#i have many thoughts but right now i am just a screaming possum

[squidcreature]

i've had alcohol so i'm feeling chatty so hello, hi how's it going y'all

but like thoughts right now, every so often just it hits me that i'm actually doing it ... i'm fucking leaving this place

yeah, i'm a decade late since i always said i was gonna get out as soon as i turned 18, but hey, better late than never

i just ... i can't believe that i am actually doing this?? like i told my work that i am leaving, i bought a ferry ticket ... this is actually happening??? i have no clear plan about what i'm doing??? i have no safety net??? i'm just ... leaping out of my comfort zone into the void

and it's just wild man

[jesterjamz]

goodnight. (maybe)

[dragonleesupporter]

The Many Sides of Murder Part I

A/N: Eyy I’m not dead, I promise. I’ve just been smacked around by life a bit. Anyway, this a fanfiction based off of an rp between me and some good homies, shout out to good homies! I’ve been wanting to write this for a very long time.

WARNING: Not for the faint of heart! Also, no t-community stuff in here!

Patton was walking out of the office building after a long day at work. He was exhausted, but he’d have his beautiful rose bush to look forward to when he got home.

            “Rosebud…” He said to himself jokingly, shivering in the cold.

          One of the first to come to work, and one of the last to leave… Patton looked across the vast parking lot and saw his grey, rusty car sitting on the far end.

            Sigh.

            As he continued walking, he heard what sounded like scuffling behind the ginormous square garbage bins to his left. He had gotten used to the noises the critters made at night, working the closing shift. Raccoons, possums, skunks, hell- sometimes the homeless stopped by to check the garbage for valuable items.

          After several moments of listening to the sound, Patton started to pick up on small alterations, like heavy breathing and shushing of sort. Yep, a homeless or drunk. No doubt about it. Suddenly, a shape leaped out in front of him, running in the same direction as his car. Patton froze, his voice caught in his throat. There was no way he could break into-

          “Your efforts are futile.” He heard a monotone voice call out from behind the garbage bins. He then saw what he could only perceive as a living knife launch from the same place the other shape had come from. In mere moments, the man who had started running, was now motionless on the asphalt. The other shape looked down at the body before looking up at Patton.

          Patton’s instincts finally kicked in and he turned tail to run in the opposite direction. Even in the dim light of the widely-spaced street lamps, he could tell he had made direct eye contact with whoever just attacked that other person. The sooner he made himself invisible, the better!

            “The tree line!” He thought to himself. “There! If I can make it there, then maybe- “

 Too late. He felt a harsh shove from behind has he lost his balance mid-stride, falling onto his chest. He then felt a hand grasp his face, some kind of cloth covering his mouth. He took in a deep breath to scream for help, but as soon as he did, his consciousness faded into an almost peaceful oblivion.

 “That was close.” Logan silently scolded himself as he carried Patton on his shoulders back to the body of Orlando. “How could I have let a witness run so far away from the execution site? Utterly useless. I must increase my intake, it seems.”

 He lit the body ablaze and covered his tracks. Every grain of sand out of place was corrected. He was never there. The only thing now was to decide what to do with the witness he had captured. He adjusted his glasses, sighing. It would slow down his current plan, but in order to make it more secure, he would just have to be patient and take the witness into his care. Perhaps he could reason with him, or at least keep him in a place that he wouldn’t cause any trouble.

 …

 Patton woke up in a very awkward position. Both his hands and his ankles were restrained, and he immediately noticed that the hearing on the right side of his head had gone blank.

“N-no… this can’t be real.” He started to feel tears well up in his eyes. “This is just a bad dream… I’m at home safe w-with my rosebush… please, please let it be a dream.”

 “Ah, you’re finally awake.” A chillingly monotone voice sounded from the other side of the room.

 “Wh-what do you want from me?!” Patton blurted out, making an attempt to sound brave and failing somewhat.

 “I don’t want anything from you, good sir… in fact, it’s rather a shame that you had to bear witness to my execution. I do not enjoy this situation any more than you do.” Logan stayed sitting on the opposite side of the room.

 As Patton’s eyes adjusted, he saw a lean, tall figure sat against the few steps that lined the entrance to a hallway just behind him leading into the room. He had milky white skin and clear blue veins running along his arms and legs. Despite the hostility he had seen at his hand, Logan’s face was strangely calm, his eyes grey behind his glasses. The rest of his attire was simply a black suit and pants, fitting his body as tight was possible. No part of his clothing was loose on him. Just as jet black as his attire, his hair was neatly combed back.

 “That being said, I hope we can come to an agreement that benefits both parties.” His grey eyes pierced into Patton’s, reflecting all the apathy the rest of Patton’s left drew to him.

 No one really cared about him… he had no friends… no family other than his brother who hardly visited… no one was coming to save him… he was going to die here.

Logan’s posture stiffened at the sound coming out of Patton.

 “Like heck! I’m not trusting a word you say!” Patton screamed, tears streaming down his face.

 Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew this would be an issue… I probably should explain myself…”  

 “No! I am not listening to ANYTHING you have to stay!” Patton’s heart burned with the knowledge that this man could do whatever he wanted to him. He started pulling on his restraints.

 “You know that’s not going to work… I wish I could’ve avoided the restraints, but how else am I supposed to keep her here safely?” Logan got up, slowly walking toward the struggling man before him.

 It was almost hard for Logan to look into his prisoner’s eyes. They were so bright and full of passion and emotion, even behind his contact lenses. His bright blue eyes kindly reflected off of his matching blue t-shirt, also blending well with his worn-out jeans. His bright blonde hair nearly blinded the criminal as he approached, wavy and tangled.

 “Why not just let me go then?! S-stay away from me! Don’t get any closer!” Patton struggled harder as Logan got closer.

 “Calm your nerves, you wiggling worm… I need to ask you a question.” Logan sat down next to the bed Patton was tied to.

“Well, I have nothing better to do. Ask away!” Patton called sarcastically. A small hope inside him told him that if he kept acting tough and hiding just how scared he was, he might be able to find a way out.

 “Is this correct?” Logan held up an ear aid.

 “What do you mean is it correct?” Patton scoffed.

 “Is it the right model? After cleaning up, I realized an ear aid had been knocked out of your head. However, when I found it, it had been broken. I did my best to judge what model it was so I could get another for you. Is this the correct model?” Logan’s monotone voice didn’t help Patton’s mood, however his question did puzzle him.

 “Th-that is the correct model, yes. Why?” Patton looked up at the figure who almost had to look away from his bright cyan blue eyes.

 “Good. I will momentarily untie one of your restraints so you can manually place the ear aid in. As well as take out your contacts. I’m aware they can be painful if you sleep in them.” Logan’s voice changed just a little bit in that moment, and that little bit was all it took.

 “O-okay…” Patton’s body went limp as Logan undid one of his restraints.

 “And no trying to escape, or I’ll knock you out again.” Logan watched him closely as Patton adjusted both his hearing aids and took out his contacts, relaxing significantly from the lack of pain. Afterwards, Logan tied him up again.

“So, are there any bathroom breaks here?” Patton asked sheepishly.

 “Yes. But I’ll only release you if we can gain a mutual sense trust… You see I only restrained you to keep you safe. This is the only place I could keep you from spreading knowledge of my existence. All of these hallways behind me are open to the front door, but they’re all rigged with traps that only I know how to navigate around. This was only set up for defensive measures, but I cannot turn them off now, so they also act a hinderance to your escape. If you were to try and escape, many of those traps would cause you extreme pain, and, in full honesty, I don’t want that.” Logan tapped his chin in thought.

 “Something’s not making sense here.” Patton finally spoke after a long silence. “How come you don’t want to hurt me when you hurt that other person?”

 “That low-life scum can barely be considered a person…” Logan’s voice grew heavy with anger. “Sh-shit!”

 Patton turned to look at his captor to find a surprising sight. Logan, was bent over with a hand firmly pressed to his head. “Damn, it’s wearing off faster!” The criminal rushed over to the opposite side of the room, taking out a syringe.

 Patton watched in horror as Logan plunged the needle into his skin and quickly injected himself, his tenses muscles going lax again. Patton saw, for a brief moment, color in Logan’s eyes before it changed back to the grey he had know for the past fifteen minutes.

 “I apologize for the interruption. But unbeknownst to you, there’s a great difference between you and the man I killed. I would go into detail, but I have an inkling it might disturb you, so until we are better acquainted, I see no reason to explain.” Logan’s posture loosened further. “I should probably start with my name. My name is Logan, and I’ve been on the hunt for a specific group of individuals. The one you saw me take out was one of those individuals.”

 Patton felt odd staring at this man… could even call him that? This THING?

 “Well, my name is Patton, and I’ve been on the hunt for a meaningful life.” He chuckled sadly.

 “What’s funny?” Logan cocked his head.

 “Oh, it was a joke! I like to tell them a lot…”

 “A… joke…” Logan appeared to be lost on what Patton was describing.

 “Yeah. You tell it to people you care about to make them laugh and smile…” Patton looked away from Logan’s eyes, afraid he would become equally apathetic if he continued to stare.

 “And what about searching for a meaningful life is funny?” Logan tapped his chin in thought with a perplexed expression, looking at the ceiling.

 “Oh wait… of course this guy’s not going to understand jokes! He’s a complete psychopath! I need to figure out how to get out of here! He said he would give me access to a bathroom once we gained mutual trust for each other. So, if I pretend to trust him, he might trust me and warrant me access to the bathroom. But the bathroom probably doesn’t have any escape routes. If there isn’t a window or a vent… I might be stuck… unless… he’s lying about the hallways! He must think I’m stupid… if there’s no chance of escape in the bathroom, I’ll abide by his rules until he gets sleepy or needs another one of those needles. Yes! Flawless plan!”

 “I realized that you’re smiling. Is something funny? Did I unknowingly… tell a… joke?” It took Logan a moment to think of the word again.

 “Oh no… I was just thinking about a joke one of my friends told me a couple days ago…” Patton lied.

 “Oh? A memory can make you smile… I forgot that…” Logan looked down at the floor. “Thank you for reminding me.”

 After a few more moments of awkward silence and Patton trying to avoid the gaze of the mad man, his stomach growled loudly.

 “Dammit stomach! This is not the time to be complaining!”

 “Ah, I assumed you would need sustenance before long… luckily I was able to grab some ramen from the store. I know from experience that it’s very filling, if not a little bland in taste. I’ll prepare some…” Logan turned his back to Patton getting a stove heated up.

 “Oh no! I can’t eat anything that monster gives me! It could be poisoned, or laced with something to make me be truthful with him! But if I don’t eat soon, I might start thinking illogically… m-maybe I already am! Dammit, Patton why did you skip your last break last night??”

“To put all doubts to rest, I will also eat from the same brewed pot of ramen… I apologize for the lack of nutrients in this specific dish. But hopefully, if everything goes according to plan, one meal is all you’ll need…” Logan turned around, giving full view of the pot of ramen, stirring it around.

 “Oh Jesus, he’s going to kill me! According to plan?? Only one meal?? That has to be it!”

 “A-and what plan would that be?” The captive muttered nervously, eyeing the noodles like he would a loaded gun.

 “Ah, my apologies. Allow me to explain after I’ve finished undoing your cuffs.” Patton violently flinched away from the criminal as he undid all of his bonds. “Come sit with me, Patton…”

 There was… a hitch in his voice for some reason. Patton couldn’t tell why, but Logan’s perfectly monotone dialogue had broken, just for a second, but he noticed…

 He sat down stiffly on the other side of the pot as Logan poured each half of the brew into their bowls. He took the first bite, fully knowing that Patton wouldn’t eat unless he was certain that the food was safe.

 “Maybe he built up an immunity a poison he put in the brew… ahhh but it smells so good! I can’t get distracted! Think, Patton! Think…”

 Logan continued to eat as Patton played with his food, his thoughts racing. After he had finished the whole bowl, he just sat and stared at Patton, waiting patiently for him to trust the noodles. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity to Patton, he finally took a bite. He had no way of telling time, but from his judgement, Logan would’ve shown some signs of discomfort if the noodles had been poisoned. It was just a risk he’d have to take, considering, just how badly he needed the food. But he also needed something else.

 “M-may I use the restroom?” He asked, looking away from Logan’s piercing eyes.

 “I suppose I have no reason not to trust you in this moment, and you trusted me enough to eat what I made for you. How about a compromise? My original offer was to free you of your cuffs without feeling the need to restrain you again… while also giving you free access to the bathroom… but since I can’t fully trust you in moments to come, even if I can trust you now, I’ll give you access to the restroom but restrain you afterwards, though I’ll make sure your restraints aren’t as tight this time…” Logan explained, eyeing the bruises on Patton’s hands.

 “O-okay… and where is the bathroom?” He was shaking a little.

 “Just to your left. It’s not the most luxurious, but is serves its purpose.” Logan hadn’t even finished his sentence, before the door to the restroom was slammed shut. “I suppose I should clean up this mess…”

 “Dammit! No windows or vents! This room is an oven!” Patton thought to himself while doing his business. “It certainly isn’t a good restroom, but it’s a clean one… and right now, I’m in no place to complain… these walls are pretty thick, he probably can’t hear what I’m doing… meaning, if I hurry, he might not be prepared for me to make an escape. The longer I wait, the more he’ll expect me to come out. Better make this quick!”

 Patton slowly opened the door and peeked out at Logan, who was occupied washing the dishes they had just eaten from. He had blue eyes again… why did he look so… sad? Patton felt the smallest pang of sympathy for his kidnapper, despite everything. He’d soon need another syringe that made his eyes turn grey again. Some kind of drug. His posture was looser and his normally expressionless face was bent in a look of grief.

 “I- is he shaking?” Patton squinted. He could see long-range distance just fine, but movement was a little hard, but he swore, he could see his captor, shaking in place uncontrollably. Enough, he had to get out of there, NOW.

 Patton dashed for the hallway entrance just next to the kitchen, side closest to him. Logan noticed the movement right away, and try as he might, he couldn’t move fast to block the blonde from what he knew was going to happen.

 “AHHHH!!!” Patton screamed bloody murder as an improvised bear trap snapped around his right leg, dragging him down to the ground. He laid there, whimpering on the ground.

 “You stupid son of a bitch!” Logan ran up to him, quickly carrying him back to the main room. “What made you think I was lying about my traps?? Damn you, I was trying to do something good for once and you had to go and make such a stupid move!” He laid Patton down as he cried openly, unable to take the pain.

 He quickly ripped off the bear trap and started to examine his leg.

 “D-don’t touch me! It hurts! It hurts…” Patton sobbed, unable to move as Logan pressed different parts of his leg.

“Okay, it didn’t break any bones, but your muscle and tissue are severely damaged… I didn’t design that thing to break through bone, but I never tested it before, so that’s a relief… Now all that’s there to do is bandage your poor leg…” Logan quickly wrapped up the wound, adding on several straps of ice to help ease the pain. He then laid Patton back in the bed. “You just made things ten times harder for both you AND me!”

            Patton looked up fearfully to see Logan’s bold, indigo eyes starting back at him, his booming voice scolding him. Yet, strangely enough, Patton felt an odd sense of relief. Logan’s colorful eyes and evidently angry voice gave the criminal emotion. The blonde would rather have his kidnapper yell at him, than stare at him coldly from across the room. Logan then cried out in pain, grabbing his head again.

            “DAMN! This is YOUR fault! Now I’m even having problems with my CURE!” He hurried back to his cabinet to take another syringe, wincing harshly as the drug made its way into his body, before taking a deep exhale, relaxing significantly, as his eyes started to turn back to the void-ish grey that Patton had come to hate.

 “I apologize for my outburst… there will need to be a change of plan due to your foolish refusal to heed my warning about my security system…” Aaaand there’s that awful monotone voice again.

 Just then a figure burst into the room from the hallway, several bruises and scratches on him.

 “EVERYONE FREEZE!” He held up his gun at both Logan and Patton, who put their hands up. It was a police officer!

 As Roman pointed the barrel toward the uninjured suspect, he nearly dropped it.

 “L-Logan…? What happened to you?”

To be continued...

 @imflynn  @boba-and-doughnuts @tottalynotgayatall

[ghostdummieideas]

A Grave Mistake 1/?

I wanted to write a comedic series involving a graveyard worker and Mary Goore. I don’t know how long this will be, but enjoy. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a desperate need to pick up a job before your last semester, you committed to any PM shift available on the posting. Your previous supervisor refused to adjust your shift to your school schedule. Thus, you had to part ways to prioritize your education. The only problem was the fact that you require money to survive, and out of the ten work postings you applied for, one replied: A position in maintaining and watching over the local cemetery. 

Your first impression of your boss isn’t outstanding, either. An unwelcoming, scowling man with a cue ball head and stained uniform. He didn’t even look up at you from his security monitors, just jabbed his thumb over this shoulder.

“Even out the gravel, kid,” he grunted. Your eyes followed his gesture to locate a rusty rake and a headlamp hanging from one of the many hooks. You shuffled over to the corner and snagged the headband, then grasped the rough handle of the appliance and took the tool off the hook. 

“Wear the jacket before you go.” 

You turned back towards your new boss to see him now pointing to the coat hanger next to the office door, bearing a crusty-looking trench coat. Without another word, you grabbed the article of clothing and ventured out into the chilly outdoors.

The extra layer of the trench coat provided little to no aid into blocking the frigid winds swirling around you. You stuffed your free hand into the pocket, pausing when your hand met with plastic. You grasped the unknown item in your hand and brought it in front of you. A plastic bag with draw strings attached to the lip of the liner. “That’s nice of him,” you mumbled to yourself. ‘This will make the disposal process easier.’

Buzzing from the ancient lamps that flanked the gravel walkway illuminated with a pale glow. Rustles of dead leaves created a lullaby people could only find during this time of year. A sigh escaped your lips as you contemplated your options.

‘I’ll start around the outer perimeter, then work my way in towards the mausoleums,’ you thought.

You took your time to walk to the entryway of the burial ground, pushing aside piles of wilted leaves from the main path. The buzz of electricity and faint noise of the city beyond the iron gates provided the perfect white noise. Another gust of wind swept past you.

‘There are worse jobs out there, right?’ became your mantra, and you repeated it in your head whenever you felt a little spooked.

  Your efforts in clearing the property quickly become visible. The once-obscured trail was now in sight after just a few hours’ worth of work. Without warning, a crash interrupted your work to push through the decaying fauna. You stopped your labor to find the source of the mysterious noise.

Shing

Pssh

Fump

With a glance around the area, you searched for any source of the ruckus. With no luck, you cautiously moved forward through the cemetery, trying to find whatever’s making that weird noise. There’s no mistake, you weren’t the only one in the gravesite. No way would a possum or a racoon cause that much of a disturbance.

‘What the hell is that?’ you wonder, anxiety spiking your pulse. You raise the rake from the crumbling earth to follow the commotion, deviating from the path and proceeding into the dark. The closer you stepped into the graveyard, the louder the sound of metal scraping mud became. You stopped for a moment to shut off your head lamp. The light would only alert the source of the noise to your location. Your steps eclipsed by the shadows, you steal deeper into the cemetery. The moonlight assisted your journey to the mystery that lies ahead. 

‘Am I in a cliché horror movie? Ha, good one, me. I’ll run into some kind of murder and scream myself to death!’

The self-deprecating humor failed to extinguish the knot that had formed in your gut. As you looked up from your path, a moving shape caught your attention. In the near darkness, you can barely make out the silhouette of a male with fitted clothes hugging his outline, the handle of a shovel in his grasp. The cadence of the shovel’s blade meeting the moist terrain echoed with his motions.

With grace, you noiselessly crouch behind a gravestone without alerting the stranger of your presence. You gently put the equipment right next to you so it won’t appear in his view. 

With a better vantage point, you can make the stranger’s features in the moonlight. Leather cuffs adorned his lean arms. A grime-covered shirt and torn jeans hugged his frame. Raven black hair draped to the front of his face. 

‘I-is that blood??’ you asked yourself as you spy the specs of maroon painted on the side of the unknown figure’s skin.

‘Why is he digging at a gravesite in this hour? Is he graverobbing? Fuck, boss never gave me a protocol for this problem.’ Your mind filled with the plausible solution to this problem. Should you dash to the office and tell that prune what’s happening? Wouldn’t he have seen this guy trespassing on the security feed?

With your knees aching from crouching to remain hidden, you went to adjust your footing to find a comfortable position. 

CrACK

‘Oh, fuck’ you internally screamed at yourself as your foot breaks a rogue stick. 

The man halted his movement. Lifting himself upright from his excavation, he patrolled his surroundings. As he scanned the cemetery, you ducked to get out of his sight. In a state of frenzy, you didn’t know what the best choice was. Run? Wait for him to dig again so he’s too distracted to witness you scurrying away?

The sound of crunching leaves was getting closer and pulled you out of your thoughts. You pressed yourself against the icy marble and prayed that he doesn't catch you stumbling onto his grim activity. His footsteps stopped and you couldn't breathe. 'Please turn back, please turn back, please turn back,' you pleaded over and over again in your mind. From the corner of your eye, you saw a scrawny hand reach over the block of stone that hid your body.

The silhouette of the unwanted guest’s shadow loomed over you. Glancing to your right, you could see mud-caked boots. You scanned up to see the enigmatic man glowering down at your petrified figure. His devilish grin complemented the crimson fluid flowing from his forehead. The moonlight cast a haunting look on his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. He looks like a walking corpse. The living dead. His manic looking face came closer to yours. 

“Boo.”

Using whatever strength you have, your nails dug into the pile of leaves and threw the concoction of dirt, pebbles, and sticks at the man. A distressed grunt and the sound of shuffling let you know you had your chance. You scrambled to your feet and made a mad dash from the walking corpse, your shrieks of distress echoing through the silent field. One hand held down the first layer of coating while the other dug  to find the lanyard containing your assortment of keys.

With a goal in mind, you ran past the iron gates, rushing out of the cemetery and into the parking lot. With your beat up Toyota in view, you slowed your dash to a jog. You did a double take to figure if they followed you. You couldn't see him, but you could hear the crunching of leaves from the direction you came. Yanking your lanyard out of the pocket of your coat, you arrived at the driver’s side of the vehicle. Pressing the unlock button, the sound of your door unlocking never sounded so sweet until this moment. Ripping open the door, you slide in and close it right behind you. You scanned the entrance to see any signs of the chaser. On cue, the man collided with the cemetery gate, gripping the bars as he tried to catch his breath.

When the key aligned with the slot, you revved the engine to life. Without looking back, you threw the car in reverse and sped towards the parking entrance. You drove until you found the first public parking space. You maneuver into the spot closest to the illuminated building. Setting the gear to park, you allowed your body to release the tension in your shoulders. The adrenaline started to wear off, and the dam broke. A whimper grew into a sob. Your palms covered your eyes as you crashed from the anxiety-inducing event.

‘Who was that guy?’

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 18)

Azula had blown it. She had gone there to track them down and came away with nothing but heartbreak and repressed memories. She curls up on the bed and wonders how long it will take before they tire of her. Before they finally stop coddling her and demand that she gets on with her life. When they will tell her to get a job and stop taking up space in their infirmary.

And yet she can’t get herself out of bed. Fresh out of fury for revenge, she has no reason to do so. Nobody to get up for and, by Agni, she doesn’t want to get close to anyone. Not ever again. Not when they will be taken from her or grow to resent her upon finding out who she is. Hajime and Atsu were rare gems, she can’t imagine that she will come by anyone else who would be willing to accept her. She isn’t sure that she wants them to.

She knows for certain that they have no more compassion or patience for her a few days later when they inform her that they need bed space for several new patients. When they offer her only shrugs and pitying looks when she asks where she can go.

Life becomes so terribly unbearable after that. It was hard to cope with before.

Now, people don’t even look at her. They go out of their way to pretend not to see the pathetic, shivering, dirty woman asking for a place to stay or something to eat. They put an effort into taking no notice of the ratty woman infested in body with lice and in spirit with survivors guilt.

With any luck, she won’t be a survivor for long. There is only so much a survivor can survive before the instinct burns out.

There is just enough of a flicker of that instinct for her to seek out a job, a way to make some coin. But the people of Chin know her too well already; they know that she is crazed and dirty. They have no interest in working with someone who’d earned a reputation for hallucinating a healthy pregnancy.

She still feels the kicks.  She still hears the cries. She now knows...accepts that they aren’t real. But she still covers her ears.

They avoid her with all of the effort they put into avoiding those afflicted with disease. That is the company Azula keeps now. On occasion she talks to the lepers and those with smallpox. She keeps her distance mostly conversing from the opposite end of the alley, though she doesn’t particularly care if she falls ill herself.

They are nice enough but she doesn’t get attached; their time is short.

Go-Hara is her favorite among them. Her face is swollen and bumpy, her hands puffy and disfigured. She has less time than the rest of them. Allegedly, she has been afflicted with leprosy since early teenhood.

Not a soul has spoken to Go-Hara, so she claimed, not until her. “You’re not afraid?”  She had asked.

“Not at all.”

“I am a monster.” The woman had brought those puffy hands to her lumpy face.

“No more than me.” Azula had declared, though her rot and ugliness comes entirely from within.

Go-Hara had laughed, hoarse and unpleasant, more like a death rattle than a chuckle. Right after Atsu’s screams and Hajime’s last breath, it is the worst sound she has ever heard. “Pretty girl, you are. Pretty face…”

“So what?”

She laughed again.

“I’m not afraid of monsters because I’m one of them.” She had thought of Hajime of how he’d always reassured her whenever the doubts had crept in. She hurt all over again, thrice over.

“You don’t fear the disease?”

“I wish it would take me.” She had said. Azula knew that Go-Hara was worth speaking to when the woman laughed at this too. She still isn’t sure of exactly what was so funny about her death wish.

Today, she sits at the other end of the alley and tosses Go-Hara one of the mangos she had snatched from one of the traveling merchants. “Come closer.” Azula demands.

“I will not.” Go-Hara says again. Azula is still leprosy free and to no credit of her own. Go-Hara avoids close proximity with her as though she is the leper and not the other way around. The woman bites into the mago. “Very good. Thank you.”

Azula nods. Sometimes it is a silent day, they will just sit at opposite ends of the alley and enjoy having the company. When Azula finds herself staring up at the sky she knows that today is a silent day.

That is fine with her, she doesn’t have much to say anyways. But apparently, Go-Hara has different intentions. “Can I tell you about my family before they abandoned me?”

“Go ahead.” She is a seasoned listener after enduring so many after work dinners with old man Ojihara. It dawns upon her that she misses his irrelevant boyhood tales. “Please, go ahead.”

And Go-Hara does. It is very different from Ojihara’s tales. The old man was all logic and lessons--each of his tales ended with some sort of cautionary lesson; don’t go hippo-cow tipping because it isn’t as funny and lighthearted as many young folk think it is, stealing possum-chicken isn’t a funny prank either.

Go-Hara’s stories are all whimsical and nonsensical. Oftentimes they have no point and Azula wonders if they really happened at all. She supposes that, that is why she enjoys them so well.

Sometimes it is nice to hear about something so absurd that it has to be true despite such surreal overtones. She can very easily see a pre-teen Go-Hara making her way into a badger-mole den and causing a stampede of singing gophers.  

“Your turn!” She declares when her story is through.

“My turn?”

“Humor me. Tell an old woman a story. It doesn’t even have to be true.”

And because her time is so short anyways, Azula tells her a story. She tells her a story about a fire princess who could have been something remarkable.   Go-Hara mentions it to no one else. Azula hadn’t expected her to.

That day she learns that some of the best people are the shunned people.

.oOo.

Sokka isn’t sure what to make of it. He has been analyzing and overthinking their conversation for hours now. He is almost certain that she had implied, several times, that she is in love with him, or at the very least, that she is getting there.

And he thinks that, that is a fragile place to be with her.

He finds her in the garden again. He is fairly certain that she is just out there to be out there, he can’t imagine that the seeds would have sprouted that fast even with the palace’s rich soil.

“Hey.” He greets.

Azula turns her head. “You’re up early.”

He shrugs. “I get the prettiest views in the morning.”

“You’re welcome.” Azula replies.

“I was talking about the--”

“Princess of the Fire Nation?” She interrupts. “I know.”

He laughs, he is glad to find her in better spirits. Her gaze is fixed upon the gold-blue of the sunrise as it throws shadows over the garden. “We should add strawberries to the garden.”

“Strawberries?” She quirks a brow. “Next to the turnips? Sokka, that make no sense.”

“It’s your garden, you can arrange it how you want to.”

“Yes.” Azula agrees. “And I would like to keep the fruits with the fruits and the vegetables with the vegetables.”

“Or you can spice it up and lay it out in a fruit, vegetable pattern.”

Azula shakes her head. “I know that there aren’t any crops in the tribes but I think that it is common sense, that the fruits and vegetables are kept separately.”

“Can you say that with confidence?”

Azula nods. “I’ve traveled to various parts of the Earth Kingdom and have passed many farms. Not one of them arranged their crops in a fruit, vegetable pattern. It is because they know that that’s a ridiculous idea.” She adds for good measure.

“Alright fine, we’ll put the strawberries all the way on the other side of the palace. Happy?”

Azula shakes her head, “that is too much unnecessary walking. Optimally the strawberries would be placed…”

He had forgotten how carefully she likes to lay out every detail. How concise even some of the most trivial things must be. But then he might not have truly know that to begin with, he has only heard Zuko mention it on occasion.

“And that’s why it’s important to keep the strawberries near the watermelons.”

He flushes, realizing that he hadn’t been listening at all. Though he isn’t entirely confident that strawberries and watermelons have the same growing season. “Azula, can you answer something honestly?”

She nods.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

She thinks for a moment. “Not entirely. Seukhyun usually helped me with my gardens. I can’t quite remember everything he was trying to tell me about it.” She pauses. “I suppose I can ask the palace gardner…”

“Or we can figure it out together through trial and error. Don’t you think that, that would be funner.”

.oOo.

She supposes that it could be. She’d had a nice time the last few times that he’d taken her somewhere new. Spontaneity isn’t exactly her first choice but it has its merits. “That’s a strange way of asking if you have permission to plant your strawberries next to my turnips.”

He bursts out laughing again. The sort of barking laugh that includes holding his hands to his belly until the fit passes. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. She didn’t think it was that funny. “So is that a yes?”

Azula sighs, “fine. But only because I can shift the blame to you if my turnips don’t turn out well.”

It is quite therapeutic to do garden work. She thinks that if they had let her give it a try at the institution that she might have received it better. But then, she wasn’t exactly ready for something like that then. At that point, gardening was still entirely a peasant’s work. She supposes that it kind of still is. And she knows it by the curious looks she is given throughout the day, particularly when she re-enters the palace with muddy pants and dirt smudged hands and cheeks.

“New hobby?” Zuko asks.

Azula nods.

“I remember when you were burning things in the palace garden for being ugly.”

“My garden is going to be too pretty to set on fire.” She declares. “I have come inside for lunch and tea.”

“It’s almost ready.” Zuko smiles.

“Where are Mai and TyLee?”

“They went for a stroll around the capital. Where’d Sokka go off to?”

“He’s on his way inside.”

“You’ve gotten...close.” He notes.

“Yes.” She replies. “What of it?”

.oOo.

He shrugs as he sets out a few teacups, “I guess that it’s just nice to see that you’re making friends. It’s just…” he trails off. It’s strange. Surreal. Unexpected among other things. It isn’t the bad sort of strange and unexpected, not that he can see. In fact it is very much a relief to know that he won’t have to listen to constant bickering and mediate between she and everyone else.

Generally, she seems like she is doing significantly better.

“Did you finish reading it?”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots. “Almost.” He replies. Truth be told he has been hesitating to finish reading the journal. He knows already what is going to happen, he just isn’t ready for it. Doesn’t want to know the details and the how’s. Atsu is...was a sweet boy and he doesn’t want to flip the page only to find that he has died.

Agni, if he can’t even read it… He looks at his sister. At the scars on her neck and the very subtle bags under her eyes. He can’t even begin to fathom it.

She takes her teacup and cradles it in her hands the way she always had since they were kids. Sokka walks into the room and suddenly her eyes don’t seem so weary and tired. “I’m glad that you’re doing better.” He says finally.

Azula nods, “thank you.”

Sokka comes to stand in front of her, “you got dirt all over your face!” He declares boldly. “Let me just…”

She takes one look at his hands and grumbles, “Sokka, don’t you dare.”

Despite her protests, Sokka rubs the dirt from her cheek. By rubs, Zuko meant smears. He doesn’t just smear the dirt, Zuko thinks that he has added more to. His suspicions are confirmed at the crinkling of Azula’s nose.

“Zuzu, come here.”

Zuko steps closer. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. She takes his sleeve, his lavish Fire Lord regalia and rubs her cheek clean. “Better, thank you.” She remarks.

[goatkingwc]

CONSUMED THE FIRE - Episode 001 of GKWC

GOAT KING WRITERS CLUB, The loosest storytelling Podcast in all the land, were we don’t let Grammar get in the way of a good yarn.

CONSUMED by Nathan Hull

I had been typing frantically for hours, maybe even days. The never ending task of reporting the news consumed me.

Word after word, it was nothing but a blur of letters on the screen. I don't think i glanced away for a second. I was deep into my work, hands trembling from near exhaustion. The second bottle of house brand scotch two thirds empty, seven packs of cigarettes down. Light trickled in through the slit in my curtains signaling the start of another day. It didn't matter to me time had lost all meaning.

I sent the article through to my editer and demanded another job, ignoring his pleas  for me to slow down "Just send through the fucking assignment" I yelled down the phone, knocking the bottle of scotch from my desk. The frustration almost over flowing into frenzy I stormed out of my small home office into the filthy kitchen adjacent.

Upon entering a pain I'd never felt before shot through me, i ignored it and swung the fridge door open, grasping at the six pack of beer sitting alone on the shelf. I stumbled back dizzy before falling into oblivion. It felt like the floor had disappeared I heard the bottles smash but felt nothing at all, just a calming warm sensation pulling me gently into slumber, a peaceful darkness replaced the manic flashing of ideas that had been fueling me for far to long.

 I awoke to silence and the bright florence lights of a hospital ward beaming obnoxiously into my eyes. I had snapped, trying to finish a never ending task is a sure fire short cut to madness and apparently I had reached that level. The Dr explained that I had collapsed due to sever exhaustion and that a dangerously large mixture of alcohol and prescription grade amphetamines had been reported in my system. He gave me a stern lecture and ordered I rest up for some time to come.

I begrudgingly took his advice and relaxed with the days News Paper skipping through the first few pages like a book I had read many times before. At page eleven however I stopped a small laugh burst through my lips, there it was the most ironic thing I had ever seen. A small article titled "Local journalists dangerous decent into chaos" a two hundred word piece about yours truly.i smiled, how beautiful it was, i had been so consumed by the news that eventually, i had become the news.

THE FIRE by Sean Conway

The fire is burning through the bush quicker than I was expecting, the heat is not the most fearful part but the thunderous noise of the wood burning, sounds like a thousand cat of nine tails cracking all around us.

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT, WHY DID YOU ASH ON THE GROUND” Devon, the lippy British back packer bellowed “it’s just a little bit of fire mate, relax” I replied reassuring him through my tears unconvincingly. “WE’RE GOING TO DIE, WE’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE” Devon kept screaming in an urgent cry. Jesus Christ this back packer has not stopped complaining since I met him at the hostel, I wanted to tell him to fuck off but I had more important things to worry about, like getting out of this mess and suing the tobacco companies and the government’s cigarette pack warnings for not once making me aware of the potential for bush fires by their product. They literally have warnings for everything else except the one thing that can kill you immediately.

Ah man when I sue these political fat cats I’m totally going to buy a sweet double storey house with my winnings, I imagine suing for Bush fire warnings would be a landmark legal case, I’d probably make the front page of the Newspaper. I might even have enough money left over to buy a chrome Lamborghini, fuck yeah that would be sweet!

“WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET OUT OF HERE?” cried out Devon waking me from my daydream and bringing me back to this deadly reality.

This whole waiting around to die must be playing with my head because I have never thought this before and it seems weird thinking this now, but fire is hot, like ridiculously hot. I looked over to Devon as he continued frantically searching for a way out of the path of the fire “Hey Devon, how hots this fire ah” I said as it fell on Devon’s deaf ears, he blatantly ignored my observation. Sure these are dyer times but that doesn’t mean you have to be rude.

I guess Devon is done searching for a way out because he is collapsed into a ball on the ground “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die OH MY GOD I DON’T WANT TO DIE” Devon screamed over dramatically to the skies like a soap opera star, fuck his voice is annoying.

The situation is becoming increasingly stressful and the anxiety is starting to get to me, I really need a cigarette but knowing Devon he’s probably going to have a bitch and moan about it, but fuck him I paid $50 for these Winnie Reds and I’ve only smoked one. I am not going to die letting a perfectly good packet of cigarettes go to waste.

Reaching into my pocket trying to retrieve my lighter without Devon noticing, Jesus where the fuck is it? Are you serious? in all the commotion I must have lost it. It’s moments like this that make me appreciate how crazy and random the world is sometimes, we’re literally surrounded by fire and if we weren’t on the verge of being burnt alive in this hell hole I would consider myself lucky.

The first breath of that sweet sweet Winnie red is always my favourite, it’s almost magical how that first intoxicating breath can make even the most terrifying situation bearable “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS CUNT? YOU’RE SMOKING! YOU’RE SMOKING!” Devon screamed as he rose from the ground with murderous rage “Do you Poms do anything other than fucking complain” I belched back through a cloud of Winnie Red Smoke. I’m really sick of his whinging, I would have given him a piece of my mind but I was too busy trying to do the maths in my head on how long it would take for me to smoke all these cigarettes before the fire consumed us, but before I could figure out the answer Devon’s hands stained from fake tan are wrapped around my throat. “What are you doing?” I gargled, the heat of the fire made his hands super sweaty, It feels like an eel and smells like coco butter, two things I despise especially when they are crushing my wind pipe. “Get off me Devon, your hands are sweaty and gross” I said chokingly and wishing I said something tougher “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU” Devon spat in a salvia filled scream. Man I wished I had said something cool like that rather than your hands are sweaty and gross. I should really fight back but what’s the point, this will probably be a better way to go out, better than cooking alive in the middle of nowhere. I also think I should punch Devon in his Geordie Shore face because in these stressful times he has been a bit of a cunt, that’s how a hero would go out.

I mustered my remaining strength and clenched my fist as hard as I could and wham right in his kisser, to my surprise this worked because Devon jumped off me screaming in pain, he sounds like a dying lama “Ahahalaladahdahdal”. I must of really brought the pain for him to make such a cowardly cry.

The noise Devon is making sounds more and more pathetic, being the asshole that he is I thought he’d be use to people punching him in the head “YOU BURNT MY FACE YOU CUNT” his venomous mouth spit. I must have punched him with my cigarette still lit in my hand. Looking at the ground and seeing the remains of my crumbled cigarette infuriated me, it didn’t matter that I still have a full pack in my pocket, Fuck Devon! If I can’t beat him physically then I will have to beat him mentally, by saying the most badass line imaginable before we both disintegrate to dust “GET USED TO IT ASSHOLE! BECAUSE IN ABOUT 2 MINUTES YOU’RE GOING TO BE NOTHING BUT FUCKING ASH” I screamed aggressively but chuffed with myself for thinking of such a badass line so quickly “so will you, you fucking twat” Devon responded throwing me off my guard with his even quicker rebuttal “Yeah well, fuck you” I responded immediately knowing I had ruined the badass line prior and losing this battle of mental warfare.

Devon is celebrating his verbal stoush win by charging at me like an angry Bull in Pamplona. The thought of having Devon’s gross manky swamp hands wrapped around my throat again was what was helping me fight him off, but it was too late his uncooked sausage paws latched onto me sending shivers down my spine. The only thing going through my mind is how disgusting his sloppy hands are as I slowly fade in and out of consciousness.

The fire must be really close now because I can feel beads of sweat pour off his head from the heat, I felt Devon release his hands from my throat, I’m not sure if I’m dead but I’ll pretend I am so Devon doesn’t put his icky squid fingers around my throat to finish the job.

Playing possum was working until I was awaken by a liquid spraying on my face “AH WHAT THE FUCK DEVON ARE YOU PISSING ON ME?” how much more disgusting can this cunt get? “I’m not pissing on you look” Devon said pointing to the Heaven’s as the water started flowing down our faces like a baptism from God. “What’s happening?” I mumbled, this must be the DMT releasing into our brains because we’re dying, I listen to a lot of Joe Rogan so I’m familiar with this situation, “I don’t know I don’t know” Devon responded in his cunty British accent. The fire around us was being extinguished as the water continued raining down on us, I quickly got my Winnie reds and put them in the front of my pants so they wouldn’t get ruined by the water.

Out in the distance, through the Smokey haze I can see the flashing of blue and red lights, that could only be from fire trucks. “WE’RE SAVED, WE’RE FUCKING SAVED” Devon shouted with tears of joy and excitement. I was less excited because staring at the flashing lights of the fire trucks I came to the sudden realisation I probably didn’t have a case against the tobacco companies and the government fat cats and I was probably facing a lengthy jail sentence for negligence for starting a bush fire.

“OVER HERE OVER HERE” Devon began screaming to the fire fighters “over here over here” I screamed with a lot less enthusiasm. I’m not sure if it was the fire or the choking or the overwhelming confusion of being saved and facing a long prison sentence but something is making me woozy, like that fine line of feeling drunkenly happy to spewy drunk.

Waking up in an ambulance is not a new experience for me, but being surrounded by fire fighters and ambos looking at me like a freak show attraction is definitely an odd feeling. “So what happened, you guys have no idea how lucky you are to be alive” the Fire Department Chief said to us in a stern but congratulative voice. Lucky wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe the situation, I’m facing serious jail time, I haven’t been to prison before and wasn’t looking forward to finding out if all those prison rape stories are true. The idea of it made me more and more anxious.The only thing I could think to do was reach into the front of my undies and pull out my full pack Winnie Reds cigarettes, must look like a creep to the fire fighters and Ambos, but I’m too anxious to care “Do you have a light?” I said to the group surrounding me. The spark that was lit in front of my face didn’t do much for my anxiety but I thought it was fitting that what was potentially my last cigarette as a free man is being lit by The Fire Department Chief.

Breathing in that sweet sweet Winnie Red takes the sting out of any uncomfortable situation “So what happened out there?” The Fire Department Chief said with a controlled curiosity. I was sensing their excitement so I took a long deep breath of that Winnie Red for dramatic effect, blowing out the smoke I could feel I was giving off a real James Dean or John Wayne kind of vibe.

“Well fella’s, here’s the story”

The End

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[theangelofhorrors]

The Opossum (Deadly Premonition Fan Exchange 2019)

Summary: Polly asks York to help out with a pest problem at the hotel. It’s proving to be a little harder than catching the usual suspects.

Word Count: 1331 words

A/n: He have class, he give sass, but most importantly he scream at own ass.

Okay but seriously......

For the Deadly Premonition Fan Exchange/Secret Santa, I got @meme-queen-lucy. I heard you like opossums (a word I’m slowly still learning how to spell), so hopefully you’ll like this too. I also legit thought about making an opossum a deputy of Greenvale because I thought was something Swery would do lol. Too bad that didn’t make the final cut.

Also a special thanks to @michaeltillotson for beta-ing for me. I absoltutely appreicate anyone who takes the time to look at any of my stuff. Thank you again for helping me out. You are also the person who had set up this whole exchange thing for such a weird, niche game. This one’s for you too.

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“This isn’t what I expected when I signed up for the FBI. Isn’t that right, Zach?”

It was nearly 9 am and the rain spattered with rhythmic force against the window pane in the dining hall.

With a half empty cup of coffee, York was thinking about what Polly had said moments ago,  before they finished breakfast and she excused herself from the table.

“Agent Morgan, if it’s not too much trouble…”

“What is it, Polly?”

There was an infestation problem in the hotel.

“But don’t you worry, it’s nothing too serious.”

It was an opossum. Just the one.

“Just the one?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

She mentioned that she had spotted this particular little thing digging around the trash cans outside the hotel over the past few days. At first, she paid no attention to it. Animals never bothered Polly, especially not living in this part of the country. It reminded her of the times she and her husband had gone out on hikes through the woods many years ago. They took many photos of themselves with nature and her companions with a polaroid she still had in her possession.

However, this little rascal made it through the door.

This...could cause some issues with the hotel and its guests.

What to do…?

“Again, Agent Morgan, if it isn’t too much trouble. I’m much too old and slow to do it myself.”

“Of course, Polly. I’ll see what I can do. It’s just one possum. How hard could it be?”

Polly also made sure that he would not kill the animal once he found it.

Possums. They’re like raccoons or oversized rats. No different than any pest York had met in the city. Plus, it should be easier to catch this than any of the criminals he had pursued.  

Why didn’t I listen to you, Zach?

That was three days ago…

“Having a hard time there, Agent York?”

It was Emily. She was completing eating it up alongside lunch at the sheriff’s department.

“An agent of the bureau can’t catch one little possum.”

York rolled his eyes.

Just like grade school…

“I’m an officer of the law, Emily. I catch people, not animals. I’m not a hunter.”

“I know you’re not,” she smiled. He didn’t mind the sight of her like this, especially during this horrid investigation, but not at his expense. “But it’s pretty funny that you’re having so much trouble. Have you thought about asking for help? Maybe Thomas knows something about possums.”

Dammit, why haven’t we thought about that before?

Thomas did in fact know something about possums.

“Well, first off, it’s ‘opossum’ and not possum.”

“What’s the difference?” York shrugged.

“Only that opossums live here in North America while possums live in Australia.”

During another break in the late afternoon, near evening, Thomas went deep into detail about what he knew about them.

They are not rodents, but marsupials, and have pouches to carry their young. They have opposable thumbs and use their tails to grasp things.

“They have a vast diet too,” he mentioned, “and by that, I mean they’ll eat anything, including garbage. Every so often we get a call from someone asking if we could remove one from their trash bins.”

“I didn’t know the sheriff’s department handled animal control.”

“We don’t. We just don’t have anyone else to handle it. It’s a small town after all.”

After some further consultation, by the time the day was over and everyone had said their good nights, York was brainstorming his plan.

“I think, Zach,” he said on the drive back to the hotel, “we’ll need a trap of sorts. Maybe we could use the snacks we’ve collected in our room. We need a box or a cage or something like that…” The car neared Greenvale’s edge by the waters, the moon a bright crescent in a lonely sky.

He chuckled.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out like Mouse Trap. Remember, Zach? 1997. I’m not planning on becoming Chris Walken here.”

It was nearing 8 by the time he made it to the hotel. He greeted Polly by the front desk and asked about her day. The television playing in the background droned on about tomorrow’s forecast as she answered.

“I saw that darn opossum again. He scurried past me in the kitchen earlier today. I think I saw him go down one of the corridors here. God knows where he is now. I hope he isn’t making a mess in one of my rooms.”

“Don’t worry about it, Polly. I’ve been hatching up a plan to catch the thing. By tomorrow morning, I’ll get a trap set up.”

Naturally, Polly was delighted to hear this.

After a late dinner, York said his good night to Polly before heading to his room.

“If I have to be honest, Zach, all I can think about is whether I should shower now or in the morning.”

With a yawn and his eyelids drooping, the agent opened the door to his hotel room. He took off his suit jacket, his hands slipping out the sleeves, and went to shut the door behind him and find the light switch.

That’s when he noticed the crumbs on the floor.

He almost missed it.

They were as plain as day in the light under York’s sleepy gaze. They looked like bread or cookie crumbs and they made a trail that led to the bed, just a few feet away. Near the foot of the bed, crumbs and various other scraps of food and packaging were scattered in a mess around the suitcase he had brought his clothes in. The suitcase itself was open and on the floor. His shirts and pants were scattered, thrown around the floor. 

By now, York was wide awake, gun in hand.

Each careful step warranted a wide sweep of the eyes across every possible hiding place.

A hotel room is an odd place to rob. Not to mention the fact that nothing looked to be stolen. The only item that was out of place was the suitcase. Nothing else was opened or turned over. What was the motive behind this strange crime scene?

There was a squeak, like one of a small animal, and York’s arm snapped forward, hands ready to fire his gun. 

By the far side of the bed, near the windows, one of his shirts had piled up. However, there was something hiding underneath it. It was rising and falling, like the rhythm of someone’s breath.

With a nimble hand, the other remaining on the gun, he went to pluck the shirt away.

There in the open was the opossum. And he appeared to be asleep.

That, or he had eaten too much, and was or on the verge of passing out in front of the agent in his own room. He laid on his side, little pink paws outstretched, tail curled against him, and tongue out on the floor, drooling himself a pool of spit. His eyes were half open, and his ears twitched every so often.

“Well, Zach,” York sighed, putting his gun back in his holster, “looks like we found the little rascal.”

Despite himself, York poked the animal with a pen from his pocket. He obviously wasn’t dead, but he definitely wasn’t quite conscious. He let out another squeak upon contact with the pen.

“He must have found my stash of snacks. That’s what I get for hiding them in my suitcase. Better call Thomas.”

He got up and headed for the phone.

The opossum remained where he was and continued his nap on the floor, gurgling into his little puddle of drool, while York dialled.

[mythicallore]

Encounter with Pale Humanoids

Among the many strange encounters in the world of the paranormal, there are often those that serve to be particularly baffling. These are the cases that hover out beyond our ability to really classify them or put a name to them. Are they ghosts, mysterious animals, aliens, or what? No answers are clear in such accounts, and they lurk out there in the periphery of the fringe. Among these bizarre accounts are tales from all over of what appear to be some sort of thin, pale beings, often hunched over, crouching, and crawling, that have come to be collectively known as “Pale Crawlers,” and which are every bit as creepy as you might imagine.

Probably one of the most well-known cases of these odd entities is that of what have come to be called the Fresno Nightcrawlers. The first account of these truly bizarre and unidentifiable creatures surfaced in the 1990s, when a video came forward showing something very strange indeed lurking about in the area of Fresno, California. There was a family who were concerned about trespassers on their property, as their dogs had begun to bark out into the darkness nearly every night, and this prompted them to install a security camera outside by their garage, facing the front lawn.

That next morning after they set up the camera they were in for quite a shock, as there in the video was a pair of pale beings a few feet in height, with no discernible arms and two long, spindly, almost stilt-like legs that appear to bend backwards. Interestingly, there seems to be some sort of fabric flapping around the legs, drawing many comparisons to a pair of disembodied walking pants. In the footage the creatures smoothly and fluidly move across the front lawn and out of view, and that’s that. You can see the footage here.

The quality of the footage is sadly low, making it nearly impossible to discern any real details, but the general shape and their odd way of moving were creepy enough to have the family contact the police. Before long the media got a hold of the footage and the “Fresno Nightcrawlers” became a hot topic. Although thought by many to be a hoax, others say that this footage has captured something truly otherworldly, and the footage was subjected to a detailed analysis on the SyFy Channel show “Fact or Faked,” which showed that the footage seemed to be genuine, and they were unable to reproduce the same results by intentionally faking the video.

Following on the heels of this video was another, this time taken over in California’s Yosemite National Park in March of 2011. In this case surveillance cameras had been set up by park officials for the purpose of identifying some intruders who had been vandalizing an area of the park, and again they seemed to have caught on tape something anything but human. Again there is a pair of spindly white entities loping across the frame on a hillside, one seemingly much smaller that the other, and both with what appears to be some sort of webbing connected from the knees to the upper body. Although they appear to be very similar, it is unknown if the Fresno creatures and the ones from Yosemite are related or not, and there have been theories ranging from that this was all a hoax, to that they are Native spirits from lore, ghosts, or even aliens. No one really knows.

Something similar to these entities was sighted in January 2004, in a case documented by researcher Albert S. Rosales. The sighting allegedly happened in Manchester, Dearborn County, Indiana, when a young man was driving along a remote rural road in the area. As the witness rounded a bend, his headlights illuminated a tall, frail looking, pale being crouched over a puddle of water. As the witness passed the thing he looked back and could make out that it moved in a disjointed, odd manner, and had, according to him, “protruding joints that buckled out.”

As he watched the thing flickering in the red light cast by his tailights, the crouched, bone white creature purportedly stood to a height of an estimated 6 feet 7 inches tall and began to walk about in a “strange manner.” Interestingly, as he watched there was apparently another car that came along and seemed to swerve to avoid the thing before stopping. The witness would talk to the elderly couple in the car and they would confirm having seen the same thing, of which they said, “It was no human being, it was no man.” They were all so spooked that they decided to drive out of there in close procession together. Indiana has produced some other similarly odd reports as well. In one case from the winter of 2016, the witness was out feeding goats on a farm in Daviess County, Indiana, at around 8 PM, and when she finished she started walking back. The witness would say of what happened next:

After I had finished I began to walk back. I had crossed one field and was about halfway through the narrow path when I started to hear rustling in the underbrush. All I had with me was a little flashlight that only shined about 10ft in front of me. I was almost to the end of the path when I spotted something. It was on all fours with a bony frame, elongated limbs, and pale skin. While the first part of that description sounds pretty generic, it did seem to have a long and highly flexible neck. Not long after I noticed it it noticed me and bolted down the path. It ran, almost skuttling into the second field. This field had a small hill in the center, this thing fled and disappeared over one side. I ran as fast as I could around the other side of the small hill and zig-zagged back to my house where I quickly locked all of my doors. This thing was terrifying, but it seemed watchful more than anything, for now.

In another account from Indiana, documented in the National Cryptid Society database, we have a case from Michigan City, Indiana from 2012, in the middle of a lightning storm to add some atmosphere. The witness claims that she had been staying at the beach house of a friend by Lake Michigan and that there had been a lightning storm at the time. At around 2 AM some of them went outside to smoke and watch the lightning, and that was when they noticed the beam of a flashlight scanning the tall grass by the shore nearby as if searching for something. Thinking this to be a bit odd, the group of friends watched on and saw that the beam had captured an elongated, grayish humanoid looking creature stretched out on the beach, and the witness would say:

The light sweeps by something in the grass, then it shines back onto it. What was illuminated was very strange. It appeared to be a naked guy crawling around on the grass. Although, it had elongated arms and legs. It was moving kinda fast crunched over. It only lasted a few seconds, long enough for all of us to see it. Then, after the thing ran off, the flashlight shines directly at us. It stayed pointing at us until it went out after a few seconds. Creepy.

So, we’re all like WTF was that, we asked what each other saw. We all seen a weird stretched out naked guy. The only explainable thing it could have possibly been was a drunk gangly naked guy. But, I don’t think so because it looked abnormally stretched, the light pointed at us, and it freaked everyone out. It was something strange. I can’t say what the height of it was accurately, maybe around 7ft tall. My husband said it looked like something from a Marilyn Manson music video.I wanted to go down there. I wanted to see if we could find it. But, no one would go and they were creeped out and wanted to go back inside.

What on earth was the outlandish thing they saw? What was with that flashlight and why did it train itself on the observers of this surreal scene? Who knows? There have been a few sightings of something similar and equally baffling around the town of Effingham, in the state of Illinois. One case file of the National Cryptid Society is dated as 2010, and concerns a witness only known as “Jade.” The witness was allegedly out one night headed for the supposedly haunted Kasbar cemetery out in the deep woods outside of Effingham along with two friends. When they were out in the countryside, at around 1 AM in the morning, something very curious congealed out of the night, and the witness would say:

I see something with yellow glowing eyes off the side of the country road just past the ditch in the head lights. Too short to be a deer, but too big to be a possum or raccoon. As we get closer it gets clearer, and I realize what I’m looking at is skinny, hairless and grey, human like but definitely not human. Crazy as hell looking…thing. It was crouched down, It’s arms were incredibly long and looked like it could have been 7ft tall or bigger standing. I can feel myself get cold and my heart race and my hair stand on that back of my neck.

Complete shock and terror set in and i can’t make a sound, I’m just staring at it. By that time we are right in front of it, passing it and it just watches us drive by. It slinks into the dark. Then we all just start screaming. Literally freaking the hell out. I was convinced it was a demon for months but still doubted myself even seeing it. Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me. We didn’t even make it to the Kasbar that night, we went straight home. I couldn’t sleep that night.

The witness went on to become convinced that what she had seen was a “ghoul,” or an entity that lurks around feeding on the dead. She would say of this:

They feed on the freshly dead and normally stay close to cemeteries to be close to food. They have been known to show themselves to humans when trying to get close to them to eat in times where fresh deceased bodies are scarce. I went to images of them and could only find illustrations but they look exactly like what i saw that night. Everything i was reading was falling perfectly in place. Lined up perfectly with my experience. I couldn’t explain it away.

Also in the state of Illinois is a case from the town of Rossville, in 2010. The setting was at a cemetery and the time was just after sunset. The witness and a friend were walking down the main lane through the cemetery when something fairly weird scuttled out of the night. The witness would say:

Something came running from the gate and past us on our left. My friend had laughed and asked if I had heard that, and I stopped walking and responded that no, but I had seen it. As the thing had passed between headstones I caught a look. Looked like a pale, emaciated humanoid that was running on all fours. It had no hair at all that I could see, and I did not get a look at the face. It was moving far faster than any person running on hands/feet should have been able to. My friend and I just stayed frozen there and waited for another friend to come and get us because we were too scared to move. It continued to circle us, as we could hear it moving around. It never seemed threatening. If anything it seemed curious/scared of us. But who knows. I do know that it was not a coyote or a stray dog. I never saw the face but I did see the head; it did not have a muzzle. There was no tail, either. It definitely didn’t have fur; it had pale, almost bluish skin and I remember I could make out the ribs from where I was standing. Forgive me if this is a hot mess of a post; I was up all night researching this thing and when I did fall asleep I didn’t sleep well.

Other locations have had sightings as well, such as Ballard County, in Western Kentucky. As the witness was driving along the back roads on a gravel road one night at around 2 AM he says that he caught something in his headlights that startled him to the core. He would say:

I caught sight of something white and vaguely human crawling in the ditch. As we passed I hit the brakes thinking it was a person who needed help. “Are you crazy?! Don’t f***ing stop!” Blake screamed. I looked in the mirror and saw that it was standing up. Even though it was still in the ditch it was as tall as the stop sign next to it. It took a step towards us and I hit the gas. As we drove away I saw in the mirror that it dropped to all fours and was crawling after us. I didn’t start pulling away from it til I got up to about 40 mph. No matter how close I was to it I never got a good look at it. It was fuzzy like it was constantly out of focus. I’m not sure why but something about it makes me think of it as male. Maybe the height? When it crawled it moved like a lizard-hands and feet flat on the ground, elbows and knees up and out, body wiggling side to side. This happened when I was around 22. I’m 40 now and have never seen that thing again. I’ve taken many a midnight cruise along those narrow roads but I’ve never had the nerve to go near that particular farm road again. Call me a chicken…I’ll cluck happily.

Such accounts seem to lie beyond any easy classification. Are we dealing here with some sort of cryptid, ghosts, aliens, inter dimensional interlopers, or what? Or is it all just hoaxes and misinformation? These obviously seem to be far beyond normal reports of cryptids or ghostly phenomena, leaving us to merely ponder just what might be going on. Whatever the answers may be, these truly bizarre entities are not anything anyone would want to encounter slithering down a darkened road at night in the middle of nowhere, stumbling into your headlights.

[doux-ciel]

Personal Trainer CH. 15

Masterlist:  ✨ ✨ ✨

Tagged:  @erinisawriter @riftversus @between–alleys @bodoramzap @requiemdelune @lefttowrite @pazwrites @ghost-possum @delphwrites@writing-in-the-margins @thewritertiffany @theouterdark @youngdumbxlit@velvet-moss @niva-writes @natalierosewrites @jess---writes—writes@jadeswritinggarden @cvlms @fannistwrites @sauwrites @seraphilth

I blink my eyes open revealing to me a gym but not just any gym.

Fiona's gym.

I see the jump ropes hanging on the wall near the locker room.

I see the weight bar that almost killed me when we first started our sessions.

I see the chlorine death trap also known as the pool.

This intense pounding in my head, I don't even remember what happened or even how I got here.

I try to move my arms but I flinch. I look to my right and my left and see my arms are tied up, this rope is currently digging into my wrists.

I see that I have on boxing gloves.

I try to breathe normal but my breathing is shaky, my heartbeat is speeding up. I have to get out. “Help!! Somebody help me!!”

I see a figure coming from the locker room. Fiona was standing in the doorway, her stance powerful. She has a devilish grin on her face, boxing gloves in her left hand she steps into the ring across from me. “Tsk tsk tsk...Azalea no one can hear you down here.”

Fiona’s long fingers stroke the side of my jaw drawing a line all the way up to my chapped lips. I see her brown eyes staring down at my body and then her eyes trail back up to my face.

Our eyes lock. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I thought you were my friend...I thought you would always be my friend, I thought we were soulmates Azalea”

I break away from her gaze trying to move my arms but when I wind them back I feel a tightening grip on my throat.

It's a rope.

She's trying to hang me.

I swallow hard scared about whether I'm going to make it out of here or not. She starts putting on her gloves.

“You psycho bitch you killed Henry” I spat at her.

“He was an obstacle on your path to a better you” she tilts her head to the side, her laugh sends chills up my spine. “You still didn't learn your lesson still digging in my past”

I shake my head, conjuring up a laugh myself. “I already know about the others Fiona”

“What others” her facial expression drops.

“The other clients....and your father” Her voice lowers, “No that man deserved to die...and I made sure of it.” Again she starts laughing, like any of this is funny. “You know if I didn't care about you I would've just terminated the contract like I did for everyone else...so I'm gonna give you a second chance. According to our contract you had to win 3 matches...but you've only won 2, well today's your lucky day Azalea you get to get in the ring with me.”

My arms are starting to ache, I move my neck around trying to not focus on the pain right now. “What happens if you win?” I ask quipping my brow.

She has a ill smirk formed on her lips, she backs away from me. “Well if I win then you're gonna die and if I lose you're still gonna die. It's a win win situation for me either way Azalea.”

She motions for me to put my arms up, she starts shuffling around the ring, she starts shouting when I don't raise my arms. “C’mon put your arms up!”

Fiona is a seasoned boxer, I know she's been doing this a long time. She's more settled into her style of fighting but me I'm still getting used to it. She winds her left arm back connecting it to my abdomen.

“Oh my-god,”

I throw my head back as I bite desperately into my bottom lip as sharp pains spreads through my lower abdomen. I can't let her beat me, I have to distract her.

“Jean!” I see her body freeze when I say that, her eyes glaring at me.

She gritted her teeth, I knew I was starting to incense her. “Where did you hear that name?”

I take a breath before saying,“I saw the news clip about your father...he hurt you-”

I could only get a few words out when I was cut off by her taking off the boxing gloves quickly with her teeth. Pulling a knife out, putting it to my throat, I could feel the sharp edge cutting through my skin. “You don't know anything about my father, he only wanted what's best for everyone...don't you see that's what I'm trying to help you do”

I close my eyes, opening them I look down and her legs are in an open stance, I bring my right knee up hitting her pelvic area. Her breath got ragged as she hunches over to the ground hissing in pain.

When her body is actually on the floor that's when I start to unravel the tape that's on my gloves with my teeth, trying my best to do this as quick as possible. The tape feels bitter on my tongue.

Once one glove was off I try to untie the knot on my wrist but my palms were too sweaty. My fingers kept slipping.

I pause when I hear her groaning, I see her arms bending as she tries to pull herself up. My movements become fast paced as I try my hardest to untie this damn rope but that's when I spot it.

The knife.

I have to think quick before she gets up. Shit. My mind is scrambled with so many thoughts filling up my head at one time. I reach down for the knife my arm is weak and shaky but I don't care right now this is a life or death situation.

I see her rise up from the ground and I know I'm done for, I see her grab the knife and she slowly walks towards me, her face red as a tomato is looking at me like she wants to kill me….ironic because she is trying to kill me.

I see her just inches away when I take my left and right arm wrapping them around her throat and pulling them tight. The rope is gripping at both of our throats but I see her neck and it's starting to pull on the skin causing her to lose her breath, she starts to choke.

As I am struggling to breathe myself, I am also struggling to find which hand the knife is in, but when my eyes peer behind her back I see it.

It's in her left hand, shes gripping it so tight that she is actually cutting herself, blood running down her arm. Once I see her eyes close, her body drops to floor with a thud.

We are both on the ground, I grab the rope from around my neck with my free hand and I grab the knife cutting myself loose. I grip the other glove starting to take off the tape, backing up a little from her body. I'm pulling so hard I thought my wrist had gone out of place, I finally pull the glove off. I take the knife in my other hand cutting the rope so I could get free, once I got the other hand out I charged to the weight room, I know there is a exit door on the side.

As I get to the weight room I look around my eyes fall on the red exit sign above the door.

There’s my exit!

Running to the door my hand almost makes it to the door handle when I feel a death grip on my ankle and then my chin hits the ground, I swear to god I feel a crack in my jaw. She pulls my body up, her chest is facing my back she brings her brawny arms up and her hands wrap around my throat, her thumbs are on the side of my neck digging into my skin, I feel blood. Her other 4 fingers are clasped together squeezing my esophagus.

My instincts are quick;  I lean my head down, feeling her hands relax when I do so. I bring my head all the way back, connecting to the front of her face hard.

Her body falls back, her head hits the edge of the bench, I quickly get my footing together bolting to the door. I grip the door handle turning it.

It's not giving. She locked it.

I run out the weight room, making a sharp right I’m met with the locker room, the lights were flickering on and off giving the place an eerie feeling, but I couldn't let this stop me I had to keep going, I knew when I reached the other door freedom was coming to await me.

I scan my eyes around every time the lights flicked on, I make my movements still and silent, listening for any sound or any movement other than my own. I start to creep around the lockers going row by row until I see the front desk at the end of the 4th row near the sinks. I make a run for it but not until I turn around and see Fiona coming after me.

My legs are tired so sore, they ache so bad but I had to keep going, I lose all hope when I feel her hand grab onto my hair slamming me into the wall. She drags me to one of the benches pushing my face in the Victorian wood, I feel her bringing my left arm out, stretching it behind me, I feel her movements stop. “I put everything I had to make you the best that you can be”

She took the locker door and slammed it against my left hand, I felt a shooting pain going up my hand and all the up to my finger tips, the pain was unbearable.

I scream, my voice is rough and hoarse, my mouth felt dry. Closing my eyes tightly I whimper under my breath, trying to get my arm out.

I bring my other arm around connecting my fist to her face, her hand releases my throbbing one.

I rise to my feet, my legs are wobbling and I feel like I can't walk or even run but I have to push myself, my arms are stinging and my vision is going in and out but I can see it. The boxing ring and even better the knife. My movements aren't the fastest and I stumble while climbing through the ropes into the ring. I grab the knife on the floor in the ring, I see her coming towards me.

When she's close enough I plunged it in her stomach. Taking it out and forcing it back in her body again, her blood blankets her torso and my arm, she sputters blood all over my face. My breathing starts to get ragged, I slowly back away from her. I lean my body up against one of the mats that was resting on the walls. I watch her stomach rise and fall.

After a few minutes of me just standing there staring at her, she finally stopped moving. I got myself up and started to walk out, before I got through the front doors the police came rushing in asking me where she was. I pointed to the back and they went in.

When I got outside I breathed in the fresh air, I know I looked crazy blood all over my face and my clothes but I didn't care. I closed my eyes, smiling at the fact that this was all over.

She was gone.

After the ambulance got me a blanket and checked for any wounds on me which thankfully I didn't have, just a couple of bruises. After I got my bruised knuckles treated and wrapped up, I got tapped on the shoulder by an officer in uniform. “Ma’am unfortunately we didn't see the person who attacked you in there. Are you sure you were attacked?”

My eyes get wide and then anger takes over my body. I flip the blanket off me showing him the marks on me. “Yes yes I was attacked!! Do you see these marks on me?!”

He gets on his radio, pressing them button he speaks into it. “Do you see anything?”

We hear another voice, “There's nobody in here.”

He shakes his head no as he looks at me. “I'm sorry ma’am we couldn't find her”

And just like that again my world was flipped upside down, everything felt like it was in slow motion, I could barely hear the officer speak to me anymore.

How did she escape, I saw her lying on the floor.

Dead

At least that's what I thought.

                             ¤ ¤ ¤

6 months later

“Time to open gifts” I announce to all of my guests. We are currently at this beautiful grand affairs banquet area,  Angela payed for it of course and we are just starting to open up the gifts at my baby shower.

I'm pregnant...Well pregnant again, 7 months to be exact. I'm so happy and so excited for this new little bundle of joy to come into my life. After talking with the FBI and expressing to them my fears of still living in Illinois I decided it would be the perfect time for Griffin and I to move across the country, to buy the dream house we have always wanted.

After we had gotten settled down and accustomed to the new life we had made for ourselves. I started my own Boxing Gym, my now Fiance Griffin designed it and made sure it had the latest security system and of course a killer music station for him. Life is good, for us and for everyone around us. Cameron got a promotion and is moving up in the company Mr. Gerald is slowly starting to enjoy Cameron in the meetings, she even said he cracked a smile.

Griffin has been getting booked to record with different artists he even started his own foundation to stop youth homelessness, its in memory of our first child. “Light of our Lives” has raised up to $500,000 in just the first 3 months alone, courtesy of Angela and Liliana with their connections.

I spread my hands out reaching for the presents. “Yay hand them over”

“Open mines first” Cameron exclaims, her lemon colored dress flowing behind her as she hands me a medium sized yellow box with a white bow attached to it.

I open the box like it was a Christmas present and once I look inside I start to tear up a little. I lift the present up so everyone in the room can see. “Awwww cute little baby jordans”

“She's knows it's going to be a boy” I hear Griffin whisper beside me. He is adamant that there is a baby boy in my stomach I tend to think otherwise. I turn and give him a playful glare, “No she doesn't now shut up Griffin and hand me a gift”

He hands me a huge box with a card attached to the top. I'm getting really excited now, opening up gifts is fun. I move the box over to the floor in front of me. I open it and it's a cream and sandal brown Michael Kors diaper bag. I lift it from out the box but I don't see a name, I turn to Griffin who has the card in his hand. “Ohhh who's it from”

“I don't know, let me read the card.” As he opens up the card we all listen.

Congratulations on your new little blessing I hope he/she is going to grow up to be an amazing boxer like you. ♥

“Baby who's this?” His eyebrows furrow as he looks for a name or even a signature. He hands the card to me and I look at it, I don't see anything. I shrug my shoulders. “I don't know?”

Cameron sets the gift aside and hands me a new one. “Ok, next gift”

After all the gifts are open, the speeches start and the crying begins and seemed like it was never going to stop. I finally calmed down and was sitting at the cream couch that was near the air conditioner.

I don't know what it is about pregnancy but with me I get hot all of a sudden and this lavender skin tight dress isn't helping one bit. I wanted to opt for something a little more in my comfort zone like, a more flowy dress but Cameron insisted on this designer one, It was made by some designer in italy and his name was too hard to pronounce but I bought it anyway.

Listening to her wasn't so much of a good idea I’ve come to find out; but nevertheless I looked beautiful in lavender.

Today was the day to celebrate life, to celebrate my child.

For the first time in a long time I truly felt happy.

                 ¤ ¤ ¤

I lay down on my right side.

Nope.

I lay down my left side.

Nope.

I sigh in frustration when I lay on my back and an aching pain rushes up my body. I sit up on the bed leaning on the headboard. I starts to rub my growing bump. “This baby won't let mommy get in a comfortable position”

“He” Griffin emphasizes when he walks out the bathroom with his robe on his body and a towel wrapped around his head.

I roll my eyes and scoff. “Oh my gosh babe it's not gonna be a boy”

He kisses his teeth while getting a pair of shorts from his side of the dresser.“Who says it's gonna be a girl”

“We will just have to wait and see” I mumble.

I have now gotten up since I can't seem to lay down without the baby freaking out I opt to sit in the chaise we have sitting in the corner of or room, I feel the baby’s feet on my ribs and I whine a little, causing Griffin who was drifting in and out of sleep to notice and sit up in our king sized bed. He looks over at me and motions me with his hands to come. “Come Azalea.”

I walk over to the bed, getting in on my side but scooting myself towards Griffin. “I just can’t wait to hold our baby.” Griffin whispers while the two of us lay in bed, one hand resting on my stomach where our baby currently resided.

“Just a few more months.” I assure him.

He looks up at me and he has that adorable grin his face, he leans in for a kiss before he turns his attention back to my bump. He scoots down the bed a bit so his face is right next to my stomach.

“Daddy loves you so much.” He says quietly to my stomach, his hand rubbing against my swollen skin. “Mommy has been working so hard to keep you safe up in there but I think mommy is having a hard time with you using her boxing moves in that tummy of hers” I chuckle while placing my hand on top of his. “You are going to have everything you could ever want in the world. I'm going to make sure of it.” He presses a soft kiss on the side of my stomach and as he does, I feel a soft kick against my abdomen.

Griffin feels the kick against his hand and looks up at me, a smile showing up on his face. I smile back at him, it was kind of uncomfortable having a tiny human kicking at my insides but I wanted to enjoy this pregnancy. I wanted to feel all of the little movements.

“I love your mom so much.” He turns back to my bump pressing his nose against my skin. “I loved her even before you and your other sibling, but now that she has given me you, I don't think I could ever love anyone or anything as much as I love you. You are the most important thing to me now...excluding your mother of course.”

After kissing my stomach one last time he pulls himself to the top of the bed to rest his forehead against mines. My eyes on the verge of tears.

“Griffin you're gonna make me cry”, I say while placing both my hands on either side of his cheeks my tears are now flowing freely down my face.

He uses his thumb to wipe the tears from going down towards my neck, we have matching cheesy smiles as we look into each other's eyes. I whisper to him quietly, “Its happening...its finally happening”

                      ¤ ¤ ¤

It was 2:24 a.m. When I had to wake up to pee, this baby was dancing on my bladder, I lift Griffin’s arm off of me. He is stirring in his sleep, his snoring is the only thing I hear in the quiet house.

When I finish up in the bathroom I walk down the hallway to the nursery, of course not knowing the gender we picked a gender neutral theme mostly cream and brown, with a few hints of yellow. I smile at the little lamb Griffin put on the changing table, I could imagine my child clinging to it like Griffin did when he was a kid, he told me it was his favorite toy.

I walked over to the rocking chair Griffin's mother brought me just a few months ago, she went crazy at Baby-R-Us and literally bought the whole store.

I was rocking in the creamy white rocking chair when I hear a creek down the hallway.

My body tenses but relaxes once I realize it was just Griffin, I heard the toilet flush and I start rocking again. I eventually drift off into a deep slumber.

When I finally wake up I see the sunlight shining down into the room. The colorful paintings on the walls come to life, I smile knowing soon this house will be filled with little baby giggles and late night crying.

I start to walk out the room and into the master bedroom when I hear a noise, it was coming from the kitchen.

I look around not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

I turn the corner, pulling my hand out to get into the fridge.

If it's one thing I learned from working with Fiona it's that I needed to make better choices in what I eat. So me and Griffin were slowly but surely getting more healthier meals.

That's when I spot an apple on the floor.

I bend down to pick it up and when I come back up I get thrown into the refrigerator door, my head collides with the edge of one of the many shelves.

My head felt like it's was going to explode. I landed on the floor stomach first, that's when I really started to panic. My breathing picked up and my heart raced, I was putting most of my weight on my wrists to help lift me up when I got knocked down again, this time I start shouting. “Griffin!!!”

My Perpetrator lifted my head up and I felt their warm breath on my ear. “No it's me Jean”

She banged my head on the floor. I could feel the blood running down my the front of my face and onto my lips, the coppery taste in my mouth felt weird to say the least.

I wanted to fight I truly did but I couldn't, I wasn't going to risk it. For once in my life I couldn't fight back. My face felt hot as tears started to roll down my cheeks and onto the cold tiled floor. I felt my vision get blurry, I wasn't even trying to fight the darkness that was beginning to welcome me.

I let myself slip away.

A/N: Oh my gosh its sadly the end of the book, but I had a lot of fun writing this!! Sorry for the cliff hanger!! Stay Tuned for my next Story, Gift of Life. It should already be out by the time this goes up so be sure to check it out and let me know if you enjoyed the first chapter or not.

[charactersadvocatechimata]

Fata Morgana

Here is a preview of the WinterIron I’m working on. Full chapter should be uploaded on Ao3 by the 31st.

People will lie. There is no avoiding that. Nod on cue and politely smile. Think nothing of it. People will lie. When to be cautious, is not at a lie, but at a deflection. Those that distract with blinding smile or a song or an extravagant gesture. Be wary. Fae will bait you away with desires and dreams. Spirited away. Never to return. Be wary.

At least that’s what Ma would say. On loud nights, when the men of Brooklyn would gather to drink and sing. Loud to chase away dark idealizations. She would cuddle him close. Whisper stories of beautiful people who lead good Catholics astray. Of heroes that braved enchanted towers and won against seduction.

Of course, that memory could have been its own seductive dream. Memory was a tricky beast even for the day-to-day people. Having your brain cooked sunny side up by Hydra doesn’t improve things either. Not that anyone thinks it would. Late night television is not selling electroshocks as the cure for old age memory loss.

So Bucky was on the fence about his current situation. Did Tony Stark really kidnap him? If anyone were crazy enough to abduct the Winter Soldier, Stark would be on that list. Well, in his humble opinion. Crazy people never seem to think things through, either. Take, for example, Bucky’s bindings. Rope couldn’t stop an assassin. The Winter Soldier is a super assassin. Rope was cake on a silver platter of escape.

Escape. Right. The hero always struggles to escape. But he has lived far too long to be considered a hero. Heroes hope for humanity’s salvation. Not eternal sleep.

“Boss, I think the Princess is awake.”

Princess?! Oh, that was close. A slight twitch might go unnoticed but slamming his fists against the floor would not.

“Are you sure?”

Something jabs him twice in the shoulder. By some mercy, it was the shoulder attached to the meat arm. Even so, it’s still a jab into sensitive squish parts. But his body remains still. Thank Hydra for unparallel pain tolerance. Ha!

“Friday. How do you tell if a possum is playing dead?”

“It depends on the possum, I think.” A static hum consumes the quiet of the room. “You could draw something unflattering on his forehead.”

“Oh, love it.”

Something pops, and the stick of non-drinkable alcohol tickles his nose. Stark wouldn’t? Would he? Fuck crazy people and their unpredictable tendencies.

“Is this necessary? Couldn’t you just kill me? No reason to desecrate my body.” Bucky slams his hands between himself and the red marker. A wall to protect him from whatever Stark wanted to draw on his face. Probably something worse than the standard dick drawing.

Stark’s eyes trail from Bucky to the marker. A marker that’s only an inch from Bucky’s face. Then pouts. A full pout only found in cartoons with sings birds and large reflective eyes. Seriously. What is so exciting about drawing on a tired man’s face? Or putting starfish magnets on his metal arm?

“We're not going to kill you, Barnes.”

Bucky shifts his eyes around the room. Empty except for the crazy rich man with a marker and himself. No woman, he can’t help but imagine as a redhead. Stark does not voice a comment or give any indication of the location of the third human. In the security office? Remaining far away from Hydra’s favorite killing machine. Perhaps, some who isn’t crazy.

“Right now.”

Stark continues to fiddle with the marker refusing to put the damn thing done. To give up the grand opportunity to use Bucky’s forehead as paper. Not even the quality stuff. No, the scraps an artist uses to doodle.

“Has anyone told you that you resemble a depressing sandwich? And despite what the fire department may tell you, or Pepper for that matter. I know what I'm talking about. I have made my share of depressing sandwiches. Mostly, with mustard.” Stark makes a sweeping motion with the marker- still uncapped. “I tired honey dijon once because a random website told me too. I must say, I prefer mustard.”

The marker jumps up and twirls with the rhythm of Stark’s words in complete sync. A remarkable feat considering he had forgotten all about said writing utensil. Or that’s what Bucky hopes. He’s nice like that.

“What does food have to do with any of this?”

The marker is finally capped, and Stark frowns. Yet doesn’t say a thing. Did Bucky actually say anything? He is far too used to keeping any thought to himself. Stark dropped the marker. Bucky grabs it, just to make sure, while Stark turns away. More silence. Hardly illuminating to what the rats running Stark’s crazy brain thinks.

For a single heartbeat, Stark stilled between one step and the next. In that one thump of his heart, Stark stand between two thoughts. Is he turning his back on a weapon or a monster? Hydra handlers were quick to dismiss the Asset as a simple weapon. Yet he was required to present a gun to the handler if they were alone. As protection from a monster. Which will Stark choose?

Bucky doesn’t expect an answer. Doesn’t get one either. Stark simple takes his next step then another. Until he completely leaves Bucky’s line of sight.

Free from the ropes, and, as far as he can tell, alone in an empty meeting room. Bucky plots. Or at least takes another look around. There is a large table and a lot of chairs. Too many chairs. And windows blacked out. Standard stuff for the business life.

Except.

“Please, remain inside the room.”

The voice. Again. He does not like voices without bodies. There is nothing to stab if there is no body. “Do I have a reason to leave?”

“To destroy. As is your nature.”

“Is that why you will be deactivating and destroying me? For my sins? Or for Stark’s grudge?”

“I think justice is more appropriate. Don’t you, Barnes?”

“Is it just me or did this whole room get several degrees more depressing?” Stark returned holding a plate that looks like a mini Captain America shield with two sandwiches. Another was between his teeth. Already half eaten. He blinks, nose twitching and the sandwich disappears with the last bite. “Are you having a showdown with My AI?” The plate is held high even as Stark tilts his head to the side. “You shouldn’t. She cheats.”

{Comment about AI}

“I do not. I am a proper lady.”

“That cheats and starts fights with cyborgs.”

“I didn’t start anything. But I will finish it.”

Friday, as Stark called the ceiling, ends the sentence with enough implied judgment to anchor an entire fleet of ships. During a heavy storm. But Bucky didn’t start shit. No matter how the ceiling paints it.

Well…

There was the whole thing with Steve.

“I made you depressing sandwiches.” Stark shoves the plate into Bucky’s personal bubble. It is presented with the same pride a child presents a gift to their mother. “There is mustard and tomatoes. Salami. Maybe. The evidence is uncertain.”

Well, the sandwiches look innocent enough sitting on the mini shield. The bread is white with seeds. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Just different. There is definitely the strong fatty smell of salami. More of a last meal than what Hydra would offer. Looks good, too.

Taking the food incites Stark to grin, small but bright, like a star off in the distance. How easy it would be for Stark’s blinding smiles to hide all sorts of grime. Pierce could disarm anyone with a smile as well, even Fury.

Stark gave him a sandwich at least.

“Now, according to personal experience, it’s time for the evil monologue. The fun part.”

Bucky takes a bite. Otherwise, etiquette would dictate that he respond. And Stark has a crazy sparkle in his eyes. Never respond to the crazy. That and silence is easy. Nodding is easy. People usually just continue when he nods.

“Right! So last night or the prior evening or something. Not important. What is important is that a waking dream gave me an idea. And no it wasn’t a dream. I was definitely awake. Dreams usually have someone screaming.” Stark’s hand smacks the notion away. “Nor was I hallucinating. You can’t trust hallucinations. But this is a good idea. A genius idea!” His other hand shoots straight into the air.

“What idea?” The fucking moron asks. You’d never figure Buck’s been around for hundred years. He knew not to engage the crazy. Bucky blames the second sandwich. Didn’t get into his mouth fast enough. Fucker.

Stark is too crazy to catch Bucky’s mental stumble. But the AI. The AI is judging him. Judging and laughing it up. Silently. Like a dick. Dick.

“Revenge! Because what else can I do? It’s either this or a time machine. And I promise I was going to go with the time machine. But Pepper vetoed that. Which fair. No one wants me running around in the time stream. I wouldn’t be able to help myself even knowing I’d probably fuck it up.”

Stark flexes his right hand. He stops to stare at the fingers curling and uncurling, grasping for something. “I keep having that same dream. It only got worse after. Zombie Steve with the shield. Blaming me. For fucking up. Not doing enough. Always saying the wrong thing. I work and go to therapy. But the dreams remain. The bodies piling up.” His eyes slide shut. One last time those fingers curl then clench tight.

“So I kidnapped you.” Stark spreads his arms out wide. “Part of it was panic. Rhodey may have destroyed the ancient technology that might have been a mobile phone. Hard to say, archeology isn’t my strong suit. Whatever. I do know he dropped it down the Mariana Trench. But I would be surprised if it survived. And Steve.”

The stars vanish from his eyes. His arms are slammed from the air by gravity. “No, it’s Rogers now. Rogers.” Stark’s mumbling to himself now. His audience forgot.

Because what? Bucky’s just chopped liver. Not the intend audience. Fuck that. He’ll just be stupid and blame it on Hydra. Hydra played happy sack with electricity and his brain. He has earned at least using them as an excuse.

“Why would ‘Pepper’ nix the time machine?”

Bucky could actually see Stark remember he had an audience. His eyes blinking and tilting. His gaze landing on Bucky. And the ‘oh’ formed on his lips. Like prose on a page in a fairytale book for children.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, I got that. But there is no way you could build a time machine that goes back in time. Pretty sure Einstein nixed that.”

“I could.”

Sure. Maybe if he had another hundred years or so. But Bucky ain’t holding his breath.

This whole thing is a farce. Like Stark’s the only one hunted by ghosts. Everyone’s got nightmares. Bucky’s got seventy years to fuel his phantoms and shadows. World War 2. Hydra. The Red Room. But he fucking buries it. Right next to the bodies. Smiles and grins instead. Fucking telling stories from the 1930’s he isn’t sure he remembers or read in Rogers’ file. Writing broken dreams in journals that switch from Russian to English to Italian to German.

And for fucking what. To be used against Stevie. Again. “I refuse.” And fuck him.

“Okay.” Stark nods. Takes back the plate, gripping it to his chest. Takes a step back. Grins and bows. A grand gesture indicating the open door. A showman’s bow ending the play, waiting for the curtains to fall. But for all it’s supposed glam it’s dull. All the color that made Stark shine shut away. With a delicate slam. Something that might even go unnoticed.

Again there is that silent laughter. Mocking him.

But sunlight is pushing itself inside. Bucky follows the light out. Stark had been right. The room was depressing. The blinding hallway wasn’t much better.

Bucky wants his goggles.

[boojumblood]

Grief has many forms. One that's bothering me the most lately, is the places I was forced to grow up in. I'm embarrassed and ashamed about these places. I wish they didn't exist!

The moving truck backs into our new driveway. There are two trailers on this property. We make our way out of the truck and toward one of the two trailers. Broken steps leading to a dying porch. Moss growing anywhere it can reach with any shred of sunlight. As I make my way up the step a smell of mold and death fill my nose. This place is covered in cobwebs. It has been abandoned. The only remaining residents are insects and wild animals. Each step on this porch feels like it will be my last. Any second I could fall through and be impaled. Fear rushing in forcing me to look for the safest route to the front door. The walls of this trailer are covered in green slime. More moss mixed with half living vines. Specks of the trailers original color peek through in places the plants haven’t claimed yet. A faint blue. Probably a pleasant blue when this dying home was clean and lived in. How long had this place been neglected? How much abuse has it endured? I don’t know, but my heart sinks for these pieces of aluminum and wood as if they were living creatures.

As I reach the front door, the first thing I notice is that the screen door is in pieces. Someone has smashed the framing and torn the screening to bits. It’s barely on one hinge while the remains hang as if they are longing to be retired. How barbaric! I then notice the front door has been kicked in. Splintered wood poked out where the lock once resided. I am completely shocked. I can’t move any further. The smell coming from within is rancid. I can see the interior enough to know I did not want to step a single foot inside. There’s garbage everywhere. Torn open by rats, racoons, and possums who are the current residents. Diapers from the trash have fallen out and busted open. The floor was once a green carpet but now was mostly consumed by black mold. The wooden walls and wall paper were also being consumed in mold. This was molds kingdom. It owned everything.

My parents walk past me and set foot inside careful to walk around the gaping holes in the floor where weeds were now sprouting through into the trailer. My dad walks from one end to the other and says, “It’s not so bad. Welcome to your new home!” I looked at him through the front doors remains and say, “This is not a home. I do not want to live here!” I’m immediately filled with overwhelming sadness and begin to cry. My mom looks at me and says, “Let’s see what else this place has to offer. Maybe it’s better in the other rooms.” I begin to feel angry and I say, “No! I don’t want to! This isn’t a place to live! This needs to be burned down!” I feel my body trembling because I know I can’t stop this. This is happening. This is my new home. I’m still frozen outside the door as my mother marches over with determination in her eyes that said, “you will obey” in them. She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside. Tripping me on the screen door’s skeleton. I cut my knee on a piece of it and fall onto the floor where bugs scattered. I sit there in horror at how many bugs were everywhere. She yanks me up. “Stop moping! Let’s look at what we have to fix.” As we walk towards the kitchen, clusters of spiders, roaches, and beetles skitter away to clear a path for us. With every step I feel my balance vanishing. Visions fill my head of the insects swarming me. There’s so many of them! They could easily swarm me. No! I push those thoughts away. I can’t think about that. Not now. Not ever!

The kitchen isn’t any better. More holes in the floor and in the ceiling. More moss and weeds were growing in here. Below the sink it is dark. A deep solid darkness. Different than just normal shadows. What is that? I slowly approach and I’m charged by a mother possum protecting her nest! She hisses and scratches. I run back to the living room and she goes back to her nest. My heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest. I think I’m going to faint into this pile of trash. My head feels like it is trying to float away. No! I have to stay awake!

My mother drags me past the possum into the back of the trailer. This part has the bathroom and second bedroom. The second bedroom is filled (I mean FILLED) with trash! I thought the rest of the place stunk, but it was nothing compared to this room. I tried closing the door but it was so warped from water damage that it couldn’t close completely.

Then, I look into the bathroom. There is no electricity or running water in this place. I shine my lantern in the bathroom and I hear dozens of chittering insects running. With a few squeaks from some mice as they fled too. Roaches. Everywhere. I scream and run back to the front door as the the possum hisses in retort. I make it outside and I throw up over the hand railing of the porch. My vision is narrow and my hearing is distant. I cling to the railing as I hope it can keep me standing. My mother comes outside and says, “Your dad says the other bedroom only has one hole and a lot less mold than the rest. So, we are going to focus on that space and not worry about the rest of this place.” I look at her in amazement that they are even considering this! She pushes me back inside to look at this other bedroom. It had only a few trash bags, but otherwise it was empty. The mold wasn’t completely dominating this room. But there was still more than I could handle. My lungs were shriveling up the longer I was in this hell hole. I felt like I couldn’t breath. I was wheezing for air. Desperate to leave. Asking repeatedly to leave. They wouldn’t let me because, “I needed to be there to help plan how to clean this room and make it livable”. I pleaded with them to just stay at my grandparents trailer, but they refused that option every time. They justified this decision by constantly telling themselves, “It’s only temporary until we buy a better trailer to move in here.”

That didn’t happen for nearly 2 years!  We were only in this disgusting trailer for about 6 months. And then lived in a cramped and broken down camper that was the equivalent of this trailer. It was also previously abandoned, covered in mold, and infested. Absolutely disgusting!

I wish I could have burned these hell holes down. Instead, they were torn apart and sold for the materials.

The grief I have about these places is very hard to acknowledge. I try to forget about this entirely. I've learned that isn't fair to the parts of me that had to live through this horror. Those parts of me need to be heard and justified. Which is why I have come to terms with sharing this piece of my history. I can't heal from it if I keep hiding it. I have to face it. And I have to acknowledge it.

[smilesthroughfandoms]

Star vs. the Forces of Evil episodes in One Sentence (Season 3 edition)

Star Comes to Earth: Princess Cinnamon Roll that Could Kill you comes to earth and meets Misunderstood safe kid.

Party With a Pony: Spoopy Wardens hunt for the glitter pony while Star gets ice for Marco’s sweaty back.

Matchmaker: In which we learn it was probably a bad idea to give Star the wand in the first place.

School Spirit: Star misunderstands football and Marco tries to get Ferguson to blow his whistle not in that way.

Monster Arm: “Not my bowels! I love my bowels!”

The Other Exchange Student: Star is jealous of the meatball man from Bakersfieldville.

Cheer Up Star: “It’s supposed to be ironic!”

Quest Buy: Very accurate depiction of what it is like to work in retail.

Diaz Family Vacation: Both Marco and Star see new sides of their dads but that’s not necessarily a good thing

Brittney’s Party: Star and Marco party with someone who hates them while Ludo hijacks a bus

Mewberty: Star gets horny and snares boys in her web but not in that way

Pixtopia: Marco messed up and Alfonso marries Ferguson’s rebound

Lobster Claws: “… You can’t eat children.” “Really? Not even the annoying ones?”

Sleep Spell: “Camera Phooone!”

Blood Moon Ball: We’re suppose to ship them now, right?

Fortune Cookies: Love is never the answer kids

Freeze Day: Father Time offers Star and Marco some mud before riding away on his wheel-mobile pulled by giant time-hamsters I am not making this up.

Royal Pain: King Santa Claus destroy mini-golf

St. Olga’s Reform School for Wayward Princesses: Princess Prison sure is a nightma–OH MY GOD ARE THOSE CLUBS?!

Mewnipendence Day: No wonder monsters hate Mewmans so much.

The Banagic Wand: Star still doesn’t get Earth and like all of us, Marco is always hungry.

Interdemensional Field Trip: Miss Skullnick fears the “Big Change” while Marco sends Jackie cat memes

Marco Grows a Beard: Ludo is out, Toffee is in, and Marco will probbaly be terrified of beards forever

Storm the Castle: “SURPRISE!”

My New Wand!: DIP DOOOWN

Ludo in the Wild: Wait, since when did Ludo become badass?

Mr. Candle Cares: “Star and I have recently become smooch buddies… On the lips.”

Red Belt: Marco searches for a meaning in life and Star searches for hammer.

Star on Wheels: *epic remix of Marco saying Star is in trouble*

Fetch: Marco can’t open juice and Star runs away from her problems and sending thank you cards

Star vs. Echo Creek: Star gets high and destroys a police car

Wand to Wand: Both Ludo and Star are terrible at magic also major ship tease

Starstruck: Star and her idol Sailor Super Saiyan destroy a park and Marco is 100002% done with this shit

Camping Trip: King Butterfly has a mid-life crisis and tries to control an eagle

Starsitting: They’re gonna be great parents some day.

On the Job: Buff Dad is best dad and buff babies are adorable

Goblin Dogs: “You might think this line is long, but listen to my goblin song!~”

By the Book: Ludo and Star still suck at magic and Glossaryck is a bigger troll than Alex Hirsch

Game of Flags: Queen has no patience and legs.

Girls’ Day Out: Janna is back and is still awesome btw

Sleepover: “TRUTH! STAR HAS A CRUSH ON MA–” *cube gets crushed*

Gift of the Card: R.I.P.  Rasticore Chaosus Disastorvayne… He couldn’ get his fucking chainsaw to work

Friendenemies: Star becomes one with Christmas tree while Tom and Marco go on a date and sing a romantic pop ballad.

Is Mystery: Meatfork is apparently a family name and Ludo is really starting to freak me out tbh

Hungry Larry: “He’s still hungry…”

Spider with a Top Hat: He tries and he is awesome and that’s all that matters

Into the Wand: SPAAAAADESS!!!

Pizza Thing: Marco is OCD about mushroom and Pony Head buys skinny jeans

Page Turner: Glossaryck is awesome and how did Moon miss Lizard-Loki in the orb?!

Naysaya: Tomco friendship confirmed and Marco finally asks out Jackie while Star the supportive noodle armed friend cheers on

Bon Bon the Birthday Clown: Starco fans cry, Jarco fans rejoice, and Ludo now has the book god dammit Nefcy

Raid the Cave: Glossaryck is the true neutral asshole.

Trickstar: Weird Al is a treasure and I’ll mes up anyone who makes Marco cry!

Baby: *glances around nervously* So… Star is similar to Eclipsa, huh? *Nervous laughter* Great…

Running With Scissors: Marco gets a new edition to his shipping harem and she is so cute!!!!!!

Mathmagic: Don’t worry Star, I can’t math either.

The Bounce Lounge: Marco is definitely the mom friend.

Crystal Clear: The Chancellor guy is amazing and Rhombulus just needs a hug and wAS THAT ECLIPSA IN THE BACKGROUND?

The Hard Way: “SURPRISE!” 2.0

Heinous: Oh, so that’s how Marco got all that money.

All Belts Are Off: “Jermey is the biggest dick…. around!~”

Collateral Damage: Marco how do you not know what a possum is?

Just Friends: I’m fine! *blows up sign to prove just how fine I am*

Face the Music: Moon=Badass, Star=Why?, River=Loving Husband, Marco=Shocked, and we got to meet Ludo’s family so pretty cool episode overall.

Star Crushed: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH–remember when we though Bon Bon the Birthday Clown was the end of the world?–AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

BONUS ROUND! BATTLE FOR MEWNI EDITION!!!!!

Return to Mewni: This is… just an exposition filler. Not much else to say….

Moon the Undaunted: B4! B4! B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4!

Book Be Gone: “I hate that fucking book!” -Ludo, at some point probably.

Marco and the King: *Party music intensifies… and then slowly dies down*

Puddle Defender: They’re bonding and getting so big and I am so proud–Star you idiot don’t go alone!!!!!!

King Ludo: The mime stole the show.

Toffee: I can’t…. I just… how do you want me to react?! To much happened and I mean…. what do you want me to say? I’m still processing just…. What do I say? *slowlys ponders how I will survive until November*

Scent of Hoodie: Huh, so Ponyhead can be written as likeable, who would’ve thought?

Rest in Pudding: Ish da Glossaryck! And he’s Globgoring all over da place!

Club Snubbed: I literally yelled “Phrasing!” whenever they dropped the title

Stranger Danger: "Something like that” whY WOULD YOU SAY THAT IF YOU WERE ON THE SIDE OF GOOD?!?! SERIOUSLY GUYS THIS BUGGED ME FOR WEEKS--

Demoncism: Tom is a wonderful baby boy and Ponyhead is written as likeable, part 2!

Sophmore Slump: *sobbing* Jackie deserved better, dang it!

Lint Catcher: Introducing a Lavaboe! He’s pure and wonderful and deserves a raise and did I mention I love him?

Trial by Squire: I think the writers were all like” You think these guys will ship anyone with Marco?” and decided to test that theory.

Princess Turdina: I got more lore out of this episode than I thought I would.

Starfari: Welp, she makes me uncomfortable.

Sweet Dreams: *Sailor Moon-ing intensifies*

Lava Lake Beack: Proof that this fandom will ship anyone with Marco at the slightest inclanation

Death Peck: Rich Pigeon is my new favorite birb and Ponyhead is written as likeable for the third time

Ponymonium: Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Night Life: The writers made so many new ships they had to get rid of an old one!

Deep Dive: “Chicken butt”

Monster Bash: ........ Well, that explains the cheekmarks. 

Stump Day: I think they just made an episode based around a picture from that bookcover, not that it was bad.

Holiday Special: *insert every cheesy Christmas/Holiday episode trope here*

The Bog Beast of Boggabah: The title is fun to say and the episode is average at best.

Total Eclipsa the Moon: Seriously, I’m supposed to think she’s an ultimate villain.

Butterfly Trap: In which we are all Sean, don’t lie we were all him at the end

Ludo, Where Art Thou?: Dennis is best brother, hands down.

Is Another Mystery: *sniff* I got more emotional over this episode than anyone else did and I’m not sure how I feel about that

Marco Jr.: I... I just... Why? What’s the point?

Skooled!: Epic advertisment fakeout combined with wonderful character development and lore with a shock ending makes a 10/10 episode.

Booth Buddies: Old Man McGucket ships Starco, proceed to react accordingly

Bam Ui Pati!: Ponyhead is kinda likeable in this episod--nevermind she’s back.

Tough Love: Oh man, it’s happening! It’s happening guys here we go!

Divide: We are going to war everybody--And they’re all dead. That was quick.

Conquer: So Glossaryck has upped his trolling antity and turns out Eclipsa’s probably evil, Meteora’s a baby again, and Globgor is her husband and imprisoned in crystal... Idk about you guys but I’m going to go scream into the void...

[justinehudock]

Luçien Petiot, Spacefarer.

Going to Earth was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I felt helpless, wet, and generally uncomfortable about the whole darn thing. When I touched down onto the land of grapey Sardinian groves and meat-shreddy delicatessens and boring yellow houses that make the third planet from the Sun the place to be that it is for most beings, I was a newborn. How cute! And as a newborn, I was still enslimed in that lip-glossy coating of placenta like a parmesan chicken cutlet post-egging, pre-breading. They named me Luçien Petiot, a very fine name for any male French newborn, though I prefer to call myself “I”, despite my mother’s objections to get as much mileage out of this really super nice name as I can. She’s an odd woman, my mother. “Melinda Terry”. Very modern. So modern she didn’t take my name in birth. And she was exercising her extreme modernness when, three months pregnant with me and also, not insignificantly, hard up for cash, Melinda applied to be in a clutch of young pregnant women to be “pressed under the thumb” (she’s stupidly florid, I don’t know) of one of France’s more daring late 21st century experimental national space programs: giving birth in space. “Like the universe does™”, to take the slogan from the pamphlet the gov sent out. I used shreds of it sometimes to pad my duck stuffing.

In the large print, the authorities assured applicants that the process was, theoretically, totally safe. That the terrible pressure of the government’s metaphorical big surveilling eyes, watching and observing, noting and looking, would encourage super fast birthing, aside from giving accepted applicants a really cool story to share with friends and family, a neat certificate, a souvenir moonrock that looks just like a regular rock but in fact isn’t, and, they were told, even better oxidation to their new infant’s brain because of the ultra-pure supply that spacemen get and we earthmen don’t; not all dirty like our tree air. A step in the right direction, you’d think, but in fact I’ve just experienced a lot more farting between my encephalonic folds. It’s all gilded oxygen. My thoughts are interrupted all the time. You never think fart sounds will get old, but boy you’d be wrong about that. 

Melinda was, pretty remarkably, among hundreds and thousands of other women, selected to be the experiment’s only off-white subject. Among her co-subjects there were also a sundry of browns, several dusty blues, a pair of tuscan suns, a currant, and even one bright mulberry pink mother, Miss Rea, who had been, as her name comically predestined, remiss. She neglected her oxygen mask back on the launch facility green, still in the hands of the engineer she had been chatting up with the story of how she was just about to be a spacefarer. Let her talk, we said, certain this was foreshadowing something pretty funny. I’ve been told that my own mother, actually, did have an extra mask to spare, but she imagined there might be a better use for it in aerating a bottle of wine that had been brought to toast the many births. Miss Rea was so humiliated, the story goes, slowly suffocating to death as new life was being brought about all around her, drinking to it, toasting it, as I mentioned before. It was taunting. “Look, even a tiny baby can do it,” our loud first breaths rubbing her magenta face, choking on its final few, into it. I think perhaps that she wanted to die, in the end, to spare herself this acerbity of embarrassment. And so she did. Ah. 

It was a necessary experiment for the golden age of French research advancement, characterized by massive increases to the scientific pursuits budget, free enterprise, lots of very friendly under-the-table bailouts and smiling at one another. Despite how I felt about it all, as a subject, I can admit that free of bitterness: it was a necessary phase for the betterment of French life, bastard cocksuckers ruin my whole life will you. The Centre national d'études spatiales interspace birthing project, sponsored by the France government, proposed to observe how the delivery of babies, and whatever else that came out in the delivery (can’t control just for children, you know; occasionally a kidney stone or an organ on shaky standing will splu-splutter out. And what a noise it makes, too!), would be affected by the vicissitudes and vacillations of a spaceborn rocket; the dearth of atmosphere upon human delivery, and how human delivery affected the spatial atmosphere. If, on arrival, we babies fractured into lots of smaller babies through progressive fragmentation, as asteroids and tragic love stories do. If our heads exploded. Would have been so gross. Happy mine didn’t. Less conceivably, but nonetheless on the observation sheet, if our vocal cords were at all prematured by the level of prominence we had already achieved, literally just born and already spacemen, and if, thusly, we softly cried anything of ad rem interest, like, “Goo, goo, interga-ga-lactic.” I think I gurgled something close, but, as my friend the wonderful Dr. Rinaldi would say, “Close but no cigar.” What do I care, anyway? 

In the end, zero-gravity delivery didn’t appear to have much effect on any of us babies, or our mothers — with the small exception that I personally still think that screaming at the top of my lungs will propel me backwards really fast — but did, productively, reveal that the medical field itself is not ready to do interspace deliveries. Babies can do it anywhere. Scoops and scalpels, on the other hand, had to be attached to the obstetrician’s wrists in infantilizing soft safety bracelets. There were a lot of problems like that. For one, the space program’s safety crew — who had, admittedly, done so badly at school that they couldn’t meet any intelligence standards on the planet and so resolved to make a fresh start extraterrestrially — almost didn’t allow the medical staff on the rocket, with all of their dangerously pointy apparati. I hear my mother was searched, too, they thinking her huge baby bump was some new kind of collapsible bazooka. This is a holdover from the fears of space terrorism which, I have to be honest, doesn’t bother me that much. So long as it doesn’t happen on Earth, that’s my motto. 

We touched back twenty-nine years plus several minutes ago, and to this moment, I do not feel properly naturalized to this planet. Maybe the next moment? … Nope. Jerk moment. Everyone asks this question, so I like to state outright: yes, I’ve told the researchers at CNES, they’ve taken all this down in their notepads and shared it off the record with their spouses and family friends at sumptuous weekend dinner parties and sparkling evenings of champagne and strawberries, which rich doctor people each from a trough. I’ve told them how I feel to the final troublesome detail: as though my body, its tropospheric tautness, is a sharp tongue constantly attempting to pronounce the slothier sounds of English while I’m really native to the flexing, visible-vein rapidity of Francais. That I can’t get the positioning right, no matter what I try or how often I practice, or what diet I go on. That, still, each time I have occasion to jump in the air, into a fireman’s arms, or to evade a long rope that is repeatedly swooped back around by some pair of children — typically a pair of creepy twin girls wreaking of evil — a dominating part of my intergalactic hindbrain assumes I will stay there, mid-air, unfettered by what you might call gravity but which I know better as Earth’s invisible iron maiden straps and buckles, bad bad buckles. When I crash to the ground, I crumble emotionally, and to worsen matters the little twins’ rope — if we’re in Scenario #2, here — continues to slap me in the face, leaving these twisty imprints you notice now. I’m forced to lie to strangers who stare, explaining (a lie) that the skeletal composition of my facial bones is afflicted by a hereditary disease, creating this plaited pattern. The truth humiliates, but in a lie, I am safe. 

My existence on Earth has been pure tragedy, and here’s the clincher: I was recently sentenced to fifteen years of hard labor. For a crime I didn’t do! Swear!!!!!!!! I have a therapist here, at the prison, who forces me to acknowledge that it’s not all terrible in this kind of soft, antipsychotic voice. To count my blessings. I do get to have a kind of impotent-type proto-sex with the possums who blend in with the rocks my pickaxe penetrates. That’s nice, I guess. I have all my friends in the world around me constantly. Nemeses, too, but optimism is braver than despondency, so don’t mention it again. The manual work means my wrists pain me constantly, but this tight pair of cuffs do well to keep the bones set correctly, so from the outside, they look pretty alright. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Sucks here…………...

[theworstbob]

yellin’ at songs, week thirty-seven

Complaining about songs I didn’t have to listen to, specifically the songs which debuted on the Billboard charts the week of 20 September 1997, 22 September 2007, and 23 September 2007

9.20.1997

50) "On My Own," by Peach Union

The whole song, I was thinking, "You know, this is pretty Eurotrashy, but it's not as awful as most of what I've had to endure. There's a lot of awful elements, don't get me wrong, but on the whole, I don't mind it!" And then it turned out that this group is British! That makes sense. I, an American, would of course find the music of Britain more accessible than the music from other European countries. British dance music is basically Sarah McLachlan with record scratches.

60) "Me and My Crazy World," by Lost Boyz

I was promised a fun "day in the life" song, something in the vein of "It Was a Good Day." What I got was some dude or group of dudes saying they somehow brought two dates to the same dance -- oh no! Their attempts to make it our of the night with neither girl wise to his schemes will surely make for some grand comedy! "She thought that I'm some clown nigga she can scream on and talk to/I had to run her down the line this ain't no walk through/Now who the fuck you think you talkin to chick/Your complaining's makin' me sick." YOU CHEATED ON HER, YOU AWFUL AWFUL MAN! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. THIS IS NO WAY TO THINK. Shit. I mean, shit! Just a light-hearted song, and suddenly you're tryna yell at her because you want a side piece. Absolute fuck is wrong with you.

68) "Avenues," by Refugee Camp All-Stars ft./Pras (w/Ky-mani)

Enh. I like the sample, but it's hard to imagine anything about this song sticking with me longerthan it takes to finish this sentence. Something about avenues? Yeah this is kinda nothing.

90) "The Way That You Talk," by Jagged Edge ft./Da Brat & JD

'90s R&B where the group of dudes wanna fuck me >>>>>>>>>>>> '90s R&B where dudes pledge their devotion and vow to protect me so that they can fuck me later.

9.22.2007

71) "No One," Alicia Keys

I remember being a little put off by this song, just because I had watched "You Don't Know My Name" and "If I Ain't Got You" hella times on vh1 (I used to throw vh1 and MTV on in the morning before school because that's when they played music videos) and this was so different from those songs, but listening to this song now, I'm very angry that young Bob! robbed me of at least a few months of enjoying this song. This is amazing. It's still a weird song, I have no actual musicwords to back this I just always associate Alicia Keys with "intricate piano balladry" and it's my fault for never letting that bias go, but just the way the chorus escalates each time, the way she's proclaiming every single time that her love is undying is SO GOOD. Alicia Keys, man, she's a phenomenal songwriter. I can't think of anything she's made which I find disagreeable. I even stand with "Another Way to Die."

79) "Don't Blink," Kenny Chesney

"it is sad when old so young before you're old!" ~kennald chsenald

85) "Gimme More," Britney Spears

...You're right. When I thought this week was a clinch to win, I forgot that mid-aughts Britney was the least interesting Britney. I don't have a lot of love for dance-pop Britney. Or, if I'm being real, non-"Hit Me Baby (One More Time)" Britney. I don't know why I was excited for this song. It's not good! It's as bad, if not worse, than the average '90s Eurotrash song, it just has that brand name attached that made me forget for a second it was grating and repetitive and needlessly dark and Timbalandly over-the-top. What even is that interlude with all the dude voices just going "oh" for ten seconds. The track ends with the producer saying, "The unstoppable Danja. You gon' have to remove me 'cuz I ain't goin' nowhere." Danja hasn't had a major hit since 2009 and was last heard producing a universally panned DJ Khaled song. Congratulations, Danja, you played yourself? Is that, am I saying that right? Eh, fuck it, I'm about to admit I enjoyed a Good Charlotte song again.

88) "I Don't Wanna Be in Love (Dance Floor Anthem)," Good Charlotte

My headcanon is that Panic! At the Disco heard this song, considered what ill they had wrought, and decided to drop the ! and pretend they were the Beatles until they could be sure they couldn't influence something like this. I mean, you isolate it from the brand name, this is a solid dance-punk jam. It's over-the-top in all the right ways, I was shouting along with the chorus even in the peak "GOOD CHARLOTTE AREN'T REAL PUNKERS" days, and it's a sad song without trying to be profound about it. "You feel like shit, so dance it out!" this song says, and that's an agreeable message! But also Good Charlotte yelps the line "He was dedicated/By most suckas hated/That girl was fine but she didn't appreciate him" and if you're not embarrassed by that you need to think about the person you are in this moment. “By most suckas hated.” I’m being charitable by transcribing the line as if Joel Madden didn’t say ‘sucker.’ Criminy.

93) "Shawty Is a 10," The-Dream ft./Fabolous

this song is a 6 OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ...Is what I was GOING to say before I heard this song, which is refreshing! I found the way he pronounced "ten" unacceptable until I saw that the song was originally called "Shawty is Da Shit!" and now I only find it irksome, the lyrics are kinda enh, but that is a breezy summer day of a beat if I've ever heard one, Fabolous drops his best verse of 2007 so far, and The-Dream isn't nearly as nothing as I remember him being. Just a nice song about hot girls. Nothing to complain about, no sir.

94) "Fall," Clay Walker

"Doin' this and doin' that/Always puttin' yourself last/A whole lotta give and not enough take" ...I know there's no way for this song to be about what I just wanted it to be about and I'm angry that I let myself hope for better. "Fall/Go on and fall apart/Fall into these arms of mine/I'll catch you every time you/Fall" I'm so angry I thought this would be the song about a country dude agreeing to be an unselfish lover and eat out his girlfriend. Nope. He just wants her to cry in his arms so he can have her at his lowest moment and help build her back up so she'll continue associating "feeling better" with "being with him" and continue to blow him. I DARE one of these country dudes to make a song bragging about how good they are at eating pussy. I will buy a Brantley Gilbert record if he makes that song.

97) "How 'Bout Them Cowgirls," George Strait

et tu, possum?

9.23.2017

4) "...Ready for It?" by Tay Tay

There is entirely too much punctuation in this song title, this song begins with Tay Tay clearing her throat, and she is rapping. No. Absolutely not. How are people defending this? How come Tay Tay fired the person in charge of telling her "no?" This song is excessive and I hated listening to this and don't think it's gonna come around. This is bad and I hate it.

77) "These Heaux," by Bhad Bhabie

1) No 2) Fuck anyone expressing an actual opinion about this song 3) This country is broken 4) How dare they 5) No 6) No 7) No 8) Please don't 9) At least it wasn't a third Jake Paul song! 10) But legit life's too short to waste on things you know you're gonna hate. Maybe next time a meme drops a track, don't listen? This song only exists because it wants you to hate it. Listen to something you like next time. 11) #77. Fuck's sake.

81) "Bad at Love," by Halsey

This song could use a sense of humor. The phrase "bad at love" is inherently comical; how can you be bad at a noun, silly, what a playful use of language! But to call Halsey extra is to imply that this isn't standard Halsey. This could be a playful song about a girl who's been fucking around (in more ways than one! /slaps knee) too long and wishes she could settle down, but instead it's a song about a girl who needs to be fixed, and what it actually is doesn't captivate me at all. Halsey: Almost being something I'm into since 2015!

86) "Greatest Love Story," by LANCO

A three-act play: "Hey! I haven't heard of this band/artist before! Yippee, new music!" /sees country videos in the 'up next' sidebar "At this point, I’m refusing to learn." "They said I was nothing but a troublemaker never up to no good/You were the perfect all-American girl, wouldn't touch me even if you could." Oh wow, apparently the greatest love story is the story literally every other country artist has told, well no wonder so many of them have told story! Because it's the greatest! MYSTERY UNLOCKED.

97) "Sky Walker," by Miguel ft./Travis Scott

That falsetto Miguel does when he sings "but don't wait to jump in too long" that only like maybe five people on earth can do is unreal. I brought up Miguel when I complained about having to listen to Bryson Tiller, but LEGIT why are we bothering with Bryson Tiller when Miguel can do that thing with his voice. This song isn't really that great, it goes about the same places as the average Bryson Tiller song did, but just knowing I would hear Miguel sing that line in that way kept me engaged enough with the song.

99) "Reminder (Remix)," by The Weeknd ft./A$AP Rocky & Young Thug

"Ain't no more Hanes on my balls, these are Kenneth Cole" is a fucking outsanding boast from Young Thug and why I think he's one of the greatest artists of his generation. The Weeknd's verse is hilarious, as well -- "I just won a new award for a kids show/Talkin' 'bout a face numbing off a bag of blow." It takes a special track to render A$AP Rocky the bronze medalist, but man, this song is just a good time and a half. 2017 isn't all bad! It's had more downs than ups in recent days, but this is some quality 2017 music right here.

100) "No Fear," be DeJ Loaf

I thought #AndSeeThatsTheThing was dope, and I was looking forward to hearing more from DeJ Loaf, and then I forgot she existed for /checks watch/ nearly two years!, and now here's this song which is kinda basic but also so good, just an uncomplicated, nice song about being a love, which, y'know, if you're gonna give me something uncomplicated, I'd rather hear something simple about love than any of the thousands of simple songs about darkness and evil. Also, apparently DeJ and that Jacuqees fellow from a couple weeks back released a joint album called Fuck a Friend Zone. Fuck a Friend Zone is, as you likely expected, a bunch of songs about fuckin'. I'll repeat a point I've made: '90s R&B never died, it just lost all subtlety.

Who won the week?

In a lot of ways, I feel “No One” is the only Actually Good song I listened to this week. “Reminder” puts up one hell of a fight, but “No One” is pretty much all 2007 needed.

Current standings: 1997: 13 2007: 12 2017: 12 Next week, 1997 throws us Boyz II Men and Mary J. Blige, 2007 throws us a heck of a lot of random junk (Kanye! Khaled! Feist! Backstreet Boys?), and maybe Kelly Clarkson for 2017? Maybe? Or will it be a thousand country artists, each more broey than the last? please just give me a good week, please, just, please