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1863-project · 10 months

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One of the reasons I really don’t engage much with fandom spaces at all these days is just how much casual ableism there is in fandom spaces, a lot of which is internalized ableism. And unfortunately, when you try to explain this to people, they often don’t want to hear it or accept that the ideas they’ve latched onto are actually often pretty harmful to people in the real world.

An example, one of many: people have had theories on N being a Zoroark since Black and White first came out in 2010. That was ableist then, and it’s ableist now - the changeling myth is thought to be rooted in children turning out to be neurodivergent (especially autistic), and if you’re looking at a human character that feels neurodivergent-coded and going “What if they’re not human?” it’s...well, neurodivergent people are already dehumanized in the real world. We’re so often treated as less than human that having a character who comes across as neurodivergent suddenly being not human can feel like a slap in the face to our own humanity.

(Ironically, neurodivergent people often found representation in non-human characters before human characters with neurodivergent traits started popping up in media - this goes back at least to the half-human, half-Vulcan Spock in Star Trek, and possibly far, far further. But that’s a topic for another time.)

Every time I see a character who feels pretty damn neurodivergent, I also see a wide chunk of the fandom interpret their neurodivergent traits really negatively, and it hurts. I don’t engage with the Submas fandom anymore outside of answering people’s train questions that they bring to me because enough people in said fandom looked at Emmet, a character who is more like me than any other fictional character I’ve ever seen in my life, and decided he was scary and unhinged, creepy because of the way he talks when he isn’t close to someone, potentially violent because of his intensity. He’s none of these things, he’s just one of the most autistic characters to ever be written. But the damage was done, because when I saw people treating a character just like me like that...well, it basically told me how they saw me, too.

I graduated high school way, way back in 2007. Some of the people on this website now weren’t alive back then. I wouldn’t get my autism diagnosis for two more years, and all I knew was that I was somehow different from the kids around me, and so many of them had bullied me for this. I was treated horribly because I was intense about my interests, talked differently, walked differently, and acted differently from them. It more or less went on for my entire time in school before I got to undergrad. That shit stays with you. I had this notion that this was how everyone saw me, and that still sits in the back of my mind in my 30s. It’s actually one of the things that prevents me from trying dating, because my bullies were primarily my male peers growing up. It was so important for me to see Ingo and Emmet being themselves and being accepted as themselves, because it meant that maybe people could accept me, too. Except then PLA dropped, and a bunch of new people came rushing in...and enough of them reacted in ways similar to how my bullies did when I was younger, so I had to disengage because it hurt too much.

And the cycle continues with every new character that takes the stage. Nemona debuted in Scarlet and Violet, and once you get more of her backstory in the later game and eventually the postgame you realize she sounds like a neurodivergent person surrounded by neurotypicals. I’ve seen headcanons of autism, ADHD, and a few other neurodivergencies, all of which were definitely people relating to her experiences with their own - Geeta even introduces the “weird girl” to the “new kid” at the beginning of the game in the hopes that she’ll make a friend, a common experience for neurodivergent kids growing up. But then I started seeing people calling her a yandere, and they weren’t joking, and I knew that people who related to Nemona who saw that were going to feel hurt the way I did with people taking Emmet’s autistic traits so negatively.

Fandom spaces tend to be online bubbles, so to speak, and people don’t often realize the impact that these attitudes have in the real world. It’s important for people to have representation and see themselves in the media they interact with, because that’s extremely affirming and validating. Seeing a fictional character just like you being accepted for who they are goes a long, long way when you’re being bullied for who you are in your real life. When you see a bunch of people looking at those harmless traits of yours that people bully you for and interpret them in ways that portray you as scary, creepy, or even unhinged and dangerous...it does damage.

I think about people with psychosis. I think about how media has portrayed them throughout the ages, and how stigmatized they are as a result. I think about people with personality disorders, about people with OCD (of which I’m one myself), about autistic people and ADHD people and people with Tourette’s and other tic disorders, about plural people/systems...the list can go on, and on, and on, and this post doesn’t even touch upon physical disabilities and how ableist fandom spaces can be to them, too (cons being physically difficult to navigate are just one challenge of many they face). I think about how desperate we’ve all been to see ourselves as characters - nuanced characters that feel like real people, not caricatures. The days of the “evil, unhinged schizophrenic” need to be over. We know people with disabilities and mental illnesses are more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators; we have so many studies affirming this. And yet the rest of the world is taking a long time to catch up on this.

Sometimes, you’re 12 years old and you make an edgy OC who wears a straitjacket because they like to stab people, and then you get a little older and you realize that was pretty ableist and you grow and change as a person. That’s normal - you’re learning about the world around you and learning how to be more kind. But if someone who’s out there in the real world explains why something is ableist towards their disability or mental illness, and they provide examples, that’s not the moment you double down and act like you can do no wrong and that everything you’ve written is fine. It’s supposed to be a learning moment for you, a chance to step back and try to do better. And this especially applies to internalized ableism - like I said, so many fandom spaces are heavily neurodivergent, and the internalized ableism I’ve encountered in fandom spaces has grown substantially with the rise of social media. Sometimes the call is coming from inside the house, and we need to be mindful of how we’re portraying people like ourselves, too.

I think it’s a good idea to really try to be aware as we engage with others in fandom spaces and try not to perpetrate harmful stereotypes or portrayals, and becoming more thoughtful and nuanced about how we depict characters is a big part of that. If you’re writing something edgy just for yourself, that’s for you, and you don’t really have to think too hard about it. But if you’re sharing it in a public space, remember that anyone can encounter it, and it might do damage you’re not really thinking about. It’s important to remember that the internet is a public space, too, just like the places we go in real life, and that we should carry ourselves the way we would if we were interacting in person - we need to try to be respectful, and accept feedback and improve things when we accidentally aren’t.

As an extra reminder, here’s a great graphic from Sonny Jane Wise on Instagram that shows just how many things fit under the neurodivergent umbrella:

Please do your best to do no harm, but if you accidentally do, please listen to the people who are being harmed and want to help you do better.

#ableism #tw: ableism #fandom ableism

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just-an-enby-lemon · 1 year

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Based on @sillymanwithocs idea of Vicki Vale helping Talia clean her name from slander and bad representation and Joker clear his name from having a cause and good representation.

Penguin: Miss Vale, I have a proposal...

Vicki: Absolutly not. You are a capitalistic mob boss who once feed a guy to a penguin I'm not joining your P.A departament.

Penguin: You don't understand-

Vicki: The media is prejudiced against you somehow and you aren't actually that bad?

Penguin: No, no. I mean I would preffer if they stoped making mean coments about my apareance and focused more on my crimes but that wasn't the point.

Vicki: Oh I can do that.

Penguin: Help me look like a good guy because I paid you a lot?

Vicki: Hell no! I'm not Jack Ryder!!! But I could try to make so they stopped focusing on your looks?

Penguin: And how much would I have to pay?

Vicki: To stop assholes being capacists and fatphobics? Nothing. I'll do it hapilly!

Penguin: Thank you, Miss Vale. I do have another question...

Vicki: I have no idea where Jack lives or how much you would have to pay for him to help you with your schemes.

Penguin: Well thanks anyway. I'll look around.

[...]

Scarecrow: But-

Vicki: NO! I'm sorry but I can't even begin to think of a way to explain that even if I somehow was insane enough to want to help you there's absolutly nothing I could do to make your "research" peer reviewed!

Scarecrow: You could at least publish it.

Vicki: Why though? It's unetical, isn't reviewed and it literally starts with a creepy laugh and you screaming "fear me, mortals"!

Scarecrow: But you published the first one.

Vicki: I didn't published it. I mentioned it on the program BECAUSE it was an interesting, ethical and peer reviewed research. Is not my fault you went insane and became a maniacal chemical terrorist.

Scarecrow: I preffer improved my reshearch tecniques.

Vicki: Well when the rest of the scientific comunity agrees with you, we talk.

[...]

Jervis: Please!! Please! I could be mind controlling you but I'm actually asking isn't it enough to show I have good intentions?

Vicki: Look while I understand it must suck to be wrongfully called a pedophile if I just publish an article saying you aren't one no one will believe me. I can try to help you. But you will need to actually act less predatory.

Jervis: I'm not predatory!

Vicki: Well not intencionally...

Jervis: What you mean?

Vicki: You mind control people, mostly woman, to play tea party with you, has zero notion of personal space and calls everyone pet names.

Jervis: Okay. Gotcha. So all I need to do is be rude and kidnapp more guys, enbys and elders.

Vicki: That not ... you know what sure.

[...]

Waylon: *enters*

Vicki: Sure. I will totaly help you.

Waylon: Eh? I was going to ask if you know where Harley is... I hear you two are friends now and since it is apparently unsanitary to keep it on the sewers she has my coffe machine.

Vicki: Oh. She is on the apartenent upstairs with Pam, they're hidding from Batman.

[...]

Vicki: Pam, I love you but I can't.

Poison Ivvy: Why not?

Vicki: Because while I understand where you are coming from I can't just write a piece about how we should genocide the human race barr some people.

Poison Ivvy: But it would solve the enviromental crisis! That's not fair.

[...]

Riddler: Hello, Miss Vale.

Vicki: Look I'm really tired I have actual jornalism to do, I can't stop just so I can try to make people stop calling you "poor man Joker's".

Riddler: They are still doing that? You make a jokey riddle ONCE!! Stupid fucking people and their inability to distinguish really different concepts!

Vicki: I also can't stop them from calling you "fairy" and "weird" and "not a treat" or "not a real villain"

Riddler: That's so rude! Who the fuck is even saying that???

Vicki: Jack Ryder and his viewers.

Riddler: That moron can't even solve the riddle of the Spinx! How dare him??

Vicki: Uh okay is that about the recent mayor discourse after you went to Arkham using you as an example and calling you a manchild and insulting you outfit? Oh wait is it about that famous gotham tiktoker theorizing you are an incel?

Riddler: Now you're just being mean.

Vicki: Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out what you want me to clear in your image so we can finish this conversation quicker.

Riddler: I didn't want to improve my image!! This was supposed to be a hostage situation but you ruined it!! Apparently everyone just made a laughting stock out me...

Vicki: *ackwardly* Not everyone... Just a bunch of people on the internet... and on TV... and the mayor.

Riddler: *crying* It's been a really though month, okay? I just wanted one thing to work out. But noo is just another lost for stupid Edward. Guess I'll just go home. *to his hiding henchmen* Sorry guys no heist today.

Vicki: *even more ackwardly* You can still kidnnap me if you want to?

Riddler: *angryly* I don't need your pitty. *leaves*

Randon Henchmean: That was really mean of you! I hope you're happy.

Vicki: I didn't... what just... what is my life?

#vicki just wants to help people and have a good day of sleep but the rogues aren't helping #this was not suppose to have Riddler angst #originally it was just eddie complaining about being compared to joker and being represented as an edgy boi #but my brain had other ideas #jack ryder bashing #oswald cobblepot #penguin #scarecrow #jonathan crane #vicki used to divulge jonathan pappers and psychological discoveries before he went rougue and jon wants her to keep doing it #jonathan research pappers are insane #no one knows how he even was able to put an audio file there #jervis tetch #heavilly based on the harley quinn joke of him being an accidental creep #and on my wish that dc stops portraying him as one #waylon jones #killer croc #madhatter #waylon is the best #he eats cops and protects homeless people #pamela isley #poison ivvy #i love ivvy but also she does want to destroy humanity except her small friendgroup #edward nygma #riddler #@sillymanwithocs

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pinkpastels113 · 2 years

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I am so here for the Chloe becoming a cat fic. No pressure but I would definitely read and enjoy a fic like that 😁

a lil snippet that may be edited just to test the waters… (still debating on whether or not i should stick with beca’s perspective)

“Chloe, I’m hooomeee.”

Beca throws her keys into the bowl on the little half wall as soon as she gets in the door. The apartment that she shares with Chloe in New York is small, with a combined living room, kitchen, and dining table in the same space, but at least it’s an upgrade from the cluttered one bedroom thing they had to share with Amy. They’re at the back of the first floor of their apartment building, complete with a barely maintained backyard hidden behind a glass door that constantly fogs up because of the weather and the incompatibility the material has with their heater.

It’s left slightly open, causing Beca to cautiously furrow her brows. Usually Chloe is the person responsible for making sure that it is shut, and usually she does a damn good job. It is unlike her to just leave it cracked like that. Especially with…

“Skittles??” Beca kicks off her boots, panic rapidly rising up her throat at the thought of Chloe’s (it’s Chloe’s ginger kitty, not hers, she just… feeds it. And lets it sleep in her bed sometimes) cat running out into the wild. Skittles is barely a few months old, he is not capable or smart enough to be on his own, especially in such a big and hectic and traffic reliable city like New York.

Beca drops her laptop bag onto the floor. She is just about to look around the apartment trying to find him before chasing after a ghost when she hears a meow.

“Mroww.”

Beca sighs. “Oh thank god. If Chloe found out that you were gone-“ But her relief is short lived, because not only does she have one cat blinking up at her from the living room carpet, she has… two???

Two ginger kittens that look exactly (practically) the same.

“What the hell? Where did you come from??” Beca crouches down, putting her hands on her knees. She peers closer, realizing that the one on the right is Skittles because he has the telltale dark spot on his tail whereas the one on the left doesn’t.

In fact, the one on the left has the perfect monotone shade of orange from head to toe, albeit a tad darker than Skittles’s. It also has brighter eyes, which eerily reminds Beca of the person who probably got it into the building.

“Okaayyy. This is so not cool. If Chloe wanted to have another cat in the apartment when the landlord was already hesitant over one she could have told me.”

Not Skittles releases another meow. It’s higher pitched than Skittles’s, who until then Beca hasn’t noticed isn’t moving much besides just standing.

She doesn’t get a chance to investigate further however, because Not Skittles decides to pounce. It extends its paws, grabbing hold onto the fabric of Beca’s jeans and climbing up until it is settling onto the back of Beca’s hands. It all happened so fast that one second Beca is staring at the two kittens in the middle of the carpet and the next she is just gawking at one.

Jesus, Not Skittles is fast. And has Chloe’s eyes. It’s kind of creepy how similar they are; Beca can almost feel the glare that Chloe sometimes gives when Beca is being dumb.

Or when Beca is being blind to something that Chloe is so exasperated for the thousandth time to explain…

“Wait.” Beca gasps. No, it can’t be. That is not possible, only science fiction novels has that kind of weird magicky stuff that doesn’t happen in real life-

Except. Not Skittles is meowing again, squirming its body impatiently on Beca’s hands and tapping its paws in a way desperate for Beca’s attention- except Chloe still hasn’t greeted her yet even though Beca’s been home for about five minutes, and today’s her day off, and Beca hasn’t received a call or message in hours, and the sliding glass door is open and Skittles is acting weird and why is Not Skittles looking at her like that?

“Blink twice if you are Chloe.”

Chloe does. She scrunches up her entire ginger face to do it and Beca’s heart stops when it is over.

“Oh. My. God.”

#let me know if i should continue LMAO #i’m scared this will blow badly #inversetwilight #user message #cat chloe #w writes #bechloe #bechloe drabble #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction

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1016anon · 1 year

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Title: Tainted Love Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma

A/N -- Murder, mayhem, horror, graphic descriptions of bloody stuff, supernatural weirdness. Spot the (not so subtle) reference to Hadestown!

-6-

Hyacinth made her way through the dark halls, trying to get to her rooms when she saw a figure sneaking down the hall, going towards the stairs to the kitchen. She carefully shielded the light of her candle with her hand; she didn't want the person-- whoever it was-- to know she was following them.

She tailed the person down the stairs but hid by the entrance to the kitchen. Peering around the corner, she saw a familiar figure open the drawer to the dull knives and gasped. The noise alerted the person, who whirled around, but Hyacinth had stepped into the kitchen with her candle anyway.

"Gregory!?!?!" she whisper-yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Hyacinth-- what are you-- were you following me?" he asked, caught out, nervous, fearful, and angry.

"I saw you-- I saw you put the knife back in the drawer!"

"Shh!! Be quiet! And it's not what it looks like."

Gregory tried to walk out of the kitchen, but Hyacinth blocked his way.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" he hissed as he pushed past her.

She hurried to follow him and managed to grab his arm, trying to pull him back and make him face her.

"Because it looks like you had the murder weapon in your hand and you were trying to sneak it back!"

"No, it's not the murder weapon-- let go!" Gregory tried to twist away and free himself. "That one was a different knife--"

"How do you know it's a different knife if you aren't the one who tried to kill Benedict!"

"Keep your voice down! Everyone can hear!"

"Tell me!"

"Hyacinth, get off of me!"

"Not until you tell me--"

"I can explain everything, but let's just get out of here first!"

"Why should I believe you?" she demanded.

"I didn't do it, Hy! I didn't do anything, I can prove it to you--"

Gregory tried to drag himself and his sister up the stairs. Furious whispering followed, voices overlapping and increasingly urgent.

"If you have nothing to hide, you should be able to tell me anywhere in front of anyone!"

"I'm not hiding anything!"

"You're not acting like someone who's innocent, so if you don't tell me right now what you were doing with the knife, I'm going to--"

"Is that a threat?!"

"Does it have to be?"

"You've got it all wrong! Don't talk about things you don't understand!"

They both froze.

There were voices. Two voices getting closer to the stairs. Gregory tried to take advantage of the distraction and make a run for it, but Hyacinth caught him in her grip like a vise.

At that moment, a crack of thunder shook the foundations of the house; four voices screamed in bloody terror as everything plunged into complete darkness. The thunder continued--

bang!

crash!

crack!

After a moment of silence in the pitch black, the two maids heard frantic footsteps scrambling up the stairs-- they squeaked again in surprise.

But that was nothing compared to the sight which greeted them when they managed to light their candles again:

Miss Hyacinth sprawled at the foot of the stairs to the kitchen, dead. Her neck was at an unnatural angle and her eyes wide in shock, as though she hadn't seen death coming for her.

The maids screamed and screamed and screamed.

They ran for the doors to get out of the house but--

It was locked.

Everyone was trapped inside.

When Angus told Luke he had an "easy job" to oversee the transfer of a kidnapped lady (i.e. make sure she doesn't escape while they made the journey from Kent to London), this was not what Luke had imagined: wearing borrowed livery, trying to navigate the enormous maze of a very creepy manor. He'd gotten turned around at least four times now and considered it a miracle he hadn't been thrown out.

Why can't we wait until they come back to London?

Are you telling me how to do my job, boy?

No, sir, Mr. Angus, sir, but it seems like it would be simpler to wait.

It would be simpler, Angus had growled, but the damned ship to India sets sail in two days, and there ain't another one for another four months.

Why does it have to be India, sir? Why not some other foreign parts? The Continent?

Devil if I know, but this is the job. And unless we deliver on the job, we won't get paid. It's what the lady wanted, and it ain't our business to ask why.

How'm I to get to Kent, sir?

Sam sent this-- says he's reserved a spot on a coach for you. And he'll have a carriage at the house waiting for the lady, so you don't need to worry about that.

Now here he was, sneaking about the rooms of Aubrey Hall, searching for,

A lady-- Lady Violet told him. She's tall with dark hair and dark skin. She's from India herself.

Yes ma'am.

You'll probably find her in the library-- that's her favorite room.

Yes ma'am.

The lady turned away, very obviously dismissing him. Luke fidgeted. He wasn't used to being in the presence of highborn ladies.

However, there had clearly been some sort of breakdown in communication along the way. Luke had been told very clearly that he was only guarding the lady. From Kent, to London. Normally, Luke might have some objections on taking a lady from her home against her will, but this lady was the wife of the Blind Man. Luke was fine with that.

But it was with the understanding that she would already be kidnapped. He had not been hired to conduct the kidnapping. He did not want to try to kidnap her. Kidnapping was not in his skill set. He guarded things. He was good at guarding things. Give him a box and a stick and he would guard the box very well with his stick.

Luke was not sure at all how to proceed. Angus took care of this kind of thing. He brokered the deals. And Luke had expected to meet Sam, not a Lady. Instead, Sam hurried him into a room where the lady sat with her needle and cloth (was this what noble ladies did all day?) and she told him the Lady Kate was tall, had black hair and dark skin.

He didn't know how to tell her that kidnapping was not part of the deal. Or rather, he was trying to right now. Only she was looking at him with great suspicion and Luke felt like he was five seconds away from being scolded by Granny Jenkins.

Did you need something?

No ma'am, that is, ma'am, um--

Luke fidgeted, then figured how hard could it be? He was strong. Kidnapping was probably no different from stealing a thing and then guarding it, right? Right.

Where's the library? Ma'am?

Through the hall, take a left, then a right when you get to the Green Parlor, and then straight down the hall to the end.

Well, here he was, having taken a left, then a right (he didn't know which room was the Green Parlor, but Luke figured it was the room which had the most green in it. Difficult, since none of the rooms were green), but when he got to the hall, it was very short with no room at the end of it, only a table with a vase. He would have liked to steal the vase-- he would have liked to steal a great many things. Maybe he could, in the time between knocking the lady out and waiting for the promised carriage.

When he found the library, no one was there.

By then, Luke had had enough roaming about the eerily bleak halls, dodging the noise of footsteps or voices which seemed to echo from every which way. The house was giving him the willies, enough so that he was seriously contemplating abandoning the job. Angus would tear stripes off him, but kidnapping had never been part of the deal anyway. Luke would just tell Angus that Sam never delivered the kidnapped dark-haired, dark-skinned lady.

He was about to leave when-- just his luck-- a lady walked through the door. Luke scrambled back, grabbing the closest object he could find: a candlestick.

This lady, however, didn't seem to see or hear anything. She immediately went to the shelves to find a book, talking to herself sarcastically. Definitely didn't have dark skin. She had dark hair, but she looked 100% English and when someone outside the library called Eloise, where are you?, the lady had rolled her eyes and hollered back, I'm in the library! in a truly unladylike fashion. Luke began to sweat, he was so nervous.

The lady would not leave. She simply stood there, nose buried in the book, huffing and laughing to herself until another lady, who definitely did not have dark skin or dark hair, walked through. She was also quite small, shorter than the Eloise lady.

He had been doing his best to hold back a sneeze and was on the verge of losing the battle when the two women finally left the library.

Then, of course, all the candle lights went out even though there wasn't another soul in the room with him.

He'd had enough. Nothing was worth coming face to face with a ghost-- Luke wasn't going to sit around imperiling his immortal soul just to say he got a glimpse of the devil. Like any other dock worker worth his salt, Luke was superstitious, and he'd heard enough stories about the Blind Ghost.

Angus would understand. Angus was Catholic, and they were even more superstitious than sailors. The Ghost was welcome to her; job wasn't worth the money anyway.

Luke was making his way out of his hiding spot when he came face to face with a woman.

Before he knew what was happening, she screamed that terrifying high pitched sound and then at that moment, a crack of thunder shook the foundations of the house; two voices screamed in bloody terror as everything plunged into complete darkness. The thunder continued--

bang!

crash!

crack!

After a moment of silence in the pitch black, certain he'd aged ten years, Luke tried to make his way to the door.

He stumbled over a body instead.

But he didn't give it any thought, just intent on getting out of the madhouse. Then,

A shimmering grey figure appeared in front of him and next to that figure, illuminated by her husband's soft light, was a tall woman with dark hair and dark eyes.

He would always claim that he'd asked her to marry him seven days after they'd met, when what he'd really said that first day, fuck-drunk and smiling, was:

come home with me

who are you?

She figured she wanted to know the name of the man who'd made her come just by fucking her-- it was a rare skill and worthy of a memory. But she had no intention of making early morning trysts with handsome strangers a habit.

the man who's going to marry you-- Anthony, the Viscount Bridgerton

She'd laughed; it was so typical of the men she'd bedded to promise her something so patently ridiculous just because she'd made them come their brains out. Truly, she could have vanquished empires with the power of her cunt.

Lord Bridgerton. Are you always like this?

Yes

Well, I'm not

I think you will be

Staring down at her, his kill-callused hands gentle in her hair, palms holding her like something precious because it would have been so easy to break her neck.

Kathani

your scent is like a memory

He inhaled and it was one of the most obscene sounds she'd ever heard-- even the sound of him practically slurping her up couldn't compare.

a rake, is that not what you are?

I also speak Greek

is this an interview?

no. come home with me

But Kate pushed him off her and went about straightening her riding habit as best as she could, letting her hair out of her braid to do it again. Anthony had watched, hypnotized by the sight, entranced by the length, wondering how it would feel to wrap it lovingly around her neck and choke her.

When she finally said yes, they'd gotten married on an ordinary license, with the entire idiocy of the banns, balls, bouquets, banquets.

And it was only after he'd tied her to him in body, law, and soul, that he took her to watch her first fatal show.

"Oh Fran," Kate sighed, bending over to check the girl's pulse.

Nothing, just as she'd suspected. Francesca's head had a wide gash in it-- deeper than it appeared, Kate guessed. It was difficult to tell in the low light and Francesca's hair fanned out in a pool of blood. A pool of blood which was getting larger by the second.

"Kate," Anthony said sharply.

The man-- the bumbling incompetent his mother had hired-- had regained some of his equilibrium, such as it was. An ordinary man would have reacted purely on panic, but given what appeared to be this man's background as hired muscle, he had no problem raising his arm, heavy candlestick in hand, to club Kate over the head.

Anthony smiled lazily, a feeling of deep, eternal satisfaction sating his basest instincts to see his wife pull the stiletto knife out of her hair to stab the man's eyes.

He'd watched her do this so many times-- simply walk up to someone and with lightning speed rob them of sight.

Like so many wonderful things in life, the first time had been an accident.

She hadn't made her own kill yet. Anthony had held her hands as they both push a knife through a man's heart, or slit someone's throat, or suffocated them, but she had yet to kill someone without him helping her.

That night, they'd been taken by surprise. A second and third person-- twin brothers of what was apparently the triplet corpse-- came at them, one charging Anthony and the other attacking Kate. She fought well, but one of the brothers still managed to disarm her, her favorite knife clattering to the floor and kicked to the corner, out of her reach. Anthony had dispatched one twin, but he was still too far away to help her.

There would be other nights, but that night was the closest he came to real terror; he'd been almost certain he was going to lose her. Time slowed. He saw his wife look to one side, then another, still searching for a weapon, coming up with nothing. Anthony honestly thought his life had flashed before his eyes.

Then, miraculously, his beautiful, clever, wonderful, ingenious wife pulled one of the long pins from her hair and quick as a snake, stabbed her attacker's eyes.

Anthony watched, awed, as the twin crumpled and Kate stood over the man, panting harshly and victorious, circling like a predator around her wounded prey. Then Anthony saw a change come over his wife.

She stopped behind the twin and grabbed the man's hair, pulled his head back until his neck was exposed. With her other hand, she took out a second pin and stabbed it right where Anthony had shown her: the pulsepoint.

The moment hung in the air for a second before she ripped the pin out, probably slicing through the artery.

Blood sprayed forward everywhere, but Anthony could only see Kate, haloed in gold like a goddess.

That night, the sex had been more intense than ever before-- which was saying something, since they already had very intense sex. And when Kate wore that particular set of pins, the ones she used for her first murder, it was guaranteed to make him hard. No matter the time, place, or how many times he'd already had her. It wasn't even a choice-- his body simply reacted and she simply took.

Kate only wore them for very special occasions, like his birthday, or to celebrate his 100th murder. Anthony knew without question that those were the pins she would be wearing when they began trying for a child.

After that night, she always blinded her quarry. She enjoyed it, but it was also practical: It drastically tipped the odds in her favor. No matter how big, strong, or capable the person might be, Kate was always able to overpower them once they were blind.

Anthony took great pleasure in commissioning special stiletto knives for her, all of them designed to hold her hair in her favorite (his favorite) coiffure and all of them deadly weapons. There was a trick to it, to make sure she didn't stab herself in her own scalp or end up cutting off all her hair. Anthony didn't know how to put her hair up, but he always knew how to pull it down-- watching her long, dark curls fall down in a cascade was one of the most simple and sublime pleasures in his life.

He never got tired of the sight.

So of course, since he was greedy, before they went back into Aubrey Hall, he watched her reassemble her coiffure, two stiletto knives in place. Just so he could witness her pulling them out again.

Which brought them to: The wailing man falling to his knees and dropping his candlestick.

Most women had similar high pitched screams. Men, however, differed. This one in particular was more on the switching between wails of agony and moans of pain side of the spectrum.

"He'd make a better ghost than me."

Kate, however, was staring at Anthony, holding the candlestick.

"I dreamed of you," she said.

"I know. I was there," he said fondly, putting one cold hand to cup her face. "You were having a great deal of fun without me."

"You said you could only hold physical objects for a short period of time."

"Did I?"

His wife narrowed her eyes.

"You lied."

"I lied," he said unrepentantly. "Forgive me?"

The man was trying to crawl away.

Kate took her stiletto knife slammed it in the man's calf, straight through bone and into the wooden floor below. She took the other stiletto knife out of her hair and did the same with the other leg.

"Then-- that night, you were the one who threw the glass at me."

"I was trying to get your attention, to tell you I was in Kent."

"Then why didn't you stay?" she asked, hurt but trying not to show it.

"Darling, I would have," he replied softly, sincerely. "I would have stayed if I could, but that stunt set me back in my progress quite a bit. I wasn't lying about how difficult it was to approach Aubrey Hall-- I think it has something to do with the proximity of my grave."

"I thought ghosts were supposed to haunt their burial grounds," she teased.

"That would be true if that was really me in that urn. I know you switched my ashes out, darling."

"I won't apologize for doing it."

"I would never ask you to."

The moaning of the man they'd essentially forgotten had turned into begging. Evidently he'd tried to pull the knives out of his legs and found he could not. The effort had made him nearly pass out in pain.

"I suppose he's figured out now that he killed the wrong Bridgerton."

"I don't think he was meant to kill me at all," Kate replied, delicately tapping the end of each blade with one of Anthony's paperweights.

The faint harmonic vibration echoed in the shattered bone, like a saw with very fine teeth was cutting through the wreckage.

"Should I be suspicious that no one has heard us? Or him?"

"Now, whyever would you suspect your loving husband of taking advantage of his supernatural powers?"

"Perhaps because my loving husband has proven himself to be a liar."

"Only out of the greatest love for you, my lovely Wife. I told you I was coming for you."

"Is that so," she said flatly, but her eyes were glittering with amusement.

"Come here," he beckoned, even though she was already right at his side.

Anthony wrapped his arms around her.

"Do you want to see something interesting?"

"Is it cruel or gruesome?"

"Both."

"You always say that and you're always wrong."

"I tend to find most cruel things to be gruesome, and most gruesome things to be cruel," he shrugged. "Now even moreso, as a ghost."

"All right," she sighed, but leaned into his cold body. "What is this thing you want to show me?"

"Here," he pointed to Francesca's corpse. "Watch."

At first, it was difficult to see-- the room was only illuminated by Anthony's light. But it became clear that Francesca's hair was growing longer. Pieces of hair-- some of soaked in blood, some of the not-- moved slowly but surely to the man pinned to the ground.

The man startled when he felt the hair wrap around his ankles, then screamed when the startle only exacerbated his pain. But the hair didn't stop. It wrapped around and around his ankles and dragged him towards the corpse; Anthony swiftly rescued Kate's knives before they were swallowed up entirely by Francesca's ever-growing hair.

Francesca's hair grew so long that it crashed over the man in a wave-- he shrieks were muffled by the sudden movement of different strands twining around his entire body, squeezing and constricting like it was testing its own strength. Meanwhile, Francesca's corpse grew thinner and thinner, skin going grey and gaunt, nearly skeletal by the time the man was completely covered in a thousand ropes of hair, all of different thicknesses and lengths.

Kate could hear the sound of breaking bones and joints popping. However, the screams were completely blocked by all the hair stuffed in the man's mouth, hair going up his nostrils, hair in his ears, hair poking into the hollows of his eyes.

There were sounds of choking, weak struggling, things continuing to crack and pop very softly until there was nothing but a vague person-shaped thing mummified in hair, every orifice in its face stuffed full to bursting.

Then the hair did something completely unexpected-- it moved the corpse so that it lay next to Francesca, side by side like two statues resting on top of tombs. Francesca looked like Rapunzel had eaten her prince but decided to save the body to use as enormous hair curlers.

"You're right," Kate said. "That is cruel and gruesome."

Anthony simply kissed her: He loved his wife so much.

"I knew you'd agree with me."

Right on cue, the door opened.

"Hello, Mother," he smiled, a shark in bloody water. "We've been expecting you."

"I should tell her."

Daphne paced in small circles in one of the many parlors in Aubrey Hall. This particular room happened to be in a more remote corner of the house-- less of a chance that one of their siblings, or their mother, might walk in.

"Yes, I'm sure that will go very well," Eloise snorted. "Kate, you need to turn yourself in to the constable's office and confess that you attempted to murder our brother."

"Then must you agree she's guilty in all of this."

Mulish silence.

"Eloise, we did the right thing, turning Anthony in."

"I didn't turn him in-- you took what I told you in confidence and did whatever you liked because the Duchess of Hastings couldn't be associated with such a scandal."

"Then why did you follow him in the first place?"

"I didn't think I would see--"

"But you did, Eloise, you saw our brother killing those defenseless children--"

"I thought I saw him stab a person, but I told you I wasn't certain--"

"What else was I to do with that knowledge? It's an unforgivable crime and he needed to be held to account. Those people deserve justice."

"Justice," she sneered. "I see. And the fact that you had an enormous argument with him two days prior had nothing to do with it."

"I can separate my personal feelings from what's right and wrong. And it was the right thing to do," Daphne stopped pacing and sat next to her sister. "I'm sorry I had to distance myself from the family during the trial, but I'm here now."

"You're here because you and Simon haven't spoken to each other for months and you can't stand being alone at Clyvedon."

"You know nothing of my marriage, Eloise, and you know nothing of marriage," Daphne snapped. "Anthony saw to that."

"Yes, and now it's Benedict who blocks me at every turn. Don't pretend you did anything for my sake-- you merely replaced one intolerable brother with the only brother I actually liked, but who's becoming more intolerable every day."

"That's not fair to Benedict, Eloise."

"It's true! I don't understand why he insists on defending her. Mama was right-- Anthony changed after he married Kate."

"I suppose it's because Benedict was close to Anthony, and he feels a sense of obligation to look after her."

"What does it matter. Liam's engaged now, to Miss Pepperman," Eloise made a face, then frowned. "This plan of yours, why not just turn Kate in?"

"I didn't say we should turn her in, I said we should confront her."

"But if we know she tried to kill Benedict, wouldn't it be better not to warn her? Unless," Eloise looked at her sister speculatively. "What was that unforgivable act you committed against Simon?"

"Nothing," Daphne replied too quickly. "Simon lied to me first, and even if it was so terrible, he forgave me."

"If he's still not speaking to you--"

"Don't try to lecture me about something you could never understand."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," she said in a sing-song voice, gleeful to needle her perfect sister's not-so-perfect life.

"Why should Anthony get away with literal murder! Why should men be allowed to lie and commit crimes and carry on having affairs while women must adhere to another standard?"

Daphne and Eloise screamed when thunder suddenly ripped through their eardrums and lightning nearly blinded them as it flashed to reveal two figures but only one shadow. A freezing wind rushed through the room and slammed the parlor doors.

"Why indeed," Kate said mildly.

Anthony stood behind her, hands possessive on her waist and grinning like Christmas come early.

"Quite, dear Sister."

And, just because he could, he pulled Kate impossibly closer to him, one hand anchoring her in place and the other gently moving his wife's face to his-- he kissed her; he devoured her; he showed her and everyone in the room exactly how much he loved her and the lengths he would go to keep her.

"That was cruel," Kate whispered to him.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his sisters pale with supernatural fear. They probably thought he and Kate were plotting something dastardly for their demise. Or maybe it was just the expression on his face-- Kate always said he looked like murder when he was hungry for her.

"I like to take every opportunity I can get."

He kissed her again before she could say something smart.

In the background, Daphne and Eloise were pounding at the closed doors, screaming for help.

"We have a job to do, Anthony," Kate sighed into his mouth.

"I missed you," he replied.

Anthony and Kate stood in the middle of the storm, furniture flying around them, glass and vases shattering with the shards flying every which-way-- some must have sliced through Daphne and Eloise, if the shrill crying meant anything. Cracks appeared in the walls, dripping with the ooze of burst eyeballs.

Then the screaming took on a new quality-- Anthony looked at the ceiling to see fat, slimy chains of intestines dropping out like the sausages hanging in the butcher's shop. Bags of stomachs and necrosed livers lined with fat dangled like puppets while septic blood mixed with the slop of busted colon shit, bile and stomach acid rained down, dissolving the carpeting, eating holes in the polished wooden surfaces.

Daphne and Eloise were covered in the black tar of a smoker's lungs, hair dripping with what could only be the unraveled noodles of a human brain. The acid left burns on their skin and he was mildly surprised, but not totally stunned, to see their eyes had been melted out of their skulls.

Kate made a noise of exasperation.

"Did you really have to do that? I was looking forward to popping their eyes out," she made an expression Anthony dared not call a pout. "You've spoiled the best part."

"I'm sorry darling," he said, and kissed her again. "I'll leave the eyes for you next time."

"That wasn't a request, my Lord," she said haughtily, then turned her attention away from him. "You were lamenting the double standards that society has for men and women, Duchess. A favorite topic of yours also, is it not, Eloise?"

Anthony very reluctantly let her leave the circle of his arms. He was fascinated to see that the intestines which were flopping all over the floor suddenly began wiggling-- moving like inchworms-- towards the two crawling figures who kept falling into wandering piles of eyeballs which squished and burst into jelly.

You should both know that half of Anthony's kills were mine."

"All the eyeballs were hers too," he grumbled. "Do you know I had to start popping eyes just because she took such a liking to it? I didn't even want the moniker 'Blind Man.'"

"You didn't have to do it," his wife said.

"As though I was going to risk letting all of London know there were two of us. They could have at least given us a better name."

"Such as?"

Anthony thought for a moment.

When Daphne and Eloise felt the writhing intestinal worms, they slipped and screamed in hysteria. He rather thought he'd been merciful, to be honest, that they weren't able to see the room around them. Then again, given their states of panic, perhaps human imagination had conjured something worse.

He waited for the noise to recede (saying die down seemed in rather poor taste) to tell Kate:

"Cupid."

"Cupid," she said, unimpressed.

"Yes. Love is blind, and all."

"But that would mean you murdered for love, which isn't true."

"I did murder for love!"

Kate raised her eyebrow.

The intestines shyly wrapped themselves around Daphne and Eloise's necks, pausing every so often as though asking Kate for permission. Of course, this brought on more screaming, quickly cut off when the organs tied themselves into a knot.

"Some of them," he paused. "A few of them."

His wife continued to stare.

"You can't deny that all my recent kills have been for love of you."

"You see, Daphne--"

"I don't think she can, darling."

Daphne and Eloise coughed and gasped for breath, hands scrabbling at the bloody guts choking them.

Kate glared at him.

"That joke never gets old for you, does it."

"Death has changed very little of who I am," he conceded, cheeky.

She rolled her eyes, stole a kiss, and looked down at the two women covered in viscera. The organs loosened their grip before Daphne and Eloise passed out. It was as delightful as it was uncanny. For a moment, the room was silent save the sound of their wheezing.

"I pity them, in truth," Kate said suddenly, toeing one of the slithering organs.

"Oh?" Anthony tilted his head. "Aside from the obvious fact they'll soon be dead?"

"We never took from each other."

"Mm, I think I took you a fair number of times. Quite a lot, if I recall."

"You never tried to force a child from me, not the way your sister did from Simon."

One night-- the anniversary of his father's death, in fact-- Simon had gotten very, very drunk at Mondrich's club. Drunk enough that he began screaming things at Anthony that his normally reserved, extremely controlled friend would never say. Things about never having wanted to get married, wishing Anthony had shot him, never having wanted children, wishing he'd never come back to England, Daphne pressuring him for more children when he was happy with the two.

Fear that she'd get children out of him whether he wanted it or not.

Mondrich had allowed Anthony-- with great reluctance and promises of vengeance-- to take Simon back to Bridgerton House to let him sleep it off. The next morning, Simon and Anthony spoke of the incident once, and only once-- he didn't need to tell Kate because she already knew. She and Simon had been close.

That conversation marked the beginning of the end of Daphne's marriage. Anthony could not say he was surprised when his sister came to him, asking for him to "talk some sense" into his best friend. He supposed she must have thought him responsible in some way. Though, the thought that she might hold Kate responsible made him growl-- the sound shook the house.

Kate looked at him, at once concerned and amused.

"To be fair, my darling," he smiled, dark thoughts vanished, "if you didn't respond well to the first murder, I might have been forced to kill you."

"Only if I didn't kill you first," she said primly.

Anthony shook his head and laughed. His wife's response had been more than he'd ever imagined and far better than anything he'd ever dreamed.

"This is why she's perfect for me, Daph. She and I want the same things-- we've always wanted the same things."

Because Kate had watched him with lidded eyes, desire a physical force between them, offering him her fingers to suck and lick and lave with his tongue while the man under his hands kicked weakly, body seizing in its death throes. She stood by him, before him, in front of him, and then let him take her, let him taste how wet she'd gotten with her want for him-- how much she hungered for Anthony, her husband who had just choked the life out of the corpse cooling not ten feet from where he was fucking her.

That was the first night he watched her let go, so beautiful as she screamed for him, biting and clawing like the vicious creature he knew she'd kept caged inside too long.

When he'd set that monster free, there was no going back for either of them.

"You're both monsters," Eloise managed to say, voice whispery and hoarse.

The room's temperature plummeted.

"You should know, Eloise," Anthony's voice was a distant roll of thunder, "that I know you lied to Mother. Imagine my surprise when I found it was your dear, loyal footman Sam who gave Mother the names of all those hired hands."

"I didn't know--"

"There's only so many times you can feign ignorance before people think you're stupid. Who would have thought you held dear Mother's opinion in such high regard, that you would tell her Kate broke off your engagement to Lenny."

"Liam," Kate corrected.

"Darling, do I look like I care? After all these years and all those political rallies, she's still a little girl, rattling around big words like responsibility but never owning the consequences of her actions."

This time, when the bloody, bulging worms tightened, they didn't stop.

"She understands what everyone else is responsible for. Isn't that enough?" Kate smirked.

Anthony grabbed her waist and pulled her crushingly close. He tangled one hand through her long, beautiful hair and forced her to look into his eyes. If life were fair, his gaze should have blinded her the same way her smile had decimated his on that fateful morning.

"No it's not."

Over the roar of the shrieking wind and the shrieking screams of his sisters, Anthony only heard Kate's fluttering heartbeat.

The silhouettes revealed by flashes of lightning showed two necks pinched to a point, throats tied off and windpipes narrowed to the width of a needle.

"It's never enough," he breathed before kissing her breathless again.

Behind them, two heads toppled off bodies covered in eyeball-fat.

The blind and gaping faces rolled through the open door.

#bridgerton #kathony #fanfiction #regency horror au

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hamliet · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can I ask your opinion on Cinder X Jaune as a ship?

As in, do I like it, or do I think it has any canon basis?

My answers are basically fun crackship and then not at all, respectively.

For my personal tastes, the only RWBY ships that fill me with feels are Rosegarden and Emercury. I do like Bumbleby, Arkos, Renora, White Knight as they've been written. Cinder/Jaune is like Nuts n Dolts to me--I see why people like it and mad kudos to them. It's just not for me.

The ship, as best I can tell, is based on the fact that Cinder and Jaune absolutely do have a role to play in each other's arcs, and Jaune is absolutely going to be pivotal to Cinder's redemption. The fandom does often sleep on this. I can see why people would have a lot of fun exploring it. Enjoy!

Insofar as canon goes, I think that it has no basis because to interpret their roles in each other's arcs as romantic means misinterpreting the context of the story and the coding of their roles within said story.

I will explain more under the cut because I know I have followers who like the ship and please do enjoy it.

By coding, I do mean age coding. But not in the way antis mean it, not at all. Age gap wise, Jaune and Cinder don't have anything extreme--in fact, it's pretty negligible. That said, to take their ages literally only works in the context of fandom arguments, and so ship to your heart's content!

Within the story, though, Cinder is coded as an adult. Jaune is coded as a child. Coding in stories is not to be taken to extremes like, say, antis or anti-antis take it. There is such a thing as child-adult coding, but it's not the creepy thing people make it out to be. For example, look to Bungo Stray Dogs coding Dazai as a mentor/adult above Akutagawa even though there are only two years between them. There's nothing weird about shipping it, but the story is using this coding for a reason--to tell you about the particular dynamic and what to expect. The story will obviously never go there. Yes, it's a coming of age story like RWBY, but the point is that they aren't coded as peers.

In RWBY, Emerald and Mercury are presented as peers of RWBYJNPR in the Vytal Festival, and Cinder is presented as being above them, as a mentor, as a parental figure, at each and every turn. The reason this matters is not to say that Jaune and Cinder can't be shipped without creepiness (it's not creepy at all), but it matters because coding can tell you a lot about the intentions of the writers.

There's also alchemical coding, in which opposites should unite. Opposites, like say Bumbleby and Rosegarden and Renora, are:

Gold, red, heart, sun, hot and dry, fire, air

Silver, white, mind, moon, cool and moist, water, earth

So, if you left Jaune as he was at the start of the story as white, moon, silver, etc., he would actually work with Cinder, but at this point he's clearly not those anymore. He worked with Pyrrha precisely because of this. However, regardless of whether or not Jaune ends up with anyone, he's becoming red, gold, fire, and sun. His name also foreshadows this (jaune=yellow). He got blasted with fire this volume. He took on a white trait this volume (the streak of hair) but that's a symbol of union after a chemical wedding, which was not with Cinder.

Besides, Cinder is also gold and red and fire. I don't think this is remotely debatable. Her name is literally a reference to fire. She's introduced to us shooting flames and she relies on fire throughout the series.

Plus, in the very first episode of RWBY, Cinder's golden eye is highlighted with a specific frame that contrasts her gold eyes with Ruby's silver (like, the very next scene has Oz mentioning Ruby's silver eyes). Cinder is gold.

So what is Jaune and Cinder's actual connection? Well, it has to do with other red characters: Pyrrha, Penny, and Ruby.

Pyrrha's final act of love was saving Jaune and telling Cinder that destiny exists. That even if things are cut short, even if your very life with all you wanted is taken from you, you can still impact the world in a powerful way. This is precisely the connection between Jaune and Cinder: he is going to pass on Pyrrha's message to Cinder. Destiny is real, and she can choose it (because choice is the final relic/theme to be explored).

Lastly, Ruby is actually Cinder's prince, and has always been since the ball. Ruby is the one who will probably save Cinder from her Grimm arm, showing her that being a human being is enough to not deserve to be consumed by chaos. Being a human is enough.

So then, what is Jaune? He is the Maiden of Cinder's story. He will embody the message of Pyrrha and Penny, two maidens, to help Cinder reach individuation, the archetype of the self that Ruby also embodies. Cinder's ultimate choice will be to be a Maiden, but not in the way that she's been so far--in a heroic way. Cinder's arc has always intertwined the supernatural/goddess imagery with that of a lonely child, and so in the end she will be both human and heroine--because through embracing humanity, people can transcend weakness and impact the world.

If there is romance for Jaune, it will be with Weiss. It should be, considering they've set up the crush, explicitly paralleled White Knight with Arkos, Bumbleby, and Rosegarden, and you shouldn't set up crushes without following them up. It's a story, not real life; if it's mentioned, it should matter. (Okay Black Sun but... I would hope the writers have like, learned from that. Plus we do have a Black Sun parallel, and it's Weiss and Neptune.)

Lastly, I don't think Jaune is dying at all, and I don't think Cinder's chances of surviving are much higher than say, Eren Jaeger's in SnK. This isn't me saying it's what I want to see or that I think she shouldn't live; it's just looking at the story thus far, seeing how it's treated say, the Curious Cat, and examining patterns.

See, in alchemy there is something called the Deaths that mark the end of a color phase and the transition to the next. I'm going to use Harry Potter as an example not to be gauche but because it's extremely obvious:

Black Death/Nigredo: Sirius Black

White Death/Albedo: Albus (means white in Latin) Dumbledore

Red Death/Rubedo: Harry Potter himself in the presence of Rubeus Hagrid

Most stories don't use the Yellow phase (it's subsumed into Red) but RWBY does. We have:

Black Death: Pyrrha, death at Beacon at night surrounded by black Grimm

White Death: Weiss Schnee at Haven, although Jaune revives her

Yellow Death: Penny Polendina at Atlas, when Jaune kills her via a weapon (Crocea Mors) that literally means "yellow death," in case you weren't sure.

So, yeah. RWBY is using deaths to mark passage. I do think Cinder will be "saved" from her Grimm arm at Vacuo's climax by Ruby and be given Jaune's message, but the odds of her not dying back at Beacon (even if she does die, it will be to save the world) are not great. She could revive as well, but... we've already used revival and stories do like to keep that special. Plus, RWBY's message on death is clearly not that death is a punishment. It's a tragedy to be mourned, but it doesn't have to be the end of any story.

#ask hamliet #rwby #ships #rwby ships

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dancingamongstdust · 3 years

Text

Creepypasta Scenarios - First Meeting Part 2

Hoodie

The area where you lived had a ton of back alleyways that acted as shortcuts in a pinch. They were generally safe but you often got an uncomfortable feeling when using them so you preferred to take the busier roads if you could.

Unfortunately, when you had gone to leave work that day, you had spotted the customer who had been harassing you the entire day. It wasn’t anything creepy but it was over-the-top persistent and you weren’t in the mood to deal with it. You slipped out the backdoor as a result. At least you’d get home sooner.

For the most part, you didn’t encounter anything too suspicious and the light from the streets illuminated where you were going.

The large bins outside the grocer’s home indicated that you were getting close. You sped up and rubbed your eyes blearily.

Ahead of you, a dog was barking from inside one of the buildings. It was a pretty noisy animal and you began peering around to see what the source of its agitation was. Ironically, you ended up bumping directly into him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, rubbing your shoulder.

The guy was tall, wearing dark clothing and standing right in the shadows. You could have probably noticed him if you were a little more awake.

He turned and your breath caught.

His face was obscured by a dark mask with red features stitched onto it. His hoodie which originally seemed dark was now illuminated into a soft yellow or orange, stained with a dark substance.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice crackled out, clearly coming through a voice changer of some kind.

“I – I was just taking a shortcut home. I live near here so I thought… I really didn’t mean to bump into you. I’m super tired.”

“Tired or not, you shouldn’t have seen me,” the guy said. “Do you have a phone or a camera?”

Slowly, you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone. “I don’t have any cash in my wallet –“

“I don’t want your money!” he snapped. “I’m not some petty thief, believe me, I have better things to do with me time. Unlock this.”

You did so and he went through it with a gloved hand. He didn’t have a weapon but something in your gut warned you to just go along with it. Nobody covered up everything, including their voice, when they were up to something good. This guy may not be a thief… but the alternative didn’t feel too much better.

He shoved your phone back at you. “Get out of here and don’t breathe a word of this to anybody. Consider yourself lucky that I’m in a good mood today.”

You swallowed nervously. “Thank you?”

“I’m serious,” he warned. “I can let you go just because you seem pathetic enough to not take this to the police but unless you want to catch a bullet in your back, you’ll keep quiet. My boss doesn’t like people getting involved with this nonsense.”

“A bullet?”

He didn’t answer and your heart thundered in your chest. Part of you wondered if he was going to kill you while you ran away but his attention seemed to have moved away from you. You hurried away, holding your breath the entire time. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, the guy remained unmoving.

When you reached your home, you locked the door tightly and slumped against it in exhaustion.

Homicidal Liu

The sunset was beautiful over the graveyard – the only beauty to an otherwise morbid place.

You stared at the purples and oranges dancing across the sky. The wreath pricked at your hands after a while and you stared down at it. Why did you still bother with bringing flowers? Hadn’t it been long enough? Still, you made your way down to the grave and placed them there, not even bothering to read the name on there.

Lately, your graveyard visits had becoming fewer and fewer. Time hadn’t been on your side recently and thus, your precious solitude had to suffer. You relished in the way that nobody really bothered you here.

An orange glow warned you when the streetlights came on. Perhaps you had been there for longer than you thought but this was to be your last visit.

Better to make it count.

Something caught in the wind made you raise your head. A piece of fabric was stuck in the nearby fence, identifiable as a scarf when you ventured closer.

You took it from the fence and looked around for its owner. Nobody was in view… maybe it had been blown off one of the graves? It did seem homemade.

Guessing, you began to place it on a grave when a voice startled you.

“I’m sorry to bother but I think you have my scarf?”

The man was standing far too close for you to have not seen him when you were glancing around but you blamed that on your night vision. He wore dark clothing and seemed awkward just to be speaking to you.

“Thank goodness,” you said. “I was just going to leave it on one of the graves because I didn’t know who it belonged to.”

He thanked you for it, wrapping it around the lower half of his face almost immediately. “That would be a waste,” he said. “Especially to leave it on this one. Thank you for grabbing it.”

A harsh wind blew through the graveyard, carrying with it the smell of an incoming storm. He grabbed his scarf just in time to prevent it from going flying away again.

“Seems like the weather is determined to steal it from you.”

“Far more powerful things have tried.”

You buried yourself further into your jacket and smiled. “I haven’t seen you around before, are you new in town or just coming to visit a new grave?”

“I’m not visiting a grave,” he admitted. “I just thought that this would be the way back to my house… I grew up in this town but only recently moved back and I’m already lost. It’s a little embarrassing if I’m honest.”

“Well, I like to know everybody,” you said. “What’s your name?”

“Su – I mean, Liu,” he said. “Liu. Sorry, I nearly gave you my surname.”

You laughed. “Oh that’s no problem. It’s nice to meet you but I really like your name. Is it Chinese?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He looked around and began walking away. “I really have to go. Thank you for getting my scarf and all that.”

“I’ll see you around,” you said with a wave.

It was only later when you realised how suspicious that entire interaction was. You had never seen Liu before in your life and he was just hanging around in the graveyard? He hadn’t seemed too creepy at least. Maybe you would see more of him in the coming days.

Jane the Killer

It wasn’t that you were unobservant or inattentive toward girls but nobody had really caught your eye until Jane.

She was stunning in a way that few people could ever match with dark hair that tumbled past her hips and soulful eyes. Her walk was always confident, her smile always perfect, and her attention always desirable. Your main regret about life was that you didn’t speak to her sooner – especially when you thought back on what happened not too long after your first meeting.

You organised with your friends to somehow bump into her but instead, you wound up getting treated for a pretty painful bruised hip. Your second plan didn’t work out either and your third never even left the drawing board.

“Just go up to her and say hi. Tell her that she’s beautiful,” your friend encouraged. “She’ll say thanks and then you’ll be able to talk to her.”

“That’s so boring though,” you said. “It’s not like something out of a romance novel.”

Your friend groaned and stood up. “Well, I’m going home. We have like three months left of high school and I’m not going to spend that time obsessing over how to speak to a girl. She’s literally a regular person.”

They were right and you knew that. No matter how you tried to set up a sweeping romance, it probably wouldn’t work out.

So you tried.

And you tried.

Two weeks later, you were about to give up on mimicking a romance novel and it appeared that your friend was thinking the same thing. She grabbed your arm and began to drag you somewhere, muttering about changing the topic. You had a vague idea of where you were going but you didn’t fight too much.

“What if she’s still dating that Woods boy?” you asked. “The older one.”

“They broke up after literally a month of dating. I don’t blame her – those Woods boys are pretty enough but the older one has something seriously wrong with him. And the younger one is always talking to himself…”

“I really don’t care about the Woods’,” you commented.

“No, you care about Jane who is honestly quite weird as well,” they said. “But that is going to be your problem and not mine.”

They dragged you directly up to her group. It wasn’t large – despite Jane’s beauty, she wasn’t incredibly popular due to her associations. Your friend wasn’t the only one who was a little scared of the Woods boys and Jane had hung out with them for quite a while.

“Hey,” your friend said before even letting you go. “You have no idea who we are but my friend here has a massive crush on you. Could you please just say hi so they can get it out of their system?”

You were sure that it was unhealthy to be as red as you were. It felt like your heart was about to leap from your chest.

Jane laughed, a soft and gentle sound. “I’m not really interested in a relationship,” she hummed. “But thank you. That’s very flattering.”

Somehow, your heart sped up still and you awkwardly rubbed your arm. “No problem?”

“Why don’t you join us for a little bit?” Jane offered. “Just because I don’t want to date anybody doesn’t mean that we can’t become friends. You look like my kind of person.”

You stumbled over your words but somehow, your conversation managed to go extremely well. Jane was brilliant in every possible way and you quickly grew attached to seeing her every day. That was why you mourned so greatly when she died.

Jason the Toymaker

The sun was so warm against your skin. You could stay there forever, stretched out on the grass and basking in the sunlight.

“It’s done,” your friend’s voice broke through your daydreaming

You opened your eyes and rolled over to see exactly what they had been working on for the entire trip. After realising the first few times that you weren’t going to get a reaction, you had decided to wait for them to finish working before you tried to have a conversation.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” you said. “That’s amazing.”

The hyper-realistic man was sketched to perfection with a top hat, a fur coat, and a small mouse sitting on his left shoulder. It felt like his eyes could piece into your soul.

“Who is that?” you asked them.

They stared blankly at the image and shook their head. “I don’t know,” they said. “He’s been in my dreams for so long. I think it has something to do with my amnesia. Maybe I knew him once before.”

“He’s a little intimidating,” you said. “I could imagine him to be a ringleader in a circus that’s like a secret cult. Maybe he’s why you lost your memory.”

“Maybe…” they said, tapping the picture. They suddenly shoved it into your chest and stood up. “You keep that. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I need to go talk to my parents.”

You watched them race out of the park in confusion. The man in the picture stared up at you with haunting eyes.

Folding it in half so it didn’t freak you out, you stood and dusted off your clothing. Maybe it would be best if you headed home. It was getting late either way.

Later on, you’d call your friend and check up on them.

About 10 minutes away from your house, the feeling of being watched snuck up on you. It hung heavily around your shoulders like a cloak. You glanced around but saw nobody.

Still, you didn’t feel comfortable leading whoever was following you back to your house. You made a point of walking amongst large crowds and headed for the police station.

They were watching you the whole way.

You sped up. A few people bumped into you and you apologised as best as you could. Your grip on the picture was getting tighter enough for you to tear it. The later it got, the fewer people were on the streets and so you were pretty much alone when you bumped into him.

It took you a few seconds to recognise the man from the drawing.

If you thought his drawn eyes were captivating, they had nothing on his real ones which glowed with an almost ethereal light.

“You’re him,” you breathed.

He stared at you, smile falling from his face in confusion. “Who?”

You shakily held out the drawing and he yanked it from your hands. “My friend drew that,” you explained. “They said that its of somebody from their past. They have amnesia you see.”

He was unmoving as he studied the picture. You began feeling a little uncomfortable and then his gaze snapped to you. “Is that so?” he asked.

You nodded and took a small step away from him. “Maybe you should go and talk to them? See –“ you swallowed nervously. “See if you can help them remember?”

“No need,” he said, dropping the paper on the ground. “Who are you?”

Your name came out as little more than a soft whisper. Something about the entire scenario made you uneasy. His appearance was too unnatural.

A gust of wind came by, picking up the drawing and whipping it away. You watched it go and when you looked back down, his eyes were locked on you.

“Such a pity,” he said. “You would have been the perfect doll.”

Wearily, you took a step backwards. His words made your stomach churn uneasily. “What are you talking about?”

He smiled. It was kind and warm but it only made you more nervous. His eyes looked like they had almost changed colour; shifted a shade darker than previously. “Thinking aloud my dear,” he said.

“About dolls?” you asked.

He tilted his head a little towards you. “I’m going to have to bid you goodbye. It seems I have other matters to attend to.” He brushed past you, stopping briefly when directly next to you. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He was gone before you could even spin around to face him.

Jeff the Killer

Pausing the song, you removed your earphones as quietly as possible and placed them down on your desk. According to the blinking numbers on your phone screen, it was nearing 2 AM. Far too late for anybody to make an excess of noise.

You listened closely. The music had been too loud for you to hear anything and you almost brushed the strange noise off as your sleep-deprived imagination. Until something squeaked like shoe soles on tiles.

In retrospect, you should have immediately called 911 but you didn’t want to sound a false alarm.

The light switch was thankfully directly outside your room. The hall illuminated most of the house when they were on and it steeled your nerves. Your roommate’s door was open, allowing you to confirm their sleeping state, curled up in their bed amongst the piles of mess. They had had to move to the spare room due to a faulty window earlier in the day and had clearly given up sorting items.

You glanced into the apartment’s other rooms before heading to the kitchen. There was nothing odd. The scuttling when you entered the kitchen just suggested that your neighbour’s rat infestation may be migrating.

Making a mental note to call the exterminator, you turned to switch off the kitchen light.

Something slammed into you, forcing your back to collide with a wall. A hand covered your mouth and the overwhelming scent of blood and decay invaded your nose. Something cold and sharp pressed against your neck.

“Shut up and stay still,” the man snarled at you. “I don’t think anybody will appreciate you getting blood in the kitchen.”

Your heart leapt into your throat and your body stilled. The man in front of you was terrifying. His skin pale and mutilated. Eyes far too wide for a normal person and dancing with an insanity that sent chills down your spine.

And his mouth… a bloody smile carved across his face, stretching halfway to his ears.

He studied your face carefully and his expression twisted. “You’re not the right one,” he snapped. The knife moved away from your neck, so he could point with it. “I had this all planned and yet when I came into that room, I found it empty. Why?”

Even if he hadn’t been holding your mouth shut, you doubted you would have been able to formulate an answer. The pounding heartbeat in your ears was nearly blocking out his voice.

He lightly tapped your cheek with his knife. “Not that it matters,” he said. “I’ll just have to adapt my original plan. You’re not the right target but I’m a huge fan of collateral damage.”

A small whimper escaped you and tears welled at your eyes. You didn’t want to die.

“Don’t blubber!” he ordered. “View it as a good thing. You’ll be all over the news. Another victim of Jeff the Killer. Hell, you might even be added to a Wikipedia page or something.”

You could recall that name from the news. Often followed by a lengthy list of deaths and the police chief begging for any information about the murderer.

Jeff stared at you for a long minute before he pressed the knife’s blade to your throat and moved his hand away from your mouth. “Scream and I will remove your vocal cords,” he threatened. “Who are you?”

It took several deep breaths and a flicker of impatience in his expression to give you the ability to talk again. You stammered out your full name as quickly as you possibly could.

He rolled his eyes and tilted the knife so it scratched your skin. A sticky and warm substance ran down your throat in small droplets. “Pathetic.”

“Sorry,” you whispered on instinct. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You ruined my earlier plans to take out my original target by interrupting me before I could find them. Why shouldn’t I settle for you instead?”

You didn’t have an answer.

He took the blade away from your throat. “If you call the police and report what happened here tonight, I will slice you into little pieces.”

It was almost twenty minutes after he left before you regained any movement in your body. You slumped into a heap on the kitchen floor and started sobbing.

Kagekao

Things had been going missing around your house.

Initially, you had thought it was just due to you forgetting where you’d plopped things because it was simple things. Drinks that vanished, keys turning up on the opposite side of the house, and random spills that you didn’t remember making.

But then it started getting weirder still.

You would make food and pack it away, knowing that you would eat it later, and find it gone. Picture frames disappeared, never to be seen again. Your rug half-unraveled during the night and you found it in a pile the next morning. A candle in your bathroom fell over and, somehow, the curtains on the other side of the house had caught alight.

It was suspicious, to say the very least. You began to think that you had some kind of intruder – once, the news reported that a woman found a homeless man living in her attic and eating her food when she wasn’t looking.

So you went out and bought cameras, setting them up throughout your house.

For two weeks, they caught nothing until one of them ended up breaking. You went to get it repaired and the company managed to recover what it had last seen. Which was nothing on your first glance.

But you were soon to realise, that was only because you had been looking at the floor.

While you were rewatching when you got home, you noticed something. The window was sitting wide open and the camera’s angle only allowed you to see half of it. Right toward the end of the feed, a gloved hand appeared on the side of the window and a slight shadow indicated something climbing through.

So you got reinforced windows and made sure that none were open unless you were in the room.

Things still continued happening.

You were beginning to get really annoyed by this. It was tempting to go to the police and let them just handle it but that was going to be a lot of effort that you really didn’t care for. You didn’t feel like you were in much danger. Nothing had happened in your bedroom.

Your next plan was to set up a trap of some kind. With a hidden camera set up, you made extra food and left it on the counter to see if something happened.

The next day, you watched as a plastic toy of some kind was thrown directly into the plate from somewhere off-camera, breaking it and leaving an absolute mess everywhere.

Still not considering it to be anything dangerous, you just cleaned up the mess and loudly cursed out anybody who was listening. You stalked the house after that, searching every nook and cranny with a bat in hand. The final place was the closet in your bedroom and you peered in, expecting nothing.

When you turned around though, you spotted something sitting in the corner of the room.

It was humanoid with arms twisted into awkward positions and a mask on its face. Half the mask was black and the other white, both sides bearing an unnaturally smiling expression. The creature cackled when you saw it and scuttled out of the door, stuck to the roof the entire time.

A second passed.

Then another.

You pinched your arm hard and waited to wake up. Surely there was no way… I mean, why would… humans didn’t generally crawl along the ceiling? Well, you were quite sure they never did that. You must have been imagining it.

A second laugh corrected you on that.

You swallowed thickly, walked over to your door as calmly as possible and locked it. Then you took out your phone and finally called the police.

Kate the Chaser

The day when Kate was sent away remained very clear in your mind. It was a moment that brought extremely change to your life, mixing up your friend group and sending you in a different direction.

The years has passed and you had never gotten over your best friend. They said that she had lost her mind and you knew it was true. All those games investigating the woods and ghost hunting must have put a toll on her mind. Sometimes, you blamed yourself for all the pranks and you knew that Lauren had similar doubts.

And now she was back.

Lauren and you hadn’t remained close, the entire situation feeling too real with one another. Your greeting was stilted but neither of you wanted to be the first to approach the house.

“Do you think that she remembers us?” Lauren asked.

“If she didn’t then her mom wouldn’t have invited us over,” you said.

You stood in complete silence, staring up at the house. Would you even recognise Kate? The last time that you had seen her was when you were both young children and her face remained at that age in your memories.

Eventually, you gained your confidence before Lauren and you walked over, knocking on the door before anxiety could find you.

Kate answered the door and you forgot why you had ever been nervous.

Time had slimmed her face and shortened her hair. Her eyes were still a gentle brown and the cockiness had faded from her smile, but it was recognisable from your nostalgia. It made you feel warm and known – an aura that you had missed without even realising it.

“Hi,” you greeted.

Kate pulled you into a tight hug and you returned it, clutching at her tightly as though she could slip through your fingers. It really had been too long and when you moved away, she held onto Lauren with the same enthusiasm.

“How have you been?” she asked. “You have to tell me everything.”

The three of you spent the rest of the afternoon having tea and just talking about the world at large. Kate didn’t have many stories from the hospital – she claimed it was because the place had been extremely boring and neither of you pushed to find out more about it. Honestly, it was more comfortable to act as though she had simply moved away.

Lauren had to leave first and you were going to go with her but Kate had looked so down that you remained just a little longer. That was when things got weird.

“I’ve missed music a lot,” Kate sighed.

“Did they not allow you to listen to music?”

She grimaced. “No, they did but often I couldn’t hear it over the static. Its mostly gone away now but it came back last night… it fills my brain and all that I can think of is a way to make the pain stop.”

The colour drained from your face as you stared at her. You didn’t know much about what happened to her but you had thought she would be okay now.

Realising it, Kate hurried to reassure you, “I really have recovered,” she said. “My hallucinations have faded and my medication keeps my emotions in check. You really don’t have to be scared of me.”

You stared down at your cup awkwardly. “I’m not scared of you,” you reassured her. “You’ve never done anything to me.”

She nodded. “It will be alright, you’ll see. I’m ready to get back to a normal life with my friends and not have to worry about that ghost stuff ever again.”

Laughing Jack

It was on your leg…

The glare you fixed the small child with could wilt plants. It didn’t care though and merely clutched at your clothing with a happy smile. “Come play with me?” it asked. “I can introduce you to all my friends!”

“How old is she again?” you grumbled at your friend.

Your friend laughed and ruffled their cousin’s hair. “I had an imaginary friend when I was 10. She’s only 6, she’s still at the stage where they’re a big deal.”

The child was oblivious to your conversation and reached out her arms. “Come on. The parents are being boring. I have candy that my friend gave me. We can share it.”

“I agreed to come along to your family get together to keep you company,” you said to your friend. “You know I don’t like children. Babysitting really isn’t my forte.”

All you received for your complaining was laughter.

By the time you had the 4th teddy bear had been introduced, you were done. Why did one kid have so many toys?

“Now which one of your friends gives you candy?” your friend asked. “Because if it’s from Princess, I don’t think it’s edible. What if she secretly puts glitter in it?”

Expected to play along, you sighed. “Unless it’s glitter from rainbows because then it’s got magic powers and allows you to fly.”

The child liked your thumb-sucked statement because she jumped up in excitement. “I don’t get it from Princess. Jack gives it to me! But if Princess can make me fly, I want to have that kind of candy instead!”

“Which one’s Jack again?” you asked, eyeing the line of toys.

“He’s not here right now,” the child said, biting her inner cheek. She turned in a circle. “Sometimes he hides in the cupboard though!” She ran over to her cupboard and pulled the doors open. “I don’t think – OW!”

She reeled backwards, clutching her cheek. Both you and your friend immediately jumped up and ran over to her. A tiny slice mark ran across the side of her face. It wasn’t anything serious, but she was sobbing as though it would kill her. You presumed a small edge on one of the boxes in the cupboard had been the cause.

“Do you want me to take you to mom, so she can kiss it better?” your friend asked. “Your new best friend can wait here and make sure all your toys are safe.”

The child nodded, and she got led out of the room. You rolled your eyes at the sensitivity and reached into the cupboard to push the box out of the way. A clawed hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed your wrist tightly.

Before you could even shout, it lifted you off the ground by your arm and a second hand had wrapped around your mouth.

The monster’s body appeared out of the closet.

It was a clown. Easily 7ft tall and comprised of monochrome colours with a sharp, pointed nose and long, greasy hair. Its black lips spread into a smile, revealing pointed teeth and a sickeningly sweet breath.

You writhed against its grip, trying to scream or do anything but it was insanely strong, and it just laughed at your efforts.

“How mean,” it purred, leaning in close to your face. “You ask who I am and then, when I appear to you, you insult my appearance. Awful etiquette. Your parents should be concerned about how rude you are to strangers.”

You strained your memory to think about what you had been doing before it grabbed you but the adrenaline was clouding your mind. What had you asked? You struggled more with the lack of memories.

The clown shook its head. “I haven’t revealed myself to somebody so old in a long time. You should be flattered but instead you choose to try and kick me. This is why I don’t do this. Children are far more polite.”

He released you suddenly and you landed hard on the ground. It winked and disappeared, right as your friend and her cousin returned.

“You met Jack!” the child shouted excitedly, pointing to the candy lying next to you.

You shoved it away from you as quickly as possible.

#creepypasta #scenarios #hoodie x reader #marble hornets #homicidal liu #jeff the killer #jane the killer #jason the toymaker #kagekao #x reader #jeff the killer x reader #laughing jack #kate the chaser

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

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If Bella was a boy (with Bella's gift. And he would be Edward's singer). What would change? What do you think?

So, I gave a fairly detailed response to this already. The long and short of it being that, depending if Beauford’s the right kind of guy, he and Edward will essentially end up in a romantic relationship neither realizes is romantic. Then Edward eats Beauford at some point.

But, since we’re here, I suppose we can enter imagination land and get into some more details.

Caveat that I haven’t read Life and Death and have no desire to, so we’re actually ignoring some strange alternate universe canon that never made much sense anyway. Shocking, I know, and very unlike this blog.

Beauford Swan and a Kid More Messed Up Than Even Bella Swan

In order for our love story to even start, Beauford has to be the kind of guy that Edward’s into (or can project that he’s into). Well, we know Edward’s into Carlisle (he projects pretty much an idealized version of Carlisle’s personality onto Bella and actively wants to look like Carlisle as to him Carlisle’s is the face of holy perfection while Edward looks like a demon) and given what he says he likes of Bella’s personality we can extrapolate from there.

Edward’s not going to be into an Emmett or anyone remotely resembling Mike Newton. He’s going to be into a quiet, kind, misunderstood, sensative, intellectual who probably looks some level of frail and in need of protection. Essentially, what he saw in Bella, subverting the Madonna complex he has for her a bit (Beauford will be a kind of Madonna, sort of, but not quite so blatant).

So, we have Beauford, who looks a lot like male!Bella and by that I mean he keeps her pale skin, her big dark eyes, and general look about her that she could break with the slightest contact. Basically, he’s a very pretty guy the likes of which typically comes from a shojou anime. He’s also likely still debilitatingly clumsy.

So, you have this guy who’s awful at sports, as in each time he tries he probably ends up in the ICU. Is an intellectual in that he reads old books, an odd amount of Jane Austen at that, but isn’t actually an artist or writer. In fact, other than reading, he has no real hobbies. Has a larger than life mother who constantly needs looking after. And has nothing in common with his peers.

As bad as Bella had it, I posit Beauford would have had it worse. He’s not going to get along with 90% of boys until... probably college. He’s always picked last in kickball, shares 0 interests with most other boys, and is probably ruthlessly bullied for all of this and more. Worse, being so pretty, he’s going to attract a lot of romantic attention, especially from preteen girls who are very into that look and Beauford’s sensitive artistic nature. This is going to get him so much shit from other guys.

Add on top of this Bella’s original difficulty socializing and I imagine Beauford is just as depressed if not more so.

Fast Forward to Forks

Beauford comes to Forks for a similar reasons to Bella, because he felt like a third-wheel in Renee and Phil’s relationship and that his mother was better off without him. I can also see him just not knowing how to act around Phil, who probably expects a stepson who’s more... sonnish. Beauford’s not going to play catch with dad in the yard and I can see Beauford wanting to avoid all of that entirely.

He enters Forks and has a vaguely similarish reception to Bella. Only, there are some key differences.

I imagine Mike, Tylor, and Eric quickly sour on Beauford as he goes from being potentially cool new bro to a guy that can pick up every girl in this school. He’s like the Cullens, but less incestuous and creepy and therefore a thousand times worse. They desperately don’t want Beauford sitting at their lunch table where he can potentially pick up all the babes.

In other words, Mike is the new Lauren, and Beauford knows it. But it’s either eat with these guys or eat in the bathroom, and Beauford’s not at that level of desperation yet.

Jessica’s probably into him, having been into Edward (another pretty, sensitive, guy), but unlike Bella I imagine Beauford has a little better social intelligence in that he has seen this game before and he knows where it leads. So, he desperately, actively, doesn’t flirt with anyone. Which makes him a terrible conversationalist, and he just comes off as really weird.

Beauford, therefore, actually is a Cullen 2.0. You don’t want to be a Cullen 2.0 (Bella is the only one in that school who thinks the Cullens were in any way popular).

I imagine Edward notices this, plus Jessica’s interest, and gives a Nelson laugh from across the room. Now someone else can have the joys of Jessica Stanley’s lust. Though he does notice he can’t read Beauford’s thoughts, which is strange.

Like Bella, Edward undoubtedly thinks Beauford is at first highly overrated, just like all the other mindless teenagers in Forks, and rather plain (from his narration, Edward likes blondes and lighter eyes).

The Rest

Biology happens, it’s a disaster, Beauford has no idea what he did to get Edward to loathe him so much but this time Mike isn’t in any way sympathetic. Instead, Mike just can’t believe he and Cullen seem to agree on something for once.

Edward flees to Alaska, decides he won’t lose to Hamburger, and comes back to do damage control. And we start mirroring canon a lot here. Edward has varying conversations with Beauford, is intoxicated by his very scent, and starts projecting an almost saint like personality onto him. Edward grows increasingly obsessed, starts creeping into Beauford’s room at night to protect him from spiders, etc.

The difference being that Edward is utterly convinced that what he and Beauford share is the highest platonic ideal of friendship. They are platonic soulmates, all other friendships pale in comparison to them, they are intellectual peers and artists.

This is even when they still go to the meadow, Edward kidnaps Beauford in Port Angeles for Italian dinner (despite Beaufrod not having been nearly raped without Edward’s intervention), Beauford is invited to the Cullen house, and more.

Beauford, being Bella levels of oblivious, also has no idea this is a romantic relationship. Likely, what he feels at first and is driven by is a strong sense of kinship with Edward. As Edward is also an intellectual outsider hated by the male half of the school. Beauford’s been there, bro.

However, like Bella with Alice, he appreciates small details of Edward’s vampiric physical appearance, enjoys staring at Edward’s perfect face, and really digs that vampire smell.

I imagine, beyond what happened in Twilight things like the following occur: Edward constantly sketches Beauford in unintentionally (but secretly intentional) erotic positions with no clothes (this is art!), Edward leers at Beauford changing in his bedroom because “we’re both men”, Edward insists on discussing Beauford’s future bride with Beauford and imagines the most perfect woman in the world while also imagining smashing her head in like a melon.

But I imagine most of the Twilight plot points happen. The difference being that everyone is very confused on why these two can’t admit they’re dating. Rosalie probably bringing up very valid points of “Edward, if you want this guy to go date someone else then you can’t monopolize his life” and Edward telling her to stop being so petty and jealous of Beauford’s beauty. Aro, I imagine, just dies in New Moon and has no idea what to say when Beauford returns from the dead because it’s not, “Oh look, the lovers reunited! Ah, right, I forgot, they’re just friends. Yes...”

The other difference being, as I strongly suspect that without Renesmee Edward would never have turned Bella (Renesmee really forces that issue as Bella actually dies before Edward turns her), that he would have eventually eaten Beauford as Alice predicted.

But he’d be so delicious.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #bella swan #beauford swan #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #edward/bella #anti edward/bella #edward/beauford #anti edward/beauford #meta #headcanon #opinion

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thefandomcassandra · 3 years

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i want to hear more about your norma thoughts. also, some norma thoughts for your consideration: maybe im reading into it but i got the impression that shes secretly desperate for validation. i think that before she joined the psychonauts she never really felt like she had anywhere to belong, and that's a big part of why she's so adamant about finding the mole bc she wants to prove herself and she doesn't want to lose her 'place' in the world, if that makes sense. (sorry if this is weird)

Okay boy, you’ve activated my trap card!!!

(Don’t worry, it’s not weird, I asked for engagement. I love engagement. Talk to me about things like this. It’s so good. Thank you. /gen)

(apologies if this isn’t as in-depth as you or I would like, I was in the middle of writing this when my goddamn computer crashed and I lost everything so this is my second time typing this up and some details might have been eaten by the void, also it is late for me and this may meander and be incoherent in places)

Oh she is absolutely desperate for validation. Like I said in my original post: I was almost like Norma. The only thing that kept me from being her was severe social anxiety. I couldn’t snitch because I was too scared of talking to people--especially adults and other people in power.

Norma strikes me as the type of person who is horribly insecure and that drives her desire for validation to the point of self-destruction. I made mention that, while Raz is trusting to the point of handing people knives to stick in his back later, Norma burns bridges when she crosses them so people can’t do that to her. She wants people to like her, but only people in power. She wants people to trust her, but only on her terms. She wants to be in a position where no one can hurt her, but she’s willing to hurt others to get there.

Even her sister.

There’s a really really good pair of fics on AO3 that got me thinking about Norma like this (Fire on Ice by PresidentStalkeyes and The Cold Shoulder by PresidentStalkeyes) and I’m not gonna lie about it. The idea that hydrokinetic (and by extension, cryokinetic because most people won’t know they’re different psychic disciplines) psychics are reviled because of Maligula is actually probably something that happened. So for the twin (coz they have to be twins) sister of an openly cryokinetic psychic, she would be, by association, as bad as if not worse than Maligula, an actual terrorist and mass-murderer.

No Psychic Protection Act will prevent mobs from forming if they feel threatened.

So Norma, judging by how she dresses--like a prep-school know-it-all--versus how Lizzie dresses--like a stereotypical psychic or a witch--probably wants to pretend in “polite” (read: non-psychic) company that she’s like them. Normal Norma and her creepy psychic sister. But Lizzie is used to being thrown under the bus so she just rolled with it. Leaned into it even.

But yeah, being so desperate for someone to need her, for anyone to say “you did a good job, we couldn’t have done this without you” is probably why Norma does what she does regarding the whole mole situation.

Imagine you want to be noticed. To stand out from your peers. And for the first time ever, you being a psychic is actually helpful instead of a problem. So you have to be the best psychic. And not just the best psychic, the best psychic spy.

You’re good at getting people to talk. You’re persistent and charismatic and you know just the right words to get people to say things they don’t mean to say--even without probing their mind with telepathy or picking up on ambient emotions with empathy--and reveal things they don’t want to reveal because you know that people, like you, are desperate for someone to listen. Then you hear there is a mole at your workplace right after some baby-faced teen gets admitted to a program you had to work your ass off to get into. He has to be the mole. He can’t be better than you--not without cheating and not without reason.

Because if he’s better than you, then you’re not worth noticing.

Because if he’s better than you, then you’re not special.

Because if he’s better than you, then why are you even here?

Anyway I think that Raz’s earnest nature genuinely is the foil for Norma’s cynicism but they share a lot of the same desire to be useful and needed and noticed. And, credit where credit is due, but @sparrowdoodles commented this in the tags of their reblog of the original post and this is a fair point I didn’t consider:

#this is interesting to think about when also examining their psychic abilities #Norma specializes in pyrokinesis #where as raz has hydrokinesis #fire and water being two element seen as related to eachother #while also being opposites! #just a fun thing I noticed

That dichotomy also is a neat little thing to think about. Norma holds on to grudges. Simmers. She keeps the embers of things close to her chest and stokes them to fuel whatever she’s pursuing at the time. Raz, on the other hand, lets things roll off him. Like water, he lets things sink through him and rides the wave past its crest.

To borrow a turn of phrase: like water off a duck’s back.

Anyway I’m certain I had more to say about this but my brain has turned to soup and brevity is the soul of wit and by god and heaven above I cannot be brief to save my goddamn life apparently lmao.

Thanks for asking. /gen

My inbox is always open for people to come ask me about characters and headcanons. I have so much to say about things all the time--like psychic specialties and what kind of treatises must have been written about psychic powers and holy fuck please ask me about Otto I love that morally grey science grandpa--and am always willing to expand upon the original thoughts. But, alas, I don’t show up in tags for some un-fucking-known reason (my running theory is I’ve been shadowbanned for years but who knows) so any engagement and numbers I do are because someone else reblogs my posts and then bam! Others do the same.

Like the Norma post.

So yeah, continue asking me about things I fucking love to talk (as seen above) and have so much to say (i.d.) and please reblog.

#the sheepy answers #the-handsome-cat #norma natividad #psychonauts 2 #character meta #please reblog #i cannot overstate how frustrating as a creator this can be #anyway #genuinely thank you for asking me this #i love to elaborate

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kalimagik · 4 years

Text

Eyes for Her

James Potter x Reader

Marauders Era

Word Count: ~2.5k

A/N: This is my submission for Millie’s ( @iliveiloveiwrite ) writing challenge! It took me some time to actually figure out the direction I wanted to take, but I think I found it and I hope you guys like it! I’m a sucker for a girl that can throw James Potter off his game ;) Feel free to like, comment, reblog, give me a follow! Even send an ask! (My next works will be the requests sitting in my inbox). Feedback always welcome! Happy Reading <3<3

Prompts: (bolded in text)

5. “Are you hitting on me?” “Only for the last year or so but thanks for noticing.”

8. “This is the part where you ask me out and I say yes.”

*Not my GIF! Credits to the owner

They were friends. They were friends, right? Y/N knew that James existed, she was close with Sirius, so she was around all the Marauders a lot. James wouldn’t say that they were close - exactly. See, James Potter was always charming and smooth talking, especially with the girls in his year, but when it came to Y/N Y/L/N, he was tongue tied. Every. Single. Time.

There was just something about her that shut him down when she was around. He could barely get a coherent sentence out. She was just so beautiful and smart and had the ear of everyone the moment she opened her mouth to speak. Honestly, she could give James a run for his money. She could honestly take his spot in the Marauders and they wouldn’t even notice. Well, he did beat her in one area. He was a notorious ladies man. He’d flirt with them, charm them, but never actually date them because he only had eyes for her. James, recently, had been flirting with other girls more and more as a sort of practice for talking to Y/N. It hadn’t worked up to this point as it was already 6th year.

The other Marauders had noticed James struggle with this over the years and he was not living it down.

“Y/N’s helping me study tonight,” Sirius looked up at James in the Common Room. “You want to try and hang around tonight orrrr?” he smirked as the messy haired boy’s head shot up.

“You really hit a chord there,” Remus snickered, watching the scene unfold.

“Stuff it,” James spat. “I can do this. Tonight is the night I talk to her.”

“Talking is one thing. Will you get full sentences out is the real question.” Sirius pointed out.

James threw a pillow in Sirius’ direction to show the frustration he felt. The boys continued to tease him, but James stuck his nose in a book, pretending to read. In reality, he was planning what he could say to her in his head.

James was in the bathroom. He may or may not have been attempting to comb his hair before Y/N arrived. He looked into the mirror, mentally preparing himself.

“Hello, love. Good to see you. How did you do on that Charms exam? Mhmmm…maybe more aloof? Cheers! Good to see you helping Sirius, he could use all the help he can get –”

“I take personal offense to that one,” Sirius piped up, leaning against the door of the bathroom. “I think you should lead with a joke. That’s your best stuff, Prongs,” he chuckled, rubbing his neck nonchalantly.

“Snub off.” James acted coolly even though he felt wildly embarrassed to be caught in this situation. He was not supposed to be one of those guys that got nervous around a girl and practiced what to say in the mirror.

“Chill out,” Sirius shook his head. “I’m just telling you that she’s walking up here in like 5 minutes, so pull yourself together.”

James followed Sirius out of the bathroom, his hair as if he hadn’t ever combed it to begin with. He just sat on his bed when a knock sounded from the door.

“Ready there, Prongs? Can you act natural?” Lupin baited the short tempered boy.

James could only shoot him a look before Sirius opened the door for Y/N. James felt his voice caught in his throat the second she walked in. She just did everything so effortlessly. She seemed like she didn’t have a care in the world. He was usually like that, but why did she pull the cowardly lion out of him?

“Evening, lads,” she grinned that Cheshire smile. “What have we been up to in here?” she asked as she closed the door.

“James did some primping,” Peter giggled. James made a mental note to hex him later as he sent him a glare.

“For me, Jamesy?” Y/N chuckled before sitting at the foot of Sirius’ bed and opening a book.

“I- uhhh…ummmm, not necessarily…”

“So are you going to help me or not?” Sirius interjected. Despite all his teasing, he could be useful when James felt like he was drowning in front of this girl.

“Right. History of Magic. Why do you always need help for the most boring subject? Couldn’t Remus help you? He’s smart!”

“Moony has refused to help me study History of Magic. He says I make too much of a joke out of it.”

“You do!” Remus called from his four-poster.

Once all the bantering settled down, the room did fall into a quiet, steady easiness. James pretended to be doing homework of his own while Y/N and Sirius went over Warlock Conventions and Goblin Revolutions. The dates and years too much for even James to follow. But, he wasn’t really paying attention to what they were studying. He was listening to the soft laughter that broke the silence every time Sirius made a joke. He was itching to say something, but what?

“Pads, you ever figure out the logistics of that prank?” Why had he said that? They didn’t even have a prank in the works. Sirius gave him a quizzical look that said he was thinking the same thing.

“Uhhh…” Sirius started.

“You guys are planning a prank? Can I help?” Y/N was fully interested.

This was not where he saw this going. He just wanted something to talk about, something so that she could hear that he could speak.

“Sirius, why didn’t you tell me? You said I could help with the next one!” Y/N playfully slapped Sirius’ arm as she turned back to James. “Tell me about it!”

“Uhhh…well, we were – uhhh…See, Remus concocted this charm and we were going too –” He was stumped there was no plan. He got all twisted up again. He shifted his glance from her focused face to Sirius’, only flashing a hint of ‘HELP ME!’ in his eyes.

James finally let out a sigh of relief as Sirius seamlessly took over. He was pulling bullshit out of thin air. James could usually do that. When Y/N left their room before curfew, James was breathing normally again.

“Hello, earth to James. Can you speak again?” Remus asked tentatively as James fell backwards onto his bed.

“That. Was. A. Disaster.” He spoke slowly, rubbing his hands over his eyes and under his glasses.

“You spoke a full sentence even if it wasn’t directly to her,” Peter offered.

“Shush!” James retaliated. “You literally told her I was primping earlier! I am in my right mind to hex you!” James tossed and turned as he went over the tragedy that turned into in front of Y/N. Maybe tomorrow would be better?

It was a new day and James successfully glided through his morning classes. He’d made a decision the previous night as he listened to Peter’s snores. He was going to ask her out today.

James peered around the corner to look at Y/N, trying to assess his plan of attack. She was surrounded by friends, but they all had been charmed by James before, they would be no issue. Maybe he should complement her or offer to carry her books? No, that would be weird. Or would it be sweet? Ughhh! Nothing seemed to be right!

“What are you doing, Prongs?” Sirius whispered in his ear. James jumped, not expecting anyone to talk to him. “Merlin, Padfoot! What did you do that for?”

“We’ve been standing here for 2 minutes!” James stood up to see that Peter and Remus were also standing behind him.

“You were doing that thing again where you watch Y/L/N.” Moony followed Sirius’s lead.

“Yeah, that’s getting pretty creepy, Prongs.” Sirius chuckled. James instinctively rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He didn’t realize how embarrassing this actually was until they caught him. At least the other Marauders were the ones who caught him and not Snivellus.

“I’m trying to figure her out, okay?” James tried to defend himself. Now that he thought about it, maybe he had been staring at Y/N a little more than usual lately, but that was only because he was figuring out how to approach her on his own.

Around the corner, he could hear the echo of her laugh. Oh, that laugh. The first time he heard it, it sounded like Christmas bells ringing and it just floated across the air. There was something so genuine and happy about the sound. James was hypnotized from that moment on and he knew that he had to take her out or get close to her. He wanted to be the one causing that laugh.

“Prongs? Prongs! JAMES!” Sirius finally got his attention again. “Where did you go there?”

“Did you see the look in his eyes?” Peter teased. “He was obviously thinking about Y/N!!” Peter sang her name and for some reason, that pissed James off.

“It isn’t like that, okay?” James felt his temper starting to flare. They’d all had crushes before, so why was this one the end of the world?

“Why don’t you just breath and talk to her?” Moony asked, actually trying to give some advice or provide his friend with some guidance.

“Of course I have, you prat. The moment I start speaking, my voice just doesn’t work and I forget what I was going to say.”

“You dunce!” Sirius cut James off. “Are we even sure she knows who you are? We know she knows me, but are we sure that you aren’t just the boy that hangs around with us?” Sirius knew he was poking the bear.

“Of course she knows who he is! Everyone knows who James Potter is,” Peter beamed, looking towards James for approval.

“That means nothing. She messes with him occasionally, so we know that,” Remus shook his head.

“Remus is right,” Sirius agreed. “You need to woo her. Do something romantic. That’ll definitely get her attention!”

The other two boys nodded in agreement, but James just stared at them, trying to figure out where they were headed with this.

“What if he does something big in the Great Hall during dinner. If he says her name, then that would definitely get her attention.” Sirius seemed to be calculating what would happen in this big plan.

“Uhhh, guys?” James said.

“I don’t know if big would be the way to go,” Remus replied to Sirius. “Y/N definitely doesn’t WANT everyone looking at her all the time. What if he did something in the library? He could bring her something while she studies? Say she looked like she needed it?”

Peter’s eyes grew wide at the idea as James tried to interject again. “Hello? Mates?”

“Madam Pince would not like that at all.” Peter’s eyes showed fear as he thought about the librarian. “I had a cookie in there once and I still don’t think I can ever unhear her screams…” Peter’s face glazed over as he thought back.

“Wormtail might be right, Moony. There’s no way to scare away a girl like getting her in trouble with Madam Pince. What could he do?”

“You guys do know that I am still here, right?” James was practically waving his hands over his heads to get the other marauders to look at him.

“We know that,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “But you don’t get to be a part of planning this time, Prongs. You’ve messed it up too many times. So, we have decided to take matters into our own hands.”

The boys all stood around whispering while James listened, understanding that he was getting no input. Minutes went by and the ideas seemed to be getting more and more out of hand. If it wasn’t for Remus interjecting, Sirius would have James spelling her name in the sky on his broom. Why was he ridiculously romantic? The whole bad boy thing definitely was used to cover that up. The ideas seemed to be getting better until they were interrupted.

“What are you all doing?” Y/N’s voice spoke a little louder than Peter’s, who was giving his idea. “Are you planning that prank that James mentioned last night?”

“Uhhhh…” All boys were speechless. How did they explain this? They were caught in the act.

He didn’t know what it was, but James felt a surge of confidence and not embarrassment. “My mates were actually trying to help me figure out how to talk to you.”

Peter, Remus, and Sirius’ mouths all fell open, eyes widened to double their usual sizes.

“Talk to me?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, you, love.”

“Love, huh? You’ve never called me that before. All my friends, maybe, but not me.” Oh, how sassy she could be. “James, are you hitting on me?” Y/N asked, head cocked, eyes focused on the boy with glasses.

“Only been trying to for the last year or so, but thanks for noticing.”

“That can be hard to do when you only have so many words to work with.”

James glanced up to see the smile on Y/N’s face growing, bottom lip between her teeth. The rest of the boys were still in awe that this was happening right now. “So, yeah they were trying to figure out how to make talking to you easier for me. Sirius was being all romantic with these crazy ideas, but Remus wasn’t sure if that would be your style. Peter had –”

“Woah! Woah! Potter!” James quit his nervous rambling the moment her sweet laughter filled his ears. “So if I got this straight, then this is the part where you ask me out and I say yes.” That Cheshire smile was back. The same one that made his heart flutter the night before.

James coughed to clear his throat, planning the words in his head. She looked at him expectantly. She literally just said that she would say yes, so why was he freezing now? “Uhh, right, okay, so Y/N, would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“Of course, James Potter. I thought you’d never ask! Pick me up for Hogsmeade on Saturday? 10 AM before everyone else leaves? We can grab lunch. See you later, lads,” Y/N waved to the other three before kissing James on the cheek and rejoining her friends.

“Did she-” Peter started.

“Just ask-” Remus followed.

“You out and plan the date?” Sirius followed, completely baffled. “I didn’t even know she liked you, mate!” Sirius slapped James on the back. The boy was still speechless. Did that really just happen? His heart was beating hard in his chest. It must’ve been doing that the whole time and he didn’t even know it.

“Well fellas, I guess I have a date to get ready for,” James grinned, watching Y/N walk away.

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faineant-girl · 2 years

Text

okay fuck ive gotta talk more about ghost world so i can formulate my thoughts in a proper way so i dont sound like a fool tryinf to explain why i dont like this movie. so this is going under a read more but will start w a non spoiler tldr if you want the Thoughts but still wanna watch it blind

tl;dr, ghost world left a sour taste in my mouth. its a film about the world through the eyes of a cynical, mean teenage girl, which isnt even bad it’s just a film that’s a bummer and has almost no likeable characters in the end. lots of second hand embarrassment scenes and clenching while thinking “oh no” as a girl fresh out of high school does some fucked up things. the flow of the film is very odd too, it felt like they wanted the flow the comic had but i dont feel like that kind of storytelling works in a film format? that or the ppl who wrote this movie didnt do a great job adapting it. it just wasnt a film i had a good time watching, the most enjoyment i got out of it was the design of the setting/costuming and steve buscemi’s character in the first half of the film, although his character is soured by later events. keep in mind that im not someone who critiques movies often, and its been about a month since i saw ghost world, so my thoughts could be skewed or messy bc im misremembering the film. but as is, i dont think i could recommend ghost world.

so thats a lot, and but i mostly just wanna talk about characters. there are spoilers from now on, so read at your own discretion ya know. firstly, i dont like any of them. there’s about five named characters and i forget the names of two of them because they are barely in the movie. the important ones are enid, seymour, and rebecca. enid and rebecca have been best friends their entire lives, and have just graduated high school and are planning on moving in together. i do not like these two girls. and in all respects i dont think im supposed to? at least i hope not? they are very much “weird girl” tropes, theyre cynical and not like other girls and are cooler and smarter than their peers. and im conflicted because i get what its like to be like that. enid and rebecca act like how me and my friends acted in our freshman year of high school. however 1) i dont think this is an experience the writers were keeping in mind (but ill get to that later with seymour), and 2) it’s still not very pleasant to watch. which, fine, is a personal preference, and if it doesnt bother you then awesome, it makes me upset though and worsened the viewing experience.

so that brings us to the character that disappointed me most of all, seymour. seymour starts out so good and really cute! enid and rebecca respond to a lonely heart’s article he puts out in the paper as a joke, but enid feels drawn towards him and their dynamic is really unique and sweet initially. they bond about old records, and enid helps to try and get seymour out of the house and meeting people his own age! and she succeeds, seymour meets a sweet lady who he likes and it wouldve been so cool if this was the end of their story but it isnt. to bite the bullet, seymour is into enid and ends up sleeping with her. and it drives me crazy because no one whose watched this film nor the film itself sees this as creepy. like, enid is 18 and seymour is implied to be over 30. its something thats “technically” not illegal or whatever but it’s just... so nasty! so gross! and this is where i bring the writers into this because this isn’t something that was adapted from the books! seymour is a very minor character in the comic, and one of the writers said he put a lot of himself into seymour. so like... im not trying to imply anything, i dont want to do that, but it so unfortunate that it happened because there was another romance that was also set up (enid and one of the characters whose name i cant remember) between enid and somewhere her age, but was written out so enid could get with seymour. and like.... the narrative is critical of this and punishes seymour, but not for the reason it should, ya know? like after the night, seymour gets fired from his job for a different reason and he gets beat up after looking for enid. then enid sees him andd fuckin!! apologizes to him!!!!! and the narrative is like “no thats right, she should apologize”..... its so nasty and weird and it makes me weirded out that ive seen nothing criticizing it! everyone talking about them ships them and thinks theyre a cute could and i just. sighs.

sorry im so fired up about this, its just so weird to me... ghost world is ultimately a film that makes me uncomfortable, and i know its supposed to in some ways (its a “black comedy”, i guess) but its just not a film i want to watch again and one i dont recommend others watch if this sounds even the least bit unappealing. uh i dont have any recommendations for other films to watch instead, and i beg you to take this with a grain of salt. like i said before, im no critic and i might be misremembering the movie, i havent wanted to watch it again to solidify my thoughts i suppose (plus it was taken off of tubi so i dont really have a legal way of watching it), so yeah. i didnt like ghost world

#.tlktxt #yeah ugh okay. yeah maybe ghost world is a skip. justa bit. all the acting is just fine like the skill of the filmmaking is Good.#but whats inside.......... well it was just not very enjoyable me thinks!#honestly if you want a different cute buscemi role try ed and his dead mother #its the most b movie of all time and has issues of its own but it didnt leave me feeling bad like ghost world did PLUS #buscemi is extremely cute as ed. so. theres that #i dont have any other recommendations though </3 im sorry #sorry for this long ass post thats probably not very comprehensible. im not gonna read over it #if you have like other questions then u can shoot me an ask or like a dm.#AGAIN. IM NO FILM EXPERT. im just some 18 yr old whose into steve buscemi.#but i know when i like movies and when i dont and i! didnt like ghost world. okay sorry im done now goodnight

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ynsrg · 3 years

Text

PRETENDING

CHAPTER 1

**Disclaimer: Hey, it’s an ‘actor meets actor and gets horny for them’ fic! I’m sorry for writing this but I’m down bad. Bo is just a character, I apologise profusely if this ever gets read by the wrong people, etc. etc. I also have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about – this fic is stupid, makes very little sense, and has a very thin plot from which I have dangled smut, like a garden trellis. I have another, much longer, fic in the works (25,000 words and counting) but I very much doubt it’ll see the light of day because my OC is American in it, and I’m legitimately terrible at writing American dialogue, so I wrote this about a scouse bird instead (it’s what I know) and did my best to make it work. This fic will include no family members because that’s really weird. Sorry in advance!**

Chapter 2: https://ynsrg.tumblr.com/post/660912110046429184/pretending

Chapter 3: https://ynsrg.tumblr.com/post/660912269314670593/pretending

Chapter 4: https://ynsrg.tumblr.com/post/660912544504004608/pretending

She misses Liverpool. It sounds ridiculous, and as the Californian sun beams down, making everyone and everything it touches look somehow glamorous, she feels ridiculous. This – here – is everything she’s ever wanted, everything she dreamed of, everything she’s worked for; but she misses her city, her home town, her Liverpool. L.A. is too sprawling, too lacking in soul, and takes itself entirely too seriously. She doesn’t really want to be here so much as a second longer than she absolutely has to.

Maybe acting isn’t the career for you, Catherine.

She sighs heavily and swirls the straw around in her drink. She doesn’t even particularly like iced coffee, the entire concept seems… off to her, but here she is with her iced coffee all the same.

“Am I boring you?” The sardonic voice from across the table interrupts her moping, and she responds with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, mate. I’m a little…” she grimaces, “… homesick.”

“Ah, yes. Because there is, somehow, an entire city full of people with accents like yours. It is a real place,” he smirks, “somehow.”

Catherine rolls her eyes and flicks her straw at him, pleased to note that she’s got some of the coffee on his white tee. “Gobshite.”

He snorts. “And just what the hell is a ‘gobshite’?”

“Look in the mirror and you’ll have your answer,” she replies flatly, leaning back and tilting her chin up in defiance.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m assuming I should be offended?”

“Probably,” Catherine shrugs. “But you seem quite hard to offend.”

“I’m actually very sensitive, Cath.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence falls between them again, and Catherine shifts in her seat, a little uncomfortably. He notices.

“So, tomorrow.” He runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair, which is something she’s noticed he does quite a bit when he’s anxious or nervous about something. Given the context of their current situation, the fact that he’s doing it now makes her anxious and nervous.

“Yes, Bo?” She responds wearily, and he eyes her like she’s a wounded, cornered animal that could lash out at any moment.

“Uh…” he taps his fingers on the table, searching for his words, which is quite unlike him. “So, I know we’re like, friends.”

“We are?” Catherine raises an eyebrow, working hard to keep a straight face.

Is he blushing?

“I mean, I think so?” He frowns at her, a little furrow between his brows, and her face cracks into a smile. “Ah, you’re fucking with me.”

“I am,” she says proudly, and he rolls his eyes.

“Anyway. So, friends means tomorrow might be, ah… weird,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and she fidgets in her seat again.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Bo,” she says cautiously, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach.

“I know, I know,” he replies quickly, picking up on her defensive tone. “Just, um… if anything feels… if you’re uncomfortable, just say the word, okay?”

Okay.

He’s avoiding Catherine’s eyes, fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist. “That’s sweet,” the words leave her mouth seemingly without any input from her brain and shit, she didn’t mean to say that out loud.

He huffs out a laugh. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’ve met someone more sarcastic than me.”

Thank fuck for that.

“Aye, I’m a proper cunt,” she nods, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she squints at him across the table.

“A fucking horror,” he agrees, trying and failing miserably to imitate her accent.

Catherine recoils. “What the fuck was that, Bo?!”

“Um…” he pulls a face, “scouse?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Never, ever do that again. Promise me.”

He laughs again, and there’s a bit of her that’s proud that she makes that happen as often as she does. Guy’s one of the biggest comedians on the planet and she makes him laugh on a regular basis. Bit mad, that.

“Catherine Mary McHale, I promise I will never, ever do that again.” He extends his hand across the table. Large. What a ridiculously large man, who remembers your middle name, for some reason.

She narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t believe you, but okay.”

She extends her much, much smaller hand and meets him in a firm handshake. The knot in her stomach returns immediately, but when he releases her hand, it doesn’t make her feel any better.

“Alright then,” he shifts his chair back and picks up his phone. “I’d better get back.”

Catherine nods a little dumbly, head feeling a bit fuzzy.

He rises to his feet – large, huge, why is this fella a giant – and cocks his head to one side, peering down at her with a weird expression written across his features.

“What is it?” Catherine frowns up at him. “Have I got shite on my face?”

Bo laughs again, loudly and his eyes are crinkled at the corners and he has a dimple on his right side, she noticed that within about 30 seconds of meeting him for the first time. “No, Cath, you haven’t got ‘shite’ on your face.”

Air quotes, seriously?

She keeps looking up at him, eyebrows raised, foot tapping impatiently. “So, why are you staring?”

He slips his phone into his pocket and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not staring.”

“You literally are. Here, you look like this.” She widens her eyes as much as physically possible and pulls a creepy face which she’s sure looks absolutely disgusting.

“You are a very attractive woman, Catherine,” he drawls, straight-faced, and he’s clearly and obviously being sarcastic, so she has absolutely no idea why her face is heating up.

“Fuck you, Bo,” she smiles up at him sweetly and he raises an eyebrow.

Weird.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Well, yes, pal. We’re acting in a movie together.”

He smirks. “Right.”

She nods. “Right.”

“Bye.”

“Ta-ra.”

Catherine watches his retreating form until he’s out of sight, and then she releases a shaky breath that she didn’t realise she’d been holding.

#bo burnham fic #bo burnham smut

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

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time for another goofass take it easy nonsense fic chapter! you like ghouls and demons and weird family dynamics? come on in and have some fun! this is set in my BJ Deetz au, so Beetlejuice is a teen, adopted by the Deetz family. There, you're all set, go read.

There’s a moment where they’re all staring at each other, siblings and their sudden guest all in the know, or at least partially, about secrets the others are holding, and none of them seem sure what their first move should be. Then Emily comes up, and puts her hands on her children’s backs, and leads them to the front door. “Kids, this is your dad’s cousin, Ash. Ash is going to be staying with us for a few days,” she tells them. “Ash, this is BJ, and Lydia.” “Hi,” Lydia squirms. “What’s good?” BJ tries to look casual. Ash, for his part, doesn’t seem inclined to mention the very clear demonstration of magic BJ had pulled in front of him, hardly a few hours ago. “Good to finally, officially, meet you kids,” he says, and then sticks out a hand to shake. BJ takes it, is given a shake, and Ash tilts his head. “You run hot. Feeling sick, BJ?” “Nah, just.. Always a little warm,” the demon pulls his hand back, and Emily smiles. “We’ll have dinner in a bit. Charles always cooks, he’s a great chef. Kids, can you show your uncle to the guest room?” She nudges them, and trapped by social convention and an inability to say no to Emily, BJ huffs, but nods. “Yeah, sure. Follow me, then.”

He’s so used to floating around the house that he has to really remind himself not to lift his legs and just levitate, like he normally does, and the feeling of his body physically trudging up the stairs is almost alien to him. Lydia, weird kid she is, scrambles up the stairs on all fours in front of them, and Ash follows dutifully behind them, as BJ leads him up to the second floor and then down the hall, to the guest room- the room across the hall from his own. He opens the door, gestures to it, and Ash steps in, looks around. “Well, it beats a motel six, that’s for god damn sure,” he says, setting his bag on the bed, and then he turns to look at the kids.

“So. Should we talk?” he quirks a brow. “Up here, where your parents can’t hear?” “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re a creepy kinda uncle,” BJ grimaces. “We’re family. Getchur head outta the gutter, kiddo. Now. That was some disappearing act you two pulled. Never seen anything like it, before.” “What can I say, I love illusions,” BJ tries. “M’gonna be the next Houdini.” “I bet. You wanna share how you did it?” “Magicians don’t reveal their secrets!” Lydia pipes up. The siblings are standing in the doorway, tense, as their newfound relative leans against one of the posters of the antique canopy bed frame. “That was a little more than stage magic. You learn to do that from the book?” Ash asks. BJ blinks. The monster hunter in front of them is still buying that he’s human. Okay.. okay. He can work with that. “Yeah, the book,” he agrees. “Pretty crazy, right?” “I’ve seen that book do wild things, but none of them ever good,” Ash tells them, arms crossed. “It might seem like a fun toy, giving you the ability to do stuff like that, but it’s like a snake, kid. It’s gonna turn on ya. Last thing I want is to have to ruin your daddy’s life by killing his two little treasures, when they get possessed and become deadites.”

BJ’s a little insulted on behalf of snakes, his aspect animal, but he understands the metaphor. Also, “You wouldn’t even hesitate?” he asks, and Ash shrugs. “I’ve taken out a lot of deadites. Once someone’s possessed, they don’t come back from it. No reason to go getting sentimental over who gets latched onto.” There’s a pain behind those hard dark eyes. “Don’t make me shoot the kid,” he nods to Lydia, who tries to match the cool guy vibe. “I’m not a kid, I’m eleven,” she argues, which doesn’t really help her case in the way she thinks it does. BJ puts a hand on her head. “No one’s doin’ anythin’ to Lydster,” he says, a growl in his gravelly voice, and Ash hardly reacts. “I’m tellin’ you, when this goes tits up, and it will, that I will be the one cleaning up the mess. And it’ll get a lot messier before it gets cleaner.” That doesn’t make much sense, but he gets the vibe uncle Ash is going for, at least.

“So if this book is so dangerous, why don’t you destroy it?” “You think I haven’t tried?” He sort of had assumed that, yes. “You can’t burn this thing, or drown it, or bury it. Whatever ancient evil powers it, doesn’t let it be destroyed. It’s humanity’s curse.” “You just sit around, practicin’ these kinda lines, or what?” “Funny. The book, BJ.”

BJ grimaces, but digs into his hoodie pocket, and impossibly, pulls an entire book out. Ash pauses, at that. “Wh-” BJ lifts the book, gives it another huff. The scent is a little addicting, honestly, but he passes it off to Ash, who takes it. “Got pretty cozy with this thing pretty fast,” the older man says. “You know it’s bound in human flesh, right?” Ooooh, that’s why it smells so good. Lydia, at least, has the sense to be disgusted. “Ewww, and I touched it,” she grimaces, and wipes her hands on BJ’s striped hoodie. “Guess th’ ink inside ain’t ink?” he asks, and Ash nods. “Human blood. Sort of cliche, but the ancient Sumerians weren’t askin’ me when they penned the damn thing, I guess.” Ooooh, again. No wonder he couldn’t read it. Ash finally takes a seat on the edge of the bed, and cracks the book open, thumbing through it. “Can you read what it says?” Lydia asks, curious, coming over to peer down at the book in Ash’s lap. “Sure!” and then a pause. “Well, not exactly, one hundred percent, all the way, no,” he admits. “I know a little, though.” “An’ you picked up ancient Sumerian where?” BJ asks, coming to stand behind Lydia. “I wouldn’t say I picked it up,” Ash avoids the question. “Just sort of learned enough through various means. My pronunciation is pretty good. I even remember most of the words.” That doesn’t instil a lot of confidence, but alright.

“Which passage did you read, to learn that teleportation trick?” Ash looks up at him, and BJ grimaces. “Uh, I dunno, it was.. In th’ middle, I think,” he lies, a bit poorly. Ash thumbs through the pages, and then pauses. “Wait, can you read ancient Sumerian?” He asks. BJ rubs at his neck. “I can speak enough Spanish to ask where a library is,” he says, and Ash squints. “Well then how the hell did it give you a weird demon power? You sure it was this book?” “Sure, I’m sure! This is only like, th’ third weird possessed demon book I’ve ever handled, it’s gonna be somethin’ in there that did it,” BJ says. “BJ is totally normal otherwise!” Lydia blurts. Smooth.

Ash closes the book, and stands. “Except that’s not true, is it?” Their uncle asks, studying the demon’s face. “Because in the alleyway, you pushed the power back. I’ve been chased through the woods by that thing, and I didn’t stand a chance. It was going to pounce, grab one of you, and you stopped it, somehow. And the deadite handed the Necronomicon over to you, when it’s goal was getting it away from me.” He takes a menacing step forward. The Deetz siblings take a collective step back. BJ’s got his hands on Lydia’s shoulders, and he maneuvers his kid sister behind him, quickly. “So what’s the deal, kid?” Uncle Ash’s glare is hard, and a little crazy. “Don’t go blowin’ smoke up my ass. I know when I’m being lied to.”

“Not immediately, which is pretty funny,” BJ says, and before they can argue, there’s a scream from downstairs. BJ scoops up Lydia, and Ash scoops up his green canvas duffle bag, and the two of them rush to the stairs, quickly, panic rising in BJ’s chest, because that scream? That’s Emily. you can read the rest right over HERE

#the evil dead #ashley williams #ash williams #evil dead fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice #lydia deetz #charles deetz #emily deetz #my writing #i like writing ash n bj together they are both so goddamn stupid

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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

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Deja Vu

I spent some time thinking about Remus having the superpower to see the future and this happened, whoops. Might write more if I get some free time.

Summary: Remus sees the future and it often involves Roman’s death.

Words: 2284

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @lunasfriendgabby @never-end1ng-suffering @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam

TW: Death, attempted murder, not being believed/listened to, unhealthy sibling relationships,

Read on Ao3 || My general Writing Masterlist

Remus is eight and only eleven minutes younger than Roman the first time he sees his brother get run over by a car.

He’s eight and only eleven minutes younger than Roman and its the middle of the day in summer and Roman has on bright red sneakers that match his favorite jacket. They’re on their front lawn because Mom said they were being too loud and they can’t decide on a game to play because Roman wants to play Wizards and Knights and Remus wants to play Escape from Monkey Island. Roman calls him a name, a mean one, a childish, dumb, cruel one that would mean nothing in a year, a month, a week, a minute. Remus picks up the ball by his knees and throws it as far as he can, because he doesn’t want to be the wizard who fights the knights again.

The ball hits the ground, bounces twice and drops off the curb right into the street.

And the teenager driving the silver sedan is going twenty over the speed limit because they still believe nothing bad can ever happen to them.

Remus is eight and only eleven minutes younger than Roman.

Roman is on the ground and not moving and not breathing.

The silver sedan screeches to a stop ten feet past, ten feet too late, ten feet. And everyone is screaming: The teenager who just ran over Roman, the neighbor who had been mowing their lawn, Mom who came sprinting from the house.

And then Remus is eight and only ten minutes younger than Roman because Roman is dead in the middle of the road.

That’s the first time.

When he blinks, the vision is gone and Roman is in front of him calling him a mean, childish name and Remus has the ball in his hand ready to throw and a grey sedan is turning down their street going far too fast--

And Remus stumbles back and falls off his feet. His butt hits the ground hard and before he even knows what he's doing he's sobbing.

Roman twiddles over him with a bunch dumb, stupid apologies because he thinks that Remus is crying over name calling.

Not because he saw himself throw a ball towards the road and Roman died, or he threw it softer and Roman was quick enough that he survived to hear the ambulance arrive but not to make it to the hospital, or he threw it towards the house and it broke a window and Remus got grounded, or he threw it at Roman and it left a bright red mark that Remus got sent to his room for, or he dropped it and it fell in the gutter and Roman didn't talk to him for a week--

And Remus doesn't know how to explain it to anyone. He doesn't stop sobbing until Roman is grounded for making him cry and he's bundled under a mountain of blankets with Mom right next to him holding him tightly and whispering softly in his hair. When Dad comes home and joins the hug, he asks Mom what happened and she can’t answer any better than Remus can.

They talk about keeping an eye on him, about doctors, and therapy and the words quite literally go over his head. Every time that Remus closes his eyes sees the bumper of the grey sedan, and his head echoes with the sound of his brother’s body hitting the ground again and again and again.

He’s eight and only eleven minutes younger than Roman when he first sees his brother die.

There’s no explanation for it. No reason why. But it happens again and again and again: Roman goes running around the pool and slips on the concrete turning the water red, Remus gives him a playful shove off the play set and he hits the ground just wrong enough that he never gets back up, they leave their shoes on the stairs one time too many and Remus finally knows why Mom is always so insistent that they not do that.

Mom and Dad take him to the nice doctor, who tells him these pills will help him get better.

They don’t.

Even though he wishes they would so badly. He clings to the hope that every time they change the number of pills or the amount of them or the type of them that he’ll stop seeing his brother die or get hurt or cry.

(Its not just his brother: Dad falls off the ladder while putting up Christmas lights, Mom gets scared by a spider and hits her head on the cabinets, the next door neighbor and his wife get into a fist fight, his teacher chokes on a sandwich,---)

By the time he’s ten he knows the truth: He isn’t going to get better. There are no magic pills that will save him, no amount screaming or crying or begging that will make the visions stop coming, nothing.

“Remus!” Mom cries frustrated, when he won’t let her leave for work on time because there’s ice on the deck and she’s going to fall. “You’re too old to be doing this!”

Too old to be crying about every time his family gets hurt, too old to be worried about things that can happen, might happen, won’t happen. He’s too old for anyone to believe him when he says he knows whats going to happen.

In the middle of the night, he wonders what will happen if he runs away.

And that’s when it starts: the vision of Remus in the pajamas he’s currently wearing packing his dinosaur bag with t-shirts and pants and Roman’s jacket and sneaking down the stairs only to be caught by Dad who was up for a midnight snack; the vision of him in the pajamas he’s currently wearing packing his dinosaur bag with t-shirts and pants and Roman’s jacket and struggling to get his window open, which wakes up Roman who starts crying loudly and Dad comes running; the vision of Remus packing nothing and running down the stairs to hug Dad; the vision of Remus rolling over and going back to sleep--

That’s when it starts to make sense.

Remus is ten and eleven minutes younger than Roman when he realizes he can pick and choose what vision he wants to happen of the millions of ones he can see all in his head in that instant.

When Remus pulls Roman back before he gets scratched by the neighborhood wild cat he smiles and tells Roman, “I’ve seen it before!”

“Oh! Like Dejavu,” Roman says and Remus doesn’t correct him.

He stays closer though, watching and wondering what happens if “x”, and preventing bad things from coming to them. When the seventh grade bullies coming looking for them, Remus convinces Roman to follow him to the theater room to hang out; when there’s the pop quiz that no one studied for he memorizes the answers from the version of reality where he steals steals the smartest kids paper; when it snows Remus doesn’t shove a snowball down Roman’s back because he knows that it will cause him to get sick.

“Hey Roman!” Some kid in eighth grade says during lunch, “Wanna hang out?”

And Roman who is fourteen and only eleven minutes older than Remus grins brightly, “We’d love to!”

And Remus sees every version of how the conversation goes: Every version where that nameless senseless kid shrinks back and awkwardly admits the invitation doesn’t extend to Roman’s crazy weird brother, where Roman gets angry and mad and destroys his own reputation, where Roman falls to peer pressure and admits Remus is pretty weird---

“Nah!” Remus says before anything can actually happen, “I don’t wanna hang out! Ro, you go ahead.” (Because he’s seen ahead and knows that Roman comes back bursting with excitement and happiness and really thats all Remus has ever wanted for him, isn’t it?)

Even if the whispers through the highschool begin because of it. Remus can take a few rumors, a few snide remarks, a few isolations, to make his brother happy.

“He’s on drugs you know,” One girl says once Roman is out of earshot. Always out of earshot. “Totally crazy.”

“The way he looks at everyone is creepy.”

“Sometimes he acts like he already knows what people are gonna say and its annoying.”

Remus never felt the need to experiment with his power that much.

“Just leave me alone, Remus!” Roman yells when they are seventeen years old and only eleven minutes apart.

“I’m not gonna let you go to that party!” Remus yells back.

“You don’t control me!”

“You’re going to do something stupid!” Remus snaps back, “You’re going to get drunk, and then drugged and then--”

“I’m not gonna get drunk! I’m not even gonna drink!” Roman throws back.

“Yes you are!” Remus snarls because he’s seen it time and time again, the way that Roman loves attention the way that he becomes pliable the second an older boy looks at him and compliments his hair and the second he’s convinced to have just one drink. Remus has seen the way his own knuckles look bruised and broken against the skin of those college kids that had looked so cool, the way that metal handcuffs feel as he’s loaded into the back of a police car with the sounds of two ambulance sirens wailing over the music.

He’s seen this, seen the way it ends if Roman goes to the party with or without Remus.

He’s always been able to see the way it goes.

“Shut up!” Roman yells.

And that--- that is not what he’s supposed to say.

“Shut up, Remus!” Roman yells, again. “You’re just mad because I got invited and you didn’t! I’m sorry I have friends, Remus! I’m sorry they like me more than you! Maybe if you weren’t such a freak you would have been invited too!”

Remus doesn’t know what to say. It feels a lot like he was shoved on stage without being told what show they’re preforming.

Roman shoves by him, which is not something that Remus saw him do in any of the visions. Why hadn’t he seen this version of the future? Why wasn’t this going as expected?

“Roman--”

Roman whips around to face him, and his red in the face, bursting with angry and emotions and Remus feels himself get angry too.

“I don’t need you!” Roman spits like hellfire is in his veins.

“Yes you do!” Remus shouts back, because he can’t even count the number of times that Roman almost got hurt this week. There’s a terrible taste in the back of his throat, like fresh squeezed limes and hot sauce that makes his head pound. It makes him want to laugh, want to cry, want to pick something up and throw it, but his future visions are all messed up and nothing works--

“You can’t see the future, Remus!” Roman says and it sounds like he’s wanted to say it for a long time.

Remus is seventeen years old and only eleven minutes younger than Roman, when oh.

When he realizes that he’s far too old to cry over watching Roman die, far too weird to get any friends at school, far too much to keep having Roman believe him when he says anything.

It’s Deja Vu. Its Coincidence. Its a trick and a joke and nothing more than that.

Oh.

Roman doesn’t know a single thing about him, doesn’t know how much time Remus put into making sure everything great happens for him, doesn’t know how much of himself Remus gave up for Roman to be happy. He doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know.

And Remus, with his blood boiling because Roman was his brother and clearly he didn’t feel as strongly about Remus as Remus felt about him, wonders what would happen if he punched Roman in the jaw--

They end up fighting on the floor in the hall between their rooms, Mom and Dad come running and Remus gets grounded while Roman gets to go out to the party with a black eye.

--if he shoved Roman down the stairs--

Roman screams as his arm breaks and he spends the night in the ER, Remus is grounded and Roman stops talking to him for a very long time.

--if he grabbed the snowglobe on Roman’s desk and slammed it into Roman’s head--

He topples to the ground, screaming glass and silver sparkles shatter all around them like pretty little snowflakes, Mom and Dad come running and the screaming doesn’t stop.

--if he fit his hands around Roman’s neck and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed--

Roman claws at Roman’s hands, but he’s too off balance, too surprised, too unprepared. He gasps for air and it takes longer in the real life than it does in the movies for Roman’s pretty brown eyes to roll back in his head and his pulse to flutter to a stop and Remus keeps hold him for three minutes more before he lets go and Roman is… Roman was… suddenly there’s only ten minutes between them, nine, eight.

Remus digs his nails into the doorframe of Roman’s room. He laughs.

“Fine,” Remus chokes on his laughter, his mouth tasting like his own stomach acid. “Fine, go to the party, Ro. I’m done caring.”

“Good!” Roman yells.

The door slams in Remus’s face and he can’t stop laughing about it. He drags his fingers through his hair and laughs all the way to his room, gasping for breath as he empties his backpack of school work and notebooks and everything.

Remus is seventeen.

And he runs away from home.

(Part two)

#sanders sides #Remus Sanders #roman sanders #sympathetic remus #superpowers #deja vu au #attempted murder #talk of deaths #but really this is remus #I thought far too long about remus being able to see the future okay #I have a whole plot figured out for this

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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

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Season 1, Episode 2: Second Chance at Fist Line (Part One)

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

P.S. Scott and Stiles fail at whispering and Y/N is too nosy for her own good

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

I walked into the high school with Allison by my side. The two of us had gotten so much closer over the course of the last two weeks of us being here in Beacon Hills. We had a lot in common, since we both grew up moving almost every year. I was finally starting to feel comfortable. I felt like I had friends again. Things were looking up.

Since mom was working weird hours, Allison had been letting me ride with her in the mornings. She only lived a few minutes from me, so it wasn’t too much trouble. Her dad was a really nice guy, and I enjoyed our daily chats. We stopped at our lockers before heading to English, and I noticed a change in her almost immediately.

“What’s wrong?” I got the rest of my books for the day and shut my locker.

She slowly pulled out a black blazer and we both stared at it in confusion. It was the one she’d worn to Lydia’s party last weekend. The one she left in Derek’s car after he took us home.

“How...?”

She’d texted me in a frenzy after realizing it was gone. It was her favorite, and she knew she’d never see it again since we didn’t plan on making hanging out with him a habit. But now it was here. In her locker. At school.

Just then, Scott approached us, looking frazzled. He was staring right at the fabric in her hands.

“Where’d you get that?” He practically demanded. Allison stiffened under his intense stare.

“My jacket? It was in my locker. I think Lydia brought it back from the party. She has my combination, so...” She trailed off, clearly not understanding why he was freaking out. I had no idea either. It was just a jacket.

“Did she say she brought it back? Or did somebody give her the jacket?” His brown eyes were wide with horror as his voice rose. Weird.

“Like who?” Allison glanced my way and Scott immediately did the same, as if just realizing I was beside her.

“Like Derek.” I could see the panic rising behind his eyes as he spat the name.

I stilled. Derek? How did he know he was involved?

“Your friend?” I chimed in, trying to make sense of his odd behavior and calm him down subtly. Derek had said they were friends.

“He’s not my friend.” Scott insisted. “How much did you guys talk to him when he drove you home?”

Allison took a couple steps back, looking scared. I mean, he was acting a little erratically. He seemed to really dislike this Derek guy, which confirmed my suspicion that they weren’t actually friends. But why lie? And why drive us home?

“I actually have to get to class...” She muttered before grabbing my hand to drag me down the hallway with her. It wasn’t a very good excuse, since we share the class with him, but I spared her the reminder.

“Still want to go to the game tomorrow?” I asked once we were out of his earshot.

She just rolled her eyes.

———————

I walked through the hospital, holding a box of Chinese food in one hand and a coke in the other. It was just after school and I promised mom I’d bring her dinner. She’d been working since four this morning. The shifts they were giving her were insane, but I guess it’s because she’s new. She has to prove herself before they’ll give her daytime hours.

I dropped the food off at her station and gave her a quick hug to get her through the next few hours. Being a nurse is brutal. I didn’t know much about my mom’s job, but I knew I could never do it. On my way toward the exit, I noticed Lydia sitting in one of the blue waiting chairs. Standing next to her, looking awkward as hell, was Stiles.

Yeah, I’d learned that the weird not-word he’d spit out at her party was actually his name. Oops. One of his arms was propped up against the white and navy wall, while the other rested on his hip. He was wearing what I now knew was his signature outfit. A pair of jeans and a graphic t-shirt with a flannel over top. I had to admit it only added to his boyish charm.

Lydia pulled a Bluetooth earpiece out of her ear and gestured toward him lazily. “Hold on, gimme a second. I didn’t hear anything you just said. Is it worth repeating?”

He stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat before swallowing thickly. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

She huffed awkwardly as he slid away from her. He pointed at her, then a chair just around the corner.

“I’m gonna sit—you don’t care.” His eyes flickered to me for a fleeting moment and I could’ve sworn I saw his cheeks turning red. To make matters worse, he picked up an educational brochure about the menstrual cycle before plopping into the chair.

“Hey Lydia, what are you doing here?” I greeted, pulling her attention to me.

She smiled kindly, but immediately rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you hear? Jackson has a separated shoulder. Someone—,” She glared in Stiles’ direction. “Took practice too far.”

Oh yeah, I almost forgot the about the rumor going around that Scott lost it during practice today. Apparently, he’d gotten way too aggressive. Stiles’ head popped out from around the corner. “That actually wasn’t...yeah, okay.”

He retreated with a simple look from Lydia. Man, do people really find her that intimidating? Maybe it was because I was friends with her now, but she was just a teenager like the rest of us. Snobby and stuck up, sure. But scary? Not really.

Jackson emerged from the room across the hall and Lydia stood up expectantly. “Did he do it?”

“He said not to make a habit of it, but one cortisone shot won’t kill me.” He rubbed at his shoulder with a grimace. I felt a little bad for the guy. Lacrosse was everything to him, as sad as that was.

“You should get one right before the game, too.” He glowered at her and she stomped a heel on the tile. “The pros do it all the time. You wanna be a little high school amateur? Or do you wanna go pro?”

She pulled him in for a kiss and I looked away. I did not need to see that in a public place. Or anywhere for that matter. They walked away without so much as a goodbye and I was about to do the same before I saw Scott walking toward me briskly.

“Holy God.” Stiles shrieked as Scott ripped the menstrual cycle brochure out of his hands.

“The scent was the same.” He sounded breathless, like he’d run the whole way here.

I silently slipped into the chair Lydia had just been occupying and pulled out my phone as a cover.

“Are you sure?” I saw Stiles bolt to his feet in my peripheral.

“Yes.” Scott huffed, and they stared at each other for a moment, processing this information. Whatever it meant.

Stiles threw a hand up in exasperation. “So he did bury the other half of the body on his property.”

My eyes widened in shock and I looked around to see if anyone else had heard that. Luckily, it didn’t seem like it. Why the hell were they talking about this stuff in front of other people? And what scent? What body? What property?

“Which means we have proof he killed the girl.”

Wait. Killed? What are they talking about? Who are they talking about?

“I say we use it.” Stiles started walking away, but Scott grabbed his shoulder.

“How?”

“Tell me something first. Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek or because you want to play in the game and he said you couldn’t?”

I choked on my spit at the sound of that name. A hand came up to soothe my throat and I put my phone up to my ear before turning away from the boys quickly. I waited a few seconds before slowly rotating back. They were talking about Derek? They thought he killed someone and buried half of the body on his property?

Wait...half? Were they talking about that body the hikers found the first week of school?

“There were bite marks on the leg, Stiles. Bite marks.” Scott was whispering now, seemingly more aware of our surroundings.

“Okay, then we’re gonna need a shovel.”

Their voices disappeared. I peered around the corner and saw them practically running out the front doors. My mind was racing with everything I’d just heard. Bite marks...scents...Derek...a killer? He was creepy, sure, but I don’t know if he could kill someone. Although, I only met the guy once. But, why would Scott and Stiles care, anyway?

I had to get to the bottom of this, and soon.

Episode 1, Part Two Episode 2, Part Two

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kri-babe · 3 years

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A Bad Experience ᅳ Word Count: 2143 Summary: TAKE THE TRASH OUT. Warning: Implied Sexual Assault. Murder.

I was a pretty average kid. I wasn’t excessively popular, but I wasn’t an outcast either. I liked my silence and my own company, but I didn’t mind the company of my friends either. I had my own little pack of misfits that I ran with but we were average kids. We hung out where we could, but it wasn’t all that often between our classes or after school. My best friend in school was… sort of unorthodox, and a lot of people would have probably questioned it, and had my mom been any better, she would’ve told me to stay the fuck away from him.

And with good reason…

Mr. Rhodes was the school janitor; dressed persistently in a dark blue jumpsuit, and jingling whenever he walked because of the keys he carried on his belt. He was a fairly recluse guy, and the other kids thought he was pretty creepy. I think that was because of the fact that he had this weird tendency to turn up in random places, or… maybe it was the scars that mangled the side of his face. Hell, now that I think back on it, it could’ve even just been the vibe he put off. The smile that was just a little too friendly… the dark eyes that were just a little… too happy.

I guess I was a bad read of people…

But for whatever unfortunate reason, I liked Mr. Rhodes… I spoke to him regularly whenever I saw him, treated the guy like he was just another friend of mine. He was friendly enough, and he didn’t treat me like I was just some dumb fuckin’ kid in his way, wasting his time.

I never told him about it, but I think he put it together anyway - the problems back at home. He’d told me one day that I could hide out in the janitor’s closet if I ever needed a place away from everyone else. I hadn’t thought anything of it. Just a friendly gesture from a decent guy everyone overlooked because he had an unsavory job, and scars on his face.

I never once stopped to wonder why he was working at that school, why he was a janitor, and why the other kids avoided him… why the teachers avoided him. I never really thought beyond the idea that they were just mean. That maybe it was pack instinct that kept the flock together, safe in their numbers where the wolf couldn’t easily get to them.

No, I had to be the black sheep - the one that sticks out like a sore thumb, all the easier to snatch.

Too bad I didn’t see his fangs until he found me in the janitor’s closet one day. It’d been a shit day, mom was off her meds, had thrown away some of my stuff because it was ‘Satanic’. I didn’t want to put up with the teachers, nor the other kids, so I hunkered down in that little, cramped closet to just ride the day out. Where the fuck else was I going to go? Home? As if. If only I’d thought of some place else. If only I’d refused to trust him too.

He asked how long I’d been there, and I told him since school started. Guess that meant no one would notice one missing kid. The minute he closed the door, I felt something. A sinking brick in my gut and it only got worse when Mr. Rhodes knelt beside me, rubbed my back and told me that it’d all be okay. He could make it better. … I must’ve been twelve.

I stayed in the closet for the rest of the day. I was too scared to come out until well after school had ended….

I told her anyway. I knew she wouldn’t hear it, I knew she wouldn’t believe me. I knew she wouldn’t be on my side. But sometimes… just… sometimes. She was mom. I told her anyway. I felt the strike far before I had seen it coming.

“No son of mine will be an incubus, not in this house. God will excise this evil from you, you pustulant seductor.”

I still have scars from the whipping.

So… what now…

What do you do when your childhood fucking rapist comes into your place of work… and recognizes you…?

“Well, well,” Chimed a familiar, snake-like voice from just a few steps behind.

Alby blinked tiredly a few times, staring at the bleary image of the DVD cases in the cart and in his hands. As per the norm, the night had been slow - Blockbusters wasn’t really what it used to be, and the few customers he did get were often high as hell, and just looking for cheap movies to rent. He’d had maybe one other customer earlier that evening, before he’d set to putting back the returns.

Another blink, Alby slowly frowned as it pushed its way back to the surface - that rotten, fetid trauma he’d buried years ago. The boy straightened, blinking, and turned his head to peer over his shoulder as Rhodes stepped nearer, grinning just like the wolf he’d always been. Alby’s frown hardened as his good eye slowly cleared from the haze of the pot that clouded his head.

“If it isn’t little Alby… and you’ve grown up to be so handsome too… I’m honestly surprised to still see you around, kiddo… I was so sure your mother would be the end of you…” He reached closer, tilting Alby’s chin in his direction with a finger to better see the patch that was taped over the young man’s right eye. “Looks like she might still be,” He smirked, releasing him then, and instead, placed his hand over Alby’s back.

Broad, slender - he’d shot up like a beanstalk since they had last seen each other. Rhodes looked no different somehow, and Alby wasn’t sure how to take that. But the hand over his back summoned something from the depths of his being. A cold sweat broke out over his porcelain skin and Alby could feel a tremble push its way into his arms and fingers.

“So, how’s life been, kiddo…?” Alby frowned again, staring silently at Rhodes. Was this a joke? Was this guy just… playing fucking stupid? Like they’d always been buddy buddy? Like he fucking hadn’t raped him all those years ago? What was this? Was he trying to get cozy with him so he could do it again?

“What’s the matter, Alby~? Cat got your tongue?”

Rhodes’ hand slid lower, and whether that was to withdraw or not didn’t matter anymore when Alby suddenly exploded into motion with a left hook that connected directly with Rhodes’ jaw. He fell like a sack of bricks and Alby stood there in total silence once more - naught but the sound of his own shaky breathing to accompany him as he glared down at Rhodes’ body. He must have hit him just right… and certainly just hard enough, his knuckles protested about it.

Fuck…

What the fuck was he going to do with this fucker�� call the police? But for what… a crime he’d committed twelve years ago? This was assault… and he was positive that his boss wasn’t going to be happy about his one fucking employee assaulting a customer…

The walkie-talkie on the back of Alby’s hip crackled and popped, and there it came: his boss’s chipper voice.

“Hey, Al, you there, bud~?”

He’d never seen the guy’s face, but his manager was always so weirdly happy… it was unsettling at best.

“Fuck…” Alby breathed, still shaking as he pulled the walkie-talkie off his belt and brought it to his lips, “Y-yeah, what’s up?” Just… be calm. Act normal. Everything was fine. He never even came into the store, and it was late. They were just between the shelves. No one would know.

“Hey, Al, there ya are! Listen, bud!” Popped the walkie.

“Remember what I told you about the trash? Those no-good lay-about trash guys don’t come by anymore, so there’s an incinerator in the basement of the building you can use to take out the trash! It’s pretty big, too, remember? So don’t fall in!”

Alby shook harder, blinking widely.

He was so sure he could hear something else just under his boss’s peppy voice. Something unnatural, just under the static, like worms in the dirt, whispering the earth’s secrets into his ears.

‘T̴̨̥̥̮̖̮̠̰̗͖̘̺͒̂̿̅͠Ā̴̫̖̬̜̝̟̠̥̿͌̃͐ͅK̶̟̻̤̼͇̭̻̗̖̖̮̤̺̺̅̐̐̊̀̅̔̈́͑̔̄̀̕̚͝ͅE̶͔̥̺̩̖͓̗̱͉̤̮̭̲͎̺̫̋͛̋̒̊̄̕ ̶̧̬̙͉̮̦̮̭̘͙͌̈́̈Ţ̶̨̛̛̫͖̙̫̺̘̰̘̳̮̘̞̊̏̅͊͋̍͂̄̅́̌͜͠͠͝ͅH̸̨̟͕͍̝̠̫̔̏̓͘͜͝Ě̶̡̨̨͖̫͚͇͍̰̻̪̭̰̃̈́́̈́̌̇̔̒̂̑́̉̿̓̑͘ͅ ̴̭̮͍̟̩̯̍̉͂̂̒͗̀̈́̐̒͘T̷͓̱͎͔̦̫̲̹̰̠̬̤̹͂R̸̡̹͔͓̳͎̣̗͙̥͙̱̯̂͊̌̽͗̈́̎̅̇͘͝A̴̳̳̤̣͐̑̄͘ͅS̷̩̲͖͒̏́̆̋Ḩ̶͔̥͉̪͓͉͇̠̭̓͋̀͒͘͜ ̸͇͎̘̮̀̊͐̈͋̽̑̇̔̄̋̈́͜͝͠Ơ̷̡̳̰̳͈͙̙̞͔̹̦͍͋̋̑̿̿͂̾̊̀̓͑̎̕̕͘̚U̶͔̩̘͖͖̗͚̞̲͓̬̟̥̺̅̓̂͑̏́͝͠͝T̸̺̹̤̮̆̓̽̈́̀̒̉͒̄̓̀̒͒͠,̶̪̤̯̖̩̯̘̾̒͊̇̂͂͗̑̂͋͋̈́̏͐̏͜͝ͅ ̶̡̡̣͓̠̭̫̟̫͕̔͆͋̈́̈́̌̊̓̈́̍͌̈́̔̐́̾͜͝A̵̲͓̝͚͚̖͖͙͉̹͍̗̦͙͔̭̞͑͊̃̓̿̑̓̑̾̃͊L̵̨͖̣̜̬̜̮̲̦̞̥̑̓͑̄͌̎̿͛̈́̈̂͝Ḇ̷̯͎̝̮̯͖͈̰͔̦͕̫̭̬̙̉̉̅ͅY̵̡̪̹̲͚̭͈̞͚̆̓͒̍̚͘͝͝͠.̷͚̳̘̜͙̺̝̳̌̀̔̑͒͗̐̌̈̃͌͝͠͝’

Alby swallowed, and looked back down at the body that lay sprawled across the carpeted flooring, lips working to form words he couldn’t find the ability to add noise to.

“Still there, Al!?” He jolted.

“Y-yeah, yeah, sorry, I’m here. I-I -- I’m on it, boss.” The walkie was hooked back onto his belt and Alby slowly exhaled.

Did he… know…? There was no fucking way this was coincidence. Trash day was usually at the end of the week… it was fucking Tuesday.

Could he do this…?

The basement door swung open, and Alby panted softly, grunting as he readjusted the man draped over his shoulder and slowly began down the steps into the blackness of the basement. There were lights, but the incinerator was often just bright enough that its orange glow was more than enough to light his way. That… beast of a machine. Steel and fire - the belly of a dragon, and the teeth to match.

When he first came to work here, there was no basement. There was no incinerator. There were large trash bins outside that the garbage men would occasionally come get, because the Blockbuster didn’t produce enough trash. Alby was the only employee. But after a time, he’d gotten word from his boss that the garbage men wouldn’t be stopping by anymore. They’d decided the place wasn’t worth the stop anymore, due to how infrequently they had to pick up from it.

The next day, there was a note about the basement. The incinerator. The shop never shut down. There were no construction workers. There was no equipment. No signs that the building had been added onto. It was just… there.

Every step thunked down the stairs as Alby disappeared down into that blackness, and squinted the moment he came around the corner to face the incinerator. It didn’t often make much noise… but it was growling now. Like a ravenous beast, it’s teeth clanking against its jaw in anticipation. Alby hesitated. He often wondered if this fucking thing was alive… the way it acted. But it was so easy for him to chalk it up to the fact that it was probably just funky machinery. He swallowed, and drew nearer, pulling the lever to open the jaws of this hellbeast which roared hungrily, releasing a burning belch of hot air into the basement. Alby squinted against the blast, and stared into those roaring flames.

The weight on his shoulder never felt heavier… and he wasn’t sure he could do this…

The guy… raped him but… this was murder, and no one would ever know…

But they never knew about his rape, either, did they…?

The walkie talkie crackled and popped, fuzzing loudly against the rumbling of the incinerator. There were no words that spilled through the static, and yet… he could hear that distant sound once again. As if there was just… too much interference, or the frequency wasn’t

quite right.

There it was again - that compulsion. This subtle… feeling. Like someone or something was just… gently pushing on his mind. On his thoughts. Compelling him, his wants. With a deep breath, and another soft grunt, Alby bounced the man from his shoulder, and into the blazing fires of the furnace, tossing in his legs to follow the body as embers shot out in every direction. He hadn’t even fully straightened when those steel jaws banged shut, and Alby threw a widened brown eye over the lever. Was it faulty…? Holy shit.

The blow to his jaw wasn’t enough to keep Rhodes down now… the screaming started shortly after, and Alby couldn’t take his eyes off the furnace as that blackening silhouette within thrashed and struggled frantically for an escape that would not be found.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than a few minutes… but those minutes felt like an eon, and Alby knew Rhodes suffered… too bad it was over so soon.

He stared quietly at the furnace as the roaring dulled to a soft, content rumble, fingers shaking by his thighs as he searched in vain for signs that Rhodes yet remained within that beast’s blazing belly.

The walkie talkie popped and fuzzed.

There were no clear words again… but he could have sworn that he heard the faintest sound of a voice… just… just out of range.

'̶̡͙̗͔̒̄͒͛̆̈́͐̏̐̃̈́̎͝Ṋ̷̱̙̝̋́͐̑̀̋̐̽̽̐͂̆͐͝Ơ̵͔̒̀͋̋̌̂B̸̖̞̘̬̥̺͓̜̘̟͙̥̑̍͑́̍̈́̿̉̈́̽͑̏̀͘ͅO̸̡̬͉̞̱̪͚̭̼̬͉͊̉̆͛̍̒̊D̷̥̩̮̈̃̊̈́͂͊̔͑̈́̽̇͘̚ͅẎ̵̦̺̯̣̦̲̣̐̽̀͆̽̊̏̃ ̷̨͖̖̪̥̹̣̠͕͔̤͎͍̹̽̈̕͝L̵͔̜͇͖̮̰͙̤̰̠̂́̄̓̌̑̄̐̈̚͝Ǐ̸̗̭̬͍̬͙̗̘͔̃͝͠ͅK̸̙̼͙̳̹̫͚̩͎͍̈́ͅȄ̵͙̏̉̏͛̈̎̒̐̆̿Ş̴̧͙̤̳̤̅̿̈̉́̌͂̐̿͠͝͠͠ ̵̢͙͍̮̳̐̅͐̀͐̅͗͂̈́́̈́A̸̧͉̟̯͔̠̮͚̻̭͑̿͒̈̿̅͒͛͛̽͠ ̶̡̢̹̭͉̳̙̣̺̘̍͂́̏͝K̵̻͉̳̘͍̩̦͎̱̙̩̝͍͌͒̈́̐̃͘͜I̵̺̝̣̩͕̱̱͇͔̊̅͒D̴̨͔̘͎̝̫͕͙͚̥̦̘̙̳̀̔͑͘D̵͔̤͓̗͈͍͕̱͎̭̀Ī̴̱̲́̇͂̐͠Ē̶̡̪̅́̑̃͊̎̐́͐̂̊̓ ̵̨̱͎͚̣͖̘͓̻̬̗͖͊̊̉̇̽͑̓̋͊̾̾F̶̡̡͈̭̼͇͇͎̙̂̽͛͐͒̈́̅̉̎Ḭ̷̧̛̮̤̣͓̖͈̐̏̀̅͗́͘͝D̸̛̦͊D̸̡̢͈̞͙͔̜͖̖̮̻͖̒͆̆̒̆̿͋̌̒́̅̚͘͠Ļ̵̻̼͚̝́̿͋̚E̸̝͎͍͂̇̽̃͋͊̐͌͝͠ͅR̶̡̞͉̞̩̱̝͚̗͙̦̐́̉̑̈́̆̀͌̀̾̅͘ͅ'̷̨̧͔̣̜̺̪̰̜̦̮̖̺͑̂̃̊̔͂̈̀͐̃͜

#writing #writers of tumblr #creative writing #fiction #this is just something #i kinda got inspired to write #and it bothered me for about three days #after i made a new sim lmao #i'm proud of it #but it's a little dark #so read with discrection

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