#dennis severs imagines

[burgers-and-french-fries]

Love At First Flame

As some of you may know, I set out to write a mini series based around one of Taron Egerton's characters and I am happy to announce that the first imagine of this series will be out next week....or at least that's what I am aiming for.

I will have plot details and characters etc. posted very soon but for now, here is what the cover is going to look like.

Thank you for your patience and your support and to those of you that have helped with little ideas for this series, I especially want to thank you.

I will see you all very soon for the first installment❤️

[uwmspeccoll]

Staff Pick of the Week

Décoration moderne dans l'intérieur by Henry Delacroix (1907-1974) was published in Paris by S. de Bonadona, likely around 1935. Delacroix studied architecture at the National School of Decorative Arts of Paris joining his father’s architectural firm upon graduation. He made a name for himself reconstructing French cities after World War II, most notably City of 4000 in La Courneuve.  

Capturing Delacroix’s penchant for modern art deco inspired interiors, Décoration moderne dans l'intérieur is a portfolio of the genre’s luminaries. The publication contains forty-eight vibrant pochoir (stencil coloring) printed plates of designs by Francis Jourdain, Pierre Chareau, Georges Djo-Bourgeois, and the author, Henry Delacroix himself. He also included a seemingly heartfelt introduction that loosely translates to the idea of a man’s physical and spiritual needs being met through the luxury of a home that can facilitate the rest needed to nurture his imagination.  

Delacroix produced several portfolios of this kind showcasing ideas for an array of architectural settings and including painterly accessories inspired by Chagall and Matisse. A delight for anyone interested in interior design or color theory! Our copy of Décoration moderne dans l'intérieur is part of a gift from the estate of our dear friend Dennis Bayuzick.  

View other books from the collection of Dennis Bayuzick. 

View more posts featuring Decorative Plates.

View other Staff Picks.

– Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

[areyougonnabe]

for the polar history recap posts, i’m dying to know more about lillie…deeply tragic and i’ve also heard something about the nickname ‘ooze’ and i desperately need to know more about that

LILLIE 😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

denis (also spelled dennis) gascoigne lillie was born in 1884, making him 26 when the terra nova set off for antarctica. he was trained in natural sciences at cambridge (although he didn't do too well on his exams) and was appointed as the ship's biologist—meaning he did not form part of the shore party in the hut in at cape evans, but remained on board the ship during the winter, studying antarctic marine biology including whales, plankton, and deep-sea creatures like sponges (like the one pictured above). his nickname "ooze" comes from his job as biologist—ooze refers to a specific kind of biological marine sediment that got pulled up in seabed dredges which lillie would then examine.

in silas's diary on the voyage south, he describes lillie:

Lilley—"Hercules'" or "Sequins" is rather a dreamer and asserts he can remember his former existences in this world. Much fun can be got from him if handled properly.

lillie was noted by other members of the expedition to be a bit of a crackpot, asserting that he was a persian and a roman in his past lives. and more than that, possibly:

Lillie had decided that he was not the marrying type, claiming that he had evolved beyond it. In later years Scott’s young Norwegian skiing expert Tryggve Gran recounted that as they crossed the Equator on the Terra Nova Lillie had revealed that he was a woman trapped in a man’s body. ‘When I see a naked man I blush,’ he allegedly said as the others sprawled shirtless on the deck in tropical sunshine, ‘I am split and I can’t help it. Luckily I understand myself and have the control to avoid doing anything wrong.’ Gran was a notoriously unreliable source, and it is hard to imagine anyone having the courage to say that under those circumstances; but perhaps Lillie did.

(from sara wheeler's cherry)

usually i would not recommend anyone trust anything that comes out of gran's mouth, but honestly i do buy this, because, well... vibes.

anyway, on the terra nova, lillie was notable for his talent at caricature, and several of his rather hilariously cruel drawings appeared (copied by wilson) in the south polar times, including this one of birdie:

while the shore party was in antarctica, lillie spent two winters in new zealand studying whales, fossils, and anthropology:

Lillie has been fossilizing & is off next month for 5 months whaling with the Norwegians. He is looking very well & very happy and is ‘a dear little chap’ to use Scott’s expression.

—pennell's diary, may 18 1911

after returning to england, taking the long way round on board the terra nova to continue his marine research, lillie took up residence at cambridge again, alongside deb, silas, priestley, and griff, to work up the scientific results from the expedition.

lillie also spent a lot of time with atch and pennell in 1913, frequently accompanying them to dine and see theater in london. he also drew (probably on board the ship) the caricature of them as the "antarctic lovebirds":

during the war, he was a conscientious objector—a "conchie," refusing to go to the front. it was an incredibly difficult position to maintain in the face of widespread societal opposition. he found solace in a continued and deepening relationship with cherry (who was also not at the front, though in his case for health reasons) as sara wheeler describes in her biography of cherry:

Currently working as a bacteriologist for the military, Lillie had been one of the few visitors at Lamer during the bad months in the middle of 1916. They became unusually intimate (‘I should love to see your chubby cheeks again’), and after one weekend Lillie scrawled with typical irreverence in his note of thanks that, ‘It was only my body which left you, for my ultimate Reality still walks behind your Bath chair and meditates about the many paths of your lovely garden. With love.’

and god i just need to copy these entire sections from the wheeler in here because they make me want to sob:

In September 1916 he had been transferred to the pathology lab of a military hospital in Bournemouth, which he loathed (‘no nice cliffs or sea birds, only sand banks and orange peel’), and was appalled to learn the next year that Cherry was poised to become engaged to Christine Davis (‘being unconventional and as near to nature as I can get, it seems all wrong to me that you should have to tie yourself up for the sake of Society’), but he strove, generally, to be optimistic, whereas Cherry was permanently resigned to his destiny. In August 1917 Lillie returned to Lamer for a week. Writing in advance with details of his train to Hatfield, he concluded that, ‘if a motor does not turn up the wings of joy will waft me those four-and-a-half miles bag included. So don’t worry.’ They had a wonderful time together. ‘I do hope,’ Lillie wrote when he was back in horrible Bournemouth, ‘your throat and the rest of you continues to get well and worthy of the sunny spirit which I see under the label ACG.'

though things seemed to be going as well as they could for lillie, shortly before the end of the war in early 1918, he suffered a nervous breakdown and landed in the notorious bethlem mental institution, known as bedlam. he was there for three years, and cherry was barred from visiting him.

he emerged for a short period of time in 1921, seemingly recovered, and took up lecturing in biology again at cambridge, but by the end of that year had relapsed and was institutionalized again.

frank debenham, writing to expedition agent j.j. kinsey in 1927 to solicit funding for SPRI, gave him an update:

Poor old Lillie is in less happy circumstances, the last I heard of him was that he was never likely to get out of Bedlam, a rather ghastly end up for poor old "Ooze's" brilliant promise.

lillie spent the rest of his life in institutions, and lived until the age of 78, dying in 1963. that was four years after the death of his friend cherry—who, despite constant attempts, was never allowed to visit him.

per UK law, lillie's medical records will be sealed until 2063, 100 years after his death, but a post on bethlem's official blog about lillie briefly notes that he was "depressed, delusional and suicidal."

the post also notes, importantly, that his breakdown had nothing whatsoever to do with his antarctic experiences:

The content of his medical notes suggests that the state of mind that brought him to hospital was entirely unrelated to his experiences of 1910-1913. Indeed, they report that “on the whole he felt better during this time”. 

OK, let's end on a nice note. here's a picture of him having a nice time at silas's wedding (i think) with his best friends. RIP lillie, i hope your next life is going well somewhere out there right now 🥲💓

(also another good writeup on lillie with some lovely art can be found on @worstjourney's patreon here!)

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Dennis Mathu and Stephanie Gordon first started posting financial-advice videos on YouTube three years ago — a side hustle that helped to scratch a creative itch. They never imagined it would lead them down some of the most powerful political corridors in Canada. Mathu and Gordon — Steph & Den, as they’re known online — were among several content creators invited to Tuesday’s federal budget lockup, where they got early access to Ottawa’s new spending blueprint. It’s an invitation typically reserved for experts, stakeholders and mainstream media. But the federal Liberals are embracing influencers as they seek to win back disillusioned millennials, gen-Z voters and others who consume information through social media.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

anyway here’s my cornley polytechnic drama society into the woods fancast because I think it’s the perfect sort of show for them to fuck up 👍

jonathan plays the baker, alongside sandra as the baker’s wife. I imagine this is shortly enough after peter pan that they’re still very bitter at one another. said bitterness absolutely shows onstage, but it fits the characters perfectly and the audience ends up thinking that they’ve just finally gotten good at acting. jonathan brings a homemade “medieval feast” to celebrate opening night and it poisons the entire cast

annie plays the witch. this was the only casting decision that was unanimously regarded as good until chris let it slip that he’d ultimately done it because she was “the loudest singer.” robert took great offense at this and, despite having no interest in the part before, began campaigning to play the witch instead. it did not work. annie’s witch costume has two layers to make the quickchange at the end of act 1 easier, but the top layer keeps falling off before the reveal is supposed to happen. her magic staff is supposed to emit a smoke effect but it keeps malfunctioning, and at a certain point she just gives up and tapes lit cigarettes (stolen from trevor) to it. this goes about as well as you’d think

dennis plays the narrator. everyone had assumed it’d be an easy role for him since he could just read all of his lines off his book prop, but this is proven wrong near instantly when he starts genuinely reading the book instead. when dennis actually does start reading from the script, it becomes immediately clear that he somehow has the director’s copy and the entirety of the rehearsal notes are read out loud, including several deeply personal things that chris has written in his script for convenience

dennis also plays the mysterious man, but he keeps forgetting which way he’s supposed to be related to the baker. over the course of the show he goes from father, to son, to brother, to father again, to distant cousin, to grandmother

chris plays cinderella’s prince, alongside robert as rapunzel’s prince. they spend the entire show trying to out-act one another, and it goes without saying that this ends up a complete disaster. robert makes any moment into an unplanned duet to try and prove that he could have succeeded in seducing the baker’s wife. chris shows up at rapunzel’s tower and attempts to choke robert out with her wig. they get in an opt-up battle at the end of agony (reprise) that ends with robert singing a note so high it shatters a stage light

in accordance with typical into the woods casting, chris also plays the wolf. he orders a very expensive “wolf suit” online from someone he thinks is a bespoke costume artist. it doesn’t arrive until opening day, and it becomes immediately clear that what chris has actually bought is a full on fursuit. it’s very hard to see in and he keeps running into the fake trees

robert is double cast as milky white. there is no practical reason for this whatsoever, as milky white could’ve just as easily been a puppet or some kind of cutout on wheels, and it’s very obvious the whole thing is just a power move on chris’ part. during the scene where milky white is meant to “eat” the props, vanessa misunderstands and literally feeds them to him. he chips a tooth on cinderella’s shoe

due to a lack of numbers, vanessa is playing both cinderella and rapunzel. her costume is split down the middle, and due to this she can only face in one direction as each part. this means that half of the time she’s facing away from whoever she’s talking to, and that she frequently has to walk/run backwards without turning her head at all. whenever cinderella and rapunzel talk to each other she faces straight forward. the break-off mechanism in rapunzel’s side of the wig doesn’t work (sandra ends up stealing a single, barely visible hair), so she’s also constantly tripping on her hair

max, being in a new relationship with sandra, desperately wanted to play alongside her as the baker so that they could kiss onstage. unfortunately for him, he is playing jack instead. although this is maybe the single most-fitting role he’s ever been cast in and he’s genuinely giving a great performance, the opportunity is ruined by his having to do every scene accompanied by robert’s milky white

lucy was supposed to play little red, but was pulled from the production the day before opening by her parents, who have banned her from performing with “robert’s troupe” after what happened in peter pan

consequently, little red is now being played by trevor, who is wearing a costume far, far too small for him. trevor manages to get away with reading his lines off papers pinned to the inside of his cloak, but he doesn’t know any of the songs, so sandra has to sing them offstage for him while he lipsyncs

all of the ensemble characters are played by a celebrity “guest” frantically switching between various comically large hats. chris tried to get francis back for this part but after some careful deliberation he determined that it would genuinely be easier to kidnap a famous person than to get francis to come back after the disaster that was peter pan. the tension is only worsened when, via a botched music cue, it’s revealed that francis is now an active member of trevor’s metal band

the giant was supposed to have been played by trevor via voiceover from the sound booth, but now that he’s onstage playing little red the part is left to approximately four members of the run crew who are desperately trying and failing to say the lines in unison. lucy breaks into the theatre sometime during the baker’s wife search sequence and takes over the giant’s part the next time she’s on, much to trevor’s dismay

the worst fuck-up award goes to annie, for accidentally knocking the supports out from under dennis’ narrator platform during last midnight and triggering a chain reaction in which every fake tree onstage topples each other one by one like some terrible, life-threatening game of dominos. honorable mention goes to chris for spending $6000 of max’s inheritance on a custom costume without actually seeing it at any point during the process

the worst injury award goes to max, for getting his circulation cut off and almost losing a hand after his arm got stuck inside the golden hen puppet midway through act 2. honorable mention goes once again to chris, who got stabbed with a bunch of glass shards when robert broke that stage light

[bpdbeehive]

Characters that possibly have all 9 of the symptoms of the BPD criteria

Must have 5 or more symptoms:

1. Chronic feelings of emptiness

2. Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events (e.g., intense episodic sadness, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

3. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment

4. Identity disturbance with markedly or persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

5. Impulsive behavior in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)

6. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)

7. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation (also known as "splitting")

8. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, threats, or self-harming behavior

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

Ame-chan/kawaiiangel- Needy Streamer Overload

Annie Wilkes- Misery

Ayano- Yandere simulator

Bojack Horseman- Bojack Horseman

Catra- She-ra and the Princesses of Power

Cersei Lannister- Game of Thrones

Dandy Mott- American Horror Story

Dennis Reynolds- It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Harley Quinn- DC

Homura Akemi- Madoka Magica

Jason Dean- Heathers

Jinx- Arcane

John Doe- Telltale Batman

Kanato Sakamaki- Diabolik Lovers

Marla Singer- Fight Club

Misa Amane- Death Note

Mizore Shirayuki- Rosario Vampire

Nagito Komaeda- Danganronpa

Pearl- Pearl

River Song- Doctor Who

Sarah Lynn- Bojack Horseman

Spinel- Steven Universe

The Joker- DC

The Master- Doctor Who

Yuno Gasai- Future Diary

[florsial]

Slytherin Skittles (aka Hogwarts' Pantheon) Incorrect quotes!

(+others)

. . . . .

Evan: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Barty will and will not eat. Pandora: Grass? Yes! Evan: Moss? Yes!! Pandora: Leaves? Ohh, yes! Evan: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Pandora: Worms? Sometimes! Evan: Rocks? Usually nah. Pandora: Twigs? Usually! Evan: Dorcas's cooking? Inconclusive! Regulus: How did you… test this? Evan: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it. Regulus: ... I don’t know how to feel about this. Dorcas: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

. . . .

Regulus: Where's Evan, Dorcas, and Pandora?

Barty: They're playing hide and seek. Regulus: Where? Barty: I don't think you get how this game works.

. . . .

Pandora: Regulus's first detention, I'm so proud. Evan: Whoa, back up. Why did they get detention? Dorcas: Because they're an idiot. Barty, terrified: They can do that??

. . . .

Regulus: I swear to god I'm the only one here with a braincell. Evan and Barty: ALL HAIL the keeper of the sacred braincell!

. . . .

Regulus: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Dorcas: 'Prettiest Smile' Pandora: 'Nicest Personality' Barty: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Evan: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

. . . .

Regulus: You're a lying piece of shit! Barty: Oh yeah? You're the idiot that thinks you can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD! Evan: I'm leaving and I'm taking Pandora with me! Dorcas, gathering cards: Aaaaand that's enough Monopoly for today.

. . . .

Pandora: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Dorcas: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Barty: Three of us saw it, Dorcas. How do you explain that? Dorcas: *points at Evan* Sleep deprivation. *points at Regulus* Paranoia. *points at Barty* Delusional personality disorder.

. . . .

Pandora: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Dorcas: Several traffic violations. Evan: Three counts of resisting arrest. Barty: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Regulus: Also, that’s not our car.

. . . .

Barty: How do you connect with a fictional character? Evan: What? Dorcas: What? Pandora: What? Regulus: *pulls up a 500 slide presentation* I'm glad you asked.

. . . .

Regulus: Ah, yes. Here we have a beautiful couple... Pandora: I really care about your feelings! Lily: I really care about YOUR feelings! Regulus, turning their head: ...and then there's the disaster couple... Barty: YOU NEED TO PAY MORE ATTENTION TO ME INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE HOSPITAL! Evan: I WOULDN'T HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME AT THE HOSPITAL IF YOU STOPPED INSISTING ON FIGHTING EVERYONE WHO COMES WITHIN A FIVE FOOT RADIUS OF YOU!

. . . .

James: What did you get Regulus for their birthday? Pandora: I got them a kitten. Barty: Really? Me too! Dorcas: I also got them a cat. Evan: Looks like we had the same idea. Pandora: James, please tell me you didn't get Regulus a cat as well! James: ...I got them a kitten. *later* Regulus, in their apartment surrounded by cats and kittens: This is the best birthday ever!

. . . .

Pandora: What do rainbows mean to you? Barty: Gay rights. Dorcas: There's money. Evan: The sign of God's promise to never destroy the whole Earth with a flood. Regulus: It is an optical phenomenon that separates sunlight into its continuous spectrum when the sun shines on raindrops.

. . . .

Regulus: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses. Barty: This knife is actually a magic wand. Evan: Meet me in the Denny's parking lot for a wizard duel. Pandora: * cocks gun* Magic missile. Dorcas: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

[delurkr]

Dennis and his first wife Dot in 1978

Two things: Dot is an Ashley Voom-adjacent model and has a place on that family tree (I believe @108garys will elaborate in the notes). Also, Dennis's shirt is his now 6+ years old "Joyful Dead" graphic tee he was pictured wearing in the band poster secret, which I'm making a point of because of the Canadian Clarke AU lore below

"You've hardly changed a bit!" is a comment I imagine Dennis heard a lot in 1978 when he returns to the United States and to the people he once knew well. I sort of think of the late 1970s as his factory reset era, when, for several reasons, he's making an effort to reinstate his old personal identity after losing his grip on a lot of the things he thought made him himself.

Dot, a Canadian college student who is the chic popular kind of personality he's always admired, is one of those reasons. She and Dennis were set up to meet each other by a mutual acquaintance in Toronto in 1974, but they didn't hit it off right then. The complicated circumstances that had been molding Dennis in Canada didn't match her "bad boy" preference or his own image of himself. But after the failed Blackwood experiment and his return to Toronto in 1975, Dennis is lonely, enough to overlook any sign that his circumstances had matured him past the simple role he inhabited when he was younger, so he reintroduces himself to her as her type of man and, as they both believe, his authentic self.

Of course that kind of misjudgment can't last, but it only surfaces after they quickly marry in 1976. In 1977, Dennis is no longer in danger of being arrested if he returns to the United States. He holds off until Dot graduates college in 1978, and then he convinces her to follow him back to his home country so he can try to pick up with his old life where he left off. She resents the move, however, and many things have changed during the six years he was gone. It's increasingly evident that the two of them are not on the same page, which, combined with problems arising from immature relationship skills on both sides, causes them to decide their relationship was a mistake. They mutually agree to divorce in 1980 and try to make a clean break from each other's lives. (This particular development can look different in branch AUs).

[whumblr]

it is the binge anon again teehee just sent in the last ask about yk jay opening up about all the shit zayne did to him to dennis i read through this one drabble about how he reveals off everything to his family post getting out of the hospital, if it's not too much trouble, can we have a follow up to that? like how his parents reacted during the info drop, how jay handled it, so on ughhh i just love how you humanize him so well. you're a lovely writer

I actually cut this part from that chapter. Luckily I hoard cut out stuff, and I freshened it up a little for you <3

Follow up to Everything.

-

Relive

“I’ll tell you what happened.”

And so he did.

That rotten news article stirring up chaos and snitching on his flaying only started at the last pages of his story. He settled back against the cushions, bracing himself for a long and difficult tale to tell. Not really how he imagined his day would go… But perhaps it was better to get it out. Get it over with.

He took a deep breath. “This started two years ago. That time I was hospitalised.” That time where he only told them about the interrupted preparations for a robbery and about a pissed Zayne beating the shit out of him for meddling. At the time, he could barely make sense of what had happened. Now that he had all the pieces, it was easier to tell. Not to mention that he’d processes it a bit more.

“Zayne was tasked with making sure I wouldn't run off to the police. Well, he... he didn’t do just that," he said with a wry smile. And that was the explosive start to it all, with Zayne in the middle of the blast.

He avoided going into too much detail at first and the lengthy introduction helped, to get his story straight, to get his emotions ready for… for the later gritty details.

Another thing he desperately avoided was eye contact. As he spoke, his gaze lingered just over his father’s shoulder, on his mother’s earring, and he tilted his head towards Laura sitting next to him to include her in the group, but his gaze merely brushed over her cheekbone to make it feel like he was looking at her, and immediately shot towards the window every time he did.

It was hard. It was so damn hard telling all this. But now that he’d gotten started, there was no stopping. Everything had to get out, everything that was bottled up, all the tears, his shame, everything.

They all listened without interrupting him, letting him stutter, hiccup, and hesitate as much as he needed.

And his hesitation and stuttering only increased when he had to tell how Zayne invaded his life again two years later. How he’d ambushed him, threatened him, and was waiting for him several times a week. That first beating where every bit of cropped up anger was punched out, without any measure of control or holding back.

“He pretended otherwise, putting responsible on me to hide everything, but he quickly realised he had to tone down if this was to be a regular thing. And so... that’s... that’s when he went for a more... controlled way of... of inflicting pain. Instead of off the rails beatings… So every couple of days, he’d drop by and... erm, well, it was basically just—“ His breathing grew ever more shallow with each word. He heaved softly, swallowed hard past the growing lump in his throat. “Just torture,” he whispered, “It was just—”

He couldn't get the word out again. It stuck in his throat, firmly nestled behind that lump of tears. His breathing grew more forced, heaving in soft gasps, shallow at first, going deeper and deeper to hide the sobs, until hyperventilation kicked in and—

A shuddering breath and his father suddenly stood up.

Jay flinched, the sudden movement snapping his attention back. Back from a dark place, deep in the recesses of his mind, to the present, to his living room, to his family. To a safe place. His exhale finally released.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” his father grunted softly.

Jay gave a single nod and swallowed hard. They were all in need of a little break.

His eyes followed his dad, gaze on his back as he retreated to the kitchen. His lips started to tremble as he looked his mum in the eyes, seeing the tears pool. And he lost control over the muscles in his face as he felt Laura lean into him.

His face scrunched up. He brought up a fist, hiding his lips. His jaw clenched so hard as he tried to contain his sobs he could hear his teeth gnash over each other. Fingers tightened into the fabric of his pajama pants. But everything exploded in a single sob. He rested his wrist against his forehead, hiding his face.

“Sorry,” he managed, voice fragile, brushing away tears.

“Don’t.”

He took his glasses off, letting his emotions spill over his cheeks.

His breathing calmed but his thoughts were still racing. How was he going to breach this subject. How was he going to tell… that he was pinned down and— He meant to go for ‘carved up’, but that was a bit too strong of a word. It was true, it was the exact word that described what happened but, as a writer and now storyteller, he had to consider his audience here. He didn’t want to downplay, he was past that now, but god, he had to thread carefully, not wanting to make things any worse either.

His father silently handed out cups of tea. Jay mouthed a thanks.

Then he started again, voice now clear and calm.

“Zayne's favourite was his knife.” And he told them about the cuts and scars covering his body. He didn’t tell about Zayne’s experiments or creative tortures; mostly just hovered in-between beatings and knifeplay. Just the bare minimum to explain his wounds.

“So these…” Laura started, touching over his wrist to draw attention to the scars on his forearm.

Jay fought the urge to cover them up. “Yes,” he merely said, avoiding how some of those were self-inflicted. The details didn’t matter; as far as he was concerned, Zayne was the cause of those, regardless of who brandished the knife at the time.

He felt uncomfortable, all eyes now focused on his scars. With all his hiding the last couple of months, sitting in just a t-shirt made him feel almost naked, especially with the scars on display. He quickly moved on.

By the time he reached the shock of Emery being involved, his head started to pound, the tension in his body, the strain behind his eyes reaching its toll with the pain heavily settling on his brow.

Mercifully, he could leave the hardest bit behind now that he explained the cause of his injuries. But Emery proved to be an even worse enemy than Zayne could ever be. And Zayne grew more and more tense and unpredictable. Teetering from more cruelty to actually saving his life.

How after that, everything spiralled out of control. To the point where he couldn’t handle things alone anymore and called in Dennis. How they’d worked together, pressured Zayne, and how that ended in abduction.

He recounted that night, the night in the warehouse, how he and Zayne had tried to help each other out, having to hold on and depend on each other to delay Emery’s plans until help would arrive.

“And… and this is…” his mother stuttered, fiddling with the newspaper in her lap, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes. That’s… that’s what happened...” He paused, shifting a little against his pile of pillows, careful not to put pressure on his back. He repeated what he’d just told Laura, about Emery trying to force him to tell where Dennis was. Taking extreme measures. With this, he didn’t spare much detail; better that they hear it from him, better that he prepared them for what they were going to hear in court.

Not to mention, to prepare himself. Get it out, because he was going to have to tell this again. Repeat the story in front of an audience. No… not repeat. Relive. As soon as he stuttered out the first words, the fresh memories gripped his body, seeped into the healing wounds, reminding him of the pain.

“It was… it was worse than anything Zayne’d ever done… I thought I was going to die, I was sure I was going to die…” Maybe he even wanted to in a brief moment when the pain was too much, but he swallowed the despair he felt at that time. “I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even raise the gun Emery forced into my hand… It hurt. It hurt like hell. It was hell. I—”

He stopped for a second, the sound of the whip echoing in his mind, the stabbing in his throat as each scream tore through his windpipe like that goddamn whip tore through his back, flaying his throat from the inside, each scream just hurting and— He swallowed hard. There was no stab of pain anymore, no sting, no bite.

It was healing. He was healing.

He looked up, a soft smile on his lips, finally looking them all in the eyes, reassuring them.

“But it’s healing,” he finally said, echoing his thoughts. “I got through. I got out. And I’m still here with you.”

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful

[sugarroseparfait]

okay so i finished little hope a few days ago and i have several thoughts on why anthonys subconscious makes the characters behave in certain ways (i have the most to say about john and angela because i ship them like crazy, i have a fanfic on ao3 for them btw xx)

andrew spends most of the game trying to become more heroic and save his friends, and the metaphor here is pretty obvious. it’s because he wants to prove to himself that he could have done more, but also he doesn’t want to believe it was all his fault. he sees hallucinations of mary/megan because he knows she’s the real perpetrator, but still can’t bring himself to blame her, if the true ending is anything to go off of.

john and angela don’t exactly have the most friendly relationship, but they’re there for each other when they need to be, especially when it’s important. i think andrew imagines them this way because of how poor james and anne’s relationship is, bordering on abusive from what we can see, and angela mentions at some point that she had a difficult divorce, which could have potentially been abusive. as well as this, john mentions how he’s been sober for nearly 3 months at the start of the game, which is the opposite of james, who is clearly struggling with alcoholism. and i think john is a good foil to both james and angela’s ex husband, because of how (sorry john i love you) pathetic he is. the same goes for joseph and amy, who clearly have the best relationship of the 3 pairs. in both imagined scenarios, anthony’s parents have a strong relationship where they work together, and are generally kind to each other, even if the former do bicker from time to time. this counteracts how james and anne don’t try to work through their problems as a team, especially james.

even though angela isn’t very warm to people, she does have moments where she can behave kind of like a mother figure, particularly to andrew and daniel. there’s a dialogue between the former and angela at some point where andrew says he doesn’t think taylor or any kind of girl would be interested in him, and angela says “im sure that’s not true”, which is definitely something a mother would say lol.

john in general is a better father figure to anthony/andrew than what we see from james (when he tells anne that things would be better if they’d had kids of their own instead of adopting, it’s kind of implied james doesn’t try hard for any of his kids). he’s always encouraging him, and even though they do have friendly disagreements (the jabbering/yabbering conversation will always be funny to me), overall john cares deeply for andrew, and even though it takes him a while to step up and be the leader, he tries his hardest to do what’s best for the group (unlike james for his family).

taylor/tanya is a strange case, because i can’t see that many discernible changes between the two— however, taylor is probably more level-headed than tanya, and when she has the dialogue choice to tell daniel to leave her behind, i think it’s anthony trying to subconsciously reassure himself that there was nothing that could be done (the same can be said for the other characters when they have their ‘leave me behind and save yourself’ moment). and i know everyone was shocked by the reveal because of the fact that daniel and taylor are dating (which i was too at first lmaooo) but i think it’s because there was a lack of closeness between tanya and dennis that anthony wanted to fix in his subconscious.

daniel is different to dennis in the way that daniel is more selfless, and he’s not so aggressive to the people around him. he’s understanding of angela and her cold demeanour instead of just chalking it up to her being rude for no reason, and he’s playful as opposed to dismissive and unkind. he tries to save everyone around him too, especially taylor, even if he isn’t technically the smartest guy. even if he does have moments of arrogance, it’s never meant to be horrible.

also, a neat little detail that i only picked up on my second play through— the judge in the trials is the same guy at the start who finds the house on fire and asks anthony what happened. it’s cool to me because he was literally ‘judging him’ lol

[jimmyspades]

Sad Boston Legal analysis at 9 am sorry

Season 3 Alan sees Vanessa in that pretty yellow dress and he can’t stop staring, he tells her why it affects him so deeply:

When I was a sophomore in high school I attended my very first dance. There was this girl, standing across the dance floor, wearing a yellow dress. She was so beautiful. I didn't have the courage to ask her to dance, perhaps for fear of the long lonely walk back across the gym floor after being refused. I finally willed myself to go ask, and then suddenly she was gone, in a fleeting second she must have left. I began to imagine what she must have been like. Her laugh. Certainly her kiss. I still know exactly what that feels like, though l've never felt it. She's been a figment for 29 years. An imagined standard by which all other women seem to have fallen terribly short.

He said it was a sophomore dance so he was probably 14-15, which means he had already been assaulted by his neighbor (s4 ep4: “I was 14, Denny. It was statutory rape. You’re the first person I’ve ever told that to.”) but he hadn’t yet been abused by his best friend Paul’s mom Victoria (explored in The Practice s8 eps 13-15: “Victoria, I was 16. Can a boy even be capable of love? … How many teenagers had you been with?”)

So there’s teenage Alan at the dance, at a very strange, confusing time in his life—

—his parents aren’t there for him, his father doesn’t like him, his mother never hugs him, but recently other adults have started showing him affection; grown women want him and use him sexually, and he thinks he’s flattered by the attention because he’s a stupid horny teenage boy!, of course he should want this!, he’s never been touched and suddenly everyone wants to touch him, even Denny makes a joke of it decades later when Alan finally calls it rape, but he’s still just a child. He’s 14!!!! Suddenly he’s “experienced” and treated like an adult and has a reputation—

—but tonight he’s shyly leaning up against the gymnasium wall, alone, wishing he had the confidence to ask this beautiful girl in his class, his own age, to dance. She was so pretty and safe to him—making up a harmless, idealized girl who would never hurt him at a time when he was being abused and tossed around and confused beyond belief—that for the next 30 years (and beyond) Alan used the idea of her to protect himself.

The idea of her kept his standards so high he could always walk away, he never had to be hurt—because any woman who hurt him clearly wasn’t her, so of course she’d disappoint. He expected this.

Of course Tara broke up with him. Of course Sally wouldn’t stay. Of course the women who had sex with him as a teenager lost interest. Of course he and Gloria would never work out. Of course Phoebe (and several other ex gfs) came back to use him then leave again. Of course his wife died. They weren’t the girl in the yellow dress, they were always going to let him down. “I’ve never met the girl in the yellow dress.” He’s still waiting to find her.

[kozmicmizuu]

hashira incorrect quotes cause i’m bored 😔

————————————————————————

Giyuu: Hello, my name is Failure, and you're watching my life crumble into pieces.

Giyuu: *waves their finger and sings like they're in a Disney Channel intro*

Shinobu : Can you keep a secret?

Giyuu: Do you know anything about my life?

Shinobu : No, I don't. Good point.

Muichiro : What was that?

Kyojuro: My shirt fell.

Muichiro : It sounded a lot heavier than that.

Giyuu: They were in it.

Kyojuro: Muichiro , what do you have?

Muichiro : A KNIFE!

Kyojuro: Okay, have fu-

Kanroji : NO!

Tengen : Where are my fucking keys?

Gyomei: Tengen , Muichiro is around, can you say it a little nicer?

Tengen : May I ascertain the whereabouts of my FUCKING KEYS?!

Kanroji , carrying a box: What would you say if- if I, hypothetically, came home with 7 kittens one day?

Shinobu : …

Shinobu : What’s in the box?

Kanroji : What woul-

Shinobu : Kanroji , what’s in the box?

Kanroji : I think you know.

Sanemi: I woke up and chose VIOLENCE. I WILL COMMIT ARSON AND BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!!! I AM ANGRY-

Giyuu: Awwww, you’re so adorable! Give me a hug

Sanemi: Wh-What? nO, yOURE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED OF ME! TREMBLE BEFORE MY WRATH-

Tengen , recording: This is so cute.

Tengen: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Giyuu: Several traffic violations.

Kyojuro: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Sanemi : Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Obanai: Also, that’s not our car.

Tengen: You're a loose cannon, Giyuu.

Giyuu: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

Kyojuro: I think you play by your own rules.

Sanemi : No way, they think rules were made to be broken.

Tengen: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon.

Giyuu: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. Obanai is a loose cannon.

Obanai: *smashes a chair*

Tengen: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.

Giyuu: This knife is actually a magic wand.

Kyojuro: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.

Sanemi : *cocks gun* Magic missile.

Obanai: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

Tengen: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Kyojuro will and will not eat.

Giyuu: Grass? Yes!

Tengen: Moss? Yes!!

Giyuu: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Tengen: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Giyuu: Worms? Sometimes!

Tengen: Rocks? Usually nah.

Giyuu: Twigs? Usually!

Tengen: Obanai's cooking? Inconclusive!

Sanemi : How did you… test this?

Tengen: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it.

Sanemi : ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Obanai: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Tengen: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life

Giyuu: Self-esteem, haven't seen you in years!

Kyojuro: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this!

Sanemi : I knew I lost that potential somewhere!

Obanai: My moral code, is that you?

Tengen:

Tengen: I was just gonna show you this cool trunk my mother left me but do you guys need a hug?

————————————————————————

links to the generators i used!! :

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

omg since you’re taking off todya from studying can we hear some of your beatle hottakes?

ughhhhhhh sorry, these are so hard to come up with these days

meta take: I sort of wish we could have a genuine conversation about the blurry line between wishful thinking/headcanon and more objective (or, aspiring to be objective) historical analysis – I get the headcanons, I really do! but just in the past year, there's been several instances of people in good faith asking about sources or questioning "fan favourite" anecdotes and being shouted down for "ruining people's fun". If you want to engage with this stuff in a more lighthearted way, that's fine! but accept that that's what you're doing. Being rude to people trying to get to the truth is not a good look. Your imagination can withstand it, I promise.

more people need to jump on the Day Tripper tinhatting train. shit's crazy up here

the more I listen to Double Fantasy the more I'm offended that a certain brand of John fan basically only names songs from 1970/71 as his best. ditto with Walls and Bridges…

Again And Again And Again: best Denny solo-written Wings song ( it's hard to gauge how much is him and how much is Paul for their collabs. Anyways, No Words my beloved)

Sexy Sadie is kind of perfect… The lyrics, the chords, the distorted doo-wop it all embodies that DISAPPOINTMENT so well. The guitar solo is great, the high-pitched oooooooooohs. No notes, underrated song for sure.

the Mind Games album cover is soooooo deranged but so fucking good. That and Ram might be the best post-Beatles album covers.

this isn't exactly a take but the SADDEST part of Hey Jude is when John harmonizes with Paul. I can't not hear all the unspoken pain.

I kind of hope we get versions of Free As A Bird and Real Love with cleaned up John vocals like Now And Then. I don't want to erase those originals because the audio quality tells a story of its own, but Real Love especially suffers so much from it. I listened to it earlier today and nearly got teary. "No need to be alone" kind of gives me goosebumps. There's something so raw and emotional about all three of these songs…

This is almost the opposite of a hottake, but it kind of Doesn't Matter To Me who Now And Then is about. It could be about Paul, it could pretty easily be about Yoko too, and a few people I've seen say they think it's about May, which could be too! It perhaps not being directed at Paul doesn't take away from the song for me, because the song feels bigger than just its direct inspiration.

On that note, I sort of think that sometimes people could stand to.... Die on fewer hills? Like, the notion that Now And Then could be about Yoko doesn't negate John and Paul's relationship or most things people theorize they may have gotten up to. Now And Then Release Week bonus round, cause it's been long enough to talk about it a bit:

Paul (and Ringo and George! they also have a writing credit, guys!) making editorial choices about John's unfinished song with the blessing of his widow is literally fine. "But John might not have approved–" yes, this is how death works. John also might have found the song embarrassing and not wanted it released at all. It wasn't on Double Fantasy after all! Or maybe he would have specifically wanted to remove the same bit! (which I maintain is musically strange and unfitting at worst and at best a still really rough idea that would probably require a lot of work in of itself – echoing the chord progression in the instrumental bit is the best compromise I could imagine)

I actually really get the George girls who were a bit bummed out by the rollout of the song. He DID get the short end in this situation! but… what would have been better? I saw some people say Paul isn't nearly as good a slide guitarist at George. Okay well then… So Paul should've hired a session musician? How does that makes sense? Paul should've asked Dhani to find some random guitar bit George recorded 25 years ago and frankensteined it onto this song? I'm asking this honestly: what should have been done instead? Because… I sort of got the feeling from some of the criticism that the only acceptable solution was to not release this song at all. And TBH I don't think George "getting the short end" is worse than not allowing Paul and Ringo the closure of completing this song. This wasn't perfect but again: yes, this is how death works.

[terrence-silver]

Could I request ❛ you won’t survive long out there. i can protect you. ❜? I feel like there's some potential terry silver manipulation sprinkled within those words. 🫣

---

Collecting people.

It was a hobby, in a sense.

More than that, actually; it was like being an Architect.

Taking a rough slab of marble and chiseling it into something greater than itself.

Having the ultimate authority and say in what it will and can become.

Margaret Spencer he found working at a firm in London as a secretary for what was his overseas business partner at the time, toiling with idiotic, menial tasks far beneath someone her class, capabilities and particular education level, coaxing, or rather pilching her from underneath her boss' nose by making her an infinitely better and more advantageous offer at employment back in Los Angeles, the same way he discovered Milos Dadok in Prague as a hotel concierge, working for cheap change east of the Iron Curtain, with barely any visitors to serve in an old, Bohemian golden lobby of a run down, neglected establishment that mostly stood empty, having seen better times. Snake and Dennis he picked off of the streets after they've brazenly tried to mug him of all people, failing comically, much to his infinite amusement, deciding to keep them around purely on the off chance their antics made him laugh --- and that they did, frequently and several times a day. John himself. That was a friendship he wanted ever since the first time he saw him at basic training and then later, during orientation, on ground, in Vietnam, and the best of friends was precisely what they remained because it was something Terry cultivated, invested into with the greatest of devotions. Even Ponytail, he carried around with him, on his head, fastened to his scalp with an unassuming black hair tie, nobody realizing he was ever there. Nobody but him and John, at this point. Where others saw nothing, he tended to see opportunity. And opportunities? Opportunities were things he never had the habit of passing up on, wanting to be in control of what becomes of the rough, ragged slab of marble under his fingers as he presses down on its hardened, sleek surfaces, leaving behind ever so many dents, fingertips and markings, deciding what shape it'll ultimately take once he's done with it. Deciding if he'll make it or break it. Create a beautiful statue or ram his fist into it, shattering the project into pieces.

Then, there was you.

Homeless.

A typical sight outside of Beverly Hills.

Aimlessly mingling around what was John's dojo for months now, buzzing around the alleyways like a little fly at the mouth of the serpent's nest, often in his sight and crosshairs through the lowered shutters of the interiors of the studio space where he could spy on you accordingly; it was Terry's business. He made it his business. Everything that happened in and around this dojo, in its adjoined streets, neighborhoods, blocks, in the heart of this very city, country, the West coast itself, concerned Terry exclusively, the way the markings lining the palms of his hands concerned him, more so when he occasionally found you casting uncertain, tentative glances at nearby garbage cans dotting the sidewalks akin to so many eyesores, like you were ashamed of yourself, like you were unaccustomed and new to this, carrying collected cardboard, for what he only assumed was for the purpose of rough sleeping down on the concrete; on one occasion, it went as far as him catching you slumming it out by leaning against the inner walls of the Cobra Kai dojo itself after working hours, obscured from view at dawn, knees pushed up against your chest, startled and taking to running the minute you spotted him pulling into the parking lot, his blue Ford intended to give off the airs of working class relatability still enough to startle you into a frightened state of movement, a tinge of satisfaction running through like a current trying to imagine what your reaction would be if you ever ran into him at another part of town, Rolls Royce, Tuxedo, private chauffeur and all. But, this crap you were doing right now wouldn't cut it. You didn't get to utilize his territory like this, it wasn't for free, not without being confronted about it one way or another. So, he ambushes you one morning, coming in even earlier than he had the habit of doing so, two hours before the Larusso twerp had the tendency to show up for his classes in pain, tactically cutting off your usual escape trail tightly and very neatly pushed in between two buildings. You shriek at the sight of him.

He relished the sound.

You wouldn't mind hearing more of it.

-"You won't survive long out there."-

Terry states bluntly, but not unkindly; last thing he wanted now was for you to get a tremendously bad first impression of him, even though you by default pushed his hand by making him come head to head with you the way he did through your incessant running. Luckily for you, he liked to chase. You give him a look, like you knew. Like you knew survival wouldn't be easy out here, but you didn't feel like necessarily vocally agreeing with him. Was it pride? It was pride, wasn't it? It's only once he hands you the lunch he's been hiding behind his back that your eyes widen and you become responsive, eyes shimmering, albeit still overshadowed with carefulness. Not that he couldn't appreciate your raw survival instincts being on display. -"I can protect you."- He offers, once you fidget, stepping forward and reaching for the food being given freely, practically ripping it out of his hand to shove it into your mouth in greedy gulps, undoubtedly, fearing he'd change his mind or that this was some kind of trap, keeping your focused gaze still on him. Once you swallow, you immediately take the first given opportunity to snipe at him, appearing defensive. He chuckles. -"What's it to you, though!? Who are you? Why'd you startle me like that!?"- You demand and he bows his head, ever so slightly, sprinkling in a deliberate aura of something apologetic and respectful for you to spot, making introductions. Weird place to be formal, he understood that much, but it was shocking how far some propriety could go applied at exactly the right time and under the right circumstances. But then again, the back wall of the Cobra Kai dojo, when he really thought about it, was as good of a place as a sparring mat to pay homage. -"I'm Terry Silver. The co-owner of the establishment you're roughing it out around. I own the whole lot."- He explains, softly, watching your demeanor change. Like a slab of marble, you start to take shape, even now. He extends his hand and you never even realize you've already been collected by him as you hesitate to take it.

-"And I can be your good friend."-

Terry promises, meaning every word of it.

[astramachina]

Speeding across the country, in somebody else's car Keeping a book of secrets, and taking it too far (x)

Ricky's has got a handful of secrets:

The eyesore of a 'magenta' car he drives is stolen.

His college degree is a forgery.

The blood on his jacket is Definitely His Own.

And he's never forgiven the owners of that old pizzeria for the events of '87. After all, that was his little brother's head inside the jaws of a mechanical monster.

Here's all you need to know about Ricky Kronbach and his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad life courtesy of an extensive list of extremely bad decisions.

A movie!verse OC (in a "what if the games somehow still happened in the movie!verse but the dates were slightly altered" type of AU; ie the bite of '87 still occurred but rather than Jeremy Fitzgerald getting chomped, it was MCI!Jeremy)

"He said he could bring Jeremy back." "Jeremy's been gone a decade." "But what if he can? What if it's possible?"

Born September 9th, 1972 to Mary and John Kronbach in Great Falls, Minnesota. As the oldest of two kids he's both stubborn and protective, the former by instinct and the latter by necessity. With John's violent outbursts and propensity to gamble away most of the family income, and Mary's neglect in response to Ricky acting as a "tomboy" from a young age, home life for the Kronbach siblings was less than stellar.

To catch a break, Ricky would get into his allowance and bike down to Freddy's with his little brother Jeremy in tow. It happened often enough that multiple servers and one of the owners' daughters knew them by name. But late one Friday in November of 1987, tragedy came rushing up to meet the Kronbach's when Jeremy, aided by the owner's daughter, requested to see the Bonnie animatronic up close. No one exactly knows how the nine-year-old managed to get his head stuck between its jaws, triggering the springlock mechanism that killed him.

Following these events, John blamed Ricky for the death of his "only son" and unleashed a reign of terror on the teenager that would only end in further tragedy. When questioned about the events that took place during "The Christmas Massacre of '87", Ricky would claim to have been asleep during his parents' murder. At no point does he confide in anyone about the night terrors that lead up to the event—of the 7ft tall, striped marionette that led him towards the knife block on the kitchen counter.

The night terrors continue well into adulthood, even after his suspension from MSU's post-grad program, when he threatened one of his professors and picked fights with several classmates for unspecified reasons. With a criminal record and infamy attached to his family name, Ricky is forced to seek professional help when no one would employ him.

In the Spring of 1996, Ricky meets his career counselor, Steve Raglan, who offers him a night security gig. Ricky turns down the opportunity, and upon exiting the office he notices a magenta Chevrolet that seems familiar. Disconcerted that he can't pinpoint where he's seen it before, Ricky decides to skip town and start a new life altogether, as far away from his past as possible.

"I'm thinking Anaheim. Become an Imagineer. Someone who puts a smile on kids' faces, y'know?"

Strangely enough, in a Denny's out in the Middle of Nowhere, Colorado over a year later, he comes across the same car, the same career counselor, and Ricky is now certain "Steve Raglan" isn't who he claims to be.

"Steve Raglan" knows the name Kronbach, knows about Ricky's past and his impressive academic record, so he makes him one more offer the young man can't possibly refuse: if Ricky helps him finish an old project him and his old business partner set out to create in the 80s, then "Steve" can bring Ricky's brother back from the dead.

Some picrew references—altho! @/namonaki-arts took these references and brought him to life in chibi form.

Does this look like a man who'd team up with a serial killer to bring back his dead brother who may or may not have been a victim of said serial killer? Look at him. Does he look like someone with his own trail of dead bodies and stolen cars and also arson? P'shaw.

[wrestlersownmyheart]

Closer Than You Think Prologue/Chapter 1 (Dean Ambrose X OC)

Keep in mind with this story that it's a bit of a reimagining, sort of a "what if" scenario if you will. What I mean is... the Shield never broke up nor did Dean evolve into Moxley and join AEW. In my perfect world he stayed with Seth and Roman.

With that being said, I give you Closer Than You Think!

Title: Closer Than You Think Pairing: Dean Ambrose X OC: Shannon Brock Summary: When a serial killer claims a number of victims including NXT wrestler, Shannon Brock's cousin, she vows to find the killer after she is bumped to RAW from NXT. Her cousin's lover, AJ Styles, appoints himself and the Shield—Dean Ambrose, Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns—as her bodyguards.

Dean takes the task very seriously and doesn't let Shannon out of his sight, despite the game of cat and mouse they play with the killer. Can he keep her safe, or will the killer claim his ultimate victim?

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: Extreme Violence against women; murder

Prologue/Chapter 1

Evil Is Born…

"When this monster entered my brain, I will never know, but it is here to stay. How does one cure himself? I can't stop it, the monster goes on, and hurts me as well as society…"

~Dennis Rader (BTK Killer)~

Being born was the biggest mistake I ever made.

I learned very soon in life that my mother never really wanted me. She reminded me all the time how she wanted a little girl but was instead stuck with a boy.

Things got worse when she left my dad. He took everything out on me. He was drunk every day of his life. And I was beaten every day of mine.

By the time I hit my teen years, I was completely filled with rage. I didn't know how to deal with it, so I did what many people in my situation end up doing. I would pick fights at school and bullied younger, smaller kids. This would result in my getting sent to the principal's office many times over. This brought about more beatings, of course. And I would grow even angrier. But there wasn't much I could do about it, except to bully some more. It was a vicious circle.

My dad died in a drunken car accident soon after I turned eighteen. I was finally free.

But not for very long.

After my dad was killed, I was glad to live on my own. Omaha suddenly became more peaceful to me. Quiet. I could do as I pleased. However, I only had about two years of freedom before sheer hell came on me slow and easy.

I met the woman I would marry. Her name was Debra. I met her one evening at the bowling alley where I worked. I can't believe how quickly I fell for her. She was beautiful. She had long, dark hair. Her ivory complexion accentuated her big, pale blue eyes. She was slender, but had curves in all the right places. She was the most sweet, and loving girl I'd ever met.

Debra just seemed like a dream. I thought I'd found the one woman who would show me that not all females were like my mother; selfish and manipulative. Instead, I had married a girl who was as manipulative as they come.

Soon after our wedding, her true colors came through. She cheated on me, and wanted to control everything. The money, the house, what cars we bought...everything. She was verbally abusive for the first several years of our marriage. And when she saw she could get away with it, she became physically abusive as well. She started out just slapping me. But then she graduated to punches and throwing hard objects at me. I wanted to hit her. I really did. But I knew I'd end up in jail, because who would believe such a beautiful, angelic-looking woman was abusing me? I wasn't going to end up in prison because of her.

Looking back, I should have just left her. But I didn't. I put up with her for five years. Why? I honestly don't know. I wish I did.

All I do know is I had a new rage building up in me. And I couldn't bully kids to soothe it away anymore. So, I found another way of unleashing my rage. I began preying on stray animals, and lost pets. I would collect them, take them out to the woods behind my house and torture them. It felt good to make something feel the pain and anguish I felt nearly every day of my life. The little creatures had it easy though. Their torture and pain only lasted minutes. I was enduring a lifetime of it. Soon, I ran out of victims. It seemed as though I had cleaned the neighborhood of strays, and caused the owners of their lost, beloved pets to lose hope. I even put the animal patrol officer out of business for the summer.

One night, I'd finally had enough. We were arguing about money, as usual, when she let loose and kicked me in the balls. I fell to the floor gagging in misery. I took the abuse as I always did, but in my head I was already planning.

I was going to kill my wife.

Over the next month, I added enough cash to my secret savings to get fake IDs, a used car under my new name, hair dye, and anything else I needed to make a clean get-away. I just needed to figure out how I would kill her. It had to be flawless.

I went out to the garage to think up the rest of my plan. I knew the time of my retribution was very near, and it seemed to ignite my fury. I was so angry just thinking over my sham of a marriage. I knew I wanted to do the most painful thing I could to Debra.

My eyes fell on some rope and picked it up, planning to tie her up with it. As my hand latched onto it, however, a roll of barbed wire tumbled to the cement, and I froze.

Barbed wire—even better.

I picked the spool up instead and realized then that I would have to work fast in order to tie Debra up. I figured, what with being bigger and stronger than she was, it shouldn't be difficult to accomplish. I smiled when I imagined the look on her face when she saw what I had in store for her. I had just finished polishing up the plans in my mind when I heard Debra's voice behind me.

"Dinner is read—Hey, what are you doing with that barbed—"

SMACK.

I spun around, slapping her right across the mouth. She fell to the concrete almost silently, too stunned to react. She just lay there sobbing quietly and holding her mouth. Then she seemed to get control of her pain and fear, and glared up at me.

"Never thought I'd hit you, huh," I taunted her. I moved fast and had the razor-sharp wire around her wrists in mere seconds. Reaching upward, I grabbed some wire cutters from a worktable, and trimmed it. She whimpered then as I pulled her to her feet, dragging her into the house through the kitchen.

I grabbed a knife off of the tiled counter top. Then I pushed Debra down to the floor. I could see by the trembling of her body, she was too frightened to run.

"Don't speak," I whispered to her. "Or I'll kill you slowly. I never want to hear your obnoxious, evil voice again. Am I clear? Nod if you understand."

A mixture of fire and fury shown in her gray eyes and she glared disdainfully at me. "You're not man enough to kill me," she growled at me as a small stream of blood dribbled out the corner of her mouth. She tried to free herself from the barbed wire, but discovered it was far too painful to struggle with.

"Oh, I am," I smiled at her. "Trust me. And I told you not to speak."

Fear replaced her fury once more as realization crossed her pretty features.

She cowered in the corner, and was unable to force down the sob that erupted from her lips. I stepped over to her and didn't hesitate in slashing up her face. She cried out and put her hands up to protect herself, which didn't stop me. It just angered me even more. I drove the knife right through one of her hands and twisted it. The sound emitting from her was like nothing on this earth. Finally feeling a little bit of relief I grinned.

"That hurts, huh?"

I then slit her throat deliberately slowly with the knife. But before she was able to die, I then, inch by excruciating inch, pressed the knife into her stomach and ripped it upward, savoring the sound of her flesh tearing and her crimson blood splashing onto the floor.

Finally I was free. I could start over.

Quickly, I washed off the knife and took it upstairs with me where my bag had been packed and hidden in the back of the closet. I shoved the murder weapon into the bag to dispose of later. I wanted to get the thing as far from the crime scene as possible.

Changing into a clean pair of jeans and black polo shirt, I tossed my dirty clothes into the bag to discard at another time and place as well. Looking around one last time, I hurried out the back door and headed into the woods. I'd parked my secret car about a mile from the house.

In about twenty minutes I'd be out of here for good. I felt a huge smile spread across my face as I thought of how well my plan had worked so far. I hoped the cops would assume I'd been taken somewhere and killed. Turning into a cold case would be perfect.

When I reached the vehicle, I tossed my bag in the trunk and got in the car. I grabbed the map I'd stashed in the glove compartment and plotted out a route to Albany, New York.

Why Albany?

I'd never been to Albany before. Never mentioned the place in my life. And I needed to be random in choosing my destination just in case the authorities were on my tail. I also planned on being frugal with my funds for a while. If I was discovered, I needed to be prepared. I wanted to be able to get up and leave in a moment's notice if I needed to. But I wasn't complaining. I was finally free. I was going to live life to the fullest.

And I did for a while.

Until my pesky little need to inflict pain on the female population returned, that is.

About a year had passed since I killed my wife. I was beginning to feel angry again—irrationally angry. The wrath I thought I'd finally buried, still consumed me. It had always been there, just under the surface. I needed to find yet another way to deal with it. I wanted to punish my wife all over again. But, of course, I couldn't because she was dead—long dead.

Nonetheless, the idea of retribution soaked up my every thought, and I was desperate to do something about it. I had an epiphany then, it all become so clear in my mind.

What difference did it make if I took my revenge out on my wife, or just women in general? Women were all the same anyway! They all deserved the torture I so utterly wanted to bestow on them.

I came up with a plan one night when I was flipping channels on my television and came across a wrestling program. I watched as two scantily clad women scuffled and frolicked around in the ring, completely for the men's benefit. I was repulsed as their breasts all but fell out of their tops.

And then it hit me—this was it!

I wanted to hurt any promiscuous, strong-willed woman and make them pay, because that's what I hated in my wife. Women had to always rely on a man to take care of them but yet treated them like dirt. They were manipulative horrible creatures, and they had to pay for it.

As I watched the two female wrestlers, I realized they were truly no better than Debra. Or even my mother. Their beauty was only on the outside, and they used their looks ruthlessly. They were doing nothing for society, unlike what I planned to do for the world. I would dedicate my life to ridding the world of their filth.

One whore at a time.

And what better place to start than in the wrestling industry? There were plenty of trashy women to slaughter.

I just had to find my way in...

And I did. I learned everything I could about the wrestling business. Then I entered into a school and learned to wrestle and how to referee. I even covered all my bases and worked with ring crews to set up wrestling rings and stages in arenas.

Thanks to all my training and preparations, I soon met my next victim—a young blond student wrestler. She wanted to sleep with me one night, so I obliged her. Right before I slashed her throat. I discovered sex was another way to dominate women. They had NO control over what I did to them. But I discovered one little problem.

You see, part of me wanted to rid the world of filth—and I still do. But I have to take care of my own needs first.

I find the idea of reenacting the killing of my wife to be very therapeutic. But if I want to feel as though I am indeed killing her again—over and over— I need women who resembles her physically as well as in her actions.

I need dark-haired women.

Blondes and redheads are not going to work.

At least they won't for now. Their time will come though.

I have my eye on the perfect girl right now. She is the spitting image of my burden. But I need to experiment with my craft first.

This is my art.

And art takes practice...

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