#but the goal of the whole comic was to get to both of them shrieking

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Frantic shouts rise among the nomads. I snap out of it and direct the syringe toward his wrist. But his armor stops me from finding a vein.

“Open up!” I raise my head.

Half his face is melting.

I shriek, and so does he.

Ch.44: “The Emperor’s Mausoleum”, from @xiranjayzhao‘s Iron Widow

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

his name was chad - chapter 1

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Lamp (with a focus on Logince and Moxiety), Dukeceit Warnings: Language, sexual humor/innuendo, mostly non-graphic violence, temporary major character deaths, minor animal death (not all of these are in this chapter, but I like to put general fic warnings on the first chapter) Word count: 1782 Notes: Based on that one short Thomas made ages ago; fic is mostly to be treated humorously. 

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My writing masterpost

Summary:  “We thought it’d be fun to make an apocalypse game!” Roman explained. “One we can fully immerse ourselves in!” “Well, technically,” Remus put in, “it’s part apocalypse, part western, part post-apocalypse, part zombie apocalypse—” “No! No zombies! We’ve been over this!” Roman snapped. “Right, right, I keep forgetting. Part horror, part thriller, part mafia game, part—” “I think we get the picture,” Logan interrupted. “A mishmash of ‘edgy’ genres you both enjoy, am I correct?”

 Chapter 1

“Everyone!” Roman shouted from the common area at the top of his lungs. “Hey, everyone, c’mere! Right now!”

“What the hell do you want?” Virgil demanded, rising up at once.

“Wait, wait, wait wait wait. Logan! Patton!” Roman called for their other boyfriends.

Remus popped up between Roman and Virgil, making them both jump. “Janny!” he added in an ear-grating shriek.

“What on earth is the matter, Roman?” Logan inquired as he and Patton made their way into the room.

Roman glanced around just as Janus rose up in the corner, taking up residence lurking in a dramatic puddle of shadow. “Good, everyone’s here. Come see what me and Remus made!”

“Oh, you mean the thing you two have been holed up working on for two weeks now that nobody has been allowed to ask about?” Logan said, sounding interested.

“Yeah, that!” Roman grabbed his and Virgil’s hands. “Everyone come on!”

Patton followed just behind his three boyfriends; Remus and Janus, somewhat surprisingly, followed at a more leisurely pace, Janus leaning on Remus as he wrapped an arm around Janus’s waist, held his hand, and talked a mile a minute in a voice too low for the others to make out.

Roman led the group to the workshop he and Remus shared, having everyone gather in a huddle around a table with a large piece of fabric covering whatever was on it. “Ready?” he asked dramatically.

“No, can I take a nap first?” Virgil inquired sarcastically.

“Some other time, my stormy darling. Behold!” Roman drew the cloth away with a flourish.

“Ooh, it’s a little world!” Patton exclaimed.

“Fascinating,” Logan commented, leaning closer to examine the miniature landscape, dotted with buildings and trees. “What is it for?”

“It’s a game!” Remus piped up from the back of the group. He let go of Janus and elbowed his way between Virgil and Patton. “And we’re going in it! Blood and guts and gore and death!”

“What?” Patton inquired, sounding distinctly nervous.

“What do you mean, in it? What do you mean, death?” Virgil demanded.

“Oh, cool your tits, the death is just for realism,” Remus said, waving his hand.

“That is not reassuring!”

“No, no, wait, listen!” Roman interrupted frantically. “He’s explaining it all wrong! Virgil, listen, I promise it’s not that bad!” He paused. “Well.”

“See?” Virgil pointed an accusing finger at him. “What the hell are you two up to?”

“We just thought it’d be fun to make an apocalypse game!” Roman explained. “One we can fully immerse ourselves in!”

“Apocalypse?” Virgil demanded, sounding torn between delight and outrage.

“I don’t know…” Patton put in hesitantly.

Logan looked up from where he had still been examining the table. “This is an impressive level of detail work, Roman, Remus. You should be proud of yourselves.”

“Don’t encourage them!” Virgil snapped. “Not when they’re apparently trying to get us all killed for fun!”

“What?” Logan blinked. “Oh, that. I imagine it will be harmless.”

“Yeah!” Remus backed him up immediately.

“Yeah,” Roman echoed a beat later, less certain.

“Logan,” Virgil said, “they are trying to put Patton in an apocalypse. In what world is that a good idea for anyone?”

“Well, technically,” Remus put in, “it’s part apocalypse, part western, part post-apocalypse, part zombie apocalypse—”

“No! No zombies! We’ve been over this!” Roman snapped.

“Right, right, I keep forgetting. No zombies yet. But it is part horror, part thriller, part murder mystery, part mafia game, part—”

“I think we get the picture,” Logan interrupted. “A mishmash of ‘edgy’ genres you both enjoy, am I correct?”

“Oh, that’s a good way of putting it.” Remus nodded.

“It will be fun, I promise,” Roman said. “We made it! Just for everyone in this room! So it’ll be okay. We made such cool character designs for everyone, you’re going to love it, just please can we play just one time please?” He turned pleading eyes on all three of his partners.

“And you’re sure this will be safe?” Logan asked, just to be sure. Both Patton and Virgil looked too nervous for his liking and could likely use the reassurance.

“Absolutely!” Roman assured him.

“Probably,” Remus amended.

“Shut up! We know what we’re doing!” Roman smacked his brother’s arm.

“The effects will look, feel, sound, and smell realistic,” Remus said. “Try not to die gruesomely. Or don’t, it will be lots of fun to watch guts going everywhere.” He lit up and looked over at Roman. “Hey, can we add—”

“For the sixteenth time, we said no zombies on the first run!” Roman stamped his foot.

“Boo.” Remus rolled his eyes and glanced back to Patton. “But yeah. It’s safe from the outside. We’ll just be on the inside, you know?”

“What does that mean?” Patton asked nervously.

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus said instantly, grinning very wide indeed.

“Patton.” Roman took both Patton’s hands in his own. “I would never ask anything of you if I wasn’t perfectly sure I could keep you safe. It’s all just effects, I promise.”

“You’re sure?” Patton said.

“I promise,” Roman repeated. He glanced up at Virgil, who was hovering darkly just behind Patton’s shoulder. “And that goes for everyone here, Doom and Gloom.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and looked over at Janus, who was standing a little distance away from the rest of the group, examining his gloved nails. “And what do you think of all this?” he demanded suspiciously.

Janus looked up, blinking comically wide and raising his eyebrows. “Hm? Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you ‘don’t like liars.’ Why would you ask me?”

Virgil growled under his breath. “You know you’re self-preservation too,” he snapped.

“Oh, yes, of course, it’s just fun to make you admit it.” Janus gave Virgil a very self-satisfied grin.

Virgil glared at him. “Just shut up and answer my question. Are you going in there?” He pointed at the landscape on the table.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided.” Janus shrugged, seeming disinterested. “You should definitely go, though, I’d love to watch you get taken out by tripping on a rock or something.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Janus smirked. “I suspect your boyfriend collection would be unhappy with that idea.”

“Fuck off, you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Oh, is it bullying Virgil hours?” Remus inquired, looking up from the landscape on the table.

“No, hey, wait—” Patton began in protest.

“Shush, Daddyo, it’s all in good fun,” Remus said without looking away from Janus.

“Isn’t it always, darling?” Janus responded as if Patton’s interruption had not taken place.

Remus grinned. “Ooh, fair point.”

“I hate you guys,” Virgil announced.

Janus blew him a kiss. “Thank you ever so much.”

Remus draped himself over Virgil, with his chin resting on Virgil’s shoulder. “So whatcha talking about?” he asked.

“This loser won’t tell me if he’s participating in the game or not,” Virgil snapped, jerking a thumb at Janus.

“Ooh, ‘loser.’ Very nice. Classy. Screams ‘seventh grade,’ that’s how you know it’s a mature and grownup insult,” Janus commented.

“Baby, you aren’t playing?” Remus gave Janus a pair of very distressed, pleading puppy dog eyes. “I worked so hard on it! You’re going to be so sexy, I made you such a cool backstory!”

“No, no, of course I’ll play,” Janus assured him composedly. “I was only messing with Virgil.”

“Hey!” Virgil snapped.

“I’d love to see all the horrors your mind has come up with,” Janus went on with a startling sincerity, serenely ignoring Viril. “You’ll have to be sure and show me everything.”

Remus lit up. “Oh, I will!” He pushed away from Virgil and ran to take both Janus’s hands in his own. “I made you a whole lair thing, it’s so cool, it has so many—”

“Why don’t you show me?” Janus inquired, raising one of Remus’s hands to his lips to press a kiss to it.

Remus vibrated with excitement. “Yeah, okay!” He glanced over at Roman.

“You can go ahead early, you have a little more setup to do anyway,” Roman said, waving his hand. “We’ll catch up to you.”

Remus grinned and drew Janus close by the waist—and they both vanished.

Virgil yelped, looking distinctly alarmed.

“Never fear!” Roman assured him. “They’re just in the game!” He pointed down at the landscape; two little tokens, in green and yellow, had appeared on it. “Is everyone ready to go?”

“How long will this take, again?” Logan asked.

“A couple of hours,” Roman said. “Time goes slower inside the game by default, but Remus and I can mess around with it a little if we need to.”

“And the goal of the game?” Logan asked.

“To have fun! Also not die. There’s a little bit of a story but there’s also lots of room to play around. Don’t worry, the only thing that happens if you die is you’re out of the game and you come back here. The winner gets a minifigure of their character! And bragging rights.”

Logan and Virgil both perked up at this second prize. Roman snickered. “So, is everyone ready?” he asked again.

“I just feel like it’s a little scary…” Patton said.

“Oh!” Roman snapped his fingers. “I knew I was forgetting something. We made a filter for you, Pat! It puts you on easy mode. Way less things will want to attack you. And me and Remus both have some of our mod abilities available for emergencies if you need us to change something!”

Patton thought about this for a minute, then nodded. “Okay. I think I can try it out, then.”

Roman grinned and kissed his cheek. “How about you, Gerard Gay?” He looked over at Virgil. “You in?”

Virgil grumbled to himself for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, fine, whatever. Jan went in, and he’s a better judge of safety than you or Remus.” He glanced away and mumbled, “Plus it sounds really cool, or whatever.”

“Normally I would be very offended, but I’m just happy you want to play.” Roman offered Virgil a dazzling smile. “Logan?”

“I will participate. I am curious to see what you have come up with.”

“Oh, I love you all so much!” Roman declared. “Alright, everyone come over here.” He shuffled them around until each of them was holding somewhere on one of his arms. “Now, the game will drop us in randomly within a certain area and timeframe, and then we just have to find each other! Have fun—it’ll start off easy and get more challenging as we get used to it!”

Roman pulled at the fabric of Thomas’s imagination itself, and there was a funny yanking feeling in everyone’s gut, and the world went dark for just a second.

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): 

@fivehargreeves05 @theimprobabledreamersworld

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

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request: A Matthew tkachuk imagine where you are connor McDavid little sister and are dating Matthew behind his back but leon is helping see him and you get caught

summary: your brother is Connor McDavid, so of course you had to fall for Calgary’s Matthew Tkachuk.

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.8k

note: female reader based on the request, sorry if that annoys anyone

The Battle of Alberta was serious business for the two teams. It was a division rivalry that produced resentment like no other. You had first hand knowledge of just how deep the competition dug, considering your brother was Connor McDavid, captain of the Edmonton Oilers. 

You lived in Calgary, much to your brother’s chagrin. No matter how many times you told him you lived there for work, he insisted he could get you a job in Edmonton in under a week. 

Besides the fact you didn’t want to give your brother the satisfaction of knowing he got you a job, there were other things that kept you in Calgary. Well, another person. 

You had been dating Matthew Tkachuk since just after the start of the season, having met him shortly after he returned to Calgary for preseason. You had wanted to tell Connor about your relationship, but you knew it would only stress him out and he had to focus on being captain. Plus, you really didn’t want to see what would happen on the ice between your brother and your known pest of a boyfriend. 

Still, with an entire hockey team basically acting as your protective older brothers, it was pretty hard to hide a whole relationship from so many people. 

You weren’t sure when Leon got a key to your apartment, exactly, and you were even more unsure of just why he had a key in the first place. Though, if you had to guess, it was because Connor was insistent on someone checking in on you. 

It was supposed to be a nice night in with your boyfriend, he was going to help cook dinner with you—you didn't have high hopes on how much he was actually going to help—and then a movie. 

“Matthew.” You whined, though his name was punctuated with a giggle as he poked at your sides. You had been in the process of washing some veggies for the meal when he had hip-checked you, if only for the purpose of annoying you. 

“I’m sorry that I want attention.” Matt replied easily, handsome grin on his face endearing no matter how shit-eating it was. You rolled your eyes, giving him a quick kiss before returning back to preparing dinner. 

“You’re such a big baby.” You teased. Your words started a back and forth playful argument, resulting with Matt placing you on the counter with him standing between your legs, lips dangerously close to yours. 

Which was why you didn’t hear the door opening and closing. 

“What the fuck?” At the sound of the deep voice, you shrieked and pushed Matt away. He flew comically away from you, as if you actually had the strength to launch him halfway across the kitchen. 

“Leon? What the hell are you doing here?” You questioned, spotting your brother’s teammate standing in your living room. Leon, for as calm and collected he usually was, his jaw was dropped and he was looking between you and Matt like he didn’t actually believe what he was saying. 

“Uh, your brother asked me to stop in and check on you since he had to stay late at the rink.” Leon explained and you nodded, not sure how to navigate the awkward situation. You were perfectly content with avoiding the elephant in the room, which took the shape of your just as flustered boyfriend who was being uncharacteristically quiet. Still, you should have known with both teams being in Calgary for the game tomorrow you couldn’t be so lucky. “What’s he doing here.”

“Leon.” You chastised. You knew that he didn't exactly get along with Matt, but you had hoped that it wouldn’t extend off the ice. Matt moved back towards you, leaning against the counter next to you—a few inches separating you that wouldn't be there if Leon wasn't standing in your kitchen. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“What!” You winced at the volume of his voice, having somewhat expecting this reaction from him. Though, you had assumed you would have the support of Connor before you had to break the news to Leon. “Since when? Does Connor know?”

“Uhm, a few months? And no, he doesn't. Please don't tell him before I can.” You begged, putting on your best puppy-dog eyes. 

“You want me to play along with this?” Leon asked, clearly skeptical. You nodded quickly and he sighed in defeat. You were practically his sibling just as much as you were Connor’s, the both of them having a hard time saying no to you. With a little more convincing on your part, Leon had left your apartment with the promise to keep your secret. The only downfall was that you had to promise to tell him tomorrow. 

You weren't sure how you were going to tell your brother you had been in a relationship for the better part of the season without telling him. Not to mention that relationship was with Matthew Tkachuk, known nuisance on his rival team. 

You turned to Matt, you had been suspiciously quiet for most of the time Leon was in your apartment, but now that he had left, Matt was grinning mischievously at you. You rolled your eyes at him, opening your arms and he returned to his original position between your legs as you wrapped him in a hug. 

“You’re too much trouble, Tkachuk.”

The next day you were stressed about having to tell your brother about dating Matt, so stressed in fact, that before you even knew it, you were sitting in the stands. Usually, you’d be in the better halves box, but Connor had gotten you ice level seats. You were behind the visitors goal, meaning that he was able to mess with you during warm ups, bouncing against the glass to catch you off guard and toss you pucks to give to the excited children around you. 

It was all going smoothly until Matt scored. He, of course, had to be cocky about it, skating over to where you were and pointing as if to make sure you knew the goal was for you. It wasn’t the first time he dedicated a goal to you, but usually he wasn't so obvious about, a wink thrown up to where he knew you were in the box. It was almost like he couldn’t help himself now that you were so close. 

Knowing Matthew, that very well could be the case.

Connor noticed, of course, and skated over to Matt, giving him a shove on the shoulder. Your boyfriend didn’t engage, remembering that you had said you would break up with him on the spot if he ever fought your brother, but the two exchanged words, Matt holding up his hands like he was innocent.

As if. 

The rest of the game went smoother, with Connor seemingly ordering a hit on Matt and Leon shooting you exasperated looks every time the two got close. After he had left your apartment the night before, you had texted him and asked if he could make sure your brother didn't kill your boyfriend on the ice before you got the chance to talk him down. 

You weren’t too sure who you were supposed to be rooting for, but as the game went into overtime, you were glad both teams would be leaving with at least one point. And when Connor scored the game winner, you figured it was for the best to have him in a good mood. 

You had agreed to meet Connor outside the visiting team’s locker room, and so after the area emptied a bit, you made your way down there. It wasn't too long before Leon emerged, patting you on the back and mumbling a ‘good luck with him’ before heading off to meet his girlfriend who had come down for the game. You had rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help but be nervous. You wanted Connor to like Matt, you were pretty sure you were at least half in love with the guy, but family was important to you. In the end, you wouldn't let Connor or anyone else dictate who you were with, but his approval meant a lot. 

You had been so in your head about everything, thinking about just exactly how to phrase everything that Connor had caught you off guard when he came into the hallway. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, waving a hand in front of your eyes as you didn't even notice him approach. You jumped, having been startled but were quick to smile tightly at him. He called your name softly, urging you to tell him what was on your mind. 

“I have a boyfriend.” You blurted, cringing slightly at the suddenness of his words. That was not how you imagined this going, then again, you hadn’t originally planned on hiding your relationship from him for so long. Connor just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a near pained expression on his face.

“It’s not Tkachuk, is it?” He groaned, and your eyes just about bugged out of your head. You were certain you had been so careful in hiding your relationship, and it was one thing for him to suspect you were seeing someone but an entirely different thing for him to just flat out know.

“How did you know?” You felt stupid for asking, but you were so confused any embarrassment you felt was overshadowed. 

“Well for starters, he pointed right at you after you scored.” Connor listed off on his fingers and you blushed furiously. Matt might have been shameless, but you sure as hell weren’t. “And he's also standing right there.” 

You spun around at your brother’s words, no doubt finding Matt watching from afar, clearly nervous to approach. It was refreshing, honestly, seeing him so knocked off his game. It was good for his ego, and you just hoped Connor wasn't too angry.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” You started, but your brother didn't let you finished. 

“I’m not gonna pretend like I understand, or that I like it, but I have a question.” You nodded eagerly, silently urging him to continue. “Does he make you happy?”

“Unbelievably so.” You told him honestly and without missing a beat. By now, Matt had joined you and had swung an arm around your shoulders, offering his free hand to Connor to shake. Your brother eyed him for a moment, before shaking his hand and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding. 

“If I hear you so much as make her cry once, Tkachuk, I will personally come to Calgary and give you want you deserve.” Connor threatened, and you rolled your eyes. Matt raised the arm that wasn’t wrapped over your shoulders in surrender, tugging you closer into his side as he spoke next. 

“Trust me man, I wouldn't even think of doing that.”

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 28

“Mirror, mirror ..”

“The universe shall be mine to control!”

“O’ cauldron, cast my spell!”

“Mmm those unfortunate souls won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Friends, give me your generous assistance. I seek to give you the souls you desire but I need you,”

“Nish.en.top Adlantis, panneb.le.nen. Gamos.yoh!”

“Hee hee soon that rotten emperor will be crushed like a bug and then Kuzcotopia will be mine, mine, all mine Hahahahahah!”

“Avalon ye gave thy sword to one true king. However he shall be felled.”

Uma shifted from foot to foot as she stared at the bulk of her mother’s backside. Not out of nervousness but in readiness. The first eight members had started casting their spells in the famed cauldron of the Horned King which Jade had deftly stole from the rotting corpse.While Mother Gothel, who only gained her power from the famed youthful flower, and Ginny steadily stirred the pot.

The cauldron was to be the centerpoint for their magic, generating energy draining fumes and crackling lightning that broke through the ceiling of the castle. But even as plaster and tile fell over them, the members did not move from their positions on the pentagram that Nerissa drew on the floor. It was essential that they did not break the ley lines of power connecting the thirteen of them, the sorcerer queen had warned.

A green mist rose up from the cauldron and Uma could already feel herself grow faint. The mist was supposed to drain powerful energies, not to death, but enough that they were average husks of a person. While transferring that energy, and magic, to the Coven. It made them more powerful and eliminated potential enemies right in their tracks.

The remaining four Coven members stood at six windows, facing outwards. Only two were stain glass while the others were crudely cut rectangles that resembled more of a small erratic explosion than a window. Not that the look mattered, the point of it was that these four were to direct their magic outwards to push against the remaining walls of the barrier while the cauldron blasted its center ceiling.

This, while the mini Coven as Uma knew, did the same blasting from their side in Auradon.

She, Calix, Jade, Zevon, Lala, Antiquam and Celia stood behind their parents, supposedly as substitutes in case one shall fall. Though Uma suspected that their parents didn’t trust them by themselves. Though they knew Zevon and Antiquam would be the only loyal ones to do so.

For any moment now, Circe was to turn, turn and back to back with her son blast Mozonroth who stood next to her. Breaking the ley lines.

Uma was concentrating so hard at the hourglass figure of the Grecian sorceress that she had nearly missed Ginny stumble and almost lose her ladle into the cauldron.

Seizing the moment to build on the former momentum of Celia’s suggestion. Playing on the villains paranoidness and alertness for backstabbers.

“Hmmph look at Ginny, she is nearly ruining this for all of us,” Uma talked from the side of her mouth to Zevon who stood next to her. The formerly enrapt teen blinked once, digesting what Uma said. “All because her mother and she can’t have an important place in the spell, they want to ruin it for all.” Uma hissed.

Jade had been working hard the past four days, integrating herself into Zevon’s presence, blocking any of the flirtations that had been occurring between him and Ginny. Instead she batted her eyes and whispered of Ginny’s insane jealousy that she had no magic like the rest of the Coven. That Mother Gothel was bitter for her lowered role as a mere cauldron stirrer and would ruin it all for them because she’d rather have none have power if she couldn’t have power.

And that idea clearly crossed Zevon’s mind as he glared suspiciously at a harried Ginny who was stirring double time to make up for her mistake. Double time that was threatening the steady rhythm they had been doing before. One could already see its effect as a streak of lighting blasted out by crackled and hissed before even reaching the ceiling.

“Bitch,” Zevon breathed through his teeth so sharply that Uma could hear its whistle just before he lunged at Ginny. He clumsily grabbed at the ladle, bumping against the cauldron as he did so. Mother Gothel came to her daughter’s aid, dropping her own ladle to help her daughter in the impromptu tug of war.

“How dare you! You will not ruin this for the rest of us!” Zevon raved.

“Zevon what are you-” Yzla screeched, cut off by the flash of white light from Calix, blasting Zevon to the wall, transforming him into a purple platypus. A strange choice but it got him out of the way.

Circe took her turn and blasted at Mozonroth and his stupified son, transforming them into eels trapped in the flowing robes they usually wore, and then Circe took the extra second of unexpected surprise to blast Mother Gothel, transforming her into a dowdy peahen.

In all the hubbub  and animal transformations, the glowing ley lines dimmed as members disappeared and stepped out of line in their surprise and confusion.

Uma let out a loud whistle and as instructed a volley of arrows launched through the windows, piercing Dr. Facilier in the shoulder, and Queen Grimhilde in the back. Small non-fatal wounds but from Queen Grimhilde’s shrieks, one would have thought they scarred her beauteous face.

Uma smiled as her plan came together and when she heard the familiar Scottish brough of her first mate and the sounds of 20, maybe 50 feet thundering about the castle, clashing swords with Maleficent’s henchmen and mooks. “Down with the Coven! “For Uma!” “For the Isle” sounded amid squeals and grunts of bloodshed.

Ducking when Ursula predictably snapped a tentacle to grab at her, Uma leapt and pushed her mother.

Her mother was never easy on land, that’s why she stayed in her den all day watching soaps, but it was almost comical the way the big sea witch swayed slowly from left to right, her tentacles desperately grabbing at Maleficent and Jafar for balance, knocking the two to their knees as she fell backwards into the cauldron.

The lightning streaks shivered and disipated. The mist unfurled back into the cauldron as its potions spilled across the floor. The green bubbles popping and fading, leaving an acid russet stain on the stones.

Yzma and Ginny did not wait, picking up the respective animalian relatives and ran past Uma to the door, Yzma scolding Zevon the whole way.

Celia bent down to her father, tenderly helping him with the arrow lodged in the shoulder. A scene that was bittersweet as Celia helped him. Unable to look him in the eye, the shadow girl focused on the arrow while Dr. Facilier thinly smiled. They didn’t have to say anything. They both knew what side they were on and though they probably wouldn’t be seeing each other after this moment. They still had this moment.

Quite the opposite scene to Nasira and Jafar who were cornering Jade to the wall, Nasira in particular, roughly bumping her golden viper staff against her daughter’s chin. “How dare you ruin this! I should have snuffed the life out of you a long time ago.”

But they had prepared for this. They had trained for this with her crew. She ducked, using her momentum, shewent on her hands, pushing herself up into a handstand. She crossed her legs around Nasira’s arms and pulled her down.

With the sudden wrestling twist, Nasira lost her grip on staff. Jade with her honed thief reflexes grabbed the staff for herself and smashed it across her mother’s jaw, knocking her out.

Although Uma wasn’t fond of the girl, too much like Jay with her lack of loyalty, too much of a lightweight. The look of triumph and amazement from Jade made Uma proud. For the first time, she fought back against her mother. She could see Nasira wasn’t invincible, and with that came a new kind of feeling.

Freedom.

Lala was in her own battle for freedom against her mother, the two grappling on the floor with the growls and hisses like the leopards of their motif. Lala on top, almost pinning La to the ground except the queen had her leopard staff against her daughter’s neck, keeping her from her goal.

That was until Uma threw her sword to Lala and the jungle girl brandished it against La’s throat, a small trickle of blood dripping to the floor. But the older woman used the same move as Jade’s, crossing her legs around Lala’s torso to switch their positions.

However, they had one more trick up their sleeve. As Lala wrestled to keep Lala pinned down and get the sword away from her grip, Jade came up from behind and bonked her on the head.

Jafar skulked away, disappearing in his own puff of flaming ash and smoke along with Nerissa and Maleficent.

And Uma knew better, she usually knew better, but seeing the plan all come together so easily, she allowed her guard down for the moment.

A single moment that her mother seized.

Ursula couldn’t heft herself up but her tentacles grasped Uma’s feet in tandem.

Her world turned upside down literally, the blood rushed down to her head and with her mother’s sunctioned grip she could feel her ankles numb from the tightness.

“You shouldn’t have done this,” Ursula rasped, allowing Uma to swing back and forth for a moment.

But Uma was not going to wait for the other tentacle to drop her.

All her life she had never cared for her mother. A feeling that was mutual since her mother only used her as an employee at the Fish Shop. Honestly Uma was more than an employee, she was practically the owner since she did all the work while her mother stayed in the den. She had never seen her mother move or possess any energy until she joined the Coven.

And her mother, her mother always said relatives and relationships were unimportant. Her brother, King Triton, banned her. Her sister, Morgana resented her and once they were on the Isle, Ursula had made sure Morgana stuck to the other side of the Isle’s sea. Not wanting to deal with Morgana’s ineptitude.

Ursula always said Uma was inept too even though Ursula never saw her. Since she was young, Uma did her best to stay out of Ursula’s way or else suffer an attempted whipping from… Uma was never sure why she got whipped. For being alive. For being another piece of proof of the futility of maintaining familial relationships since Uma’s father left after she was born.

She didn’t know and she didn’t care.

Apathy was her greatest tool when it came to her mother. Uma needed her energy for greater things.

And while she could never say she loved her mother, she would have to spend more time with her for that. Honestly, she didn’t resent her. She wasn’t mad at her for the lack of care. She knew her mother was incapable of it. The blame of neglect, Uma laid that on Auradon’s feet. Auradon knew what kind of people these villains were and allowed them to spawn children anyway. Allowed them to take care of children as if they were capable of such thing as love.

She could thank her mother for neglecting her for so long. It gave her her own identity unlike so many of the Isle kids stuck in their parent’s shadow. She was independent, honed her abilities to take command and be respected unlike the so called princess of the Isle, Mal, who was nothing without the authority of others.

Uma made her own authority and could never obey someone else’s orders.

So for Ursula to say, she shouldn’t have done this. Ursula should have known, she’d never take that as a threat. It was a dare for Uma to do just that.

Uma took in her surroundings. Calix and Circe had raised hands, blue sparks flying from their fingertips but they were frozen because they realized, just as she had, that if they blasted Ursula, Ursula would drop Uma on her head and Uma could possibly be knocked out from the fall. And honestly, they all needed her awake.

Celia, Dr. Facilier, Jade, and Lala were all waiting for her move. None would be of any help to solving this.

As usual she would have to be the one to save the day.

Harry wasn’t here so she couldn’t lock eyes at him, and he’d know to provide a distraction of some sort. But as of now, she could only hear the thunder feet and clashing swords. Closer now so Uma knew the crew would be here soon and the castle would be free for occupation.

She could stall, wait for the crew to barge in and do her plan with Harry.

But Uma was never one for being unnecessarily helpless for long when she could finish this herself.

Maybe it was a bit of the blood in her head, but she thought Ursula was still unsteady. Or maybe it was all the swinging. But one thing was clear that Ursula was waiting for something. She made no move to bash Uma against the wall or scold her more. She was just waiting, with her crocodile smile and continued swing of back and forth back and forth.

Was Ursula seriously waiting for her to beg for forgiveness or something? To cower in fear for disobeying.

Just another reminder of how little Ursula knew her.

Uma hadn’t even done that for Mal and she had liked Mal as her former best friend.

Ursula crossed her arms, her ruby smile turning into a sneer the longer she waited. That one gesture gave Uma the inspiration she needed.

She was so grateful that Gil had prepped her with some of Gaston’s wrestling moves during their fight nights.

She winded up her arm, thumb outside of her fist and focused her anger on her mother’s unmoving face. Focused on her purple skin, just like the purple hair that Mal crowed about while covering Uma’s with shrimp.

And she punched, Uma felt the revertebration on her knuckles. She saw the vibration from Ursula’s folded bulk, vibrating and shivering up each of her tentacles. She swayed backwards, releasing her hold on Uma’s legs, and though her legs were still too numb to catch her fall, Uma was ready for a roll onto her fours.

Ursula fell backwards again. For good as Uma listened to the sound of the sea witch’s head hitting the floor.

The victors stared at each other, none wanting to break the silence or jinx the victory they had made. But it looked like they had done it. Uma stared at the fallen Coven members, unconscious or slithering around uselessly on their eel bellies. They had really done-

Uma paused, counting in her head the members that had fallen, remembering the smoky exits of Maleficent and Jafar. And the mysterious absences of Nerissa and Morgana Le Fey.

“Damnit!” Uma cursed. Though the Coven hadn’t broken the barrier, those four were still capable of using their magic. They couldn’t let them escape! Just then, Harry barged in with the jolly faces of her crew, and the three Agrabahians.

Harry’s eyes shown with the awe that he usually reserved for her and for the triumph of battles won together but she couldn’t revel in that gaze right now.

“Hmmph guess you didn’t need our help after all.” Jay looked around, perturbed from missing the action.

“No, we’re not done. We have to go after Jafar, Maleficent, Nerissa and Morgana before they get off the Isle.” Uma barked.

And then the world went white.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------“The sword of the one true king may you be the holy vessel that allows our blood bind us forever,” Morgana intoned as the gleaming silver sword was dipped into the Beast’s chalice, now with blood, that Kyro had stolen from the musuem.

Alexandria bit her lips nervously as Morgana’s eyes took on the same silvery glow as if she were possessed. The aura flew through the sword surrounding them in a haze as if they were lost in the wooded forest but Alexandria knew from Morgana’s detailed explanation that this was a barrier sealing them from danger even though they could strike out at others.

As if with a will of its own the sword rattled and rose, pulling Morgana’s limp arm to face outward.

Their barrier haze cleared as they could see the view as before. High on Auradon Prep’s balcony they could see the Isle. They could see the Royal Guard dazed and unconscious thanks to Morgana’s knock out spell. No one knew they were here on this dark night where clouds covered every sparkling star.

Alexandria glanced at Victoria, wondering if she was feeling as nervous as she was. If she felt guilty watching the royal guard that she so wanted to join, be their enemies.

But the look on Victoria Porter’s face was nothing but determination. Intently watching Morgana’s spell, waiting for their revolution to start.

Alexandria breathed in deeply again, reminding herself of what had become her mantra. This was for the greater good. This was their revolution. It would all be better soon. This was for the greater good.

The Isle’s storm clouds were turning green and purple, a sight that would surely strike fear into the kingdom if anyone was awake. But they all were blissfully unaware, ignorant as always.

Alexandria focused on that. How ignorant Auradonians were. Ignorant and blissful with polluting the waters of Atlantica, with punishing fae and mermaids for their magical abilities, stripping them of their essence with the damned magic ban while giving favor to Vks who constantly flout the rules and used their magic for evil.

The Camelot sword pointed at the Isle, and with a single glowing white line it blasted the Isle barrier.

Its opaque glimmer disappeared, sparks flew in the shape of an upside bowl and then with a clap of thunder, the shine disappeared. The clouds left.

The barrier was gone.

[illneverrecover]

3/21/22 (fine with any of them) Vampire Hunter AU, SeokJin (looking for something that is just pure crack. I need to laugh. Feel free to do whatever comes to your mind)

(for my milestone drabble game)

Hurt Me So Good

➛pairing: vampire hunter Seokjin x reader ➛genre: vampire hunter!AU, crack, humor, smut➛word count: 1913 (how am I doing worse as time goes on why am I like this)➛rating: Mature/Explicit➛warnings: cursing, innuendo, some mild violence, unprotected sex (stay safe y’all), dirty talk, mild biting/marking➛prompt: “Well you certainly proved a point. I’m just not sure if it was the one that you wanted.” + “Your cursing just makes me giggle” + “Try something else if you want to be intimidating.” + Seokjin➛notes: If y’all have been round these parts awhile, you’re probably aware that Seokjin and Suzu are the same person. If not, let me explain - they. are. the. same. person. It’s fucking wild. I’m pretty sure if they ever actually fucked it would cause the apocalypse. Anyway, I had of fun with this - enjoy @suzuchim! Noodle & Co for LYFE.

“And how is this supposed to help, exactly?”

Sweat was dripping down your back, your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your skin as you wiped at your brow. It was night time - as it always was when you trained - and yet it was absurdly hot, the air heavy and sopping with moisture. 

Seokjin was climbing a tree. He had a bag slung across his body,  his efforts drenching the nape of his neck, chest splotchy with heat. You weren’t sure how climbing trees correlated to learning how to kill vampires, but he was the expert. Supposedly. 

“Well-” he shouts, overexertion evident in his voice. “Once I get up here, I’m going to have you close your eyes. Then I’m going to throw these plastic shuriken at you, and-”

“Wait, what? That’s your plan?” you huff, blowing hair off your glistening forehead. “You’re going to climb your whole noodley ass into that tree and just chuck things at me?”

“Aish, that’s not what I said!” Irritation makes him sound whiny, and not in the way he probably intended. He narrows his eyes, darting back at you before quickly refocusing on the task at hand. “And you and I both know that my ass looks fantastic from this view.” 

Scoffing, your eyes roll back, a hand rising to your hip. You’ve been training under Seokjin for just over two weeks, and it had been going decently well, you supposed, if not a little slow. He seemed to be in no hurry to train you to fight, and some of his methods were definitely unorthodox, to say the least. But he was easy on the eyes and even easier to rile up, so you had complied - so far, anyway. 

“Mine would look better.”

Reaching his goal, he plopped himself down on a branch, sliding his bag until it rested in his lap. He was soaked with perspiration, gasping for air. Wiping his hands on his black joggers, he looked down at you expectantly, awarding you the vision of his white shirt clinging attractively to his broad shoulders and chest. 

“I’d love to see that, sweetheart. You going to give me a show later?”

Your mouth drops open (comically so, you’re sure), and you drink in his dangerous grin, the bastard having the audacity to throw you a wink when he notices your reddened cheeks. 

Sputtering, you swallow thickly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

“We’ll see about that.” His voice is so low you almost didn’t hear him, and your heart kicks into overdrive.

“I’m sorry, what did you-”

He clears his throat to interrupt you, gesturing broadly. “Well? You going to close your eyes so we can get started? Or did I just fucking climb a tree at 1 am for funsies?”

You try to cover your mouth before the laugh spills out, but you fail, grasping at your stomach to catch your breath. This seems to chap Seokjin’s ass in the best kind of way, the tips of his ears reddening as he attempts his best scowl. 

“Why are you laughing? Is there something about this that’s amusing?”

“Yes. Your cursing just makes me giggle. It’s like watching one of those wacky inflatable arm men flap in the wind.” Stifling your snickering, you wipe the errant tears from the corners of your eyes. “Feel free to try something else if you want to be intimidating.” 

Seokjin peers down at you, watching the way you attempt to quell your giggles, but clearly finding the whole thing too hilarious. Hell, it was pretty funny. Here he was in the middle of the night, up a tree, ass so sweaty he could feel the beginnings of a swamp - all because he was trying so damn hard to impress a pretty girl.

Trying, and definitely failing.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you that had him so flustered. He was normally the epitome of cool, calm, and collected - oozing charm and making women swoon for as long as he could remember. Sure, some of that had fallen to the wayside after the undead took over - fighting and killing vampires becoming priority over his playboy tendencies, but he hadn’t lost his touch. 

Had he?

It was you. It had to be you. The minute you had walked into his facility, all wide innocent eyes and blinding smile, he had been a goner. He was a sucker for a sweet face, and even more so for a beguiling personality (and if he was being honest, a smoking body) - all the things you possessed effortlessly. You had shook his hand, grinning up at him like you didn’t just take over his every waking thought. You did something to him, and it rattled him to his core.

He didn’t like it.

When you had finally calmed yourself, he took a steadying breath, twirling a shuriken in his hand. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.” 

To his utter surprise, you did as you were told without further sarcastic comment.  “Now, I want you to concentrate. Feel the way the air is hitting your face. Listen and take in your surroundings, all the sounds you hear - what’s normal, what shouldn’t be there,” he pauses, making sure you were following. The look of total concentration on your face was adorable, of course, and Seokjin allowed himself to drink you in for another moment. 

“You aren’t always going to be able to see. They will have the advantage. Which is why you need to be prepared.”

He poised to throw the weapon then, aiming for an invisible bullseye in the middle of your forehead. He bit his lip in anticipation, hoping like hell you had learned enough to be able to dodge, but knowing that you wouldn’t be injured if you didn’t respond in time.

“I’m aiming for your face, just so you know.” Before you could open your eyes to shout your objections, ruining the concentration, he hushed you. “Don’t worry. I’m always careful with the money shot, sweetheart.”

His words distracted you, enough that your breath caught in your throat, a single throb pinging low in your gut. You shake your head, attempting to recenter the focus. A moment later you could hear the movement of the air, the way it parted and settled around the object hurtling towards you, and at the last second you drop to your left. The shuriken sailed passed, striking the ground with a soft thud. 

Eyes opening in shock, you look up to Seokjin, cocky smirk on his face. He raises a brow at you, as if daring you to give him a sassy response - but instead you bark out a peal of joyous laughter. “It worked! I did it!” 

Jumping up and down, you allow yourself a quick victory dance, wiggling your hips while throwing your arms carelessly in the air.

You were so endearing, so fucking cute. Everything about you was made to suck him in, and he felt like he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. God, he wanted you. He wanted you to be his more than he wanted anything else on this desolate planet. The realization alone made Seokjin want to scream. In frustration or in lecherous desperation, he wasn’t sure.

Instead he scoffed, tilting his head to the side. “Now who looks like a wacky inflatable arm man?”

He dodged the rebuked shuriken just before it could beam him in the forehead, however falling out of the tree, shrieks piercing through the night.

You winced as he pressed you into the cool tile of the private showers, arching to avoid it from touching too much of your bare back. His hips rut up into your own, a whine tearing from your throat as he began to lick and nip at the delicate skin there. Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders for balance, though his hands were gripping your fleshy thighs tight enough you knew you wouldn’t fall.

“F-Fuck, Seokjin,”

The moan of his name only set his lust aflame, his mouth working over your collarbone until it blossomed in a pale violet. Your could feel his length against your core, eagerly seeking its entrance, and the need to have him buried inside you was overwhelming. 

You weren’t sure what this has to do with killing vampires, but you were nothing if not adaptable.

Lips suckling at your own, you opened your mouth into the kiss, letting his tongue explore and defile you until you were dripping for him. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. We don’t have much time.” 

Digging your hands into the hair at his nape, you tugged hard, grinning when he replied with a raspy groan. “I want you inside me, Seokjin. Please.” 

He mumbled a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath, placing you back on solid ground to remove the last few barriers between you both. He pressed a final kiss to your swollen pout before spinning you, your chest now against the wall and ass bare, presented to him. 

“Anything for you.” 

Once again, your hand was too slow in covering your mouth before your cry echoed on the walls of the shower room, his cock now fully sheathed in your welcoming heat with one well timed thrust. Peppering your shoulder with soft kisses, he gives you a few moments to adjust before he starts rocking slowly, unable to help himself. You were too warm, too wet, too fucking perfect for him. 

His hips pivoted in a steady yet thorough rhythm, striking you deep and hard until you were pliant against him, keening and chanting ghosts of his name. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. I love hearing that smart mouth begging for me, saying my name. Just like that,” he cooed, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you to his chest.

Your eyes rolled back as his other digits found your slickened clit, rubbing it relentlessly in perfect swivels to have you clenching around him. His pants were becoming more rapid, his thrusts stuttering, and you knew neither of you would last much longer. 

“I’m- I’m coming, Seokjin-”

“Yes, that’s it. Come. I’m so close.”

He growls as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and it was your ultimate undoing - giving him one last shout of his name before you’re being thrown over the edge, your orgasm intense and dizzying. A part of you recognizes when he finishes as well, the warmth spurting into your quivering cunt with a whine of your name on his lips, his forehead resting at the top of your spine. 

Silence washes over you, both of you content to catch your breath with him still seated inside you, not ready to abandon the entanglement of limbs.

It was you who moved first, sliding forward to release him from your core with a small groan. 

“Well,” you reach for your shirt, sliding it back over your shoulders. “You certainly proved a point. I’m just not sure if it was the one you wanted.” 

He laughed then, a true, high pitched, squeaky sort of thing, one that had you giggling in return. “I’ll have you know that stamina is a highly revered training tactic.” 

Fully dressed, you hum as you step back within his arms, grinning when he circles them around your waist, fond smile on his lips. “Oh, is it? And what about the fucking? Is that a training tactic as well?”

He nuzzled your nape, pressing his mouth against you wetly before meeting your eyes once more. “Only for you, sweetheart.”

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story 108

I always felt like I was walking between a tightrope of greatness and failure. My ego always felt too large or too small. My mind had become a very difficult thing to balance alone, and by this time I had absolutely nobody I could really talk to. Josh and Whitney fought. I remember listening to a lot of their fights since Whitney's room was right next to my own. Whitney often shrieked at Josh and said his name over and over. Josh mumbled cold things back that I never could hear very well. It seemed chaotic, but after awhile I realized it was almost a game between the two of them, because Whitney would scream at Josh to go away, so he would start to go away, and then she would scream his name for him to come back. And then they would fight more, but they would go out on the porch and share a cigarette as they did so.

I guess I felt like a child in their presence. Here I was, fresh out of a sad dark tunnel that had been my life, a young girl in my early twenties. I had never had a boyfriend to even fight with, let alone an ex. I was still a virgin. I didn't smoke or drink or do drugs. I didn't even drive a car. Nobody knew me except for a small handful of people that had decided that I was wicked in some way for whatever reason, and aside from them the only person I really had who seemed to care about me in any capacity was Josh.

I flipflopped between being enormously disappointed by romance. I had really truly believed that things were more cinematically beautiful when it came to love. I felt like it was a waste how people made things so unromantic. And by romantic I don't mean like love and affection – though that is part of it. I mean, I thought that life should be played out like a theater and people should live with their hearts on their sleeves. When people are lonely, the loneliness should be transformed into something beautiful and tortured and timeless. When people were angry, they should express that with more theatrical intent. I'd read more books than I had ever talked to people – Josh said he could tell by the way that I spoke like I was reading a book rather than having a conversation. But so far, everyone was really sloppy and everyone wanted to get something for nothing, and they would rather be passively entertained then make their life – with all it's imperfections into something artful. I found myself recreating people's boring exterior when I got to know them better into something more to my taste. I made up stories about the people I saw on the streets. And I vowed that if life killed me, I would make sure I didn't die a slow meaningless death built around empty comfort. I wanted to live a life that I could write about.

I remember Whitney started liking this guy at work – I don't even remember his name in all sincerity. He looked strangely and a bit vaguely like my brother David – only more tan and older and more mature and such. He had a really nice car and his long time girlfriend had just left him, and he was pretty nice overall – and Whitney made a secret comic book about him and we both called him the Moonman as a code word. He left for Seattle two months after he started and I never really saw him again. But while he worked as a cook at Zany's, I studied how Whitney looked him in the eyes one time, and it really shocked me. She did this swirly thing in her pupils when she looked at him one time while opening the door, and it crossed my mind that people all around me were putting out these intentional microexpressions towards one another in order to lure the other in. I had just been legitimately surprised. I didn't understand that kind of body language I guess.

I had nothing left to lose, and Josh was pretty much the only important person to me anymore. I had a deep care for Allison's well being even if I could do nothing for her – she was a teenager and her life had just been a wreck and someone needed to secretly be looking out for her even if she didn't realize that right now. I hovered around in the outskirts of her life calmly looking over her to make sure she was safe. I knew Josh and Whitney were terrible influences. Ultimately though – I wanted Allison out of the situation because she wasn't getting anything positive from this experience living at the madhouse and mainly, Josh had suddenly become my main objective in life. He took over every failed relationship I had ever had spanning throughout my teen years and early adulthood. Josh replaced my concept of family. He replaced my feelings of longing I had once had for Zack. He replaced my friendships. And what's more, he also created all this new want and care and love I had not even fully realized existed. I didn't even know what I wanted from him to be honest. I just loved him unconditionally, and I could never imagine myself being anywhere else that wasn't besides him – even if he never properly understood that. The idea of being his girlfriend – though I was satisfied by the idea, it seemed besides the point. I felt like the concept of being a significant other was a very loose description for an idea that wasn't as evolved as what I wanted.

Whitney and Allison were in the way of me and Josh, they created a barrier that seemed dumb. Josh and I had a lot more in common than them. In fact, I had never met anyone in my life I felt I had so much in common with. I didn't feel like I would ever really get to know Josh unless they were out of the picture however. He would cling to Whitney and try to contend with Allison and I would sit quietly in the corner, or I would leave the room entirely and that was that. Quietly, I began to smile to myself every morning and undermine them whenever it was morally fair to do so. I felt like the smartest person in the house because I did it by planting ideas in Allison and Whitney's minds, I did it by being in the right place at the right time in a way that disarmed Josh, and I did it with eye contact. When I walked by Josh and Whitney sitting on the couch together, I would get this wave of jealousy that made me nauseated, but rather than let myself crumple, I would use that pain and I sincerely believe I was sending brainwaves to Josh that were intensely clear and that on some level he felt it. I was planting seeds in his mind too. I wanted him to think about me. Him and I would look at one another and it would be a strange moment for the both of us. And then I would leave the room. I never stuck around. I almost always made myself unavailable so that he didn't feel as bored of me as he might Whitney or Allison. I felt though, that even though I had left the room I was still lingering in his mind a little bit.

I guess I figured that was the key. Find ways to linger in someone's mind while you are gone. Give them that strange space to ponder what you were doing, what you said, how you looked and intentionally plant yourself in those situations so that it all happens before them by 'accident'. Try to get that in their minds. Then you leave them alone. When they see you again they will be self conscious because they were thinking about you. Then you can randomly smile at them and walk away and pretend not to see them at other times, or you can even set up awkward situations where you see them in a vulnerable position or they see you. It's a game I put a great deal of thought to. It sometimes takes several months to properly wear them down. And it seemed so strange to me to do this. Seduction almost seems more like war. You are aiming at your objective lovers weaknesses – but you are doing so in a way that will make them think you have what they want.

But at night I felt crazy and sad and starved. I remember crying once when I woke up at three in the morning to Josh – who was by now frantically obsessed with Whitney all over again, and telling her he was in love with her. He just knocked on the door, and said 'Whitney, I am in love with you and I can't stop thinking about you'. At the time this seemed so endearing and meaningful. I could never imagine anyone ever being so overcome with love that they would be that bold. She of course screamed at him and then they did their whole meaningless routine of exchanges that meant very little. Would there ever come a day when someone would knock on my door at three in the morning to tell me they were in love with me? Of course not. I didn't have the qualities that people fall for.

Despite my eating disorder that I was keeping to myself, despite how horrible I felt, I was beginning to feel like the sanest person in the house. What I was coming to realize was that what I suffered from more than anything was mood shifts. My thinking was actually very clear. I never became violently angry – but I went between blissful contentment, sudden sparks of energy that felt like tingling balls of euphoria running down my legs, and I would become hyper goal oriented, and when I didn't immediately see results for the quiet things I did to make my goals happen – which usually was something that wouldn't change things too drastically, like dying my hair or saying a joke to someone, then I would suddenly feel this pang in my chest of self loathing and I would become frustrated and then I would disassociate and spiral into this weird gloomy depression which usually ended in me doing something to punish myself – forcing myself to eat something I didn't want to, or abstaining from food for a lot longer than I should, or else I would force myself to sleep all day as punishment. And after I had punished myself and screamed hysterically into the silent void of my pillow, I would feel almost an absence in my head and heart. I would put my make up on and timidly open the door and tip toe about my life and it would all start again – usually in a week and a half to three week spirals.

I didn't let anyone know about these mood shifts, though if anyone had been close enough to me they would have been apparent. In a way I had always felt this way. It seemed perfectly natural to me, and I wondered if maybe I just cared more than other people or was too sensitive for my own good, as my evil kindergarten teacher had told my parents. Or maybe this pleasure/pain cycle was how people are meant to experience the world. All I knew is that I didn't want to involve anyone else. I felt like any imperfection from me would strain what little involvement I had in the world.

But Whitney seemed crazy because she seemed to not have any real sense of reflection for her behavior – where as I was very aware of everything around me and what I had done and said that might have been bad. Whitney wanted what she wanted and she would scream and cry till she got it. She used people. She was fake deep. She was always a victim and when she had to admit that she had done something wrong, she would talk in this babyish voice about how she was an evil little girl like it was cute. She used sexuality to get men to trust her and then she messed with them until they were a mess. In a way I didn't care that much – a lot of the guys she had been with were legitimately horrid people and their attraction to Whitney always came with this ugly patriarchal entitlement. Some evil part of me thought she was inflicting justice on some of these jerks. Years down the road, I strongly came to suspect that she had histrionic personality disorder. It just fit her very well. I did sympathize with her ultimately. I think deep in the layers she was sad and there wasn't anything remotely that a person could do to reach her. She was broken in the way where she wasn't really even recognizing herself. She had a sort of artistic awareness of the world, but there was a lack in real character and there would never be further development. Nobody would ever get honesty from her. As messed up as I was, I knew I could be reached and I didn't enjoy the symptoms of my issues. I could sense that somewhere outside the current options, there was opportunity for growth.

Josh was very entitled and self absorbed and he seemed to require a lot of balance in order to keep straight. Which made sense because he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and the longer I got to know him, the more clear this all became. He seemed to reset every three months, but living with Josh wasn't like living with the same person he had been a week ago. There were twelve different fully operational personalities almost, and each of them had a different connection to a different person. He even looked different, despite doing very little that was different with his hair or scruff. And Josh made people feel really special – because he seemed to look into people in a way that we all hope someone might, even in grocery stores. You just hope someone will look in your eyes and see your soul, and he really seemed to have that kind of clarity about him. But then randomly he was cold and jealous and shallow – and none of it made any sense. I felt there was some beautiful vulnerable insecure boy in him somewhere that nobody had hugged, and I wished more than anything I could get that side of him to come out. I wanted him to trust me. But when it came right down to a lot of his behavior and his selfish streaks, I felt he was a little bit crazy.

And Allison was just gone and I didn't know how to get her back. She seemed lost and hurt and confused. She spent days at a time in her bedroom. She tried to hang out with Whitney and Josh, but they both used her as a tool to work against one another, and I think Allison was beginning to feel used. She holed up in her room and listened to her indie pop music, pet Jude, and cried. All four of us living together, it was why the place was eventually nicknamed the 'madhouse'.

Sarah rarely ever wrote me back. When we worked together she always avoided me. She would scrape the plates into the dish pit garbage and I would spray them and we didn't talk too much. Occasionally we would make light conversation. I would ask her about her doctor visits and stuff. I missed her so much. I had to continuously remind myself that she didn't want to be my friend anymore, and that Zack was who she had chosen over me. But somehow I knew she was also empathizing with what I was going through – it was telling in her avoidance of me, and in the shiny glint of awareness she had in her eyes that she always gave me that made me feel like she was looking through me, and it was hard for me to juggle that despite her lack of communication, she was also on my side even though she had compromised our friendship and opposed me a friend. I began to wonder at times if she had left me alone because she didn't want to hurt me anymore more than it had been about me being the damaging element that everyone now seemed to label me as. And what I missed about Sarah was that she actually listened and reflected and stayed calm. Something had gone very wrong with Sarah that year, and in the end that was something she would have to deal with for the rest of her life, and maybe I would never understand what happened. But Sarah brought a certain grace in my life that I was now lacking. I didn't have the support anymore, or the balance. I was having to make it on my own.

I particularly remember a small but important element that Halloween night. I was at work, but nobody was coming in for food, and I am not sure if the place was really worth keeping open. Only sad lonely men in their early sixties had any interest eating on a Halloween night. The air was crisp and cold. The leaves were brightly colored. I felt charged with energy, but that energy seemed just as inclined to work against me as it did work for me. The night had a certain vibrancy to it that stuck with me to this day. Sarah was there as one of the only servers on, but as usual she didn't want to talk to me – I timidly asked if she wanted to go out to eat. She said no. Silently it shattered me. I just wanted to be around her. I told her we wouldn't talk about Zack. I would pay for the full meal. We could just talk about baby clothes. But she still said no. She didn't want to be around me. I felt this zing up my body of self loathing – and I wanted to destroy myself the second she refused. I remained calm. I smiled. I had taught myself to smile whenever I was sad, and in this absurd way, the shininess of my eyes and the intensity of my emotion translated to fairly warm and compassionate soft grin that tricked people, and even tricked me at times. I smiled with my sadness, and I walked to the bathrooms. I was having a miniature panic attack. It wasn't going to kill me to be in the bathrooms for awhile since there was nothing do to. I just looked at myself in the eyes very carefully for several minutes.

I could see madness forming around the corners of my eyes. I could see clarity and craziness in my pupils. I saw some newer version of myself in those eyes, a complete stranger that I knew all to well to be me. I could never be the person I had been in my previous years. I had wanted to break in the dish pit and in the women's bathroom, locked away from anyone who might've seen me – I pulled myself together slowly. I had felt this need to fall apart. But underneath that misery, underneath any pain I felt in the moment was this knowing that it would do no good – Sarah's departure from my life was part of the bigger tale. There was absolutely nothing I could do to make her want to be my friend. I had to live without friends for awhile. It would only project weakness to the universe if I didn't accept that. The sooner I accepted what was on the table, the sooner I could work with what I knew I did have. And at this point this late in the game, I knew better than to think anyone was going to up and change their minds. You can't waste your life crying about your opponent's previous moves on the chessboard. You just have to suck it up and pick your moves.

In my personal headspace, I guess you could say that I had become a practitioner of what I decided was magic, in c – though I have never felt comfortable with explaining this given the scientific method being what it is and also due to the fact that most of what I was going by was circumstantial in the moment, and in part more to gut instinct than anything else. I guess it's the default way that my mind works when I let go of my concentration and try to see things with clarity, more than I would explain it as a strict faith in any given structure that I can ever know that well. But the experience of consciousness has always felt unreal and magic to me. I had too many coincidences happen in my life, and even my draw towards Josh felt very magic to me – it just seemed strange and perfectly fitting that all these odd things had to happen to bring me to the one person in the whole area that I had something in common with. I am nearly certain that we had been in each other's orbit and experienced some strange and very specific things in our life that had finally isolated us in this house. As to what would happen next, I had to stop hoping for anything, and I had to let life unfold naturally – but it was hard not to hold out for things I hoped would become real. Bias is a strong thing.

There was a few days that October where I was walking down streets layered with golden yellow, orange and red leaves in the crisp air, and I felt a certain oneness with everything and I had a clarity that even though I was alone and even though my self esteem was very small in my day to day life – I had an awareness that everything was very big and intricate and all these situations were unfolding to make other things happen. Everything that happened was tied together – and if you shut off your mind you could kind of read into that. To me, my path was clear – I felt present and purposeful in a way I had never felt before. I felt charged somehow by something revitalizing – even though it also left me feeling desperate and alone at times. I was where I was supposed to be and this was all part of that journey to whatever I was meant to become. I felt like my thoughts had a frequency, that they were being transmitted and that I was part of this big beautiful thing that put everything into the place it was meant – even if I died, this was why and how I was meant to die. My story was part of a larger one. I felt like I created opportunities for growth in this way.

And it isn't really that I believe in spells – particularly ones that involve smashing up dried plants and saying words with candles burning. But a repeated thought or idea can begin to manifest itself in the most mysterious ways in your actual life. Symbols can derive meaning. I didn't feel like it worked the way a Christian who prays might want it to. I don't feel like you send for something you want and then you get it – I feel like you have to go about this mindset completely different. The outcome and value of what I am trying to suggest is far stranger than that. It's not unlike making art. And traditional magic such as making a love potion or a spell to make money come your way, just like Abrahamic religion and prayer, probably doesn't have any scientific value outside of the placebo effect – and this goes for horoscopes too. What I guess I sensed though, was that the things we needed in life had a way of drifting to us, or intentionally alluding us – all to some strange end – at least to me. It's admittedly something I can't stand behind as a world philosophy. It's not something I can really defend in the face of starving children – for which there is no higher meaning or purpose than a dead baby that was forgotten and never had an opportunity to live. When I talk about this intricate balance and force behind everything, I don't want to make it seem like a religion. I don't want to make it seem like I even like how these inevitable truths come into play. It's how I operate though. I have tried to ground myself and it doesn't work.

Because of how I seemed to float in this different wave then everyone else, and maybe because I felt like I angered so many people, and because of how much I had used this same strange untethered inner cosmic space in order to reflect and find answers floating (desperately trying to grab an answer is a sure way you will never find it), I felt like a sort of witch. And I continuously saw myself as a witch. Perhaps the symbolism of a witch, about that kind of taboo femininity in culture appealed to me. Maybe it was my kindergarten teacher's fear of my left handedness. Or perhaps I had found ways to manipulate others in a way that was suggestive and quiet – more given that I was surrounded by brute anger that I couldn't outmatch by my family, than it was given any intensely manipulative inclinations I had. I felt that I had somehow become the type of women that makes society uncomfortable. I seemed to get a strong reaction from people. Maybe all the crazy stuff from that year had been just me waking up to a truer version of myself that was coming into play because I had finally been able to take control of my own life. And maybe that was why everyone had turned against me. It was more or less just a theory, but in any case, I half held that theory as having a touch of truth to it.

Just as a certain kind of women made 17th century people uncomfortable with themselves and their society, I felt like I was some kind of postmodern version of all that – I felt a kinship to all the women who came before me who filled the same role. There is something in the collective unconscious to be said for that feminine force that tears everything to pieces. I served the sort of chaotic pool that everything we know comes from, the source of everything. I could feel that chaos in my chest as I walked to work in the morning, and I felt like it affected people. It's not that I wanted to hurt anyone, but having this new set ability to make people notice me was hard for me to ignore or monitor in myself. I respect structures, but it's also my inclination to tear down those structures when they no longer work. I wanted people who drove by me in their cars headed for work to question why they were driving to work. I wanted loveless marriages to end, I wanted housewives to get tattoos and everyone who couldn't break free and be themselves to do just that.

Everything gets taken down sooner or later. I accepted my ambiguous chaotic nature for what it was after I realized that Sarah and I were never going to be packing up and leaving everything behind us to get to Seattle. That had been my last ditch effort to do the sane thing. But now I was left here, and I didn't have the wherewithall to leave, so I was going to win this 'game' of whatever that had been played against me. I let go and became who I was meant to become. Some of what I was, wasn't even a person I was terribly proud of. But it was better to acknowledge it. I obsessed over my future in certain ways, but in other ways I really let go and let something deep and suppressed from years of living with my father and mother and from school. If I seemed neurotic than so be it. And it gave me this ability to interact with the world in a way that was meaningful and in someways underhanded – I had found some thread of control in a cruel indifferent world and I was able to have some agency after years of having none. I could use eye contact to be manipulative or I could use no eye contact. I could use speech patterns even. I could navigate my surroundings using my child self, or I could use my queen goddess self and both were legitimate. A lot of it was plainly psychological. You had to let people work against themselves, and face their life alone. You can't work with something that isn't there. You can't force a person who is madly dedicated and in love to leave that person. But you can recognize instrinsic weaknesses in said person and make them think they are falling in love with you – and once they believe they are, then they are – it's a slippery slope, but you can't make a slope out of something that runs uphill. I had finally discovered that – I had been working against the natural grain – hoping that my whimsies and fantasies would come true for me on account that I had suffered. And when I really let go into this sort of daze when my mind was at it's clearest, I knew myself better than I had ever known myself in my entire life.

Amanda at work tried to get me to go out on a date with a friend of a friend of hers. But then she thought better of it. She often drove me home from work and we would talk. She always stopped at the same gas station after work to get cigarettes. She talked about her fiance. He made her insecure – she didn't outright say that but I could tell it was true. She never felt like she was good enough. I had met him once after work that summer and I thought he was kind of a creepy gross asshole. She told me that I reminded her of her sister who had died. It was a little strange. In some ways we were similar. Both of us came from dysfunctional homes – and in some ways we had chosen to react to it all very differently. Amanda always feared that the more uppity servers looked down on her  because she seemed anxious and crude. They probably did. She felt she had overcome her demons to some extent, but brimming behind it all was this fear that she would inevitably begin to warp into her mother. I guess in my own way I have that fear as well. Us girls can never quite escape the genetics of our mothers.

Josh decided to conduct a 'family meeting' in the living room one evening after Halloween. It was to take place after we got off work. Whitney and Allison balked on it,  but I got dressed up and strategically decided to show up. Allison and Whitney were called in, and Josh one at a time began picked us apart. But he didn't pick me apart – because he couldn't. I had been watchful of everyone around me for the previous five months and I was prepared to be whoever I needed to be in order to gain Josh's regard. In many ways I used Whitney and Allison's insecurities and annoying behaviors to outline my own exemplary 'Josh-approved' behavior. I had been bookish when Allison and Whitney had been lazy and flawed in their thinking. I practiced self control when they over indulged. I was kind when they were mean. I listened to whatever Josh said when they ignored him. I recognized that Josh admired people who philosophize and question their surroundings. Obviously I was already good at that. It was an example of manipulating what was there. Everyday I found ways to demonstrate to Josh that Allison and Whitney were no fun to have around, and I was his ideal – I was his match. I silently lived up to his standards. I would cut my hair as he wanted me to, dress nicely everyday. I would read books when it was appropriate. I would listen to him talk about whatever topic he felt he knew a lot about. He didn't realize how intentional a lot of this stuff was. Not that my assets weren't real – I wasn't putting anything out there that wasn't some facet of me. I just demonstrated them intentionally, and made him believe it was his keen eye that happened to take notice.

To me, I felt this was the first win I had had in a very long time. In a way it was ruthless. I saw the other girls in my life as competition. Sarah (who had never had a spark of interest in joining the race), had been eliminated due to pregnancy and Zack. Allison was mostly freaking out because she wanted Josh's attention – she had had an idea of who he was and was not really willing to listen to anything he actually said. It was a combination of her being extremely self centered and being taken advantage of. She was letting Whitney lead her on – who was intentionally using Allison to make Josh even angrier. The poor girl could do nothing right in Josh's mind by the end. If I had not been in love with Josh, had he not been the primary benefactor in my life (I had to recognize everyday that having my own room was one of the best things that had ever happened to me), had Josh not meant so much to me in some cosmic destiny kind of way, I would have been upset with how someone so much older than Allison was mad at her like they were both teenagers. It wasn't beyond me to see how pathetic Josh was being – being led into hating some poor teenager girl who liked him because he had provoked her into believing it was acceptable. And Whitney just had no interest in Josh. She just wanted to rile him up before she went out and found a boyfriend so that there could be tension and hostility and she could feel sought after by two men rather than one.

Meanwhile, while everyone spun their wheels down – playing every card they had, I had quietly been observing everyone and gaining Josh's trust – holding aces. I knew the right moments to express intimacy and vulnerability and empathy for him in a silent way. And I knew when to hold back. It was a game. I felt like I had broken the ice with him in some quiet way. And I was proud too, because I realized that this was the first time I had ever been in love. I played this game and I knew how to win it because I actually loved Josh and I knew we were meant to be together. I could not have played the game so well had I not been meant to play it. This wouldn't have worked with a man I wasn't interested in. He was questioning himself if he liked me at times – it didn't feel right and he would put the thought away, but the point for me was that I had reversed his notion that I wasn't girlfriend material and I was causing him to feel confusion in regards to me.

Eventually I think Whitney picked up that Josh and I were quietly and wordlessly on the same page. It frustrated her because I was undermining her influence. Josh couldn't be nearly as obsessed with her if he had someone else to focus on. One evening Whitney was getting ready to go be a hostess. It was my day off, and it was just her and I in the house. Allison was at her weird school and Josh was off to his cableman job. Whitney and I were talking loosely about Josh – I don't remember what was said and it wasn't very meaningful or deep, like it was probably his favorite condiment or something trivial. Suddenly she blurted out angrily 'Josh will never marry you Renee! You don't have enough money!!', and with that she ran down the stairs. She said it in this way that was meant to be catty but cutting. Like she had opened a wound of sorts. But it sounded more desperate on her own part. I mostly was confused because I had no idea where she got that from what we had been talking about. And to be honest, as obsessed with Josh as I was, I had never said or ever really considered marriage – I still felt young and marriage was too adult.

All I wanted was to be his favorite person in the whole world – and for all the other girls in his life to go away. I wanted to be his best friend. Marriage is a financial arrangement. What Whitney was ultimately expressing was her insecurity with me playing her opposite. She felt her power in the house waning based on Josh's newfound appreciation for me. I counteracted her behavior very well. I made her look bad a lot. She was trying to make me feel insecure. I suppose she didn't actually understand what I wanted. Maybe she had some strange idea that marriage was the 'ultimate' thing I was looking for in life. And if Josh and her had had some silly childish conversation about what it would take Josh to want to marry me, and money had been thrown in, then I wasn't very hurt either. I didn't think Josh was in love with me. What I felt was more that I had come to a position with Josh where his feelings for me were fluid. He felt a lot of stuff – he kind of worked that way anyway. But since I knew I was meant to meet him and become some kind of partner of his, I didn't really doubt that he felt drawn to me. Of course he did. This was all meant to happen. It most certainly wasn't some weird money game. I am not even sure where money ever played a part, and I never found out.

Whitney started trying to date this guy she had been talking to for a few years. She met him back when she used to work at a computer parts factory. His first name was Christopher Lukas. Josh had worked with him as well at that same factory. And he was just the worst. I can't even really explain it. I knew Josh was resentful and jealous of Whitney being with some other guy, but he also seemed matter of fact straight forward when he warned me about how annoying and unpleasant this guy was.  Whitney invited him on a few dates. And Josh was right very correct. This guy knocked on the door one day and I felt grossed out instantly. He had this buzzy nasally voice and he spoke very clearly and arrogantly. He looked down at Whitney like a horny creep. I could tell Whitney was appalled by him, but she was hard up for male attention and was willing to try anything once to distract herself from the insatiable impulse to be the center of attention and make the world more chaotic and the ultimate loneliness of existence that can never be filled simply by sleeping next to a boy – but that never stopped Whitney from trying.

It only lasted about two weeks, but in those two weeks Whitney drove Allison and I up to Moscow so she could meet up with Chris. I went along because back in the day there was a very cool little record store in downtown Moscow, where you could find very indie albums that almost nobody in Idaho knew about but was all very mainstream in Seattle or Portland. It was affiliated with Subpop Records somehow. Anyway, it went out of business about five years ago now, and it was a shame to see it go. Idaho has very little in the way of options for people with alternative tastes or ideas in just about anything. You can drive down a city and see a lot of bookstores and exotic food stores and restaurants and record stores and think nothing of it, but in Idaho, a single one of those places is gold if you grew up forced into the singular boring redneck culture of Idaho.

It was  also a great opportunity to get out of the house for awhile – to get out of Lewiston specifically. I remember it was November by this time, and just on the verge of being snowy – as Moscow always gets in the winter. I remember feeling under dressed and cold. It was rainy. I lent Whitney a lot of my PJ Harvey albums, and she listened to White Chalk over and over in the car ride. If only Whitney and I could have somehow forged an aesthetically based friendship (which I am not even sure exists), we would have had something for the gods to envy. She didn't like all of the stuff I liked, but between her and I we really shared a lot of aesthetic interests – more so than anyone else I had met. She had a beautiful vision for things. It was a shame for me a lot of times we couldn't actually connect as people at all. Like, it made all the sense in the world, but somehow it never worked.  

I was wondering about the record shop looking through the records. I decided to buy Whitney a collection of the pretty much complete Vaselines as an early Christmas present. David, Allison and I had really loved the Vaselines and I thought Whitney might like them also. I don't remember what I ended up buying for Allison, but what I got for myself was one of the most critical and important albums I ever listened to on a personal level, and it's impossible for me to listen to that album to this dying day and not be transported back to a time and place. It was Morrissey's 'Vauxhall and I'. I ended up taking that album home and I put it in the player and it played on repeat for days on end. Every lyric of Morrissey's hit home with me in a very personal way. Every song on there was gold to me. It was an album that simultaneously helped me with grief, helped me reemerge from the ashes, and pushed me both into darkness and into light. So many of Morrissey's lyrics and thoughts felt like ones that I had had at some point or other. I guess it had never actually occurred to me that Morrissey was someone I was that similar to. He always had seemed so delicate and pompous in a quiet way, and 80's.

From there, I went back and started listening to The Smiths. Which soon ranked high as one of my favorite bands. And The Smiths are still up at the top. I fucking love The Smiths. Eventually my taste for Morrissey expanded. It's not all grand in the way that The Smiths were, or some of his early albums were – but Morrissey helped me cope with and make light of my own miserable existence. It helped me differentiate myself from the kitchen workers I saw every single day, the lost and boring and repressed people that went about their business everyday. And Morrissey was in some ways very fearless in his time. He wasn't afraid to be soft, something I scarcely recognized in a male dominated culture – and he even seemed to intentionally make himself an easy target to those who were hyper masculine. He was pessimistic and romantic all in one. He wasn't afraid to care about animals or be open. I felt like I was living some kind of nightmare at times, even though I often found ways to enjoy what I was doing – but Morrissey made me realize I was less alone. People had just as miserable and hopeless existences in England throughout the 70's as they did in Idaho. It was all very factory based, very hopeless and gloomy. And yet all these post punk bands and artistic things had started to happen either in spite or because of it - be it new wave, punk, goth, synth and post punk. A lot of people who felt hopeless in their dull rainy factory towns had decided to start making art. It made me see my own life and potential a little differently.

PART 107 - https://tinyurl.com/y8uyusr7

PART 106 - https://tinyurl.com/ycqhlqsy

PART 105 - https://tinyurl.com/ybjvm23b

PART 104 - https://tinyurl.com/yauo5f78

PART 103 - https://tinyurl.com/yblwsv3p

PART 102 - https://tinyurl.com/yc5m3cq7

PART 101 - https://tinyurl.com/yafyhse2

PART 100 - https://tinyurl.com/ycvye2n4

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-100 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-100

[elevenseggbros]

Stormy weather - Mileven

It had been a year. A year of Mike daydreaming about seeing Eleven again. A year of Mike staying in his room and refusing to see anyone but his three best friends. A year of fighting with his Mom over imaginary frustrations. A year of slamming doors and crying in the shower and nightmares. A year of constantly asking Will about the Upside Down so he knew just was Eleven was facing. A year before she finally returned, completely unconscious and on the brink of death. A year before Mike felt whole again.

Eleven was in the hospital for a month, with Mike being her most frequent visitor. He remembered the moment she opened her eyes, two days after finally being rescued from the Upside Down. For a moment, all she did was stare at the ceiling, her eyes wide. Then, she let out a scream that threw Mike back into his last night with her. As her shrieks echoed around the hospital room, he swore the could see her turning to ash in front of him for a second time. Without warning, tears were pouring down his cheeks and he was grabbing for her hands, begging her not to leave him again.

Soon, he was being gripped from around his waist and pulled away. Doctors and nurses came flooding into the room in an attempt to calm the screaming girl. As they dragged him out, his legs flew sporadically in a desperate struggle to free himself.

“I can help, I can help! She won’t trust you, she won’t calm down! I know she won’t! Let me help her! Please, I’m begging you, let me help her!”

He was right. After fifteen minutes of screaming and two nurses with broken arms, the hospital staff called him back into the room. Almost immediately, Eleven became completely silent. Mike could see the relief in her eyes, but he noticed something else in her gaze. It was an emotion he had recognized from his first days with her; doubt. Eleven had feared for Mike’s safety from the Bad Men during the week they had spent together, and he knew that she must be under the impression that they had taken her back. She probably assumed that they had kidnapped Mike as well. He swallowed hard, wondering if he would be able to convince her that she was safe.

“Hey, El,” he said gently, “how are you feeling?”

As he spoke, he slowly moved toward her bed. When she didn’t back away or look at him in fear, he quickened his pace.

“The bad men…” she started.

“Are not here,” Mike smiled, “I know you’re in an unfamiliar place with adults you don’t know, but I would never let you stay somewhere that wasn’t safe.”

Eleven remembered how Mike and his friends had attempted to protect her from the Bad Men before. She could remember how they had yelled at her Papa and threatened him, even though he had soldiers and weapons and they did not. So, after a few unsure glances at the wide-eyed nurses behind him, she smiled softly at Mike.

He took this as a cue to sit next to her, and she immediately stretched out her hand so he could take it. For a while, all they did was sit there in silence with tears making pathways down their faces and confused nurses bustling in and out of the room. Every time an unfamiliar person came through the door, Eleven tensed. Mike could feel her squeeze his hand and his heart hurt every time fear shot through her body. The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid.

“The lights…” Eleven’s soft, cautious voice broke the comfortable silence they had created.

“Yeah?” Mike encouraged her to continue, knowing she was shy with her words sometimes, “What about the lights?”

She swallowed and looked away from him, ashamed of her fear.

“…Remind me of… bad place.”

Mike swore he could feel his heart breaking. He squeezed her hand and rubbed her arm gently, trying his best to soothe her.

“I’m sorry, El. I promise, you are in a safe place now.”

She nodded slightly, but still refused to look in his direction. Mike could see the worry on her face and wanted nothing more than to wheel her out of the room and take her back home. But, he knew that the toxic environment that she had been in had nearly destroyed her, and after seeing how the hospital had helped Will, he understood that her stay here would speed up her recovery.

“And,” she began again, “my… my dress.” She rested the hand that wasn’t interlaced with Mike’s on her chest for a moment before grabbing the fabric into her fist.

Mike’s eyebrows pinched together, trying to put together how a hospital gown could relate to the Bad Men. The first time him and his friends had found her, she was in a long yellow t-shirt and had only worn his sweats or Nancy’s dress since then.

“Did they… did they make you wear a hospital gown in there? In the bad place?”

Eleven nodded hard, still not letting go of the fabric in her hand. He could see the tears coming out harder and faster. Mike was filled with rage as he thought about the first twelve years of Eleven’s life. Judging by her fear, he realized that the Bad Men must have raised her like a hospital patient; sticking her in uncomfortable gowns and leaving her in bright, completely colorless rooms. He’d give anything to trade childhoods with her, and made it his goal to do everything in his power to let her have a normal life as soon as she got out of the hospital.

The next day, he raided his own closet and Nancy’s section of the yard sale piles to find anything he thought Eleven might like. He also brought over colorful nightlights and some of the drawings Will had made to hang on the walls. The smile on her face made Mike’s heart swell, and he did his best to bring in something new for her every day.

Once Eleven was well enough, Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and Will all sat through a “fashion show” put on by both her and Holly. Seeing the smiles on both of their faces made the boys so happy that they didn’t even mind watching the girls try on frilly dressed. Dustin took it upon himself to commentate on their outfits and runway walk, and made the girls giggle every time he complimented them.

Throughout the show, Mike remained in awe of just how quickly Eleven was recovering. He could see the color coming back to her cheeks, and after a while, her ribs stopped poking through the t-shirts she wore. Even the doctors were shocked at her speedy recovery, and soon she was ready to leave.

~

Mike had begged his mom for weeks. Just one night; one night was all he needed before Eleven went to live at Will’s. She hadn’t agreed until she saw Eleven asleep in the hospital bed, tubes surrounding her body and the bright lights making the blonde streaks in her short hair stand out. Karen had remembered times when Nancy was in the hospital for different illnesses and injuries, and knew how much she had appreciated having Barb spend the night on the days she was released. Karen also knew how much Mike had missed the small, innocent looking girl that had been trapped in some version of Hell for a year. Seeing the way they spoke to each other and held each other throughout Eleven’s stay in the hospital had softened her heart.

When Eleven opened her eyes that morning, the first thing she noticed was Mike’s hands in hers (but, that was nothing new). She opened her eyes slowly, hoping to get a glimpse of the young boy before he realized that she was awake. Her favorite version of Mike was the real version of himself that always remained hidden; the way he acted when his friends weren’t paying attention or when he thought she wasn’t looking. He sat in the seat next to her bed, his thumb absentmindedly running over hers. His other hand was tracing patterns on her thigh, which was the very thing that woke Eleven up in the first place. She’d never tell him that, though. Over the course of her short life, she’d been awoken in many different ways, and a sweet boy gently tracing lines on her body definitely wasn’t the worst. A small smile was etched on to his face; it always seemed to be there when El was around, even when he thought she was asleep. Seeing him smile made her smile, which gave away her act. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep a straight face around Mike.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Mike giggled when he saw El’s lips pull up into a tiny grin. “Do you know what day it is?”

Eleven nodded, remembering how hard it was for her to sleep the night before. Knowing that she was going to finally be able to sleep in a bed that didn’t belong to someone else filled her with joy. And, Mike had explained to her that she was going to be living with Joyce, and she was going to be able to call that place “home”. To be honest, she didn’t quite understand the concept of “home,” but Mike told her that once she had been there for a while, it would all make sense.

“Guess what, El,” Mike did his best not to shout with excitement; he knew how Eleven felt about yelling and didn’t want to scare her.

She saw him squirming in his seat with anticipation and giggled.

“What?” She questioned, still laughing at his wide eyes and silly grin.

“I… well, first of all, feel free to say no if you don’t like this idea…” His gaze grew serious as he waited for El to shake her head in understanding. Mike always made sure Eleven knew she had a choice in anything she did. “Well, I asked my mom, and she said that if you wanted to you could, uh,” He paused, the question obviously making him nervous.

“Mike,” Eleven started, her voice soft, “it’s okay, I promise.” She squeezed his hand, mimicking the things he did for her when she was scared.

He smiled, squeezing her hand back. At times like this, he wondered how a girl who was raised by such cruel men could manage to be so kind.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, spend the night at my house tonight? We can watch movies and maybe I can read you some comic books? Or, uh, or we could draw and I could teach you how to play cards? Or not, uh… you can just stay at Will’s tonight if you’d rather-”

“No.”

“No?” Mike’s heart dropped to his stomach, but he did his best to act like it was okay. “Well, that’s alright! Do you want to get ready to go to-”

“No,” Eleven repeated, a small smile resting on her face, “I want to go with you.”

Mike felt like he could jump out of the chair and dance around the hospital room. Instead, he smiled so hard that he thought his face would break.

“Really?!”

Eleven nodded and giggled. “Mike, of course. Can we go now?”

He nodded and stood up. “I just need to call my mom so she can come get us, and then we can pack up our stuff and go, alright?”

“Alright,” Eleven whispered, her brown eyes wide. Mike walked away, stumbling over his feet in excitement. Before he left the room, he paused and turned back to look at El. For a moment, he watched her with soft eyes, a gentle smile taking over his lips. Then, in a second of courage, he marched back over to her bed and kissed her cheek.

“I’m glad you’re coming home, El.”

“Me too, Mike.”

~

The journey home was a whirlwind of excited giggles and chatty middle schoolers. Dustin, Lucas, and Will were already waiting in Mike’s driveway when Karen pulled in, and after a jumbled group hug, everyone went inside and headed for the basement. The five of them taught Eleven how to play ‘Go Fish’ and they spent hours drawing and watching movies. Will, who was by far the most artistically talented of the group, helped El draw flowers and rainbows. The other boys worked on their Dungeons and Dragons characters, and was sure to tell Eleven all about them. When 8pm rolled around, Mike and Eleven walked everyone upstairs and waved goodbye. It wasn’t until then that they noticed it was raining.

A small burst of fear erupted in El’s stomach. She knew that rain could lead to storms, and storms brought thunder. It reminded her of the nights she spent alone at Hawkins Lab, curled up in a ball as loud blasts shook objects around her. It reminded her of waking up at 3am and not being sure if the banging she heard was caused by her Papa’s fists on the metal door or by the angry weather outside. It reminded her of the night she watched Benny die in front of her, and how she spent the rest of the day wondering if the gun shot or the thunder made her ears ring.

She grabbed Mike’s arm and tugged, gaining his attention. When he saw her wide, frightened eyes, he was immediately worried.

“Yeah, El? What’s wrong?”

El froze, unable to let the words fall out of her mouth. She knew she could trust Mike, but the embarrassment of being afraid made her silent. None of the boys were scared of storms, so obviously she was being immature and dumb.

Instead of responding, she shook her head and let go of Mike’s arm. She let her head fall in shame and stared at the ground, unable to look Mike in the eyes.

Suddenly, the world around them seemed to explode. Pictures on the shelf rattled as lightning struck somewhere nearby, causing a deep roar to echo around the house. Eleven’s hands shook as she grabbed Mike again, fear forcing her to seek comfort.

Immediately, Mike wrapped his arms around the frightened girl next to him and pulled her close. His hands moved up in down her back in an attempt to soothe her.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here, El. I won’t let anything hurt you.” He could hear her sniffling into his shoulder and he swore his heart nearly caved in on itself.

“I’m- I’m sor-sorry,” Her entire body was trembling. She hated herself for not being the brave, strong girl everyone said she was. She felt ashamed for craving comfort when she had never needed it before.

“El, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Mike murmured, his breath tickling the skin on her neck, “Do you want to go downstairs and get in your fort? I can have my mom bring us some Eggos.”

After a minute, he felt her nod. Slowly, he loosened his arms, but he didn’t pull away until she did. Even after they had let go of each other, Eleven still remained extremely close to him. Without a second thought, Mike reached for El’s hand and took it in his own before guiding her downstairs. Before they could make to the basement door, thunder struck again. Eleven could feel Mike squeeze her hand and hear fragments of comforting words, but everything seemed fuzzy. She couldn’t remember anything past hearing the basement door open; all she could sense was the ringing in her ears. When the world around her came back into focus, she was alone in her blanket fort, cold and confused.

“Mike,” she whispered, looking around the room for any sign of the young boy. Her eyes frantically searched the dimly lit space, but he was nowhere to be found. For the third time that night, thunder echoed around the house and vibrated in her ears. Eleven nearly jumped out of her skin and scrambled backward, tucking herself into the corner of her blanket fort.

“Mike!” This time, she was practically yelling. Her body began to shake violently as she pulled her knees underneath her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Mike, Mike!” Her voice cracked like the lightning that brightened the world around the house. Another dark rumble brought shadows into her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and placed her hands over her ears. The tightness of the space around her sent her tumbling back into the lab. Her skin turned cold was she recalled the countless number of times she was tossed into the small, dark room that Papa had used to punish her. There were times when they locked her away during violent storms, and the noise had echoed around the room like a gunshot. Her stomach did flips and her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. Tears poured out of her eyes as she let out choked sobs, unable to catch her breath.

Suddenly, warm hands were running up and down her shoulders. When she opened her eyes, she saw a very, very concerned Mike Wheeler. She could see tears pricking at the edges of his eyes and watched as his mouth started moving rapidly. Slowly, she moved her hands away from her ears.

“El, I’m so sorry. Oh, my god, El. I’m so, so sorry. I’m right here, sunshine. I’m right here.” His voice was shaking and his words came out in a sporadic mumble, but she didn’t care. Immediately, she let herself collapse into his arms. He pulled her close and held her, doing his best to offer her some form of protection.

“Nothing is going to hurt you, El. You’re safe here, I promise.” Mike kissed the top of her head and began to sway their bodies back and forth.

“Hey, El?” Mike murmured, his voice gentle, “Can you take a big, deep breath for me? It might help. I can do it with you.”

Eleven nodded, letting him know that she understood. She heard Mike count to three, and drew in a deep breath when the time was right. Soon, she could feel her heartbeat start to slow down and the ringing in her ears begin to fade. After a few moments, they did it again. Eventually, she was able to pull away from him.

Once their bodies weren’t tangled together, Mike reached outside of the fort and grabbed a box of tissues that he had picked up while he was upstairs asking his mom for Eggos. Then, he began to arrange the pillows so the two of them could lie comfortably together.

“I’m sorry,” he heard El mumble as he set up the pillows. Tears were still making small trails down her face. “I’m being dumb. I’m sorry.”

Mike dropped the pillow he was holding and took Eleven’s hand in his.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, El. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”

Eleven looked up at Mike and smiled, but they both knew that it was fake.

“I just… feel stupid. It’s just noise. I should be brave.” Her voice was soft and weak. Outside, the storm continued, and El winced every time lightning struck and thunder roared.

“El,” Mike started, “You are the bravest,” He paused to kiss her forehead, “strongest,” This time, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, “most inspiring person I have ever met.” His lips met her other cheek, “Your fear does not make you weak. Do you understand?”

Mike pulled away so he could look her directly in the eyes. He could still see the doubt lingering in her gaze, and was worried that she’d never believe him. After a moment, El leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his nose.

“Yes, Mike. Thank you.”

Throughout the evening, the storm slowly grew less and less violent. There were more tears, but the two of them managed to make it through the night. They talked about everything, from the comic books on Mike’s dresser to different ways to eat Eggos. At one point, Karen came downstairs to insist that Mike move to his bed, but when she saw El, red eyed and sleepy, resting her head on her son’s shoulder as he read to her, she couldn’t bring herself to make them separate.

So, they stayed there for the rest of the night. Eventually, El gave way to exhaustion and fell asleep with her head on Mike’s chest. Mike, however, stayed awake. His mind tumbled back to all the times when he had slept in her blanket fort while she was in the Upside Down, hoping that she could sense him there somehow. He remembered the countless nights he had spent awake without her, and wondered how he managed to get through it all. Tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes, but his dreary thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft mumbling.

“Mike… Mike…” Her hand, which had been resting peacefully on his chest, suddenly balled into a fist.

“Hey,” He rubbed her arm softly, “I’m right here.”

Once he spoke, her eyes fluttered open and she tilted her head up to look at him. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice covered in a blanket of exhaustion, “good”

Mike giggled softly. “Yes, very good,” he kissed the top of her head, “Now, go back to sleep.”

El let out a noise that sounded like a mix between a groan and a whine. “Only if… only if you do, too.”

Mike could tell that the small girl was barely fighting sleep. Her eyes kept drooping, just to suddenly widen again. Her words came out slow and hazy, and she couldn’t even lift her head up to look at him.

“Okay, El. I’ll sleep.” He responded, running his fingers through her hair.

“Promise?”

Mike smiled, remembering the first time she had learned the simple word. Since then, they had used it many times for many different reasons, but it had never once lost its meaning.

Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance, but El no longer flinched. Instead, she pulled herself closer to the warm boy who held her in his arms and took a deep breath - just like they had done a few hours ago. The world outside the house was still harsh and loud, but the world they had created in the small blanket fort was calm. For the first time in her life, El didn’t feel the need to run from something. Instead, she was perfectly content staying exactly where she was.

Maybe Mike was right, she thought. Maybe, after awhile, she would finally be able to understand what “home” was. And, maybe, it wouldn’t take nearly as long as they both thought.

“Yeah, El.” Mike smiled, “Promise.”

[anthonybialy]

Worn Resistance

It must be exhausting saving the world on Twitter every morning.  But our world's protectors do so without anything but constant self-congratulation.  The play resistance is going to banish Donald Trump to the Phantom Zone any day now.  The process has taken longer than promised, as he was supposed to be hurtling through the cosmos after being removed from office the same afternoon as the inauguration.  Perhaps waiting for evidence he deserved to be removed would've helped.  But trivialities like facts get in the way of pretending to fight, and investing one's personality in disliking the president's is too fun for that.

Self-contained heroes are too sanctimonious to see they're role-playing.  Admitting the hollowness of waging social media civil war would take being honest with themselves, and that's not a common trait among those who think a putzing egomaniac is going to dominate the globe if they don't shriek while loudly typing statuses about how to contact Congress.  The champions we didn't know we need have to convince themselves life's atrocious. Otherwise, they're freaking out about a doofus, and that'd be embarrassing.

Harry Potter's warriors are on the verge of sending the president to Azkaban.  Don't you dare tell them magic is fake.  Their spell to create income out of nothing is straight from Hogwarts.  Ta-da! Please don't interrupt them as they rehearse spell commands. Contemporary brave wizards and witches think their magic spells are the only thing keeping America from becoming Hitler Voldemort's personal domain of diabolical agony, so give their wands ample casting space.

All this resistance is exhausting, for both the country as a whole and those who've made tensing muscles their defining characteristic.  The constant tension explains why they're so cranky.  Energy that would presumably go toward being civil has been invested elsewhere. People heroically defending decency swear more than you'd hope.

America's last guardians sure are dedicated to saving a country they don't think was ever great.  Quasi-pinkos are too busy vanquishing evil to notice their overlap with their archenemy's philosophical goals.  It's no coincidence that Trump has spent much of his life as a Democrat.  Why run for office if not to fix everything with boardroom orders? Their entire freakout is based on standing up to power.  Meanwhile, they demand more control over humanity.  Call for an all-powerful government to counter their orange bête noire.

Fighting against the malicious cancer eating America's insides makes these medical amateurs courageous, at least in their obviously sound minds. They're like if Don Quixote thought middle fingers were edgy. Feeling untethered from reality allows them to truly be free in criticism.  Sure, the observations may not be rational.  But do you want accuracy or passion?

Fighting someone who makes life unpleasant is an excuse to be vicious in one of countless modern ironies that never gets appreciated.  Trump's superpower is making his critics as deranged as he is. Conduct oneself so obnoxiously that those who notice are unable to maintain level heads.  Anyone observing could note why he should have a room in a sanitarium.  Instead, they climb into the dumpster with him to throw trash back.  It's hard for anyone uninvolved to notice who the deranged party is.

I can tell the perpetually outraged how to stop Trump.  I won't even sell the answer, as I have learned nothing from our dealmaking genius of a president.  There's no deal being done artfully here.  All they have to do to stall the buffoon is report what he does. Self-appointed investigators just have to remember to add no commentary, much less exaggeration.  And certainly don't bring up that one German political party with all the murders.

The president's fans shouldn't fret that I revealed this secret method to opposition, as it'll be disregarded.  Straight reporting means no fun histrionics.  Who wants to control emotions while documenting a president who can't do the same?  Those fixated on stopping a president they despise won't use the simple tactic that'd do the trick.  Merely transcribing Trump's hideous words wouldn't let them feel righteous.

Getting under control means not indulging in rage, and that's no fun.  Trump gives his enemies purpose, and who wants to lose that?  Batman has to let the Joker escape unless we don't want more comics.  Likewise, those who are saving democracy by calling for impeachment over nothing would lose purpose without a president to pursue.  The difference is they never fight crime.

Don't mention that the resisters are having fun, as acknowledgment would ruin it.  They didn't realize a mouthy president gave meaning to their lives all this time.  It's just another gift to his fellow liberals.  Pretend you suddenly think tariffs aren't awesome to maintain cover.