#roger noggins

[crickets-lovely-place]

Antigone in the Spotlight (Again): Phantom Overcoats

AHHHH THE BEASTIE. This is for the podcast Wooden Overcoats, which is 17/10 recommend. It was supposed to be a cute little one-shot that I wrote and posted before the final season started airing this January.... it's currently sitting at 5,696 words and the final chapter is giving me HIVES.

But anyway this fic is up to S3 canon-compliant, it's a community theater production of Phantom of the Opera starring:

Antigone Funn—former recluse, letting go of her unrequited crush on golden boy Eric, newly confident, wanting to try hard things, and cajoled into participating because her friend Georgie is directing—Christine

Eric Chapman—town fave, finally realising he's in love with Antigone, lowkey in this production just to hang out with her, an awkward mess for ONCE in his life—the Phantom

Roger Noggins—legit thought he was going to die last year and held a funeral, maybe the most unintersting man you've ever met, is trying to branch out and form new hobbies—Raoul

And a whole host of other characters that are riotously funny and interesting individuals. Which is why this fic is taking so long. I just wanted Antigone and Eric to kiss and get together BUT the rest of the inhabitants of Piffling Vale keep demanding screen time.

I love them. Maybe I'll finish for Halloween this year.

[age-of-moonknight]

“Systemic Approach (Part Two),” Avengers Unlimited (Vol. 1/2022), Infinity Comic, #64.

Writer: Mat Groom; Penciler and Inker: Caio Majado; Colorist: Pete Pantazis; Letterer: Joe Sabino

[plussizefantasia]

Trick-Or-Treat

Flufftober Day 31: Trick or Treat

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

AN: Here it is. The last one shot of October. Thank you to everyone who has left comments and reblogs you guys are awesome. I'll be taking a short break (like two weeks) and will be back soon with some more stories including a multi-chapter Steve Harrington x reader story and plans for the 100-follower celebration that we earned at the beginning of the month. As always, reblogs and feedback are really appreciated.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

Bucky Barnes didn’t think very much of himself. Which is a real shame, considering he’s one of the most amazing men you’ve ever met. You wouldn’t have moved in together if he was a bad guy like he thought he was. The two of you had moved into a two-story townhouse in Brooklyn three months ago. Bucky really wanted to get close to his roots, especially after everything that happened. Steve had moved into an apartment about a block from you guys but split most of his time between the Avenger’s initiative and being home. 

“Jamie, could you help me move the couch to the stoop please?’

‘Why are we taking our indoor furniture outdoors?” 

“So that we have something comfy to sit on while we hand out candy.” 

“We’re handing out candy? I thought we were just going to put it in a bowl and leave it outside the door.” Bucky was confused, and more than a little apprehensive. 

“Jamie. Love of my life, this is what people who have houses do. They sit out on their porches and hand out candy to children in mediocre costumes for two hours while trying not to freeze. It’s a rite of passage.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re telling me that you didn’t do trick or treat in the olden days?” 

“First of all, don’t call them the olden days. Second of all, trick or treating wasn’t really a thing until I was too old to participate, and even then, people had more things to worry about than handing out candy.”

“Why don’t you want to hand out candy, Jamie?”

“Because… it will be cold.”

“You’re literally a human furnace try again.” You lifted one eyebrow at him, trying your best to capture the essence of Roger’s ‘eyebrows of disappointment’ that he had practically trademarked.

“Doll, I just don’t think it's a good idea.”

“Why not Jamie? I won’t make you hand out candy if you don’t want to but I have a feeling that whatever reason you have in your silly little noggin for not wanting to isn’t really a good one.”

“What if they hate me?” He mumbled.

“What if who hates you, baby?”

“The kids. What if the kids are scared of me.”

“James Buchanan Barnes. You are a hero, you fought to bring back literally half of the population of the entire universe, anyone who is scared of you is an idiot.”

“That’s sweet doll, but I don’t want to ruin anyone’s night.”

“The only person’s night who is a risk of being ruined is mine. I don’t know how I’ll survive without my human furnace to keep me warm out there.” You batted your eyelashes at him. “Please, Jamie? Just try, if you hate it you can go back inside but I think you’ll have a lot of fun.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” You didn’t try to fight the smile that spread from ear to ear.

‘Yeah, doll. I’ll hand out candy with you.”

Bucky wasn’t sure about any of this. But you had asked so prettily and his therapist (someone you had found for him, not one of the shitty government-appointed ones) had told him that he needed to start pushing his boundaries. He figured that spending the night next to you and watching you be happy was as good of a way to start pushing boundaries as any. He had pulled the couch out into the space that was right in front of your door. He had helped you climb over the back of it with a huge bowl of candy after you realized that the couch had practically trapped you inside. Now the two of you were waiting. The night didn’t officially start until 8:00 so you had about fifteen minutes to go. 

“Jamie?”

“Hmm?’

“I forgot my phone.”

“Okay?’ 

“Jamie?”

“Yes?” 

“Could you go get my phone?” He let out a deep sigh and one of those old man grunts as he pushed himself up off the couch and climbed over it. He walked further into the house and you took your chance. “Hey Jamie?”

“Yes, Doll?” 

“Since you’re inside… could you make me some hot chocolate?” 

“Doll, if you wanted hot chocolate you could’ve just asked in the first place you didn’t need to send me on a quest for your phone.”

“I did actually leave my phone on the counter so it’s not like I lied.”

As Bucky was making your hot chocolate, the beginning few kids started emerging from their houses, parents behind them bundled up to counteract the chilly October night.

You saw a few clowns, some kids show characters that you didn’t really know the name of, and some funny pun costumes that you laughed at. But what really caught your eye was the trio of boys four houses down from yours, making their way down the street.

They couldn’t have been older than eight but their costumes were impeccable. They really were mini versions of your three favorite guys. A mini Captain America complete with a homemade cardboard shield, a mini falcon with swim goggles and a plastic redwing, and last but certainly not least a mini winter soldier whose arm was wrapped in tinfoil. 

You had to resist the urge to actually scream, but you did let out a few overjoyed giggles.

“Jamie! James come quick!” You yelled into the house.

“You’re hot chocolate is almost done.” He yelled back.

“Who cares about the hot chocolate this is way more important!”

He started making his way towards the open door, “What is more important than hot choco-” He completely stopped. Frozen in his place looking at the three little boys making their way up your steps. “Holy Shit”

‘Language.” You replied.

Bucky practically launched himself over the back of the couch to meet the boys,

“Mom! Mom look! It’s Sergeant Barnes.” The boy with the tinfoil arm turned with a bright smile on his face. His mom was nearly as frozen as Bucky, most likely not expecting to run into a retired superhero on Halloween night.

With a smack from you, Bucky released himself from his stupor. “Hey little man, what’s your name?”

“George, but everyone calls me Georgie.” He said with the confidence of a kid who had rehearsed. 

“Well Georgie, that’s a very nice costume you’ve got there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes, Sir.”

“Call me Bucky, please.”

“Okay, Mr. Bucky, sir.” Both you and Bucky chuckled at that.

“I think a costume as good as that deserves some candy what do you think?” Bucky looked at you.

“Definitely, I think all three of these young heroes deserve their candy.”

You placed a handful into the Captain’s bucket, and the Falcon’s but let Bucky grab the candy for his mini-me. He grabbed two large handfuls and winked at the kid as he placed them inside his orange pumpkin bucket.

“Would you be okay with taking a picture?” Georgie’s mom asked.

“Absolutely!’ Bucky replied and pulled all three young boys in front of him. Kneeling behind them and giving a genuine smile.

Once pictures were done the parents got the boys to say goodbye and move on. 

“There are more houses to go to Georgie, besides, I’m sure Mr. Barnes would like to be able to give candy to some other kids.”

“Okay Mom,” Georgie turned back to Bucky, “Thank you, Mr. Bucky, sir. You’re my hero.” He turned back away and skipped down your stairs and onto the next one like he hadn’t just broken your boyfriend.

The rest of the night went pretty similarly, with the occasional Avenger costume and star-struck kid. Bucky posing for pictures and actually enjoying it and you handing out way more candy per child than their parents were okay with.

Bucky’s smile never faded and he seemed to get more and more into it as the night went on. 

“Hey Doll?” He asked when the two of you had finally returned your couch back to its rightful place.

“Yeah, Jamie.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You kissed him on the cheek. “You never did bring me my hot chocolate though.”

[lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber]

Come again, Needle Noggin?

Hello there!

You can call me Cal (He/They), I’ll be your resident writer this morning/afternoon/evening!

Some details about your lovely time here:

I write for:

Star Wars:

Anakin Skywalker

Obi Wan

Luke Skywalker

Din Djarin

Ashoka Tano

Marvel:

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Peter Parker

Loki Laufesyon

Natasha Romanoff

Wanda Maximoff

And a couple more that i’ll add once i think of them

Harry Potter: (all either in 7th year or aged up, besides the adults)

Harry Potter

Tom Riddle

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Hermione Granger

Neville Longbottom

Cedric Diggory

Newt Scammander

X-Men:

Charles Xavier

Erik Lehnsherr

Logan Howlett

Scott Summers

Alex Summers

Jean Grey

Hunger Games:

Katniss Everdeen

Peeta Mallark

Coriolanus Snow

Lucy Gray Baird

Sejanus Plinth

The Bear:

Carmen Berzatto

Sydney Adamu

Saltburn:

Oliver Quick

Felix Catton

I also have peaky blinders/cillian murphy blog @red-write-hand, i write cool stuff and can talk over there :]

RULES FOR REQUESTS:

Remember to add in your request:

words count

pairing (x reader, x oc, x canon character)

trope (fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut)

maybe a summary?

I dont do:

incest

dubcon

noncon

nothing with minors (ONLY ACCEPTING REQUESTS WHERE CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP)

vomit/piss/scat

anything with actual people (such as actors, some exceptions are if i specifically say so)

NOTHING BIGOTED (transphobia, homophobia, racism, fatphobia, etc.)

I will write:

close to everything else!

just give me some time, i'm kinda slow, i will get out more headcanons out than fics but those will still get published :]

Last thing, sorry for keeping you...

BE NICE :)

[carsonian]

Cap-IM Rec Week: Absolute Faves Monday

@cap-ironman, in no particular order:

"One-Man Army" by Captain_Panda

Takes place immediately after the Chitauri attack in Avengers 1. Steve is running himself into the ground. Tony notices. Then Steve gets knocked down hard. And Tony intervenes.

Mt. Everest. The fic that I've made 20+ fanarts for, the one that's been ricocheting around my noggin since I first read it. Ahh, OMA. You big, bombastic beauty.

"Role of a Lifetime" by Annie D (scaramouche) (@no-gorms)

It’s been almost a year since Tony was rescued from the Ten Rings by SHIELD. In this time, Tony has forged a new path for Stark Industries and taken on a new under-the-radar role as a consultant for SHIELD. Tony’s SHIELD job eventually brings him into contact with the newest Captain America, who’s a pretty cool guy, though for security reasons Tony can’t know his real name or see his face without the Captain America mask. This is also about the time that Tony notices a certain Mr. Stevens, a new hire in SI’s corporate office...

This AU….this AU… I tell ya, THIS AU….this is some high-quality, top-grade, cutting-edge, organically grown, grass-fed, imdb ten of ten, five-star michelin, test-tube perfection, new york bestseller, billboard luster, knockout buster shiz.

"Meso Park" by Captain_Panda

As the head theropod keeper for A.I.M.'s extraordinary new project, Steve Rogers wants a smooth summer opening. Then the unthinkable happens, on the same day the investor of a lifetime arrives, ready to throw his support behind the world's most ambitious theme park. Can Meso Park survive the upheaval? Can Steve? Tune in to this dinosaur-themed adventure inspired by Michael Crichton's classic, Jurassic Park.

I've said it many times before, I'll say it again: if Meso Park has 100 fans, I'm one of em. If Meso Park has 10 fans, I'm one of em. If Meso Park has 1 fan, that fan is me. If Meso Park has 0 fans, I am no longer alive. It's not yet finished and I'm already sure it's the fic of the decade. That's just Meso Park for you.

"Gather Ye Rosebuds" by lazywriter7

It isn’t like that, for many people. For them, love is the point: the axis around which everything else revolves, the destination at the end of a long, tumultuous journey. Realisation, confession, resolution. Happy ending. That’s how it goes. And love was a point in Tony Stark’s journey, except it came towards the beginning, rather than the end. The issue, instead of the solution. He hasn’t been alone on the trip, of course. Steve’s been there: sometimes three steps behind, sometimes waiting up ahead by the turn of the road. They’ve sprinted and stumbled, sometimes stood still and refused to move on ahead, sometimes thought of turning away altogether. Steve and Tony’s story began after they fell in love, and this is about how they fell in everything else.

I read this Way Back When, and I remember thinking I'd never seen such a convincing portrayal of MCU SteveTony and how a genuine relationship between the two of them could emerge while still accounting for (hold your puke) canon. Still rock-solid all the way through; knock against the fic at any point, and it will answer back with a fun two-part joke. Lush stuff.

"The First Time I Went Dancing Sober" by schemingreader

Steve Rogers is a great physical therapist who works with sick kids. Tony Stark is a damaged biotech engineering genius who really wants to be one of the good guys.

I've recc'd this before so I won't blabber on but rest assured it is heartwrenchingly good.

"But Your Spirit is Untainted; I Can Dedicate You Still" by BlossomsintheMist (@blossomsinthemist)

The incursions crisis is over, and Steve and Tony have gotten back together, but nothing is the same as it was. Fearing that things are broken between them forever, Steve asks Tony something unexpected to try to make things right. Or, Steve asks if Tony really meant what he said when he asked Steve to hurt him. Sequel to Might Have Cherished You More Wisely.

I couldn't give less of a FUCK that this isn't technically finished. It is finished, to ME. The character-building in this story is just rich and fleshy and the stuff of true finesse. I read this every once in a while just to have the taste of masterful storytelling on my tongue. You should, too ;)

"Sins of Omission" by Kiyaar (@kiyaar)

A Post-Civil War, Pre-Secret Invasion AU where Steve is dead, Tony's a mess, and everything sucks. In which Tony deals poorly with Steve's death, falls off the wagon, sees ghosts, and misses a lot. Oh, and the Skrulls are about to invade.

When I first came across this fic, I devoured it in about 2 days and proceeded to be devoured by it for the next 2 months. :) Lovely stuff!

"Catechism" by manic_intent (@manic-intent)

Inspired by fanart seen on tumblr, this is an End of Days story, with all the Avengers as Archangels. Tony had always known that he was a special snowflake. He just hadn't realized exactly how special.

Listen. I'm a simple gal. This ticks off all the boxes, uh-hello!

"not gruesome, just human" by isozyme (@isozyme)

“I need to crash on someone’s couch for a while. Your couch. I need to crash on your couch,” Tony says. Steve’s mouth opens. If he asks why Tony’s going to bolt, he can feel the certainty of it under his sternum. He doesn’t have a sternum anymore, just a tangle of metal under his skin. Too many things have punched through it to get to his heart. There hasn’t been enough bone left to reconstruct anything made of flesh in a long time. “There’s borscht on the stove,” Steve says.

Raw. Punchy. Kind of makes me want to weep. Kind of makes me smile. Lotsa stuff that you can only write about when you've been down and which after reading will lift you right back up.

And I'll stop myself there because I could definitely just go on and on and on.

Go forth: SteveTony lovers, fuckers, ambassadors, champions, perverts, freaks, losers, dreamers, legends! Read, re-read, kudo, comment, spread legs and spread love.

[simpalert]

found a audio that fits tsams eclipse and ima type it cus i cant get the audio on me laptop

tw:death mention,abandoment mention [i guess?],eclipse angst

i don't wanna die...i don't wanna disappear..i hate this...i hate boys...i hate my father and my mother...i hate everyone!

nobody cares about me!nobody stays with me! so i dont wanna depend on anybody!

but i hate it at the same time! ITS A PAIN!!

i dont wanna be alone...i dont wanna be alone!I DONT WANNA BE ALONE!!!

...let that rest in ur noggin

@snowe-zolynn-rogers @mengy007 - come get some angst peeps

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #291: Shadows of the Future Past!

May, 1988

Let’s Party!

Fancy dress? Someone punching Dr Druid? Sounds like a party to me!

Joking aside (or is it?) Thor wielding Mjolnir while in fancy dress makes me laugh for some reason. Who can say why things are funny.

I gotta laugh at the cover because I have a bad feeling about the contents. I remember... something. Secondhand rumor of Marrina and Monica...

Well! We’ll get to it when we get to it! Maybe sooner, maybe later!

Let’s just enjoy Dr Druid getting punched!

So the broad strokes last time on Avengers: the Masters of Evil taking over Avengers Mansion was a black mark on Wasp’s otherwise very successful run as chairwoman. And even though she handled the aftermath well, she decided it was time for her to take a vacation. The senior Avengers on the team like Captain America and Thor were too busy with their own personal biz to devote the necessary time and energy to leading the team so with encouragement, least new of the new Avengers, Captain Marvel Monica Rambeau became the new leader of the team.

She’s done a good job!

She’s led the team through several high stakes situations and proved herself one of the heavy hitters.

And then for whatever reason, Mark Gruenwald, the editor that had overseen the book when Monica became the chairwoman and led the team successfully several times decided he wanted Monica to be out of her depth and incompetent so that Captain America would come take over. Writer Roger Stern objected so now he doesn’t write this book.

So for the past bit, Monica and everyone around her has been bemoaning that she sucks, actually.

I might be being a little uncharitable with this read but I’m not feeling charitable based on the last story arc where Monica was entirely unable to do nearly anything the whole story and had to sit in a bubble and wait for Captain America to bail the team out.

ANYWAY.

Dr Druid has a sex dream.

AN OMINOUS SEX DREAM.

He has some sense of a terrible thing coming that he and he alone must face. And also a sexy blond woman makes out with him and places a crown on his head.

OMINOUS. SEX. Dream.

He doesn’t really remember them when he wakes up. Leaving only that foreboding feeling and possibly apprehensive morning wood.

Dr Druid doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it this morning though because there’s a loud CKRUUNCHH! outside the window as She-Hulk and Black Knight clean up the mess by Heavy Metal’s attack on Hydrobase.

Black Knight slices rubble with his extremely cursed sword into manageable chunks and She-Hulk throws them onto a barge.

We have a new writer on this book, Walt Simonson. And I don’t know if he really... gets these characters?

Or at the least has gotten only the most cursory of cliff notes.

Black Knight is sexist now.

When She-Hulk tells Dr Druid to come out and help them clean up, Black Knight decides this is an okay thing to say about FUCKING SHE-HULK.

Black Knight: “Yes, Dr Druid, this is unseemly work for a woman’s hands.”

She-Hulk just flicks his helmet to bounce his noggin and tells him

She-Hulk: “Listen, buster. Knighthood may have been in flower 800 years ago with the crusaders in Jerusalem... But if you don’t manage to pull yourself into the 1980′s, I may just pull you up by the roots!”

C’mon, Simonson. Geez.

Dr Druid practically pulls that “they don’t know” meme on his fellow Avengers as he walks off to meditate on the beach.

‘They don’t know about the palpable sense of menace in the air’

But then he thinks wait what if the sense of impending doom is just me being too mixed up by ominous sex dreams?

So he meditates and has a vision of the sexy blonde faceless woman saying that meditation will “restore you to that which you seek so desperately. Come hither to me, doctor... and know me better.”

Oh god, its upgraded to an ominous sex daydream.

Back at the rubble cleanup, Captain Marvel shows up and decides to help by blasting the rubble.

Since this is the character assassination era, this was the wrong thing to do and She-Hulk berates Monica for making the job harder and Monica flies away berating herself for fucking up yet another thing.

Captain Marvel: “Ever since I became leader, everything I touch seems to go wrong, no matter what I do!”

This is why I’m not charitable with this book.

Because. Look. The first two panels would be a funny gag if the constant refrain wasn’t “Monica is terrible at everything.” On its own, it could be funny.

I’d be reminded of the humor back in Shooter’s run, where he wasn’t afraid to make the Avengers look silly and fallible sometimes. Like when Donald Blake transformed into Thor in a restroom and then had to awkwardly walk out the front door because he didn’t want to punch a hole in a restaurant.

Namor and Marrina KER-SPLASSH out of the ocean and are being That Couple this morning. The couple that’s all about the PDA.

Black Knight, because Simonson I guess thinks he’s actually from the Crusade times, grumps “such public displays of affection should be more restrained.”

I swear, I don’t remember him being quite so much of a fuddy-duddy earlier.

She-Hulk tells Dane off as the stuffiest hero she knows because heck Namor and Marrina are a cute couple. But even she gets a little sick of how gooey Namor and Marrina are when they go off for a morning swim together and Marrina says “To cleave the waves with you, my darling, is all I could ever desire.”

Thor shows up, yawning, and She-Hulk teases him for sleeping the morning away while she and Black Knight were cleaning up after Heavy Metal and from damage caused when Grog the God Crusher invaded Hydrobase looking to god crush Thor in #390 of his book.

Fun fact: That’s the issue where the Captain America lifts Mjolnir for the first time.

Unfun fact: Even in another book with a different writer and a different editor, Monica is still doing the ‘geez I suck, the Captain America should be in charge.’

ANYWAY.

POINT BEING.

She-Hulk razzes Thor for not helping clean up when his book contributed to the damage. But Thor argues he was doing the most important task of all.

Telling Jarvis to make them all breakfast.

Okay. That sounds bad.

He was getting Jarvis from the hospital and bringing him to Hydrobase so he can get back to work.

Okay, that still sounds bad.

I swear its heart warming.

Everyone is happy to see him, he’s happy to be back. Its great. Its Jarvis!

I’m happy to see him.

After breakfast, Monica Marvel returns from her pity party with good news.

She decided to work on improving the Avengers’ PR and she got the team an invite to an exclusive party!

A fancy party will surely improve team morale and make them look good. Provided nothing catastrophic happens! Ignore the cover of this book!

Pfft. Fancy dress Avengers is a wonderful thing. Monica and Dane being the only one wearing little masks because they’re the only ones on the team that have a real secret identity.

I forget sometimes but Dr Druid was kind of a celebrity before joining the Avengers. I wonder if he still takes time to make tv appearances.

Also, Thor in a suit! Just like I wished for back during the Trial of Yellowjacket! Wow. That was so long ago...

Anyway, the Avengers spread out to mingle. This is about boosting their reputation with the public. Or at least the narrow slice of the public that got invited to this party.

So there’s a lot of cool snippets of conversation that we see the Avengers subjected to. Some dude tries to convince She-Hulk to do endorsements for the International Federation of Body Builders. Despite Namor’s potent ‘don’t talk to me’ face, some guy expresses wonder that Namor functions in both fresh and salt water. Some lady tries to convince Thor that the Avengers should move to Tulsa so that property insurance rates in New York will drop. And some dude tries to convince Dr Druid that the world would be better off without superheroes. Some guts on that dude. Dr Druid is, technically, a superhero.

Anyway, Dr Druid thinks he sees his Sexy Ominous Dream Girl in the party and walks away from the conversation to speak to her but it turns out to not be the Sexy Ominous Dream Girl at all.

Black Knight is still being written as if he’s fresh from the Crusade times as he comments “I should rather face a company of Saracens... than meet the reporters who wait in ambush without.”

GOD DAMN DUDE.

It’s been like six years and almost seventy issues since you came back from the past-times. This is not who you are!

Thor gets ambushed by a bunch of women who are simply agog that he is not married and suggests maybe he’d like a nice Earth girl to show him the town.

Thor: “You have my gratitude, fair ladies. But though I have no spouse, I am not without a keeper of my heart.”

Party lady: “Wouldn’t you know it! Just like every other man in this town!”

Thor at least takes the conversation in good humor judging by his little smile. Same can’t be said of She-Hulk as she deals with some dude who tries to recruit her to lead the department of consumer affairs.

Some dude: “Are you kiddin’, honey? You’d be a natural! The She-Hulk in charge of the consumer affairs department! ‘The Big Green Machine is on your side to save your green!’ You’d knock ‘em dead!”

She-Hulk: “You have no idea, ‘darling’, how close you are to being right about that!”

Try not to kill anyone in public, Jen!

I probably didn’t need to spill this many pixelated ink about party banter. But you know what? We should appreciate the silly banality of the Avengers having small talk made at them.

Y’know. Given what’s about to happen.

Which is this:

Another some dude who works at the New York Aquarium tries to convince Namor and Marrina to come visit the aquarium some day. Partially because the guy wants Namor to look at some of their exotic specimens.

Namor isn’t enthused about the idea because he’s one of those dudes who hates zoos except aquariums in this case.

Marrina just isn’t paying any attention to the conversation at all. Instead she’s grabbing a goldfish out of a fish tank and just scarfing it down.

It’s not the snack that smiles back.

Namor tells her maybe don’t do that at a party but she starts screaming about needing food. She smashes the fish tank, scarfs some more fish, and then runs out of the party.

He chases after her but she goes all monstery when he grabs her arm and punches him off of her.

The behavior apparently reminds him of how she acted in Alpha Flight #40 when she was... drawn to her genetically predetermined mate or something?

She’s an alien fish lady.

But aforementioned mate is dead so she shouldn’t be having this reaction. For no reason. Out of the blue. At a party.

While the Avengers run off to see what’s going on, a party-goer snarks that “this wouldn’t have happened if Donald Trump had thrown the party!”

Now there’s a line that aged badly.

Namor chases Marrina to a dock. She’s glowing, radiating heat, apparently transforming into a turtle judging by her head right now.

She jumps into the water and despite making a little splaash! when she jumps in, her swimming away creates a massive SCHLOOSHHH! that threatens to capsize a ship.

Namor jumps into the water as well and swims after her because dammit, she may be turning into a monster but she’s the woman he loves!

You know what? You’re an okay guy sometimes, Namor.

The Avengers arrive just in time to see Namor jump in after Marrina. And also just in time to see Marrina’s quick exit capsize a container ship.

Thor thinks fast and tells She-Hulk to help him push back on the ship so it doesn’t roll over onto the dock.

Of course, this is the character assassination era, so Monica bemoan that she didn’t think fast.

Captain Marvel: “Once again, the leadership of the Avengers seems to slip further and further away from me without conscious effort. It’s as though I seem incapable of taking command!”

Uuugh. In a way, it’s going to be a relief when the trigger gets pulled on Monica because at least then I won’t have to be putting up with the constant self-deprecation that has to be designed to to undermine her appeal.

Speaking of undermining.

Monica does think to turn into her light form to search the waters for Namor or Marrina. But it’s so dark and dirty in the New York Harbor that Monica starts to lose cohesion.

HUH.

NOT A PROBLEM SHE SEEMED TO HAVE BEFORE.

>=[

Fuck sake. Even if her light form was losing cohesion, she can turn to other energies that are better at penetrating water. She can turn into any form of energy or radiation! She can turn into neutrons!

Bah!

Anyway. Monica returns to the surface so that Dr Druid can suggest everyone regroup at Hydrobase and Monica can unconvincingly say she was about to suggest the exact same thing.

Bah!

Somewhen else, this is suddenly a Kang story.

I thought we were done with that dick.

And since this is Kang, I don’t even know which Kang this is.

Wiki says its Kang from Earth-123488.23497.

There’s an infinite amount of universes. Why do we have to decimalize them too?

Anyway, A Kang.

Kang-123488.23497: “While my companions were slain, I concealed myself in the hidden corridors of time! Now the temporal displacement charge has expired and Kang the Conqueror, master of time, returns home! You might have destroyed me, Immortus, but you are a fool! For Kang still survives and you have much to fear!”

So I was wondering if he was a Kang that survived judgement and execution by the Council of Kangs by hiding with a temporal displacement charge. But he names Immortus as involved and nobody but Cape Kang (Prime Kang?) should know Immortus was involved because he was pretending to be a skeleton. So is this the Kang that absorbed every Kang’s memories and ran off screaming into Limbo, but the time one not the demon one?

God. Kangs just make things complicated.

Anyway, Kang-123488.23497 finds his base in shambles. And also finds himself under attack by someone hiding in a time dislocation and shooting a thermal lance.

Kang-123488.23497′s armor holds up but its failing under the assault so Kang-123488.23497 MacGyvers random laboratory junk into a molecular sealer that can shoot a quark beam across a “variable time net.”

Anyway. He smites his assailant. Smites him good.

And is surprised to find the dead, deceased body of a child dressed in Kang armor.

How weird!

Kang-123488.23497: “A child? Who has dared to mock the king of time?”

Lady Kang: “No mockery, my Lord Kang. Only an orphan of time, now an orphan no longer! But they do say the child is father to the man.”

Kang-123488.23497: “Who -- ?”

Lady Kang: “Or woman!”

Okay.

But what does any of this mean?

The lady Kang then mocks the dead, deceased child, calling him Kanglet and saying he lacked patience. But that the Kang she just seemingly disintegrated is an excellent substitution for the child that just died.

Lady Kang: “He may make a welcome addition to the great council! But we shall see.”

Another Council of Kangs? Wasn’t the last one just a ruse to kill all the other Kangs? APPARENTLY IT DIDN’T DO A GREAT JOB.

We just got rid of an infinite amount of Kangs and now we’re lousy with Kangs again. At least they’re more interesting than “Kang”, “Kang with a cape”, “Kang but he’s old and sad.”

We’ve got a lady Kang and a child Kang! ... Had. Had a child Kang.

No, but, seriously, why are we kanging again? We were just here twenty issues ago.

But back to the A-plot - where A stands for Avengers.

A ship sailing south of the Canary Islands runs afoul of A SEA SERPENT

Its many spinal spines rip open the underside of the ship and it sinks.

In other ocean-related disasters, a tidal wave just smash the shit out of Barbuda.

Here’s a downer, children explicitly die. Although its not shown.

Well. We did see a child gunned down a couple of pages ago so maybe that was easing the way into mass child death.

I’m just saying. This book sure has a lot more dead children now that Walt Simonson is writing.

Over at Avengers HQ Hydrobase, it’s been two weeks since Namor and Marrina disappeared into the ocean. The sea serpent wrecking a ship and a tidal wave wrecking Barbuda are just two of a trend of unexplained marine disasters.

Captain Marvel has searched the world in those two time-skipped weeks but hasn’t found either of the missing Avengers or a cause for the spate of disasters.

(I’m sure that the two points could not possibly be connected)

A news report comes on the giant technological television reporting that there’s rumors of the Biblical Leviathan in the Bermuda Triangle.

Because the Avengers are always getting their best actionable information from the news.

Since the news reader also says that “some fundamentalists are claiming this is the first sign of the impending Judgement Day” Monica complains that its impossible to separate the truth from the bullshit.

Dr Druid suggests she go look into it anyway because she can move the speed of light and it’ll take her like a few seconds.

Because this is the character assassination arc and Monica can’t do anything herself. She even complains that she has to let Dr Druid do her thinking for her.

... Which. Is dangerous with a mind guy. Monica. Don’t let a mind guy do your thinking.

After Monica leaves (briefly), Dr Druid has some thoughts.

Dr Druid: “Captain Marvel continues to seem unsure, unable to come to grips fully her role as the leader of the Avengers. And now, more than ever, I fear that the trouble I have foreseen approaches without warning. The stars themselves speak of some global disaster, something so devastating than all the super-beings of Earth may not be enough to forestall our total destruction. And if this is truly the beginning of those events, perhaps someone else might be better suited for the chairmanship here.”

I’M ONTO YOU, YOU DICK.

Anyway. As Dr Druid said because Monica doesn’t know how her own powers work, I guess, it only took her a few seconds to search the area so she’s back and with news! News that she spotted the sea monster!

Captain Marvel calls a Condition Red! Avengers Assemble! Specifically in hangar one! So they can take a Quinjet to the Bahamas!

Monica flies outside the Quinjet. She does move at the speed of light, after all. Flying in a Quinjet will only slow her down. She’ll fly ahead and emit radio waves so the Quinjet can use her as a homing beacon.

 She leads them to the sea monster which just bulldozes through a small, “apparently uninhabited” island.

Geez.

The Avengers realize that this sea monster is clearly the cause of all the sunken ships and floods and tsunamis.

Black Knight: “It’s time for the Avengers to do what they do best! Defend the living... and avenge the dead! Let’s ride!”

But as the Avengers fly out of the Quinjet under their own power or on a cool Atomic Steed, a defender flies out of the water to protect the sea monster.

Namor: “NOOOOOOO!! He who first strikes the Leviathan does so only through me!”

The Avengers are confused why Namor is stopping them from Avengersing until first Captain Marvel and then Black Knight realize...

The sea monster is Marrina!

DUN DUN DUN!

And she’s headed right to wreck up Florida!!

DUN DUN DUNNNN!

Quick, Bugs Bunny! Saw it off and push it somewhere else! Bamboozle the Marrina kaiju!

Follow @essential-avengers​ even though this arc is not giving me a lot of hope. Like and reblog because I’m pushing through anyway. Comment, if you have thoughts!

[mariacallous]

Sidney Dillon. Conglomateur, adviser to Presidents, an old flame of Ina’s. I remember once picking up a copy of what was, after the Bible and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Ina’s favorite book, Isak Dinesen’s Out of Africa; from between the pages fell a Polaroid picture of a swimmer standing at water’s edge, a wiry well-constructed man with a hairy chest and a twinkle-grinning tough-Jew face; his bathing trunks were rolled to his knees, one hand rested sexily on a hip, and with the other he was pumping a dark fat mouth-watering dick. On the reverse side a notation, made in Ina’s boyish script, read: Sidney. Lago di Garda. En route to Venice. June, 1962.

“Dill and I have always told each other everything. He was my lover for two years when I was just out of college and working at Harper’s Bazaar. The only thing he ever specifically asked me never to repeat was this business about the governor’s wife; I’m a bitch to tell it, and maybe I wouldn’t if it wasn’t for all these blissful bubbles risin’ in my noggin—” She lifted her Champagne and peered at me through its sunny effervescence.

“Gentlemen, the question is: why would an educated, dynamic, very rich and well-hung Jew go bonkers for a cretinous Protestant size forty who wears low-heeled shoes and lavender water? Especially when he’s married to Cleo Dillon, to my mind the most beautiful creature alive, always excepting the Garbo of even ten years ago (incidentally, I saw her last night at the Gunthers’, and I must say the whole setup has taken on a very weathered look, dry and drafty, like an abandoned temple, something lost in the jungles at Angkor Wat; but that’s what happens when you spend most of a life loving only yourself, and that not very much). Dill’s in his sixties now; he could still have any woman he wants, yet for years he yearned after yonder porco. I’m sure he never entirely understood this ultra-perversion, the reason for it; or if he did he never would admit it, not even to an analyst—that’s a thought! Dill at an analyst! Men like that can never be analyzed because they don’t consider any other man their equal. But as for the governor’s wife, it was simply that for Dill she was the living incorporation of everything denied him, forbidden to him as a Jew, no matter how beguiling and rich he might be: the Racquet Club, Le Jockey, the Links, White’s—all those places he would never sit down to a table of backgammon, all those golf courses where he would never sink a putt—the Everglades and the Seminole, the Maidstone, and St. Paul’s and St. Mark’s et al., the saintly little New England schools his sons would never attend. Whether he confesses to it or not, that’s why he wanted to fuck the governor’s wife, revenge himself on that smug hog-bottom, make her sweat and squeal and call him daddy.

[lcvelxss]

@rcvcrics: HWEvent Starter for: Steve Rogers || 6-Characters are convinced they are molding, a fungus rotting them from the inside out. Will they progress or become caught up in the need to cleanse themselves? Fire can be cleansing. ||

There had been a slightly nagging thought that had entered her noggin a bit back and hadn't quite left. Rikki didn't really want to waste energy on something that would be fruitless -so she hoped- and so figured if she was going to waste energy on a distraction -which was objectively a terrible idea right now- she'd choose the distraction. "Sooo...have you told Nat yet that two of your fake kids have very actively made it clear they don't care if it was fake, it's totally real now and you're a dad?"

[paper-swirls]

A Private Screening of ‘La Grande Tendresse’

((This takes place immediately after the events of S4 E4, ‘A Match Made in Piffling’. Eric Chapman has just had a rather large revelation about his feelings for the mortician across the square. He ends up at the Piffling Royale Cinema and is treated to a private screening of a certain French film. Credit goes to @ladytemplar and @petrosapian for inspiring this fic!))

Eric Chapman remained sitting on the bench for quite some time after Georgie and the Funns had departed. His eyes had followed them as they went, until they turned a corner, heading towards the square, and were out of sight.  

Well. That wasn’t entirely true. His eyes had only really followed one of them. The tallest of the group. The one with a messy curtain of dark hair falling down her back. The one who was wearing a dress that he was about 75% certain that she had borrowed off a recent corpse. The one who had been sitting on this same bench, inches away from him, just a few moments ago. The one who had very recently given him a rather spectacular and unexpected revelation regarding his own feelings.  

Eric leaned back on the bench, tilting his head up to the night sky. The stars on Piffling really were something else; wherever you were on the island on a clear night, you could look up at be greeted with the quiet and almighty beauty of the cosmos. Eric gazed at the stars, absentmindedly identifying different constellations and celestial bodies he’d needed to memorise for some reason or another a Long Time Ago. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and let out a long, deep breath.

So.   He, Eric Chapman, had feelings for Antigone Funn.   And quite startlingly romantic ones at that.   ...But...was it really all that startling though? He had felt surprised at the realisation in the moment, it was true, but another part of him had seemed to say, “Uh, yes, Eric. Of course you have feelings for her.” Almost like he was surprised at himself for taking this long to realise it. It was such a strange sensation; shock and utter certainty swirling together in a heady mess that left him a little dizzy.  

Dozens of past moments flashed through his mind as he sat there. Their first meeting in Funn Funerals. Petunia’s flower stall. Her date with Seymour Profitte. Her séance. Her spectacular funeral for Roger Noggins. Her exquisite chocolates. Her scented embalming fluids. The mineshaft. The darkness. The circus. Their walk home. His proposition. Her refusal. Him carrying her exhausted body to St. Spratt’s hospital in the dead of night. A funeral for 40 dead clowns. The Sun Beyond the Shade. Her firm but gentle words of reason in the face of his counselling breakdown. Her beautiful, thoughtful idea for Nana Crusoe’s funeral. Her devious ruthlessness in blackmailing him. The impressive speed and strength with which she’d unearthed that coffin. The mausoleum. Her unabashed delight over a tiny bouquet of flowers in an upturned toothpaste cap. Her timidness. Her bravery. Her passion. Her intelligence. Her hunger for new experiences. Her attention to detail. Her eccentricities. Her dedication. Her cunning. Her determination. Her creativity. Her stubbornness. Her kindness. Her ingenuity. Her understanding. Her expressions, her gestures, her habits, her voice. Her uncanny ability to emerge from the shadows, startling him every single time. She’d been making his heart leap from the very first syllable she’d spoken to him.   His mind was spinning too fast. It was too much, too powerful, too sudden. And yet simultaneously not sudden at all. He felt over-whelmed. Dizzy. A little sick. He needed to move, needed to do something, anything, aside from just sitting there any longer. He opened his eyes, pushed himself off the bench and stood, uncertain where to go from there.  

Should he just go back to Chapman’s for the night?  

...No. Not yet. Not until he’d cleared his head a little.  

His gaze flicked briefly in the direction the Funns had gone, a faint tug pulling at him from inside his chest, before he turned and started walking in the opposite direction. Piffling Vale was quiet. The faint caw of one or two seagulls gliding above the cool night winds off the sea, distant sounds from the village’s few restaurants and other establishments that were still open at this hour, the barely discernible, ever-present background noise of the ocean waves lapping against the island from all sides, and the sound of his footsteps on the cobbles of the streets could very well have been the only noises to exist in the entire world as Eric walked and walked. It was peaceful. He already felt a little better, the dizziness dissipating slightly with each step.  

Okay, so. What now?

A wry smile found its way to his lips. What now, indeed. What was there to do? What could he do? There was no way he could just, what? Go up to her, after all this time, and ask her out for a coffee? Ridiculous.  

First-off, there was her brother. Rudyard would surely scream himself hoarse at the very thought of Eric Chapman asking his twin sister out on a date. Eric could practically hear the ear-splitting, furious roar of “CHAPMAN!!!” now. Rudyard would probably try to assassinate him before he ever got the chance to ask her.  

For all he knew, Georgie would probably volunteer to help Rudyard do the deed. And, given how tremendously Eric had cocked things up with Georgie in the romance department, he couldn’t really blame her. She would never sign-off on him dating Antigone.  

Eric shook his head. No, having the two closest people in Antigone’s life be so dead-set against him as a suitor did not seem like the best way to start a relationship.  

He shook his head again, harder. Relationship? Get a grip, Eric. She didn’t even think of him as a friend. He was a competitor. That was all. She’d made that clear time and time again.  

Not to mention the fact that he was still seeing...   Ah. Right. Yes. Vivienne.   A wave of fatigue washed over Eric – a reaction that seemed to be occurring more and more frequently within him wherever Vivienne was concerned. He had been avoiding examining said reaction too closely, despite the logical, reasonable voice in his head that kept trying to tell him that people who were in happy, healthy relationships did not tend to experience such exhausting responses when thinking about their partner.   Thinking about it now, why were he and Vivienne even still together? Neither of them seemed to be enjoying the other’s company anymore. All they ever seemed to do lately was snipe at each other. The spark had long gone, ever since the ‘funeral for nothing’ debacle, despite their attempts to reignite it.  

Him keeping her sugar-addiction secret had been what brought them back together, once she checked-out of rehab. There had been a tiny bit of something between them again then. But it turned out to be little more than a burst of gratitude mistaken for reawakened passion, and it had petered out fairly quickly. Not long after Nigel and Desmond’s wedding in fact. Perhaps being surrounded by a celebration of another couple’s true love for each other had shone a spotlight on how flimsy their connection felt by comparison.  

He felt like little more than an accessory on her arm at this point. A status symbol or trophy of some sort. And, if he admitted it to himself, she probably felt the same way about herself with regards to him. The pair of them. The Infamous Lady and The Sunshine Man. Piffling Vale's hottest power-couple. Ha. He let out a long sigh. He knew, deep down, why they were still together. The truth was, they were two lonely people who just were more scared of being alone than they were of being in a relationship that neither of them really wanted any longer.   Vivienne had a husband, true, but Simon was barely ever even on Piffling. Even when he was present on the island, he seemed to have no interest in her, what she did, or who she did, whatsoever. Eric wondered vaguely if perhaps he was gay? Or maybe asexual and/or aromantic? Either way, their marriage appeared to have been one of convenience more than anything else. Maybe it had even been arranged for them; their own feelings not being given the chance to come into it at all. Simon was a very kind man, was never impolite or cruel to Vivienne in any way. He kept out of her way, let her do as she pleased. Let her spend their money however she liked without so much as a word of protest or reproach. But he certainly didn’t love her. And nor did she him.   Had he, Eric, ever loved her?   There had certainly been a time when he’d enjoyed being with her. Especially near the beginning of their affair. Vivienne could be a lot of fun. They’d shared some good times together.   But, if he was brutally honest: no, he didn’t think he had ever really loved her. From the get-go, she had been a fun and convenient re-bound off a rejection from Georgie that had gone on for longer than maybe it should have.   He cringed inwardly at the memory of those days, when he had been so hung-up on Georgie that he had actually proposed to her, despite the fact that they’d had one (one!) failure of a date, and at the time she’d held nothing but contempt for him. He hadn’t even loved Georgie either, not really. He'd been impressed by her; all her skills, her confidence, her laidback nature, and he’d immediately latched onto that feeling and convinced himself it was something far grander than what it was. And he had subsequently, repeatedly, made an absolute arse of himself around her. And much of all that had occurred while he and Vivienne were still sleeping with each other. God. What a mess.  

...Did Antigone remember those days? What had she thought of him back then? What did she think of him now? Did she think about him at all?  

His head began to spin again with thoughts of Antigone and a dozen more questions. He stopped in his tracks to lean a hand against a nearby lamppost and take a few deep breathes of cool night air to try to clear his head. He suddenly noticed how tired his feet and legs were. He’d been walking non-stop in a daze for quite a while, he now realised. He looked around, to gauge where he’d ended up and saw the bright lights of the Piffling Royale Cinema just off to his left.  

The cinema.

His mind flashed back to the night before. He had made it to the Royale, hoping to catch Antigone at one of her Thursday film nights. She liked French cinema too. He thought (hoped) that maybe they could discuss the film together afterwards, perhaps even over a meal or drinks or coffee somewhere.

She was already standing in the lobby of the cinema when he had arrived.  

And she was wearing a different dress than her usual dark one. And it looked like she had brushed her hair?  

And she was there with Henry.  

On a date.  

The two of them. Together. Romantically.  

Eric remembered the awful, uncomfortable feeling that had coiled in the pit of his stomach as he’d realised what was happening. Burning hot and ice cold at the same time.

It had rattled him. Quite severely.  

He had started babbling. He couldn't even tell them to "Enjoy themselves!", because, the truth was, deep down, he hadn't wanted them to.

At the time had been surprised at himself. Why had he reacted in such a way? Shouldn't he have been happy for the two of them?

Now, however, he wryly marvelled at how his past self could have still not fully realised the true depth of his feelings for Antigone Funn.  

It had been earlier on in the present evening, when the two of them had been sitting together on the bench, that the penny had finally dropped for him.  

He had tried not to think too much about how high his heart had leapt when Henry had returned from his set-up date with Antigone earlier than expected, looking utterly defeated. He’d felt guilty about it in the moment, but as Henry had told him about the events of the evening, his thoughts had immediately gone to Antigone. How was she feeling after all this? Did she loathe him for his involvement in this match-making scheme, even more so than before? He needed to go see her. Needed to make sure she was okay. He’d almost been out of the door of the Chapman Community Hospital before Henry had finished speaking.  

He had found her easily. Piffling Vale was a small island, true, but even so, he’d been a little surprised at how well he’d been able to predict her movements after leaving the restaurant.  

She hadn’t seemed angry with him at all. Just disheartened. He hated seeing her like that, all her spark and fire dampened and sputtering. It tugged at something inside him, something that had been steadily rising within him for a while now. Something that was finally going to come to the surface.

He’d sat down beside her. They’d talked.  

It was so easy to talk with her in moments like that. Moments where the rivalry between their businesses seemed so far away and they could just talk together as two people. She was so genuine, so forthright, so honest. He had felt then, not for the first time, as he had sat there on that bench right next to her, that he could tell her everything. Every shameful secret, the whole awful truth of his past. He could trust her with it all. Even if she didn’t understand, he felt she would want to understand. At least, he truly hoped she would.  

But he wasn’t ready to open that particular lid. Not yet. And anyway, tonight needed to be about her, not him.  

He had felt a slight stab of guilt for Henry when he’d suggested that perhaps he wasn’t right for Antigone. But he also knew he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel that it was the truth. Henry was nice enough, but he was so... well, exhausted, most of the time. He barely had time for anything outside of his work as it was and adding a budding relationship into the mix would only stretch him even thinner. Antigone deserved more than that. She deserved someone who could give her the time and attention she needed, and then some. She deserved someone who wouldn’t fall asleep midway through their conversations. Or leave her behind at the cinema because their work always, always must come first. Antigone deserved to be what came first to someone.

Maybe if Piffling got another doctor, and Henry had a bit more free time...?

But no, even then, Henry just didn’t seem like a good fit for Antigone in Eric’s mind. He was too passive, too unmotivated. And then there was what Henry had mentioned they’d talked about at the restaurant. Antigone’s work wasn’t just a job to her. It was a core part of who she was as a person. She was more dedicated to her work than anyone else was on the entire island. And Henry would want nothing to do with it. The thought of Antigone in a relationship with someone with whom she couldn’t ever talk about her work, couldn’t ever share her passions or thoughts or feelings on something so important to her, made Eric’s stomach churn.  

She had asked, “Who is?” Who was right for her?  

Eric had felt that rising feeling within him surge higher. Had felt the urge to say, simply, “I could be.” But that was ridiculous. Where was it coming from, all of a sudden? They were rivals. He must remember that. She’d told him so.

He had deflected the question, hoping he didn’t sound too awkward (or hopeful) as he did so.  

“Well, only you can answer that. Hah.”   She had responded, “Someone who appreciates me and my work. And who I can talk to about corpses whenever I like.”

The feeling rose higher. “Me! Me!! I appreciate you! I appreciate your work!! You could talk to me about corpses at any hour of the day, every day, and I would be happy to listen!!”, a voice had yelled from inside his head. He was so confused. It was the truth, every word of it, but the strength of emotion behind the words had surprised him.  

He had tried to keep his actual response light, casual.  

“It’s not too much to ask.”

He meant it from a personal standpoint, too. Vivienne had always shuddered or looked horrified when he had tried to talk to her about his work. She would abruptly change the subject whilst giving him a disapproving look, and so, over time, he had learned it was easier to not bring the subject up in the first place. But he yearned for someone with whom he could share it with. Antigone deserved that. And it really wasn’t too much for her to ask. Especially if she were to ask it of him.  

The two of them went back and forth a little more, Eric feeling more and more certain with each sentence that whatever this strange emotion within him was, it was on the verge of spilling over. And he didn’t know what it would mean if it did, or how to stop it. He felt at a loss, and it worried him.  

And then, with three words from Antigone, it happened.   “...I should change.”  

Every fibre of his being felt like it had just been set ablaze. He was furious with her. He was heartbroken for her. He hated every person on this island for leading her to such a conclusion. He wanted to take her hand in his and pull her close to him. He wanted to shake her, yell at her, berate for thinking for even one moment that she wasn’t perfect exactly as she was. He couldn’t bear her seeing herself that way. She was perfect. She was not the problem, everything else was. The world was the problem. She had said so herself.  

Did she not believe it? He had to make her believe it. He had to, or it would destroy him.

“No, Antigone, you don’t need to do that! You stay exactly the way you are. The world can do the changing for you.”

It felt like nowhere near enough words for how strongly he felt the sentiment behind them. “Please let this be enough to convince her,” he thought.  If it wasn’t, he would tell it to her over and over again, every single day if he had to, until she believed it.

“...I meant out of this dress.” was her response.

It was so far removed from the kind of response he had been expecting, was such a relief to hear that she didn’t feel the need to change herself for anyone else, that his brain sort of short-circuited and needed to reboot. And, in the nanoseconds that took to happen, his brain also took a moment to actually process the things he’d been feeling and saying and doing recently in regard to Antigone Funn.

And finally, finally, that elusive penny dropped down to Earth with the speed of a meteor and the force of a bombshell, and Eric Chapman knew exactly what that powerful, rising feeling had been all this time.  

It was like a dam bursting, or a giant jar breaking. Everything came spilling, tumbling, crashing out, all at once. And through the turbulence, and noise, and chaos, one thing rang out above it all. One truth, simple and irrefutable: He loved her.  

He was in love with her.  

And now he was imagining what she might look like out of that dress.

He’d immediately turned as red as a guilty schoolboy and babbled some nonsense in response to her, looking anywhere but at her face. His mind was reeling. He felt giddy and sick and he didn’t know what to do with his hands right now and oh god why couldn’t he stop picturing her out of that infernal dress??

Rudyard and Georgie had arrived seconds later, and he had never been more grateful for an interruption, or to see Rudyard, in his life. And Rudyard was actually trying to... apologise? To Antigone? In front of him?? What was happening tonight? Was it a full moon or something?

When she had gotten up from the bench and he’d felt a strong and sudden urge to reach out to her as she did so, but he held his hands still until he waved goodbye to them all.  

She had thanked him for the conversation before she left. He was embarrassed by how much his heart had somersaulted at such a small showing of appreciation from her, but he had still managed to call out a final response as she turned away to join her brother and employee.  

“No problem, Antigone. ...No problem at all.”

He had thought he just wanted to be friends. He had kept seeking her out. He had donated films to the cinema he thought she might like because he wanted to watch them with her. He wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted to be of help to her. He wanted her to be happy. Because he wanted to be friends. Right?  

Wrong, Eric. You wanted much, much more than that. You still do.   Yes. Thank you. I’m quite aware of that now.

Are you?

“Mr. Chapman? Are you alright?”

“Yes!! Oh, Herbert! Sorry, I’m-- I was just-- just a bit lost in thought... Sorry, Herbet.” The cinema proprietor had looked a little taken aback when Eric had snapped a response to his question, but that look was soon replaced by one of friendly understanding. “Not to worry, Mr. Chapman, we all have those days. Well, nights, by now, I suppose! Heh heh. ...Is everything alright, though? You’ve been standing here quite a while; I had to call out to you a few times before you answered. ...If...if there’s anything wrong...?”

Eric suppressed a harsh bark of laughter. Anything wrong? Oh, not at all, I’ve only just realised that I’m in love with one of my business competitors, and that I have likely been in love with her for quite some time, and I feel like my brain is trying to escape out of my skull and I’ve just walked so long my feet hurt and now they hurt even more from me standing here for so long and I just really don’t know what to do going forward because of all the history between she and I...that’s all. Why would you ever think there’s anything wrong?

But that wouldn’t do for the golden boy of Piffling Vale to say aloud now, would it?

So instead, he put on the best smile he could muster and said, “Thanks, Herbert, but I’m fine. Really! Just a bit tired I suppose! Haha. I was actually wondering if there were any late-night screenings tonight at the Royale? I could use a chance to rest my legs before heading back Chapman’s for the night.”

It wasn’t a total lie. He needed something to get his mind off...everything. Even if just for a little while, and a film actually sounded like the perfect thing right now.  

Herbert Cough looked hesitant for a moment and shuffled a little awkwardly, and it was only then that Eric looked over his shoulders to see that all the lights for the Royale were no longer shining their glow over the cobblestones below. The entire façade of the cinema was dark, and the grate had been pulled across the front doors and padlocked.

“Ah. You’re closed for the night.”

Eric had tried to hide the fatigue and disappointment in his voice, but he guessed that Herbert hadn’t been fooled, as he watched the man look from his face to the cinema, pause, then nod his head slightly, as if he’d come to some conclusion. Herbert reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, then pressed them into Eric’s palm, patting his hand reassuringly.  

“You go on in, Mr. Chapman. That short one there is for the front padlock, and that thin silver one will let you into the projector room. There’s a selection of reels in the cupboard next to it, you pick out anything you’d like to watch tonight. I wouldn’t normally let just anyone do this, but you know how to work the projector don’t you? I think I remember you mentioning that you’d worked backstage at several film festivals a long time ago?” Eric nodded, dumbfounded at Herbert’s kindness and apparent complete and total faith in him to be left alone in charge of several very expensive pieces of cinematic equipment unsupervised.  

Well, it was true that he was part of several film-makers guilds and he had once been the sole projectionist for an entire 4-day long film festival that had been an overwhelming success, but even so.

“Herbert-- I can’t just—I mean, thank you, but--” Herbert gave his hand another gentle pat.   “Like I said, we all have those days, Mr. Chapman. And on those days, I know I really appreciate it when people can make things a little bit easier for me, you know? Now, I’m off home, must check-in on Mr. Crumble before it gets too late or he’ll be in a right mood tomorrow! I’ll come by Chapman’s tomorrow morning for the keys, don’t forget to lock up once you’re finished. And, for the sake of my popcorn maker, let’s keep this just between us, eh? Goodnight, Mr.Chapman! And, “Enjoy yourself!” Heh heh!”

And with that, Herbert left Eric with the keys to his business and went off home to feed and groom his donkey.  

Eric watched him go, then squeezed the keys in his hand, mentally thanking the cinema proprietor once more, and went to undo the padlock on the grate in front of the main doors.  

It didn’t take him long to work out where everything was kept and how it all worked. Herbert kept things very simple, and all his tools and equipment in good condition. He spent a bit of time in the cupboard Herbert had mentioned, going through the shelves of film reels, trying to find something that he hadn’t seen before. He was worried that if he put on something he was even a little familiar with then his mind could wander back to thoughts of... Anyway! He wanted this to be something he would need to fully focus on. Something with subtitles would be good.

He found it hidden behind a stack of reels, propped up against the wall. ‘La Grande Tendresse.’ The Great Tenderness. That sounded promising. Something gentle, comforting.  

He got a container of popcorn ready, helped himself to a fizzy drink from the dispenser, and made a note of how much it all, as well as a late-night screening, should have costed him, before heading up to the projector room. He was going to make sure Herbert got what he owed him, plus a sizeable tip.

He slotted the film into place in the projector, did all the necessary equipment checks, started the reel turning, sat down on the chair of the projection room and popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth as the music swelled and the film began.  

There was a couple, Serge and Claudette. They were whispering sweet nothings to each other, and Eric breathed out a small sigh of relief. This was what he needed, just some beautiful, contented people going about their business. A perfect distraction. Well, the film itself was not perfect; the cinematography left a bit to be desired, and the editing wasn’t of a particularly high standard, but Eric settled himself more comfortably on his chair, ready to let this film take his mind off everything that had been plaguing it that evening--

Claudette: Eric... Sorry, what now? Claudette: Oh Eric, when you have zat look in your eye it sends shivers right down to the very deepest parts of me... Eric blinked. He looked down to the subtitles, hoping they would contradict what he was sure he’d just heard. But nope, there was his own name, written out as clear as day.  

He stood up, walked closer to the opening in the wall of the projection room that looked out into the cinema’s screen room until his hands rested against it. The shortened distance made no difference.  

He blinked again, harder. It was still there. What – what was happening here?

Claudette: Kiss me, Eric! Kiss me! Perhaps going for such a long walk in the cold after his head had been spinning so badly hadn’t been the best idea, if he was now hearing and seeing things. He reached a hand up to his forehead, but he couldn’t feel any heat of a fever. His cheeks felt very flushed, though. Maybe he should go back to Chapman’s to rest--

Serge: Oh Antigone!

He froze.  

Surely not? Surely there was no way he had just heard what he thought he had just heard. He slowly moved his hand away from his face, fully revealing the subtitles spelt out before him.  

...Oh no.

Serge: Antigone, I want your hands, your touch, all over me! Leave no part of my body undisturbed, I beg you!  

Oh no, please no. Not this. Not now.

Claudette: Wiz pleasure, Eric. Let zees night go on forever and ever, just for the two of us...

No no no no no no no no no--!

Claudette: Ah, Eric, your hair is so perfectly styled, but I still want to drag my hands through eet and make you into such a mess...

Eric felt a heat creeping up the back of his neck. His hands were sweating.

This was—this was absurd! Totally ridiculous!! He was ill, delirious! He had to be!!  

Serge: Oh Antigone! Look at what my nipples are doing!!

Eric whipped around and slammed his back against the wall. He couldn’t watch another second of whatever ludicrous things were happening on that screen. He screwed his eyes shut tight, praying that somehow that might stop the tricks his mind was playing on him.  

It seemed to do the job, for the most part. Serge and Claudette must have finished their dialogue and were now just getting down to business, because he couldn’t make out any further talking, just sweeping, rhythmic music and the occasional gasp or moan. But keeping his eyes closed like this left him with a different problem to contend with.  

Pitch-black darkness.  

He could feel his throat constricting, his stomach sinking fast enough to make his body lurch forward. His legs turned to jelly beneath him, and he slid down the wall until he was sitting with his back against it, knees propped up in front of him. He could feel the cold panic creeping over his chest, choking him, and even when he opened his eyes again, it wouldn’t subside.  

Calm down, Eric. Breathe. Remember your behavioural therapy. The darkness can’t hurt you. Think of something soothing. Something that makes the fear have less of a grip on you.

Antigone’s hands.  

In the mineshaft.  

He had held so tight to them, and she hadn’t pulled away or mocked him for his weakness. She had held his trembling hand in hers without a hint of disdain or disappointment. She had saved him, in that moment. Her hands had been his anchor in the void, grounding him. Keeping him safe, with her.

Not just her hands. Her voice too. Even, gentle, comforting.

“You’re fine. I can see you.”  

“I could hold your hand, if you like.”  

“If it would help you.”

It had helped. It had helped him so much, more than he felt he could ever truly thank her for. He had been embarrassed by just how much of a difference it had made. Even just the memory of her hands was making a difference here, now. He wondered what she would think if he told her about it. What would she say?

She had such a nice voice. He really liked her voice.  

The tension in his chest had eased significantly, and it was now being replaced with an odd, light, warm, fluttery feeling. He could barely hear the film anymore.

He really liked how his first name sounded, coming from her lips. She had called him Eric a few times when they’d first met, but in recent years she barely ever did. When had he started craving to hear her call him by his first name? He wanted to hear her say it again so badly.

He wanted to hold her hands again too. He wanted to fully take-in how they felt in his, fully appreciate them beyond what his fear-turned-overwhelming-gratitude had allowed him to the first time. He wanted to take her hands in his and not let go.  

The fluttery feeling seemed to be blooming larger inside him. He felt a little light-headed. Maybe he really should go lie down.  

He wanted her to call him Eric and to hold his hand and to watch French cinema with him and then discuss it at length with him afterwards. He wanted to talk to her about her chocolates, try to describe them to her as best as he could, because they were stunning (literally!) and she couldn’t experience them for herself. He wanted to take her out to coffee and restaurants. He wanted to talk to her about death, and corpses and funeral directing, and whatever else she wanted to talk about on any given day. He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up with her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to know every inch of her. He wanted to leave marks on her porcelain skin. He wanted her to leave marks on him. He wanted to make her gasp and moan like Serge had made Claudette a few moments ago. He wanted to make her cry out his name, in her wonderful voice, as he brought her over the edge--

He was hard. His breathing was shaky. The fear from the darkness had long since left him, and the fluttery feeling had grown into a fire that had scorched throughout his body. With tremendous effort, he wrenched his thoughts away from Antigone and attempted to regain some form of control over his senses.  

This was bad. He was a respected man in the community - he was the Vice Chairman of the village council, for god’s sake! He was not some horned-up teenager who lost himself completely at some ludicrous fantasy brought on because of a French film!

But it was too late. He had conjured up the memory of her hands, and now they seemed to have gained a mind of their own and were proving incredibly determined not to be dispelled.  

He could suddenly feel them everywhere, her imaginary fingertips tracing lines over his chest, tugging at his shirt, his collar, his tie. Combing through his hair, trailing down his spine, stroking his cheek, brushing against his lips, sliding up his thighs. Undoing his belt, his fly. Reaching down to his--

His breath hitched, and he felt himself shudder at the sensation.  

What sensation?  

He was alone. There was no one else in the little room but him.  

She isn’t here. And, even if by some fluke she was, she would never...

But all the ration and logic in the world couldn’t stop how vividly he could feel these phantom hands of hers caressing his body.

And it wasn’t just her hands anymore. Her lips, her hair, her body, her breath. He felt the whisper of them all around him. He swore he could even hear the rustle of the skirt of her dress. She was there, with him, in the dark. Like she so often was, hidden just outside of his perception, shielded by the shadows. He felt the faint brush of her eyelashes against his cheek. Her fingernails occasionally scraping against his skin, just ever so slightly, sending shivers throughout his entire body. Holding his head so gently between her palms. Her chest slowly pressing against his. Tipping his jaw upwards so she could gain better access to press the ghosts of kisses against his neck.  

Ohhhhhh...

He couldn’t stop the groan of pleasure that escaped from his throat.  

He was utterly undone, reduced to putty in the hands of this spectre of Antigone fabricated by his own mind. Every sensation of her illusory body coming into contact with his own was intoxicating, and he leaned into each fleeting touch as much as he could. All attempts at sensible or coherent thought fell apart instantly. His chest was heaving, his breaths coming out ragged. They poured out of him, hot and needy and desperate.

“A-ahn... Antigone...”

He had never known a want like this. Her being so close, but not there at all, was tortuous to him. The absence of her, the inability to take hold of her and hold her as close as he could, felt like a gnawing ache that permeated every part of him, body and soul.

He fell apart as he heard Claudette call out his name again, only this time he could have sworn her voice sounded quite different.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had no idea how long he stayed in that projection room, slowly bringing himself back to his senses. It was certainly long after the film had ended. He knew he had to go back to Chapman’s, had to sleep, had to wake up and try to work out how he was supposed to face the mortician across the square. But part of him didn’t ever want to leave that space. It was like this place had held a spell over him, and he was reluctant for it to end.

But all things must end. So, eventually, he stepped outside the Royale, pulled the grate shut and padlocked it, and pocketed the keys.  

He walked back to the square; the square Chapman’s shared with Funn Funerals. It was still night, so at least he would be able to get some rest before Chapman’s opened in the morning. That was a blessing. He felt run-through, completely shattered, and he was looking forward to the sweet embrace of sleep more now than perhaps he ever had before in his life.  

He paused only once on his journey to his bed, and that was when he reached the front door of Chapman’s and turned, to look across the square at Funn Funerals. Old, dusty, foreboding. The only dark spot on the island, some called it. Yet, that tug, that pull he had felt earlier that night came back, and he took an involuntary step towards it.  

Eric Chapman had travelled the world. He’d done many, many things, not all of which he was proud of. Most of the time he’d conquered, succeeded and won. But in that moment, crossing the distance between where he stood and where she was seemed like such an insurmountable feat that he held very little hope of accomplishing it.  

Still, never say never. Right, Eric?

He turned away from Funn Funerals, slid the key into the lock of his front door, and walked inside his establishment, closing the door behind him. He went straight to his bedroom, straight to his bed. He didn’t bother to remove his jacket or shoes or tie. He was asleep as soon as his head the pillow.  

His dreams were full of her, but they were gentler than before. His head in her lap, her fingers smoothing his hair. Her asleep in his arms as he carried her to somewhere she could lie down comfortably. Her climbing into bed after him and resting her head on his chest. Her scowling at him because he made a terrible joke and she was trying not to laugh.

She could scowl at him every day, if she wanted to, and he wouldn’t mind. In fact, he’d be happy. He’d treasure every bit of her he could, if he could just be near her, be something to her.

“Never say never, Eric”, he thought to himself as he drifted off into deeper sleep.  

What a lovely thought it was.  

((Author’s note: This fic was originally meant to be only one scene, but quite soon after starting it, it grew legs and asked me to run away with it. This is my first piece of fanfiction EVER, so I hope you enjoy it and can forgive me for any blunders I’ve made! I adore Wooden Overcoats, and these two in particular make me insane. Enjoy yourselves! >;3))

[alphashley14]

One of Us

A Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated/Mystery Skulls Crossover

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Chapter Four

Freaking Out

Ricky was so startled at the sight of the furious dog he shouted a curse word and shot out of bed, only he got tangled in the sheets and ended up falling backwards on his ass with his back against the wall, knocking the lamp off the nightstand in the process. So… what ended up coming out of his mouth went something like this: 

“SHIT!” *shoots out of bed* “ What the fuck-” *stumbles* “AAH!” *falls on ass and bangs head* “OW! Fffuck! ” He cursed, rubbing the back of his skull where his noggin had bounced off the wall.

“You’re not Raggy.” The dog growled. 

And that was when Ricky’s wits returned to him. Wait a minute. “Scooby?” And indeed, there was no mistaking the talking great dane with the blue collar. “What the hell are you doing in my-” 

Ricky’s surroundings finally registered in his brain. 

“This… is not my room.” He said dumbly. 

And if Scoobert’s presence and his surroundings were any indication, then that had to mean he was in Norville Rogers’ room, in the Rogers’ Mansion… How and why?

“No. It’s Shaggy’s room!” Scooby snarled, hopping off the bed and advancing menacingly. Oh shit. Ricky scrambled backwards. “And you are not my Shaggy!” 

Ricky was suddenly very aware that in spite of his goofy disposition and friendly yet somewhat cowardly nature, Scooby was still a 160-pound great dane with a bite force of approximately 238 PSI, and was therefore very capable of ripping Ricky’s fragile human body to shreds. Especially if he thought Mr. E was an imminent threat to his beloved owner.

“N-now Scooby,” Ricky said, his back finally hitting the opposite wall, “let’s talk about this! I swear, I have no idea how I ended up in Norville- I mean, Shaggy’s room. But! I will be happy to vacate the premises!”

“Who are you? ” The dog demanded. 

“Who am I? What are you talking about? We’ve met several times. You know who I am!” 

“I know you are not my Shaggy! So who are you?” 

“What-”  That was when Ricky’s eyes fell upon his own hands, held out in front of him defensively. 

Those were not his hands. Or his arms. And this green shirt definitely wasn’t his! Wait a goddamn minute-  

“What the fuck-” Ricky’s hands- whoever’s hands they were- covered his mouth with shock, and all he wanted was to repeat the three words he’d just spoken, because that was when it occurred to him that that was not his voice! 

I need a mirror. Now.

No longer caring about potentially getting eaten, Ricky scrambled to his feet and ran. Past Scooby and through the doorway, not really knowing where he was going, but he was in luck. Shaggy’s attic bedroom came with a bathroom, and he’d just run right into it. Ricky clutched the edge of the sink and looked up into the mirror- 

Right into the terrified eyes of a reflection most definitely that wasn’t his. It belonged to Shaggy Rogers, his counterpart in the latest Mystery Incorporated.

What the actual fuck? 

That’s not me! 

But it is. 

That’s not me! 

It is me. 

BUT HOW?! 

Ricky was not usually a fainter. He’d fainted a couple times quite a few times many times when he was young, scared shitless by the latest monster in the middle of investigations. But he’d grown out of that (he’d grown out of a lot of things) when his best friend had betrayed him and ripped his innocence away. 

So… fainting. Add that to the growing list of things he’d done today that he hadn’t done in 20 years.

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Twenty minutes later, Fred, Daphne, and Velma were pulling up to the Rogers’ residence, summoned there at the early hour of seven thirty in the morning by a panicked phone call from Shaggy’s phone. 

Only it hadn’t been Shaggy on the other end, and Scooby had sounded so freaked out that he was stumbling over his lingo, with R s every other word (he didn’t do that very often anymore), and given such he was nearly unintelligible over the phone. Between the three of them individually translating together and then talking about it on the drive over, they came to the conclusion that it was something along the lines of: “Something’s wrong with Shaggy” and “Something’s in Shaggy.” Also something about either “a monster” or “imposter” . They couldn’t tell, but either way it sounded bad. 

They rang the doorbell, and a very disgruntled Mrs. Rogers let them in, clearly understandably annoyed at being woken up this early on a Saturday. They went upstairs to Shaggy’s room, only to find it in disarray. Hearing a noise from the bathroom, they rushed in to investigate, and this is what they found: Scooby with his hackles raised, growling up at a very freaked out Shaggy, who was in the corner of the bathroom, perched precariously on the edge of the sink in an attempt to stay as far away from Scooby as humanly possible. 

“Scooby!” Daphne cried. “What are you doing?!” 

Her concern and shock was shared by Fred and Velma for good reason: none of them had ever seen Scooby act like this. 

“Scooby, what gives?” Asked Fred, rushing forward to drag the dog back by the collar.

“What in the heck is going on?!” Asked Velma.

“Rat’s not Raggy!” Scooby growled, pulling against Fred’s hold. 

“What do you mean that’s not Shaggy?” 

“Looks like Shaggy to me, Scooby.” Fred grunted through his efforts to hold the massive animal back. 

“Jeepers, Shaggy. Are you alright? Do you have any idea what’s happened to Scooby?” Daphne asked.

“Oh, I’m ffffine.” Shaggy said shakily from his perch on the sink. “Everything’s just fine, because I’ve come to this conclusion that this is uh… a dream. Yes! This is a dream. I drank a lot more last night than I thought, and the alcohol has resulted in a strange and vivid hallucination in which I am for some reason stuck in the body of a sixteen year old boy. And when I wake up, I will be back in my own room, back in my own body, and my life will be terrible, but at least it will make sense.” 

“Come again?” Said Velma dryly. 

“Ha! That is such a Velma response. Right down to the dry and sarcastic sense of humor! Figures that’s exactly what my brain would think you would say to that. Haha! ”

“Norville Shaggy Rogers, if this is your idea of a prank, it’s not funny!” 

“Shaggy, why don’t you get down from the sink, and let’s figure out what’s going on?” Daphne asked, a bit more gently.

“Depends. Will Scooby promise not to maul me first? This may be a dream, but I’d rather not experience that.” 

The rest of the gang looked expectantly at Scooby. 

“Fine.” The dog spat, finally stopping his attempts at lunging. Fred let him go, and Scooby turned around and stalked back into the doorway. “But he had better tell me where the real Shaggy is!” 

“Beats me. But what does it matter? This is just a dream.” 

“Uh, You’re not dreaming.” Fred said. 

“It’s starting to sound more like you’re trying to convince yourself of that than us.” Velma added. 

“Do you need help getting down?” Asked Daphne, noticing his hesitance.

“No.” Shaggy spat in a very un-Shaggy-like way. “I’m just f-INE! OW! Fuck!” Shaggy shouted as he moved his foot just wrong, slipped and fell off of the sink, stumbled off, and banged his head on the floor. (For the third time that morning, little did the three of them know)

“Jeepers! Are you okay?” 

“Shaggy” was rubbing the back of his head, but he didn’t seem overly concerned about the fall. “Shit… that hurt. Oh my god , if I was dreaming that should have woken me up.” He pinched himself on the arm - twice, just to make sure - and then promptly started to hyperventilate. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Velma asked. 

“Velma!” Shaggy cried, looking up at her from where he was sitting on the floor. He scrambled to his feet, looking desperate and thoroughly terrified, and grabbed her by the arms. “Velma, I need you to listen to me. I know you’re the skeptic of the group, and I know you still probably think this is a prank, but I need you to believe me, because I’m having a hard time believing myself! Scooby’s right. I. Am. Not. Shaggy! I am a 37-year-old man trapped in the body of a 16-year-old boy, and this feels so wrong, and I don’t know how this happened, and I’m kind of freaking out!” 

“What I believe is that you hit your head too hard.” Velma scoffed. “This is ridiculous! ‘Shaggy’s been possessed or body-swapped, ha-ha.’ Very funny, but you need to drop this!” 

“Yeah, Shaggy! If this is a prank, then you’re taking it way too far, scaring Scooby like that!” Daphne scolded him.

“It’s not a prank!” The great dane interjected. “That’s not Raggy!” 

“Thank you , Scoobert.” ‘Shaggy’ said pointedly.

That’s when Fred suddenly spoke up. “Wait a minute, gang. Something’s up.”

“What is it, Freddy?” Daphne asked. 

“Velm, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m starting to think that might not be Shaggy.” 

“You had better not be in on this too! But for the sake of this charade being over, I’ll humor you. What exactly do you mean by that, Fred?” Velma demanded. 

“Shaggy- he has done a lot of talking in the past few minutes, but he hasn’t said the word ‘like’ even once since we got here.” 

Velma opened her mouth to argue, but then she quickly closed it again. Then she paused to think. 

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed, but Fred was right. Shaggy hadn’t said ‘like’ even once. It was his go-to filler word. Even when Velma had tried to get him to stop saying it while they were dating, he hadn’t been able to break the habit and they had quickly accepted it and given up. Even when Shaggy acted (which he couldn’t do particularly well), such as when he was doing it as part of his role as bait during a mystery, or when he’d pretended on stage for Vincent Van Ghoul’s play, he still ended up using the word ‘like’ along with his lines. In all the years Velma had ever known Shaggy, she’d never once heard him speak that many words without using the word ‘like’ over a dozen times. 

Which meant one of two things: he’d broken the habit just for this ridiculous joke, he’d been faking it the entire time, or that wasn’t Shaggy. 

And it wasn’t just “like”. Shaggy’s entire manner of speech had changed. It was still Shaggy’s voice, but it was as if it was someone else using it. His movements and mannerisms had altered as well, and yet something about him was familiar. Sure, it was entirely possible that could be achieved by an experienced or otherwise talented actor, but Velma had seen Shaggy’s acting, and he was nowhere near that good. 

“Okay, just what the heck is going on?” Velma demanded. 

‘Shaggy’ took a deep breath. “I’m not Shaggy.” He insisted, much more calmly. “I don’t know how this happened, and I swear I had nothing to do with it. The last thing I remember is falling asleep in my room, then having this really weird dream, and then when I actually woke up, Scooby was growling at me and I was in Norville’s body for some reason!” 

“But if you’re not Shaggy, then who are you?” Daphne asked. 

Not-Shaggy froze like a deer in the headlights. “Yeah… about that.” He said nervously, backing away from them until his back hit the wall. “I can answer that, but you’re not going to like the answer.” 

“You knew all of our names, so you’re clearly someone we know.” Said Daphne. 

“An excellent observation, Daphne.” 

“Oh for crying out loud, just spit it out!” Said Velma.

He sighed, clearly bracing for impact, and told them his name. “Velma, it’s me. It’s Mr. E.” 

“Mr. E?!” The entire gang exclaimed in unison. 

“And that’s why I was so quick to disclaim that however this happened, I had nothing to do with it! Because this seems like exactly the level of crazy Professor Pericles would cook up - or myself, until recently! But now everything's clearer than it’s ever been but it’s too late for me to fix it and- AAAGH!” A frustrated yell tore out of him and he sank onto the floor, cradling his head in his hands. 

He sat there for a few moments, calming himself down. And the gang were in such a state of shock they didn’t move nor speak, until he finally looked up at them with glistening, desperate eyes. “You kids don’t trust me as far as you can throw me - as you shouldn’t, because I’ve been stupid.” He said, much more calmly but with just as much hopelessness. “I never should have trusted Pericles, and I never should have let things get this far. Cassidy was right about everything and I need you kids to know I’m sorry. About all of it. I really was in your corner in the beginning, but I never should have left it. But as much as I don’t deserve it, now I need your help.” 

There was a moment of stillness, the four of them stunned into silence, before Velma finally tried to laugh it off.

“Hardy har har, Shaggy. Very funny.” She said. But her laughter was half-hearted, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Listen, if you want to pretend that you’ve been body-swapped with Mr. E of all people, then you should at least act a bit more in-character for him.” 

Mr. E opened his mouth to argue, but then he suddenly closed it, and a look of realization and horror appeared on his face. “Body swapped…” In an instant, he scrambled to his feet. “Velma, Fred, Daphne, Scooby - one of you! I need you to listen to me very carefully. This is going to sound insane, but if I’m in Shaggy’s body, it can be assumed that Shaggy is in mine! And if Shaggy is in my body then-” 

Mr. E didn’t get to finish his sentence, because that was when Fred’s phone rang. 

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Twenty minutes earlier

When Shaggy Rogers woke up, he didn’t feel immediately hungry, his left side felt super sore for some reason, and that whole arm felt as if it had fallen asleep. That really should have been his first indicator that something wasn’t right. But no - it wasn’t that. As the fog of sleep cleared, the first thing he realized was that there wasn’t a giant, furry body pressed up against him. And it was Scooby’s absence that prompted his eyes to open. 

He went from drowsy to wide awake when he realized he wasn’t in his room. He was in a large, king-size canopy bed with a red comforter and sheets. A large fire burned in the fireplace to keep out the cold. He immediately knew where he was, because he and the gang had stayed here overnight once before: one of the guest rooms in the Burlington Library. 

But what was Shaggy doing there, now? 

Then Shaggy tried to sit up in bed. 

And that’s when the panic began. 

For when Shaggy tried to shift, one arm moved and the other didn’t. And when Shaggy looked down it took all of six seconds for it to register in his brain that it was because his entire left arm was missing.

Shaggy screamed and leapt out of bed, his remaining three limbs getting tangled in the sheets in the process, causing him to go tumbling out of bed. Footsteps approached fast and the door suddenly burst open. 

“Arthur! Arthur, what’s happening?! Where’s the danger- Arthur?” The person who had entered the room’s war-ready voice broke out into a more confused tone before they stepped around the bed. 

It was Vivi, with her bat at the ready. But through Shaggy’s haze of panic he barely realized it. “LIKE, ZOINKS! LIKE, MY ARM! MY ARM! LIKE, MY ARM’S GONE!” 

“You’re not Arthur.” Vivi said almost immediately, and with certainty. 

“Like, my arm, man! MY ARM!” Shaggy babbled, starting to hyperventilate. 

“Hey easy, easy. It’s going to be alri-” 

That’s when the flames in the fireplace suddenly turned pink, and a very angry ghost exploded out of it and shoved past Vivi, right at Shaggy. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH ARTHUR?!” He roared! 

Shaggy screamed with fear and shrank in on himself, trying to disappear through the floor. 

“ZOINKS! Like, I don’t know. I don’t know! Just like, pleasedon’tkillme!” He begged, trembling with fright. 

Seeing that look on Shaggy’s face made the ghost immediately back off, the flames engulfing his head and shoulders settling into a vaguely familiar hairdo. For he remembered vividly a night three years ago, when that very same face and that very same voice had looked up at him with that exact same expression and tone of pure terror. Vivi grabbed the guilty ghost by the arm and dragged him to the door. 

Shaggy couldn’t hear them and had no way of knowing that ghost was actually Lewis, but this is what Lewis and Vivi discussed: 

“Is Arthur possessed again?” Lewis asked quietly. 

“I think so, but I don’t think this spirit is malevolent and he might not even know he’s dead.” Said Vivi. “Go get Mystery - he’s better at exorcisms than either of us. And calm yourself down.” 

Arthur nodded, guilt stabbing him in his non-existent guts, and quickly left to do as Vivi had asked. Then she closed the door behind him and went back to the “spirit” inhabiting Arthur. 

“Sorry about him. He was just worried about Arthur.” 

“Like, you know that g-ghost?” Shaggy trembled. 

“Yeah, he’s a friend. Helps us out in our investigations sometimes. But you, I’m not so sure about. What’s your name?” 

“Huh? Like, Vivi, you know who I am. We’ve like, only met a couple times but like, I don’t think I’m that forgettable.”

Vivi blinked at him. 

“You know who I am?” 

“Like, yeah. Why don’t you know who I am?” 

“Well let’s see. Refresh my memory. Who are you?” 

“Like, it’s Shaggy. From Mystery Incorporated?” 

Vivi suddenly looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. “Shaggy?” 

Oh that poor, poor kid. Had Shaggy been killed ? Had the original Mystery Incorporated killed their successors? Cassidy had warned them the parrot might try to! Why hadn’t they stayed in Crystal Cove, where they could protect them?! 

“L-like, why are you looking at me like that?” Shaggy gulped. “And like, why aren’t you more freaked out that like, my arm’s gone?!” 

That was when there was a knock at the door. Vivi rushed to answer it and all but dragged Mystery and Lewis (both in their disguised forms) inside. 

“Guys. It’s Shaggy. ” She whispered at them urgently. 

“What?” The two of them exclaimed quietly in unison. 

“Shaggy. The lanky kid that kind of reminded us of Arthur from Mystery Incorporated!” 

“The kid always wearing the green shirt?!” Mystery said. 

“That’s the one.” 

“So what? He died and is now possessing Arthur’s body?!” Lewis asked. 

“Seems like it.” Vivi said sadly. 

“Now just hold on a second! We just talked to Mystery Inc yesterday!” Mystery said. 

“Oh my God, the Highway Dandyman killed them after we let him go!” Vivi cried, the color draining from her face with horror.

“I sincerely doubt that.” Said Mystery, the calmest of the three. “Let me have a look.” 

The Mystery Skulls walked over to Shaggy-in-Arthur’s-body, who hadn’t moved from his place on the floor, and Vivi and Lewis hung back while Mystery took over. 

“Hey there, Shaggy!” The little dog said, wagging his tail in an attempt to put the kid at ease. It was a given that the boy liked dogs, given his relationship with Scooby.

“Oh. Um, like hi, Mystery. It like, it was Mystery, right?” Shaggy asked nervously. 

“Yeah, it sure was. Now, we’re trying to figure out exactly what you’re doing here, so can you answer some questions for me?” 

Shaggy nodded. 

“Alright. What’s the last thing you remember?” 

“Well, like, the gang and I caught the Highway Dandyman last night,” Vivi and Lewis gave audible sighs of relief hearing that, “and it like, kind of wore me out. So like, when Scooby and I got home we ate like, three dinners and went straight to bed. Then I woke up and like, I was here.”  

“Okay, Shaggy. Well, can you do me a big favor? I need you to just hold really still and look at me, okay?” 

“Like um… okay. Sure, man.” 

Mystery placed his front paws on Shaggy’s knees and stared into his eyes, putting the boy into a trance as he probed his aura. 

There was… something strange about this. 

After a few moments of searching, Mystery broke the trance. “There’s a few problems with your theory, Vivi.” The kitsune explained. “Arthur’s soul isn’t here. At all. And his boy is still alive.”

“What?” Arthur and Vivi explained in unison. 

“Like, what are you talking about? Like, of course I’m still alive! Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?!” Shaggy asked, getting very scared once again.

The Mystery Skulls looked at each other. 

“Shaggy,” Vivi said gently, “I think it’s best that you see for yourself.” 

She took him by his remaining arm, helped him up, and led him over to the dresser, which had a large mirror above it. 

Shaggy blinked at his reflection in surprise for a few moments, turning his head and waving his hand experimentally, before realization and acceptance dawned on him and all he could say was, “Like… Oh.” 

“Are you okay?” Lewis asked. 

“Like… I think I’d like to sit down.” He laughed nervously.

Lewis quickly pulled over an armchair for Shaggy to fall into. 

“It isn’t your arm that’s missing, Shaggy. It’s Arthur’s.” Vivi explained gently. “Unless we’re on the road, he takes the prosthetic off at night when he goes to bed. He says it’s more comfortable that way. We don’t know how but… you’re in his body.” 

“It’s alright, Shaggy. We don’t know how this happened but we swear we’ll do whatever we can to help.” Mystery promised. 

“Anything we can do for you right now?” Asked Lewis. 

“Like, um… breakfast would be nice. And I have some questions. But like, I don’t know how to function with only one arm.”

“I’ll help you put Arthur’s metal arm back on. It’s highly advanced technology. Doesn’t take much practice to use it. Then we’ll get you some breakfast and… call your parents?”

“Like, no way. My parents just… they either won’t believe it or won’t care.” Shaggy deflated. “But my friends will.” 

Ten minutes later, Vivi had helped Shaggy put Lewis’ prosthetic back on (it was so weird but also a little awesome having a functional metal arm that he had little to no feeling in), he was dressed in Arthur’s clothes (minus the vest), and they were following the smell of pancakes, bacon, and eggs to the Burlington Library’s kitchen. 

Don Fong, the odd little chef who’d thrown meat at Mystery Inc the whole time they were there on their visit, was nowhere in sight. Lewis was just finishing up making breakfast for Vivi and Shaggy, and Mystery was already digging into his bowl of sausages, liver, bacon, and raw quail egg. There was a CD player on the counter playing one of their songs. 

"I can’t fight this feelin’, 

It’s not in my head!

And I know it’s somethin’ I did, baby! 

I can’t fight this feelin’, 

I’m out of control!

Got to get back to the life that I know! "

"Oooh!"

"I’m not freakin’ out. 

But it feels like time is runnin’ out, 

How did this shit come about?

I’m not freakin’ out!

But I’m afraid, 

Afraid of losin’ you!"

"Oooh!"

Lewis turned the oddly appropriate music down and put their plates on the table - three pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon with a glass of orange juice for each of them. 

“Like, thanks for the food, man. So like, you guys thought I was a ghost at first?” Shaggy asked as he sat down. That did not look like enough food, but the Mystery Skulls were being so nice to him. And he felt oddly not hungry in this body. Peckish, but not starving. 

“Yeah. We did say our paranormal investigations are usually real.” Lewis said. “And possessions, we’ve dealt with many times. But this- this is definitely a first.”

“I hate to push you Shaggy, but I really think we need to call your friends. Now.” Mystery said. 

“Like, what makes you say that?” 

“As I said earlier, Arthur’s soul isn’t here, and you’re currently in his body. Which begs the question: if Arthur isn’t here, then where did he go? So my only guess is that if you’re in Arthur’s body, then Arthur is most likely in yours.” 

Shaggy swallowed his mouthful of pancakes (which were delicious - Lewis was an amazing cook) so fast he almost choked. “Like, zoinks! I always sleep next to Scooby Doo! If he wakes up with Arthur in my body next to him, he’s like, totally gonna freak out!” 

“And Arthur’s skittish around large canines.” Mystery winced, looking oddly guilty.

“Wait- oh no. Shaggy, were you wearing green when you went to bed last night?” Vivi asked.

“Like, yeah. I’ve got a green sleep shirt. Why?” 

All three of the Mystery Skulls winced. 

“Like, is that bad?” Shaggy gulped. 

“No, no. It’s nothing you did, Shaggy. You can’t possibly have known you were going to end up body-switched with Arthur. It’s just… for his own reasons… Arthur has a very strong aversion to wearing the color green.” Lewis explained, looking very sad about it. 

“Let’s just make the stupid phone call. Shaggy, Arthur has Velma’s number in his phone- which I realize you can’t unlock because you of course don’t know his password. So let’s just use mine. Who would you like to call?” Vivi asked.

Shaggy thought for a moment. “Not Velma. Velma will probably think this is a joke. So like uhm… Fred? He’s kind of the leader of our group, and he has the Mystery Machine so… if the others aren’t already together, he’ll get them.” 

“Okay then. Let’s call Fred. What’s his phone number?” 

Shaggy told her. She dialed, and handed Shaggy her blue cellphone.

The other side of the line rang for only a moment or two before Fred picked up on the other side. “Fred Jones, here.” 

“Like Freddy! Man, am I like, happy to hear your voice!” 

“Shaggy?” 

“Like um… yeah. I know I don’t like, sound like myself, but like, it’s me. This is gonna sound like, totally crazy. But like-” 

“Let me guess. You’ve been body-swapped?” 

“Like, yeah. How did you know?” 

“Scooby called us in a panic a while ago. We’re all at your house already."

"Raggy!" Shaggy heard his beloved dog exclaim on the other end of the line. 

"Like, Scooby Doo!" 

"I was so worried, Raggy! I woke up next to you - but it wasn't you!" 

"Like, I know, buddy. Don't worry. We'll be together again, soon!" 

"Don’t worry, Shaggy. We’ll drive over to Destroido right now to get you!” Fred said with determination.

“Destroido? Like, why would I be there?” Shaggy asked, bewildered. 

“Wait- You’re not at Destroido? Then where are you?” 

“Like, I’m at the Burlington Library with the Mystery Skulls, dude.” 

“Wait a minute, Shaggy. Whose body are you in?” 

“Arthur’s. Like, the guy always wearing the orange vest. Isn’t Arthur like, in my body?” 

“... No. But you are not going to believe who is. Hey-!” 

Shaggy heard some scuffling on the other end of the line, and then a different voice came through the phone. Not Fred's. Not Scooby's. Shaggy’s voice. Only it wasn’t Shaggy using it. “Norville- I mean, Shaggy?” Whoever-it-was asked.

“Arthur?” Shaggy answered hopefully. 

“No. This isn’t Arthur.” Not-him groaned. “It’s Mr. E.” 

Shaggy’s stomach sank into his guts. Mr. E, their enemy was in his body! “Like, Mr. E?! What the hell, man? Did you have anything-” 

“As I told your friends, I had nothing to do with this. And I’m just as freaked out and confused as you are. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I need you to. And I need you to put me on speaker. I need to talk to the Mystery Skulls. It’s about their friend. Please. It’s very important.” 

Shaggy didn’t know what possessed him to listen. Maybe it was because he’d never heard Mr. E sound so desperate or so sincere before. But he did as Mr. E asked. “Like, you’re on speaker.” He said glumly. 

“Thank you, Shaggy. And hello there, Mystery Skulls. We haven’t been acquainted.” 

“You don’t sound like Arthur.” Vivi said shakily. The entire group looked scared for their friend. 

“No. I’m not Arthur, and we haven’t met. But I’ve heard of you, and you may have heard of me. This is Mr. E speaking. My real name is Ricky Owens. I’m a member of the Original Mystery Incorporated. And I’m also for some reason suddenly in Shaggy Rogers’ body, just like Shaggy is in Arthur’s.”

The three Mystery Skulls gave each other a sideways glance. “We know who you are.” Vivi said. “We’ve heard a lot of mixed things about you.” 

“Then you know who I’ve stupidly decided to associate with.” Mr. E said. “I’ve been a fool, and I’m undeserving of your trust. But I need you to listen to me right now, because this isn’t about me. This is about Arthur.” 

“What about Arthur?” Asked Lewis, his voice laced with worry.

“I’m in Shaggy’s body, and Shaggy is in Arthur’s. Which means it can be assumed that Arthur must be in mine- Oh god, that poor kid. This is going to sound insane but-”

“But what? And why should we listen to you?” Vivi demanded. 

“Because if Arthur is in my body, then he’s in serious trouble!” 

༻˚⁺･⚉｡○✼༓☾⦾♫෴♡💛♡෴♫⦾☽༓✼○｡⚉･⁺˚༺

Back in the lower levels of Destroido, Arthur Kingsman was standing alone in an unfamiliar master bathroom, anxiously clutching the flesh and blood left arm attached to his body that shouldn’t be there, staring into a broken mirror at several dozen reflections that were most certainly not his. 

Also quietly and calmly having an anxiety attack. Because what’s cake without icing, right? 

But this was fine. This was totally fine. 

He definitely wasn’t freaking out.

Ya'all had to know this was gonna be a good chapter when it was named after one of the Mystery Skulls Animated videos! And this, readers, is the chapter where you say: "Ooooohhhh. THAT'S how this story was inspired by 'The Mirror's Gaze'." For real though, it was so fun to write!!! This was the chapter where as I was writing it I was like: "Finally! The stage is almost set and the plot is finally really getting started!"

Chapters 1 through 10 of One of Us are currently posted on Archive of Our Own.

[castieltrash1]

hi guys it’s time for another ✨ steve rogers day ✨ so screw a lightbulb in ur head and strap on your thinking noggin bc i want to spoil yall with some headcanons/drabbles!

→ any genre (fluff, smut, angst), au concepts, dialogue prompts, etc. are allowed! if you specifcally want heacanons or a drabble pls specify otherwise i’ll just go with whatever fits your ask ♡

[ask box]

[ask-the-shorty-squad]

Roger that.

*Monaca goes over to Byakuya.+

What do you want?

Tch, Why did those idiots ever adopt you. You're a mistake to society.

Tell me, what made them want to ever adopt you? Is it because you're a murderer just like them?

*>:0*

Whispering: This'll be funny..

*Just as Ibuki and Fuyu were ready to dump the bugs on Byakuya Toko walks in.*

I-I have your Coffee m-master Bya-

HEEEEEEEE MASTER BYAKUYA I'LL PROTECT YOUUUUU!!!!!!

*Toko drops the coffee and pushes Byakuya out of the way, becoming the victim of the bugs.*

Get them out get them outtttt!!!! Heeeeeee!!!!!

Dammit Toko you ruined it!

Although, getting to witness Byakuya being pushed to the floor was pretty funny, he even hit his noggin'! As the british would call it!

I hope he got a concussion. No one insults my Dads like that!

*Monaca walks over to Fuyuhiko and wraps her arms around him. Kind of like when the parent takes the child's side whilst they smile at the others defeat.*

[writer59january13]

Ah... tis nothing greater than...

malfunctioning heater on that brisk winter day recorded here as proof positive regarding following reasonable rhyme.

While scrolling thru

poems crafted yesteryear, I chanced to jog my memory where

there

occurred power outage necessitated

more than divine intervention yielded courtesy effort

vis a vis wing and prayer

while yours truly kept burrowed

under blankets within

Highland Manor lair

squirting wd-40 into

ears, mouth, and nostrils

failed to activate, lubricate, and remediate

sluggish primary cerebral cog and gear

subjected to bitter cold apartment air.

Thee particular date being December twenty eighth, two thousand nineteen, (three years ago from today), I saith

the then Jack of all trades maintenance technician Kevin Blank said he would notify HVAC expert in good faith,

yet to compliment clangorous din... I called upon the ghost of Marley's wraith.

Thus despite compressor issuing cacophonous, deafening, ear splitting noise clattering din louder than convention of reindeer - doubled as all boys

(choir) followed by cavalcade of Santa Claus, who employed, the missus of course with equipoise, and countless elves pressed for service mending broken brand new toys.

Why... yes twas during most recent brutal bitter cold spell

methought, yours truly got sent, where absolute zero temperature more frigid than when hell froze over

of course, I felt like human popsicle

management didn't give a lick, no matter yours truly gave rebel yell

Billy me you, I immediately yearned (some months back) for April

May, June... some tell

tale sign to alleviate pell mell

bone crushing polar vortex preserved frozen awful botox smile impossible mission to quell, nor avoid frostbite to deep freeze (frieze) every cell;

millenniums later archeologists

discovered embalmed human

once preserved in ice despite climate changed dystopian future

found me thawed out body

reason to sing and kvell.

Forsooth mindlessly jabbering away

jaw frenziedly attempting to convey

how this schlemiel

procrastinated and did delay,

NOT taking page from

playbook of Dick Proenneke

without possessing an iota of survival skills to live alone in the wilderness such cockamimi half cocked notion

would fly in the face

of sense and sensibility

and I a creature of comfort

best be war re: not game

to warm cockles and muscles

loosely translated restrained foray

toward forbidding verboten terrain (exalting in bosom of paramour) think fifty shades of gray

kindling like ice cold tinder thawing

frigid celibate stasis,

an unnatural rut versus making whoopie

to generate body heat hooray,

but clothes minded chap

even entertaining bacchanalian melee

alien fantasy unrecognizable

yielded Abort, Retry, Fail?

– nay

synonymous to when yours truly

adopted Presbyterian sacred ministerial

he pledged allegiance linkedin

and jumpstarting career

parallel to the late Mister Rogers,

his neighborhood of make-believe

immune to weather related events,

thus forever okay,

nevertheless expressed gratitude

confessed, I unconsciously did (as iterated earlier) pray

while suspended animation did stay

slowing or stopping of biological function

physiological capabilities unpitted and preserved - yea.

Hence today upon being and getting woke, (where central heater set at a comfortable sixty five degrees fahrenheit)

feeling like I slept forever and a day - no joke

most certainly well rested constitution; dreams did evoke

intensely scrutinizing

Scottish matted cognomen,

chilled wren, and whim hen folk,

who appeared out of this

dreamy Maxfield Parrish world

hybridized, mutated,

and segued into rorschach Roanoke

Island mystery

disappearance smooth

as glass skin cloak immune against ultraviolet rays ordinarily causing skin cancer,

their attenuated limbs

(ala El Greco) strong as oak

versatile to prod

analogous to pig in a poke,

whereby superior petsmart doggone noggin could invoke telepathic communication interestingly enough issuing smoke

signals, whenever danger present

and capable to disappear

as if doing breast stroke,

thus concludes trademark

discombobulated poetic anecdote

of one garden variety generic bloke.

[johndoe-lesbo]

If any of y’all wanna know what’s going on in my head right now...

✨🌌👑

[ask-tankman-fnf]

Okay I know what you said in the tags about getting unsolicited positivity in your inbox.. And you absolutely do not have to entertain this with an answer if you aren't feeling up to it, but I just wanted to let you know that I really liked your writing style and interpretation of Tankman! And even if you no longer want to bother with this blog or even this community, I believe that you at least deserve to leave knowing that you did make it better during your stay ;w;

opening up tumblr again after downing a whole? cup of coffee in two gulps and being greeted by this? made me unlock new emotions!?!?!?! anon get back here