his best enemy

6

“Well… I hope you’re happy at the head of the table”
                                “You know, the table’s more or less littered with dead old dudes…”

@meganegz said:

like. r u okay, dan. do u need an aspirin, perhaps.

He might be a cold, unfeeling monster, but he’s also still a very overdramatic teenager.

Danno, the only reason you’re a threatening villain is because you have basically limitless potential and no conscience. You’re not much of an evil mastermind. You don’t come up with diabolical schemes. You don’t have some sort of ultimate goal, really. No twisted worldview or anything that we can dig into.

You’re just laughing diabolically in your stupid dramatic cape with your stupid flaming hair going “look at me I’m so evil I can wipe out entire cities by exhaling watch me pick up this tank!”

Heaven Help The Fool Who Falls In Love Pt. 1 (James Madison x Reader)

Time Period: Modern (College AU)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7Part 8Part 9, Part 10

Word Count: 1,197

Warnings: Language. Implications of sex.

A/N: I know I’m in the middle of a few things right now and I have a few requests in my ask box, but this has been rattling around in my head for days now so I just had to get it out there. Also, there is not enough stuff with James Madison out there.

…..Think this is def gonna be a series.

Tags: @avengershavethetardis @bjwrites

—————-

James Madison slowly came to with the feeling of warm sunlight on his face. The dull ache in his head served as a reminder of the alcohol he’d consumed the night before. He wasn’t drunk necessarily, but he definitely wouldn’t say no to some aspirin and a glass of water. He moved to slide out of bed when he fully realized the weight on his chest. He looked down and saw the girl laying against him.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was asleep with her arm draped over his upper body. Her hair was in shambles, but she looked peaceful with the sun on her skin and her chest rising and falling gently. The blanket rested down on both her and his hips. James stared down at you and thought back to the night before.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

so i just discovered your fic list and oh gawd u don't know how happy i am with this discovery. thank u for this. anyway i just finished reading ur alternate meets canon fic and. i want to roll and jump and. oh my gawd i really wanna know what happened next?? do u have some other headcanons/ideas for this? is it ok with u to divulge them? no pressure if u don't want to though! just really wanted to thank u for it! i adore alternates meeting with canons so it was really a joy to read. thank u!

[FIC LINK] [Additional ask]

Oh anon, thank you <3 I loved the idea for that fic, had plans for it floating in my head for months before the ask got me to write it down. It was going to be this huge epic, like 100k words probably, switching between Derek and alt!Stiles in the canon universe and Stiles trying to make sense of the warped landscape of the alternate world he’d been thrown into. 

Derek’s just standing there in his bedroom doorway, looking softer than Stiles has ever seen him: his hair loose and ungelled, hanging over his forehead.

“Hey Derek,” he says, trying to blink his way back from the visual. “You look…”

“What?” He seems totally lost on what’s making Stiles stare, and after a few seconds Stiles decides not to even try explaining it. You look nice keeps running through his head, but that’s not close enough. It’s not that Derek never looks nice. (Hell, Derek always looks nice, but that’s a whole other issue.) He looks happy sometimes too, and that’s the only other word Stiles can pull up that edges close to accurate. You’re in my bedroom is the third, half-formed option, but that’s happened before too. It’s just something about the combination of those things right now, and the comfortable way he’s standing in the space  –– hands not in his pockets, shoulders not slumping in like he’s offended by the general pressure of someone else’s air –– that’s catching Stiles up. And there’s no way to fit any of that into words.

“You’ve got flour on your shirt,” he says instead, and Derek glances down with a soft laugh. Brushes the powder off so it wafts out in a soft cloud between them. The open smile he’s wearing when he looks up again is enough to make Stiles heart tug with how devastatingly dreamlike this all is.

“I was making breakfast,” he answers, and Stiles blinks. Ok, yeah. So, definitely a dream.

I had an entire timeline listed out for the alternate universe –– how things had all gone differently, in a chain reaction starting with Laura surviving Peter’s attack (link to that scene, if you’re interested) and just cascading outward, through the fracturing of Scott and Stiles’ friendship when a very human Scott was lured into the Argent side of the divide (via his interest in Allison and, ironically, concern for Stiles and the dangers of “vicious werewolves”) and Stiles sided with Laura and Derek. 

“Wait… I still got with Allison, even if I wasn’t…”

“You two are so together it’s disgusting, alright? Apparently she hit a dog with her car and you guys got to know each other at the animal clinic and right after that you two were like, destined. A week in I could see like… wedding bells and white picket fences going on in your head. It was obnoxious and I was thrilled for you, dude. And then all the hunter crap happened.”

How Laura being alive kept Derek from being quite as dark and broken as he was in the first few seasons, how she made the executive decision to bring the Sheriff in early to earn his trust and support against hunters and supernatural threats alike, and how the town more or less broke down into a cold war zone between the werewolf and hunter sides of the conflict.

The tragedy is that somewhere in all that planning and preparation my detailed notes and timeline completely vanished. I have no idea how. Pages of details and alt!character development and plot planning… and all I have left is a page or so of scenes and stray quote segments, and I just don’t remember enough about the details to make it the way it originally would have. I can tell you a few details, though, and maybe throw in a few of the excerpts too.

I know that it still took a long time for Stiles and Derek to come together. Stiles had sided with the werewolves mainly because Laura had come to the Sheriff (and the Sheriff, remembering the fire and the lost kids the Hales had been when he’d told them the news, and appreciating finally being handed answers to all the mysteries that don’t quite add up in this town, agreed to work with them at least to stop Peter… and then the bond just built from there), and because it had been the right thing to do. And Derek wasn’t shattered the way he was in canon season one maybe, but he was still Derek. Laura’s skeptical, snarky, and untrusting little brother, the cynic to her careful optimism. And Stiles is sarcastic and blunt and, in this version of reality, also hurt and bitter from losing his best friend to the enemy, so he wasn’t exactly super open to bonding with one of the reasons Scott wasn’t around anymore. (It was easier to forgive Laura, who was more sympathetic, but Derek’s general if he sided with hunters he’s not worth having around anyway attitude did not help relations early on.) Stiles and Derek butted heads and snarked constantly at first but their alliance against Peter and the hunters, various life-or-death situations, and Laura’s friendship with the Sheriff (especially when he took her on as a deputy), kept them close, and eventually they fell together just like they’re always going to.

Beacon Hills is a constant danger zone, though, because the hunter threat still hasn’t died. Scott reaches out to Stiles from time to time, earnestly believing every Argent lie that wolves are dangerous monsters and that Stiles is going to get himself killed for being with them. But he’s basically a hunter at this point, believes their philosophy because he’s been on the Argents’ side in every showdown, and honestly thinks Stiles and the Sheriff have been seduced by the Hales’ supernatural wiles (Kate has indoctrinated Scott and Allison with a very different version of her history with Derek) and he needs to do whatever he can to save his former best friend from them.

“Scott’s not a werewolf?”

“What?” Stiles starts to laugh, before his brows arch sharply. “Oh my god, you’re serious. No. No, Scott’s practically married in with the Argents; he’d probably kill himself if he got the bite.” Bitterness floods his features; he fights and fails to smooth it away.

And Stiles is wounded and bitter and cuts off any attempt at contact from his old friend because they’ve both chosen their sides, there’s too much bad blood, and thinking about Scott as anything more than the enemy or the creep who’s allied with killers is too painful at this point.

Lydia’s also in with the Argents, from virtue of being Allison’s best friend and having been smart enough to catch on after a couple months that something decidedly supernatural was going on. She’s a very different Lydia, though, having never had her banshee powers awakened (she was never bitten by Alpha!Peter because… well, there was no Alpha!Peter) and is likely still more similar to her pre-Peter-possession self. I had a lot more details about all of the side characters and how they fit into the developing arc, but most of it’s sadly lost now.

Series 10: To His Coy Mistress

Newbie here, so hello Tumblr!

So when the Series 10 episode titles came out, I thought the second to last title, “World Enough and Time,” looked familiar…  turns out the line comes from Andrew Marvell’s poem, “To His Coy Mistress” (below) and, peoples of the twissy/thoschei universe, please attend/discuss.  

P.S: That first stanza tho.😭 Sound like any time lords you know? 

P.P.S. do the phrases in bold seem…familiar to anybody else?🤔

👉[poem audio: X ]


Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate. 

      But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust;
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace. 

      Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Ji Chang Wook ❤

Ji Chang-wook (born July 5, 1987) is a South Korean actor. He rose to fame playing the leading role of Dong-hae in daily drama series Smile Again (2010-2011), and has since had roles in Warrior Baek Dong-soo (2011) and Empress Ki (2013-2014). Ji has headlined the television series Healer (2014-2015), The K2 (2016) and Suspicious Partner (2017), as well as crime-action film Fabricated City (2017). 

Ji began his career in musical theatre. He made his onscreen debut in the 2006 film Days… and had a minor role in the 2008 television drama You Stole My Heart. He only officially debuted in the 2008 film Sleeping Beauty.

In 2009, he appeared in My Too Perfect Sons, playing the timid, sissy youngest brother who ends up raising his best friend’s daughter while just turning 20 years old. The weekend family drama received 40% ratings. He then had a supporting role in the action-comedy Hero.

In 2010, Ji was cast in his first starring role in the 159-episode daily drama Smile Again. Playing the role of a Korean-American short track speed skater, Ji trained four to five hours daily at the ice rink. Smile Again topped the ratings chart for 15 consecutive weeks, and he was awarded “Best Actor in a Daily Drama” at the KBS Drama Awards.

He then played the titular character in 2011 action historical drama Warrior Baek Dong-soo (2011). Adapted from Lee Jae-heon’s manhwa Honorable Baek Dong-soo, it is an origin story about Joseon-era swordsman Baek Dong-soo, showing his growing years until political intrigue creates a rivalry with his childhood best friend-turned-enemy. The series was number one in its timeslot for 13 weeks, and Ji received a “New Star Award” at the SBS Drama Awards. Later that year, he played the lead role in cable drama Bachelor’s Vegetable Store, based on the true success story of Lee Young-seok, a young man who turned a tiny 350-square-feet vegetable store in 1998 into a nationwide franchise with 33 stores.

In his first villain role, Ji played a pianist who envies his older brother’s natural gift for music in 2012 melodrama Five Fingers.

Ji returned to the musical theater in 2013 with The Days, playing a presidential bodyguard who went missing 20 years ago along with a mysterious female companion. The Days was a jukebox musical using the folk rock songs of Kim Kwang-seok.

Ji’s breakthrough came when he played Toghon Temür (also known as Ta Hwan), the 16th emperor of the Yuan Dynasty, in the historical drama Empress Ki. The drama drew solid viewership ratings nationwide throughout its run with an average rating of 35.12%. Ji’s portrayal of the young king left a strong impression on both critics and the audience, earning him critical acclaim.

Ji then starred as the title character in Song Ji-na-penned action thriller Healer from December 2014 to February 2015. He took martial arts lessons for his role as a mysterious errand guy in the series.After the drama aired, Ji became popular in China and other parts of Asia. He then took on roles in Mandarin-language dramas like The Whirlwind Girl 2 and Mr. Right.

In 2016, Ji starred in tvN’s action thriller The K2, as the title role, a bodyguard who gets betrayed by his fellow countrymen and falls in love with a girl with fear of people. The drama received favorable reviews, topping cable channel viewership ratings throughout its 8-week broadcast. In November 2016, he co-starred in the promotional web drama titled First Seven Kisses for Lotte Duty Free.

In 2017, Ji starred in the action film Fabricated City, playing the role of a jobless game addict who becomes a framed murderer. He was next cast in SBS’ romantic comedy thriller Suspicious Partner, which premiered in May. Ji is also set to star as a reckless rookie constable alongside Sol Kyung-gu’s apathetic veteran officer in the period-comedy film Two Constables, the fourth installment in the Two Cops franchise directed by Kang Woo-suk.


Additional gifs for oppa~

Oppaaaaa~~~

A Court of Stars and Fire - Lucien’s Book: Part One

Lucien deserved more than being cut out half way through ACOWAR. I love him too much. He needed his own book; and so, to satisfy my aching soul, I’m writing one for him. 

This is a love letter to Lucien, to Cassian, to Vassa, and Viviane. May all my unappreciated, underdeveloped babies finally get some peace. 

To keep track of this as it updates, you can find it on AO3 HERE

[ACOWAR SPOILERS]

Summary: As Lucien wishes it would all just end, everything is just beginning. With Elain’s prophecy hanging over his head that he will burn his brother, melt Winter, and cut the heart of of Night, all eyes watch him as he finds himself thrown into the role of a High Lord he never expected. With a band of irritable misfits and cranky bastards as his closest companions, he has to find some way to unite them, and all of Prythian, before it is too late.’

Pairings: Lucien/Cassian, Lucien/Vassa, Elain Archeron/Lucien, Lucien (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s), Kallias/Viviane, Feysand, Mesta


Chapter One: Ignition

“I vote we send him to the prison,” Nesta said, unflinching, unyielding as she and the eight High Lords and Ladies stared down at Lucien, who knelt before them in resigned silence.

“Seconded,” Vivianne, the newly appointed High Lady of Winter, said with more ice in her voice than the entirety of her court. Though they had never even met, Lucien could not begrudge her the decision; He knew she saw too much of his brother in him, the one who had played such an instrumental role in the assault of her best friend.

“Nesta, Viv, I know you’ve never taken to him but he-” Feyre began to protest, the only one of the nine who was not seated. Instead her husband sat lounging in his throne, his legs stretched out so his feet rested upon her seat, whilst she paced before them all, frowning at her old friend.

“We punished Tamlin,” Thesan interrupted. “And you made no protest there. You cannot defend this one just because he was your friend. If this is to be a Democracy of justice, none of us can play favourites. Not even his mate.”

Elain, who sat surrounded by the branches and flowers of the Spring throne, had not spoken a word since the beginning of this trial. As unmoving as a statue amongst the garden of her seat, she merely studied him with those intense, beautiful eyes of hers. Though he felt the usual pull of the mating bond towards her, it did little to comfort him. If anything, it only shamed him further.

“I will never forgive him for what he allowed my mate to endure,” Rhysand said slowly, looking to his mate and recently made wife for guidance. “But I know she does not think him inherently bad. Tamlin maimed, killed, and abused hundreds of people for his own selfish needs. Yet we spared him death for his later actions.” No one had spoken of how without Tamlin, Rhys would be dead, but it remained a stiff, poorly concealed tension every time the exiled past High Lord was mentioned. “Lucien helped bring Vassa and the continent to us. He helped Feyre escape.”

“He also aided in the alliance with Hybern, and with his infiltration into Prythian,” Thesan pointed out, no malice in his voice, just hard logic. He shared a look with his lover and Captain, who watched from within the crowd, and returned buffered with fresh confidence in his own intelligence when he looked back to Lucien. “Those who are compliant to the evil actions of others and do nothing about it are just as responsible as those who commit the violations themselves. If we do not punish this man, then this court stands for nothing.”

This court. This Democracy. Lucien had never known the likes of it in Pythian, not even from the history books. Never before had all of Prythian come together in a common cause to pass judgement on the war criminals who had allowed monstrosities to occur during the war with Hybern. Each High Lord and Lady was given a vote, and together, all of the courts would pass judgement on those directly involved in allowing Hybern to slaughter so many humans and fae, and those who had betrayed their own people to the brute force of tyranny.

For his incompetence in protecting his people and his obsession with his own needs over the good of his court, Tamlin had been magically stripped of his title as High Lord of Spring and denounced across the land as a traitor to Prythian. Rumour had it he now dwelled somewhere in the Middle, living as more beast than man.

In his place, Elain had blossomed, quite literally. The moment Tamlin’s ties to Spring had been officially severed, wildflowers and honeysuckle vines and creepers had bloomed across her skin, stretched out from where she stood. Everywhere she went, plants and life and beauty sprung from every crack, filled the ground upon which she walked. Her hair was now wreathed with roses, her neck wrapped in coils of jasmine, and her legs entwined with snaking ivy.

Her powers were not the tradition of Spring, for she could not transform herself or others at will, and yet no one contested that she was the new heir to the court. The Cauldron had given her and Spring a fresh start, a fresh power, one to grow and nurture instead of deceive and manipulate.

All nine of the High Lords and Ladies had agreed on this fate, and yet Lucien was missing one of his biggest supports in this trial. Helion, the man who celebrated knowledge and freedom and love above all else, had departed two weeks prior on urgent business. Apparently four of his most beloved scholars, who were abroad on the continent, had dropped out of contact all of a sudden. Thus he had left to find and retrieve them, leaving Helion at the mercy of the nobility and Nesta.

Nesta was not a High Lady by any means, but she had been chosen as the official embassy of humanity in the Democratic Court’s rulings. And she had always despised Lucien, but more so now than ever it seemed, though he knew not why. From what he’d heard, she’d turned to ice and storm ever since the death of her father, yet he had thought she hated him. Regardless, it did not bode well for him.

Yet Lucien did not care. If he was lucky, he’d be executed. Just living had become so difficult as of late, with his best friend now his enemy, his mate distant and untouchable, and his very purpose in life crushed into the dust of the past. A numbness had settled into his bones and stomach once the war had ended, a drifting sense of… of nothing. Of feeling nothing. Of just wishing it could be over, that he could for once just stop thinking. Stop enduring the empty pit inside his chest, that only vanished when it was replaced by the suffocating sense of guilt and self-loathing.

Now he had come to this, this pathetic shell of himself, he would rather they’d just put him out of his misery. And so he made no protest. Said not a word, just bowed his head and waited for the axe to drop and severe it.

“Whilst I have little fondness for my brothers,” Eris drawled from the far right of Autumn, crowned in the golden oak wreath of his court. “I must say Lucien was never the monster among us. Just ask the seer; She’ll know he hasn’t got the stomach for causing trouble. His biggest crime is being a coward.” Those words hurt the most, not because they were spoken by his blood, but because they were so true. “She can tell you he’s never going to amount to anything, so you’d just be wasting a cell.”

“But is that how we should decide things here?” Thesan retorted, ever the advocate of fairness and what was right. “What people may one day do or not do? Can we really try people based on their capacity for evil, rather than their past tresspasses? This man was Tamlin’s right hand in bringing Hybern here. Can we really forgive that based on intention?”

“If we allow the Fox to live,” Elain said, and her voice, clear and ringing through the hall, the gravity in her tone, silenced them all, even the gossiping crowd. “One of us shall die. And all of Prythian shall be forever changed. Winter shall melt. Autumn’s leaves shall burn. And Night shall lose its heart.”

The silence lasted for too long. Someone should have declared the sentence of death sooner, because before anyone chose to speak, Lucien could feel his skin burning. “Well that decides it then,” Rhys said slowly, his voice filled with fear and protectiveness of his family. “He-” His voice fell short as Lucien became the sun.

It hit him like a tidal wave; one minute he was filled with a lurking, creeping sense of dread, and all of a sudden he was being drowned in heat and light and the sensation of being filled. Light erupted from his skin, hot and blinding, so that all present, even the more distant crowd, reeled back and shielding their eyes. He had no clue what was happening, why it was happening, but he could not control it. A sudden surge of power rattled through every fibre of his being, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe for how much he was, how much he became.  

When at last the light subsided, Feyre was the only one standing, staring not at him, but through him, her face ashen. When she spoke, her voice was filled not with shock, but with deep mourning.

“Helion is dead.”

Just Say You Want Me

Originally posted by kawaiiwangg

Character(s): Kim Jongin X Do Kyungsoo

Genre: smut, pwp

Warning(s): semi-public sex, slutshaming, top!soo, praisekink

Length: 4, 248 words


Jongin sighs, throwing his bag onto the table and flopping down into the seat.

Finals week has taken a huge toll on him, and while studying in the quiet of his room would be ideal, his roommate Sehun and his stupid boyfriend Luhan won’t stop giggling and sending him pointed glances.

Keep reading

New shot game for The Enemy series

The every time Andy shows up in the book and only gets recognition for being that kid in the background who has a big nose take a shot.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, swearing

Note: Pictures used are not mine accept for the blue one and the pen one, all rights go to their rightful owners, I love the Heathers musical and I have fallen even more in love with the Heathers Genderbend AU @raven-ink has created. Go sheck out her blog it’s great, especiallly the Heathers Genderbend AU art like wow kudos for making this amazing AU and amazing art for it. She even re-wrote the lyrics to most of the songs, how much more amazing can she get? But seriously check out her blog, she is an amazing artist.

Masterlist

Requests


Vincent looked down at Hunter’s dead body in a mixture of disbelief and fear. He had just killed a human being, his best friend and worst enemy. What were the police going to think? If the cops asked anybody that had attended Rae Sweeney and Kate Kelly’s party about what had happened between Vincent and Hunter, in their eyes he would have motive and be a prime suspect. And Vincent had no doubt if they looked into the murder and asked him hard enough questions, he would crack and confess. Oh God, what was he going to do?!

As if reading his mind, JD handed him a notepad and a pen. “Forge a suicide note,” she said.

Vincent blinked at her. “I’m sorry a what?”

“A suicide note,” JD repeated. “If you forge a suicide note, then you won’t be able to be blamed for Hunter’s death.” She said this as if it were the simplest solution to the problem they had gotten themselves into. Oh if only it were as easy as she made it seem.

“But-But what do I write?” Vincent asked.

“I don’t know maybe something like behind my rich lifestyle and popularity I hid pain and fear,” JD said. “But I finally had enough because–”

“I was having my period,” Vincent erupted in a burst of chuckles and snorts that shook his body but the chuckles quickly turned into a scream of frustration and mild horror.

JD grabbed his shoulders and shook him to try to get him out of his delirious state. “Vincent get a hold of yourself! If this isn’t good enough to fool the cops they’ll throw you in jail!”

Vincent calmed down and nodded his head. “Right, right. Okay how about this …” Vincent picked up the notepad and pen and began to write. “Dear World …”

“Believe it or not, I knew about fear; I knew the way loneliness stung. I hid behind smiles and crazy hot clothes,” Vincent stopped reading out loud what he was writing and looked up at JD and shrugged as if to say ‘what else?’. She shrugged so he continued to write. “I learned to kiss girls with my tongue?”

JD nodded. “That’s good.

Vincent continued to write with a new found confidence. “But, oh, the world it held me down; it, uh, weighed like a …” Vincent trailed off as he tried to think of a good metaphor. He spotted a piece of paper with 5 different designs of crowns. 

Hunter Chandler had pointed out that they were like high school royalty and, upon Hunter Mcnamara’s request, Vincent and the Hunters had each drawn a simple design of what they would prefer their crown to look like. In the middle of the page Hunter Mcnamara had drawn your average crown and from it, they had each drawn their own version. Hunter Chandler’s was on the top left corner, Hunter Mcnamara’s on the top right corner, Hunter Duke’s on the bottom left corner and Vincent’s on bottom right corner. Hunter Chandler wanted his crown to be the most extravagant of the four while Hunter Mcnamara wanted his to be cute and simple. Hunter Duke decided that if his couldn’t be better than Hunter Chandler’s, then his would be better than Hunter Mcnamara’s and Vincent’s, who chose to go with the simplest design. Vincent smiled at the memory but when JD motioned for him to continue writing, he did. “Concrete prom king crown,” he finished. 

Suddenly, Hunter Chandler’s body twitched and he sat up abruptly, making Vincent jump back in surprise. When JD looked at him weirdly, he only smiled nervously at her.

Hunter clutched his chest and looked off into the distance with a sorrow ridden expression. “No one thinks a wealthy boy has feeling, no one gets my insecurities. I am more than all of these expensive stuff and hair products.” As he spoke he motioned to the objects in his large room with an exaggerated flourish of his hands. “And no one sees the me inside of me,” Hunter insisted. He dropped his hands to his side and turned to Vincent with an accusatory glare. “Jesus you’re making me sound like air supply!” he growled angrily. Then he fell back on the floor with a frustrated cry.

JD tapped on the page of the notepad impatiently. “Keep going, this has to be good enough to fool the cops. We are, after all, trying to keep you out of jail.”

Vincent frowned. “You didn’t see that?”

JD raised an eyebrow. “See what?”

Instead of explaining and wasting time, Vincent shook his head and continued to write Hunter’s suicide note. “Nothing, nevermind.” When he finished, Vincent placed the note on Hunter’s bed and JD and him made sure there was nothing else that could tie them to the murder before leaving.

Not long after they left a cop car pulled up to Hunter Chandler’s house. They had been given an anonymous tip that there was a disturbance at the Chandler household and since the Chandlers were one of the richest and most influential families in the little town of Sherwood, a pair of cops had been sent to look in on it. But the precinct was dealing with a group of armed thieves that were terrorizing a lot of families from Sherwood’s large population of middle class families so they sent two of their newer cops, Helen McCord and Catherine Milner. They were relatively new to the job and had worked mostly with paperwork. They didn’t have a lot of experience on the field and weren’t fit to be on a job unsupervised, not because they were women, after all, the Chief was a woman, but because they didn’t have the experience or skills needed. But, the Precinct had more important things to deal with than the Chandlers.

“So what do you think it is?” McCord asked her partner.

“I don’t know, it could be anything,” Milner replied.

McCord nodded in agreement before getting out of the car and quickly walking up to the door. Milner followed after her partner but was less eager. She walked slower and admired the large, and obviously expensive. They even had a red porsche.

But when McCord shouted over her shoulder for Milner to hurry up, she obliged. McCord wasn’t necessarily a warm and fluffy kind of gal, and with the added pressure of this being their first on field job, she was more uptight than usual. Once Milner was at her partner’s side McCord moved to knock. But when her fist made contact with the door, it opened. The two cops shared a confused look and hesitantly walked in.

“Mr. and Mrs. Chandler?” McCord called in the seemingly empty house. “It’s the police. We were called in about a disturbance.”

“I’ll check upstairs,” Milner whispered. McCord gave her nod of approval and Milner climbed up the stairs silently. She started to search the many rooms in the second floor of the Chandler house. It wasn’t long until she got to a door that was slightly open. Through the small crack she could see the arm of what she believed to be a teenage boy. Milner opened the door slowly and began to speak before she actually came face to face with the Chandler boy, so she wouldn’t startle him too much.

“Excuse me? Hi I’m a cop from– AH!” Milner jumped back in fear when she was finally able to get a good look at the boy. He was laying on the floor and in his pale hands he clutched a book. His face, like his hands, were deathly pale and a blue liquid was spilling from the corner of his mouth. His face was frozen in a look of shock, his eyes wide open his face scrunched up.

McCord ran in and stared blankly at the limp body of Hunter Chandler. After getting over the initial shock he walked over to the body and checked his pulse. She looked up at the hopeful face of her partner and shook her head. The Chandler boy was dead.

“Is is a murder? Robbery gone wrong?” Milner asked the older cop.

“No, I don’t think so. Nothing seems to be missing and there isn’t any signs of a struggle.” McCord picked up a note that was on Hunter Chandler’s bed. “And look, there’s a suicide note.”

“Poor kid,” Milner mumbled solemnly.

“Man, this kid was deep,” McCord said. He held up the note to get better lighting from the dim sunlight coming in through the windows. To McCord it seemed kind of weird that Hunter Chandler wouldn’t have turned on the light to write his suicide note. McCord could barely read the note, she was sure that it would have been difficult to write it in the dark room. She dismissed the thought and instead thanked Milner when she turned on the lights. “Listen to this, ‘they couldn’t see past my rock star mystique and would barely even look at me or tried to see me for the person I was. But if they really looked hard enough they would see that I’m just a scared boy who clings to his pillow and cries at night’.”

As McCord read, Hunter sat up and repeated the lines she read from the supposed suicide note. The pair’s backs were facing Hunter so they didn’t notice that the ghost of Hunter Chandler was moving. But even if they had looked, they wouldn’t have been able to see him. Hunter walked over to the pair and frowned as he read over McCord’s shoulder.

“Jesus, this is pathetic,” Hunter complained. “If you were going to write me a suicide note, you should have made it better!”

Milner took the note from her partner. “‘This all left me a myriad of scars’,” she read.

“Though I will admit, ‘myriad’ was a nice touch, really brings out my smart side.” Hunter hummed to himself in approval and the corner of his lips turned up slightly.

“We gotta get this to the principal,” McCord said and took back the note.

“We have just solved our first real case! This is incredible!” Milner exclaimed. She turned back to the dead body and her smiled slipped and was exchanged with a sheepish look. “Too bad the kid had to die.”

Hunter scowled at the police officer. “I am not a kid! And you didn’t solve anything, dimwits! I was murdered! Jesus Christ, can’t I get some cops with more than two brain cells to investigate my murder?! Is that too much to fucking ask?!”

The two officers didn’t hear a thing that Hunter said.

“I’m feeling a weird disturbance in the air, let’s get out of here,” Milnard said.

McCord scoffed. “Like what? The Chandler boy’s ghost?” she teased. “Come on, let’s take this to Principal Gowan.” The pair left the room with Hunter Chandler’s ghost in it and made their way out of the house and to their car.

“Come back here you’re not done! If you don’t come and properly solve my murder then I’ll sue! Father knows the best lawyers in Ohio!” Hunter called after them furiously.

The just ignored him and continued walking.


“Hunter Chandler’s not your everyday suicide,” Principal Gowan said.

“Poor kid,” Coach Ripper suggested. “Hey, you should cancel classes to take some time to grief and remember Hunter Chandler. This must be pretty hard on the kids.”

Principal Gowan firmly shook his head. “No way, Coach. Even though it would be nice to give the kids time to mourn and process everything, if I send the kids home before lunchtime then the switchboard would light up like a Christmas tree before I even say ‘School’s Out’.”

Mr. Fleming slammed his hand down on the table and stood up, determination written all over his face. For the first time in years Mr Fleming finally had his time to shine and make a difference. He stood up confidently and oozed determination. Most of the other staff were surprised by Mr. Fleming’s sudden outburst, he had barely even talked before. Or maybe they just weren’t listening.

“Absolutely not. You will give these kids the opportunity to grieve, that will not be stopped by some school board. Don’t you all realize that the children of this generation are troubled? Our children are dying for goodness sakes!” Mr Fleming cried passionately. He climbed on the table and placed his balled up fists on his hips in a power stance. “These children need someone to confide in. They need role models and adults that they can connect with. And to do that, we have to make the effort, so I suggest that we get all the kids in the cafeteria and just talk.” He turned away from the Principle and faced the other staff members.” And feel!” He turned back to face Principal Gowan with a glazed over look in his eyes. “Together!”

“Thank you for the lovely speech, Mr. Fleming,” the principle said with false sincerity. He turned to the rest of the staff members and laughed boisterously. “Call me when the shuttle lands.”

Mr. Fleming ignored the laughs of his fellow adults and held up the suicide note. “You all laugh now but I’m telling you, we all misjudged hunter Chandler. Look at this, this is the loveliest suicide I’ve ever read. I mean, who asks for someone to give his clothes to Goodwill and to give dad’s on crack his car? This is practically his will and he wants to give everything away.”

“GIVE AWAY MY THINGS?! Vincent what the hell?! Next time I someone needs to write a forged suicide note, don’t let it be you,” Hunter Chandler screamed from the back of the room. Unsurprisingly, nobody seemed notice him.

“This,” Mr. Fleming shook the suicide note in his hand for emphasize, “is a cry for help that came too late. This poor young man wanted more in life than being popular and he felt like he was helpless. No child in this school should feel like that. It is our job as staff members of Westerburg High School.”

“Well that was an impressive speech. For a hippy,” Hunter Chandler said. He got up on the table to look over Mr. Fleming’s shoulder to see  the rest of the letter. He raised an eyebrow. “Hey I never weeped for some pathetic reason like not being enough because I am always enough,” Hunter protested.

Principal Gowan finally nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think I would ever say this, but he’s right. Long weekend for everyone! Now get off my table!”

The staff cheered. Outside of the room, cheers could also be heard from the students gathered outside who had, most likely, been eavesdropping.

Mr. Fleming hopped off the table and ran out of the room and started waving his arms to get the attention of the students who were already getting their things to leave the school. “Woohoo not so fast kids. Their re-fueling the buses which will take a good half hour to do. And guess what that means?”

“More free time!” someone in the crowd shouted. The crowd cheered in agreement.

“No, that does not mean more free time.” Mr. Fleming said disapprovingly. “That means we have a solid half hour of healing. Now if you would all please come with me inside this classroom so we could all talk about what we are feeling at this moment.” He turned away and beckoned the students to follow him. The students filed into the classroom and sat down in chairs and on the floor with a lot of grumbling.

“Now,” Mr. Fleming said, “I have mimeographed copies of the suicide note.” He started passing them around. “Now read this suicide note carefully. Let the words on this page become more than ink on paper, let them become a representation of everything that Hunter was feeling and the helplessness he wants to convey.”

“Helplessness?” Hunter scoffed. “As if! Hunter Chandler has never felt helpless. I make other people feel helpless.” He turned to Hunter Mcnamara and Hunter Duke. “Tell them, Hunters. Tell them that this is stupid and a load of crap. I am Hunter Chandler, the most popular person in school. I am loved, envied, hated. I am not felt sorry for!”

Instead of doing as Hunter Chandler had said, Hunter Mcnamara looked down at the note sadly. How could he have been so blind? He was supposed to be Hunter Chandler’s best friend, he was supposed to notice things. He felt his gut twisting in his stomach and his throat started to dry up. His eyes stung with unshed tears and his hands shook, barely even able to hold the note steady so he could read the last words of his best friend. Half way through the letter, Hunter mcnamara put it down. He couldn’t bear to read the letter anymore, each word felt like a knife in his chest. He discreetly wiped his eyes and cleared his throat before speaking up. “I-I never knew about his pain. I didn’t know it was this bad,” he admitted, his head down and his golden locks covering his guilt-ridden expression.

“Because I’m not in pain,” Hunter Chandler insisted. This time his voice was a bit gentler than before.

Mr. Fleming smiled encouragingly. “Yes, good, go on.”

“His life had left him sick,” the hipster dork spoke up.

“I never get sick,” Hunter Chandler protested.

“Come on, feel!” Mr. Fleming exclaimed giddily.

Some republican kid stood up. “I guess he didn’t mean to be mean or full of himself.”

“He didn’t mean to be a dick,” everyone chorused.

Hunter Chandler shrugged. “Well I can’t argue with that.”

Mr. Fleming was obviously happy with the progress he was making. Everyone was finally opening up and seemed to mostly get along because of their mutual sympathy for Hunter Chandler. Well, everyone except one student.

“Vincent, you were close to Hunter, weren’t you?” Mr. Fleming asked.

“Um … yeah, I guess,” Vincent mumbled nervously.

“Don’t you have anything to say about this? You’ve been pretty quiet.” All heads turned to the dark haired boy who was sitting in a corner. Hunter Chandler watched with an amused smirk on his face.

Crap. How was he supposed to say something about what he was feeling about the faux suicide that he and JD had set up without accidently slipping up? “Um, maybe Hunter wasn’t happy with his life, even if it seemed great to other people. I guess he felt the only way to give up his power, the thing he had the most of, was by killing himself,” Vincent said carefully.

Knowing that Vincent was the only one who could see him, Hunter Chandler decided to give him a piece of his mind.

Hunter Chandler laughed harshly. “God, you’re such a joke! ‘Give up my power’? Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“Because you -er- he realized that the power he had over others wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel wanted, he wanted friends who would stick with him and wouldn’t feel pressured to do so in fear of what awful thing he would do to them,” Vincent continued, his eyes locked with Hunter Chandler’s.

“Shut up!” Hunter Chandler growled. He walked up closer to Vincent and poked his chest. “You have no idea how I feel. And stop talking about me in past tense, I’m still here!”

Vincent didn’t even flinch. “And now he’s gone. Even though he’s still with us in memory, he’s gone. Dead.” When he said the word ‘dead’, Hunter Chandler. Stumbled back in surprise and his tough guy facade faltered. It seemed to finally register that he was, indeed, dead. This was no bad dream that he would wake up from later or some uncanny out of body experience that he would forget about after he snapped out of it. He was dead. There was no second chances. He was gone. There would be no more epic parties at Rae’s and Katie’s, no more going to the gym with Hunter Mcnamara, Hunter Duke, and Vincent, no more making fun of the geeks and nerds, no more seeing Mother or Father. He wouldn’t ever cheer Hunter Duke at a basketball game, go out with Hunter Mcnamara to buy his favorite lemon macaroons, or teasing Vincent about his crush on that trench coat girl. For the first time in a long time he felt alone. When he looked at JD’s bored expression, Hunter Chandler felt hatred burn in his gut. She had deprived him of a longer life and he would rather rot in hell than let her get away with it. But when he turned back to look at Vincent, who for the first time was actually standing up to him, Hunter Chandler couldn’t find it in himself to hate him as well. Though he would never admit it, he had grown rather fond of Vincent. Of course he had been a huge dick with Vincent, but he was, after all, the newest addition to the Hunters. And he didn’t let just anyone hang out with them, he had to make sure that Vincent could handle it. Now he just felt … numb.

Mr. Fleming spoke up, unbeknownstly interrupting Hunter Chandler’s monologue. “My God,” he said in a tone filled with wonder. “Look what we’ve done we’re breaking through. If Hunter were here, I’m sure he would be proud of you!”

Hunter chandler blinked, surprised. “What the …”

The students nodded in agreement and cheerfully echoed Mr. Fleming. “And you! And you! And you!” they cried.

Vincent frowned. What the hell was going on? This only served to make Hunter Chandler more popular. He was about to shout out and protest that no, Hunter Chandler was not proud of them, he could care less about their punny lives, but JD held him back.

“Come on, just enjoy it,” she said with a tight smile.

Vincent reluctantly agreed, but he was not happy about it.

The students started gleefully shouting out praises and sympathy for Hunter.

“Even if he was distant, Hunter cared!”
“He made our life not so bad here at Westerburg High!”

“He didn’t show it often, but he was a great guy!”

“Even if he is dead, he’ll live in our hearts.”

“Because of him, I’ll be who I want to be.”

“He’s inspired me to be true to myself.”

“Holy crap,” Hunter Chandler gasped. He turned to look at Vincent’s pissed off expression and swung his head to look at the crowd at students, then looked back at Vincent, a grin forming on his lips. “I don’t know what I did bu this is awesome!” he cried. He wouldn’t be forgotten after all. He beamed and seeked comfort in the compliments. It made the thought of being dead a little more bearable to know that he wasn’t going to be thrown away like useless garbage. He shook off the helpless feeling he had been feeling before and once again donned his confidant aura. It felt weird to feel vulnerable. He put it off as if nothing had happened.

“Hunter cried–”

“No I didn’t!”

“–he felt the word–”

“And our sins.”

“–on his shoulders. It weighed him down!”

“Jesus Christ!” Hunter cried. He put his hand on his forehead and feigned being exhausted. “Those were heavy sins!”
“He died for us all, so we could be free.”

“Like Jesus!”

Hunter Chandler jumped up in the air and threw his hands up in delight. “I’m bigger than, Jane Lennon!”

“He’s gone but he will live forever in our hearts!”

“Damn right I will, whatever-your-name-is,” Hunter said.

“He’s like the dog outside of my window that sings outside my window–”

Hunter ran to Martin and put a hand over his heart. “Thanks, Dumptruck.”

“–just longing to be let in and feel loved,” Martin continued. He clutched his chest and smiled dreamily.

Hunter’s smile fell. “Okay, now you ruined the moment.”

“He’s the twin from whom I’m separated!”

“That’s a little weird but thanks Stalker Geek!” Hunter exclaimed.

“He’s the horse I never got for Christmas!” the scene kid cried.

Hunter put a hand on the kid’s head with false sympathy. “Aw you poor thing.”

“Hunter sees who I truly am. The me inside of me!” they all chorused.

Hunter relished in the limelight and blew kisses and bowed at them. 

“Thank you, thank you, you really shouldn’t have. Aw who am I kidding keep going.” As they continued praising him, Hunter got on a desk in the middle of the room and grinned. He locked eyes with Vincent and winked at him then laughed at Vincent’s mad expression. “This couldn’t have turned out any better!” he exclaimed. After all, now he would never be forgotten.

anonymous asked:

I still cannot bloody believe that Calvin told the world that he liked the debut solo album of his best friend's enemy?!!!! And he sang a cover of the debut single of his best friend's album. Like how dare he??!!

louis’ revoked his lad privileges

ey so who’s gonna write the angsty fic where Akande kills Soldier 76 because he’s in the way of Talon’s goals and even though Gabe called dibs, Gabe’s too emotionally tied up in everything that went down in Overwatch with this guy who was his best friend and worst enemy all rolled up in one to actually pull the trigger? 

The fic where Gabe is upset and angry and hurt and bitterly relieved and gripped with a sense of closure for the first time in forever because he couldn’t do it and the decision being taken out of his hands means its finally done and there’s no more of the limbo that is Jack Morrison being in his life, there’s just the open expanse of the future and Talon’s goals and his stubborn partner in (literal) crime now that the past is well and truly dead. 

I thought that too for a while, but I don’t think it’s angst enough for Moffat.

Here’s my current theory:

- The Master sees Missy has gone “good”

- He’s like “fuck this, no version of me will be good/the Doctor’s little lap dog.”

- Missy is offended

- They fight

- The Doctor has to step in and kill the Master to stop him from killing Missy

- It’s an incredibly violent end from a pacifist. Angst. Angst.

- Parallel of the 10/Simm scene. The Doctor holds him in his arms (because he’s still his best enemy, even if he tried to kill 12’s girlfriend). He begs him to regenerate. The Master refuses.

- 12 forces the Master to regenerate by giving up some of his own regeneration energy.  Again, it’s an incredibly, dare I say, ‘abusive’ move on the Doctor’s part. It certainly breaks a lot of his moral codes. But if Simm doesn’t regenerate, then Missy never exists. “Time can be rewritten.” The Doctor won’t let that happen.

- Simm!Master regenerates into Missy in the Doctor’s arms.

- The Doctor is Missy’s first face

- There’s a Twissy kiss

- We all die

- She does something completely adorable and not in the script like cup his face and gaze up at him with that loving expression on her face ( you know the one)

- We all die even more

- The fact that she refers to him as her boyfriend/says he loves her so much/pushed him up against the wall and kissed him in s8 makes complete sense because non-boyfriends don’t do stuff like what he’s just done

- But it’s not a happy ending

- See, by using his regeneration energy to force the Master’s regeneration, the Doctor has triggered his own regeneration

- He doesn’t regret it

- We do. We are dead. We regret ever starting to watch this stupid show. We regret falling in love with Doctor/Master. We regret letting ourselves get into a position where Moffat controls our emotions. We’re all probably crying as much as Missy is. We regret everything and nothing.

- Twissy is beautiful

- They love each other so fucking much. The end. R.I.P. my heart.