#and they could have gotten billy to voice an entirely different line for that scene. but they reused his line from s3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Fractal Scarring

[Broadway Kids]

FINALLY THIS IS FINISHED. two days to write 12,000 words? that’s so shameful :/

also i hate writing in present tense

Word count: 12,029

Prompt: “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

Tw: Abuse, waterboarding

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

The sound of the doorbell ringing rudely interrupts the heated kiss between Lynn and her girlfriend, Estelle. Lynn pulls back with a growl of frustration, waiting a moment before leaning into Estelle again.

“You’re not going to get that?” Estelle asks.

“No need,” Lynn says dismissively. “It’s probably just the Amazon guy.”

“What did you order this time? More sneakers? Special energy drinks?” Estelle says teasingly.

“Oh, hush,” Lynn bats at her. “Just because I’m a coach doesn’t mean everything revolves around sports. You, for example.” And then she leans in again, locking her lips with Estelle’s and falling back into the warm, buzzing trance of kissing.

And then the doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again, until it was going off every second in a rapid fire cacophony of chiming.

“Persistent Amazon guy,” Estelle observes.

“Oh my god!!” Lynn yells. She rips off the blankets, nearly exposing her girlfriend’s own naked body in the process, snatches her robe from the bathroom door (although she had considered flashing the solicitors to scare them off), and marches to the front door. There was a glass window at the very top, but was too high to see who it was, so she had no idea who was ruining her time with her girlfriend until she yanks open the door with force.

“Sue?!”

Her student blinks at her from the stoop, trying very hard to not look at the white robe she was swathed in and put the pieces together. The way she clears her throat and then proceeds to say absolutely nothing didn’t help the situation be any less awkward, either. A halo of raindrops from the drizzle falling from the grey-blue sky twinkles on the crown of her head like dozens of silver spider eyes that seemed to stare straight through Lynn’s fluffy covering.

“What-” Lynn finds her voice, although it came out tight and strangled from embarrassment for a moment. “What are you DOING here?! How do you know where I LIVE?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Sue says, “Chris knows a guy.”

THAT Lynn didn’t doubt. She wonders if this “guy” was Billy Nolan or her father tracking her or someone else entirely. Feeling like there were several more eyes on her, Lynn shifts uncomfortably and pulls the laces around her stomach even tighter.

“Why are you here?” She demands with her Coach Voice. It made Sue jump, but then she realized that it wasn’t in fear like she was hoping, but some sort of jolt of remembrance.

“Oh! Right!” Sue looks over her shoulder. Dismayed, Lynn saw that Tommy was there, too, but he was halfway hunched in his Jeep, fumbling with something. “Miss Gardener, you are the most trusted adult we know. Something happened- something really bad, and we need you.”

Usually, Lynn would instantly mount the problem that one of her students was facing and bring it down, but right now, she really rather be mounting something else and be brought down on a bed, so this was not her top priority at the moment. If none of her loved ones were dead, then she really didn’t want to hear it.

“What about your PARENTS?” Lynn says, shooing Sue backwards. “Go to them!”

“No, Miss Gardener, you don’t understand!” Sue cries. “It’s Carrie!”

Lynn froze.

And, at that moment, Tommy pulled out a bloody, beaten Carrie out of the backseat of the Jeep and into sight.

“Bring her inside.” Lynn says without a shred of resistance. “Sue. Tell me everything.”

------

“How do I look?” Tommy asked. “Good? Good enough? Christian-like?”

Sue giggled. “You look great, you dork. There’s no need to worry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It absolutely IS a big deal!” Tommy squawked.

It really was, Sue had to admit. It was the first time Carrie White was EVER having people over at her house.

She said she had begged her mother for hours, swearing up and down that she would be the best daughter and never ever complain ever again if she could have her friends over, and her mother had finally relented. So, now Tommy and Sue were parked outside a cottage as old as time itself. It’s swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the gentle rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Black tires trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across the windshield.

The couple slid out of Tommy’s car after Tommy checked his neatly-combed hair for the tenth time. He was acting like he did the day he met Sue’s parents for the first time in junior year, which was actually quite polite of him to do so. He was taking this very seriously.

Above, the sky was awash with low churning clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at their faces as they trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Sue and Tommy made their way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath their weight, and for a split second they feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age. Tommy knocked on the door; there were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and the tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. Carrie peered out at them like a lime green macaw in a tunnel of darkness in the overalls she was wearing, beaming.

“Hello!” She greeted eagerly. “Come in!”

They stepped inside and entered a world that reeked of religion.

Wall-to-wall there were crosses ranging in various sizes and made of many different materials. There were wooden crosses, metal crosses, crosses made of twigs twisted together and crosses created from woven tangles of barbed wire. Among them were pictures of Bible scenes, like The Last Supper and Noah’s Ark and Jesus doing something with a staff and water- or was that Moses? Sue wasn’t very up to speed on Christianity, so she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the bearded dude was definitely doing /something/ with water.

Aside from the paintings and crosses and some candles, there didn’t appear to be any other decorations. No photos of Carrie as a little girl, no potted plants, no big wooden letters spelling out “WHITE” on the wall- there were only religious adornments.

Carrie led Tommy and Sue through the cramped front room, passing a closet door and a small circular table with a single red candle on it, and into the living room. The smell of baking bread wafted strongly in this room, flowing from the nearby kitchen. A large crucifix was poised menacingly over the ancient fireplace mantle, Jesus’s face frozen in a permanent expression of agony. Each rivulet of blood, every cut opened up on his skull from the Crown of Thorns held so much detail that it almost looked like a real person nailed to the giant wooden cross instead of just precisely carved plastic.

There’s no TV, not that either Sue or Tommy were surprised, so the scuffed, fraying leather sofa taking up a large space in the room was just sitting in front of the fireplace with only a grotesque crucifix to watch. The coffee table in front of it held a Bible that looked like it would crumble into dust if picked up and a well kept nativity set of baby Jesus’s birth. It was probably the nicest thing in the living room, maybe even the entire house, with all the animals shined to perfection and the humans not bearing a single scratch upon their porcelain flesh. There was also a washed out velvet lounge chair with intricate golden designs across the fabric, where a woman sat sewing an article of clothing and watching the new arrivals intently.

Mrs. White was as mangy as her daughter, but not quite as filled out as Carrie was. She was thin and bony, with sunken facial features and spindly fingers like the hands of a skeleton. Tangles of chocolate brown hair were tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her pale, narrow neck to the light of the several lit candles around the house, and Sue and Tommy both concluded that Carrie must have gotten most of her features from her father because she looked nothing like this banshee of a woman dressed in a grey-blue gown sitting before them. The only noticeable thing they had in common were their brown eyes, which were so dark they were nearly black. Mrs. White’s were piercing, yet tired and haunted, and she was looking at Tommy and Sue like she already hated them.

This woman had done terrible things that tormented her, Sue could tell.

------

“That definitely sounds like Margaret.”

Sue and Tommy’s head whip around, but Lynn’s whips faster. She stares at her girlfriend, fully dressed, standing in the hallway spitting out into the rest of the house from the master bedroom. Her blonde hair is combed neatly, leaving no evidence of...things...having been going on. Her grey eyes are troubled.

“You know Margaret White?” Sue asks.

“Who are you?” Tommy says at the same time.

“Estelle Horan,” Estelle answers the nosy teenagers. “And, yes, I knew her.”

She strides across the floor and into the living room. Carrie is lying on one of the couches, expression pinched even in unconsciousness. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and she breathes raggedly.

“How do you know her?” Sue prods further.

Estelle looks at her, then says, “I was their neighbor.”

A beat of silence passes. A pin dropping would be the loudest sound in the room. And then-

“WHAT?” Lynn yelps.

Estelle gives her an amused look. “Did I never tell you?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Estelle shrugs. “There wasn’t ever a good time to bring it up. And I’ve tried to put it out of my mind…” She trails off, a haunted expression flickering in her eyes, like something had shaken her. She looks at Carrie’s frail, bruised body and frowns. “I--never thought she would live this long.”

Lynn gets a terrified look on her face. She didn’t exactly like showing so much fear and weakness around her students, but she couldn’t help it. There’s no way Carrie’s life was as bad as everyone was making it out to be. There’s no way she had suffered so much for so long and she hadn’t done anything to help her.

“What-- what do you mean?” Tommy asks softly. His expression is a mix of horror and rage and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

Estelle reaches out and gently touches Carrie’s head. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew of Carrie’s treatment. But nobody did anything. And then, one day when I was seventeen, Carrie came up to me while I was tanning. She was five? Maybe six? Anyway, she-” She laughs, “-she pointed to my breasts and asked me what they were. I told her and she said she wished she had some and then said how good girls wouldn’t. She said that her mother was ‘bad when she made her.’ Margaret called them ‘dirty pillows’ or something stupid.”

Tommy snorts. Sue elbows him lightly. Estelle shoots him a quick, agreeing smile, then continues.

“Then her mother came out and snapped at her to come back inside. Margaret called me a whore, I called her a cow- I was a very mature and polite seventeen year old.” Estelle chuckles. Her expression soon darkens, however. “I could hear--her screams--from inside the house. After Margaret dragged her back in. Carrie started screaming and crying so loud that I could hear them from outside. Everyone started coming out, but--” She sighs, looking ashamed. “--we didn’t help. Not after the meteor shower. We all ran.”

“Wait-” Sue says. “Did you say ‘meteor shower’?”

“Yeah,” Estelle says. “These rocks just started falling from the sky, but they only hit the White’s house for some reason. It was so weird.”

Tommy and Sue exchange looks.

“Carrie mentioned something about stones…” Tommy says.

Estelle furrows her eyebrows. Lynn kneels down next to her and takes one of her hands, not caring about secrecy around her students anymore.

“Sue,” She says to the girl, “continue the story. What happened next?”

------

“Mama,” Carrie said, and the sound of her voice startled both Sue and Tommy. They don’t know why they had assumed Carrie would sign at home; her mother didn’t exactly seem like the type to put up with sign language. “These are my friends! Tommy and Sue!” She beamed at them both, radiating with pride. Her voice was so sweet and youthful.

“Hmm,” Mrs. White merely said. Her hands are still working a needle and thread through the pale purple fabric, and Sue can see muscles rippling beneath the skin.

Tommy stepped forward first, gathering his shoulders up into a straightened position and marching smoothly across the room. Carrie skittered after him and stood beside one side of the chair, and then Sue followed.

“Tommy Ross,” Tommy extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. White looked at Tommy’s hand with visible disgust, but she shook it firmly when Carrie nudged her arm. She did the same with Sue, but with less reluctance. Sue guessed that she probably had something against men, which was something she never had a problem with, there were MANY reasons to hate men, but this woman looked like she wanted to chop off the penis of every male in existence and violently choke them with it.

Or, perhaps, do something even worse.

“It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Mrs. White finally said in a voice that could crack an iceberg in two. She sized Tommy and Sue up silently, sneering at Sue’s skirt, which barely reached her knees, but didn’t comment about it. “It’s so...wonderful...to see my precious angel with people she can trust.” She lifted a hand and Carrie eagerly ducked her head beneath it. It was quite cute to see her blissfully get affection, but Sue got a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach when she noticed that the action made Carrie look like a trained dog. And Mrs. White was her owner.

“Carrie is a lot of fun to have around,” Tommy said, and Carrie grinned brightly at him. “Your daughter is amazing!”

“Hmm,” Mrs. White said again. She looked at Carrie and a smile tugged on her lips. “She is, isn’t she?” She patted Carrie’s cheek. “Run along, my darling. Go play.”

Carrie nodded and her face scrunched up adorably with giddiness when she got a kiss on the forehead. She jumped up a moment later, darting past Tommy and Sue and to the staircase. She waved to them to follow her eagerly, grinning her head off and doing a little dance on the first step.

“We’re coming, we’re coming!” Sue laughed as she and Tommy walked over. “Calm down!”

They ascended the stairs, and Sue could feel Margaret’s burning gaze scorch holes into her back with every step she took.

The first thing Sue and Tommy noticed upon entering the bedroom were the bars over the window.

Carrie’s room was plain. Plain cream walls, plain scuffed hardwood floor, plain white bed sheets and blankets (no pillow, as she had once mentioned before). There was a nightstand next to her bed with a lamp and a small Bible on it and a splintering bookshelf with very few books set up neatly. A chest at the end of the bed had ribbons of colorful fabric overflowing from the closed lid and a desk had a current sewing project spread out over its surface. A small table in the corner held a few old stuffed animals stacked neatly in a fuzzy pyramid.

“Welcome,” Carrie signed with a grand gesture with outstretched arms. She spun around once, looking around her room, then centered to Tommy and Sue again with a sheepish expression. “I--don’t know what to do now.”

Sue tilted her head, not understanding her hand movements, and Tommy translated. It made her pause in thought- what WAS there to do at Carrie’s house? There was no TV to watch movies on or teach her how to play video games like Tommy usually did. The place was actually quite...boring. Sue couldn’t bear to live in such a bare place.

“Sorry…” Carrie lowered her head in shame.

“Hey, no, it’s okay!” Tommy said quickly. “No worries!”

Sue looked around, trying to find something that would hopefully ease Carrie’s tension. She spotted the piece of fabric on the desk, which was a plum color with frills along the breast. She nodded at it.

“That’s pretty.” She said.

“Oh!” Carrie skittered over to it. “Thank you. It’s not finished yet, but it’s going to be a dress!”

Tommy translated her signs and Sue smiled. “Do you make all your clothes?”

“Most of them,” Carrie nodded.

“That’s so cool!” Sue said.

Carrie blushed. “Thank you.” She lightly brushed her project. “I can--teach you how to. If you want.”

------

“And then we started sewing,” Sue says. She stares into the cup of water Lynn had gotten for her with a deeply troubled look.

“I made a scarf.” Tommy states in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“It was supposed to be a sweater.” Sue manages a giggle, although it was tight and slightly strangled.

Lynn wants to smile, she really does, but as she is pressing a wet rag to a welt on her young student’s stomach, watching blood seep into the white fabric, such an action feels impossible.

If Carrie had looked worrisome when Lynn first saw her, then the removal of most of her clothes has only increased that concern tenfold. The few injuries that had been visible when she first got there were bad enough, but the skin on her torso and back were splattered with impossibly dark colors that were split open in the center of each mark, like she had been beaten with a thin object. Cuts and scrapes marred her tanned skin, which was now horribly pale.

Carrie is stripped down to the black shorts and white tank top she had been wearing underneath her green overalls, which were stained in her blood (not that it was much of a loss- those things were hideous). Her face is tight with pain and all her muscles were tense as if she wanted to run, but couldn’t. Each breath she took came out shallow and ragged.

There’s too many wounds. There’s too many injuries on her little body. She isn’t going to live. Carrie will die.

A touch on her shoulder brought Lynn out of her morbid thoughts. She looks up to see Estelle, still kneeling next to her, a worried, but “I’m here for you” look on her face. She leans against her and a sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Her mind is a jumbled mess, a tornado of disconnected thoughts and overwhelming stress.

Sue takes a deep breath and all eyes turn to her again. She pries her gaze away from her cup, rests her head against Tommy’s shoulder for support, and begins the story again.

------

“WHAT is THAT?” Carrie signed.

“IT is a SCARF!” Tommy declared defensively, holding the long piece of red wool fabric as if it were a live snake. “And it’s very stylish!” He flicked it around his neck and lifted his nose in a very haughty, pompous manner. Carrie flopped backwards, giggling and kicking her legs in the air. Tommy looked delighted at her reaction.

“I thought we were making sweaters…” Sue said, blinking down at the misshapen purple blob in her hands. Carrie giggled louder.

She giggled and giggled, such a pleasant, relieving sound.

And then the bedroom door opened.

And a thunderous voice that could shatter a glacier spoke up.

“What is going on in here?”

Tommy, Sue, and Carrie all jumped and twisted around to see Mrs. White slithering inside, growing bigger and more menacing with every step she took. Tommy and Sue both straightened up, trying to look like model guests, while Carrie scrambled up off of her back and to her feet. She was still beaming, however.

“Hello, Mama,” She greeted sweetly. “I was just teaching Tommy and Sue how to sew! They’re not very good.”

“I made a scarf,” Tommy said, holding up the droopy ends of his silly creation for Mrs. White to see. She looked at it as if it were the serpent that had bewitched Eve. “Also, oi! Rude!” He poked Carrie in the leg, then glanced up at Mrs. White again, like he was saying, Look at how good I am with your daughter! Look at how nice I am to her! Please like me!

“Hmm.” Mrs. White merely said. She looked very suspicious of all three of them, even her own daughter. She looked around the room like she was searching for a shred of impurity that would give her a reason to throw Tommy and Sue out. This process, however, was halted when Carrie hopped forward and latched onto her arm.

“Mama, I finished the dress,” She said. She bumped her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled up at her.

She really does love her mom. Sue thought. But does Mrs. White love her back?

“Did you?” Mrs. White said, half distracted. She was trying to not take her eyes off of the guests, Tommy the most in particular.

“Mhm!” Carrie ran and grabbed the dress she had finished while she was giving the sewing lessons. She presented it to Mrs. White proudly. “See?”

Mrs. White delicately ran her bony fingers along the stitching and frills. Then, she looked up and smiled at Carrie. “Very good, darling.”

That smile flickered away, however, when she looked back to her daughter’s friends. She frowned at Sue, who was rigid next to Tommy. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her like he was.

“You.” She said. “What are you making?”

“Oh, uh--” Sue looked down at the malformed, barely-sewn sweater flopped pathetically in her hands. “A-a sweater.” She wanted to kick herself for stammering. Why was she so nervous around this lady? “I think?”

“My scarf is better.” Tommy muttered, then flashed a smile at Mrs. White. She blinked at him slowly. Even she was curious about his adamant attempt to get on her good side.

Mrs. White sniffed. The edges of her eyes crinkled in distaste. “Maybe you should try lengthening that skirt. You’ll be burning in hell in no time looking like that.”

Sue stiffened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were paper thin--or maybe not even there at all. Mrs. White was staring at her like she had just finished having sex with every man in the entire world and was currently dripping semen all over her floor. Sue struggled not to squirm as silence descended upon the room.

At her side, Tommy’s mouth was half open in shock that an adult would talk to a kid, especially a guest in their house, like that. He kept looking from Sue, to Mrs. White, and then back to Sue, conflicted on whether he should defend his girlfriend and risk Mrs. White hating him even more or not say anything and have Sue possibly hate him (but she wouldn’t hate him. if it were him essentially being called a man slut, she would probably be too scared to say anything, too).

Mrs. White was stood up straight and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She may be thin and ragged, but she was alight with disgust, like a flame that would never go out. Beside her, Carrie was rigid, but didn’t seem very surprised by her mother’s comment. Her head was lowered, dark eyes flitting towards Sue with an apologetic look. And then, she moved, slotting herself between Sue and Mrs. White.

“Mama, Sue is the nicest girl I know.” She said, and Sue felt a flutter of guilt inside her stomach. At one point, she had participated in all the teasing Carrie got. She had been in on schemes to humiliate her and had looked at her like she was the most awful creature to ever walk the earth, and Carrie knew this, she had known it, and yet she still defended her. “If she doesn’t go to heaven, then heaven is wrong.”

Crack, went something in Mrs. White’s head.

Carrie noticed it first, the way her mother’s twisted expression twitched and rippled on her face like a melting wax mask, the way a diseased light flickered behind her eyes, the way her nostrils flared with a silent breath, and then Sue and Tommy followed. They could see it now, too, how Mrs. White still had the same look on her face as she had when she insulted Sue, but just slightly lopsided. It was like a wrinkled photograph cut from a magazine or a blurry movie still. There was something awful swimming behind those beetle-black eyes, and Carrie had accidentally awakened it.

Sue wondered for a fleeting second if she were infected with the same parasite as her mother.

Carrie was very tense, so much so that Sue could see the muscles in her neck bunching up and popping out painfully. Her knees were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face slowly. Sue and Tommy had both seen her scared before, but this was nothing like the fear that came from bullying at school or being called on in class or getting humiliated somehow.

Carrie looked terrified. Genuinely terrified. Like she thought she was going to die.

“Carrie.” Mrs. White said calmly, but they all still shivered. The weight of the fury in that one simple word--Sue hoped she would never have to hear anyone say her name like that. She might as well have called her daughter ‘Disappointment.’ “Dear. Come here.”

But Carrie didn’t move. Her breathing starts to become more ragged.

“No, mama,” She whispered, and Sue had never heard so much fear in her voice before.

Twitch, went something on Mrs. White’s expression.

“M-my friends--” Carrie went on shakily, trying to give a good reason for her to talk back. “Th-they’re here. C-can’t we wait…” But her words trailed off into meaninglessness when she met her mother’s sharp gaze and she fell into helpless silence.

Mrs. White stretched her neck to the left and there was a series of pops that reverberated around the room. She seemed to be swelling up like a venomous snake.

“Hey--” Tommy leapt to his feet, the tail of his sweater-scarf wagging lazily in front of him. “It’s not Carrie’s fault. She was just being a good friend.”

Mrs. White snapped her smoldering gaze over to Tommy, and that was enough to send him slamming right back to the floor in a rigid sitting position. Sue had never seen him obey so much like a trained dog before. It was horrifying how much this single woman could strike so much terror into all of them.

“Carietta Nancy White.” Mrs. White hissed, her voice dripping with icicles. “I will not tell you again.”

She knows she could just grab Carrie. Sue realized with a twist in her stomach. She wants the satisfaction of Carrie obeying her.

Carrie moved slowly, dragging her feet as if they were weighed down by chains, head bowed in a submissive way. The moment she was in reach, Mrs. White snatched her by the forearm and dug her nails in so deep tiny jewels of blood bubbled up around her fingers. Tommy twitched at Sue’s side, like he wanted to jump up and tackle Mrs. White, but his nerves were holding him back.

“I’m sorry…” Carrie whispered, although Sue doesn’t know if it’s directed to her and Tommy or to her mother. She’s briskly guided out of the room a moment later, so fast that she actually clipped her forehead on the doorframe, but Mrs. White doesn’t stop to let her recover. Their footsteps shuffle and stomp down the hallway, down the steps, and then disappear downstairs.

Silence.

Sue and Tommy waited for yelling, crashing, banging, fighting to break out, but there was nothing. They could only hear the distant sound of Mrs. White’s voice, but neither of them dared to move to listen closer. They just sat there in Carrie’s room, surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and sewing needles, not speaking a word.

Mrs. White came to get them five minutes later. Her eyes were filled with disgust and hatred and her mouth was twisted in a sneer.

“Get out.” Was all she said in a voice filled with malice.

Sue and Tommy leapt to their feet and scampered out of the house with metaphorical tails tucked between their legs as fast they could. Mrs. White followed close behind them, like the devil on their heels, until they were out on the stoop. She slammed the door so hard Sue was surprised the entire house didn’t come crumbling down and they heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Silence.

“That...was eventful.” Sue said.

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just began to pace up and down the front walkway, crunching gravel and pebbles underneath his shoes.

“Tommy?”

“We have to do something.” Tommy blurted.

Surprised, Sue said, “What?”

“We can’t just leave her in there!” Tommy said, then quickly quieted his voice. He looked around. “We have to save her.”

Sue knew they had to, even if the thought scared her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep that night knowing Carrie was probably thrashed for the skirt her friend had been wearing.

The two of them wait a moment, then sneak around the side of the house, romping through overgrown weeds and grass and knowing full well that they’ll get hell rained upon them if they’re caught. Tommy peeked in through a back window with a crack in it and saw the fleeting figure of Margaret ascending the staircase, giving him and Sue a chance to slip in through the back door and re-enter the house.

Being inside that place felt wrong, like they were intruding on sacred grounds. But the house was anything but sacred, especially with the muffled sniffles echoing from somewhere they couldn’t see.

Sue and Tommy ducked into a small closet that was cluttered with moth-eaten blankets and boxes. They were at the end of the main downstairs hallway and it was dark enough for them to crack open the door and peek out without being seen. There, they waited, peering out of the barely-open door. Sue’s back was just starting to hurt from hunching over when footsteps stomped down the staircase. She and Tommy watched as Mrs. White unlocked what they thought had just been a coat closet, reached in, and pulled Carrie out.

“I’m sorry, Mama!” Carrie blurted instantly, as submissive as always.

Mrs. White answered in a low rumbling noise. She dragged Carrie into the den and out of sight.

“Mama, please talk to me.” Sue and Tommy heard Carrie beg. “Please, I’m sorry! I just-- they’re my friends and I don’t like when people are mean to them. I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

Mrs. White snorted. “Friends.” She repeated the word as if it were a curse. “They aren’t your friends.”

“They are!” Carrie said. “They are, Mama! And they’re really nice, too, you’ll see!”

Mrs. White huffed out a breath and Sue thought she may be shaking her head. “Nobody is friends with you, Carrie. You don’t have friends. You know why.”

Sue winced. That felt like it was needlessly cruel to the poor girl.

“No, Mama,” Carrie said, this time much softer.

“If I told them what you are--what you can do, they’ll run for the hills. Or worse: they’d lock you up and use your gifts. But me? I’ve always accepted and loved you the way you are, my sweet girl.” Mrs. White crooned. “You’re different, Carrie. And you know people love to destroy what is not like them.”

“I don’t have to be,” Carrie said. “Tommy says I can be whoever I want!”

“Oh. That BOY.” Mrs. White said with great disgust. “You know how boys are, Carrie. Do I need to remind you of your father?”

“No, Mama.” Carrie replied with a shudder in her voice.

Sue and Tommy exchanged looks. They had both wondered on their own about Carrie’s father, but neither ever brought it up to her. By the sound of it, whatever happened to him wasn’t very good.

“They’re good, Mama,” Carrie was saying when focus was brought back to the conversation. “I promise! I’m sorry for talking back, but Tommy and Sue are good people!”

“They’ve entranced you,” Mrs. White said, not even listening to her daughters. “They are imps sent from the devil!”

“No, Mama!” There’s a rustle of fabric and the scuffing of feet against the floor- Carrie must have been standing up. “They aren’t! Don’t you dare say that about them! They’re not imps, YOU are!”

The sound of a hand smashing against flesh filled the house; Carrie’s body fell backwards into sight on her stomach. She’s frozen in shock for a moment before pushing herself up on her hands. A second later, one of her legs was grappled and she was dragged backwards into the den, screaming and clawing helplessly at the floor.

It was like a scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.

“Mama, stop! Stop it, Mama! I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to repent, you vile little beast--”

Another slap reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp yelp reminiscent of a puppy getting its foot stepped on.

“Mama! Mama, no! Please, no! I’m sorry!”

“You must be washed clean of the filth they put on you.”

There’s the sound of fabric scraping against the floor that traveled into the kitchen. A clatter of a body being thrown into a chair echoed from that room, followed by a stern, “Stay.”

“Mama, please,” Carrie pleaded. “I don��t want to, Mama, I don’t want to be cleaned--”

Sue heard the sink running in the kitchen. What was going on?

A hand yanked her head backwards by the hair. Water hit the over her face cloth- small drips and then a heavy torrent. It flooded into her nose. She instinctively opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, and the water poured in. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was frozen. She could feel the freezing water trickling down her throat. She tried to toss her head to escape the torrent, but she couldn't even twitch. The only part of her that was moving was her chest as her body fought frantically to cough, to escape, to breathe, to survive.

“Don’t like that, do you?” Mama’s voice was crowing as she lifted the cloth. She smirked at the way her daughter gasped for air, taking in quick, rapid breaths to soothe her lungs. “No, you don’t.” She felt her shake her hand beneath her hand. “Admit it, my darling. Admit that that boy and girl are sent from the devil and dirtied you. Admit it and it will end.”

Desperate to retain at least a shred of her dignity, Carrie said, “No.”

The cloth drops back down over her face with a wet plop.

She felt the moment the water hit her lungs this time around- there was a lot more poured over her. There was a sickening chill, so at odds with the burning pain. And then her arms and legs were tugging against the ropes as sheer panic enveloped her. She wasn't thinking of twisting her wrists to try to free them; her arms moved of their own accord, tearing the skin. She wasn't thinking of kicking out with all her strength; her legs jerked and tugged against the restraints, wrenching their own muscles. She wasn't thinking of trying to get away from whatever was pinning her down; her body writhed and shifted as panic and fear pulsed through it.

When Mama lifted the cloth again, water was spit up from Carrie’s lips. She lowered it, not giving her much room to breathe. She whined sharply, pathetically when she just inhaled a wet rag.

“Please, please, Mama...” Carrie begged through breathless sobs.

“Tell me the truth. Admit it. You know you want to. You want to damn their souls to hell for cursing you.”

“No, Mama, I don’t--”

Carrie cut herself off with a horrid gag and water rushed down her throat, choking her.

Dying. Dying. Dying. She could feel it. Her very bones were vibrating with the knowledge that she couldn't survive. That oxygen, held away from her by nothing more than a piece of fabric, was still too far away for her to reach. That every frantic heave of her chest was drawing the water further and further down, pulling in more and more liquid.

Every fiber of her being wanted to fight, was trying to fight, but it wasn't a fight she could win. There was nothing she could do.

Unless…

“I--”

Carrie’s squeal ended in an intense dry heave that twisted her stomach so badly she began to feel nauseous. Her head spun and the crying was adding to the extreme pain that infected her chest and abdomen.

“Mama--”

A whimper, a whine, a keen of helplessness as Carrie’s limbs began to go limp.

“I do!”

The bowl clattered to the ground. Mama removed the rag from her face, stared deep into her teary eyes.

“What was that?”

“I--” A weak sob shook Carrie, “I do. I do want to send them to hell. They made me dirty.”

She thought she’s having to lie to get out alive, but her mind is too fuzzy to know for sure... Maybe she does want them to burn for all eternity in hell.

“You do?”

“Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.” Carrie bobbed her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”

Mama knelt down beside her and began wiping her face off with a dry cloth. When fresh tears streamed from her eyes, she gently dabbed them away. Carrie couldn’t help but press into his touch.

“Is this the truth, Carietta? Are you really sorry?”

“Yes, Mama,” Carrie said with a sob. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Good girl,” Mama crooned, continuing to dry off her face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I’m glad you know to tell the truth, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

Ice cold fear shot through Carrie’s veins.

“I took your gun.” She was desperate now.

“You still have to be punished, little jade.”

She lets out a whimper.

“You know what you did.”

The dry cloth is put over her face.

Water sloshed above her.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was sorry. She was so sorry. She wanted to be a good, obedient daughter. She wanted to make Mama happy. She wanted her to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip

The cloth soaked up the water, slowly this time, to drag out her punishment. Carrie took a shuddering breath of air, fills her lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full she feels like they’re going to burst.

Mama’s voice echoed.

You need to be punished

The water soaked the cloth. The cloth clung to Carrie’s nose as she inhaled, clung when she exhaled, and the panic exploded in her chest. Water slid down her throat, over her neck and into her hair, over her shoulders. So cold it burns.

She’s drowning. She’s dying. She’s suffocating.

Screaming.

Her throat hurts. There’s no air in her mouth, in her lungs. She can feel the water trickling into her nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

The ropes on her arms loosen and then are gone. She wanted to die. She can’t breathe past the panic in her chest. She was shaking. She was dying. She wanted it to end.

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

But then the faces of Tommy and Sue and Miss Gardener flash in her head and she thought, Do I really want to die?

Sue and Tommy didn’t think anything could get worse than Mrs. White waterboarding her own child, but then she raised a wicked-looking switch when Carrie lurched out of the chair she had been punished in. She coughed violently and slipped in the water coating the kitchen floor, falling to her hands and knees, but jolted forward as the switch swung down at her. It just barely missed her left leg.

“I’ll thrash the devil out of you!!” Mrs. White screeched.

Carrie catapulted herself over the dining room table to get away from her and her switch. Sue and Tommy watched as she clambered over the top, scattering porcelain plates and cups, before tipping over in a very ungraceful landing. After hitting the ground, she scrambled up again to flee, but her mother was already upon her.

“Ma--!!”

Before she could get the word completely out, the switch connected with her back with a horrible CRACK.

Carrie doesn’t scream, but she does whine sharply at the burning sensation that had to be blazing through her shoulder blades, even with her shirt on. She scampered around like a mouse below Mrs. White, as she had easily been sent to her knees by the blow. She’s fidgeting and fumbling, trying to speak up without sounding pained, as that would make her seem even weaker.

“Mama, please, I--”

Another lash streaked across her lower back and Carrie gritted her teeth through the pain. Her fingernails claw and catch into the floorboards, but she would have much preferred splinters uprooting her nails than this beating.

“Worthless girl! When will you learn to obey me?!” Mrs. White roared overhead before cracking the switch against her daughter’s waist.

Carrie’s arms gave in and she toppled over onto her side. She squirmed helplessly, pushing her heels against the ground in an attempt to get away, mouth agape as she watched Mrs. White raised her arm yet again.

“Mama--”

This time, Carrie does scream.

She does scream because the switch lashed right across her belly. Her head threw itself backwards, knocking her skull against the floorboards, but it’s not enough to lessen the searing sensation burning itself through her midsection. For a moment, she can only choke and cry out, but then the incomprehensible wail turns into words.

“MOMMY, STOP IT!! PLEASE, MOMMY, STOP!!!”

But Mrs. White doesn’t stop. She just kept on lashing her daughter until blood is soaking through green overalls and Carrie is a shuddering, whimpering ball at her feet. Even then, she does not stop.

Not until a voice cried out.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!!” Tommy barreled out into the den, absolutely fuming and seeing red. It surprised Sue, who had been recording the abuse on her phone in shocked silence. She followed after him quickly.

“Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” Tommy warned. His fingers were clenched and shaking, teeth bared, eyes alight with rage.

“Tommy,” Carrie coughed out weakly.

Tommy looked down at Carrie and his eyes softened instantly. He looked anguished about how he wasn’t able to go to her, not with Mrs. White poising the switch over her back.

“I’m here, Caz,” He murmured. “I’m here.”

Carrie made a feeble whimpering sound. She tried to look up at him, blinking through tears and water and sweat and blood, but she was exhausted from the beating and her head flopped uselessly to the ground. She panted heavily, trying to curl away from her mother.

“I thought I threw you both out.” Mrs. White said.

“We would never leave Carrie.” Tommy said. “Not so devilish now, huh?”

Mrs. White snorted. “You think this proves anything? I know what you people are like.”

“I got what you did on video,” Sue said, holding up her phone. “Just so you know.”

Mrs. White laughed an awful laugh. “Oh, you empty-headed whore,” She cackled. “You think evidence is going to change anything? Everyone in the neighborhood, new and old, have heard Carrie’s cries for years and they have never done anything. Not even when police are called. Nothing is ever done, and you want to know why?” She smirked wickedly. “It’s because nobody cares.”

Sue felt a sinking feeling of dread. Would really nothing be done to save Carrie even with video evidence?

“I care.” Tommy said. “Sue cares. So does Miss Gardener.”

------

“I do,” Lynn murmurs, gently touching one of Carrie’s hands. Tommy and Sue both give her tight smiles, then Sue continues telling the story.

------

Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “No you don’t! You’re lying!” She nudged Carrie with her foot and Carrie moaned weakly in response. Her daughter rolled over slightly, blood squelching beneath her, and gave her her full attention, even after being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one will ever love you except me. You’ll always be a monster to everyone else.”

Sue shivered. It sounded like some kind of chant or curse, like something Mrs. White had repeated this to Carrie several times before.

Carrie whimpered. She craned her neck slowly, wincing in pain, and looked at Sue and Tommy desperately. Mrs. White nudged her again, prodding her foot against one of the cuts along her lower back and making her look back at her.

“She’s not a monster.” Sue spoke up, glaring at Mrs. White.

Mrs. White barked a laugh. She looked down at Carrie quivering beneath her. “Is that what you’ve made them think? That you’re just some shy, innocent little mouse?” She laughed again and turned her blistering gaze back to Tommy and Sue. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, children.”

What did she do? Sue thought. What has Carrie done to make her own mother call her a monster?

And will she do the same thing to us?

“Don’t you DARE talk about Carrie like that!” Tommy growled. “You have no right!”

“I have every right,” Mrs. White said airily. “I am her mother.” She spread her arms in a grand gesture. Droplets of sparkling red blood twinkle on the edges of the switch she was still holding. “And I am just trying to cleanse the little devil he put inside of me.”

A tense silence descended upon the den, only broken by Carrie’s soft gasps and sniffles.

“Who?” Sue asked quietly, reluctantly.

Mrs. White began to pace around the room, swinging the switch at her side and sending blood flying through the air in glittering crimson arcs. “I didn’t want him to put it in me. I tried to fight him.” She said.

“Mama, please don’t,” Carrie begged weakly. She covered her ears and curled up tighter.

“But he didn’t listen.” Mrs. White hissed, ignoring her daughter’s pleas. “He made me enjoy it. Satan gave him sin and, in return, he put a devil child inside of me.”

Oh. Sue realized with a jolt. She was raped.

Mrs. White shook her head. “I don’t hate Carrie. Far from it. If I did, she would be long dead.” She looked down at her daughter with a strange look in her eyes. “I just...have to cleanse her. Remove all her sin.” She tilted her head like Carrie was a new plastic body to decorate the crucifixes with. “And then--she will be--perfect.”

There was something very, very wrong with Margaret White. And Sue didn’t feel safe being around her any longer.

How could Carrie live with such a mother?

Mrs. White looked up at Tommy and Sue, scrutinizing them. “Does that make sense?”

Sue nodded a tiny bit and Mrs. White gave her an appraising look. Tommy, however, only fumed even more.

“What the fuck?” He seethed. “No! Not only no, but HELL NO!” He glared at Mrs. White. “You are fucking psychotic! You can’t treat people like that! Why did I want you to like me? You’re insane!”

Mrs. White glared right back at him. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Men.” She nudged Carrie, who tentatively removed her hands from her ears. “Why don’t I show you why purification is necessary? Carrie, my darling little creature, show them.”

Carrie doesn’t move. Mrs. White exasperatedly rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the top of the head, throwing her to Sue and Tommy’s feet. Carrie landed with a heavy thud and a soft grunt. She looked up at the pair with guilty black-brown eyes so eerily like her mother’s. Sue shivered, finding it difficult to look at her anymore.

“Go on.” Mrs. White waved a hand.

“No, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She tried to make herself as small as possible.

“Why not?” Mrs. White smirked. “Is it because you know they’ll hate you for it?”

Carrie whimpered. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She began to rock herself back and forth on her knees.

“Look at that,” Mrs. White mused. “She doesn’t trust either of you at all. How sad. Some great friends you are if she can’t tell secrets to you.”

Sue felt a smudge of betrayal streak through her. What was so important that Carrie couldn’t tell her and Tommy about? Did the best friend's oath she once made them take mean nothing? She looked to Tommy to see his reaction, but there wasn’t a hint of hurt on his face. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. White.

“It’s her business,” He said. “She can tell us when she’s ready. I wouldn’t admit anything while being pressured, either.”

I should have reacted like that, Sue thought with a twist of guilt. Not immediately assume Carrie is a bad person. She looked at Mrs. White. She’s...so cunning. And convincing. It’s scary.

“Tommy,” Carrie gasped from below. She gripped tightly to one of his pant legs. “Tommy, it hurts.”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of Carrie and bundled her protectively in his arms. Blood smeared against his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care much. Mrs. White watched with a murderous look in her eyes.

“Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Tommy whispered to her soothingly.

“And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” She spat.

Tommy glared right back up at her. “I’m protecting her from you.” He said.

“Foolish boy,” Mrs. White shook her head. “You don’t know what she could do to you.”

“Carrie would never hurt me.” Tommy said.

Mrs. White laughed. “That’s what you think! But she could! She easily could!”

“Mama,” Carrie wheedled.

“Release my daughter.” Mrs. White said. “This instant.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her and said, “No.”

Mrs. White’s face twisted in fury. She gripped the switch in her hands tightly and, for a moment, Sue worried she was going to strike Tommy with it.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

“Mama, please stop.” Carrie begged. She had her head twisted around to stare at her mother. Most of her wounds have stopped bleeding by now; dried blood clashed horribly with her green overalls.

“You devil,” Mrs. White hissed lowly.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Mama.” Carrie whispered. Her body had gone worryingly cold in Tommy’s arms. Her voice was the sound of dead leaves rustling against pavement. “Please don’t make me hurt you…”

Mrs. White was stiff in her spot, arm half raised. The muscles were contracted tightly beneath her skin. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she scared of Carrie? And if so...why? Carrie was anything but threatening.

The next words Carrie spoke made her mother go deathly pale.

“I’ll bring the stones again.”

Mrs. White staggered backwards, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She whispered.

Thunder rumbled deeply, then cracked across the darkening sky outside like a warning. Lightning flickered in through the tightly-drawn drapes, illuminating Carrie’s eyes like ebony flames, and Sue realized they weren’t as black as she thought. There were hues of amber and red-brown, and they glowed intensely in her skull. Her gaze was hard and cold.

“I will, Mama.” Carrie said. Her voice was drained and dry; she sounded so tired. “If you touch them-- If you dare--” She was shaking like a newborn baby goat in Tommy’s arms. She looked up at her mother with the same diseased light that had been in her mother’s eyes. “I will bring the fire down on you.”

Mrs. White dropped to her knees, falling like a bird with broken wings. She clasped her hands together and began to pray loudly, although her words were wavering and slurring together. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like she was trying to ward off sinful thoughts from worming their way into her brain.

Carrie sucked in a sharp breath, her body shuddering in an awful, bone-shattering way. Her head flopped limply onto one of Tommy’s shoulders, panting heavily. Sweat was soaking her brow and a feverish expression contorted her face.

“Tommy,” She gasped weakly.

“Grab her.” Sue ordered. “Grab her, Tommy! Let’s go!”

Tommy scooped Carrie up into his arms and ran for the door, Sue tailing right behind him.

Mrs. White did not stop them.

------

“And then we got in the car and drove here.” Sue concludes with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the house, only broken by the pattering of rain on the window and low rumbles of thunder. Tommy shifts closer to the couch, casting Carrie yet another worried glance. His gaze practically screamed, Wake up. Please wake up.

“That can’t--that can’t be true,” Lynn whispers. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror. There was just no way. No parent could possibly be that cruel to their own child. She didn’t want to believe it.

“It is.” Sue says sadly. She slips her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Lynn. Estelle leans over her shoulder to see. A video is displayed on the screen. With a quaking finger, Lynn presses the play button.

And it all fell away.

Hope that the story wasn’t true, hope that Margaret wasn’t as bad as Sue and Tommy made her out to be, hope that Carrie wasn’t getting brutally abused this whole time, right under her nose, and she never did anything to help her.

Because on the screen, clear as day, is Margaret White lashing her young daughter with a whip-thin switch, splattering blood everywhere. And the agonized yowls of Carrie will echo in her ears, haunt her nightmares, for years to come, always reminding her that it was very, very real.

Lynn’s vision blurs and she realizes she is tearing up. She blinks and claws away the tears hopefully before anyone would notice, trying her best to be strong, trying to not let her facade fall and reveal that she was actually horrified. Horrified and sickened and shocked and livid. She would not let her mask fall, and not just because she was supposed to be a tough-as-nails gym coach that would make numerous students vomit during Suicides and never flinch when bones broke savagely during games. But because she has to be strong for Carrie’s sake.

And then she looks up and sees blank onyx eyes peering at her blankly and tears cloud her vision all over again.

“Carrie!”

Tommy is the first one to react, lunging to his friend’s side in an instant, nearly falling face-first into the rug in the process. He clasps one of her hands with both of his.

“Carrie,” He says again, this time quieter. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” Carrie replies in a soft, hoarse voice. She sighs. “But what else is new?”

She...doesn’t sound very surprised, Lynn realizes with an awful twist in her stomach. Like this has happened before.

Like she’s gotten used to it. Waking up in pain.

Carrie lifts her head slightly, wincing, and looks around the room. “Where am I? Why is Miss Gardener here?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Lynn smiles at her warmly.

“We brought you here.” Sue says.

“Oh.” Carrie’s dark eyes dart around again, searching, and then fall on Estelle. Her brow pinches together. “I know you.” She whispers.

Estelle moves closer. “Hello, Carrie. It’s been a long time.”

“You were my neighbor,” Carrie says. “I asked you what breasts were. Estelle.”

Despite the situation, light laughter ripples through the room. It almost, almost eases the weight pressing on Lynn’s heart.

“Yes, that’s me,” Estelle chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Carrie.”

“You called Mama a cow,” Carrie muses, slightly dazed. Sue gets up to grab the painkillers Lynn left on the kitchen counter.

Lynn gives Estelle a look that says, “You what?” Estelle returns with a crooked smile.

“Where is she?” Carrie asks. She’s looking around more fervently now and trying to get up. “Where’s my Mama?”

Lynn feels that awful twist in her heart again. Even after what Margaret did to her, Carrie is still so attached to her mother. But after living with such a treatment all her life, she must have gotten used to it. Maybe she even learns to overlook it.

“She’s at your house, Caz.” Tommy says, brushing back a loose fringe of hair from Carrie’s face.

“Is she alive?” Carrie asks. Then, more softly, “Did I hurt her?”

The beat of silence and exchange of worried glances is just a bit too long; Carrie begins to whimper and cry. Tommy soothes her quickly, brushing her tears away with gentle hands.

“She’s okay, Caz. She’s alive, I promise.” He assures her. “Shh… It’s okay.”

Carrie looks up at him and calms slightly. Lynn is impressed- out of everyone in the room, she would have thought Tommy would be the least comforting, but here he was, treating Carrie so tenderly. Perhaps the most awkward one with comfort, at least with Carrie, would be Sue, who was standing listlessly with the bottle of Ibuprofen gripped tightly in her hands. Lynn takes it from her and she and Tommy are able to convince Carrie to swallow two of the pills.

“They’ll make you feel better,” Tommy tells her, stroking her hair.

“Do you ever take medicine?” Sue asks curiously.

Carrie shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. Mama didn’t--believe--in that kind of stuff.”

With weak arms, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, despite the several arguments for her to stay laying down. She sucks in a sharp breath, the cuts along her belly straining and stinging in the open air, and she stubbornly tugs her shirt back down to shield the expanse of scarred flesh. Lynn makes a clucking noise of disapproval.

“You shouldn’t have your clothes covering them,” She says. “They could get infected.”

Carrie gives her a wry smile, “I haven’t got any awful infections yet, have I?”

Lynn’s heart wrenched once again, like a claw was dug inside her chest and turning it to mush. Carrie looks so used to this, so used to getting up and shaking off wounds from abuse, and she hates it. She wants to take her away from that kind of lifestyle so badly.

For a long few minutes, the house is silent. Carrie is looking down, her eyes clouded and haunted; Sue is over near the window, hands gripping the sill firmly, peering out at the storm with a deeply troubled expression, like she was considering leaping out into the tempest so the rain could wash away the chill rattling through her body; Tommy has climbed up onto the couch beside Carrie and kept squeezing her hand like he was trying to remind himself that she was still there with him and still alive; Estelle’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s considering Carrie in thoughtful silence, most likely straining her memories back to the days when she was the White’s neighbor; Lynn is currently getting her heart turned into pulp, emotions tumbling over themselves in the whirlwind that was her mind- anger, guilt, shock, fear, maternal instincts, anger again, then guilt...it was all mixing together.

Everyone was lost in their individual thoughts, listlessly wandering the winding corridors of their own minds.

The one who speaks first is Sue.

“Carrie,” She says slowly, turning away from the window, “why do you love your mother?”

“Sue!” Tommy hisses, then whips his head around to see Carrie’s reaction.

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger, and Lynn so badly wants to see it come out. She wants to see Carrie get mad at her mother for the treatment she got. But it is chased off by deep sadness and confusion, like Carrie herself didn’t know why she was so attached to such a wicked woman.

“How much do you know about her?” Carrie asks instead of answering. She looks around, including everyone in the question. “Aside from her being an extremist, how much do you know?”

Looks were exchanged as minds were dug through for any information on Margaret White that weren’t rumors. Carrie waits patiently, a tiny, sad smile ghosting her lips.

“You once said,” Estelle starts slowly, “that she was ‘bad when she made you.’”

Carrie nods, her smile twitching up a little more. “My Mama,” She says, “is a delusional, accursed witch.”

Stunned silence. Carrie tilts her head at them, as if to say, “What? I thought you were waiting for me to say something mean about her?” She shakes herself out, like she was getting rid of evil spirits clinging to her, then went on, “She hates everything about the world. Men, most girls, people who follow different religions, even churches. She doesn’t trust them, so we hold our own ceremonies at the house. She’s the preacher, I’m the congregation…” She splays open her hands and looks at them as if they had nails lanced through the palms. “She hates my father the most, I think. Even though I believe she does love him still, despite what happened. And that makes her hate him even more.” She closes her fists and looks up with dark eyes. “She hates me, too. She says she doesn’t but I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I remind her of him.”

“Have you seen him before?” Sue asks softly. “Your dad?”

“Only once,” Carrie answers. “In a picture. I look like him.”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie runs a hand thoughtfully over her bottom jaw, looking horrifyingly calm while speaking of her home life. But there was fear in her eyes. Lynn could see it flickering in her hugely dilated red-brown-black pupils, very much there, but being stamped down. It was honestly quite startling to see her young student, who would flinch when someone simply raised their hand to ask a question, who always tried to make herself seem smaller when teams were picked for games, who had to use sign language to speak to people because she was too anxious to even verbally talk, be so reserved and nonchalant.

That was another thing- Carrie speaking so many words. Lynn doesn’t think she’s ever heard her talk so much before. She’s wanted to hear her talk, yes, but not like this.

“If a prayer was said just a little wrong,” Carrie begins again, “if a cross was bumped and became crooked, it all fell apart for her.” She leans back, staring out the window. What is that look in her eyes? Disdain, fear, anxiety, relief about finally telling about this? “And she took it out on me over...”

“…and over…”

Carrie’s eyes became vacant, darkening until they looked completely black, lost in the abuse that gripped her so tightly. The calm demeanor only then breaks and is replaced by intense terror and anxiety. At her side, Tommy is too stunned to react, so Lynn lunges forward, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. As soon as contact is made, Carrie begins to thrash and cries out, “…AND OVER!”

Lynn’s grip on Carrie’s shoulders does not break, even when the girl swats fearfully at her arms in a panic. She could only stare as she seized out of control. It was like watching an exorcism happen right in front of her.

“Carrie, stop!” Tommy pleads.

With a start, Carrie stops breathing and tightens every muscle in her body. Prolonged contact with someone who wouldn’t hurt her is starting to have an effect. Her eyes close and her spasms slow. Silence fell around the group.

Then, Carrie expels her breath and sucks in another. She grasps Lynn’s hands and gently pries them away from her shoulders; her touch is like ice.

Sue beseeches her, “What happened to you?”

And on the inside, Lynn thinks, “Is this the girl I want to take in?”

Carrie didn’t look at anyone. Shame carves deep grooves in her face.

“Mama says I’m different,” Carrie smolders. “That I was born from my father’s sin and that’s why--I’m the way I am. And she believes that she has to purify me and remove the devil from inside of me.”

After a second, Carrie turns her head back ever so slightly and peers at the group around her out of the corner of her vision. There was pain in that bloody ebony eye.

Her next three words were tight with humiliation.

“She broke me.”

The pit in Lynn’s stomach dropped until it was a chasm. She can’t speak. Nobody could speak. Carrie looks away again, hiding her disgrace from sight.

“My Mama damaged me in a way that cannot ever be repaired. No matter how many decades pass, I will always be just as broken as I am now. I can’t become whole again.” Her voice cracked as she mourned. “She passed her sickness onto me.”

Tommy reaches over, slowly bridging the gap between him and his dear little sister figure, but Carrie shrinks away from the hand, shaking her head and whimpering, “It’s like a curse that spreads from people to people.”

Tommy swiftly retracts his hand, and the speed at which he does so causes guilt to bloom all over his face. Carrie looks up at him with an understanding frown.

“I will never let anyone share in my sickness. I can’t.” She shakes her head miserably. “I have to--stay away--from people. To protect them. That’s what Mama says.” She clenches her fingers into claws and anger, pain, longing, shame all flash in her eyes.

“But Carrie, how could you pass that sickness onto other people? Onto us?” Tommy asks. “You wouldn’t hurt us!”

Suddenly, a guilt-ridden sob tears out of Carrie’s throat and she doubles over, face buried in her hands.

Quivering, Tommy whispers, “You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

Carrie wails.

Everything is falling to pieces, to ashes. Lynn is frozen, unable to think straight. At her side, Estelle is frowning--like she’s seen this before.

“You don’t want to hurt us.” Estelle says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

Carrie sniffles and looks up from her hands. She looks absolutely miserable.

“Would it matter if I did?” She shakes her head and looks at her hands with so much hatred. “I’m a monster. Just like Mama always says.” She covers her face again and sobs.

Lynn can see it now: Carrie wasn’t just shy and anxious and socially awkward, she was fragile, too--too fragile for the awful things she’s been through.

“Oh, Carrie,” Tommy murmurs. Despite what had been said, he pulls Carrie securely into his arms and she lets him, curling into his warmth. “Carrie. Carrie, I love you anyway. I don’t care.”

And Carrie cries.

She cries and cries and cries for a long time. She cries until she’s reduced to weak sniffles and hiccups and can barely lift her head from Tommy’s chest. She looks absolutely exhausted by the end of it, completely drained. She is feeling the full effect of her wounds, now, and whimpers softly.

“I have a spare bedroom,” Lynn says. “She can sleep there. She’s tired.” She frowns at Carrie’s pale face.

Tommy nods silently and carefully picks Carrie up. Lynn leads him to the guest bedroom and he sets Carrie down beneath the blankets. Her eyelids are fluttering as sleep--or maybe unconsciousness--begins to take hold of her. Tommy kisses her forehead.

“Sleep well, Caz,” He murmurs.

Silence descends upon the house once again. Lynn, Estelle, Tommy, and Sue all sit at the dining room table with mugs of peppermint tea Estelle had made. They didn’t look at each other for a long time.

“What are we gonna do?”

Everyone looks up. Like before, it was Sue who spoke first.

“About Carrie.” Sue states, but it wasn’t really necessary. They all knew who she was referring to.

“She can’t go back home,” Tommy says.

“But she also needs help.” Sue says. “I’m not-- I don’t know if it’s the best idea, but there’s a mental hospital in--”

“No.” Tommy growled. “Hell no.”

“Tommy, she needs help!” Sue says.

“She wouldn’t last a day in a place like that!” Tommy reprimands. “You know that. And mental hospitals aren’t exactly well known for actually helping people. Locking Carrie up with batshit insane people isn’t going to fix her, it’s just going to make her worse.”

“He’s right,” Estelle nods. “I have a cousin who was in a mental hospital for a few days. He said that both suicidal people and homicidal people were put together. So there would be someone who tries to kill themselves with any object they could get their hands on and then someone who loudly talks about wanting to kill everyone in the place in the same room. Not exactly very comforting.” She shakes her head. “What Carrie needs is a stable place to live with sane people who can take care of her. Does she have any relatives?”

“Doubt it.” Tommy sighs.

“She can stay here.”

All eyes turn to Lynn. Her jaw is set and she looks confident in what she said.

“Really?” Tommy’s eyes lit up slightly in hope.

“Yes, really,” Lynn says. “As Estelle said, she needs someone who will take care of her. I can. I /will/. And I want to.”

“That’s a really sweet thing for you to do, Lynnie,” Estelle coos.

“Ooooo, Lynnie?” Sue and Tommy tease simultaneously. For the first time in hours, they had real, wide smiles on their faces.

Lynn rolls her eyes. “Watch it, Snell. I’m still your coach. I can make you run until your legs give out.”

“But you’re not mine.” Tommy says, puffing out his chest.

“You doubt my ability to make kids run Suicides.” Lynn smirked at him.

For just a moment, things felt good again. And maybe they would continue to be good, because if Lynn had her way, Margaret White was never going to see her daughter ever again.

#carrie #carrie the musical #broadway kids carrie #carrie white #tommy ross #sue snell #rita desjardin #lynn gardener #estelle horan #margaret white #carrie fanfiction #carrie fanfic #my writing #tw: abuse #tw: waterboarding #fractal scarring

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sally-mun · 4 years

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Ever met a celebrity or anybody famous? The most famous person I've met was a former pro boxer, by the name of Ray 'Boom-Boom' Mancini at a charity dinner at the banquet center I worked at 4 years ago. Nicest man you'd ever meet and he even sent me a signed autograph picture in the mail. I'm a Star Trek fan and I'd love to meet the cast of TNG, but autographs and conventions are so expensive. Of course there's the chance you could catch one of them on a bad day and get the brunt of it

If we’re including conventions, then yeah I’ve met several famous people before. I’ve met and gotten autographs and/or selfies from voice actors and screen actors, and I’ve occasionally met some artists too! Outside of that, though, I can’t really say I have. Even my best and most extensive meeting was still at a convention. You could even argue that Mario Marathon was kind of a convention in a sense, albeit a super limited one!

I wasn’t sure if I should include a list or not, so as a compromise I’m going to do so below a cut!

Voice Actors:

Sonny Strait (voice of Krillin) -- Got to spend basically an entire day with him! Unexpectedly encountered him at a convention waaaay way back in the day and he just kind of adopted me and the other handful of fans that were hanging around. He gave us all free DBZ CCG t-shirts, let us sit in the DBZ hummer, and signed anything we put in front of him!

Christopher Sabat (voice of Vegeta) -- I brought him a set of cookies made to look like dragon balls, and brought my favorite Vegeta card that I’d been saving for something like 17 years or so on the off-chance I could ever get it signed. He was so moved and impressed that he gave me two other autographs for free~

Todd Haberkorn (voice of Jaco) -- This was the same convention where I got to meet Chris Sabat, and I also brought him a box of cookies. He was so excited that he dug into them right then and there, and then when signing my card he even wrote “Thanks for the galactic cookies!”

Chuck Huber (voice of Android 17/Hiei) -- I’ve gotten autographs from him a couple of times for different characters. One of the items I got signed was one of the original Hiei action figures back when Yu Yu Hakusho first debuted in the US. He was impressed that I had it at all, let alone that it was in the box. (Amusingly, the only reason I did was because I had one previous to it that was out of the box on display and whose sword had broken. I got a new one intending to replace it, but just never opened it.)

Chris Rager (voice of Mr. Satan) -- SUCH a nice guy! We had a nice little chat and I offered him some dragon ball cookies I’d been handing out that day. He signed my trading card and took a selfie with me! I caught him at a panel where he told some absolutely amazing behind-the-scenes stories that I still tell to other people to this day.

Chris Cason (voice of Tien) -- Not much to say about this encounter, I didn’t get to say much more than a hello and thank you before he had to go. I’d missed the official signing session and just happened to catch him after a panel.

Team Four Star -- I catch these guys every opportunity I can manage, and every time I bring them some DBZ-themed treat. I refer to myself as “Snack Girl” when I come to get autographs, and at my last encounter Lanipator mentioned that I looked familiar when I came to the table, so I guess I’m making an impact! I have several stories concerning these guys, way too many to list here.

Little Kuriboh (YGOA voice of Merik, DBZA voice of Freeza) -- Amusingly I met him the time I was at a convention in my Piccolo costume, and that ended up being a whole conversation by itself. It then immediately turned into a conversation about Fallout because someone had brought him some New Vegas playing cards, lol. He was enamored with the trading card I had brought him to sign, and we had a discussion about a fund raiser he’d hosted to raise money for disaster relief where I’d won one of the auctions he’d held.

Kevin Conroy (voice of Batman) -- I found out very late that he was going to be in town, like maybe a week or two before, and dropped EVERYTHING to be able to meet him. When I was in line for an autograph I was so worked up that I kept getting light headed and having heart palpitations. By the time I actually made it to the table I was so starstruck that I could barely say anything. I’m pretty sure I said “I can’t believe you’re here” (??? wtf past-me) and something about him being so talented. He thanked me and didn’t really say much. I had also paid for a photo with him, and in the photo you can see my hand gripping the side of my leg REALLY tightly because I had a very strong instinct to hug him and I WAS NOT ABOUT TO BE THAT FANGIRL.

Charles Martinet (voice of most of the Mario cast) -- Holy shit, this man is playful! He was an absolute delight to talk to, and even just to watch with other people while I was in line. He was very open to whatever sorts of fan requests each person had and was just so warm and gracious with each person that came up. I mostly just wanted to shake his hand and tell him that Mario games basically set me up for the person I grew up to be today. The thing that amused me the most is that if you had him autograph one of the prints at the table, which had all the Mario characters on it, he’d do the voices of each character while doodling little word balloons for them~

Screen Actors:

John Barrowman (Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who/Torchwood) -- This was one of the first times I’d gone to a convention specifically to meet an actor. He was a lot of fun and did his best to be chatty, but his handlers were kind of hurrying people along. He was especially tickled by my name (I guess he doesn’t sign too many autographs made out to “Leda”), and he even signed a second item that we happened to have for free!

Cary Elwes (Wesley in The Princess Bride, among other things) -- This was another one of those moments where the weight of just WHO I was meeting got to me and I completely lost my voice. I think I said something about having grown up watching Princess Bride ever since I was a little kid?? I honestly don’t remember what I said, it’s kind of a blur. All I know is that I was so struck by the moment that I didn’t even remember to say that I also love him in the Saw movies.

Billy Boyd (Pippin in Lord of the Rings) -- Not a lot I can say about this one because it was a very fast-paced, conveyor belt sort of affair. We exchanged greetings and he thanked us very much for coming out to see him, and we all agreed that Pippin is totes the best hobbit.

Robin Lord Taylor (Penguin in Gotham) -- One of my favorite interactions meeting a celebrity, for sure! He was actually really interested in knowing about -me-, which completely threw me off-guard. He wanted to know where I was from and what I did for a living, and when I said I was a manager at Spencer’s he got really excited and squeaked “I LOVE Spencer’s!” While he was signing my doll I explained that Penguin is by far my family’s favorite character in Gotham and that we had a joke where, anytime the show switches back to him, we say “Meanwhile, with the REAL main character...” He got a big kick out of that~

Khary Payton (King Ezekiel in The Walking Dead) -- So I don’t watch a huge amount of Walking Dead, but I watch enough that I wanted to come along when my mom went to go get an autograph from him for my brother. He’s definitely the friendliest celebrity I’ve encountered -- so much so that he wouldn’t stay behind the table! He spent the entire time in FRONT of the table so he could hug every single person that came to see him! It was a nice strong hug, too, and he was just so welcoming and pleasant. I told him that, if I had to choose one of the communities in The Walking Dead, I’d absolutely choose The Kingdom. He threw his hands up to his sides and said dramatically, “You will always have a place in my kingdom!”

Penn & Teller -- This year my mom took me on a surprise trip to Las Vegas, and while we were there we got to see Penn & Teller perform, which has always been a dream of mine! After the show they came out into the lobby and they did autographs and selfies with anyone that wanted one, and I got to meet them each. It was a little disarming hearing Teller talk, and Penn was as funny as ever because he’d loudly comment whenever someone’s phone wasn’t working. During this trip I also had my Boris plushie as my “traveling doll” and asked if they’d take pictures with him as well, which they both obliged. Teller seemed particularly amused by Boris.

James Rolfe (the Angry Video Game Nerd) -- So I actually have kind of a long history with him, which originated with me contacting the show to donate a fairly odd peripheral accessory. I given a green light and provided an address, and since I was going to be mailing him anyway, I basically just got a big box and threw in any video game related stuff that I didn’t want anymore and didn’t feel like putting the effort into selling. It ended up being a HUGE box, so much so that I included an inventory list to make sure he didn’t accidentally throw something away. To my surprise he actually mailed me back an autographed AVGN print thanking me for the donations! I thought that’d be the end of it, but he’s actually since featured that peripheral several times on the show, and even included an Easter egg that I asked for twice! This year I got to meet him at Too Many Games and introduced myself as the one that sent the item in. He mentioned that they had a lot of fun messing with it.

Mario Marathon team -- I’m known as one of the regulars since I’ve been around since the first year, and a couple of years ago I was actually invited to the marathon itself as a player! It’s definitely one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and I only wish I could do it all over again! Everyone was just... wonderful~ I was there for several days so there’s obviously way too many stories to tell, but at least in this case you can always go watch the videos on Twitch.

Artists:

Steven Butler -- This was particularly amusing because I was the one that caught him by surprise. I happened to be making my way through the Artist Alley when I realized he was there, and since no one was at the table at the time I went over to talk to him. We had an awesomely long chat about his work (I was going through a sample book on the table) and his time drawing for the Sonic comics. He tried to bring it up as a talking point, and I told him “I know, I own some of your pages!” which REALLY threw him for a loop! He showed me some art for a new Sonic-style story he’s been working on, and I completely fell in love with a character that was clearly inspired by Sally (and I’m not just assuming, he confirmed as much). I then started talking about @fini-mun and how it’s only a shame he couldn’t meet Deebs too, and was talking about Deebs’ history with art and almost getting recruited to be in the Archie art stable as well and how they now do art streams. He was particularly interested in the streams, and I was like “Oh yeah, that’s actually why they aren’t here now, they have a stream today!” so he gave me a free print to pass along to Deebs as a show of interest and support!

Veronica Vera (from the Not Enough Rings comic) -- This was another chance encounter in Artist Alley. I was just kind of poking around to see everyone’s work, and I realized I recognized the comic she was selling. I commented that I loved that comic, and she said she was selling hardcover copies of the entire series. I love the comic and I wanted to show my support, so I bought a book and she signed the inside cover! Unfortunately Oliver Bareham wasn’t there at the time, so no autograph from him. Maybe one day if I’m incredibly lucky, I suppose.

Rich Koslowski -- This was at one of my very first conventions ever. He was an inker of the Sonic comics at the time, and I was only.... 12, I think? I mostly was just excited to be meeting someone that works on Sonic stuff, and I can’t remember much about the encounter aside from just babbling about liking Sonic. I remember him being very kind.

And unfortunately... Ken Penders -- This was at the same convention I just mentioned with Koslowski. As stated above I was only 12, and I was just excited to meet someone who works on Sonic stuff. I believe I was there because of a post on Archie’s Sonic website. Anyway what strikes me as the most surprising about this encounter is how -normal- it all was, at least as far as I remember it. I’ve heard some horror stories of Penders being horrible to fans at conventions, but at least way back at this time (like 1997 or so), he was passing for a normal human. He didn’t say anything mean to me (that I noticed), and he actually gave me some free Sonic loot, which I can’t imagine him ever doing nowadays. I still have the comic book he signed, and I legit consider burning it on a regular basis.

OKAY this ended up way longer that I thought it would. I think even -I- forgot how many people I’ve met before. If I think of anyone else I’ll add it to the list later!

#sheesh this took me like an hour #magnumthecreator001

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beeupsidedown · 6 years

Text

Down The Rabbit Hole |4|

Part 4: Six Impossible Things

“What in the hell is that?”

Chelsea placed the case of beers in Steve’s trunk, her hand immediately reaching for what had caught her attention. Steve cringed as he watched her pull out his bat, the bat. The one with nails sticking out and still covered in demogorgon blood.

“Should I be concerned?” Chelsea asked as she examined the weapon. What had once been simple sporting equipment had obviously been upgraded into something much more menacing. “Is this real blood?”

“Give me that,” Steve quickly pried it from her hands, throwing it back into the trunk and shutting it. Chelsea raised an eyebrow at his reaction.

“Did you kill someone?” she asked in all seriousness. He rolled his eyes, slightly concerned at how calmly she reacted at the sight of a bloody bat.

“No, I didn’t kill anyone,” he replied as he pushed her towards the passenger seat, urging her to get in. “I killed something. An animal that was attacking here a few months back.”

“An animal?” Chelsea pried, unconvinced at the way he was desperate to dodge her questions.

“Yes, an animal. Let’s drop it, ok?” Steve begged as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Her lips pressed together in a tight line. “Come on, Chels. You beauty. The apple of my eye because you know I love the hell out of you. Let’s go get drunk and dance? Won’t you dance with me?”

“Fine,” she finally replied, a broad smile on her lips as his hands stroked her cheek. “I’ll dance with you.”

“Great!” he exclaimed, letting her go and running to the driver’s side. “We could use a distraction.”

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

Billy Hargrove was the king of parties. They were his scene- he’d show up, cause a commotion around the keg and then later find himself in an empty bedroom with a pretty pair of legs beneath him. This was the norm for him. Drink, party, have sex. Repeat.

It had been a dry couple of months in terms of festivities and this would be the first in a while. He was looking forward to it, lord knew he needed the distraction more than anyone else. But his thoughts were occupied on one person as he stepped out of his car, being “keg king” the last thing on his mind tonight.

The scowl on his face was immediate the moment he caught sight of her. Chelsea was already there, something he knew would happen as he purposely showed up as late as possible. The party was in full swing with drunk teenagers dancing and laughing, the music blaring loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. He watched as his favorite little brunette danced around with a drink in her hands, her smile directed at someone who Billy wasn’t exactly a fan of.

Of course she was with Steve. The pair had become inseparable over the past few months. Although Billy had her to himself in class, Steve had her everywhere else. While Billy didn’t have the privilege of seeing her after school, it was simply a given with Steve. And it bothered him.

Chelsea smiled when she caught sight of Billy in the corner, brooding over the party with a beer in his hands. She quickly said something to Steve which he nodded to before she danced her way over to him, exaggerating her moves as she got closer. Billy fought the smile that threatened to spread onto his face as her dancing got more ridiculous with every step.

“There we go!” she exclaimed as she finally landed in front of him. “No point of coming to a party with that look on your face.”

“Chelsea, always a pleasure,” Billy greeted with a nod of his head. He surveyed the room, noticing how Steve had simply moved on to dance with another friend. “Leave your boyfriend behind?”

The roll of her eyes was enough to let him know she was over that particular joke. She reached behind him, grabbing a single beer and turning to face the crowd.

“You know I don’t have a boyfriend,” she replied as she took a sip. “And quite frankly, I’m not sure anyone here is worthy of me.”

“I’m so sorry Hawkins’ best isn’t enough for you, my queen,” Billy joked as he mockingly bowed, earning a hard slap to his shoulder from her.

“Shut up,” she laughed. “I never knew this was Hawkins’s best,” she gestured to the ongoing party scene.

“I was only talking about me,” he replied with a wide grin.

She smiled brightly, her amusement at his joke undoubtedly magnified by the amount of alcohol in her system. Billy dared to throw an arm around her, positioning her in front of him as his arms wrapped around her from behind. His head lowered, resting on her shoulder as he breathed on her neck.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he murmured, desperately wanting to leave the suffocating scene surrounding them. She hummed, leaning back into his body and surprising him.

“I am bored of this,” she replied as her head turned, her lips mere inches from his own. “But you take me somewhere good or you take me nowhere at all, got it?”

Billy’s smug smirk caught the attention of nearly everyone in the room as they watched the two interact. The entire school population knew Billy pined after Chelsea but could never have her, and the way he led her out the door was sure to spark rumors the next day.

“This...is nice,” Chelsea commented as she sat on the hood of Billy’s camaro. She could see the small town out in the distance, just a few lights and flickers. The sound of the people was nonexistent as they enjoyed the nature that surrounded them. The wind that rustled the leaves of the trees sent a chill down her spine, something that Billy noticed. Without hesitance he shrugged his leather jacket off and draped it on her shoulders, earning a small thank you as she continued to take it all in.

“It’s my favorite place here,” he shared, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He exhaled slowly, the smoke barely visible now that he had turned the headlights of his car off. “It’s nice to get away from all of the noise.”

“You’re just full of surprises,” Chelsea said softly as she tugged his jacket closer. It was warm and comforting, something she suddenly felt she needed. She found that sitting here with Billy made her homesick. She missed the hikes with the warm California sun on her back. She missed the sound of the waves and the smell of salt in the water. Everything that has once brought her comfort was so out of reach now.

“Do you miss California?” she asked, turning to look at him as a gust of wind blew by. He raised an eyebrow at the question, wondering why her eyes looked so sad when moments before she had seemed so full of life.

“Yeah. This place kind of sucks compared to it, don’t you think?” he replied with a shrug. She turned her gaze back to the landscape in front of her, the moonlight illuminating her sharp features.

“It’s not that bad.” Her reply was soft, as if she had come to the conclusion after much thought. Billy tossed his cigarette to the floor and turned to look at her, unsure of what to make of her demeanor.

“Why’d you move?” he finally asked. He’d asked Max and gotten no real answer as even the girl didn’t know. Chelsea seemed to avoid the conversation with anyone who tried by expertly diverting to another subject.

“My mom died,” she replied simply. It was the first time she voiced it out loud since the funeral. Billy felt a pang in his chest as he recognized the distance in her voice.

“Chels, I’m so so-“

“My father didn’t want to be responsible for me without her,” she continued. “So he sold our house, gave me a shitload of money because you know, guilt. And then shipped me off to the only family I had left.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Billy apologized, feeling guilty for asking.The thought of something that awful being the reason for her move had never occurred to him. She was always so happy that he never thought she could be grieving.

“It’s fine, Billy.” She laughed, shaking her head at the whole situation. “Who wants a shitty father anyways? I’d rather be here with people who care about me.”

Billy nodded. I’m California he’d had friends, friends who he thought cared about him. But none of them ever called or even wrote and he’d been left slightly bitter about it. In Hawkins his friends were just people to surround himself with, people he knew held no real substance to his life. But the girl sitting next to him was different.

“I care about you,” he spoke looking directly ahead, afraid of what her reaction would be. “You might only see me as a kid in class but I think you’re pretty great.”

The silence that followed had him cursing inside, calling himself stupid for admitting anything like that out loud. Of course she wouldn’t see him as anything more than a classmate even after all these months. He had been stupid to think otherwise.

“I care about you too,” the words were followed by an embrace to his sides and he looked down to see she had moved closer and wrapped herself around his torso. “Us fucked up California kids gotta stick together.”

Billy chuckled as his own arm brought her closer, rubbing her arm in a surprisingly sweet gesture. Now he understood Max’s need to give the girl hugs whenever she left. They were nice, kind of like a sense of home.

“What do you miss most about California? Shitty parents aside,” Billy questioned in genuine interest.

“The beach.” she replied honestly. “I miss sitting on the pier in one of those old metal benches that have been oxidized over the years and watching the water hit the shore.”

“That all?”

“I miss the sound of the waves. And the cotton candy from the small vendors.”

Billy pictured it. Chelsea in a simple tank top and shorts, enjoying a pink ball of sugar as she watched the waves. Her legs would probably be outstretched, taking advantage of the sun as it kissed her skin. It certainly seemed like the place she belonged.

“I’ll tell you what,” Billy started as he sat up, his hand pushing back her hair as she looked up at him. “One day we’ll get out of Hawkins and I’ll take you back to the beach.”

“Really?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. A small smile tugged on her lips. “Are you a man of your word?”

“You’ve just gotta trust me.”

-----------

“I can’t believe we’re doing this now,” Chelsea said as she held the hood of her car up. Billy looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, his hands busy disconnecting the jumper cables from his car to hers.

“Did you want to leave your car here all weekend?” he asked as he finished. She sighed knowing he was right.

“I just never thought I’d be at the school parking lot when I was supposed to be at a party.”

“You said you were bored at the party.”

“I was. That’s why I said take me somewhere, which you did. But then you took me here.”

“Someone’s gotta be responsible, princess. I can’t be picking you up for school while your car sits here.”

“Ok. I see your point,” she paused, her gaze on him as he walked to his car. “You know, I think I like you like this. Nice. Not the douchebag of the school.”

Billy thought back to Max’s advice. She had been right after all.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied with a wolfish grin. “My reputation precedes me.”

#dtrh #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #dacre montgomery #joe keery #billy hargrove fic

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bibliophileiz · 5 years

Text

Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox

Yockey knocks it out of the park with this debut -- ‘Asa Fox’ may be in my top five favorite SPN episodes. Directed by John Badham,featuring one of the best musical montages in the recent seasons before the title card and featuring the always perfect Sam Smith as Mary, Kim Rhodes as Jody and Lisa Berry as Billie, it is criminal that this one only has an 8.5 rating on IMDb. (I mean, Billie’s presence alone makes it at least a 9.)

Anyhoo, let’s dive in.

In this opening scene, we meet baby Asa Fox racing through the woods running from a werewolf. And may I just say I am pissed that we didn’t get an AU Resistance Leader Asa Fox in Season 13 (one of my many disappointments from that plot thread.) Mary is the perfect blend of badass hunter and typical mom (cleaning Asa’s face). Also, her braids are super cute.

“Since the last time we saw you, I killed Hitler.” “Thank you?” Dean is a rom com chick, pass it on. Ellen and Asa were bros, it’s cannon. “We’re going to salt and burn the body tomorrow. I can’t believe I just said that like it’s something normal.” God, Dean is distractingly hot this scene.

How did the Winchesters get into Canada? Are you telling me they have fake passports?!?!

The actress playing Asa’s mom does not get the credit she deserves for this episode.(I looked her up, and she is Laurie Paton. She’s also in The X-Files.)

There should be more episodes that feature a shit ton of hunters getting wasted. “Nobody can take out five Wendigos in a night.” I want that episode. THE BANES TWINS! “She was, like, a good witch. Very Enya. It was the ‘90s.” “What did she teach you?” “Mostly how to seduce men.” Max. Buddy. I need you to give Dean a nudge. In other news, I want the Banes twins to be my best friends.

“It’s not like we’re in the live-till-you’re-90, die-in-your-sleep business.” That line has a lot of weight, especially now going into the final season.

Rollerskating ghouls!!! I want that episode too. Sam and Dean walking in just in time to hear that Asa and Jody banged is so awkward.

Jody fangirling over Mary is still the cutest thing that has ever happened. Mary’s short hair this season is the other cutest thing. Also, unrelated, but I love Sam Smith’s voice. My best friend once described my mom’s voice as sounding like a hug, and while I knew what she meant -- because she’s my mom and I’ve always gotten the same feeling hearing her talk (unless she’s mad) that I get when she gives me a hug, but I didn’t think other people would feel that way -- but that’s how Sam Smith’s voice sounds. Like a hug.

Big Sister Jody coming to Dean’s rescue, as usual.

How come Lorraine heard the name “Mary Winchester” and didn’t immediately assume Mary is Mary Winchester’s daughter who just has the same name? Maybe she just assumes all hunters are childless loners. “You’re the reason my son didn’t become an astronaut.” Also the reason he didn’t become a werewolf, Lorraine, keep up. I do think this scene is wonderful, because as Lorraine says, “Hunting was his whole life. He never married, never had kids--” Mary’s hearing the story of her own sons. And the next scene is the same: Sam telling her Asa chose to be a hunter will later parallel him telling her he chose to be a hunter in “The Raid” (another criminally underrated episode. God, I love Season 12.) “Everywhere I go and everything I do, it just feels wrong.” Maaaaaarrrrryyyyy!!!! When Sam says Mary was still hunting in 1980, after Dean was born and “everyone” thought she had quit, Mary gets this guilty look on her face that is not really explored to its full potential. And I just want to say that in a perfect world where Jeffrey Dean Morgan was able to come back for a length of episodes and could have a fully developed arc (and not the delightful but kind of fan servicy one he had in the 300th) that THIS is the plot I would have wanted -- John being resentful of Mary for keeping her hunting life secret from him and, arguably, putting their sons in danger for it.

You guys, this episode is already so good, and we haven’t even really gotten to the Agatha Christie-style murder spree yet. 8.5 my ass.

Also, Jared Padalecki is killing it this episode. I love his scenes with Sam Smith.

Is the blood dripping on Asa’s forehead supposed to parallel the show’s first scene? I mean, I’m sure it is, but I need some meta writer to explain to me why that is.

And here’s where the plot picks up. Also, we need more crossroads demons in our life. (Where’s my Bela Talbot Crossroads demon???)

“Go away.” “You’re not the boss of me.” Billie and Dean is one of my favorite dynamics in the entire show. “You can huff and puff, but that house is on supernatural lockdown.”

Jael kills both a First Nations girl and then later Marlene and her kid to create angst for Asa. Does it count as fridging if it’s in dialogue? Turning off the water is so smart! I love me some smart villains! I love how Jody immediately takes command of the situation -- before Sam, even. I kind of always wanted her to be like Sam’s lieutenant.

“It’s a one-way ticket.” Billie is like me, and wants to watch the Agatha Cristie-style murder spree, which would be totally ruined if everybody could get out of the house.

Did Jael say, “Elvis has left the building”? That motherfucker ....

This is the first time we see Mary grab an angel blade, which means the angel blade Mary carries the entirety of this season is Asa’s.

Kim Rhodes makes a delightfully evil demon, and seems to have had a blast doing so. “I so hoped you’d kill your mom! Wouldn’t that be a riot?”

(also, my brother’s dog is named bucky, so every time a character says bucky’s name i just get really distracted.)

I like the hunters all saying different parts of the exorcism.

“That sucked.” Poor Jody!

You guys, Bucky sucks. Also, hanging the person you actually killed from a tree so that no one would suspect you actually killed him is like ... so opposite of what the demon-dealing-happy Winchetsters would do in this scenario that they can’t even comprehend how to handle it.

I just realized this ep even has an Agatha Christie-style reveal, with the murderer confessing all at the end after being revealed. (And everyone else’s identities/crimes/motivations being revealed FIRST.)

“I was wrong. Asa did have a family. I’ve even got grandchildren.” Wow, it’s almost like hunters can have families too.

“Mom to mom....” Why, oh why did Jody and Mary not hang out more?? (It’s because those fuckers at the CW cancelled Wayward Sisters before it could get filmed.)

Also, this scene between Billie and Mary is so. good. “She’s not alone.” Dean. Buddy. I love you forever. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to wait.” “Winchesters.” This scene is just *kisses fingers like an Italian chef* “So does this mean you’re coming home?” “Well, not yet, see I’m only contracted for like 10 episodes this season ....”

And scene.

I mean. This episode, man. Everything about it is criminally underrated. It’s not very flashy in terms of mytharc plot, but it contains so much rich worldbuilding, such great writing and acting, and a healthy dose of ominous foreshadowing the likes of which only Yockey can pull off.

Yockey knows the perfect characters to mix and match. (And I think the scenes between Lisa Berry and Jensen Ackles this episode became the inspiration for their even better scene in “Advanced Thanatology.”) This is the only episode we ever get that has Mary AND Jody AND Billie, three of the best characters. He also creates delightful original characters (which we’ll see again with Tasha Banes, Lily Sunder, Noah the eyeball-eating monster). I know this is the casting director, and not Yockey, but each of the actors playing those original characters were on point.

I also am a total fan of the Agatha Christie tropes -- to my knowledge, that had never been done with Supernatural before, but this episode was just the perfect combination of the two.

I can’t think of any major problems with this one, or even really minor ones. (I mean, the scene with Sam and Dean talking about Jody’s sex life is pretty awkward....) Keep ‘em coming, Steve Yockey. I will watch everything you ever write forever.

#iz's one-woman steve yockey watch party #supernatural #celebrating the life of asa fox #seriously one of my favorite episodes #possibly my favorite stand-alone episode of the whole series #right up there with 'heaven can't wait'

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phoenixyfriend · 7 years

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Voltron Paladins on: Who’s the hottest Young Avenger?

I’m posting this as a one-shot to tumblr because it can feasibly stand alone as a fic, but it’s actually an omake of sorts for the Voltron fic Just a Little Death. The only things you need to know are:

1. The paladins figured out a way to get into contact with home, and have gotten some things. Lance’s family sent him a kindle loaded with a bunch of things he likes, including comics. 2. Some of the characterization may seem a bit unusual, because this scene takes place after after eighteen chapters in JaLD.

Other than that... well, warnings and such under the cut. This is almost three thousand words of nonsense.

If you happen to be a fan of Cheung's V1 artwork or aren't comfortable with the idea of someone poking fun at Tommy Shepherd, maaaybe skip this. I’m not as careful as usual about keeping my biases under wraps here.

Anyways! There's a bit of a ramble in there about Noh-Varr, so I need to lay out some warnings.

WARNINGS: Mentions of mind control, torture, medical experimentation, and mass murder (all to or by a minor, because Noh's life is a shitshow for a while).

o.o.o.o.o

“Bullshit,” Lance said, slamming a hand down on the table. “That is just… such bullshit.”

“My tastes and your tastes are not the same,” Hunk said. “You asked who I thought the hottest character was, and my answer is Teddy.”

“How?” Lance whined. “How can you pick anyone other than Noh-Varr? Like, I can maybe see Kate or America, but anyone else? Sorry, buddy. The space roach wins.”

“You know,” Pidge said from the doorway. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I kind of want to know just based on the fact that I heard something that was almost my name.”

“There’s a comic that Lance likes from like… the turn of the century,” Hunk said.

“2012 was not the turn of the century,” Lance argued.

“Called Young Avengers,” Hunk continued, like Lance hadn’t just interrupted.

“Written by Kieron Gillen, illustrated by Jamie McKelvie,” Lance said. “A dynamic duo of comics if there ever was one.”

Hunk shot him a look.

“…fine, for that era. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are the true heroes, as always, may their souls rest in peace despite the misogyny of many of their works,” Lance allowed. “Anyway, I got Hunk to read the comics a while back, and I was expecting him to make the obvious choice when asked who the hottest Young Avenger was.”

“I still say it’s Teddy.”

“And I still say you’re wrong. Noh-Varr is straight up pin-up boy material.”

“This is exactly the kind of bullshit that I’m glad I missed out on back at the Garrison,” Pidge said.

Keith poked his head into the room. “I heard yelling. Is there a fight happening?”

“Why don’t we get Pidge and Keith to weigh in?” Hunk suggested.

“Fine,” Lance sniffed. “I’m sure they’ll make the right choice. Let me just get the right pictures up.”

He fiddled with the tablet his siblings had sent along.

“Your brother and sister sent you digital comics from half a century ago?” Keith asked.

“I think Tío Ricardo just added everything he thought I might miss, and since this is my favorite series…” Lance shrugged. “Okay, so I’ve got a group shot and a couple of solos.”

“Which group shot?”

“Kate’s getting a call from Freud.”

“…right, the harpoon! Okay, so the solos: anyone from V1?”

“Nah. Cassie’s too young for it to be comfortable during her time with the team, especially with how unnecessarily sexual some of the art of her gets in V1. Like, she’s fourteen? Stop ripping her clothes off and highlighting her boobs? Same goes for Nate and Jonas on the age thing, and Eli is an age thing too, but also just… I love him, but Cheung’s art style. It doesn’t do anyone favors, but it’s especially harsh on Eli.”

“Why do you hate Cheung’s art style so much?”

“Have you looked at V1 or Children’s Crusade?”

“The writing wasn’t bad!”

“The writing was mostly fine and absolutely what made me love Eli. But you have to admit that Cheung’s art style is really same-face syndrome and that it’s just plain messy and… why. Why. McKelvie’s got a bunch of same-face too, but at least it’s clean and I can tell who’s who in the close-ups and he isn’t sexualizing fourteen-year-olds.” Lance buried his face in his hands. Hunk patted him on the back.

“Moving on… Kid Loki shape or Agent Loki shape?”

“He’s kid shape in the group shot, but just after the age-up in the solo.”

“David?”

“Tried to find something out of uniform, but no dice except the party, and his big scene wasn’t even in McKelvie’s style, so… yeah, uniform.”

“Tommy?”

“Do I have to?”

“Lance…”

“He’s such a fuckboy, though!”

“Still part of the team.”

“Barely.”

“They traveled dozens, if not hundreds, of universes to save him.”

“…I mean, I did add his picture to the set. I just, you know, don’t want him to win.”

Hunk snorted. “Okay, thene. I’m guessing you probably added those shirtless Noh shots from the first issue.”

“Noh-Varr’s hot, okay?” Lance brought the back of his hand up to his forehead. “Like, absolutely smoking hot. Like Uptown Funk ‘Hot damn’ hot. Like, ‘the things I would do to that man…’ hot.”

“Lance, are you okay?”

“No.”

Hunk bit his lip, suppressing a grin, and then seemed to realize something. “Wait, are we including villains?”

“I mean… I guess? Why? You’re not going for Oubliette, right?”

“What? No, of course, not. But dude… Leah.”

“This is true.” Lance nodded. “I mean, she’s terrifying, but at least that version of her isn’t entirely real even in-universe?”

“Or Loki would be dead.”

“So dead,” Lance said emphatically. “Also, if we’re talking hot YA villains, then…”

“Don’t.”

“Sylvie Lushton.”

“How is your taste in comic book villains so bad?”

“I’m not saying she’s a good person! But, you know, she’s hot!” Lance protested.

“Also kind of evil and not exactly the brightest bulb in the box.”

“Still hot, Hunk.”

“Hi, I have a question,” Pidge interrupted. “Which of these guys is the smartest?”

Lance put a hand over Hunk’s face before he could answer. “We’re talking aesthetics only. No choosing based on intelligence. You can revamp your choice later if we change criteria, but right now we’re only going on aesthetic hotness.”

“Boo you, whore,” Pidge said, then stuck out her tongue at him. She looked down at the page again, and then pointed. “Okay, in that case… her.”

“America Chavez?” Lance eyed Pidge for a moment, and then nodded. “Acceptable.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she told him. “But yeah. She looks ready to kick ass and I guess the expression on her face is appealing? She looks like she’s not taking anyone’s shit, and also I like her hair.”

“This is a pretty good summary of her basic surface personality,” Lance acknowledged. “She’s deeper than that, but it takes some reading between the lines, or rereading after the reveal at the end, to realize, especially if you don’t read the point one issue.”

“I’m torn,” Keith announced. “Can I get names for these guys, at least?”

“Real or code?”

“…real?”

Lance pointed to each character in turn. “Noh-Varr, Kate Bishop, Loki, Billy Kaplan, Tommy Shepherd, Teddy Altman, David Alleyne, America Chavez.”

“Tommy and Billy are identical twins, but Tommy’s hair and eyes changed color when his mutant powers manifested,” Hunk added.

“The Tommy guy is in a different style from the others,” Keith noted.

“They had guest artists for the issues he featured in most,” Lance explained. “Couldn’t really find a clear picture of him in McKelvie’s style.”

Keith nodded, looking down at the pictures. After a moment, he pointed at David and Tommy.

“No,” Lance gasped dramatically. “You traitor.”

“Oh boy,” Hunk muttered.

“Listen,” Keith said, obviously holding back a laugh. “I have my reasons.”

“How could you choose Tommy over Noh-Varr?”

“Well, the Noh-Varr guy looks like he’s about to try to convince me to try his weed brownies or free range quinoa,” Keith said.

“That’s not a thing,” Hunk said. “That’s… that’s not even logically possible. Quinoa’s not an animal product. It can’t be free-range.”

“Exactly,” Keith said, as though that explained everything, which it kind of did. “Meanwhile, this Tommy guy looks like he’s about to ask me to help him hotwire a car for the hell of it.”

Lance’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and then he whirled around and draped himself over Hunk. He wailed, “Betrayed! By the one closest to me!”

“What does that make me, then?” Hunk asked. “If Keith is the closest?”

“You’re not just close to me, Hunk, you’re part of me,” Lance said, as though it should have been obvious.

“Ah, right, of course.” Hunk nodded and patted Lance’s back.

“Anyway,” Lance said, and then went back to wailing. “Oh, the horror! The humanity! Keith has betrayed me!”

“I really hope this is just Lance being dramatic about something relatively inconsequential again instead of something serious,” Shiro said from the door. “Please tell me this isn’t something I need to actually worry about.”

“Keith thinks that Lance’s favorite character isn’t as hot as Lance’s least favorite,” Pidge said.

“Tommy Shepherd is a fuckboy, okay?” Lance whined.

“You mean like you?” Shiro asked, keeping his voice mild.

Dead silence reigned for a moment.

“…Should I not have said that?” Shiro asked, sounding a little more nervous. “I may have overstepped a line. Ah. I’m sor—”

“Ooooooooooooooooh!” Pidge yelled, Hunk joining in after a moment.

Lance let his eyes roll up and pretended to faint, right into Hunk’s loving arms.

“Lance Álvarez has been found dead in Miami,” Pidge announced, deadpan.

“Oh god, is he okay?” Hunk asked, not even looking down at Lance in his arms.

“Yeah, but he’s dead.”

“You guys suck,” Lance moaned, getting back up. He turned back to Keith. “Wait, what about David?”

��He looks like he could stare down a bomb without even twitching. Like he’s just that dead inside because he’s seen so much shit.” Keith tapped the picture. “Basically, he seems like the guy that’s sitting off to the side mostly quiet but offering sarcastic comments whenever someone does something stupid.”

“You’re not that far off,” Shiro said. “David’s experiences in everything are fairly expansive, due to the mental osmosis that his original powerset consisted of.”

“Wait, Shiro, you’ve read YA?” Lance demanded.

“…yes? I preferred Runaways, but—”

“Which Young Avenger is the hottest?” Lance demanded, scrambling away from Hunk and towards Shiro. He stopped just a foot or two away, visibly restraining himself from grabbing Shiro’s hands and pulling them up to his chin.

Shiro looked at him for a long moment, wide-eyed and surprised. “Um… I haven’t thought about it in a while?”

“Stick to V2 since all the V1-only characters are too young,” Lance suggested. “Aesthetic hotness only.”

Shiro looked down at the tablet that was still on the table and bit his lip. “I’m… going to have to with Marvel Boy and Hawkeye?”

“Yes!” Lance yelled, pumping his fist in the air. “Fuck yeah! Noh-Varr’s the hottest!”

“Ah,” Shiro said. “Who did the rest of you choose?”

“Teddy,” Hunk said. “Pidge chose America. Keith decided that he was torn between Tommy and David.”

“Nobody chose Billy, then?” Shiro asked. “Or Loki?”

“Billy’s more sweet than hot, I think,” Lance said. “Even aesthetically. Same thing goes for Teddy, I’d say, but Hunk’s got his own weird tastes.”

“And Loki just doesn’t suit anyone’s tastes?”

“He spends two-thirds of the comic as a twelve-year-old, and the last third looking like he’s about to try to sell you snake oil as a hair tonic,” Lance mused. “So. That might be it. Loki’s more appealing in AoA, honestly. I feel like Lee Garbett’s style is better suited to that Loki than Jamie McKelvie’s.”

“Hm. I’d have expected Pidge to like David the most, but I guess if she doesn’t know anything about him, and just had to go by image, America makes sense.” Shiro swiped through the tablet. “That is… definitely a lot of shirtless Noh-Varr shots.”

“I’m not sure what you expected from me,” Lance said.

“What’s so special about David?” Pidge asked. “Why does Shiro think I should like David the most?”

Lance exchanged a look with Hunk and Shiro, then turned back to Pidge. “Do you want to download some of my comics so you and Keith can read some? My uncle downloaded pretty much my entire online comics library onto here.”

“I don’t know… I’m more of a DC kind of girl.”

“I’ve got some DC and Image on here, too.”

“The Image comics are more Gillen and McKelvie, unsurprisingly,” Hunk said.

“Phonogram and WicDiv are fucking works of art, Hunk!”

“I never finished WicDiv…” Shiro mused. “I got spoilers, but…”

Lance pressed his tablet into Shiro’s chest, wide-eyed. “My poor man: I have them. Read.”

Allura and Coran walked in on five paladins near-silently reading comics half an hour later.

“Allura!” Lance yelled, scrambling to his feet and switching windows on his tablet to the earlier set of pictures. “Quick question: which of these characters would you say is the most physically attractive?”

Allura blinked at him, and then down at the tablet. “Why are there so many pictures of this one shirtless?”

“Because he’s my favorite,” Lance said, utterly unashamed.

“…I can see why, but that one hanging bang of white hair reminds me too much of Lotor,” Allura admitted. “Both of the girls are very attractive, though, and I like the hairstyle and the fabric that this one is wearing.”

She tapped the screen, right over Billy.

Lance squinted down at the photo, and then back up at Allura. “At least you didn’t betray me like Keith.”

“Are you serious?” Keith asked. “Are you going to bring that up forever?”

“You picked Tommy,” Lance repeated. “You picked Tommy in an argument of attractiveness when Noh-Varr was an option.”

“You do realize that half the reason he did that was to fuck with you, right?” Pidge said.

“Well, yeah, but pretending to be pissed off about something inconsequential is fun,” Lance said. “I don’t even dislike Tommy, but like… it’s fun to talk trash about one of the most popular characters. I shit talk with love, I promise.”

“Also, if we were going by personality as well…” Shiro trailed off. “Actually, assuming that a decent pattern of communication was in place and Noh-Varr wasn’t self-sabotaging with his own PTSD, he probably wouldn’t be that bad of a romantic partner. At least you’d always have music.”

“And a meat shield, apparently,” Pidge piped up. A glance told Lance that she was partway through the Marvel Boy miniseries, which meant she’d probably run into something about his indestructability by this point.

“Wouldn’t have to worry about being widowed, since he’s nearly impossible to kill,” Hunk added.

“And he can eat all the leftovers, including the parts that aren’t actually food,” Keith said.

“Life wouldn’t be boring either, given the extensive number of people that would gladly try to kill him for the Phoenix debacle or what he did to Manhattan,” Shiro added.

“He served his time for both of those incidents, did his reparation work, and got tortured a lot as punishment! I really don’t think you can hold all of that against him, given his circumstances!” Lance protested.

“I mean… the Phoenix was a result of misinformation, true, but Manhattan?” Shiro wiggled a hand in the air. “I’m only giving it a pass because I’d say all the torture, mind control, and so on, both before and after, is punishment enough for just about anything.”

“I’m not,” Hunk said. “But he actually tried to do charity work in his own weird superhero way afterwards, so… that’s not bad?”

“This isn’t a real person, correct?” Allura asked. “Just a fictional character?”

“Yes,” the paladins answered in unison.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be trying to explain away the Fuck You Fires if he were a real person,” Lance said. “However, he is in fact fictional, and his circumstances were weird as shit—”

“Being part of a hive mind and feeling your entire family die and then watching them get dissected while you’re tortured by your captors will do some interesting things to a fifteen-year-old’s mind,” Shiro acknowledged.

“And then the Cube,” Lance added. “We do not forget the fuckery that happened at the Cube.”

“Comics are convoluted,” Keith said, staring down at the tablet in his own lap. “Very convoluted. Why are they so convoluted?”

“Because you have about twenty different writers at any given time writing the same characters in new situations, frequently causing crossovers between individual groups of characters, switching out at least three or four writers per year for someone new, passing on the characters to new writers who must then find something original to do with them, resulting in increasingly ridiculous plots as the writers struggle to find something new and interesting to do so that the audience doesn’t lose interest,” Lance rattled off.

“Often commenting on contemporary events,” Shiro added, “and matters of social justice.”

“Never forget that Captain America was the creation of two Jewish men in response to widespread support of Hitler in the early days of World War II,” Lance added.

The Alteans stared at him and Shiro in blank confusion.

“Hey, Allura, want to see something funny?” Hunk asked.

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” Keith said. “But also I kind of want to see what you’re planning.”

“Same,” Pidge said.

Allura looked at Hunk for a long moment. “I have no idea what’s going on, but alright.”

Hunk grinned and turned to Lance. “Hey Lance, is Magneto the Maximoff twins’ dad or not?”

(It took fifteen minutes for the team to get Lance to stop ranting.)

o.o.o.o.o

“Okay, Shiro was right. David’s my favorite now. Programming a miniature Cerebro in five minutes?” Pidge pretended to fan herself. “If I wasn’t ace… I mean, I still want to marry his brain anyway. Platonically. Just… damn. I have a favorite Marvel character now. I’m supposed to be a DC girl, but this has me hooked. Damn you, Lance. Damn you.”

“…just read the comic, short shit.”

o.o.o.o.o

A/N:There were a couple of characters I couldn't find decent V2 reference pics for; Tommy in particular doesn't show up in McKelvie's style much, since his two biggest appearances in V2 are both in issues that have guest artists.

I feel like Lance would have really strong opinions about bigoted retcons and the importance of remembering the minority influence on comics as a medium.

#Young Avengers #Voltron #Lance (Voltron)#Keith (Voltron)#Pidge Gunderson #Katie Holt #Hunk (Voltron)#Takashi Shirogane #Princess Allura #Team Voltron #crossovers #Phoenix Files #JaLD

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mad-hatter51 · 7 years

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The Wrong Train, but a Beautiful Bike Ride Around Kyoto: 6/6/17

We woke up pretty early, (still not used to the time change yet) and packed up, had breakfast with Will and took off for Kyoto. We had gotten a great nights sleep, but clearly were not in our right state of minds (or just had a difficult time with the all Japanese signs). We got to the subway and were standing on the platform standing inbetween two different trains, debating which one we should take. We were about to hop on one, when someone mentioned how less crammed the other train was, and if that one only took one more stop to get to the same place, we might as well take that one (big American guys with backpacks don’t do well on crammed Japanese subway cars).

We jump on at the last second, and as we start moving I’m glad we choose this car, due to the extra space. I look over at Billy, and he’s laughing, or at least trying to contain his laughter. Of course I ask him what’s going on? Just before he tells me, Kevin leans over and goes, “Do you see what we just did?” And then I looked around and realized it. Billy can barwly contain himself, and Kevin and I join him in his struggle. The reason why there were two trains going to the same place was because one was for men. The other, for women. Ill let you figure out which one we got on.

At this point were dying. Not are we the only males, but we stand out even more because were about a foot taller than everyone else on the car. Some women see us and start giggling, and were taking deep breaths at this point to refrain from laughing and try to be respectful. Then Kevin says, in a whisper/joking tone, “So, do you guys come here often…?” And we lose it. Any progress that had been made to stop laughing is thrown out the car door. And juat because it wasn’t as packed as the men’s train doesn’t mean there was a ton of space, either. We were standing next to a bunch of silent women, silently laughing, trying to breath. What a hilarious start to our time in Japan.

We took the JR Rail to Kyoto, which isn’t a bullet train, but it seems pretty close. As we were riding, we realized Japan has a cool landscape, it’s not much of a desert, if at all. It has plenty of greenery, with mountains in the backdrop. Close to Colorado, but with water nearby too. Almost a combination of Colorado and Chile. Colorado’s green (at least northern), with Chile’s location to the water, and taking the mountains from both. Then add in one of the most technology rich, ancient architecture abundant countries in the world, that still has rice farms, and you get Japan.

We walked a decent way to our hostel, and along the path found our first temple (a common occurance here). It was huge, made with giant wooden posts and intricate wooden designs. We took our shoes off and went inside to the matted worship space to observe the altars made of gold and the people on the mats worshipping them.

After making it to the hostel all hot and sweaty, we found out bunks (cabins) and dropped off our things. First off all, Billy booked us and incredibly luxurious place for a pretty good price. Second of all, the bunks are individual beds that all have slidable doors on them to disconnect you from everyone else. It’s as if we’re sleeping in horizontal mini-closets that are stacked above one another. There’s a spa in the basement with a huge hot tub and sauna.

We found a bike shop nearby and rented nice hybrid bikes for a pretty good price. We only had a few hours so we wanted to make it count. Cruising through the streets, feeling invincible (until a huge bus zoomed a little too close right past me), was definitely a highlight that day for me. We had time to tour two different temple complexes before getting to hungry to continue. The temples were really cool-not to mention the meticulously kept gardens within them. We did wish we had a tour or someone who could give us more information than the half Japanese, half English signs that seemed few and far between the temple. The big question for the day was how the Japanese were able to bend some of the wood that they used to construct the arches in the roof, and then small fences on the porches.

After bringing the bikes back, we decided to ask the locals at the bike shop for a dinner recommendation. We should have known we were in for trouble when even the worker didn’t know the name of the sushi shop that was just around the corner and down the block. I’m convinced the actual shop he was talking about was a few doors down, mainly because the place we went to didn’t even have actual sushi. Kevin wasn’t so sure. Either way, when we got there, we were starving. Before we walk in, a worker sticks his head out of the half opened door and says, “No English menu” in a thick Japanese accent. Were intrigued (and in my mind think there will at least be pictures) and of course say yes. We take off our shoes before we enter (that’s how you know it’s legit), and find a table where table sits about 6 inches off the floor, the bench seat is at the same level as the floor, and there is a space underneath the table for your legs to fit. We’re really excited at this point, until we see the menu. It’s straight Japanese, no pictures. We’re so slap happy that we start laughing and decide the most logical decision is to just point to an item, and whatever you get, you get. We first do this with drinks, and for some reason find it the funniest thing trying to communicate that we are sure we want what we’re pointing at (her English isn’t great). Again, here we are trying to be respectful but yet are making a scene. She brings out fruity whisky glasses of different colors but are all pleasantly surprised by the tastes. When our food comes, we realize we made a mistake-not only do they not have sushi, but our dishes are expensive and the four plates we got wouldn’t even be half of a meal I would consider to be “substantial”. Regardless, we are having the time of our lives, due to the fact that we’re completely slap happy, and because although we’ve only had a few drinks, we’ve had way less food, while being entirely exhausted.

We got our check and left, before being convinced by me that we need to stop at McDonalds for some actual food (in terms of quantity, not quality). It’s ironic because just before returning our bikes, we stopped at a restaurant, that although had a Japanese name, was an American knock off wanna be. It was expensive, and to me the food did not look appetizing. I can deal with expensive, but when the food is burgers and chicken, doesn’t look good, and not Japanese (which I thought we should be striving for), I voiced my opinion to leave for greener pastures. Turns out, not only did Billy and Kevin not want to leave, but we ended up paying more money, for less food at this so-called sushi restaurant! We did have an unbelievable time, but it was one that we paid heavily for, literally.

Fun Fact: Japenese people wait in lines to enter the subway cars, instead of as a herd of cattle like I’ve seen anywhere else in the world.

I love their organized and patient culture. We were asking for help at the last moment before boarding a subway car, and as the girl was helping us, we had people behind us waiting patiently, even though the car doors has already opened and might have been closing soon.

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pengychan · 7 years

Text

The Mind Cage, Ch. 11

Title: The Mind Cage Summary: In another world, Stanford Pines places a metal plate in his skull far too soon. In another world, Bill Cipher is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Characters: Bill Cipher, Ford Pines, Stan Pines, Fiddleford McGucket Rating: T Click here for the first chapter, warnings and links to all chapters up so far.

“Oow, my head…”

“Stanley! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think? Just… where are we?”

“I’m not sure. It could be either Mindscape. He threw us pretty far,” young Stanford admitted, reaching to grab his brother’s hand and help him up. It had been real lucky that they had been able to reach out and grasp each other’s hand during the fall: if they had fallen in different places, they may have wandered for a very long time before finding each other again… if they ever did. The mere thought of having to walk through that nothingness all alone was terrifying beyond words.

“Do you think the others are okay?” Stanley was asking, brushing his trousers as though to get rid of dust that wasn’t there. It was something he did often back in their memory, to get rid of the sand, so it was more of a habit than anything else.

“I… I don’t know,” Stanford said, looking around. “I mean, I don’t think Bill can actually destroy any of them in the Mindscape, but--”

He trailed off when somewhere - above them, below them, all around, everywhere - Billy began shrieking, and then kept shrieking. It was so loud it hurt their ears, but neither of them tried to cover them: they just clung to each other, shaking, until the scream was suddenly cut off. Then, silence.

The twins kept clinging to each other for a good while afterwards, barely daring to breathe.

***

“Stanford! Can you hear me? Kids! Ford! SOMEONE!”

Stan’s voice seemed to echo all around him, but other than that he could hear nothing, much less a reply: now that the shriek had been cut off - and Stan really didn’t want to focus on what that implied - everything was silent again. All around him he could see nothing but whiteness. He was lost, hell if he knew in whose mind, and his brother was nowhere to be found, in the clutches of that… that monster. And he couldn’t do a thing to help him; he had let himself be swatted away like a fly, and had failed to do anything for his brother. He had failed him. Again.

Some brother I turned out to be.

It had been his fault, all of it. If he hadn’t damaged Stanford’s project, if he’d gone to his dream university, then maybe he would have never come to that damn town to begin with. He’d have never crossed paths with a demon of all things. He’d be rich and happy - why couldn’t he let him be rich and happy? Let him go his way instead of being selfish and clinging to him?

He hadn’t damaged his perpetual motion machine on purpose, but when it had happened he hadn’t been sorry - hadn’t even apologized to him for costing him his dream school: he’d just begun talking about treasure hunting together, like Stanford being denied his dream meant nothing, not even enough to warrant an apology.

Look, this was a mistake! Although if you think about it, maybe there's a silver lining. Huh? Treasure hunting?

Silver lining, he had said.

Silver lining my ass.

With a groan, Stan pressed his hands on his face and let himself rest back against one of the closed doors that littered the Mindscape, shrouded in mist. If only he could go back, undo that one mistake - he’d do anything to be able to do that. Sure, Stanford would have gone to college without him, but they would have still seen each other: he could have visited him and what the hell, they could have spent their vacations together on their boat - he’d have come to pick him up from his fancy-dancy college and then they’d sail home.

He’d still be welcome then, they’d see their parents and Shermie and little Sam - he must have gotten so big now, Stan hadn’t seen him since he was a baby. They’d sit at the kitchen table, their mother would make pancakes and say--

“Want some Maple syrup to go with it?”

Yeah, that. And then she’d-- wait. What?

“... Huh?”

Stan blinked, pulling his hands away from his face and looking around. Around him there was still nothing but mist, with nothing and no one in sight. And yet he’d heard someone speaking; he’d heard his mother speaking, clear as day. But where…?

“Maple syrup makes everything better!”

The door. His mother’s voice had come from beyond the door he was leaning onto.

Stan immediately turned and, without even thinking, he reached for the doorknob, the knot of shame in his stomach already turning into something entirely different: longing. He hadn’t seen her in so long, and had heard her voice so very few times, he couldn’t even bring himself to pause for a moment and think it over. He just pulled the knob down, opening the door to one of his brother’s memories. And the first thing he saw, the very first thing, her smile.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Maureen Pines said, and tilted her head towards the stove. “Pancakes?”

***

“Cipher, let me go!”

“Funny you’d say that. Thought it was my line. Hey, mind if I take your line in return? I believe it was something along the lines of ‘nope’. Just with a lot more words because you want to sound all heroic and stuff.”

With a snarl, Ford twisted once more in his bonds. Again, it was useless: the chains around his wrists, ankles and neck kept him still where he was, suspended in mid-air before Cipher’s huge form. “What do you think you’re going to obtain? You can’t harm me in here, and once I wake up I’ll simply-- what is it?” he asked, blinking as Cipher laughed.

“Hahaha! Oooh man, you’re a riot. What, did you think those chains are there just for entertainment? Because they look good on ya?” Bill asked, circling him. “Nope! I mean, yeah, they do become you if you ask to me, but that’s not it. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… nah, scratch that. I love it. Those chains serve a specific purpose, old pal. As long as you wear them, you’re stuck here. In other words…” the eye loomed over him, blood-red and impossibly big. “You can’t wake up again in the real world.”

The prospect of never awakening was horrible, but it was nowhere near the worst price Ford had been prepared to pay. He’d been aware of the possibility things could go horribly wrong.

Stan? However this goes, you did all that could be done. If I don’t make it, then it will have been my own fault. Promise me you won’t think you’re to blame for any of this.

He had promised, and Ford could only hope he would make good on that promise. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment before opening again, his features twisting in a sneer. “Is that supposed to scare me, Cipher? Are you hoping this will convince me to let you out of here? You’re delusional. I will never--”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re gonna play the hero to the end. I got it the first hundred times you said it,” Bill cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It ain’t you I’m counting on, Sixer. It’s good old Mullet.”

“Stanley…?”

“Yep! He can’t stay in your mind forever, Brainiac; sooner or later, he’ll either leave or be kicked out of it when his body wakes up, because you have given him permission to come and go as he pleases - talk about playing favorites. And this time he’ll wake up knowing I’m real,” Bill added, putting some emphasis on the last word. Ford almost wondered about that, but then Bill spoke again, and it was as though someone had just punched him.

“So, imagine the scene, will ya? Your dumb brother wakes up, but you don’t. No matter what he does, he can’t get you to awaken. He may try come be back in your mind with your handy little incantation, but he can’t do anything against me and I ain’t letting you out of here. We both come out, or neither does. How desperate would he be, then? Desperate enough to make a deal, if you ask to me. If he wants you back, he’ll have to remove that plate and let me out. My freedom for yours. Can you see how that’s gonna end, Stanford? ‘Cause I can.”

Stanford stared at him, his blood running cold. “No,” he breathed. “No! It won’t work! Stan would never--”

Bill laughed again, and reached to flick his nose. “Aww, your denial is adorable! But he would and he will, Fordsy. We both know it. No all-seeing eye needed to see where this is heading.”

“He knows that the fate of our world--”

“Oh, puh-leeze. Mullet doesn’t give a hoot about the fate of your world if you’re not in it, Sixer. Haven’t you figured it out yet? You’re more important than anything else to that sad sack of dumb. Geez, and here I thought you were a smart guy for a hairless ape. Though to be fair, one’s got to wonder how come he’s that eager to be your loyal mutt. Given how you rejected him and all when he showed up to help your sorry backside.”

“Stanley is no mutt,” Stanford snarled. “And he… he would never remove that plate!”

Bill laughed, reaching to tilt his chin up with a finger so that Stanford would be forced to stare at him in the eye. His reflection stared back, wide-eyed and horrified.

“You keep telling yourself that, IQ, but we both know he would. To save you, he will, once he gets desperate enough. And you know what?” he added, pulling his hand away, eye crinkling with amusement. “The moment I’m free to go, I’ll take over your body one last time just to destroy it, right in front of him. I’m really gonna enjoy that moment. Maybe he’ll want to join you. Would serve him right for thinking I was just a figment of your pathetic little imagination!”

Something about Bill’s words caused Stanford’s horrified expression to turn into a perplexed frown. Of all things that had happened to infuriate him, he’d have expected Bill to list being trapped as the main reason for his fury; he’d have expected said fury to be directed to him. And instead it was directed to Stanley for just not believing in his existence. There had actually been something about his voice before, when he had first revealed to him that Stanley didn’t believe him to be real. Something that was not anger.

He doesn’t think I’m real! Can you believe that? Mullet thinks - hahahahah! Hear this out, Sixer - he thinks you made me up! Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

Hysteria, that was the word he was looking for. There had been an edge of hysteria to his vice even as he laughed at Stanley’s belief he was nothing but a product of his imagination.

DO I LOOK REAL ENOUGH NOW?

And then, the way he had spoken to Billy…

I am the real deal, little guy. I am real, and you are not.

There had been something else, too; a scream that had echoed in Ford’s mind earlier that day, as he stood with his brother in the hospital’s waiting room. Right then, he hadn’t quite caught the words; now he could recall them with sudden, sharp clarity.

I AM REAL!

There had been more than anger in that scream, more than hysteria - there had been desperate denial.

No no no no NO! I am real! I AM REAL! Can you hear me, Mullet? I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but it ain’t gonna work because I AM REAL!

Stanley couldn’t hear him, but Stanford had, on a subconscious level. And now he remembered. Now, suddenly, he knew where to strike - and he didn’t need to free his hands in order to hurt. After all, the mind had always been his one true weapon.

And he could tell now that he hadn’t been the only one to deal with side effects of the merging.

“... A figment of my pathetic little imagination,” he said slowly. “Tell me one thing, Cipher. What makes you so sure that’s not what you are?”

Bill’s laugh was cut off just like Billy’s scream earlier. His whole form stiffened, and his eye shifted wordlessly down on him; he said nothing, and it was the only reply Stanford needed. For the first time, it was his turn to see beyond the lies and the delusions to see what lay beneath - and what he could see, plain as day, was fear.

I am real!

Stanford Pines and let his et his lips curl upwards in a feral smile before speaking again to say one truth, and one lie. “You’re not so sure anymore,” he stated. “And now, neither am I.”

***

“If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”

“You know it is. Well, in a way.”

“Don’t wake me up.”

“Oh, dear. I’d never wish to.”

Stan swallowed a lump in his throat and just kept clinging to his mother. Last time he had seen her he was only slightly taller than her, but now she could barely rest her cheek against his shoulder, heels and all. And she was doing just that, holding him in a tight hug that seemed to last forever. He could smell her perfume, and along with the familiar scent of pancakes in their kitchen it almost, almost made him tear up.

Hell, Stan kinda wanted it to last forever. And a day. And then maybe, just maybe, he’d get enough of--

“Ah-hem.”

The sound was enough for the warm feeling in Stan’s chest to turn into dread, because he knew who that was. He’d heard that throat being cleared too many times to mistake it, even after more than ten years away.

He disentangled himself from his mother’s embrace and forced himself to turn to the kitchen table, where of course his father sat just as he used to - leaning on the backrest, shades to hide his eyes, hat firmly on his head and newspaper in his hands.

“Dad…”

“Don’t dad me. What are you doing here?” his father cut him off, hardly looking up from the newspaper, and his words were like a punch in the gut.

Well this time you cost our family potential millions! And until you make us a fortune, you aren't welcome in this household!

“Look, I… I’m workin’ on it,” he found himself saying, each word hard to even pronounce, as though his tongue had turned into lead in his mouth. He may be in Ford’s mind, and the Filbrick Pines he was looking at may not be the real deal, but he was suddenly desperate to defend himself all the same. “There’s been a setback or two or twenty, but once it’s out of the way--”

With a scoff, Filbrick Pines closed the newspaper, threw it on the table and stood. “Your head is just as thick as I remember it, only that now you have appalling hair on top of it,” he said, stepping closer. Faintly, Stanley took notice of how they now stood at same height, able to look at each other squarely in the eye without Stan having to look up. “The hell are you talking about? There’s a demon in your brother’s mind, and you call it a setback?”

Stan blinked. “You know about Bill?”

“That annoying little monster has been here--”

“He likes my pancakes and says as much, unlike a certain someone,” Maureen Pines piped in, crossing her arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. Her husband did not respond, or even pause, still staring straight at Stan. Or at least, Stan assumed he was. Sometimes it was hard to tell, with the shades he hardly ever took off.

“... Prattling on about how he’s going to end both of you. How could Stanford grow up in a pawn shop and not recognize a crook, even a supernatural one, when he sees it, is beyond me,” he added, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t have fallen for it one moment.”

Wait. Had his father just said…?

“I--” Stan began, but Filbrick held up a hand to cut him off yet again.

“So let me ask again - what are you doing in here?” he asked before jabbing a finger against his chest. “Why aren’t you out there, socking that thing in the eye? You used to have a decent left hook, and used it more than once to get Stanford out of trouble. I should hope you still remember how to throw a punch, or else those boxing lessons were a complete waste of time and money.”

… Wait. So that was what it had been about? Not about the money he hadn’t made yet? He wasn’t asking why he was back in his household without it - he had been asking why he was in that memory and not out there helping Ford out.

“Because I can’t,” Stan found himself blurting out. “I tried and I failed - I couldn’t even begin to land a blow on that triangular fu--”

“Stanley! Language!” his mother chided him, causing him to wince.

“Right, right. Sorry. I just… I fail at everything,” he added. Looking back at his father felt like the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. “This was all my fault. You were right to kick me out. I ruined everything.”

His father tilted his head, shades catching the light coming from the window for a moment, and let out a hum. “Mmmh.”

“... Aren’t you going to say anything? Like, ‘it wasn’t your fault’, or--”

“No. Are you going to shut the hell u--”

“Filbrick Pines!”

“... Heck,” his father corrected himself without missing a beat and entirely unfazed. “Shut the heck up and do something. If you’ve got a problem, you either go solve it or shut up. Life gets hard and you should know you can’t make it any easier by whining at it.”

“He’s too strong. I couldn’t even land a punch or--”

“So throw another. Isn’t that how a fight works? You don’t stop hitting just because the first punch wasn’t enough. You keep going until you’re on the ground or they are. That’s what you used to do when someone picked on your brother. And now you’re just going to run off and whine? Stanford can’t do this on his own and you damn well know it.”

The mention of Stanford felt like a bucket of cold water being poured on him, and Stan recoiled. That was true - what the hell had he been thinking? Ford was out there, and he needed his help. He had to find him. If all of that was really his fault, then it was all the more reason to do all he could to set things right again.

“Right. I… I got lost, found this door, and… I really should go,” Stan said, his mouth dry, and turned to his mother. “It’s… been good to see you.”

His mother smiled and stepped closer to give him a tight hug, which Stan found himself returning with a lump in his throat.“Come home soon in the real world, both of you,” she said before pulling back and reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “My little free spirit, not so little anymore. And don’t listen to him,” she added with a wink, her voice dropping in a perfectly audible whisper. “I think your hair looks great. He’s just jealous because his is thinning under that hat.”

If Filbrick Pines had heard her, nothing showed on his face - and Stan didn’t pay much attention to it anyway. He was too busy smiling down at his mother and trying hard not to cry. “... Sure, Ma. Will fix this mess and then we’ll both drop by.”

She smiled again, and stepped back. Stan turned to look at his father.

“Dad,” he hard himself saying, his own voice distant. “I know this isn’t real, but… I tried to imagine coming home so many times, and there are so many things I’d like to do and say--”

“Then get on with it,” his father said. “If you want to do something, you either do it or shut up about it. Got it?”

Stan smiled. “Got it,” he said, and punched him in the face has hard as he could, catching him right on the jaw with his knuckles.

Filbrick Pines fell back against the wall and then on the floor, causing Maureen to sigh and throw up her hands. “Boys,” she muttered, and walked off, leaving Stan to stare down at his father as he steadied himself, reached up for his jaw, and then looked up at him. His shades askew, one of his eyes was visible, and Stan could see for just a moment the way it crinkled upwards; along with a twitch of his mustache, was the only visible sign of rare smiles.

“Good shot,” he said, and stood, adjusting his shades, expression once again impassable. There was no outward sign of the blow, but Stan knew it was something he had to put down to the fact they were not in the real world. “Not a waste of time and money, after all. But you could use a little extra help,” he added, and snapped his fingers.

Something cold materialized in Stan’s hands, around his fingers, and he looked up to see a set of brass knuckles that hadn’t been there before. “Wha…?”

“We’re in your brother’s mind, knucklehead. You can make things real by willing it - or make yourself bigger, just so say one. That should even the playing field. I trust I don’t have to explain you how those work.”

The surprise fading, Stan laughed. “Hah! You bet you don’t,” he said, grinning down at the brass knuckles, and looked back up at his father. They were face to face again, and suddenly the knot in his stomach was back. He shifted a little uneasily. “... Thanks, dad,” he said, and reached out for him. Filbrick Pines didn’t step back, but Stan felt him stiffen.

“What kind of sappy bull-- oof!”

“Wasn’t a hug,” Stan grinned, holding up his fists. “Sucker punch! Had to try out these beauties.”

With a bark that could pass, with some imagination, for a laugh, Filbrick Pines sank on the floor, a hand over his stomach. “Not-- nngh. Not half bad. Feels like you’re good to go.”

Grin widening, Stan turned to look at the door. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Really feels great. See you later Ma! I’ll be home and bring Ford with me!”

“See you, sweetie!” Maureen Pines called out after her son as he ran out of the door, back in the fog of the Mindscape. She smiled at the closing door, and turned to glance down at her husband. “He really is your boy.”

With a grimace, Filbrick stood upright again, a hand still pressing against his stomach. Still, his mustache quirked upwards for just one moment before he spoke.

“Yes. I guess he is.”

***

“Hey, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Shh!” Stanley lifted his hand to shut his brother up and stood still in the mist, eyes straining to catch any sound. There was some whispering in the distance, the kind that could be heard in Bill’s mindscape, so he guessed that was where they were, but had also heard something different, almost like… like…

The sniffling sound reached him again, followed by the light tap-tap-tap of tiny feet on the non-existing floor, and Stanley felt his brother gripping his shoulder.

“I heard it too!” he exclaimed, and immediately stepped forwards, bringing his hands up around his mouth. “Billy! BILLY!” he called out.

His voice echoed in the fog, but there was no answer; the sound of footsteps came to a halt.

“Billy! I know you’re there! It’s us! Stanley and St-- I mean, Nerdy!”

For a few moments there was no reply, and Stanley almost thought that maybe they had heard wrong when Billy suddenly spoke somewhere on their left, invisible but not inaudible. “Liar. Your name is Stanford and you’re just a memory like me. I know it now. I know everything. We’re not real and you’re all liars!”

The sentence ended in a piercing shriek, one that suddenly got closer, and the next moment Stanley felt something hitting him little above the ankle: tiny, clenched fists. “LIARS!” Bill shrieked again. “Liars liars liars liars--”

“Wha-- Billy! Billy, wait, we can explain-- OW! OUCH! He bit me! Get him off!”

“Billy, please…!”

Tiny as he was, Billy put up one heck of a fight: by the time he was secured in Stanford’s grasp, kicking and yelling and held out at arm's length so that he couldn’t try scratching at his face, Stanley’s jeans were ripped in various points and he had several bite marks across both ankles.

“Ow! That hurt! What the--”

“You lied to me! You should have told me I wasn’t real!”

“This feels real and how,” Stanley muttered, reaching down to rub his leg and glaring at Billy. He was no longer yellow, the paint gone. What had happened after they had been swatted away? What had the other Bill done to him? What had he said? “The heck do you mean anyway? Of course you’re real!”

“I’m not! I’m just a memory!”

“Yeah, so are we. Still real.”

“But--”

“We exist on a different plane of existence, but we exist nonetheless,” Stanford spoke up, cutting him off. “I mean, we are here, right? Thinking, feeling, thinking. Cogito ergo sum.”

“... Stanford?”

“Yes?”

“Can you tone it down with the nerd stuff? This ain’t the moment for French.”

“It’s not French, it’s--”

“Whatever. Still not the right moment,” Stanley said, rolling his eyes, and turned his attention back on Billy. He had stopped kicking, stopped struggling: he was still in Stanford’s grasp, thin black arms and legs limp, eye moving slowly back and forth between them. “Look, what he said. I’m sorry we lied to your. Stanford - the other Stanford - thought it would be best if you didn’t know. And… you were having so much fun. We were having so much fun, right?”

“I…” Billy began, and fell silent. Tears welled up in his eye and Stan found himself sniffling.

“Aw, c’mon! Not fair - don’t do that!” he protested, wiping his nose. “If you cry then I’ll cry and Poindexter will cry and--”

“Billy, please,” Stanford spoke up before Stanley’s voice had the time to break. “I know we should have told you, but listen to me. You’re real. As real as we are, anyway.”

Billy turned to look at him, and let out a tiny hiccupping noise. Being entirely gray again made him look all the more miserable. “It’s gone,” he choked out, reaching up to wipe his eye. “My home is gone. There was something important there, and I want it back. I know I want it back, but I can’t remember what it was…”

“We can find out,” Stanford said, and reached up to place Billy on top of his head. “Remember what we told you about a locked door?”

“Hu-hu.”

“Well, it’s locked because you-- I mean, Cipher locked away some memories he clearly wanted to forget all about. We think that’s why you can’t remember how you got those books about the Third Dimension, for example. We’ve got to find out, and… well…”

“Then you’ll know what it is,” Stanley immediately supplied. “And maybe it will be something we can kick Cipher’s angle with. We’ll do just that and then go back to Glass Shard Beach. And have ice cream!”

Billy seemed to perk up considerably - Stanley wasn’t sure if it was for the ice cream or the angle-kicking part - and seemed to consider the proposal. Then, finally, “Okay. But… what is a New Jersey? I know we’re not going there, but what is it?”

“That’s where we were! Glass Shard Beach is in New Jersey. In our New Jersey. That’s why we’re the kings of it! So,” he added, holding a finger up to Bill. “Kings of New Jersey? Shake on it for yes!”

There was a moment of silence, then Billy nodded - or at least made a movement that looked kinda like a nod - and reached out, his other hand holding onto Stanford’s hair. He grabbed Stanley’s finger and shook it. “Kings of New Jersey!”

“Great! Now pull my fing--”

“Don’t pull his finger,” Stanford said quickly, pushing Stanley away, but he did laugh along with them before sobering up. “All right. Billy, we need you to focus on what you’re missing. The things you can’t remember, and… and try to visualize a locked door, okay? It’s somewhere here and you’re our best bet at finding it.”

Another sort-of-nod, and Billy closed his eye. He stayed like that for what felt like a long time, leaving Stanley and Stanford to quizzically glance at each other. Then, one moment before Stanley asked if everything was okay or if he’d just fallen asleep, he opened it again and spoke, pointing to their left.

“That way. There’s something there and I think that’s it.”

Stanley followed his finger; all he could see was fog, in no way different from what they could see in every other direction. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you just… know it?” Stanford asked.

“Yes,” Billy said, his eye narrowing, and suddenly his voice was much, much colder. It made the hair on Stanford’s neck stand on end. “I know lots of things now. Lots of things.”

***

“Wha-- what are you talking about? Of course I’m real. You know I’m real!”

“... Do I? Perhaps Stanley was right. Perhaps I am crazy, after all.”

“YOUR STUPID BROTHER WAS HERE WITH US BEFORE I SWATTED HIM--”

“My brother, of a projection of him?” Stanford cut him off. “One I just made up in my mind. Like the kids. Like the other Bill. Like yourself,” he added. There was a look on his face Bill hadn’t seen on him before: a calm, almost emotionless sort of smile. It was utterly unlike him. It was made him look way to the left of sanity, the kind of guy who had permanently moved from Sanity Square to Crazy Plaza.

Perhaps I am crazy, after all.

No…

“I can prove it to you! I have access to every corner of your brother’s mind! I know things only the two of you could--” “Of course you can. You did come from his mind, after all.” “I DID NOT!” “Then prove it!”

No.

You’re as real as I am.

No!

You are not powerful and never were. Stanford’s mind is falling apart and so are you, because you never existed out of it.

“NO!” Bill shrieked. “Shut up shut up shut UP! I am real! I KNOW I’M REAL!”

“You think you’re real. The other Bill did, too,” Stanford countered, still insanely calm, gaze steady and voice even. “He was certain of it, until you told him otherwise. How can you be certain you’re any different?”

Behind him, all around him, voices were whispering again. Millions of voices, in millions of languages long-dead, but they all said the same thing.

You’re not real. You were never real.

No no no no NO!

“SHUT UP!” Bill screeched, and lifted his arms. A ring of blue fire rose all around him and Stanford, blocking out everything else - the fog, the colors, the voices, everything. But once, long ago, those flames had made people scream. His people. His dimension. He had burned it all - burned them all - and he knew that was real. It had to be. “I am Bill Cipher. The All Seeing Eye! All-powerful! I am real - I have been real before any of this galaxy was!” he howled, and glared down at Stanford with a blood red eye. Stanford met his gaze with a raised eyebrow.

“To quote a certain someone, I am not impressed. The All Seeing eye, who couldn’t see a metal plate coming? All-powerful, and yet trapped by said piece of metal?”

Something in Bill’s core felt cold, but he forced himself to ignore it, mind racing for a retort. “I… I… Hah! Your friend has seen me! FIDDLESTICKS! HE SAW ME!” he cried out, and he laughed and laughed. “He knows I am real! He--”

“He’s not a model of mental health though, is he?”

What cut him off wasn’t what Stanford said as much as it was the way he had said it: he sounded almost bored. Bill found himself staring, dumbfounded, as he shrugged as much as the bonds allowed him to. “He was always superstitious, and easy to impress. And when I began acting odd, when you possessed me,” he added, marking the word in a way that made it clear he would have made quote marks in the air if his hands were free, “It was so very easy for him to believe there was truly something supernatural going on. That whatever he saw in the portal had be my so-called Muse. A being who never existed outside my mind. All that you remember, all you think is true - all of it, it’s nothing but a delusion. Mine.”

“Shut up! That’s not true!” Bill screamed, igniting his hands. If he didn’t shut up now he’d make him - he’d rip out his tongue, he’d make him scream until his vocal chords tore, he… he…! “NONE OF IT IS TRUE!”

“You included,” Ford said quietly, then smiled. “There is yet another thing that the so-called All Seeing Eye failed to anticipate.”

Bill blinked, his fury fading just enough for him to ask. “And what would that--”

“Left hook!”

He turned, and it was a mistake: before he could even really look, something hit him square in the eye, causing him to cry out and press both hands on it, rearing back. Over his own scream, he heard a laugh.

“Too slow, Freakshow. Ain’t impressed. Ready for a second round? ‘Cause I am,” Stanley Pines called out, floating before him, far larger than he had any right to be. He grinned, his eyes reflecting the fire, and he held up massive fists covered in golden brass knuckles. Despite the blow that had blurred his vision, Bill could make out some letters engraved on the metal.

King of New Jersey.

“Look at me, and take a good look,” Stanley snarled. His eyes no longer seemed to be reflecting the flames: it was as though they burned with a fire of their own. “I’ll be the last thing your All Seeing Eyeball is ever gonna see.”

***

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[On to Chapter 12]

#gravity falls #bill cipher #stanley pines #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket

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