, I'm just somebody else, a shadow of the angel you once called brother." - Victor Hughes

"Us humans are vile beasts. We rip and tear at each other's hides knowing it was but choice of our own too grow claws when we were always meant to have but hands barren of a beasts tool for survival." - Victor Hughes

"No sleep works through this tired mind, there's sparks in my head, perhaps one might call me insane? But no. There's a very thin line between insanity and being broken. And yet I walk upon the rope, knowing one day it shall wrap around my neck and watch me swing." - Victor Hughes

"I cracked the halls in my mind simply so I may hide as the feeble house around me collapsed. In my head I hear a million conversations, and yet one voice." - Victor Hughes

"If you hold onto the smallest of good moments, even.. a butterfly landing on your finger, or.. when your mother would cook your favorite meal, you'll realize it isn't the darkness that has a hold on us, we can't dwell on the past and expect the future to be any better. I've learned to carry on through all the bullshit." - Lilly Van Velk

"I shall dance with my demons, let them take lead, and when they think of themselves in charge, I shall make them bleed." - Timotheus Naziger

"I am as lost as Alice, as mad as the Hatter, as confused as the Rabbit, as wise as the caterpillar, I am Wonderland, all mixed into one mind." - Timotheus Naziger

"My deepest pain does not make me a warrior, it just makes me.. broken." - Angelica Hippens

"I don't grieve what happened.. I grieve what didn't." - Grant Filepen

"My demons destroyed me in the most beautiful of ways, for I loved them, and what you love, often is the most prepossessing of undoing's. It is in what we cherish we find our darkest of desires, for too save what you love, you would end what you do not." - Vessemir Hussane

"I'm no hero, mate, I'm just a broken man, wearing the tattered cape of a dead man." - Abraham Vanfelt

"Blood is a finnicky thing ta stain your pages. It can be your own, it can be an enemies, it can be a friends, a lover, a father a son. It doesn't discriminate. No matter the purpose of it upon your pages. We're all sinners friend, some of us just accept it. We all have demons, some of us just feed them." - Bill Duster

" All my life, I've looked for the sun, but once I held it in my hands, it's burn was too hot ta the touch. And I was consumed by the very flame I thought my salvation." - Buddy Duster

"When pain is all I know, I tip my hat ta the stars, and tell 'em ta guide me through the dark." - Ellen Duster

"The sound of my heart poundin' tells me I'm still alive. The tinge of pain in my bones tells me I'm still breathin', and the twist in my heart tells me my heart ain't broke yet." - Ellen Duster

"I have lived a life of partial luxury, and I know you say, "You've only known small amounts of suffering, and you think you understand pain?" And yes, I would understand pain. For it only has to be dealt in small amounts too be understood." - Katrice Foltick

" I charge into battle with reckless abandon, I raise my rifle, yet forgot it is I who shall taste the dark, not the one whom falls inta the dirt." - Natasha Law

"We do not decide our fate, but we do decide who we are." - Rando Ballsy

"The world told unto me a thousand lies, so I told unto it my a thousand truths. It told me I would live in sin, so I told it I would live in tranquility. It told me the darkness was my ally, so I simply said light was my friend, and the sun was my lover." - Rando Ballsy

"For when the wind is howlin', and my pain is soarin', that's when I know I am whole. For I can stand in the rain, and remember it is too drink, not too drown. So oh fallen brother's of mine, I'm doing the best I can, and I can only hope, I'm not doin' what you'd do, but doin' what I would."  - Alonzo Graves

"As I stand here, rememberin' my brothers whom have fallen, I wonder what it is they'd do now? What would Sandusky do if he was in my shoes? What would Joseph do if he was walking my miles? What would Mike say if it was he who had too inspire? What is it Nathaniel would do if he was the one breakin'?" - Alonzo Graves

"Time and time again I drag myself to her, she is but nicotine upon my lip. She is but my addiction. And yet she is no mortal, she is no real woman, she is simply the cold in which I stand when warmth is but one step forward, and yet I take two steps back." - Hoshino Akinori

"There was but a time I grew so close with the darkness that she touched my skin, but oh, she marked me with sin. I grew so far into the dark, that she simply gave me warmth in the fires she knew would consume this cold soul." - Hoshino Akinori

"Delusions lead to sin, and sin leads to damnation. So why dance in a bitter delusion when you know it leads to hell?" - Roman Hemlock

"I'm a strange mix of corrupt and lawful." - Karstellonius Alexander

"The torch was not past down to me, and yet still I felt it's burn." - Cadencia Malrosa

"My reflection is a twisted variant of me. How am I ever to find peace if I'm trapped in a web of the lack of a sane mind?" - Mack Morfellos

"I leave the forgiveness of me up ta God, cause my enemies don't deserve the word mercy in their vocabulary." - Jeffrey Newhunt

"They put us in boxes and expect us to stay put. No living creature ever stayed inside a maze." - Wyatt Demouchett

"The secrets I hold have never tarnished me. Only other's." - Samuel Javencrocks

"Believe me, or don't, either way my story is one written in the devil's book." - Warren Shanaghost 

  "I ain't so scared of others, really. Just myself." - Friella Beckenheimer 

  "Give me a penny for my thoughts, and a drink for my memories." - Vector Beckenheimer 

“We're sinners by design, but whoever said one can't stray from the path?" - O'Neil Morikstead

"Sometimes our darker side writes our story, and if you see that little bastard writin', take the quill from 'is hands, and start writin' your own tale instead." - Frank Smilowitz 

 "As my lungs filled with water I realized I had lived a life full of regret, and then I pulled myself outta the water, and I started again. Cause if I can realize I'm filled ta the brim with sin, I can stop myself in my tracks, and turn the other damn direction." - Frank Smilowitz 

"When we're young we see the world through a dreamers eyes, but why do we sell those dreams when we grow?" - Michelle Smilowitz

"I'm screamin' out loud, can you hear me now monster above my cell? You can run, you can hide, but you forgot too build your arc before the storm. What's the storm? Oh she's brewin' just under your floorboards, and she's sick of being the secret you keep in this broken home. You tore into my heart and forgot I had claws, I'm screamin' loud monster, so build that arc, before it's too damn late. Cause the flood is comin' to your gates."  - Michelle Smilowitz

"I have lived my life in a cage, I'm far from home, I've sent a message of blood and bone.. hoping you know what it means. My love if you get this, come and rescue me in the dark, my son, if you get this, please find me, let your heart guide you forth through the dark, dear mother, if you hear this, please know it is not your fault that I am lost, and oh father, if you get this, please know you were never broken, you were just a hero hiding behind a thin mask." - Michelle Smilowitz

"You say faith is what keeps me alive, but it was not strong enough, but hate drove me forward, hate kept this heart pumping. Faith is not enough too keep us alive in the dark. It's a tiny spark, but hate is a wildfire that rages through out the dark and singes our souls." - Fiend Masters

"In all chaos there is calculation, you can not tell me God didn't create evil, he created all, did he not? So there was a method to his madness.. and it was all made within the span of three days. On the first day, tranquility was made upon these lands, the trees, the bird who sung.. on the second day God created the storm.. and on the third and final day, God would make his first mistake, making a life sentient." - Holland Gursoch 

#alotofthisisold #author #writer #writing #characters #dialogue #characterwriting #coolstuff

[the-eng-circle]

#raglisurf #sex_lies_n_tapes #judges_complaints It's 20.12, 5:th of March 2019 and I have to "go offline" (out of money) - but I will come back and describe what todays hockey-judges CAN'T do in other contestants trousers/cages... see you! (A few minutes later..) I had a donation for yet another hour - so I decided to write an hour on what this picimage (Obelix - in Hockey-EM) will show for/in my own sub-si-diary-supported memory-book/-blog for this Thur's (my own) day/trip in/through Hell... IRA (SWE) - "MON-DAY" It started with "a shake on one of the lower decks" (there'as only the big 'n' balded ones go) and an "intrusion" like Hitchcock show as a grimreaping experience in the old film called "Psycho" (steam-shower-pic-image) that became a "struggle" of ropes, wicks and a matter if you make/swear an oath to the dew (all "e-dew-ca-tors" know what I mean) or NOT... (think "Mountain Dew" here, the pubsong by "The clancy Brothers" - like "Whiskey in The Jar"). It was 'explosive' several times - a "nuclear blast in an aquarium-tank" (or "a tomb that had NOT heared enough sound") can name the "incident" - at nights with more "K" than most american presidents ever seen before in their military riddik-oulus night-vision goggles ("...you know what they awoken"...) . I call it an "IRA-bombing" of something else than a simple garbage-bin... it was a whole room (ga-rage-sized) that exploded when that "terrorist" pushed his button a few times - INSIDE my own hand/skin and with the words "Loves nature is no more!" following the repeated clicks with my shoemaker-thumb... one wrathful reaction of many was started that year with intrusions followed after another. The-y didn't succeeded with their breaking of my mind, but a research of my "brain-pattern" and testing of Love's limits were repeatedly coming back to my mind. You can see it as the X-Men's research-facility in Rivendell, a "Bjorn" were trying to make one of his guys a new skeleton... "baptism in a fiery aquarium-tank" and "hell-raising" with a negative facial-plate is another. "Gay-pigs!" Al Pacino cried to them who invaded his bodybuilding with black arts (or red/yellow "ants"). That period was the first hellraiser-attack, I call it "Mon-day" ("Mo" is a fine sand, heathen or "immoral music"/crickets for a Mose) and a "bath of roses", Rosenbath, the name on the swedish parliament was no garden of roses or "a rosegarden" promised from any lovable creature - it was a "piraya-stew" or fish-rince and gum everywere. Anyone that "entered my domain" was a "Jesus-whore", a "sacrifical-moral victim", a "backstabber" that refused to fight myself like a man. Another Volbeat song - "Pool of Booze, Booze, Booza". In Sweden anti-psychiatry and anti-anti-psychiatry (regular psychiatry) was having a IRA-terror-cell and I accuse Bin-Beaff for the repeated attacks at my homeshelter, bed and showerroom - the steam was sometimes hot and the volume noone can have any complaints about, it should've been heard what that homo-devil was diminished into (a nob must have been evesdropping in my surrounding). "He" wanted me to write that the kingdom of Sweden was in a "psychi-o-cratic coupe de'tat" - but I responded (loudly) with that "he" has to declare that himself... "-"She"'s always a woman to me", as Billy Joel would sing it. After I left my "snowy-mountain nord" I had a terrible Tuesday - I arrived in Spain in May and there ETA did wait, just to eat myself up... I had to change tactics... ...more to come... now this internet-store closes... ETA (ESP) - "TU-ES-DAY" Now, it's the day after the above written... here I can describe what happened in Spain (northern, the Basque-region), during the period of nine months 2017-2018 (May-Feb). The most abstract pattern is that I was drying "pieces of sheets" outdoors, in a "revolving parasollic form" as the "tor(-k)-ken" and it's movements can be called when you hang them in a villa's backyard. For nine months I was moving around in San Sebastian.... for nothing... no law, no protection from UN and it's so called "human rights", living on €3.00 in donations per day. And with all that can be read in what I written about these harrasments towards a Finbull's headoffice... with which at three "winters" the so called "Hell on Earth" are awoken. I write this in my third "winter-time" now. "Political abusement" is another "socialistic term" for the intrusions to a man's mind/home/economy. "Throwing rocks" is yet another to a "Sauna-father" who's done this before - you have to "love yourself" as Justin B sings... don't enter the Bear's domain as a "Bi-bear"... that's NOT enough in the "Holy War" (which of course is FOR love - NOT against it/him...it's always a man...it's all about manhood and it's several generation-shifts). The woman can only become a "pro-miss" in these war-battles out in the world - the war isn't FOR(e) her as a woman at all. I'm now in my wo-mb-fight - and that is the worst of "mothers" and "pro-misses"...it's a catfight, a dragon-ring and a lot of demons "attached" to such a board-game. Being the "B-ord" and turning a 5-masteras you becomes, all by yourself in full storm is a lot of things, ropes, strops, sail-cloths, decks, cargo-chests, keelhauls for self-service to your own fathership and holding on to your reality-conception all the time - needs a few "spanish salutes" from the different "canon-decks"... ...it is "fighting natural attacks" - that doesn't belong to yourself even. You're attacked by a ghostship that belongs to another. To resurrect the fathership when it's no where to be found, is a REAL "Hell on Earth-experience". All there is to offer as your self-help when it's a time of a "regressed reality by fantasies" (science-fiction rules the world-culture) is "self- (or forced-) medication". You need to be able to "create"... ...and to be a "turner of tides" you need alot of "lone-time" in your lifehistory, been recreative and re-schooled yourself into do it again - with words... against your own life-wishes or "free will". You're unvoluntarily put into a hell-mode and under a "scientific experiment" - which is the safest way of killing a rival to a leading "ideology/religion". I went atleast 40 000 steps DOWNWARDS in Donostia/San Sebastian, like in a spiral-staircase - for no use... ...EXCEPT for that of forcing the intruder of my helmet deep down (and out) into a "nether region" where "he" belongs. Like on a gyproc-screw, you then turn around the "wall" and take your household/bags and start walking north/upwards again... hopefully to a more language-friendly region (like british isles for my school english to be more understood) where "rule by law" exists. THAT was on the other hand a BIG/HUGE dissapointment later, in London, Great Britain. ...I come back and write some about my third experience, the NMR (Nordic Resistance Movement) and their "doings" here in Italy later - I have to "earn" some more euros to be able to "write something off my back" - it's rare to be able to write nowadays... it's costly (in comparison to wifi and my ex-mobilephones on cafès for example) - I now pay €1.50/hour just to be able to create some of what happends in the "italian ditch-warfare". It's VERY costly when you need both nurishment to your bodyfunctions and the ability to continously write the sub-si-diary-support online. Bye for now! NMR (ITA) - "WED-NES-DAY" Yet another day, "Giovedi" or "Thursday" as the english language call this week-day. It's 7:th of March and today I tell-us a little bit of the time in the third region of this hell-ride ("down-and-up") on what I also call "my day", Thur's-day - I, who have the "judge's hammer" of my own geographical region... and it's not a carpenting-hammer ("he" always want to remind myself of his personal presence). After the "football-experience" in Lille (before I left it) and the soccer-interests in London I declared myself belong more to the icehockey-region opf the world - something I understand is created after the "ability" or desire to "kick the ball" in "no-man's land", where "freedom of speach" is said t exist, but no laws can protect you instead. On the icehockey-arena I'm a headjudge (with the crystal-bowl-visir, sheriff-jacket/-sweater and the armbands for the experience of a true pinocchio-suit/slaugther-room-experiences). As NMR (Nordic Resistance Movement - the racistic resisitance movement upnorth they say) hit myself I will be the goalkeeper, the one that keep his goals - or "the goal-guard-ner" in my own "pocket" so to say - a region where other demand to become domain-owners. I have my small little garden (not a promised "rosegarden" that either - referring to a song from the past) and my two unique "horns" that I never "let down"... ...they're two "flank-men" that never will be forgotten, the posters that now have expanded to 4 x A3-newsposters. The wind on the other hand, have greater wishes to "overthrow the truth" now and then - but that's a homo-lordship with an addiction to the blue ring of wind (an "insider" without a parenthood projects it towards myself). As a "goalie" you "scratch the surface" on what is needed to say - as a true DJ - and the "barfights" are NOT attached to any elephant-nose (listen to the song attached below) - there's a "knife" to behead intrue-doers in a goal-guard-ner's own goalgarden... a knife in size of a mountain in branded clubs like "Mont-Real" or amed that "hoe" as in the "Ko-Ho"-branded one. Here in Italy, nazis has made their presence as the ones that NOT wish myself re-appear up north (in the "collectively unconscienseness") - they say in their "political pamfletts" they wish to "paternalise and send home" foreigners or those who NOT swear allegience to their "king" in parties like Swedish Democrats (SD) - or something like that. It's a constant struggle to "counter-strike" the negativity in swed-ish, "teleporting" (use of a homo-cahannel somewhere), telepathy and telekinesis - the different ways of make/control one as a "Pinocchio-doll"/"Pajas-suit" or being possessed with a homolord's ("king" Herod's) "royal dress", mentioned in the bible's Newer Testament. It's supposed to redicule you outside... ...I, on the other hand, is the one making the humour in my "given" suit - just to put the dolls inside to sleep... or to "night-quarter" them as I mentioned up in London's "Steward's Consession". I love unconditionally my homo-enemies until Death do us part.... that is my mission/purpose, as being a Charon on Styx over to Death's Hades and being "driven" as/into becoming a "chariot of/in fire" in psychiatry. Added 8 of March 2019: I am ONE with my "cage", the-y have put in an videocamera, exchanged the original headjudge (myself) with a newbie who has to go for the judges-booth and look at that old VHS-hitmovie named Sex, Lies and Videotapes... over and over again. This inlay/post was a part of my "complaints" on/to todays "judges" (or to "headjudge" himself) who these modern days aren't that skilled. Like nightly house-interragations by conquistadors from dark ages (tries to collect "wood" are made as branches in size of Harry P's "witch-finger" is called "kvistar" in swedish) - but this door is pretty stubborn as Burger King called it in a humorous way on their "PULL"-sign on their entrance door. Don't pull "Rope" himself though (like in english rope-pulling in a "pig-ditch" as battersea once were), he is from asia and sumo-wrestling in yet another "ring" isn't new to aesir-divinities from upnorth (N-ord) - they herritage from asia. I will say I "landed" in psychiatry back in old dungeon and dragon-times.... avading slavery in the nether regions - slavery is a temptation the "dragon ring" once have made a trio create, in their "wonderous" mechanical patterns. The western astrology's dragon-lure is the scorpio-weakness - let's take the old Bullfighter (the cowboy starsign) from an "unexpected angle" - why not "over his own head" and that poision a scorpio has go towards your head - and are filled with what is knows as black arts - black illnesses included. It's hell geting out of it - I say "good luck to you", these "injections" is now the new threat to the Earths populations - one pattern is to "run it off"... but that is my "unique horn" fighting Capricorn's "aid" to his "black lamb" in psychiatry - and to force that intru-der ("in-truth-dies" in swe) out of my head, where he definitively is UN-invited... those within UN who are believers of "scientism" or "to cut" or "divide" as an UN-conscious (or broken) conscience is, when "-science" is their only/solely conviction/religion. All these above is my "complaints" to above mentioned "headjudge" - who think he's snable-camera is wanted in every cage/chest everywhere. How (except a depletion of psychiatry as the (soft) gingerbread ringformed sugercake remind myself of - one of grandmother's favourites to serve and protect with at the swedish feeka-table from old times, a "Mount Doom-memory" that it's possible to remake) I would fix this I don't know... ...but some "markings" made by Fraud-O and his ring ("crop-circles" for myself as being on my Viking-sleighride at cold war-times) will be his own fault as Professional or "Specialist-" Doctor in state governmental psychological warfares. Even on old Roman grounds... doing some "final acts" according to "a manual" or "usual routines" when a Rudolf is "going down". And he himself NOT being a "clown-believer" - but the "Incredible Houdini" in his own so rest-raining-jacket... under my ice skating rink level. Then in his "mirror-image-world" of his own man/mouse-af-fair in a "sockel", in a house's ground or under the "stairway/stepstool" from another mother (JK Rowling's "adoptive one" maybe). Over and out! 250 Kg Kaerlek/Love - Naken/Nude https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHNcK7mglN4 LYRICS ENG I was iceskating beneath The Westbridge in belief that the ice was thick but so wasn't the case so I went down in a hole in the ice when I lay there and cried a dude came I cried to him "-Help me up!" but was not what he did. He undressed himself to nudity and jumped down into my "icy hole" And he said: -Oh, oh, it feels so good to be nude to swing the snable and "wag the dog" ...(more "transference" to come) LYRICS SWE Jag åkte skridskor under västerbron i tron att isen var tjock men det var den inte, så jag plumsa ner i en vak När jag låg där och skrek så kom en man Jag ropa "Hjälp mig opp!" men det gjorde inte han. Han klädde av sig naken och hoppa ner i vaken. Och sa: åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka pa baken En sommarkväll hade vårat gäng fest vid stadens simbassäng. Alla var glada, nakna och fulla. En del var faktiskt jättefulla. Men när vi tömde bassängen och fyllde på med isen för att kyla bärsen, ja då kom polisen. Och dom haffa miiig. Dom sa "Dig håller vi kvar, får vi höra ditt försvar?" jag sa: åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på baken Jag åkte till Åland å handla sprit å då åkte jag dit i tullen Dom trodde visst jag var terrorist och letade långt upp i tarmen. Ett finger gick ju bra, men inte hela armen. Å dom hitta lite grann, så dom leta lite mer Så frågar dom varför jag står här och ler? Jag svara: åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på baken åh, åh vad det ar skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på... Åhhh, åhh, åhhhhhh... Åh, åh vad det är skönt å va naken Svänga me snabeln och vicka på baken

[criscura]

Pinocchio

((I wanted to write something different ^^; A little graphic at the start, but that’s it. Source for this guy –v and a link to it on Ao3))

It wasn’t real. It could not possibly be real. Monsters—monsters like that didn’t exist. They didn’t exist. Bogeymen didn’t come and steal your family away. Beasts didn’t charge from the woods in the night and eat up your parents.

But one did. And it was metal.

And made of fire.

And it made no noise until his mother stopped screaming. It played it back.

It was made of metal, and made of fire, and spoke with the voices of the dead.

He would’ve given anything to steal the scream back from it...

But instead…

He turned himself into steel, and he spat out fire, and his voice was the voice of a boy that had died with his family.

Monsters weren’t real, but now they were. Bogeymen were only fairy tales, until they weren’t.

His father told him a story once about a puppet who’d become a real boy. He was good, and loved his maker like a father, and was blessed by a blue fairy into flesh and blood.

Genos was good. He loved his family.

And his was gutted in front of him.

And the doctor had blessed him with a metal puppet’s body.

Bogeymen were real. He was a fairy tale.

And he could be a monster, if he needed to be.

~~~

The pain, the pain, every day alive was pain, every night of sleep was pain, burning and tearing and snapping, every day some bone split under the weight of his torso or his wrists twisted because he crashed down on them, and he relived his parents’ massacre whenever he blacked out.

He deserved it.

His mother bled on top of him, what half of her was left. His father exploded by the front door trying to keep it shut.

He sobbed quietly under it all, invisible beneath the flesh.

He couldn’t protect them. He didn’t even try. He sat paralyzed, terrified, silent, as they let themselves be shredded to pieces for him.

His mother asked if he was okay when her bones were jutting from her body like branches from a tree in winter. Then she screamed as her legs were torn from her, and the beast couldn’t hear the second scream behind it.

He hurt then, with his arms shattered under the bricks of his roof. He could have died then, had the thing so much as glanced back after it ripped his life apart.

He did not.

He should have.

And this pain—of shaving off his hips to attach stronger hips, of welding iron to his spine to make it support his weight—

Of feeling his eyes cut out, for just a moment when the anesthesia stopped working—

Of having the base of his tongue cauterized so it could be replaced with one that would function with his new vocal cords—

He deserved it.

The hours and hours of crying through therapy, through his shins cracking from walking or the horror of going blind because this optic nerve also did not work…

He deserved every part of it.

How dare he be weak, when his parents had been strong enough to hold him until they couldn’t hold anything anymore. How dare he cry, when they hadn’t cried as the embers of the house fused to their skin. How dare he expect peace, expect comfort, expect anything but this agonizing searing ripping shredding constant fucking pain when they’d done all that and more just so he could fail to try and help them at all.

It was all he was worth. It was all he could give back.

The kindness of the doctor—he didn’t deserve that. The soothing words, the warm bed, the hot chocolate—

He didn’t deserve that.

Days, months, a stolen lifetime of pain…he could handle that. He earned it.

Not hospitality.

Not love.

When his heart began to fail him and he felt his entire body seize up—when he lost that last bit of flesh and his rib cage became a shell, his heart turned to lead and fire just like the rest of him…

Then Kuseno told him, “This makes you no less human, Genos. You are still you.”

That was a lie.

Genos had seen horror movies, he had played video games. Robots, floating brains, sentient guns…

Those were the monsters in them. Those were what you killed. You were you, and they were them.

And Genos was one of them now.

His mechanical feet and legs—those were lies. His sculpted fingers and hips, those were both a lie. His mouth, his ears, his entire perfect fucking face, that was all a lie.

A floating brain, cradled by a sentient gun. A robot. A monster.

That wasn’t a lie.

That wasn’t a lie at all.

He was the thing you killed in movies, and it was all he deserved to be.

~~~

Years. Years. Four years he had spent scouring the country, and he had nothing to show for it.

He’d done everything right. He’d improved his tracking system, he’d hunted down the CEOs of every major cybernetics company in the world, he’d been to any region that showed the remotest trace of an attack.

And he had absolutely no idea where the mad cyborg had gone.

He had failed, and was failing, and continued to fail with each passing day that he did not rip its metal body apart.

Kuseno tried to calm him down. When his room filled up with caverns from his fists and the steel walls turned rainbow from the heat in his palms, he reminded him how long it had been rogue, how no one who’d tried finding it had any success.

It only made things worse.

He had tried harder than them, than any of them possibly could. He was more qualified, more capable for this mission, than anyone else could possibly be. He was equipped with a body that could identify scurrying mammals ten miles out, canons that could level small towns, accelerators that could move at the speed of sound. He knew in excruciating detail what would drive a cyborg to go one place or another. He could anticipate the movements of a monster within mere minutes of studying its behaviors and had spent years memorizing witness accounts of facing the beast.

Destroying the cyborg was all he was good for at this point. He was built for the sole purpose of wiping it off the face of the earth.

So why couldn’t he do the only thing he was supposed to be able to do?

He got upgrades. He trained. He studied. He replaced part after part after part to get stronger, left for weeks, months at a time so he could train more, so he could track more, so he could gather more information.

And it wasn’t enough.

He just…wasn’t enough.

He’d given everything he had, more than everything, and it just wasn’t enough.

…He was a failure.

It crashed down on him every time he crashed down onto himself, thrown aside by some new demon with a move he knew was coming, and still could not avoid. It hit him when they did, it rose up and consumed him when he was gathered up into a body bag by Kuseno’s drones so they could cart him back into the lab.

He was weak, and slow, and stupid, but above all…

He was a failure.

Most of him had died when his family did. Most of him burned and bled, and dissolved in the explosions that erased what his future could have been.

What was left, he tried to perfect. He gave it layer after layer of armor, of weapons, of technology so it was impossible that it could die too, not until he had destroyed the monster that had destroyed everything he’d ever known. When he would be decimated in battle, he let the doctor pour his life’s work into him purely for the chance at avenging his family. He swallowed the guilt with the oxygen tube because it was the only way he could make himself worth it.

What was left of him, he let be twisted and molded so that it could be better than what it was.

He tried to live with it, what was left.

But…it did not change that, all those years ago…most of him had died.

…And every time he came back from a hunt without the cyborg’s blood on his hands…

…he wished it would have been all of him.

~~~

He could be stronger. He could always be stronger. He had to be stronger. He was weak, a failure, a constant stream of losses, and if he could overcome that—if he could make sure once he found it he could obliterate it so there was no way it could slip through his fingers—if he could be so strong he could vaporize it simply by pointing his canons at it and set them off—if he could delete it from the history of the planet with nothing more than a single well-aimed blow—if he could be strong, if he could only be strong, if he could only be more than this pitiful fragile rash faulty eternal fuck-up of sham of power, he could do it, he could do it, he could defeat it and stop and rest and vanish and make up for it, make up for himself, he could make up for being weak, weak, weak, weak, WEAK—

~~~

He was just a man.

Just a man, with a normal body, and no clothes, and no hair. He was small and soft-spoken.

He was just a man.

And with one slap used more power than Genos had ever felt in his lifetime.

He did it to save him and he didn’t ask for thanks. Genos couldn’t take the monster out with every blaster on his body, save for the one that would detonate like a nuclear bomb.

He’d done it in an instant, without any effort at all.

He was just a man.

He was soft-spoken.

And he said his name was Saitama.

~~~

How. How. He couldn’t understand.

He’d studied him for weeks, first in secret and then up close. He chased him when he ran, he hunted him down when he would hide. He was like a hermit crab in that way, or an ant—a tiny creature, unfathomably powerful for its size, living quietly as if it was nothing unusual. And for his lifestyle, it wasn’t.

He joined him as he ate, and it was nothing special. He followed him when he went shopping and the stores were stocked with the same goods that you could find anywhere. He visited the baths with him and the facilities had nothing extraordinary in the water.

Nothing, of course, except for him.

Extraordinary…was a good word to describe him. Several other could apply—odd, outlandish, intimidating. For everything he was—for everything he was capable of—he could have the world at his feet. Genos had seen so little of his strength, but somehow he knew it was only a fraction of what he could achieve. And yet…

He clipped coupons. He ate Cup Noodle. He did his laundry. He complained when it got cold.

He was ordinary, with so much extra inside him.

…There were still more words that would fit him, though. Humble. Kind. Short-tempered.

Awesome, in every sense.

That was one he would use frequently—“awesome.” When they ate something he enjoyed in particular, when they found a steep sale, when Genos showed him part of his incinerators.

Genos did not think he knew what it used to mean, “awesome.” It described things that were “filled with or inspiring awe.” It was how kings were explained, or war heroes, or angels.

Angels were terrifying creatures, in many texts.

The scope of their power, and their grandeur and beauty and form—it was inconceivable, ethereal. It scared whoever it was with, that power. They knew they were in the presence of something out of their control, and so far beyond their plane they could never hope to touch it. It had been to Other Places. It had come back unscathed.

It was capable of anything it chose, and nothing could stop it.

This man…he was awesome.

And he let Genos live with him.

“Sensei,” was what he called him. “Sensei,” as if that could summarize how he felt about him. About his power.

…About the power Genos needed, if he was to become more than the mistake he was. If he was to become strong enough of a monster to wipe out the one that had led him here, on legs of metal with a heart of fire.

Here, where his parents could never come.

Here…beside his sensei. Beside this hero.

Beside this awesome, extraordinary, quiet man.

~~~

It was not fair. Circumstance, fate, statistics, happenstance—

None, none of it was fair.

He had saved them. He had saved every one of them. He had done it once—twenty—countless times by now, and when they were there to witness it, they berated him for it, cut him down for it.

Tried to crush him like an insect under their shoe.

And they praised Genos for the insects he crushed for them.

Nothing he’d done was worth a fraction of what his teacher had done. The vermin he destroyed were vapors compared to the volcanic disasters he’d avoided. The catastrophes he prevented as easily as stifling a yawn, the cataclysms he solved the same way he’d calculate the time passing between commercials—

He quashed the apocalypse the same way he scratched his back, and Genos shattered his trying to stave off a single demon.

So much power. He had so much power. More than he could ever use, more than he ever wanted.

He had complained to Genos on more than one occasion that he was too powerful—that fights were boring and enemies were weak.

The same enemies that Genos had watched destroy homes and raze towns. The same that could crush his body in their fingers.

The same that he could never defeat even if he expended every shred of power his core could offer him.

The same that his teacher pulverized without so much as breaking a sweat.

…And the same that could have made so made so many more that were just like him, had his sensei not been there.

He had…so much power.

It didn’t seem like anyone but Genos knew it.

It wasn’t that they didn’t see him use it---they did, on many occasions. It was simply…that they didn’t seem to understand, like they couldn’t comprehend. It was too much for them to handle, and so they didn’t, and they made up stories to explain it away.

“A fraud,” said some. “A poser,” said others. “A cheat,” said many.

“A liar,” said them all.

They were so wrong.

Genos—he was a lie. Genos, whose ranking was based on tests far too simple—Genos, whose popularity was due to a finely crafted mask—Genos, whose victories seemed large only on the small TV screens they were recorded for.

“A hero,” they called him, like was worth anything at all…when the only true things about him were the two words of his hero name.

“Caped Baldy” was the abomination they chose to call the savior of their planet.

“Demon Cyborg” was what they called the abomination they thought was their savior.

What jackasses. What fools. What ungrateful bastards.

…None of it was fair.

~~~

Nightmares, pain, failure, anger. Seclusion, frustration, destruction. Fear. Loss.

Sadness.

Hate…for the monster, but mostly…

For himself.

He deserved that.

It had been almost five years and he did not get vengeance for the ghosts that haunted him when he slept. It had been almost five years, and he was still just as weak as the boy that had let his parents die around him.

It had been five years, and he had yet to make anything of the extra time he ripped from death.

And people thanked him for it.

They acted like he was an idol, a god. They sent him awards and tokens, gave him plaques and presents and complements like he was worth of any of it.

They thanked him for the work he didn’t do, and it was infuriating.

Could they not see how little risk was involved for something that could replace its entire body, when there were heroes that risked it all? Did they have no idea how meaningless their gratitude was, when they did not give it to the one man who should receive it?

And…when that man would congratulate him, did he not see...how undeserving Genos was of it? How undeserving he was of…

…all of it?

He’d let him have the limelight, when he was a beacon of strength. He laughed along at all his love letters, when he got nothing but hate mail himself.

He shared his home like it was nothing big, when it meant the world to the one he shared it with.

It had been…so long since Genos had a home, and not a base to return to. It had been years since a normal breakfast was eggs in the morning and not the burnt carcass from whatever he killed the night before.

He’d forgotten what it was like to flip through channels instead of a performance report, or the simple comfort of hearing “Good night” beside you.

It was…safe, and soft, and normal, in a way he didn’t realized he missed.

He did not deserve it.

Just as he didn’t deserve the quiet praise, or the worried calls—the smiles when he walked through the door or the little surprises waiting for him after shopping trips. Those were treats for people living as they should, rewards for making the most of time between friends.

He could never earn that right.

He could clean, of course, and cook, and scrub and launder and tidy. He could give presents back along with the praise, and spend days off at home. But it would never be enough.

Not when his teacher got nothing but slander for protecting the human race. Not when the afternoons he could share were split between game marathons, and repairs to the shell of his body.

Not when the time he had was indebted to the parents who sacrificed theirs for him.

Genos operated on bolts and batteries, and stolen years and Inconel and guilt.

He was a wonder of modern science and a failure of a son.

He did not deserve the life he’d had, nor the one he shared now.

~~~

A carp could become a dragon, if it swam all the way upstream. That was the way the story went.

A fish, so brittle and insignificant, if only it could defeat the rapids, would leap into the clouds where its body would grow and its scales would bloom into silver and gold. It would be free to slip through any ocean then, both the ones that were filled with starfish and the one that was filled with stars. It could be more than it was, if it tried hard enough.

Genos’ body had grown. His skin had bloomed into silver and gold, and he could fly through the air, when he chose.

He still sank in water, though.

That’s what it felt like, when they walked the streets on Children’s Day. They were surrounded by little boys and girls, faces identical to the men and women holding their hands, all staring up at the paper carps streaming through sky. They could have been sand on the bottom of a riverbed, watching as schools of fish swam above them.

He was sluggish as he moved through the crowds, and his words were thick and slow. He knew the fire in his chest was burning hot as ever, blazing like a small blue star…and still, it felt cool to him. It got cooler when he saw the smallest sons picked up by smiling mothers. It chilled when he saw the older sons who were on the precipice of becoming young men.

His parents would never get the chance to see him come of age.

Months ago the day crept up and trickled past, and Genos did nothing to commemorate it. It was better that way, it was right, not to honor this thing he’d become. The boy that would have been celebrated—the one that would age and change and mature until he could have boys of his own—he had died long ago. This body was a grave for the life he’d lost, and the ones he couldn’t save.

Weak…he was so weak. He’d seen towns ruined as his was, and watched so many pull themselves from the wreckage. They came back later and thanked him, the survivors. They came with children and boyfriends and mothers, showing him the lives they rebuilt afterwards.

They were truly strong. They had grown, they had matured, they flourished in the wreckage they were left.

It was physically impossible for Genos to mature, and he’d grown to be the wreckage he was pulled from. Shining like silver, malleable like gold, with a body that could fly through the air like shrapnel.

Vicious as a dragon. Brittle as a carp.

Sinking under the weight of the dead.

~~~

His teacher was a quiet man, and he lived a quiet life. Everything around him was soft and light, from the old pajamas he slept in at night to the humming television he watched in the morning.

There were complements too, and praise, called only loud enough to make it out over the crowds.

Genos had trouble understanding them.

He didn’t grasp it first, too consumed with determining where the man’s unforgiving core was hidden. He must have had it, or something like it, when he could rocket through a meteor unhurt. He must have been guarding vibranium or adamantine or Thor’s thunder in his heart, for it not to break under the battering ram of public hate.

But…he was not.

His teacher, his hero, who could rule like the gods…he was just a man, with a soft smile and a big open heart, guarded only by the extent of his quietness.

He would not agree with Genos on his kindness. “It’s the right thing to do,” he’d explain as he opened his wallet, knowing he could not replace the groceries he’d destroyed saving a girl. “It’s what heroes are for,” he pushed, refusing the praise for rushing into a battle that was suicide for most.

But Genos watched him—he watched the way the insults cut him, he watched his shoulders fall as those he rescued laughed at him. He watched him spring protect someone who just told him he was a waste of space.

He watched his rare outbursts at crowds, knowing he could say so much more to them, and did not.

He watched him go back home and recede into a book, speaking even quieter than normal, if at all.

Genos watched this amazing man, this hero who could have had epics written for him and instead got slurs sent to his door…

…and it was his heart that broke.

The cracks started there—in his chest. They were not visible and still Genos could feel them, featherlight and biting in the open air. As he sat with him, ate with him, trained with him, they spread out into Genos’ arms, into his hands. His face would shatter in battle and it felt almost normal, so much so that he didn’t notice until they were pointed out.

“Are you okay?” he’d ask him. “You make me worry,” he’d tell him.

It was said so softly, but it fell like a hammer on his core.

The cracks got a little deeper. Routine passed through them like sea breeze through the boardwalk, and they filled up with windfall from the day—a string of puns chuckled through the produce section, whispered conversation in the dark before sleep. The sound of water bubbling down the drain as they washed dishes after dinner.

The fissures filled with these passing moments, each grain sealing them shut even as they split them further.

…Genos’ body was made of an iron alloy, and iron, on its most basic level, was weak. It was a common metal that needed to be mixed and twisted so it could withstand the pressure of daily use.

Sand, on the other hand, was a natural composite, formed from the rocks strong enough to withstand thousands of years of the ocean’s abuse. When stripped to its most essential mineral, it was made of quartz. Quartz was varied and strong, and formed the same way diamonds were. Quartz was used for healing and traded for its beauty.

In folktales, iron was a weapon used to kill fairies. The Iron Age was the reign of the filth of man. Quartz was used to protect infants from demons and in myths immortalized purity.

Quartz was always very strong, and iron…

Iron was soft.

If beaten, it will break, and will need to be gathered into a single piece again. If exposed too long, it will rust, and chip away when something brushes past it.

Iron will bend and crumple and yield, if put up against quartz.

Even a tiny piece can win the battle, over time. A single grain would be enough if it found a crack and settled deep within it. And Genos, with his fragile body…

He was covered in cracks.

Routine has a way of smoothing things out, of buffing the impurities of the day. A routine can turn the sharp cut of a jeer into a minor bump on the way to dinner.

His teacher had shared his routine with him. He worked beside him, day by day, learning from the quiet man how to live a quiet life. When he’d come home, he wouldn’t shout his greeting so he could hear the happy welcome that answered him. When he woke up, he wouldn’t focus on his nightmares but the even breathing next to him.

Before he lived like a forest fire, consuming everything on the path to the monsters of his past. And now…

He passed his days like water breaking on the beach, steady as the rise and fall of the waves.

This lifestyle…it was gentle, it was easy. Not to struggle swimming against the riptide, but to let himself drift on and off shore like sea glass or hermit crabs…

The cracks were still there, and they were growing, but Genos couldn’t help feeling that he was growing with them.

When his sensei smiled, his chest swelled and his armor could have been crackling under the pressure. When he thought of plans they made, he’d prepare for the day feeling lighter, like he had no armor at all.

That would make him weak, he realized, to be worn down by routine. It would leave him open in ways no battle plan could save him.

But his sensei was quiet and soft, and he was the most powerful man he knew. And if he could be that way, then…maybe…

It would not be so bad for Genos to be soft too.

~~~

When dolls broke apart, they were glued back together, piece by piece, by piece…by piece… He just needed some duct tape and some patience.

Patience.

Patience for pieces, that was it. Time to get torn down, after he’d been torn down, because that’s how the doctor would know where it all fit. Humpty Dumpty him up, only he had a king to put him together, and not the king’s men.

All the king’s men.

…There had been many men there, and women.

They had cracked too, but they didn’t leak yellow, or black the way Genos did. They looked the way they should, when real people got hurt. It would mean something later. It would turn people into monsters.

Just like him.

The other heroes had taken care of them, surely. All the monsters…but it was hard to remember who was who, with all this fog in his head. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…

Breathe out…

Ha…laughing gas, it was called. When he was little. Like he needed reasons to laugh then. They should sell it to grown-ups in bottles, like they did sleeping pills and caffeine pills. “Smile-all,” it could be. “Grin-it-down.”

Sugar makes the medicine go down… What had made this medicine go down? He hated it, all of it, always, this part. He hated it so much.

It made him remember who he was. He hated who he was.

He always fought it off, so hard. Like waking up from a nightmare, only he lost, he lost every time. He never won.

He hadn’t won this time. Nope, the claws went straight through him, right through his spine, and he shattered like a porcelain doll.

He didn’t remember hitting the ground, though. He usually did. It hurt, that part, the fall right after. It was the worst.

It was the best too, though, ‘cause he deserved it, and he didn’t always get what he deserved.

Who’d taken that away?

This hurt, a little. Not much. Not with the laughs.

He didn’t giggle though, it was a feeling. Not like at home. He giggled for real there.

He did it at Sensei’s faces, he did it at his jokes. What had he called him? A hot head?

Ha, ha…ha… Hot. Sensei was hot. Sensei was warm too, but he was cool, he was so damned cool…

Genos wasn’t. He’d broken in front of him. Humpty Dumpty, derpy demon. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men ran away because Demon Cyborg didn’t save them again.

What a joke. What a laugh.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

That’s what the HA looked like—HA, HA, HA, all across the rescue helicopters. They buzzed around like dragonflies, but they didn’t spit out fire. They got eaten up by it. So did the drivers, so did the stretchers underneath. Then the HA turned to AH, and they all did just that, “Ah, Aah, Aaaah…”

He was so tired of screaming. He heard it every night in his sleep. He was sleeping now, though, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that anesthesia? Just a slightly more awake sleep. So were those the screams?

But he wasn’t screaming. He didn’t hear any.

Well, not now. Before he made everyone scream. One bad shot and he knocked the monster into an apartment. Kaboom, it went. Kasquish, they went.

Screams. Lots of screams.

It should have been Genos in there.

He wouldn’t get backlash for it. Never had, never did, never would. Too pretty to knock down, that’s really what it was. The HA said he kept his ranking because he did good work.

He did shit work. He was shit. Shitty, shitty, shit.

…Shit…

He should’ve been left on the claws. They should’ve schlicked right into his brain, so he could stop and stop making more mistakes than he had. He was one great big mistake. He was five years of big and small mistakes, he was two and a half wasted lifetimes of miiistakes.

What a waste he was… What a tongue-twister that was…

Betty bought a batch of butter...”But,” she said, “This bot is bitter,” so she went and bought a better bot, but that bot was just as bitter. “Real boys are better,” bickered Betty, so she burned the bot and brought back a boy that was better than the bitter bot…

His father loved butter cookies. He loved to tell stories too, but not about the butter cookies, that was only when he told the tongue-twister.

He could bake butter cookies. He could bake them now, they would probably be good.

…No they wouldn’t be.

…Maybe they would.

Sensei liked his cooking, he’d like his cookies. Sensei said he liked a lot of things about him. Sensei said he had pretty hair, and pretty eyes, and a cool body. Sensei was wrong, but it was nice.

Sensei was nice. Sensei, Sensei…Sensei…

He was the one with pretty eyes, all dark and big and sparkly—but only sometimes. …Hehe. They were sparkly like his head.

Genos liked his head. Genos liked everything about him.

He should tell him. He should really tell him, not those half-assed tells he told because he was too scared to let him know how he felt. But Sensei would not tell back, because he probably didn’t feel back.

Sensei was a hero, an angel. Genos was a demon. He was a monster, a bogeyman, a dragon, that could go chomp chomp and burn up a village. Sensei was a dragon slayer.

He wouldn’t want to date a monster.

…He sure saved Genos a lot though, like he was some kinda princess. He wasn’t a princess. Not even when he got all broken up again, and needed to be eased down from the top of the HA tower. Rapunzel was on top of a tower, but even she could help save herself. She put her hair down. Genos’ hair wasn’t that long.

His spinal chord…maybe that, next time. Maybe he could pull that out and use it. Like they were doing now. It was so tickly, when they got here, even with all the gas in his lungs. It would probably hurt real bad if he was awake. It must’ve wasted a lot of money, this gas. He could’ve been shut down he was sure. His brain could be popped out and put in a bowl to save it, couldn’t it? That would make things easier. It’s not like much would be lost if it didn’t make it.

…Ah, but Sensei wouldn’t have omelets in morning then. He promised, before the sale, they’d make omelets together. Sensei liked cooking with Genos, he did it so much. He couldn’t do that if Genos was dead.

The beeps—the beeps were loud, now. They were like screams—beep, beeeep, beeeeep…

No, that was a real scream. Or just a yell? That was his name, for sure.

Oh, the gas was going. Bye bye, happy gas… Goodbye, happy…

But that…was his voice, and that was happy. Hearing him say his name, so softly, so carefully. No, it wasn’t screaming…how could he have thought that? It was mumbling…it was quiet…

It was warm next to his ear, and sounded like the start of a spell.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…breathe out…

He was coming out of it. He was sore, and sluggish, but he was in one piece, and there was a hand around his. It held on tight, like he’d vanish or fall.

…Ha, haha. Like the nursery rhyme—Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

He would wake up soon, he could almost open his eyes. But for now…hearing “Genos?” said so shakily, like that voice would crumble if it wasn’t answered back…

…What was the rest of the rhyme?

…Of all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men…

Only one had made him feel whole again.

~~~

Five years he spent hunting the demon down. A quarter of his life, he’d devoted to a constant search. His mind, his body, his humanity—he’d given it all in a sacrifice for a chance at vengeance.

His plea had been ignored.

Of the hundreds of nights he spent hiding in the brush, none of them gave him a clue where it fled. The thousands of hours he spent scanning through reports, not one of them brought him closer to tearing it apart. News of it came less and less, and every month he did not kill it was another dig in the pit in his stomach.

He would search for it—he would always search for it—if anyone would pin it down and rip it limb from limb it would be him—

..but he could no longer ignore the growing suspicion that his mission was doomed from the start.

Leads were scant at the onset of his journey and even rarer as it continued. Then, though, he was too blind with rage to realize the most obvious reason for it—

He was so obsessed with living up to the ghosts of his past that he hadn’t considered he was chasing one of them.

It was never confirmed, as they found no body. For all he knew it could still be out there, burning villages and children and hopes and dreams…but if it was he would have heard of it.

There had been no news for a very long time.

It ate at him like acid, gnawed like a piranha at the nape of neck. If the beast was already dead, then his vendetta had been in vain. His agonizing, his fury, his rage, the years spent training and training and training—

They never brought him anywhere close to the cyborg.

Genos was weak, and he knew that. He had been too weak to protect his mother and father the ways they had protected him, and any courage he had smoldered with their bodies. He was hefted up like a toddler and given a better body, and still it took time for the courage to come back.

Once it did, he proved his stupidity in battle was more than enough to destroy his body again.

When he managed to conquer his stupidity, it was his rashness that beat him.

When he conquered rashness, it was distraction.

When it was not distraction, it was once more that he was simply too weak.

Weak. Weak. No matter how many upgrades he got, no matter how hard he fought, he was always too weak.

…To him.

It was not so to the man he spent his days with.

He would cry out at how fast he moved or marvel at how hard he hit, and in the beginning, Genos thought he was humoring him. How could someone able to level continents think he was at all strong?

But as the months passed by between them, he realized…no, his sensei was telling the truth. He thought his student powerful, despite needing to be carried back from half his battles. He thought him smart and quick and cunning, when he tripped up at least once in every fight.

He thought better of Genos than Genos ever could. He thought he was amazing, extraordinary.

“You’re really awesome,” he told him, or “That was a cool kick,” or “You’re defending yourself real well now!”

“You sounded great on the news,” was another. “Your voice is nice,” was a favorite.

And the one that was hardest to believe, even though Genos knew he meant it more than the rest, “I missed you while you were gone.”

His sensei thought of him, when he was gone. He thought of him enough to want him back.

Genos saw himself as waste of space. He drained time and money and resources, in such copious amounts he could never hope to replace them. In his mind he was a black hole.

But to his teacher…he filled something in him, so much so that he noticed when it slipped away.

That was no small feat. One afternoon the man had confided in him the years he spent alone, feeling hollow and inhuman. He described watching the fire of his emotions shrivel into coals, and the coals settling into grays and blacks. He told him how long he had waited for them to burn again, admitting finally that he’d let them die, and eventually he would die not remembering how they felt blazing inside him.

He pointed to Genos’ core, and said, “But you have a little star in there, so I’m sure you don’t have to worry about it.”

Genos cried then, slick tears of oil, and the black shone with the light from his chest.

His teacher looked confused and Genos thought it was odd, to be so unmoved as he spoke. At a loss he looked up into those great, deep eyes and was swallowed up in the blackness there.

Dark. They were utterly dark…like they’d never held any light at all.

Genos cried harder.

It nagged at him as the weeks passed by, and he did what he could to bring it back. He kept him company at unfamiliar stores, he rented movies when there were snowstorms. During blackouts he would open his shirt, and they would huddle in the corner for warmth, the way he remembered doing when he was young. It had made him feel safe then, and happy. There was some sort of magic in that tiny heat.

He could not tell if was working on his teacher, so he kept on trying.

It was not until that simple greeting that he knew it worked at all. Behind the smile and those three little words, he saw the shine in his deep eyes. It was gentle, yes, and flickering, and still very weak, but the light was strong and steady and his teacher did not seem confused by it.

He shifted to make room at the table beside him right after, and he didn’t seem like he could be more sure of anything in the world.

Saitama was not a deity, or an angel, or even some spirit from another world. He was just a man, who was soft-spoken, who lived a quiet life.

But he had given Genos a home, when he had only had a fortress.

He helped Genos become a hero, when he had only been a monster.

He gave Genos a horizon, when he had only seen a flatline.

Genos gave himself in a blood offering, and his plea for vengeance had been ignored, but…

…his prayers were heard, and received…

…and they had been answered tenfold.

~~~

Monsters had not been real before, but they were real now. Children were stolen and eaten in the night. Princesses were killed for no reason at all.

They were all living in one long, extended fairy tale…and that meant there were heroes, too.

There were white knights that struck down ogres, and fairies that could turn puppets into men, if only they were good enough.

Genos had not been good. He had loved his family too much, and let it turn to hate—hate for the world, hate for circumstance. Hate, more than anything, for himself.

He had killed, and let others be killed.

He was the villain in his own story.

…But his was no longer the only story he was part of. He’d been woven into another one, so smoothly he couldn’t find the seam between the two. And whenever stories blend…

….the characters can change.

The big bad wolf becomes the fox spirit, the harbinger of death becomes the mother of sleep.

The bloodthirsty dragon that hunts down villagers becomes the gentle wind spirit that protects a town.

A villain can become a hero, if he shares his story with another.

Especially when that other was a great hero.

Especially when that other saw him as a hero.

Happy endings were not made for the villains and monsters—they were for the good and right, the fighters, the saviors. The ones whose actions screamed loudest on the pages, no matter how quietly they did them.

Saitama was the kind of man that deserved a happy ending.

But Genos…he was a walking war machine, a floating brain in a grave of weapons, one of the demons that was killed before they had a chance to kill everyone else.

Genos knew better than to expect more for himself.

But fables grow. Fairy tales change.

The hard shell of a puppet can turn soft and warm, and a monster can become a man, if his hero is strong enough to rescue him.

Genos’ hero was the strongest of them all. He was a small, soft-spoken man.

And if that man though Genos belonged in his happy ending, well…

…maybe he could have one, after all.

#it's got a happy ending okay #one punch man #one punch #opm #genos #saitama #genosai #saigenos #precious robot baby #egg on legs #gore #ptsd #guilt #trauma #fan fic #fan fiction #opm fan fic #opm fan fiction #angst

[anneedmonds]

Bandit Crab

After twelve weeks of complete isolation I decided to go to the post office to do some urgent returns. (I actually had to send back some clothes I had ordered and never unboxed. Because who needs clothes in a lockdown? Not I, apparently. Apart from a few special occasions, I’ve almost worn the same two outfits on rotation; the first a dress that looks like a sack, the second a pair of shorts that have taken on the actual shape of my arse, so that when I remove them they stand up proud upon the rug, and an old t-shirt that has holes in the armpits. For chillier moments, both outfits have been worn beneath the world’s ugliest cardigan.)

So I went to the post office, which is buried deep within a village shop so tiny, and so crammed full with shelves and carousels and whatnot, that it’s almost impossible to walk through it without touching anything. Which doesn’t bode well for social distancing compliance. And I have to admit I was concerned about my visit, having heard tales of people completely ignoring all distancing guidelines now that we’re allowed to fire up the BBQ and – er – play golf; what would I be confronted with? In my mind, the world had gone rogue whilst I was locked inside – it would be a Mad Max scenario, with modified sand buggies revving around the country lanes, rams’ horns stuck to the bumpers and post-apocalyptic flesh-eating zombies hanging out of the open windows.

It was fine though. At the start, at least. There was a “queueing system” outside of the shop door, so I casually merged myself into it, trying desperately to look like someone who had been outside of their house before. For some reason my legs didn’t quite work properly – they felt like cotton reels threaded onto pieces of elastic, which I think was nerves, but nevertheless made me look like a newly-born Pinocchio.

Unfortunately, abiding by the two metres rule meant that I had to position myself almost in the middle of the road, for there was no place to stand to the left or right of the queue that was prominent or obvious enough to signal my presence to queue newcomers. Queuecomers. And that’s important, isn’t it? In a country where we are borderline obsessed with queue etiquette, it’s essential that everybody – everybody – knows that you are, in fact, in said queue. This is usually conveyed with a nod and a smile and a small, pointless, forwards or backwards movement, just a very slight one, to draw attention to your presence.

In this case, there was nobody in line after me – yet! – but still, I had to stand my ground. There’s an art to queuing, after all, and one of the finest skills is ensuring that everyone who joins the queue after you knows exactly where you rank. But here was my first testing quandary/moral dilemma: to stand in the road, or risk weakening my queue presence by tucking myself into the nook-in-the-wall where the drainpipe runs down? To lose queue-face, or to be flattened by a DPD van?

The choice is yours!

In the end I opted for a bit of a compromise, darting in and out of the road like a demented badger. It was confusing for the drivers. I had more than one beep. A few motorists tried to wave me across, which meant I had to do the universal sign language for “NO! I’M NOT CROSSING!”

One mimed exchange was so painful that I just gave in and crossed the road, only to almost be hit by a fast-moving bike when I did an about to turn and crossed back again, such was my haste not to lose my earned place in the queue.

I lived to tell the tale, thankfully: it was inside the shop that everything went to pieces. I just didn’t have any experience in this social distancing thing – quite literally no experience at all. I hadn’t built up any etiquette, I hadn’t seen social distancing techniques in action: it was all entirely foreign to me. A new language. And so I entered the shop almost apologetically, creeping in an exaggerated, comedy burglar knee-lift knee-lift toe-point hop! kind of way. Bear in mind I was wearing a silk kerchief as a face mask and eyeshadow on only one eye and that I hadn’t properly arranged my nipples beneath my top so that one was about four inches higher than the other: I was quite the picture.

(Does anyone else now have to arrange their nipples to ensure levelness? It’s a right faff! If I just juggle them into position, you can guarantee that one nip will be far higher than the other, looking like a peanut has been stowed away for safe keeping. Gone are the days when they both just fell into place, like delicately-balanced teardrops.)

So in I went, my tote containing the parcels slung over my back like a swag bag, trying to greet the shopkeeper and post office man with just the joy in my eyes. Difficult to do. And then I got to the counter and it was as though a giant stopper had been removed from my brain, because the talking started. It started and I just couldn’t stop.

“I have some parcel returns! How are you? This is weird isn’t it? What happens to the protective screen once you don’t need it anymore, it would make great secondary glazing hahaha! So how many people a day come in do you think, I just need proof of postage for that one, thankfully they pay for the returns otherwise I’d be bankrupt because I pretty much do all my shopping online now, I expect most people do, which is good in some ways but not great in others. Alexa Chung was in here the other day wasn’t she? Did you serve her or do you know who she is, what is she doing here, everyone says you’re the man to ask because you know all the gossip!”

Honestly. The phrase verbal diarrhoea doesn’t even cover it. It was dysentery. Thank God for the protective screens, that’s all I can say. Even with the perspex barrier in place the shop volunteers (yes, they volunteer to serve morons like me, the mind boggles) were ducking beneath the counter, such was the ferocity of my stream of absolute crap.

…

“Please pop the parcel on the scales,” said the post office volunteer, which put an end to my impromptu monologue. There was a moment of awkward silence as he printed out the labels and busied himself with sticking them to the jiffy bag but then, scandal, a second customer entered the shop! Ignoring the queueing system and the one-in-one-out rule! They just marched straight up to the counter beside me and plonked down a loaf of bread.

How could I have been prepared for such a flouting of the guidelines? I’d prepared myself so well. Tied a silken scarf around my face like a luxury goods version of Butch Cassidy, queued outside on the road, to my absolute peril, and now – just as casual as you like – I was faced with a potential super-spreader. What’s the protocol for that then?

My parcel-returning finished, I was presented with the challenge of exiting the shop without going closer to the perpetrator than the prescribed two metres. Seeing as though the entire shop is around four metres square, I saw that it was impossible. It was like one of those Mensa puzzles they give to particularly bright children at primary school (just me? Oh lol! Sorry!) where you have to move the pieces about to get the square to the exit. Or something.

Anyway, the woman with the bread wasn’t bothered about distancing herself whatsoever and had started a conversation about deer hounds, so I was forced to plan my escape around her. But then the worst thing of all happened: she decided to use the post office counter! WHERE I WAS ALREADY STANDING!

“Excuse me,” she smiled. “If you’ve finished, I’ll just slide on over.”

Well this was a conundrum. The sliding over part sounded vaguely terrifying, but the bigger problem was where to put my body. I couldn’t very well disappear myself and there was no clear path past the super-sliding spreader – even without social distancing the passing of the two ships would have been tight.

She began her slide. What to do? Crash backwards through the bank of freshly baked goods? Send the Bakewells scattering, the sausage rolls tumbling from their pastry pyramid? Or should I Klinsmann-dive sideways over the tower of eggs and the boxes of potatoes? Neither option was favourable – it was the sort of evasive action you’d take if you were about to be steamrollered by an out of control lorry. Overkill, it could be labelled.

I settled, instead, for panic. I manically sidestepped one way and then the other, waving my hands in the air, looking for all the world like a crab on amphetamines. A bandit crab, complete with face mask, absolutely off its shellfishy tits, dancing to a song only it could hear.

The slider-spreader pressed herself closer to the counter, possibly out of sheer terror and I managed to side-crab my way past the baked goods and out towards the door. Another customer was about to enter, again flagrant disregard for the rules, but backed out with a look of surprise and horror as they saw the human bandit-crab side-lunging towards the exit. One eyeshadow’d, wonky-nipped, neckerchief slipping to reveal a mean, anxious mouth: small children wept, a border terrier whimpered, a man parking his bicycle stealthily hooked his leg back over the saddle and pedalled away to safety.

Haven’t been in to the shops again, obviously. You? How’s your lockdown going?

Photo by Felipe Portella on Unsplash

The post Bandit Crab appeared first on A Model Recommends.

©2020 " Bandit Crab published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[7deadlycinderellas]

Deals with dragons, ch13

AO3 Link

The flight back to the summer palace is strange.

Being so close, Emma can see for sure the resemblance between the two. The tapestry had not been wrong- Maleficent was huge, and frightening. Their color schemes were the same, both with the same long neck and pointed ears. Lily is tiny flying next to her.

They fly for the most part in silence. When she’d approached Maleficent at the winter palace, Lily had been curt, clipped in tone. To an outsider, it might have seemed uninterested. Emma recognizes it as a way for Lily to keep her distance.

It turned out all she had to say was “I think I know where what you’re looking for is” to get her attention.

When they reach the edge of the village, Emma slips up Lily’s neck carefully, and whispers in her ear, before sliding back down and off onto the ground. The two dragons transform back into their human forms.

A solid stare.

“A fairy disillusionment. Clever girl. I hope whatever you traded for it wasn’t too valuable”.

Direct interaction with her would break it, Merryweather had warned. Emma is careful not to risk it as she turns to leave the castle and head for the village.  

And just like that, Lily is alone with her mother.

Emma’s suggestion had been, to stall her, to tell Maleficent that the spell would likely be hidden somewhere in the summer palace.

So she does.

“The princess didn’t give you anymore information than that?”

“Well she barely knew what I was talking about. Her family wasn’t exactly close to the previous guard.”

“Good enough I supposed,” Maleficent reasons, pulling open the first wardrobe in one of the front rooms. She’s a speedy searcher, and with Lily trailing alongside her, she hopes so hard that Emma’s a fast runner.

Emma, is in fact, running as fast as her legs will carry her. The village is an easy walk, but she wants to waste no time at all.

The path looks sad now, covered in vines. The artistic stonework is no longer visible. The farmer’s houses along the way hardly recognizable.

The village itself too, nearly makes her sob. The stage in the center courtyard, where Pinocchio and his traveling show had performed nearly every year, had collapsed under the weight of the vines.

Emma passes the courtyard and the tannery and the church before making her way to the blacksmith’s shop. He’d fallen asleep near his forge.

Thankfully, his collection of chains and shackles is extensive. He wasn’t known as one of the greatest ironworkers in the land for nothing.

Emma selects the heaviest ones she can carry. She remembers the effect that the simple one had had on Titania’s subjects. She can’t continue on the path as fast as she could before, dragging them behind her, but she’s soldiered on. It occurs to her for the first time since this whole thing has started, that most of her clothes are unlikely to fit her anymore. Her and Lily have been walking so much and eating so little, and the clothing the fairies had given them were magic...she suddenly foresees a million more dress fittings in her future.

Huffing and puffing, she finally gets back to the palace. The weight begins to get to her, she pants and sweats her way across the grass outside. She prays that Lily and Maleficent aren’t too close to being done, that she still has time.

They have, in fact, sacked most of the first floor.

“What even is this spell that you want so bad?”

“I should ask you daughter, how you were so sure that that’s what I was searching for.”

The lie they’d come up with spills from Lily’s lips with almost disturbing ease.

“I told the princess that you were a collector of magic. She’d heard tell of the spell her grandmother had prepared, and said she would tell me where it might be if I got her outside the spread of your curse”.

“Saving her own skin. Sounds about like a royal to me.”

Lily forces herself to swallow the bile rising in her throat at the slight.

“You didn’t answer me”.

Maleficent sighs.

“This world doesn’t deserve us Lily. All the time spent traveling it and learning its ways, and it still has no place for us. It’s time we found another one, take the time to start over.”

Lily’s skin prickles. First with a sort of tenderness, that despite all of her lambasting her throughout childhood that Maleficent genuinely wanted to start over with her. Then with indignation. No place for them. Had she ever even truly tried to fit in anywhere?

“And what would you do for the world where we ended up?”

Maleficent shrugs carelessly as she throws open another cabinet.

“The imp had said it would lead to a world no magic. Sounds like one which would be easy to mesmerize, ones that might pay proper respect to someone who had fought so hard to gain magical talent.”

Lily bristles again.

“So this is really all just another attempt for you to rule over people.”

“I’ve spent my whole life grasping and fighting for any bit of knowledge. Anything I could learn I did. And everywhere I went, people told me to stop. Told me that what I was doing was against the rules or just not done. But I still persevered, I pushed past every challenge, everyone who tried to stand in my way, who told me I couldn’t do something. Do I not have a right to the power I earned?”

After a long pause, Lily asks.

“The day you kicked me out, you knew you were going to do this? I could have gotten cursed myself! You didn’t know where I was going to go after I left”

“Oh Lily, this plan has been a long time coming. Grudges are not to be forgotten, but to be honed. Besides, if I had ever truly needed to check up on you, I had my ways. I hoped I had taught you well enough that you might have avoided being affected, but it was a risk I had to take”.

And just like that, everything fits together in Lily’s mind. Her mother had raised her, cared for her, loved her even, but ultimately she still saw her as an extension of herself. Suddenly, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Lily had spent so much of her childhood seeking her mother’s approval. And in this moment, she begins to feel like she’s beyond needing it. She’s a different woman than the Lily who left the Forbidden Fortress more than a year ago.

“Follow me,” she says a bit stiffly, “The princess said they had a bunch of stuff in the dungeons. It could definitely be down there. ”

The princess as it was, had stashed the iron chains and was running throughout her childhood home as fast as her feet could carry her, trying her best to identify anything which could possibly be the seed of the spell.

Every single room, nothing nothing at all. Vines have broken through some of the walls, dust and debris gathering on the floors, it having been so many months since they’d seen the push of the servant’s brooms and mops.

Her own room seems foreign to Emma. She rushes past it, there’s no signs of any sort of magical presence to her there. It’s the same everywhere else- the parlors, the grand dining room, the foyer. Everything is solidly, ordinarily, still. Even in the storerooms, the servant’s quarters, areas of the castle that Emma has rarely set foot.

She ascends the last staircase two at a time. Fleeting memories enter her mind of being scolded for doing so, and feeling ashamed when she followed these scoldings by falling.

Dad is in his study, looking over treaties and papers. Several advisors are with him, no doubt seeking some diplomatic way out of the predicament even as Maleficent’s curse swept the grounds.

Mom was in the nursery just off her and Dad’s bedchamber. She sits in slumber by the cribside of her one child who was still at home.

Tears prickle at Emma’s eyes as she hears Lily and Maleficent tearing through the floors below. She’s searched the castle top to bottom and still has no idea where the spell is being grown from. She stares at the baby in the tiny wooden crib. She’d resented him a bit, for taking her parents time and attention. She’d then been grateful, feeling like she failed as ruler, they’d always have him to fall back on. He was sleeping as peacefully as he had been when she’d last left the castle.

Fashioning a carrier out of a bag she finds in a drawer, Emma picks up her brother and carries him on her chest.

“Mom or Dad would probably make for a better story down the line, kid, but you’re way more portable.”

She then creeps down stairs, to gather the chains she’d brought.

When she gets to the bottom floor, Lily is leading Maleficent down into one of the cellar dungeons.

Yes, Emma squeals quietly to herself. This is the one with the cell where they had kept Rumpelstiltskin. She had told Lily that before, that it was the best place, only one way in and out, the tunnel ended in the woods. She remembered.

The door at the bottom of the narrow stairs was locked, so when the group pauses, Maleficent transforms and forces it open with her claws.

Emma is hanging at the doorway, trying to plan. The two largest shackles should work well, but she has to be careful to get close enough without being noticed. Lily and Maleficent are standing, near stark still, in front of the wooden bars.

“This must be where they kept the imp who pushed and traded and manipulated everyone to make the curse. “

“He must be famous if even you’ve heard of him”.

“The Dark One is an enigma. He has had his hands all over the land, but so little is known truly of him”.

Emma catches Lily’s eye, and steps closer behind Maleficent, and silently as she ever has. One shackle is held open in one hand, ready to be snapped shut, but the other dangles.

“Wasn’t there a story?” Lily asks, gaze, leading away from where Emma is. “That a fairy once offered him a chance, to escape with his son, somewhere, but he refused it and his son disappeared?”

Emma is briefly frozen. That story had been told by Flora to them before they left the cottage in the woods, as an example of the type of magic that they had dealt with.

Maleficent seems to be listening, so hard in fact that there’s no sign at all that she feels the first shackle wrap around her ankle.

“I must say I admire a man who could take matters into his own hands.”

With more care and precision than she’s ever given to anything before, Emma snaps the second shackle, and then throws the remaining of the chain over Maleficent’s shoulder.

The change is instantaneous. The noise that comes out of Maleficent’s throat is guttural, inhuman. She falls to the ground.

Lily steps forward and locks the other end of the chains around her hands.

“What have you done to me,” Maleficent’s voice is raspy.

“The tunnel here leads out into the woods?” Lily asks, not even glancing at her mother.

Emma nods.

“Help me get her out?”

Emma walks in front, leading the loose end of the chain, while Lily half drags, half cajoles the fallen, incomprehensible Maleficent.

They reach the mouth of the tunnel in just a few minutes. The trees are fairly thin, and the gray sky a welcome brightness. Maleficent has mostly quit moving, and the look on her face is next to impossible to read.

“No luck finding the seed?” Lily asks.

Emma nods again.

The two stare at each other for a moment.

“What are you going to do with her now?” Emma asks. Her stomach is turning over again and again. This is real now, this is all going to end.

Lily sighs.

“I’m going to take her back to Titania. She’s not the most stable sort, but it will give the opportunity to figure things out. I doubt she can kill her, but at least she shouldn’t be able to do anymore damage.“

“Are you- are you okay now?”

Lily smiles, genuinely.

“All it took was kidnapping a princess, being blessed by a fairy, and a year’s worth of adventure and falling in love for me to come to the terms with the fact that I don’t need my mother’s approval to be who I am.”

The two lean in and kiss so desperately that if either of them had a touch of magic upon their heads it would be barely a memory.

“Wait” Emma says, as they pull apart. “Don’t leave, wait until I try and break the curse. I want the whole kingdom to see- I want everyone to know what you did.”

Lily waits.

Emma leans down and plunks a soft kiss on her younger brother’s forehead.

And just like that, a wave of light flows throughout the land.

The gray sky turns to summer blue. The vines rescind and vanish, the dust and dirt and debris that have gathered upon the land is miraculously gone. The sound returns, the birds and animals and the distant hum of people waking up.

“Won’t make for as good a story,” Emma comments, out of breath.

“It won’t be written by us anyway.” Lily returns.

Emma and Lily stand, staring for another moment.

“You’ll come back right? After you deal with her?”

The words “I promise” come out of Lily’s throat, deep and husky. Turning and leaving Emma is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.

She transforms on the forest floor. She lifts Maleficent into her claws and spreads her wings.

“Sorry Mom,” she says, “You’ve done a lot for me, but I couldn’t let you hurt people anymore, not for me or anything else.”

She takes off into the sky.

Emma stands and stares until long after she has disappeared. She stays until she feels her brother stir in his carrier. She bounces him softly.

“It’s been a long time kid. Hope you had a good nap. I had a great adventure. I’ll tell you all about it”.

The turns and starts on the path to face the music.

#once upon a time #swan flower #lily swan #emma x lily #runaway swan #fic

[thecrapshoot]

PINOCCHIO IN FLORENCE

While I was in Florence taking a course on something called content language integrated learning (a course designed to offer strategies for conversational English teachers), I found a bookstore where I saw a copy of the book The Adventures of Pinocchio, by Carlo Collodi.  Carlo Collodi is the pen name, or pseudonym, for Carlo Lorenzini.  He was born in Florence, but was raised in the nearby town of Collodi, hence the pen name.  Collodi is a town in Tuscany where his mother is from.  This was my second time in Florence because I had been there a year and a half earlier at the same school taking a different course from the same instructor.  I decided to go back and further strengthen my C.V. (curriculum vitae or resumé) with a follow up course about these teaching methodologies that are so popular throughout Europe.  I felt like it would do me some good because after taking her class the first time, I wound up with a job teaching English online.  I wound up with a second job online after traveling to Florence this second time.  I am starting to see a pattern with Florence.

For this most recent visit to Florence, I planned a whole three-month trip around this “CLIL” course.  I visited five different countries; two of which I had never been to before: Spain, France, Italy, Croatia, and Germany, with Spain and Germany the countries I had never seen before.  I knew the dates of the course in Florence and meticulously crafted an itinerary around them, taking care to arrange all my lodging and transportation with this class being the real reason for my trip.  It was kind of an excuse to travel, too, but hey…  

When I got home from this most recent visit to Florence, I was looking through my pictures as I had recently decided upon making a travel blog that documents some of my experiences and things I have learned from them or found odd during them.  I found this picture of myself that I took while I was sitting in the Tronchetto People Mover in Venice.  The People Mover ferries you from the main bus station over to the real Venice that you see in the travel brochures.  As you can see, it is rather odd as I was fooling around with the picture options and effects and came up with this:

Being in Florence just a few weeks before finding this picture again, it reminded me of the The Adventures of Pinocchio book that I found as I decided to find a book to read in Italian in order to improve my command of the language while I was in Florence this second time.  Traveling and teaching English gives me the chance of immersion in these different countries.  With immersion among the people and culture, I feel like it is an excellent opportunity to practice and become more familiar with the languages I study.  And with immersion in the culture comes a closer observance and accessibility to the literature.  I had decided to get the book because I kind of knew the story of Pinocchio, so if there were vocabulary words that I did not know, I would have more of a chance to figure them out given the context clues and my general previous exposure to the story.  Everyone knows the story of Pinocchio.  

I absolutely love the Italian language and the more I expose myself to it, the more and more I become familiar with it and the happier I become.  The bookstore was in very close proximity to this language school 

at which I was earning my second certificate for teaching English as a foreign language.  Since my first visit to Florence, my fortunes had been improving.  I had been traveling over a big part of Europe and since my last visit here, I had been through a lot of ups and downs.  Slowly but surely I had been growing more and more optimistic about being legally and financially able to make a life and name for myself in Europe as an English teacher.  It had seemed a hopeless and next to impossible thing getting a visa for an extended stay in Italy without being a student, a wealthy retiree, or the fiancé or husband of an Italian woman.  Since with the right credentials and networking, teaching English can be a fairly lucrative endeavor, and it was something I could build a flexible schedule with, it was the perfect thing to do as I also have aspirations to go to graduate school.  Teaching English is an ideal way to earn money, stay close to the linguistics field, and have time to study and learn different languages.

So, as I looked in the window and saw the book about Pinocchio, I thought that I should go in and get it.  The book only cost me four euros and when I asked the old Italian man who was working in the store if the book was really four euros, he looked at me and told me yes slightly cynically, as if to imply that I should know that already from having looked at the price beside the book.   It was like he was asking me why I was in awe because it is only a book.  I was so into the moment about finding this classic piece of literature in the author’s birth city, I was kind of in awe.  I laughed a little to myself at his manner of slightly snide reply and I bought the book and left.  I was so happy that I found this little treasure for such a nominal amount.

The picture of me at the beginning looks a little like Pinocchio and I thought that I remembered this picture once I started reading the Italian text. Thumbing through my travel photos on my tablet with my two thumbs, I found it again and decided to write about my time in Florence.  The real (cartoon version) Pinocchio looks like this:

Don't we look a little similar?  Don't both of our eyes seem to be bulging out, big and wide with wonder and anticipation?  I feel so close to being able to make a life among the many languages I love to read and speak in Europe.  Around the time of that picture, I was just experiencing how difficult the Italian bureaucracy makes it for Americans who want to teach English.  There was a point in time where I felt like I was crying out like Pinocchio for an opportunity or a contact that would help me along the way.  All I wanted was to get my foot in the door and have the chance to start teaching English and enjoying the Italian culture.

More often than not, the process has seemed hopelessly just out of reach as I have trudged around Italy seeking a school that would give me a work contract. The thing about Italy is that paying the taxes on English teachers from the United States is not actually financially worth it to them, especially when there are so many English teachers in the U.K., which had been in the European Union until recently deciding to leave the agreement.  An American finding work in Italy or France was something that people were telling me was next to impossible.  Now there is a little wave of optimism now that England has voted out of the European Union.  It will take some time but it seems like there may be more opportunities on the horizon for Americans who want to teach in Italy, even though I have felt like an ass for trying sometimes.

This book about Pinocchio, a wooden puppet or burattino in Italian, kind of gives me hope about this primarily pessimistic situation.  The book first appeared on shelves for public reading in 1883.  Those familiar with the story can see the theme of opportunity in the story as Pinocchio wants to be a human boy, and experience life and learning.  Traveling around Italy looking for a job as an English teacher made me identify with Pinocchio’s character.  It makes me think about how difficult the process has been up to this point.  I have been able to sustain consistent income since becoming an English teacher, but only online and not in a traditional classroom.  I actually did get hired by a school in Treviso, Italy but still have not been assigned any teaching duties as of yet.  I doubt that will ever happen with that particular job.  I think I have gotten lost in the administrative shuffle.

Twenty years before The Adventures of Pinocchio hit the shelves in 1863, Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation and made all slaves in the southern rebellious states free.  I figure the story of Pinocchio, wanting to be a real boy and experience what is was like to be human, to be a spin-off of the story behind the Emancipation Proclamation and the hope that Lincoln incubated by freeing slaves in the rebellious southern states, declaring that slaves were no longer the property of slave owners.  

Even though I was in Florence, I did not think that this was an impossible comparison to make. Florence was a city known for its guilds and powerful working class families.  Back then, guilds were the city’s integrity.  I learned this on a sort of backstreets tour of Florence by one of the teachers at Europass, away from the main monuments and all of the obvious brochure/textbook places that all of the tourists see.  Guilds had power and were master craftsmen and experts, putting a completely positive light on the work they did and the nature of their commerce.  Everyone knows the impact that slave labor had on the American economy.  It was free labor, but the nature of the labor was not based around the idea or structure of guilds; it was based on inferiority.

As an African-American trying to find opportunities in Italy, I often feel dwarfed by that sense of giant pessimism cast by the Italian bureaucracy.  I can't help but imagine the zeal that baited the African-American psyche by that singular endorsement by the nation's leader over in the United States with that order that finally started to lift some of the burden that slaves had been assuming up to that point.  I call it bait because it would take so many years for Black Americans to experience the benefits of actual citizenship.  I would have been like, “What are we supposed to be, glad? Uh...glad?” 

White Americans were the perfectly imperfect children of God surely to be redeemed by Christ, while that side of being pitifully almost human and subservient was something African-Americans knew too well. The Emancipation Proclamation was a small step, but it was a step in the right direction, like manipulating the limbs of a burattino Pinocchio.  Ideally through the granting of human status, one would surmise that the ultimate goal would be for the bruised collective black embryo to start to grow and develop into that then, modern man whose imperfect ways were human, too.  But, it would take a century before the African-American collective would even begin to be considered citizens in the same vein as European-Americans.

Before becoming a children’s author, Carlo Lorenzini founded several political newspapers in Florence and was also involved in the theater and censorship. This loans more validity to my hypothesis.  I can't help but notice this metaphor in the story of Pinocchio when I think about American history and being an American who has spent time in Italy.  “Collodi” was a Florentine and I see this connection with the intellectual community in Italy reacting to the Emancipation that maybe culminated in Collodi writing this book about the antics and tribulations of a puppet, that was a symbol of a slave, that wanted to be a boy who would eventually become a man.  This new man would lead an adult life inspired by some estimable anticipation of what the joys of being human must have been.  Thomas Jefferson had well-known ties with Italy before Lincoln’s presidency, so I don’t think it too far-fetched a hypothesis to think that The Adventures of Pinocchio may have something to do with legally and officially freeing the slaves in the United States.

This is just a thought, but there is a pleasant metaphor of redemption about the melancholic and mourning side of a trapped human spirit inside a medium of wood that is crying and crying to be raised, cared for, and let out in order to experience a decent life.  This spirit has a nose for the good life, but is still ultimately compromised and seems intent on defending its place in the world among sin, among virtue, with the repeated antics of the puppet symbolizing the trial and error inherent with this newfound increase from what I see as slave master America, an increase that only some generations would see.

It seems that Collodi was teaching this metaphor to a historically stubborn readership because it was among his final works because he died in 1890, just seven years after its publication.  It makes me think of African-American teaching psychology and how much African-Americans have had to accomplish in order to be believed and deemed credible instructors.  The one thing about Pinocchio’s brand of burattino was that with every lie he told, his nose would grow into an obvious sign of him having just lied about something.  As an African-American on this journey I am on, as I am often in Europe these days, I feel an impetus that tells me that I can maintain a relevance in the teaching field, as long as I strive to be genuine with my circumstances and thankful for the opportunities that I have been afforded.  With every new credential I get, no matter how minor or what corner of the world it may come from, I feel my credibility as a teacher being buttressed, and my appreciation of it comes from moments of revelation to myself like my picture in the Tronchetto People Mover and my finding of this book in a little Florentine bookstore.  

The burattino is hung, or dangled, and manipulated in the theater performances that feature it.  It could be considered a mild simulation of being hung, or lynched, a fate experienced by many African-Americans throughout America’s history. There is a longstanding metaphor that African-Americans are played against each other like puppets and you can see it by the number of us in prisons and the number of us who live in less-than-desirable conditions as a part of America’s urban demographic.  How do survivors of the legacy of lynching begin to describe that transition from noose to afterlife that this story just may also represent?  Who would even dare to look at the story that way?  One of my Italian teachers from Sardegna even told me that Italians have a history of being lynched, something I knew nothing about.

The African-American intellectual voice is rooted in years of servitude and fear. After much tribulation, that servitude evolved to vocation and skilled labor, paired with a new and evolving awareness of what that kind of skilled labor and master craftsmanship could mean.  Everybody likes nice things.  The sophisticated side of skilled labor has to be present in the scholarship, voice, and pride that you hear in the names attached to works and accomplishments now being worthy of standard documentation as opposed to works where our contributions, competence, and genius were once upon a time routinely hidden.  No one wants to be associated with work of low quality, and people want to be praised when they do something special.  The guilds in Florence were synonymous with quality work and pride in craft, unlike the associations with crudity and being half-witted that slaves in America experienced.

Psychologically, I often feel tentative when engaging intellectually with others, but I don’t think it is always rooted in fear or lack of self-confidence on my part.   I always feel like there is so much more at stake with every accomplishment I try to make, and with every positive step forward I take.  I think it’s because that a lot of what happens, and what has happened, academically in America is based on fear or an inability to respond and it is based on a historic inability to defend oneself because of lynch mob psychology and racist bombardment.  If I may offer the metaphor of the puppet show and an audience at a puppet show, being a lynch mob in the American South surrounding a new victim guilty or not guilty of God only knows what.  That theory of three-dimensional effigy in a puppet show speaks volumes about that period in American history and it is a bit unsettling.  

Trying to assemble a portfolio to the Italian bureaucracy in regards to potentially coming and living in their country is an unsettling task, as well.  Not to compare being lynched to the labyrinth of the Italian bureaucracy, but the process does seem a little too hopeless and a little too arrogant to take part in, but nonetheless I will continue until a door opens.  I have been shot down several times from people at embassies telling me what a privilege it is to live and work in Italy, without ever really answering my questions posed in the emails. Ironically, the kinder, gentler side of the spirit of community is present in the story about Pinocchio around the protagonist struggle of the single father, Geppetto and the spirit of community that loves to see the value in a soul and what it can communicate.  Some Italians are very protective of their culture and would rather not see anyone intruding on it.

Pinocchio’s story was written in that now familiar backdrop of European great expectation, and the not-so-comfortable African-American backdrop of a dream deferred is something one could easily miss as a part of this humanity Carlo Collodi was describing. 

 Charles Dickens was a contemporary of Carlo Collodi, but it would take another century before Langston Hughes even put to page that concept of a dream deferred.  

The older generation always has some idea, however remote, of what may or may not bridle the next. Things that may shock me may come as no surprise to people older than me from the previous generation.  It is always what that older generation has experienced that becomes the norm.  I think that stereotypes have resulted in a disproportionate number of African-Americans in the global teaching game.  Every little step I can make forward means a lot to me.

[thotyssey]

On Point With: Elizabeth James

Sporting a diversity of glam looks and a stage presence that’s both weirdly funny and seriously smart, this queen has been turning the party in both Brooklyn and Manhattan for a few years now. And with her “always look ahead” attitude, she’ll be evolving and conquering our venues for years to come. Let’s get into Elizabeth James!

Thotyssey: Hello, Miz Liz! How’s the week been so far?

Elizabeth James: Good morning love, my week has been great. Oh, the promise of spring! This has been a pretty mild winter so far, only that one blizzard that turned out to be kinda meh. Did that one ruin any of your gigs that night, or plans? No, I was actually off that night so had a great dinner and watched old movies. Perfect! As a way-booked queen, do you get to have a reasonable amount of downtime, or is your life like 93% drag-related? I work a lot, whether it's on stage or not. Liz is somewhat all-consuming. But my days off are usually Monday and Tuesday, and I really make it a point to disconnect and put my focus on things outside of my career. That keeps me fresh, but it took a while to earn those days off.

I bet! You certainly put a lot into Liz. How long have you been doing drag now?

It's been four years now, New Year's Eve is my drag anniversary. That's interesting! What made you want to try drag on NYE? I lived in Nashville, TN at the time, and a guy we knew asked my friend Kaleb and I if we would host his party in drag. When my first song ended, I remember running back stage and telling my friends “Something special just happened.” I was hooked. I heard that you named yourself “Elizabeth James” after a certain photograph.

Yes. One of Elizabeth Taylor taking a nap in James Dean’s lap. But that was long before drag; I thought I would name a puppy that, or maybe an adopted daughter. Never thought I would do drag. Truly.

I love that her face is on the gossip mag he is reading:

That is adorable! Human, but still glamorous.

'Human but still glamorous' I think that maybe the perfect description of Me. Absolutely! Mostly glamorous, though. 

You've spoken about how you had to cut ties with your mom and stepdad at a young age because they didn't accept your sexuality. Do you think they'll ever be able to get over that hump? No, I don't. But I also don't think I'm missing out on anything by not having a relationship with them. Things happen in your life that may seem wrong at the time, but end up being such a blessing. If they hadn't done that, I would still be living in Kentucky trying to make them love me. And now you're in NY and everybody here loves you... it's their loss! Having a Trump in the White House validates people who have intolerance towards “alternate” lifestyles, of course. Everything is validation to the ignorant, because they don't understand the true meaning of their choices. And very little chance getting through to them. Gilda Wabbit is also from Kentucky, is it possible that there are more Kentucky-born drag queens in New York than there are in KY? So funny to think about how I thought of it then. Drag, like being an artist or dancer or something, isn't a thing you realize is a possibility. I imagine there are just as many drag queens in every location of the world; they just don't see the possibility.

I'm sure that's true. So what brought you to NY specifically: did you want the lifestyle, or were you maybe looking for a career in performing in some capacity?

I was offered a job as Liz, and things literally just fell into place, so I did it. Best decision I have ever made! Where was that? Sugarland, of course! I worked with a blogger at the time in Nashville name “Holly Hollywood,” and her publisher sent us around to interview different people in nightlife across the northeast. New York, and more specially Sugarland, was our last stop. I was offered a job on the spot and a free couch. I arrived in Chinatown October 15th at 11am with a suitcase and $35. It was [originally] $75, but I paid my phone bill and got a bag of Cheetos at a gas station on the way up.

The first time I ever saw you perform was at the old Boots & Saddle on Christopher Street. You did lots of guest spots at first, and eventually hosted your own weekly show there.

Boots was a hell hole, but It did teach me how to carry a show. Sink or swim, you are there for two hours. After sinking a few times, you make it a point to swim.

I will also say that [”head” Boots queen at the time] Victoria Chase was always so good to me, and taught me so much about the business. And I miss her directness. 

I always liked your sense of humor as a performer, kind of warm and kooky, but smart. Untitled Queen compared you to Goldie Hawn. Is that your natural state, or does that have to be turned on when you're on stage? 

I'm fully myself. I love performing, and I love making jokes. And the only way for me to be good at either one is to be me. The thing that Liz does for me is give me the freedom to put my mind in the shoes of different people. And of course, my life is what I talk about on stage and in my comedy. My look informs my performances, and my performances are informed by my life.  You certainly do not have a specific look; I've seen you go very high glam and very downtown chic, and everything in between and beyond. People tell me all the time I should be one look. But the people who enjoy what I do enjoy change and diversity. I love to push things and try new ideas. It doesn't always work at first, but I always find it. 

Do you have style icons?

It's tough to give a name. But I think my style is more so influenced by inspiring personalities. One well-written line of dialogue or lyric can give me weeks of visuals to play off. Interesting! You hosted a Rocky Horror screening back in October.

Yes, for Pace University.

That movie must've been an influence style-wise, right? Even that... I was sort of a hybrid of different personalities from that. I'm not an impersonator, I don't have that level of self control. I will never directly copy. There is no point to it. I bet you could do a mean Cher, though. Oh, I love her! Do you know, in 5th grade when “Believe” came out, my teachers would pull me out of class into the empty halls of my small town Kentucky elementary school to do my Cher impersonation!? They loved it! I laugh about that all the time. Drag was my destiny!

I can see that! So, I imagine you must miss Sugarland and another now-closed Brooklyn venue where you performed, TNT, quite a lot. No, I really don't miss them. I had a blast there, and those times in my life were important, but I don't hold on to things in that way. No point, just slows you down. I love my shows much more now. I had worked at those places from the time I arrived in New York, so I was a different person, and it was time to move forward. Things don't close because they are doing well. And nostalgia is boring.

I know what you mean about nostalgia. It's especially boring, I think, when people just try to recreate something that was successful in its time. I'm thinking right now of all these live action remakes of classic Disney animated films, which I don't see the appeal of at all. 

But you wouldn't, because you have your set of memories about those works. So the “new” isn't necessarily for you, it’s to inspire the young ones who don't care about the versions we grew up loving. (This is clearly the proverbial “you” and not pointing directly at you.) But I think it's weird that a live action version would be more appealing to today's youth than animation. I figured animation would be timeless.

I think the energy of live action feels fresh to people. That’s why Reality TV is so big: it feels in the moment, when done correctly. But animation: come on, I love colors! whats your favorite classic animated film.... classic meaning anything before the glory and awe of Pixar?

As far as Disney goes, probably Pinocchio? Creepy and beautiful and sweet and devastating, all at once.  Pinocchio is amazing.... the color stories through it are really special. What's  your favorite? Peter Pan... But [as far as characters go] I liked Cinderella the most, because i felt she had a quiet sass. But the pixie dust is beautiful!

Okay, let's gab about gigs! I actually wanna start with Manhattan. You and your partner-in-crime Ruby Roo are the toast of the borough! In the West Village, your Sunday night show at the Duplex with her, "Two For The Show," just turned three years-old, and you have quite a following there. What's the best part of doing this show for you?

Duplex is such a special baby. We were so new when that show happened for us, and we have grown up with that show. So it’s now finding a solid ground of success three years later, and Ruby and I both seeing our past dreams come true is incredible. And the staff there, including Tony our manager and the venue’s owner, have let us figure it out and learn our craft through it. That doesn't happen in entertainment very often, where you either HIT or you’re out.

You two have the longest-running drag show there, and all the other queens on the roster also happen to be Lips girls. Do they ever try to recruit you into that fold?

No, I think everyone understands that’s not a good fit. But those girls work hard and are 100% professional, Ruby included. You and Ruby are now also lighting up Hardware in Hell’s Kitchen with SLAY Saturdays! I imagine that's a pretty different scene from the West Village and Brooklyn. How well do you mesh there--or do you not think about it in those terms? You have to think about it in those terms--because this is a business, and one size does not fit all. Hardware is a different thing, but from Night One we had people coming out to say how much they loved coming to Brooklyn to see us. We unknowingly already had a great following in that area. 

Plus, everyone in HK has dreams in their eyes, they sparkle when they walk in. Its fun to see. All the Broadway babes! Yea they’re glittery! But Brooklyn is my home, and nothing beats home, and all the charming people in it.

Which brinks us to BK! Your long-running Wednesday party and show at Metropolitan Bar, CAKES--starring you, DJ Horrorchata and Untitled, is fun--and there's bare butts, so it's even more fun in my book. Is it usually a chore to get guys to enter the Best Butt contest?

Not at all.... I hate audience participation in most cases, but that’s so much harmless, sexy fun. And you tell a room of cute guys and girls they can win $50 for showing what they just shared on Instagram, they are always down. It amazes me how every Wednesday is such a blast, great way to start my work week! We have also added Hannah Lou as our DJ, alongside Chatta. Oh, nice! She seemed to be DJing every party in Brooklyn now. She’s a hard worker and talented-- I like her a lot!

You also host a show called ”Air Play” at Metro’s sister bar, Macri Park, right?

It's the first and third Friday at midnight. I do two sets and I keep it low-key. It's like my living room, and I love it.

And now: RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 9! Is hosting a Drag Race viewing party, and the whole culture of the show, a necessary evil for you--or do you get into it? Its a cute time. I’ve hosted at a new place each year, just because, why not? This year i am at a place in Bushwick called The Well, and I believe it’s the best venue for a viewing in Brooklyn. The setup, the sound: it’s right. And it’s a great stage for a good follow-up show, hosted by me of course. Do straight or mixed audiences get just as in to the show as a room full of queens? That show is for everyone. I’m happy to see it on VH1; I think it’s only going to grow the audience.

So this is a dangerous question maybe, but who's team are you on, queen-wise? Aja. Nothing against anyone else, but the girl deserves every bit of good fortune given to her. She is so incredible, and has worked her ass off for everything she’s ever had. Special person, true discipline. Shes amazing!  Anything else to mention? I work 4-5 nights a week. Follow me on Instagram or add me on Facebook--I post everything! And I really am proud of all my shows. So come to the one that works best for you!

By the way, I like the video you put together awhile back to Echo Friendly’s “Same Mistakes.” It’s very stylish and bittersweet. Any more projects like that in the future for you?

I am currently working on a few projects... TBA.

And I caught an old clip of Misty Meaner joking on the mic that you hate everybody. Were you in the room when she said that? I wasn’t there, and I don’t hate everyone. I’m just not available to everyone. I would never think you hated anyone, you're always lovely! So, lastly: what’s your favorite part of drag?

Knowing people believe in you.

Yasss. And what's least favorite thing about drag in NYC, or in general? Drag in general: being hot. And in NYC, it’s taking the subway in heels. But I have to live that fantasy through, so don’t tell me to put on a flat. Like the prostitute once said, "it’s not the work, it’s the stairs."

Keep climbing, gurl, and thank you!

Elizabeth James co-hosts “CAKES” with Untitled Queen and Horrorchata at Metropolitan Bar on Wednesdays (10pm), and hosts “Air Play” at Macri Park monthly on first and third Fridays (midnight). With Ruby Roo, she co-hosts “SLAY Saturdays” at Hardware (10pm) and “Two For The Show” at the Duplex (Sundays, midnight). This season, she hosts the “RuPaul’s Drag Race” viewing party at The Well (8pm). Check here for other scheduled appearances. Follow Liz on Facebook, Instagram & YouTube.

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