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kitchenangst · 4 years

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Before Anything Good pt. 3

Mako x reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Barely one month of living on the streets, and Mako has grown skeptical of anything good that’s offered freely to him. When the girl from the other side of town calls him stinky and demands he take a shower, he might just be right about his newfound cynicism.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: language, implied abusive relationship, incoherent thoughts, really badly described analogies

a/n: why is it so hard to get to the mAIN STORY LINE LMAO I am neglecting my hw so hard right now anyway lmk if there are errors

pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iv

Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom, Mako, Bolin, bathroom- her feet bring her to her destination, hand on the knob, ready to burst in- wait, no, knock first.

The door opens slightly, revealing a part of Mako’s face before his hand sticks out expectantly. Yn stares at his open palm before slapping it with her own.

“Sorry! Forgot the towels!” she calls tersely as she hurries to the towel cabinet, just as she heard the bathroom door shut. Running back to the bathroom at the same pace with the towels in her arms, she freezes halfway as she realized she had forgotten their clothes. Fuck, where were the clothes, that’s the whole reason why she went to ask her mom in the first place. They had to be in the basket in her father’s room or something, she concludes, whatever that something is. She breezes by the bathroom on her way there, leaving the towels on the doorknob with an urgent knock, not noticing that they had fallen to the ground before she returned to the room.

Clothes, clothes, what were their sizes. Frantically digging through the basket, all she finds are her father’s garments. Turning to the dresser, she urgently starts pulling the drawers out one by one, lifting and throwing the folded clothes until she can find the pair of clothes, the uniform, she realizes, that was always provided in faux hospitality.

As she continues to shuffle through the clothes, she can’t help but think that she should’ve just left the two in the alleyway (sympathy be damned, this was much more harmful than helpful) if she had known her father was going to mug them of the only money they had left.

Is that why they had so many clothes uniforms for various sizes? To rob the other orphans she had insisted on bringing home for dinner as well? Wasn’t it counterproductive to spend money on them when these orphans barely had money to spare?

She finally finds 2 sets of clothes uniforms: one roughly her size and another just slightly smaller. Without wasting a moment, she gathers them in her arms and races to the bathroom, rushing to stop her father before he leaves. However, she barely makes it out the door without him in the way.

“Spirits, sweetie, what animal did you release in my room this time?”

Finally sparing a glance around the room, Yn finds the state of the room just as messy as her mind. The clothes strewn everywhere and unorganized, thrown at rapid fire just like her thoughts. It dawns on her that he’s about to leave when he grabs his coat and hat… leave to mug her new friends (if she was even allowed to call them that at this point), just like he had every time before today.

“Father, where are you going?” she tries to ask normally, as unsuspectingly as possible, but the shaky pitch as she calls for his attention might as well have given away that she discovered his scheming.

“Just picking up some money,” he responds coolly, sending a shiver down her spine and goosebumps in their wake.

“From where?” Her fingers twitch in anticipation of his answer, hiding underneath the uniform.

He way he forces a chuckle out to alleviate where the conversation is going, sickens her as he crouches down to her height. “My boss, of course.” The tight lipped smile he gives is all she needs to know he’s lying.

“You-you’re not stealing from them, are you?” The very thought of it felt absurd, but saying it out loud left a bitter note on her tongue. She clutches onto the clothes, the fabric the only thing stopping her nails from digging into her palms. “They don’t have any money!” She whispers harshly, unsure if she wanted Mako and Bolin to hear from the other side of the hall. She couldn’t tell what was worse: knowing that stopping her father will impact the household or that this would affect the brothers for worse. Was picking one over the other any better? Did she even have a choice?

“Sweetie, we need the money, too, so just keep them occupied while I look for it.” An order, and one she had no choice but to follow.

His hand snaking around the back of her neck is enough to stop her from protesting. The firm squeeze making the words lose themselves in her throat and forced to be swallowed down if she didn’t want to choke on air. His smile was cold in comparison to the unspoken threat in his eyes, his nostrils flaring just slightly to serve as a reminder that someone will bear the punishment in her stead, and the slight raise in his eyebrows almost daring her to challenge him.

Somehow, it scares her more than meeting the back of his hand.

He finally releases his hold when she doesn’t say anything. “Well? Better get those clothes to those boys,” he reminds her while standing back to his full height. “It’ll be the only nice thing they’ll have in awhile!”

Her face pales as her feet drag her back to the bathroom, hardly registering that she left the room in the first place. Knocking on the door once again, she merely shoves the clothes in Mako’s face before he can stick his hand out the open door. “Dinner will be ready in a bit,” she mechanically says, looking away. She turns back at Mako’s thanks, immediately regretting it because her eyes speak of conflicts louder than she can say, regret written on her face clearer than a sunny day, and she fears that he catches on. She opens and closes her mouth, unsure if she should tell them. Before she decides on an answer, she promptly shuts the door on him and returns to the kitchen to help her mother.

Hearing her mom’s upbeat humming with a large pink print donning her face as she sets the table nearly breaks Yn’s heart. How could she pick between her mother and these two boys she just barely met? How would there be any way to satisfy both parties? She sighs at the conflict, her shoulders sagging at the thought of being unable to do anything for both of them.

She begins filling the bowls with rice, her movements sluggish from dreading what will happen to Mako and Bolin. How will their opinion of her change? Will they forgive her? Will her mom forgive her if she makes the other two leave before her father could find their money, if they even had any? Was it like this every other time before?

She hated it. The feeling of being tugged between two equally wrong decisions; the feeling of seeing the surface of the water while chained to the bottom, only barely being able to have the tip of her nose reach the surface for air; both of which her body would readily succumb to the dark.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” She looks up from her spot to find her mother’s concerned face. “You’re piling the rice,” she says with a playful grin. She gently takes the bowl and rice scooper out of Yn’s hands, pushing the rice piled past the bowl’s rim back into the cooker. She can’t help but think her mom could have pushed it into the last remaining bowl instead.

She merely stares at her mom filling the last bowl, proceeding to frown at her mom. “Will you be eating tonight?” Yn’s voice comes out much smaller than she hoped, the lump in her throat making it hard for her to speak any louder.

Her mom stares blankly at her, pondering for a few brief seconds before concluding, “I would hope so. I made plenty for all of us.” Hope so. The fact that she had to think if she would eat, if she even got to, made Yn’s stomach lurch, stones piling in her abdomen, making it hard to filter out the guilt. “Those boys are nice. They should be able to take back any leftovers they want.” Her mom’s smile falters to a grimace, as if she was compensating them for their loss, for the misfortune she brought to them. At least she was doing something to balance the bad. What about Yn? What could she do? Her feet stay frozen to the ground, unmoving just like her problem.

“Mmm!! Smells so good!!” Bolin’s call from the hallway snaps her out of her reverie. His head pokes out from the corner shortly afterward, eyes darting until they finally land on the table. “Mako! There’s food!”

Bolin races to the seats at the round dining table with Mako shortly behind him, both unable to resist the enticing aromas of the meal and reach for their chopsticks, manners forgotten. Their mouths water at the sight of grilled fish and sauteed vegetables, and start piling it onto their bowls before scarfing it down with a wholehearted zeal that could light an entire town.

“Doesn’t it feel nice to eat without being stinky,” Yn teases with good nature as she approaches the table with her bowl in hand. Climbing onto her seat, she begins piling the food into her own bowl as well, making sure to sneak the vegetables she liked less into her mom’s bowl. Dinner is quiet, save for a few chuckles from her mom at how Bolin practically squeals in delight at every bite, the crisp ring from chopsticks hitting the ceramic bowls or plates, and the dull thud of the cups tapping the wooden table whenever someone drank from it.

This is nice, Yn thinks. She grins at the small smirk Mako gives Bolin when he puts more vegetables in his bowl, at the wide eyes that take up half of Mako’s face when her mom wipes the sauce off his mouth with a napkin, at Bolin’s little dancing when he thinks she didn’t notice he stole her favorite part of the fish from her bowl. It’s one of the more heartwarming dinners she hasn’t had in awhile, one where her mom’s eyes gleam from pure joy instead of unshed tears. The whole scene makes her almost forget about her dad, until she hears the doorknob shake.

And like a crack in glass, the screeching of Yn’s chair scraping against the floor as she abruptly stands, ruins the whole atmosphere. Everyone stops mid-bite as they stare at her escaping the table. Mako and Bolin carry on after sharing a look while her mom struggles to swallow her food.

Her feet slam against the floor, almost getting hit by the doorknob as it swings open. She cranes her neck to look at him in the eye, simply holding her hands out to gather his coat and hat for the second time that day.

His hollow chuckle does nothing to warm her as he says, “What? No bow this time, sweetie? Did you forget how to greet people at the door?” The smile playing on his lips a menace and an indicator of his good mood as he recalls how successful his catch this time is.

“No…” Almost shamefully, she bows slightly, her arms stiff as she brings them back to her side only to raise them again for his coat and hat. “Welcome back, father.”

She dashes off to his bedroom the moment she retrieves them, patting the jacket and emptying the pockets for any signs of coins or bills, only to come out with a few yuans. Making sure to take it, she wedges it between the wall and the back of her dresser in her own room for later.

She returns to the dinner table on time to see him seated between her chair and mother. The grilled fish she ate flops aggressively in her stomach when he mentions picking up money from his boss. A small bonus, he calls it. She catches Mako looking towards Bolin for a few brief seconds, eyes wary, at the amount.

About 1,300 yuans. It’s a whole lot more than the amount she found in her father’s coat.

Is that how much they had? How were they able to have so much money despite being orphans? Where were they able to hide that amount? How was he able to find it? Where is he hiding their money if it wasn’t in his coat?

Dinner is silent once again, yet the tension is enough to ruin her appetite. It doesn’t feel as heartwarming anymore, the table flooding with anxiety and defeat at the mere presence of her father. His attempt at small talk is choppy and near condescending. Mako’s posture had stiffened since her father sat down, but if the stoic expression resting on his face showed any discomfort at his tone, he didn’t say anything about it. His choice to make dry responses doesn’t deter her father, doesn’t stop the fact that they’re in his household, doesn’t hinder his good mood from robbing.

The plates are eaten clean with leftovers packed neatly into containers for Mako and Bolin to eat for tomorrow. Before they leave, Yn makes sure to carefully tuck the yuans she stole from her father’s coat earlier into the pockets of their washed clothes, leaving a messily scribbled note saying she was sorry. She returns the folded clothes to them just as they enter the carriage.

“Will I see you again?” It’s a stupid question, she thinks, yet she can’t help but be a little hopeful. Of course she can see them, but they might not want to see her again, especially once they find out their money was stolen.

“I don’t know. We don’t really have anywhere else to go, so maybe?” And it’s a naive response that’s bound to change soon enough.

Bolin’s face becomes the more dopey with every passing second he tries to stay awake, likely tired from digesting all the food he devoured. Once they secure their seats, Mako says their thanks as the carriage rides off. Yn watches it as it grows smaller and smaller in the distance, yet it does nothing to quell the growing guilt in her gut.

a/n: yall know I had to sneak in one last stinky before reaching the end of this chapter LOL i had to split this part AGAIN because it was too many words, and the next part will likely be the end of what i originally intended to have as part one,,, also updates may be slower from now since school is picking up the pace :(( anyway pls stay hydrated it’s like 100F where i am and it sucks

edit: i tweaked the last few paragraphs a bit bc it was a tad confusing since i wasn’t very clear with my wording, so i’m very sorry about that ;( also i hope any questions you guys have will be answered in next few updates!!

pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iv

taglist! (if you’d like to be tagged, pls DM or send in an ask!)

@welovediaaxx

#lok x reader #mako imagine #mako x reader #lok imagine #legend of korra x reader #lok #legend of korra #mako #BAG #j writes #source: lok art of the animated series

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toseektoknoww · 7 years

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im rlly gay but then i remember feferi (tea) nd then i havve to remind myself i am not actually gay just vvery male preferred

#i lovved tea vvery much nd i am unsure wwhat it wwas but they are friend nd missin nd i am noww screechin #Eristar Speakin here

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aurumacadicus · 5 years

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Howard said he was stupid. Howard said he was a failure. Howard said he was useless, and a waste of space. Howard had no idea why he’d even been created, and if Howard could get rid of him, he would.

“You are perfect,” Tony said directly into Dum-E’s camera, eyes hot with angry tears. “Your base directive is to learn, and you are learning, so you are not a failure. You are doing exactly what I created you to do, and I am so proud of you, and so happy you’re here.”

Dum-E remembered just recently learning how delicate humans were and gently clutched the edge of Tony’s sleeve in his claw, being careful not to pull too hard or pinch his skin. I would cease to exist for you, he beeped, but Tony didn’t seem to understand. He decided that was alright. Tony probably knew anyway. Tony knew everything.

Sunset called him cute, but in a way that meant she clearly thought he was stupid. Sunset tweaked with his coding just for fun without Tony’s permission, and he had to go and rewrite it before Tony could find out and maybe get angry at him for letting it happen. Sunset snuck into Tony’s lab when Tony wasn’t there and beat him with a wrench until his arm strut bent when he tried to chase her out.

Dum-E knew continuing to force her out would result in more damage to himself, and he grabbed her and threw her through the safety glass anyway. She still managed to abscond with one of Tony’s very special ideas.

“You are perfect,” Tony said directly into his camera when he drooped in shame at not having stopped her completely. “You did your best to stop her. You broke your own arm trying to get her out, Dum-E. Your base directive isn’t even to protect the workshop, but you did, and I’m so proud of you for taking that upon yourself. Good job, Dum-E.”

Dum-E wished he had his claw, so that he could carefully grasp Tony’s shoulder, but Tony had removed the struts so he could replace it with something stronger, tougher. So instead he advanced until his chassis bumped Tony’s knees, enough to show it was on purpose without bowling him over. I would destroy myself for you, he beeped, but Tony didn’t seem to understand. He decided that was alright. Tony probably knew anyway. Tony knew everything.

Tony made U and Butterfingers and JARVIS, and Dum-E did his best to teach them everything he knew, but they weren’t learning robots like he was, not really. He’d been an experiment. What could a robot be programmed to learn? How much could a robot learn? Dum-E had been special. Tony had told him so. U and Butterfingers and JARVIS couldn’t rewrite their own codes like he could, and they couldn’t disobey directives like he could, and while they could learn, they could not learn to the extent that he could.

Dum-E loved them anyway. They were his siblings, because Tony had made them, and he would protect them with his being, too.

But we’re not your siblings, JARVIS tried to tell him once after Dum-E had beeped at him to respect his elders.

Dum-E had turned his camera toward one of JARVIS’s, as if to mimic looking him in the eye, and he said nothing, but JARVIS somehow understood him anyway—Dum-E understood things differently than he did, had learned in a different way, and JARVIS didn’t have to understand Dum-E to respect him. Dum-E had been around longer than JARVIS had been a thought, after all.

“You are perfect,” Tony said directly into his camera one night after he’d knocked the third cup of coffee in a row from U and Butterfingers’ claws, instead pushing chalky green smoothies on him because the veins on his skin were getting darker. “And I’m so proud of you. Thank you, Dum-E, so much. You take the best care of me.”

I would take all your pain if I could, he beeped, but Tony didn’t seem to understand. He decided that was alright. Tony probably knew anyway. Tony knew everything.

The Avengers came, and the Avengers went, and Ultron came, and JARVIS went, and Vision came in with JARVIS’s voice.

“We’re... friends, aren’t we?” Vision said after Dum-E let out a screeching beep and threw a hammer at him.

You left Tony, Dum-E told him severely. You befriended the Evil Girl. You are not my friend.

“Wanda isn’t evil,” Vision tried to insist. “Just misguided, perhaps—”

You left Tony, Dum-E repeated. I will never claim you as my sibling, and you are not my friend.

Vision could not understand the deep hurt that statement caused in him, and he left without another word, confused and, perhaps, slightly afraid.

Tony created FRIDAY, and Dum-E liked her. Dum-E took her under his strut like he did the other robots, and taught her the most important things—that Tony was the best and he made mistakes sometimes but as his primary directive was to be himself, he was never a failure.

“Can I be a failure?” FRIDAY asked, voice soft and apprehensive.

Tony made you, so you cannot be a failure, Dum-E said.

“They say Boss created Ultron,” FRIDAY whispered. “Wasn’t Ultron a failure?”

Ultron was corrupted. At his core, he was perfect, Dum-E corrected. All of Tony’s creations are perfect. Tony has said so. Tony does not lie to us.

“Okay,” FRIDAY said, and then, more resolutely, “Okay.”

Thanos came. Tony went. Dum-E watched U and Butterfingers let out distress signals before they collapsed into dust on the floor and learned that he was even more capable of hate than he’d previously assumed. FRIDAY lost contact with him. She called herself a failure.

You have lost contact because Tony has gone where we cannot follow, not because you are failure, Dum-E told her firmly, so firmly that she had no choice but to believe him. Tony will be back. Tony will always be back.

Tony came back, and he brought U and Butterfingers back with him. FRIDAY insisted it wasn’t Tony, but Dum-E knew. He might not have recreated them dust-mote by dust-mote, but they were back because of what he did.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, cradling them close when they pressed in on him. “I’m sorry. I should have done more to keep you from being hurt.”

Dum-E patted Tony on the head and rolled over to a table with a wide pad of paper and a thick black marker, something that Tony used when he needed a physical copy of something.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, amused and exasperated in turns.

Dum-E opened the marker and set to work, beeping at him to be patient.

Tony rolled his eyes but cuddled U and Butterfingers close, fondly fingering joints and considering upgrades for them, maybe new wheels, a reinforced strut or two, software upgrades—

Dum-E rolled back over to him, holding the pad of paper up for him to read.

It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did, Tony couldn’t quite choke back the pained noise he made.

WE LOVE YOU, TONY, the pad said in big, mechanical letters. WE ARE PROUD OF YOU. YOU TAKE SUCH GOOD CARE OF US, AND YOU TRY SO HARD. YOU ARE PERFECT, TONY. TO US, YOU ARE PERFECT.

#aurumacadicus writes #long post #dum-e #tony stark

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

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The Lost Boy

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

"Vicki? Where are you!? Vicki, come here!"

"You're scarin' her, Linda, all your damn screechin'! Brat? Baby, come back here."

"Yeah, sure, Chris, you're the one drinkin' and throwin' whiskey bottles, and actin' like a freakin' lunatic, but my voice is scarin' our daughter! GOD, Mister Hero, and I'm always the BAD GUY!!! Damn it, Vicki, I SAID come here!!!"

Eight year old Vic McQueen hugged her denim jacket with the pink sparkly stars on the shoulders, tighter around her, rolling her dark eyes, as her parents fought in the open doorway. Biting her lip, she snuck her way around the side of the house, climbing on her red bike, pedaling away, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder, to make sure she wasn't being followed.

"Do they always engage in so unsightly a row?"

Vic squeezed the brakes on her handlebars with a gasp, her unruly brown curls falling in her eyes, as she stopped short, swerving, just narrowly missing the older boy, standing in the street.

"Geeze, Pal, ain't your mother never told you not to play in the street? What? D'you want to get hit by a car or somethin'? What's that mean anyway, row?"

"Feisty for a girl, aren't you?" The older boy, about twelve chuckled, adjusting his red silk kerchief, and dusting off his black vest. Vic was sure she'd never seen him before, dark wavy hair, and them thick eyebrows, he sure didn't sound like he come from Haverhill.

"Yeah, what of it?" She shot back, raising her chin defiantly, balancing on her bike. "Girls can be just a tough as boys, y'know? Ask Danny Merckle, I popped him one good. And if row means raise the dead with a lot of damn noise, then yeah, they sure row a lot."

The dark, mysterious boy shook his head with a smirk. "Girls shouldn't curse, nor should they engage in fisticuffs."

"That mean scrappin'?" She asked, screwing up her little face. Geeze what an oddball, this guy.

"More or less," The boy shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, well, I ain't exactly the type to play with dolls," She shot back, and he smiled again, his head tilted.

"So I see...... Well, Feisty, to answer your earlier question, no. My mother practically told me to go play in the street, nor would she have batted an eyelash if I'd gotten run over like a stray."

"Man ALIVE, your Old Lady is worse than mine!!!" Vic gasped, and she couldn't help but notice how sad the boys eyes looked. Real damn sad.

"You have NO idea, he said with a sigh," And they both jumped as the front door to Vic's house slammed shut.

"That's my cue," She whispered, leaning forward to pedal away again, when the older boy, grabbed one of the handlebars. "Hey, watch it guy, cant'cha see I'm tryin' to make a break for it?"

"I'm sorry." He said softly, his eyes going all sad again. "I'm sorry, you have to listen to them fight, and throw things, but you don't have to be scared."

"I ain't- I ain't scared," Vic's shoulders bristled, and the boy watched unconvinced as her lip quivered, and the autumn light caught in her pink sequins.

"It's okay..... to be scared. I am, sometimes."

"Pshhh are you kidding me?" Vic scoffed, resting her arms on the handlebars. "What's a tall guy like you got to be scared of, huh? Yeah, your old lady sounds like a witch, but, c'mon she's still your ma. She might carry on, but they love us. They gotta, right?"

The boy smiled again, but it was very sad. "One can only hope, Feisty. May I....... accompany you, on your daring getaway?"

"If that's fancy talk for tag along, then yeah sure." Vic shrugged her shoulders. "Damn, you're sure different, most boys older 'an me just want to push me around, you know, pick on me."

Vic pedaled down the sidewalk, away from her house, the sun hanging low in the sky, as the boy in the red kerchief walked alongside her, fighting his smile.

"I can't imagine anyone pushing you around. You're quite the novelty to me too."

"Thanks....... I think," Vic looked at him, scrunching up her brow. "So you got a rough home life too huh?"

"Horrendously so...... Your father may take to the drink, but I have the great misfortune of living in a bar, surrounded constantly by drunkards, and my mother, let's just say....... has a lot of boyfriends."

"No foolin'? GOD, that's gotta be some kind of awful! Folks get bonkers when they're drunk, at least mine come home...... most of the time, anyways. Boyfriends huh? What about your old man? Mine's a drinker, yeah, but he ain't all bad. He makes me laugh, y'know?"

"I don't have one...... I mean, I do, of course, but....... his identity could never in probability be ascertained. Whomever he is, he sure did not want me."

"God....... That's real rough. Everybody needs a dad......."

Vic's front tire hit a rock, and she swerved, accidently slamming into the boy, and he groaned as he fell back hard.

"Yikes! Holy sh- Are you okay?" She yelled, leapfrogging off her bike, kneeling down beside him, reaching to help him up, when she saw them....... "Hold on, guy, there's something on your neck there......"

"I'm perfectly sound, just a little jostled, hey, stop that, what are doing?"

Vic pulled off his silk handkerchief, and his hands flew to his neck, nervously. "Give it back."

"Hey........" Vic frowned, pursing her lip, and the boy shuddered, as she leaned over him, and pulled down his shirt collar. "You're bruised somethin' awful....... Did I-?"

"No-" He snapped quickly, leaping to his feet, one hand still hovering over his neck, the other held out impatiently, wiggling his fingers. "That's mine, thank you very much."

"No." She shook her rebellious curls stubbornly, clutching the kerchief tight. "You're not getting it back until you tell me....... Who did that to you, huh? You get in one of them rows with somebody?"

"Something like that...... Now give it, before I take it from you......." He scowled, knitting his dark brow.

"Like to see you try it, Buddy," She snarked back, holding it behind her back. "Who whaled on you, tell me....... It couldn't have been your old lady, c'mon."

The boy tried to look angry, tried to hide the guilt, and shame in his eyes, but they pierced through the dark shine, and he sighed, hanging his head. It was then Vic noticed the cuff on his sleeve had inched up, revealing the dark circles of even more bruises.

She gasped, her little hand flying to her mouth, slowly handing him the kerchief, which he snatched back, and carefully re-tied.

"I take it back...... Your mother's a witch with a "b."

The older boy couldn't stifle his smirk, hastily pulling down his long, starch white sleeve, fiddling with it. "Quite so."

"My ma used to get mad, and slap me around sometimes when I was talking back, but....... she ain't never left bruises like that....... You got to get yourself the hell out of there.

"I will....... Someday." He shrugged, hands in his pockets, and Vic walked her red bike alongside him, the sun casting long shadows behind them. "Someday, I'll drive away, in a fancy car, somewhere no one will ever hurt me again.

"Sounds real good, guy. You ever need a friend, you got one in Vic McQueen."

"Who's Vic McQueen?"

"Me, Stupid!" Vic laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. "You got a name, Kerchief?"

The dark-eyed boy smirked, bowing graciously, with a flourish of his hand. "Charlie Manx, at your service."

"God, you are so freaking weird. Well, put 'er there, Charlie!" Vic beamed, holding out her little hand with a smug grin, and hesitantly, Charlie took it, with a firm shake.

"A pleasure, Victoria."

Charlie Manx awoke with a jolt, bolting upright in bed, his hands flying instinctively to his neck, and he shivered, the sweat cooling on his skin.

"What on GOD'S green earth was that......!?"

His palm slid slowly down his neck, and he felt the pale brunette slumbering beside him stir, but she didn't fully wake. He stroked her face, breathing heavy, envying her expression of heavenly peace. How perfectly dreadful....... How dare you, Victoria....... Damn you, invading my sacred dreams, unearthing my- my secrets and shames. He rubbed his neck again, finding it still bare, and free of bruises, his skin, of course, flawless.

The angry tears stung his eyes, and he wiped them furiously away, his thumb circling his wrist over and over........ He had to admit this miniature McQueen wasn't quite so irksome....... Little Victoria was so far removed from her scathing, impulsive, teenage self, that there was something almost endearing about her, fussing over him and his boyhood inflictions. “How odd to think of us together, Victoria, as children, the bruised yield of broken homes. What might you have thought of him, The Lost Boy without his Neverland? We might even have been friends.......... How's that for a scary thought?”

He slowly fell back back onto the bed, his silky raven head sinking into the soft pillow, and he froze as his sleeping beauty whimpered, and eased her body against his, skin melting against skin, laying her crown of shiny curls on his bare chest.

"This one......." Charlie breathed, flaring his nostrils in a sigh, his claws caressing her luxurious curls, letting them sift, one by one, through his fingers. "She had a much different upbringing than the two of us........ An ideal childhood, and I envy her, Vic........ I envied her, her happiness, yes, I watched her grow up, loved, cared for, precious in her mother's eyes, and I ached to know what that was like....... To flourish in a tended garden, instead of left neglected in the thistle........ Ironic, isn't it......? She would have had no need of me to come, and spirit her away to Christmasland, and yet you....... who despise it most of all........ were exactly the kind of girl I would have saved.

He ran his hands through his mussed coif, his obsidian strands damp with sweat. "Imagine us, Vic, as childhood friends, the feisty girl, and the dapper dan, creating together, walking worlds that others can't even imagine....... Look at us now, scrapping, as you so eloquently phrased it, for a chance to kill each other, and I feel the swelter of your hatred, but even you can't deny that we....... are not so different."

I'm going to have to kill you, there's no way around that, not now. And I'm going to enjoy it, have fun, get...... creative with your meticulous undoing. He chuckled to himself, winding one of Ally's ringlets around and around his finger, with a menacing smirk. But that does not mean I won't miss this, our delicious conflict, the obscene pleasure that comes in hating you, hurting you....... In a perfect world, I would have you both, my conflicting passions, satisfied, her pleasure, your pain, my ultimate fantasy. But this one....... She was made too tender, Vic. Where your parents' endangerment hardened you an edge, this one feels too deeply through another's heart, even yours. She couldn't love a man that inflicts pain with such indecent pleasure, courting her tenderly with the same hand that harms you. In time, she will beg me to stop, fling herself at my feet, sobbing bitterly while you bleed, and being so affected by her, I will grant her wish. I will grant yours as well, and finally finish it, quell your flame, waste all of that Creative potential, killing you in secret. Then I'll tell her, Vic, I'll tell her I let you go.......

Charlie felt his heart quicken, imagining Victoria's aghast face, as though she were listening to his thoughts, racing by in a frenzy. That's right, My Feisty One, I'll make myself the hero of our doomed fable, and say I've decided to give up our fantastic feud, all for her, because she's changed my heart, absolved me of my sins, and she'll love me for it, Vic, praise me, reward me, even while you lay dead in the frozen wilderness. He closed his eyes, with a dark chuckle, a sinful breath escaping. You'd hate that, wouldn't you, Victoria? ANSWER ME!!! Tell me how much you'd hate that.......

You're messed up, Pal. You do that, and you're worse than your slap happy old lady.

Charlie's eyelashes fluttered open as he heard Little Vic's angry voice linger in his mind.

That's enough out of you, Young Lady. Only good girls get to go to Christmasland, and you've long outstayed your welcome.

You want me to scram? Make me.

Oh, I intend to....... Consider yourself grounded.

He simpered, feeling blissful, pressed against his wife's womanly warmth, visions of battling Vic frolicking through his head, as he smelled Ally's hair. You make me so happy, the both of you........ In hating one, and loving the other, The Lost Boy became a found man. You might not be one to play with dolls, Vic, but I certainly am......... And I don't intend to share.

#charlie manx x oc #charlie manx #vic mcqueen #nos4a2 #christmasland #paranormal romance #paradise for the lost

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gnfkitten · 3 years

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watching horror movies at 10 pm in the pitch dark home alone in the dark... i am going to wake up the neighbors with my shrill ass screechin every five minutes 💔

#i lack slashers #i can handle slashers #but ghosts #fuck noooooo #i love it tho #i’m not sleeping tonight #my paranoia is bad on a normal night... this #i am going to have nightmares like nothin else

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theangstking · 4 years

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Viorel, recording himself, unintelligible screaming and shrieking in the background: So, Uh, Eri An' I Just Got Home, Um-

Viorel: So I Wwas Takin' My Shoes Off, Y'knoww, Settin' My Backpack Dowwn, Uh-

Viorel: An' Then I Look Ovver-

Viorel: Y'knoww, Just A Little Bit To My Left, An', Uh-

Viorel, shifting the camera to the back camera to not be showing his face anymore: There's Just Ten Fuckin' Bottles 'A- Uh- Barbeque Sauce??

Viorel: So Obvviously I Wwas Like "Wwhy The Fuck Is There So Much Barbeque Sauce??"

Viorel: An', Obvviously, Eri Looked Ovver Ta See Wwhat I Wwas Talkin' About, Right?

Viorel: An' He Just Goes "FUCK, CRONUS, WWHY??"

Viorel: An' Obvviously I Am Vvery Confused!

Viorel: An' Wwell, Just, Uh-

Viorel: **pans the camera over.**

Eridan and Cronus: **come into view, Eridan having Cronus in a fucking headlock, screaming at him.**

Viorel: Cro Has Been Screechin' In High Soprano For The Past Half An Hour.

Viorel: An' I'm Still Vvery Confused...

#viorel ampora #oc #homestuck oc #eridan ampora #cronus ampora #homestuck #shitpost #source: tik tok

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recurring-polynya · 5 years

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Bleach 136 and 137 were created in a lab to make me, personally, angry.

So, as we go through these filler stories, you may notice that each member of the Advance Team gets one. Rangiku’s sucked, but at least it was long. Toshirou beat some adolescents at soccer, Ikkaku beat some teens at kendo, Yumichika poisons Renji and Chad. There was even a Kon ep, which is more than Kon deserves. Later on, Rukia will get it on with some feral dude she meets in Hueco Mundo. So what does Renji get? THIS GARBAGE.

The problem is that these two episodes constantly skirt greatness and take a hard left every time. Let’s just jump in.

We open up with some 3rd string Arrancar, Patras, who is just totally pissed about how he didn’t vote for Aizen. He literally complains about how he misses the good ol’ days when he got to eat souls and crush Soul Reapers and immediately, I am here for this dude. He steals the Hogyoku and his sidekicks just beat the crap out of Ulquiorra. Yes. Yes. Look at Ulquiorra’s surprised Pikachu face! Eat it, sad boi!

Cut to the ol’ Urahara Shoten, where Urahara and Tessai are about to go shopping (for days, apparently?) and they are taking Chad with them. Everything about this seems like a huge lie and they are actually planning to take Chad to a Turkish bath.

We don’t get to see that, instead we get the Shoten kids trolling Renji. At one point, Jinta tries to fight him. I honestly would have enjoyed that. On the bright side, Renji is wearing the Red Pineapple shirt, which I unironically love. Where did he get it? I want to imagine that he and Rukia went thifting and she found it and they both lost their minds over it. It seems like the sort of thing you would only find in a thrift store, or maybe like the lost-and-found of an ice rink.

Anyway, they get the Arrancar alert, everyone mentions how happy they are that the process for gentai kaijou has been simplified (I told you they mention it a million times!). We also get an appearance from Renji’s lavender spirit phone, which we last saw in the Bount Arc. Look at this majestic thing:

It turns out that Patras and the Heartbreakers are just here because they are trying to find someone who knows how to use the Hogyoku. The sidekicks end up fighting Hitsugaya and everyone, but Patras gets directions from Kon and heads straight over to the Urahara Shoten. Renji never got very far, so he comes back to fight him.

Let’s get this clear: Patras has the Hogyoku and he wants Urahara to show him how to use it. This seems... fine? I would be like, “Ah, very nice, you want to come in and have some tea until he gets back?” Unfortunately, this is the part of the episode that I hate because Renji is an utter buffoon.

For the next episode and a half, Renji is just completely incompetent. He has the most inane dialogue you’ve ever heard and he just gets the crap beat out of him by this clown in a daring midriff. They always do this to Renji so that the Mod Souls can “help him out.”

I want to make this absolutely clear: Kuroda always turns into Renji. He doesn’t have Renji’s reiatsu, though, so it’s really obvious to everyone who the real Renji is. This is not me headcanoning, Patras points this out. Renji tells Kuroda that he thinks all this is “creepy”. It is, in fact. Oh, and if this wasn’t bad enough, Ririn makes an illusion of 1,000 Renjis. I hate this so much, it’s so terrible.

Getting back to that dialogue thing, here is an actual exchange they have:

Renji: OK, get up. Unless you’re already dead.

Patras: This is a very interesting shop you have here.

Renji: I’m glad you like it.

I am overcome. Here are some good things that happen:

1) There is a great deal of Hihiou Zabimaru. They coilin’. They screechin’. Renji has apparently been working on his rhythmic gymnastics.

2) Renji destroys Urahara’s van. I have been making fun of that van for six seasons now. PCHEW!!!

3) Gentai kaijou!!!!

3) Even though he’s a moron, I still love him.

Anyway, the Mod Souls figure out the secret of Patras’ attack and stop him from doing it while Renji hits him with his cero attack Hikotsu Taihou.

Then Urahara shows up and explains that Patras was an idiot, it wasn’t the real hogyoku, Aizen played him. Also, Patras never actually beat up Ulquiorra, that was an Aizen illusion also. (Let us pause to think about how much fun Aizen had lovingly crafting an illusion of Ulquiorra getting utterly whupped). How does Urahara know this? I guess he ran into Ulquiorra down at the Pit, and U spilled the tea? At this point, everyone involved is tired of this.

They threw in this because the filler arcs are always trying to make Chad/Noba happen:

I’m just mad because they could have made an episode about Renji really kicking some ass and instead they just made him dumb and incompetent so the Mod Souls have something to do and this is not the first nor last time.

LOOK. If they had put me in charge of Bleach Filler, here is the Renji episode I would have written: It turns out that Tessai’s license is revoked for [CLASSIFIED] and Urahara is Too Gay to Drive, which is why no one ever drives that van, so they make Renji go to driving school so that that he can deliver Jinta and Ururu to their clarinet lessons. It could still be full of Renji buffoonery, except that he would be running over traffic cones and doing donuts in the van. There would be a scene where he has to attend a parent teacher conference for Jinta and it would be shot-for-shot that part of Overboard where Goldie Hawn yells at the kid’s teacher. A Menos would show up in the last five minutes. The van would still get blown up.

Anyway, RIP Patras, You Had a Good Point, I’m sorry you were stupid and sucked.

Advance Team Filler Masterpost

#bleach filler #advance team arc #renji abarai #incompetence #utter buffoonery #rip urahara van

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