#Ceiling Channel Roll Forming Machine

[callumleckie2017]

"Hyper-Space - The Simulation of Servitude & the Architecture of the Mega-Machine: Protag & his Guide or The Jornery through the Nine Circuits of the Divine-Fractal-Zones know as: Hell"

(a continuous working draft).

Fractal realities issue out of pre-rendered holographic sockets - digital orifices spewing hyber-cyber frequencies that rapidly enmesh the flesh via hair-like razor-wire that cuts its way into Protag's anatomy and continues eating through muscle then nerve, and as rapidly through bone as a straight razor through warm marrow.

The Bloom: suddenly at snap spine speed a whip lick pulls reversing the entire act as a sucking starts a hollow-vacuum with the a might like sudden sonic boom causing comically a gossamer of guts web spiralling out until finally be self consumed disappearing into nought but an atom sized hole - his liquidaized matter is siphoned through - within nothing more than a nano-second, sqeezing, finally out from a slimly hole now that had being doubling in size until it dilated with a yawn and gaped - an infinite explosion of malignancies echo in past ripples within ripples within ripples of neon-nuclear rainbows of klidoscopic candor that flood his pores filling hundreds of thousands of deep skin holes with atomica waste radiation: the works.

Protag -- hyper speed - fast -- forwarding, manically mind bent metamorphoses of matter, flesh - bone, from arse up to tip of his cranium - a radiating green nuclear glow gave birth to his newly formes anatomy - like a used condom pulled inside out followed by his skin pulled tautly by unseen strings - smoothed yellowish plasticity still slimly with un-birth - returned him to the manikin-man he wasn't. His mouth now a perfect O, his eyes: two Obsidian black pearls were sucked into place.

Since he was sucked and spat out now he stands rigid in the center of his square cell (a literal dummy rigid - a center the four walls, ceiling, floor, all glistening with mother of pearl, his soles wet with the now milk like liquid pearl just as it solidified gripping his now merged feet, next the sprouting started: fine fissures of gold (enrooting) circuit lines slowly branching outwards across the floor from his ankles up, multiple channels which rapidly mainlined him manikin frame as the entire pearl floor - emeshed and perfectly, engraved in an Arabesque golden spun, his mind reeled as his eyes rolled down in his plastic intombed skull - staring down at the maddeningly intricately threaded tomb floor, the fine wires tautly spawned from Protag's plasma plastic l gold circuitry system that now held him firmly in place with his silent screams, astonished by our cybernetic opulence - all decadently crafted by an unseen intelligence.

The four corners of the of his circuit box fractured out - fast--forwardly causing a membrane of dark matter to blister before bursting forth a spiralling vortex spewing an unknown spectrum of colours - unstoppable ancient liquidity creating a Mega tonic flood of alien realities as beings contort and blend choking on a oil slick of dissolving realities, as their lung like organs fill with a vast mixure of liquidated consciousness. "What's happening?" the Guide asked...

"And why the fuck is my Maniki-Man's lights on but no fuckers home? DId I miss something while I was taking my break in the Opium den?" (A voice answered in its usual telepathic manner). A Rare Event: A Cosmic catastrophe, - GodMeth, its inferior Fate will end its Death-Cycle-recycle. MOG is one of many a "Dream Breeder" who's endless sleep (in theory) was the True reality of worlds that formulations are beyond a mere Guides grasp. Reality, matter aeons of evolution consciousness now = an ocean the size of a galaxy... Liquidaized Reality...An Aeon on and mortification will form from the decomposition another.....its beyond your language I'm afraid.

MOG's End: a sudden rupturing split occurred as his dreams gave life to what you would call Reality Beinga, Entities, Cultures consciousness, emotions worlds, matter, thoughts and the entire flip side of the those finer phenomena .... splitting open of MOG's gigantic cruiuim bust open causing a vast chasm caused his matter to liquidise - dream-worlds to issue out the chasm causing a Mega-Conscious-Tsunami to flow in floods as mega-wave of unimaginable size - to deluge to space and time as hyperbolical oceans of un/consciencesnes to merge with past dreams from other worlds with other matter made but alien in this explanation worlds.

as their reality blends into ink loosh souls forming pure white scum that roll with in the waves-geometrically-fractacting worlds now no more then a minor oil spill in the vast deluge of the unconscience dying dream stream a "Cosmic Oceanic Dream flood".

The last reality Protag had momentary experienced before his dissolution as his essence merged with the great toxic conscious spill, his mind-ego now lost a drift. The room however reformed like a liquid rubix cube his encased anatomy now mindless. However things elsewhere continued its issuing circuits in all directions until the entire four walls where imprinted in a this suddenly sickly seeming circuitry cy ber ne tic sicknesss viral>>>>virus. it's once gold laced circuit boards started uprooting in random places breaking out in a spontaneous spores - acid blistering like some kind of sick binary bacterium fungal growths clusters forming foaming flora causing a green glowing phosphorus haze: cyber-C growths rapidly ate the opulence with Pac-Man malignancy. Yes Protag may have survived that torture? But now his puny oil spot of consciousness was still tying to stay a float and not drown in the deluge of a the dead gods ruptured flow of dying dreams the flood now the size of vast minor galaxy. And its decomposition had yet to cause the Great Decay the 3rd in only 7 aeons.

It starts circuitrty channels start issuing out from his toenails before inverting into our Human's legs up until his anatomy is entirely enmeshed -- then within a nano second and the all but last empty vacuums of space within cell are filled with via fractals of intricately arranged geometrical lines of fine liquid diamond razor wire bites into his flesh causing four seconds of indescribable pain until they pass through entirely finally -- suddenly his mouth piece begins issuing a semi-translucent klidoscopic light filling the last of any remaining space causing a pin prick black hole in the bottom corner of the cell which then in a nano dilutes suddenly sucking at him and the fractal room into its seemingly gaping black oblivion until he emerges breaking through a pink plasm film until he emerges screaming into what was once - Mexico now - Neo-XiKo, and the year - 2510 now a vast wastelands with clusters of chemical labs grinding mutanted strains of the rotting meat of native tribesmens rotting corpses mashed together with malign vines waiting to be processed in the gas chambers. Torture chambers. Chambers and more chambers.

Opium poppies with sigils carved into the pods (an attraction tactic to harvest Need Freaks far and wide) growing wild mutated overgrown covering old abandoned crack flats and cat houses. Pumped but limp seeping milk into thousand drip drops from their oversized pods that were rapidly lapped up by the Cat people before the milk hardened (sometimes in long urine-like slashes) up like dry wax, huge pale puddles of drying gum, the junkies wait once the beasts have had there fill. Dozens of Ayahuasca fill silos circle the chemical labs where raw opium is rendered into Hydo-Fent, cooking up even more potent opioids via chemical combinations - an infinity of numbers making mouculer geometry - atoms arranged into new chemical nightmares. Never ending nightmares.

Vast gigantic Fly Agaric mushrooms droop over the wastelands their vast red caps decomposing slowly in the sun causing the speckled white spots to melt and slide off the caps like some hallucinogenic cottage cheese.

Dozens of thin crucifixes sixty metres high tower into the sickly yellow sky swaying over the crack stalls and brick factories and torture cells, like macabre satellites of wood and meat, the crucified long since stopped screaming now puretrfied sacrificed nailed high corpses now only alive via the parasites that feast off them ... while they lay in wait for hosts of crow, vultures and so on. ...The very First of the Crucified nothing lives - baked to beautiful bleach pink encrusted husks, rendered that way from the radiating rays of the atomic eye, the pulsating blood orange that is the, Sun still rising (has it never) to claim itself as the only legitimate god of the Wasteland: Helios.

Our Human walks already blistering naked reborn dead - and continues into the first Circuit, his guide known simply as the Other, walks beside him, imitating his every move and gesture, our Human or HIM and his doppelganger guide now begin to finish the tame tour of this first of the nine Circuits...They slowly pass in pulsations through yet another field of Opuim poppies - forever in process of Harvest, by once tortured souls who continue to slice sigils into the oversized poppy pods to siphon its "Need" (an enegry of monumental parasitic importance in this realm) it issues out an essence of white smoked delirium tinged with aniseed, it rapidly forms in a sepia spirit that's nano-siphoned off for eartly dimensions, enriching the rich milkly sap that draws drips and dries rapidly under the Sun, their black blades expertly gather the fattening opium gum, as both Human and his Other (or Guide) pass through these ghosts of this spetic ozone essence, an eternity passes until both come to stop at wire fence that itself is covered in handmade small straw dolls with pins covering each and everyone, also - scarlet occult sigils seem scrawled across practically across all of them - those small dolls - all made of tightly wrapped fraying string as dry as old bones. Licked red. The pins too ... red with rust. A galaxy of them spetic pricks dripped a Zippy yellow coloured oil from each and every thousand needle eye. The sand absorbs it like a toilet mop absorbs piss.

At last the wire gate eerily swang open, letting them pass through as it swings back into place behind him and his guide, walks on, the a malignant stench followed by a frantic wind passes through them leaving a think kildospocic coloured membranous plasma across their now naked bodies: this signifies the next Circuit is in post.

The transition caused or Human to suffer a vivid sensation of a spider slowly crawling across his brain. A rancid shudder gooseflesh and a ripple of fear caused a tightening of his balls. He sensed before being informed by his guide he had entered the following Circuit, a sudden explosion of De jvu so intense it caused his knees to buckle as soon as he thought it would never leave it left. And he regained his composure.

Coffin lengthed-sized rectangular blocks of quivering green jelly containing screaming children stretched as far as the eye could see, (in all directions), they were seen lite up but for the black everywhere ... was HIS first vision. In seconds they solidified to stone and turned black disappearing but for a vague green outline of lines, all but the screaming children remained, and it never stopped until it was eventually a vague unconscience din.

(To be continued)

[superdamc]

Steel channel frames are widely using in commercial and industrial construction projects.

They are incuding Traingle spring tee, Angle channel, T purlin, V kneel etc suspending ceiling parts metal.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Quarantine kink conversations

Henry Catches you watching porn and quickly discovers you both share many kinks.

Masterlist

Warnings: Adult situations +18 ,Smut, Daddy kink, Bondage, Overstimulation

A/n So I haven't been posting much as I've been struggling sorting things out over this stupid virus but I'm back but will post a little slower then I have been, even if Im not posting I'm writing. And as a side note Diamond Blackfan Aneamia is not made up, its a very rare form of Aplatsic Anaemia that basically means your bone marrow does not make enough haemoglobin (red blood cells) in some cases none at all its a horrible condition that I was born with and the reason that I am now confined to my house for a minimum of twelve weeks as the treatment destroys your immune system. Hence why I have been away trying to sort out food and medications ect which has been hell!! Any way enough of that I hope you enjoy xx

Taglist: @thatgirly81​ @two-unbeatable-beaters​

"Oh darling...look at all of that hm? Its dripping on the covers, such a messy girl" he said shaking his head a little tutting you watched embarrassed as he let it drop to the bed your arousal forming a small wet puddle beneath it. He crawled up the bed stretching out beside you and snatched your tablet from you.

This was hell..you decided..absolute hell you were stuck indoors on lock-down, now usually you didn't mind being stuck home with Henry ,honestly you preferd it but you normally found yourself tangled between the sheets or watching tv. Then again normally when Henry was home it was a break from filming and he had nothing to do but this time Henry had been down in the gym everyday keeping up his work out routine making use of his new glute drive or as you had dubbed it 'teasing thrust machine'. You could understand in some ways he wanted to make sure that he was still in shape for season two of the witcher when ever that was going to start.

But you were bored Henry had chuckled saying he would play with you after his work out....which you knew would last most of the day, you had been watching him earlier but got kicked out for 'pOuTiNg LiKe A SpOiLt BrAt'..you had bristled at him when he called you that..you wasn't a brat..you were a good girl, most of the time. Ok so you'll admit you had been sulking a little jealous of the equipment I mean the only thing that man should be thrusting was you and he had brushed you off then the little shit started teasing you with unnecessary grunts groans and a wink as he worked out.Bastard. You huffed kicking at the mattress below you growling and pouting in a small tantrum 'twelve weeks, twelve fucking weeks of staying inside what the fuck are you supposed to do for twelve weeks? that's like quarter of the year!' you was one of the 1.5 million who had to stay indoors for twelve weeks due to your diamond blackfan anaemia which is basically anaemia caused by bone marrow failure as a result you was on a corticosteroid that surpressed your immune system...Yay you just hoped that your blood count doesn't drop to far it'd just be your luck to need a transfusion and catch this fucking thing in hospital.

Tv was a no go every channel reminding you of the virus with the latest bullshit statistics and politicians giving the same ' we followed expert advice' reply to every question disregarding state that the nhs has found itself in. But this was driving you crazy just the idea of being stuck here for three months didn't sit well with you. You sighed rolling over on your back on the bed spread eagle in one of Henry's tshirts tho tight on him you drowned in it. You could hardly believe how bored you was there was so much you could do in this house yet you just stayed there staring at the ceiling.

You huffed again looking around the room your eyes locked on your little red bag stuffed haphazardly between the bed and side table, you smiled slyly you knew he wouldn't be pleased but he was preoccupied and wouldn't even know, its not like he was going to be finished anytime soon and you could always have a shower afterwards. Slowly you crept up the bed towards your naughty little bag of goodies. You had made full use of the valentines day sales in February and bought some new toys online intending on using them whilst Henry was away filming, however there was still a few you hadn't yet tried.

You pulled the 'makeup' bag from beside the bed dumping it on the pillow on your side of the bed and got up closing the door grabbing your tablet from the dresser. If you was going to do it might as well do it properly already knowing what you was going to watch opening an incognito tab going straight to your favorite video which wasn't actually a video, it was an 'erotic audio for women' you didn't really want to see some women ooing and ahing rolling their eyes to the back of their head like some fucking exorcism video as they got plowed by some stick figure 'stud'. You settled on the bed near the head board unzipping your little treat bag pulling out your new fully charged mini vibrator with tiny flicking rabbit ears sprouting from it .

Quickly getting to work you dragged it softly between your folds laying back with your knees up spread, letting yourself get lost in your fantasy one that you hadn't dared let Henry know, it was too early in your relationship to be going into kinks yet especially yours , you was still coming to terms with them yourself let alone letting him know ,hell he would probably run for the hills. No instead you let your mind wander images of Henry teasing you,praising you how he'd call you a good girl before caging you underneath his huge form asking if you was going to be still for daddy. Fuck. You twitched hips jerking lightly you bit your lip and lowered a hand to your lips pulling them apart running the toy to your opening teasing yourself into wetting the toy with your arousal then bringing it back towards your clit as the deep voice on the audio spoke low commands ordering his babygirl what to do.

You shivered as you fell into a slow rhythm of circles on your clit before flicking on the vibrator gasping loud as the ears came to life trapping your swollen clit between them. Oh yes this was money well spent you summarized when you unconsciously curled your toes digging your feet into the bed below trying to keep yourself still determined not to pull the toy away from your throbbing clit as your pussy came to life ,muscles rippling and clenching begging to be filled,you gyrated moaning out as your legs tensed turning up the vibrator you bucked as the voice on the audio praised you growling out just what they were going to forced your body into. You threw your head back as you slowly inserted the small length into you a tiny stretch nothing like Henry but still pleasurable with the tip angled slightly towards your gspot lightly grazing it , you cried out as you rocked the toy side to side within you rubbing it harshly across your gspot forcing shock waves of pleasure through you as your tummy tightened.

So lost in your own fantasies you fail to notice the door open quietly. You moaned loud finding that perfect rhythm obeying the audios instructions. Flicking it up a notch determined to force yourself to cum you let out a sharp squeal as the new intensity almost burned your clit, the little pain sent you over the edge your whole body shuddered as your back almost cramped as it arched your hips wriggling into the small powerful device ,you bit your lip trying to be quiet as your hand let go of the toy hovering uselessly between your legs as you jerked against it still having waves of your climax wash over you as the toy abused your almost raw clit.

Not able to take anymore you swore as your fingers searched blindly for the toy wanting to turn it off before you got to tender. You screamed snapping open your eyes as you grabbed a hot wrist instead. Mortified you stared at Henry making to move away Your squeak of surprise became a high keen as the vibrator shifted when you tried jerking away throwing your head back as another onslaught of pleasure overcame you, some how your humiliation of being caught made it more intense as you release over the still vibrating toy swearing loud. You couldn't believe he had caught you,he was hovering over your form one hand moved grasping the toy between your still quivering thighs twisting it slowly forcing you to buck you clit twitching as the flicking ears moved slightly. His eyes were dark and he had a wicked grin.

"I thought I'd told you to wait? I wasn't going to be long" his deep voice brought you out of your shock. You quickly made a move for the vibrator wanting to pull it out and hide under the covers.You mewled as he batted your hand away holding down the button stopping the assault on your clit, having sex with him was one thing but this was the first time he'd caught you masturbating and you was extremely embarrassed thankful that the short video had finished, thank god for small mercies. Your eyes widened and you quickly flipped the tablet cover shut putting it to sleep desperate to hide your kink. You flushed as he raised an eyebrow at you still amused  then without warning he pulled out your new vibrator making a fuss over the now soaked rubber.

"Oh my god Henry no!" you slapped your hand on it trying to tug it back panicked desperate to hide the video from him not ready to explain to him, he chuckled prying your fingers off and easily wrestled your arms into one hand holding them away from himself pinning you with his body weight ready to snoop at your open tab.

"You know I have always wondered what little kinks you have babe" he said flipping it open, you struggled against him

"Henry love please don't!" but it was to lat he had already begun to scroll threw the page clicking back a page looking at exactly what you had searched tucked your head into your chest feeling even worse then you did before. He was quiet for a moment ,you held your breath waiting for him to make fun of you but he didn't instead he closed the tablet again sliding it across the bed and tugged you beneath him growling.

"Fuck I should have known, shit babe you might just be the perfect woman for me" he grunted pushing his bulge against your still sensitive clit ignoring the damp patch you made on his bottoms you yelped jumping away only to be dragged back down onto him he found your neck quickly suckling at it kissing and biting.

"So tell me what other little secrets does my baby girl have?" You shivered relishing in being called his baby girl he groaned rocking into you.

"Hm? You know if you don't tell daddy what you want he cant provide it,come on baby girl tell me, I want to know everything" he grunted you moaned out as he tugged his tshirt off of you leaving you bare below him.

"P-pleease please I want you" you made to wriggle your hands out of his grasp but he just pulled them to his mouth laying a delicate kiss on your palm. Whimpering you pouted at his devilish smile.

"Ah ah you should ask daddy nicely" you flushed gasping at him "I-I but you and I'm not sure-are you sure Henry I don't want to force anything if your not comfortable-" he smirked at you enjoying just how cute you was stuttering over your words, it was so unlike you normally you were blunt and to the point, his grin widened and he leant in close running his nose along the new bite mark adorning your neck before whispering hotly into your ear

"Now now baby girl this is perfect i always fantasized about you being daddies little girl, letting me take care of you..why don't you tell daddy what you want ask nicely and I might just reward you" you trembled feeling your inner walls clamp tight you let out a breathy moan still uncertain of yourself he encouraged you again

"come on baby, if you don't ask you wont get tell me.. tell daddy what you want"

"I-I want t-to play daddy please? Please play with me I'v been a good girl" he chuckled sucking your earlobe into his mouth running his teeth across it then pulled back looking you in the eye

"Good? Oh baby I dont think so" you whined at him pouting tugging on your hands grinding your his on his bulge making him hiss he just squinted stareing down at you as you argued in a high whining voice

"Yes I haaaave I left you alone when you told me tooo don't be mean" he tutted tilting his head looking at you from the top of his eyes unconvinced

"And why did daddy have to make you leave the gym hm?" You stuck out your bottom lip pouting kicking your little feet at the bed he smiled at that knowing full well you was giving into one of your fantasies, unknowingly giving him one of his he felt excitement bubble in his chest knowing that he was going to enjoy himself, brat taming it seems was something you both had in common. He struck your hip lightly making you gasp and squirm beneath him

"Don’t be such a brat" he growled out at you, his stern voice made you pause a little before you grunted at him facing away from him nose in the air.

"Im not a brat" He chuckled sitting up using his thick thighs to keep your legs spread for him releasing your hands  crossing his arms at you unconvinced.

"Oh really? So you wasn't pouting down stairs? And I didn't just find you up here trying to fuck yourself silly out of spite? because daddy told you to wait? And you didn't just kick your legs at me? Hm? if you were standing I'd bet you would have stomped a tiny foot Oh no baby girl you are definitely being a little brat" you blinked at him innocently he just tilted his head at you. The reached over you grasping your small bag you gasped he wouldn't...he fucking would"No henRY- ouch!" He fixed you with a small spank to your inner thigh holding your embarrassing private bag up in one hand.

"Oh no little girl you dont say no to me.... now lets see what we have hear.... oh my I knew you had some toys stashed somewhere but baby theres quite a bit in here isn't there" he shook the bag slightly making the contents rattle a little you flushed panicking a little not wanting him to judge you, but so far he had seemed to be on board. He unzipped the bag going still at what laid inside, you cringed covering your face with your hands hiding feeling him stare at the top of your head you refused to look at him, in doing so you missed the grin that had formed as he noted what was inside.

Slowly one by one he began removing things his grin getting wider with each toy as he place them on the bed beside you, You snuck peaks at him as he pulled them out. First was a set of four pink leather cuffs with frills on each a big lobster claw on each to connect them as you see fit at the moment they was connected in a pair designed to cuff your wrists to your ankles holding your knees bent and spread they looked secure, you doubted they would actually hold you properly then was your wand vibrator a pastel blue this was followed by two more vibrators one just some rabbit ears on their own the other a red dildo that was a little larger than the one Henry had caught you with he held it up to you looking sympathetic

"Henry what are-" he gave you a heated look making you clench and whimper shrinking into your shoulders a bit.

"oh baby no wonder your so desperate when i come home...this is the biggest you have? my poor baby don't worry daddy will think of something to help you when he is away" you blushed as he spoke he gave you a smug smile then continued routing threw the bag, an o ring gag and ball gag then what you had really dreaded him seeing your new paci-gag the pink leather was decorated with small jewles here and there, it was something you'd always wanted to try and in the sale you'd thought what the hell and got one. he held the paci-gag in his hand blinking at you

"now this is very cute, but I’m not sure if we should play with this today, maybe you can ware it tomorrow for me in the gym when I’m working out" you closed your eyes groaning but at the same time you shivered in anticipation the thought of him gagging you and forcing you to sit and watch him work out was both cruel and delicious. He placed it back and unbuckled the cuffs with deft fingers stroking the soft padded insides making sure they would be soft enough running his thumb across it. Your eyes snapped open flinching as you felt him slip one around your ankle buckling it tight before slipping the top of his pinky underneath it

"Ah ah don't start young lady, its daddys turn to play and he want's to play with your new toys now stay still" you squirmed a little still uncomfortable but you let him carry on until your arms were pulled down your sides attached to your ankles knees bent high and pulled apart you quivered thrilled and frightened all in one, he sat back again admiring his work also wanting you to get used to it.....He could defiantly get used to you like this his mind already creating a shopping list... tho he wasn't sure if a sex shop was considered as essential but fuck if he wasn't going to check online to see if anything could be delivered,he was ecstatic that you was a secret baby girl and couldn't wait to treat you like one, he smiled as you tested your new bonds uncertain eyes darting back to him every so often finally you pouted a little huffing.. you didn't look impressed and he regarded you carefully

"I can't get out of 'em" he through his head back laughing loud so that was the problem? you thought you'd wriggle free and it turns out you really was at his mercy, it was clear that you thought you would be topping from the bottom Henry on the other hand had other ideas

"I think that's the point baby girl" he said running a large hands along your thighs pressing them apart slightly his heated skin warmed you casting goosebumps on your flesh you wriggled again

"I thought I could get out...but I really don't think I can" he leant over between your spread thighs meeting your lips sucking them lightly before kissing you encouraging you to open your mouth for him you did letting him in, his tongue licked at yours coaxing it out to play twisting and tasting passionately tilting his head kissing you rougher and deeper making you moan melting into him then he pulled back you tried to follow lifting your hands to catch him, to bring him back you whined trying to fight the cuffs wanting to touch him. He chuckled at that placing a hand on each thigh massaging the insides slowly kneading the muscles with his fingers.

"I think they will work perfectly don't you? I didn't do them to tight did I?" You shook your head before trying to twist your hand free again growling now realizing the down side to the small restraints you wanted to touch him, kiss lick and bite at him... especially bite in that moment when he was sitting back watching you in a smug amusement. You felt giddy with excitement just laying here spread open knowing that there really was nothing you could do to stop him made your tummy flutter feeling your clit throb erratically at the mere thought of being at his mercy. You relaxed a little you couldn't help wriggling now and then trying to free your wrists on impulse he shook his head at you.

"Oh honey your not getting out of those until I say but before we move on your word is going to be cherries you know what that means?" You blinked at him and nodded slowly he looked at you waiting for you to agree verbally

"S-safe word?" He nodded eyes lighting up knowing now that you knew more about this then you was letting on, he turned  his gaze back to your half empty bag

"Now lets see what else should we play with today? I don't think we will use gags today...will make use of them tomorrow I think" He said moving the remaining items in your bag about he smiled then you watched as his hand pulled out a slim jeweled butt plug still in its packaging he quickly rid it of the bag twisting it to the light letting the gem catch the light making it flicker onto the ceiling

"Oh look princess isn't this pretty? Don’t you think it would look cute in your little bottom? I know I do and you haven't used it yet" he stated happily you squirmed pulling at your cuffs again feeling nervous

"Have you ever used one before baby girl?" he asked noting your unsure expression you shook your head a little . you had never used one before you tried to convince yourself you got it on a whim but you was actually curious he brought the slim purple plug to your pussy coating it in your arousal you flinched as he directed it down to your pucker

"D-daddy?" unconsciously trying to wiggle away making him hold you still with one hand on your tummy

"Don't worry baby I'll take care of you I promise now take a deep breath baby its ok that's it good girl, your being so good for me, my special little princess" you did as you was told on auto pilot warmth bubbled in your chest at his praise. Taking a deep breath in when he bent over your vulnerable form again this time kissing your cheek one hand between your legs tweaking your clit then rubbing your opening tracing circles with your wetness the other holding the plug firm against you he rested his head next to yours whispering

"Now out and push with your bottom good girl, so good for daddy hm?" you tried breathing slow pushing with your bottom but you hissed out your breath sharply when he pressed the plug into you stretching,you whined a little as it stung when the largest part pushed past the ring of tight muscle you tried to push it back out yelping as he pushed past finally then you felt a small popping feeling as your ass hugged the plug tightly holding it securly in your bottom

"Ah! Fuck...Oohh shit that's weird" you panted feeling full as the plug pressed against your insides in a strange pressure he kissed you again tapping the jewel on the small plug

"Such a good girl look at how pretty you are! you took that much better than I thought especially for your first time,I must warn you that I will be getting a set of these for you some will be for play like now and others will be for a naughty little girl who needs to remember to mind her daddy" you twitched moaning imagining being punished with a larger plug when he was unhappy with you

"Oh you like the idea of that I see? the idea of me putting you in the corner with a well spanked plugged bottom? even better if the pug is keeping it full of daddies cum?" gasped at the thought twitching you had no idea just where all this dirty talk was coming from but it was driving you crazy you rocked a little feeling your throbbing walls contracting left disappointed when you was left empty you winced trying not to move so much as your ass felt... strange, tight you wasn't sure clenching and unclenching you moaned tilting your hips down almost trying to escape the uncomfortable yet fulfilling stretch. You whined withering still tugging your wrists. He moved closer fingers grazing your pussy lightly tapping and flicking at your clit toying with the red sensitive bud, you arched as high as you could trying to rock into him gasping feeling the plug touch something deep with in you

"Ah! ohnonono! I don't-daddy? Whats going-ugh!" You squeezed your eyes shut at the feeling your pussy weep onto him he pinched your clit at the base before rolling it around in his fingers tightly, you cried out feeling the warmth of his skin tugging and twisting at you panting shallow breaths

"Ah oh GOD da-daddy please I'm sorry I FUCK! I didn't mean to be a brat Ple-please!"you begged squirming around as much as you could. Feeling your body shiver  as your pussy wept onto the bed below wetting your ass as it ran down in a steady stream he continued toying with you building you up towards a slow but incredible climax, being so vulnerable was giving you a brand new high feeling yourself get hotter as liquid heat raced through you rocking lightly against his fingers chasing your orgasm wanting him to hurry up... you wasn’t one for edging you wanted to get this show on the road, wanting to feel him brutalize your insides with his cock whilst calling you his good girl, wanting him to choke you whilst praising you for be so sweet for him. Your thoughts were cut off as he began growling into your ear as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge

"I know.... I know baby.... you just cant help it can you? So needy and wet for me... but you should have waited for me shouldn't you? You should have waited for daddy but no you wanted to be a brat, you wanted me to find you up here with your toys Didn't you? Well what ever my princess wants she gets you want to cum?...I can tell by your little whimpers..don't worry baby daddy will make you cum heh..I'm going to make you cum until you cry and even then I might not stop, no I might just carry on and fuck you until I think you've got exactly what you deserve for being a horny little brat, fuck you until your little pink pussy is red ,sore, swollen and messy with daddies cum" You whimpered as he growled out his words and placed one thick finger at your entrance before plunging it in rubbing around your walls you yelped as he pushed down massaging the thin wall separating him from the plug wedged in your ass you bucked crying out loud widening your thighs as his large digit ran across the bulge of rubber, you cried rearing up shaking as you came over him panting trying to kick your bound legs he chuckled still knuckle deep

"Oh baby that was quick.... you know good girls say thank you we shouldn't forget our manners now should we?" you groaned feebly

"Th-thank you daddy....Thank you oh god no no more please" he tutted shaking his head a little and pulled back starting a slow rhythm finger fucking you curling down to run the tip of his finger around the plug. He slid to the side slightly trapping on of your knees between his thrusting vigorously into you using his strength to rock your body along the bed adding a second finger as he went. You grunted and yelped at him as he began moving faster scissoring the fingers stretching your still shaking muscles as he went deeper trying to massage every spot he could find. You froze tensing as he lifted his thumb rolling it around your clit in harsh strokes, your breath caught in your throat clenching and squeezing his fingers you moaned throwing your head back mouth open letting out loud lewd noises the sound of his fingers dragging in and out of you with wet slapping sounds.

"Oh god that's it baby, yes good girl are you gonna cum? Huh? you want to cum for daddy? Don’t you? Fuck that's it good girl are you ready princess daddy wants you to cum all over his fingers again baby can you do that for daddy?" You body trembled and you shook violently as you felt yourself try to grind down on him reaching your third orgasm of the night quicker than the ones before, a slight twist of his wrist was all it took hitting that soft spot inside of you making you cum screaming arching and withering below him you tried closing your leg on impulse it was too much! but the cuffs held strong making you wail as you was still held open for him unable to avoid him, he didn't let up pressing his fingers harder against your spot forcing your pussy to spasm again flooding over his fingers once more so intense it was almost painful you tightened around his fingers forcing them still enduring the longest orgasm of your life, you could barely breath through your moaning and panting.

"No nononono! I cant please I need a break PLEASE PLEASE!" He pulled his hand back showing some mercy and watched you go lax humming as your body trembled in the aftermath, dazed looking through half lidded eyes at him. You was greeted with a cheeky smile

"Oh princess that was so cute...but you did forget to say thank you I suppose I could let you off for the way you were whimpering and trying to rock onto my fingers so sweetly, heh you didn't know of you wanted more or wanted me to stop did you? tho that only makes three tonight and your not crying yet" He teased licking his lips taking in just how flushed and sated you looked. It wasn't enough. You just laid there panting trying to calm down completely exhausted, and you hadn't even had sex yet he was still just playing enjoying himself.

"I-I need a nap, or a break something fuck" he grinned showing off his prefect teeth reaching slowly for your wand

"Oh baby girl no what did I say?" You lifted your head not trusting his sly voice, your eyes widened and you wriggled desperately to get away shaking your head as he brought the wand towards your tender clit your insides still contracting from the powerful climax's he had pulled form you

"No nono daddy not yet please Im not ready-I cant daddy noOOAH!" you tried to plead with him but to no avail squealing when he flicked on the wand powerful vibrations tickled your engorged clit and labia making you tense fighting your bonds having the opposite effect as the tugging on your wrists just widened your leg revealing more of your sore clit to the offending rubber

"Ohh yes baby girl I told you your going to cum until you cry and I meant it" he growled as you screamed out, still far to sensitive to handle the torturous wand yelping when he laughed flicking it higher. Unable to hold back as another climax tore through you this time was different you felt a strong gush of wetness leave you for a second you though you'd pissed yourself but no you had infact just squirted for the first time in your life you looked at him gobsmacked weeping as one last stream of cum gushed from you making you wail twitching and rocking against the wand shaking your head vigorously embarrassed by what had happened wanting him to stop but at the same time wanting more. He pulled it away leaving you to heave deep breaths weeping quietly

"Fucking hell baby I didn't know you could do that.....again I want to see it again" he grunted looking like a man possessed caging you below him as he reattached the wand to your pussy this time rolling it in tight small circles pupils blown wide as he watched you intent on getting you to squirt a second time you withered arching and tensing your stomach clenched tight and you jolted as he flicked up another setting

"No no I cant FUCK!" You cried low and loud

"That’s it baby one more, just one more and then I will fuck you, doesn't that sound nice? I will fuck you nice and deep and full" you moaned grunting out protests biting your lip trying to keep quiet, he wasn't having that quickly moving his hand to your opening rubbing it lightly forcing you to clench you cried fat tears rolling down your face you blinked sniffling trying to arch away from him crying out in a hoarse

"Open your eyes little one...look at me that's it oh such a good girl you want it? You want to cum again for daddy?of course you do now cum!" You looked at him watching threw blurry eyes as he praised you, screeching and thrashing around as he forced that rubber band to snap again as you released again one long stream of hot cum washing over the evil toy. You panted gasping aching a tired he put the wand back in your bag. He returned between your legs tugging on your plug lightly then eased it from you, hissing sharply as it stung as it breached your pucker again he placed that back in your bag opting to wipe them down later. You whimpered tears still streaming down your face as he slowly unbuckled your wrists and ankles pulling your legs to lie flat against the bed rubbing away the ache you sighed as his hot hands massaged the ache away watching as he pulled his clothes off slowly winking at you teasing as he revealed himself to you slowly stripping down to nothing before kneeling on the bed kissing his way up from your ankle swapping legs lathering them with soothing licks and sweet kisses.

"God I love you woman, your just to perfect, I'm so proud of you love" he muttered running his hands in soothing circles on your tummy moving them down to your knees pulling you down the bed you cringed as your embarrassingly huge wet patch was now at your back. You blushed as he kissed you again slow and hot this time wrapping your arms around his neck deepening it he grunted hoisting your heat to his erection, skimming it across your slit teasingly before settling it at your opening you pulled back quivering "Fuck your so hot baby girl" you moaned at him tilting your hips trying to engulf him smiling sweetly at his gasp. Without wasting anymore time he pushed forward embedding himself fully you gasped swearing as he grit his teeth no matter how many times he fucked you open he was always amazed at how tight you was. You hissed enjoying the slight pain that always came with him.

"Sh-shit Henry fuck, that's so good hah fuck" he placed his forehead against yours closing his eyes tight locking his jaw loosing himself ,this has got to be what heaven felt like nothing could compare to your hot walls coiling tightly around him he pulled back before plowing back into you his cock rubbing across your insides teasing every nerve inside of you caressing your depths unlike any toy ever could you moaned trying to rock with him groaning in frustration when you couldn't quite match his movements, he chuckled tilting his head kissing you again sweetly before raising himself on his arms above you

"Aw baby your just to tired aren't you? stay still let me do it" you nodded balling your hands into fists hugging him feeling his back muscles work as he started a fast deep pace hitting your cervix with every thrust of his hips you mewled widening your legs lifting them high on his hips opening your eyes looking down watching as his perfect abs contracted with each brutal pound of his hips, he foĺlowed your gaze smirking smugly feeling the way your body tensed below him.

"That’s it baby look at how well your taking me, how hungry that little pussy is swallowing me whole even when it hurts" he thrust harder holding still a few seconds against your cervix making you grunt uncomfortably before he resumed his pace holding below your knees pushing them beside your torso tilting you up the new angle meant he was dragging the tip of his cock along your most sensitive spot inside of you you kicked your legs out a little squealing high as he continued to batter your insides.

"Ah oh fuck ‘Im gonna cum again, shit Henry fuck I cant stop it" he grunted loud with each thrust growling low in his chest as your pussy tried to trap him inside with all its might trying to milk him for all his worth he lost him self hanging his head fucking you harder then ever before unable to hold back as he chased his own end

"Good I don’t want you to now cum one last time NOW!. AH AH FUCK OH SHIT YES" you cried out as his hips stuttered forcing you to release around him as he fucked his cum into you, painting your insides with his seed groaning loud trying to prolong your orgasms by thrusting against your twitching walls grinding on your sore clit then gasping for breath he chuckled low making you twitch around him. Collapsing on top of you leaving open mouthed kisses and soft bites on your neck.

"I love you so much...so so much" It wasn't long before he rolled off of you knowing he was to heavy for you swapping positions holding you on top of him feeling his cum leaking from you he smiled kissing your damp hair.

"So I think its safe to say that we both enjoyed that,I never thought you’d be a baby girl tho, but the signs were all there I should have known the way you keep yourself fully bare, your lama teddy on the bed, don't think I haven't caught you cuddling them and your collection of cute oneies, it all makes sens" you grunted softly going a little red

"Y-you don't think its weird do you?"

"I think its just about the sexiest thing I've ever fantasized about, now that I've fucked my very own baby girl I don't see my self stopping anytime soon. What else are you into, ever thought of pet play always wanted to try that." You lifted your head shocked

"Really? You don't think I’m a freak?" He laughed hugging you tight kissing your head

"No not at all in case you didn't notice I may have a slight daddy kink and size kink and spanking kink fuck I just about want to try everything with you, now like I was saying pet play? Yes or no?" You blushed pulling away from him opening your bed side draw his jaw dropped when you showed him your fluffy kitty ear hair clips and small choker with a bell on it. He smiled wide before pouncing on you pinning you beneath him kissing you

"Fuck my very own sex kitten, here all this time? You sneaky little girl what else have you been hiding?" You giggled at him shrugging

"Nothing that's it, I-I like other things to but haven't got anything for it. I thought you'd be put off so I couldn't risk you finding it and didn't want to talk about it I was embarrassed." He tilted his head at you

"There’s nothing to be embarrassed about love, you enjoy kinky sex so what your not the only one I do to, I enjoy dominating my partner pet play daddy kink, slave and master you name it anything like that, anything where Im in control, I love being bigger and stronger than you being able to just man handle you." you tilted your head a little

"Soo roleplay? like teacher student or boss and sectary....in the study or something.... and maybe spanking me when I'm bad? I mean just saying now you can spank me anytime" you twiddled your thumbs as you asked blushing letting out a few more of your fantasies

"Defiantly all of the above but I think you may regret telling me I can put you over my knee when you deserve it..but no being naughty just to get one you hear me little girl? you don't have to bad be to get a spanking if you want one you can just ask.... but in all honestly one of my biggest kinks is squirting I found that embarrassing but when you did....oh fuck knowing I did that to you I couldn't get enough, just wanted to see it again and again.... but honestly my most embarrassing kink is well... I've always...shit this is quite difficult actually" he stuttered rolling off of you sitting up smoothing over his hair you sat up placing the ears and collar on the bed before placing a hand on his thigh.

"You can tell me, we can try anything once to see if it fits us both" you encouraged lightly he sighed blushing a little before continuing.

"well I've always kind of wanted to fuck someone in character" you blinked at him slowly not really seeing the problem

"Hold on... you mean to tell me that I've fantasied about getting railed by August walker and all I had to do was ask? How fucking dare you keep that from me you little shit" you scolded slapping his chest lightly his face was comical it was very rare to catch him off guard but by the look of shock on his face you knew you'd done just that.

"S-seriously? You wont mind doing that? you wont find it strange or anything?" You scoffed

"Fuck no, why the hell do you think I'm on tumblr?! ninety percent of the time Im reading about you in some way shape or form. I do have two conditions tho ,first you can fuck me in what ever character you want when ever you want just give me a little heads up so I know if I'm dealing with a scary Marshall or sweet Clark and two when you finish filming witcher get your ass home as Geralt and fuck the living day lights out of me deal?" You held out a hand he looked at it then saluted"Yes mam" before throwing himself at you

"GOD I knew you was the one for me" you squealed giggling as he tickled you with kisses soon you both got up stripping the damp bed you blushed seeing just how much mess you had made

"Don’t worry babe I will get some towels specifically for this type of thing, maybe microfiber they might not chafe when I’m fucking you, after all now I know your a little squirter its my new goal in sex, orgasms are good but I wont be happy until you’ve gushed all over our bed, hell I’m gonna find a way to make you squirt on my cock" you groaned covering your hot cheeks making him laugh.

"Lets not and say we did?" You answered he shook his head lowering his face to your ear grunting into it

"Well kitten we have got twelve weeks together lets not waste them might as well learn a few new tricks any way where did you get all of that stuff?" You groaned smiling as you got up again ready to tidy up.

"Bondara I think"

"Are they still delivering through this pandemic" you pulled on Henry's tshirt bundling the sheets in the laundry basket

"I’m not sure I will have to check-hey what are you doing?" you quickly stepped up behind him as he sat on your tablet going on to bondara

"Holy shit they are!? ok babe lets do this so plugs, yep oh look this set has heart jewels on them add to cart... oh here look if I spend forty five pounds I get a free dildo worth one hundred pounds now lets see paddles oh I wonder if they have that clone a willy kit that would be good for you when I’m away..... what type of paddle to you want babe? never mind it doesn't matter you wont like it anyway it will be for when your naughty anyway" you froze watching as an amused Henry sat on the bed happily scrolling through the site maybe this quarantine shit wont be so bad after all.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon!  TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting​, @aetherwrites​

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

[tinycoffeebiggun]

⍟⎊   Super  Family    ⎊⍟

ᴀᴛ sᴋʏғᴀʟʟ   :    ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs ᴄᴏʟʟɪᴅᴇ   &   ᴅᴀʏs ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ

❝ we create our own demons. who said that? what does that even mean? doesn’t matter, i said it cause he said it. so now he was famous and that’s basically get said by two well known guys. i don’t, uh, i’m going to start again. let’s track this from the beginning... ❞  ―  Tony Stark

can be read on here as well archiveofourow

The first missile meant to send shockwaves through the structure of the mansion, rattle the metal frame which cement walls clung to and form cracks in the foundation. It had succeeded in that aspect plus the stunning of the occupants within the structure even if adrenaline drown out the initial shock of the realisation of what is happening made the father scurry sore limbs to draw an invisible line from his nervous system to awaken the autonomous prehensile propulsion suit or Mark XXXIX to encapsulate the most valuable thing in the tumbling structure, his son. Mark XL got blown to smithereens by that of the second impact broke the earthly chains that bound the manmade structure to set it free. Show time for Mark XLI only to have a shower of bullets from the flying machine above the crack in the ceiling, Tony was without armour on top of crumbling earth, at least his son was protected and out of the rubble raining building, a near miss of the sofa that aimed for his shins to dive into the briny depths. From overstepping to caught himself, only to step into the secure feeling of metal encompassing his body tightly like that of a hug from a friend, Mark XLII. 

He only had one shot at any attempt of them getting to the front of the house where his son stood on firm ground, palm angled skyward as the shadow of the tail covered him, bright beaming powerful blast emitted from his palm. What he hadn’t thought of was the chain reaction from the pilot and machine working against each other, thus was what broke the ceiling and leap for life from the iron clattered man trying to grip onto the steadier ground of the house, pulling himself up as he watched the helicopter get swallowed by the churning sea below. There he hung trying to hoist himself up, only to receive that of the grand piano to the shellhead causing him to topple into the waters below.

Propellers sliced at nothing but something altogether, air to high tail it out of the line of fire of three unknown helicopters, cameras that hadn’t stopped rolling since arriving at the Malibu mansion of one of Earth’s greatest heroes, Iron Man. Paparazzi had been waiting to get a photo of the man, the legend and not such a myth, accompanied by one of his two sons, the rumours that spread at wildfire capacity at the belief that he and Captain America had broken up, it may have looked that way on the onlookers perspective. The reason why Tony Stark was in town meant nothing and for whirling chops from copters to retreat back as the camera lens stayed of the atrocity of what once was a home, now turned to rubble from the third missile thus designed to kill. 

❝ Breaking news, warning that the live footage you’re about to witness may be disturbing to some, we’d advise you to send small children out of the room... The footage that is displayed on the screen is that of Tony Stark’s mansion being attacked on, it is still uncertain if the beloved hero and his son wherein the house on the initial impact. Anthony and Harley Stark-Rogers are now classed as missing persons. ❞

The global broadcasted reached out to every channel, showing the clips of the  attack on the Stark cliff mansion to all whom feasted eyes upon it though it wouldn’t be until the NBC editors zoomed in on the footage to behold the iron man armour trying to cling onto the dilapidating building only to be lost from the final explosion. That really added the pain into the chest cavities of Steve and Peter whom ended up catching it on the screens that happened to be muted from a called meeting by Natasha, both had believed it was to do with their mission but no instead it was as if someone shoved their hand through flesh and the charm like the opening of the rib bones to rip out each heart right in front of them, shock took over them. As ocean eyes  adverted from the screen to meet that of a  tear-stained cheeked son, causing the father to not be able to utter out a word of comfort. The shattering of his heart, shrapnel pieces ricocheting against jagged bones as Natasha droned on, he just watched the man he loves, loved, loves be swallowed alive by their vacation house and there was no sight of Harley, his breath caught up in the back of his throat as he swallowed back the air. The loss of his strength to use his legs, close the distance towards himself and his son, allowing his son to fell onto him, just cry and a quiet nod from an unspoken queue to get the quinjet ready for take off.

Fly over was gut-wrenchingly quieting from the freckled face teen staring blankly, being abnormally quiet until the outburst that came from nowhere from the urgency need to see what is left, see if there is a clue and the dying hope that they could be alive, a strong arm catching him just under his arm from the weight upon his own chest that he had realised that he was sinking to the floor of the jet or that he even stood. Calming words did nothing for his son, Peter. No soothing nor ease, just brought out more waterworks and if Steve didn’t have to be strong for his son then he’d be doing the same thing. 

There as the most haunting and yet taunting thing Steve has beheld ever in his life, the head of a suit damage on the ledge of where the front steps to the holiday house once where, now all ghostly images of what once stood here and what it once represented. A home for a family to seek time away from the chaos of the world, the family’s safe haven. 

[sevens-evan]

idk if you're still taking asks but catradora + 33?

33. celebrity/fan au

ooh interesting choice anon, hope you like what i came up with!

The bell above the door rings.

“We’re closed,” Catra calls, not looking up from where she’s cleaning an espresso machine.

“I know,” the person says. “I saw the sign, and I’m really sorry, I don’t need to order anything, I just—can I just hide in here for like five minutes?” Catra straightens up, looking over the counter, and her eyes widen slightly when she sees who’s standing on the other side.

“You’re that chick from that TV show,” Catra says, as if she hasn’t had a crush on Adora Grayskull since she was eight years old and Adora was starring in a children’s show that played on the only channel Catra’s shitty childhood TV could get. “The one with the dragon.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Adora says, wincing slightly. “I’m Adora. Listen, I—there’s paparazzi out there, and I really don’t want to deal with them right now, and I think I lost them, but I just need to hide for a few minutes to make sure, so can I stay in here? Just for a little bit? I can pay you or something.” Yes, yes, oh my God, stay forever, you were literally my gay awakening—

“You don’t need to pay me,” Catra says, impressing herself with how casual she sounds. “You can stay till I clock out, then I’m kicking you out.”

“Thank you so much,” Adora says. She wanders over to one of the little armchairs set up at the back of the coffee shop and collapses into it, sighing heavily. Catra eyes her over the top of the espresso machine, unsure where to go from here. She can’t just not talk. Adora Grayskull is sitting in her coffee shop right now. This will probably never happen again. But she also doesn’t want to come off like a fangirl—because she isn’t a fangirl, she likes Adora’s work a normal amount.

Catra starts to make a drink. She glances up at Adora every few seconds, and each time finds her either checking her phone or staring at the ceiling absently, an exhausted look on her face. Catra can’t work up the guts to ask her about it. She carries the finished drink across the room and sets it on the little table in front of Adora’s armchair.

“Oat milk mocha,” Catra announces. It’s Adora’s go-to coffee order according to her Instagram and her interview with Rolling Stone. Not that Catra pays attention to or knows about either.

“You didn’t need to make me something,” Adora says. “I appreciate it, though! Um, I can pay you—” She starts digging through her pockets.

“Adora,” Catra says. “Chill. I’m a manager, nobody gives a fuck.”

“Are you sure?” Adora asks, eyebrows scrunched together adorably.

“Yep.” Catra sits down in the armchair opposite Adora’s, lacing her fingers together behind her head. “So, why are the paparazzi after you?” Adora picks up the coffee—Catra had put it in a ceramic mug instead of a paper cup so that Adora would have to stay longer to finish it, which is pretty brilliant if you ask Catra—and takes a sip before she answers.

“I was just trying to get dinner with my friend Mermista,” Adora says. “But then we got spotted, and it was just...a whole thing.” Catra winces.

“They’re still torturing you two, huh,” she says. “It’s been, what, eight years?” Adora gives her an odd look, and, too late, Catra realizes what she’s admitted.

“You do know who I am,” Adora says. “Not just that I’m some girl on TV.”

“Yeah, well,” Catra shrugs, “seeing you two kiss onscreen made me realize I was gay and probably saved my life or whatever.” Adora half-smiles, looking down at her coffee. Catra had almost made a heart in the milk foam, but had chickened out at the last minute and made a little flower instead.

“It saved my life, too, you know,” Adora says.

“What?” Catra says, frowning. Adora and Mermista’s characters had kissed in an episode of the teen drama Adora had starred in when Catra was in high school. Adora would’ve been around nineteen at the time, at the beginning of her film career and already well established in television. Catra can’t imagine why Adora would be in danger back then.

“Yeah.” Adora looks at Catra over the rim of her coffee cup. “I was just...I was so afraid that nobody would ever love me, or accept me for who I am. And then the kiss aired, and it was like...millions of people just appeared out of nowhere overnight. People who were just like me, and loved who they were, and it changed everything.” Catra clears her throat, trying to make the lump forming fade away.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks. “You literally don’t even know my name.” Adora shrugs.

“You seem nice,” she says. “And besides, who are you going to tell?”

“Uh, Twitter?” Adora’s face falls, and Catra immediately feels guilty. “I’m kidding. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Please don’t,” Adora says. Catra nods, unsure what else to say. Adora has seemed upset since the moment she walked into the shop, and it seems like Catra is just making it worse. “The paparazzi are probably gone,” Adora says, glancing out the large windows that line the wall of the shop facing the street. “I should go.”

“Don’t you want to finish your coffee?” Catra says quickly, her heart jumping into her throat.

“I don’t know,” Adora says. “Caffeine makes me jumpy, and it’s pretty late at night.” She pauses for a moment, giving Catra an appraising look. “If I stay, do I get to know your name?”

“I’m Catra,” Catra says. “Um. You get to know that either way, I guess.”

“Catra,” Adora repeats, and Catra has a little bit of an out-of-body experience. Adora Grayskull is sitting in front of her, saying her name. “If you want me to, I think I can stay for awhile.”

“I’d like that.”

[yellsatyouinrogerwaters]

Just What I Needed - Tommy Lee [part 2]

A/N: This one id probably really bad, i kNoW, but I tried and writer's block dragged me.

L E N G T H: 1,393 W A R N I N G: Fluff

I was woken up by a ray of sunshine coming in from the curtain. I sat up and stretched my torso and arms out, letting out a big yawn and laying back down for a few minutes, thinking about was had happened. I rose my arm and saw the line of numbers marked on it, smiling to myself as I thought of her smile. Looking to my side, I glanced at the red lights of the alarm clock and stared at the ceiling, daydreaming. It was too early in the morning to do anything, well in my mind it was. I went back to sleeping, but she appeared again, smiling her iconic smile at me. I fell back into another slumber with her with me, not wanting to wake up. 

 I woke up once again, but this time the sun's rays weren't the cause, it was the alarm clock. Groaning from the interruption of a dream I was in, half-awake, I punched the machine, my face cringing when the sound of it hitting the floor. I finally decided to open my eyes and get up from my bed for some breakfast, hearing my stomach rumble as I got up for the mattress. I rubbed my face with my hands as I went down to the kitchen. Grabbing the bag that caged the loaf of bread, opening its seal, and pulling out a few slices, I plugged in the pop-up toaster and plopped in the slices and slid down the levers. Leaning against the counter in the middle of the kitchen, I pushed myself up to sit on the countertop and let my legs dangle from the edge, waiting for the bread to be done. 

After a few minutes of looking at my feet, the sound of a spring came into my ears. I hopped down and walked to the fridge, swinging the door open and seeking for the butter, but after a good few seconds, I found it and grabbed it, later walking back to the toaster. Pulling out a butter knife and washing it, I opened up the butter and pressed the knife into it. I dragged the knife along, the butter piling up as I continued; I pulled the knife away and leveled it on the warm piece of toast. I took a bite from the toast and smiled; good as always. I followed the same steps for the other slice. Once done with eating, I placed the butter back in the fridge and run to the couch; I hopped over the couch and landed in a sitting position with a smile on my face. Grabbing the remote and turning on the T.V., I changed the channel to the cartoons channel and saw that my favorite cartoon was on. I smiled and glued my eyes onto the screen, focusing on the characters' actions and laughing the morning away.

 Noon rolled around and I had a good time watching cartoons. I decided to call [y/n], I've missed her alot.. maybe too much. I got up and walked over to the phone. Grabbing the receiver, I looked at my forearm as pushed in the numbers into the dial, copying the numbers on my arm. I waited for a few seconds and later heard her soft voice through the speaker, I smiled. 

"Hey, [y/n]. It's Tommy."

"Hey, Tommy! I'm so glad you called!" she giggled softly into the phone.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I miss talking to you"

"Aww. We only met last night and you already miss me," I teased.

"Shut up," we laughed.

 We talked until throats were dry, to my surprise was for a good 6 hours. We shared our plans and some stories of our pasts. She laughed and gave me some advice about some things I needed some help on. 

She's so smart, cool, funny, cute and so much more. 

"All right, TomTom. I gotta get going, but before I go. You free on Friday?"

"Yeah, I'm free all day.''

"Alright, let's meet at the local park at 7 P.M., okay?

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"You better, hot stuff," she laughed as I bit my lip from the compliment.

"I will," I smirked. 

''Byebye," she let out a little giggle and hung up. 

 I put the receiver back in its slot and went back to lay down on the couch. Thinking over and over about the conversion me and [y/n] had, every time my eyes closed I saw her beautiful face with her beautiful smile, making me smile. But suddenly, I thought of the end of our conversation, especially when she called me hot stuff. It made me think,

Does she think of me the way I think of her? 

T I M E  S K I P 

 The week flew by like a jet, surprisingly. I was bored a lot of the time, but I did hang out with the Crüe and some other people, including Randy, Did some interviews and promotions. 

Realizing it was Friday, the excitement was starting to build up as the hour came closer. I ran to the bathroom and got into the shower, beginning to scrub my body all over. Once finishing up scrubbing and rinsing, I washed my hair with a strong shampoo that leaves my hair feeling soft after. Getting out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist, walked off to the closet and opened up the doors. My eyes scanned the entire closet, seeking for a good casual outfit for tonight. I wanted to look good for [y/n], even though I know that could go out naked and she would still accept me. 

After so long, I finally got a good outfit, slipped it onto my body and out my shoes on. Curiosity began to form in my head about the time and so I checked, but my eyes widened when I saw the time, it was 6:42 P.M., I was going to be late. Running out of the room, shutting off the lights, I got to the main entrance of my home and swiped the keys off of the keyholder. I opened the door, locked it and jumped into my car, turning on the ignition hastily, backing up the car and got within a light strip of road that leads to the main road, I followed it and slid right into some traffic. 

 The streets were partially empty, making thins easier for me. I  anxiously looked at the built-in clock in the car, 6:48 P.M., I took deep breathes and thought of her smile, my anxiety calm down. 

I arrived at the park and parked my car on the side of the sidewalk, getting out of the vehicle and closing the driver's seat door. Walking to a bench, I looked around sat there, the post lamps bright light expanding my viewpoint, deep into thought and hearing nothing but crickets. A voice later cut through the silence.

"Tommy?" A soft voice spoke a few feet behind me. Turning my head, I smiled when I saw her standing there, with a wine-colored dress. 

She smiled, "Hey." I stood up and she walked over to me. She hugged me warmly, making me hug back gently, "Everything alright, [y/n]?" She nodded as we let each other go.

"Let's walk," she walked ahead and I followed. 

 We walked all over the park as we talked; I let her ramble on about herself, friends, and life and vise versa. We lost track of time, because of our deep conversation, ending up walking 4 laps around the park. [y/n] stopped walking and I worried a bit. 

''You okay?" She nodded when she rubbed her ankles. I reluctantly picked her up, bridal style, she looked at me with a blush on her face. I took a deep breath and looked at her face, "[y/n].." 

"Yeah?"

"I... I've been thinking for some time and found out that you're just what I needed. You've made me so happy and I know that we met just about a week ago... but I was wondering... if you... would be my girlfriend?" My face turned red. She smiled and cupped my cheeks with her soft hands.

"Tommy, look at me," she said, I looked at her with the blush on my face darkening. 

She pressed her lips against mine and I did the same. Once she pulled away, she smiled at me lovingly. "You're just what I needed too."

[thenameisel]

Origin Stories Part Three: Stumble and Fall

"Thank you for sharing." Elliott said over coms. There was a pause. Then as if not wanting to accept that the story had ended, he continued. "Say. Did you find anything interesting at the Truck Stop?" 

Boop chuckled and leaned forward in the cockpit. A black gloved hand tapped a weird figure on the dash. Something Pip had decided was a 'Bobble Head'. Shaped like a moose, it's comically oversized head bounced back and forth. When they had found it, all those years ago, the plastic’s color had faded and spring rusted away. With a little care it looked almost good as new. Turns out Boop was halfway decent with a paintbrush. 

"I'll have to show you sometime. Old world figure. Think you'd like it."

"So, guess it's my turn?"

"Nah. Take a nap. I could use some quiet myself. We should be fresh for landing anyway." 

"Thats fair." There was mild disappointment in Elliott's voice. "Poke me if anything comes up."

"Will do." Boop muted the channel, and reached back into the thick black fur lined hood, causing Pip to release an angry sounding series of beeps. "Stop that. I want to recline. I can't do that with you there!" 

"Oh fine." Pip grumbled as he was removed from the hood, but the lights flowing across his eye was a slow content parade of color. He resettled in Boop's arms once the Hunter had leaned the seat back, and the two settled in for some nice reflective quiet. 

---------------------

"Arrival in fifteen minutes." 

Elliott jerked awake, the scraps of some dream involving Hive fading quickly from memory. He rubbed his face and shook his head, trying to remove the fog of sleep. Caush hovered steadily at his shoulder. 

"Pip's chosen landing zone is an estimated twelve minutes, twenty second sparrow ride from the target. Should give us an element of surprise. I would have picked a location further out, to reduce the chances of the ships being spotted, but calculations show the distance is… adequate." 

Caush was rambling again. Elliott squeezed his way out of the small cockpit and into the only slightly larger space behind the pilot’s seat. He had to stoop quite a bit. 

"It's an industrial area, lots of cover. Target is holed up in a shipping warehouse. We unfortunately don't have recent info on the area, but I've prepared multiple calculations on the most likely scenarios."

Their ship wasn't appointed great for long trips away from the tower, but the two of them wouldn't trade it for the shiniest exotic. It was a junker Caush had discovered many years ago, long before finding Elliott. Keeping the ship's location secret the Ghost had waited till his Titan's first Dawning to reveal its location. Together the two had worked many long hours fixing it up. To them it was worth the world. It could seat four between the cockpit and a wide bench behind in a space not big enough to call a cabin. However, there was plenty of storage hidden in the walls and floor. And while the ship did boast some decent communications and recon equipment, it completely lacked any form of living luxuries. But they made do. 

Fighting with a latch that probably should be replaced, Elliott opened one cabinet and stored his empty thermos, and retrieved a second one. He cracked it open, and smiled in relief at escaping steam. He always brought multiple. 

"Pip passed on that Boop said to be ready for a fight. In a confined area." Caush sounded miffed. "As if I hadn't already considered that possibility. What do they think I am? Some kind of Battle Frame?" 

"I'm sure it wasn't meant that way." Elliott opened another cabinet, this one was in much better shape. He started pulling out ammo packs, holding each one up for Caush to store in a flurry of sparks. "Now. What do you think we should take?"

Caush's solitary eye was a flurry of color as he ran calculations again. Potential threats, the target's location, all known data was sifted through till he was satisfied with the outcome. 

"Take that absurd auto rifle of yours. The spread will be useful in close quarters. That new scout we found might come in handy, If we need the range. And, of course, the machine gun."

"Sounds good to me."

Elliott pulled the suggested gear from various cabinets, giving Caush the machine gun to hold on to. The scout went across his back, the auto he'd keep at the ready. 

"Brace for landing." Caush said, and Elliott widened his stance. Not that he needed too, Caush was an impeccable pilot and there wasn't even the slightest bump as the ship was set down. 

The two disembarked just in time to see Boop summoning a black sparrow that was as sleek and silent as the Hunter's jumpship. Elliott did the same, his own being in better shape then his ship, as it was quite a bit newer. It had been gifted to him by the first Guardian he had ever met. A Titan by the name of McKay. 

Their Ghosts dematerialized and they took off In silence. Well, almost silence, as Caush gave regular updates to the both of them as they traveled. They had done countless ops together, they knew their roles. 

As they got close to the location, Boop picked up speed, and Elliott slowed, letting the distance widen between them. He watched as his friend took a hard left and vanished down a side street. Elliott did not follow. He’d approach the obvious way. Draw attention to himself, while the Hunter snuck in to cause chaos from behind. 

“Large building with blue trim. Up on the left.” Caush said, and while his voice was calm and steady, there was a slight hint of anticipation to it. “Adjusting calculations.”

“How close are your predictions so far?”

“Too soon to tell. Estimated thirty minutes of engagement remaining to make an accurate calculation. But 99.8 percent. Prior data suggested the building’s trim was green.”

Elliot laughed and shook his head, Caush loved his data. The Titan accepted the roles in their relationship. His Ghost did the thinking, he punched things.

Reaching the building Caush had pointed out, he cut the sparrow's engine and jumped off, letting it glide to a halt without him. He hit the ground running towards a gaping hole in the wall where an entrance might have once been. It looked suspiciously like something large had forced it's way in. He had to watch his footing as he went, for a series of evenly spaced potholes, like small impact craters, dotted the already heaved and cracked asphalt.

"Well, that's familiar eh?" He joked, not slowing his pace.

"Updating calculations. It was an unfortunate possibly."

"We'll handle it. Update Boop."

"Already done. Not answering me, but that's expected."

Suddenly he was through the gaping hole, sunblind in the dark interior. He ducked to the right, to put his back against a wall, auto rifle at the ready. Keeping the potholes in mind he threw his shoulder forward, forcing his Light into a glittering barricade in front of him. Elliott waited the breathless heartbeats as his eyes adjusted, listening expectantly for the sounds of wire rifles. 

But nothing came. All was silent. 

"Huh." 

"This is quite outside my calculations. I'm not detecting any lifeforms." 

"None?" 

"Nothing."

"Ok then. Let's take a look around." 

Elliott stepped forward through his barricade, auto rifle up. Still there was no movement. No sound. 

The interior of the warehouse had been modified into Eliksni style housing, a true maze of ramshackle walls and fabric. Elliott slowly worked his way through twisting halls, noting the signs of a hasty exit. Debris of all sorts strewn about the alcoves. Articles of clothing, household items, technology scraps and things he couldn't name. 

"Odd. Very much outside of expected parameters." Caush's observations were made from the safety of non material space. No way he would risk exposure in such an unknown situation. "Signs of quick vacation. Estimated time, three days ago."

Eventually Elliott came to a large open area that was roughly in the center of the building. Here the concrete floor gave way to wood and salvaged carpets, and a good chunk of the ceiling was gone, letting light in and illuminating the area. A central square? Gathering place?

Curious he stepped into the space, eyes sweeping left and right, looking for trouble. It was quiet.

Suddenly, something small pinged off his helmet. His auto rifle came up instinctively, looking for the source. A thumbnail sized pebble rolled to a stop in front of him. 

Scanning the environment again quickly, something caught his eye. Up. A silhouette was outlined against the sky waving hands in an almost frantic chopping motion. Boop.

“Caush?” He started, but he didn't need his Ghost to tell him this had most likely been a trap. Boop wouldn't have let him walk blind into something unless… suddenly he remembered the radio silence.

The darkness to his left shifted. Then his right. Far to many sets of sickly yellow-green eyes started appearing all around him as the forms lumbered forward from the dark. Elliott glanced back the way he came and saw more. Totally surrounded. A slightly manic grin came to his face. Of all the enemies of humanity, Hive was his favorite to fight. Why they were here and not Eliksni, he didn’t know or care.

Caush started rambling away inside his head, listing positions and numbers, possible cover locations and anything else he thought might benefit the Titan. Elliott leveled his auto rifle at the largest group, and pulled the trigger.

PAFF.PAFF.PAFF. The auto rifle chuffed, kicking back violently in Elliott's hands. PAFF.PAFF.PAFF. With each firing four barrels went off in unison, creating an unavoidable hail of death not unlike a shotgun scatter, but with the reach and predictability of an auto rifle. 

In the heartbeats between trigger pulls, he was dimly aware of the crack of Boop's sniper.  

Hive Thralls fell in droves from bullets and Elliott's Arc covered fist. Knights slowed their charge to a standstill at his onslaught. But when an Ogre lumbered out of the shadows it was Elliott who gave ground. He did so willingly, needing the space. If he didn't thin the masses soon he would be overwhelmed. Out in the center of the open area his mind touched Caush's. No words were exchanged, just impressions. They were ready. 

Elliott jumped, utilizing Light to gain extra height. His body exploded in a fury of Arc energy. Fists together, eyes blazing, he plummeted towards the Ogre, alight in a maelstrom of lightning. 

One good slam should clear out enough to turn the tide. 

Boop screamed his name, voice filled with panic.

As Elliott hit the ground and broke through the false wood floor he understood why. 

It had been a trap after all.

[diode-book]

“Existentialist on mobilist” By Jean-Paul Sartre (December 1947):

If it is true that in sculpture movement must be cut into the motionless, then it would be an error to relate Calder’s art to sculpture. It does not suggest movement but subtly conquers it; it does not dream enslaving movement for all time in bronze or gold, those glorious, stupid materials, dedicated by nature to immobility. With a mixture of commonplace materials, with little bones, tin, or zinc, Calder builds strange constructions of stems, palms, quoits, feathers, and petals. They are both sounding boards and traps. Some, like a spider, dangle from threads; others huddle dully on their bases, settled, seemingly asleep. A little breeze comes by, tangles in them, awakens them. They channel it and give it a transitory shape: a mobile is born.

A mobile: a little local festival; an object which exists only in, and which is defined by motion; a flower which dies as soon as motion stops; a spectacle of pure movement just as there are spectacles of pure light. Sometimes Calder amuses himself by imitating natural forms—he has given me a bird of paradise with wings of iron. All that is needed is a little warm air, rising out of the window, rubbing against it. Clanking, the bird straightens out, spreads its tail, bobs its crested head. It weaves and rocks and then, suddenly, as if obeying some invisible order, it wheels slowly, spread-eagled, on its axis. But Calder usually does not imitate, and I know of no art which is less deceitful than his. Sculpture suggests motion, painting suggests light or space. Calder suggests nothing, he fashions real, living motions which he has captured. His mobiles signify nothing, refer to nothing but themselves: they are, that is all; they are absolutes. Chance, “the devil’s share,” is perhaps more important in them than in any other of man’s creations. They have too many possibilities and are too complex for the human mind, even their creator’s to predict their combinations. Calder establishes a general destiny of motion for each mobile, then he leaves it on its own. It is the time of day, the sun, the heat, the wind which calls each individual dance. Thus the objects always inhabit a half-way station between the servility of a statue and the independence of nature. Each of its evolutions is the inspiration of a split-second. One sees the artist’s theme, but the mobile embroiders it with a thousand variations. It is a little swing tune, as unique and as ephemeral as the sky or the morning. If you have missed it, you have missed it forever. Valéry said that the sea is constantly reborn. Calder’s objects are like the sea and they cast its same spell—always beginning again, always new. A passing glance is not enough to understand them. One must live their lives, become fascinated by them. Then the imagination rejoices in these pure forms which are both free and regulated. These motions, which are meant only to please, to enchant the eye, have nevertheless a profound meaning, almost a metaphysical one. Motion must come to the mobile from some source. Once Calder supplied them with electrical motors. Today he abandons them to nature, in a garden or near an open window. He lets them flutter in the wind like aeolian harps. They breathe, they are nourished by the air. They take their lives from the mysterious life of the atmosphere. Their motion is, also, of a very special nature. Even though they are man-made, they never show the precise, efficient gestures of Vaucanson’s mechanical man, for the charm of the mechanical man is only that it plays with a fan or on a guitar like a human, and, at the same time, the motion of its hand has the blind, pitiless precision of the machine.

A Calder mobile sways, hesitates. One might say that it makes some mistake and then starts over again. Once in his studio I saw a mallet and a gong hung from the ceiling. At the slightest gust, the mallet would chase the spinning gong. Like an awkward hand it would attack, throwing itself forward, only to veer off to the side. Then, just when one least expected it, it would bang the gong squarely in the center with a terrible noise. A mobile’s motions, on the other hand, are ordered with so much art that one could never classify them with the marble rolling on an uneven surface where all direction comes from the accident of the terrain. Mobiles have lives of their own. One day when I was talking to Calder in his studio, a mobile which had been at rest became violently agitated and came at me. I stepped backwards and thought I was out of reach. But suddenly when this violent agitation had gone, and the mobile seemed to have recoiled into rest, its long majestic tail, which had not yet moved, lazily, almost reluctantly came to life. It turned in the air, and then swung right under my nose. These hesitations, renewals, gropings, blunders, brusque decisions, and, above all, this marvelous swan-like nobility make Calder’s mobiles strange creatures existing between matter and life. Sometimes their motions seem motivated, sometimes they seem to have lost their ideas in the midst of their actions and become bewildered—bouncing like idiots. Like a swan, like a frigate, my bird flies, swims, floats. He is one, one specific bird. Then, all of a sudden, he breaks apart and there is nothing left but metal stems filled with ineffectual little quivers. These mobiles have been made neither wholly living nor wholly mechanical, they fly apart at every instant, and yet they always return to their initial position. When they are caught in the rising air they are like aquatic vegetation swayed by the current, like petals of the sensitive plant, like legs of a frog when the brain has been removed. Although Calder has tried to imitate nothing—he has wanted to create only scales and harmonies of unknown motions—his works are both lyrical inventions and almost mathematical, technical combinations. They are symbols of nature—that great vague nature which wastes pollen or which suddenly produces the flight of a thousand butterflies, that unknown nature which might be a blind chain of cause and effect or a timid development, always delayed, always disturbed, inspired by an Idea. (source: Artnews x, emphases mine)

[whimsicalsesquipedalian]

Modern-day witch.

In Salem there were witches. Or there were women who old, bitter men said were witches. We all know they weren’t witches. Not really. Witches aren’t real. Well, at least not the kind the fairy tales tell you about. But there was something. Something about those women. Something that said “I don’t fit”, “I’m different”, something that said: “my deviancy is worth killing me over.”

Gretel didn’t believe in witches. ‘Patriarchal bullshit designed to police womens’ behaviour’, is what she told her father as they watched a Netflix special on the trials, ‘just another way the male agenda enacts violence on womens’ bodies and identities.’ Her father remains silent, probably wanting to avoid an accusation of complacency or even compliance with the patriarchal machine. Her brother isn’t in the room. Her “mother” is away on a business trip. She misses these times when it’s just them, her and her father. No annoying younger brother with his neanderthal behaviours. No bitch in heels and lipstick pretending to be her mother. Just them. Sometimes, she thinks, this is the only part of my life that isn’t just bullshit. ‘I think I would have been killed for being a witch,’ she says, long after the television has gone silent. Her father simply hums. ‘The men back then would have been way too intimidated by a woman like me.’ Her father stares, taking in his daughter. She narrows her eyes, turns down her lips, rolls back her shoulders and puffs out her chest. A less than convincing picture of the “deviant woman” when the canvas is a nineteen-year-old girl who’s never left her hometown. Her father nods, ‘I suppose you would.’

Six months later Gretel sits alone in the dark on a street corner in a city all too large and all too loud, and a perfect fucking example of why the capitalist regime should be torn down by a new and glorious revolution. The marxist group at the local community college ran a seminar on the dangers of capitalism last week. It’s the first time since she arrived here that something in this city hasn’t felt like complete bullshit. ‘We at the Marxist Alternative don’t cater to the capitalist pigs draining you of all individuality or expression,’ she was too caught up in the moment to notice the inherent irony in the statement, ‘the wealthy conservative scum are the true bane of our society. Eat the rich and destroy their legacies.’ She nodded along, caught in the fervour, already seeing a face in her mind.

She had left home. That bitch in heels and lipstick ran her out. She doesn’t need a trail of breadcrumbs to return; she knows the way. That doesn’t mean she will. Not when it’s all bullshit. Not when no-one understands her. Not when the father that should have loved her more than anything chose the bitch in heels and lipstick over her. Over her plain face, her bad hair, her short, uneven nails. Why couldn’t he see that she was the only authentic thing in the white-picket life he had built for himself? It’s cold on the street corner. The owners returned to the place she was squatting in. Policemen, cold blue light, and a station that smelled of piss, all because she had decided to take something back from the Wall Street bastards who took something from her first. A court date on Monday feels like a fucking hatecrime, she thinks. All cops are bastards, or whatever the saying is.

‘Can I help you, baby?’

The woman stands there, under the streetlamp, looking down at Gretel. The wild afro around her head glows like a halo, and frames a dark-skinned face with eyes the colour of coal. Tension runs down Gretel’s spine. Immediately replaced by shame crawling in her gut at her initial reaction. Immediately replaced by the projection of a false sense of comfort so as to appear that she is not one of the racist dicks Twitter seems so keen on calling out lately. ‘I need somewhere to sleep, do you know if there are any shelters nearby?’ She keeps her voice light and her expression blank. It’s only polite, she figures. ‘No baby, no shelters around here.’ The woman looks sorry, looks sympathetic, looks almost pitiful. ‘You got any friends or family? I can call you a cab.’ Gretel shakes her head. There is something authentic about the street corner she has found herself on. Something the bitch in heels and lipstick could never understand. She wasn’t going to compromise that by going home now. ‘I don’t normally do this, but I’ve got a spare mattress. You can come home with me, if you need to.’ The woman looks kind and the night looks dark. It’s still cold. Gretel follows her. I would have followed home a white woman, she thinks.

‘Come in, make yourself at home.’

Dirty floors, mould on the walls, and a dampness in the air that seems to draw the light and warmth right out of the room.

‘I know it’s not much, but I hope it’s alright for tonight.’

Low ceiling, concrete walls, bars on the only window and a stain on the floor that could easily be blood.

‘I’ll heat some food up for you. Skinny white girl like you, you could use a proper meal.’

No light comes on in the fridge. The food looks more than a few days old. The woman’s hands move over the container and suddenly it’s not so certain what Gretel is being served.

‘Put your stuff anywhere, baby. It doesn’t bother me.’

Piles of clutter and mess. Bags of clothes that are far too small for the woman at the kitchen bench. Backpacks and shoes that look as though they once belonged to young children. Another stain on the floor. The smell of rot.

‘Mattress is behind that curtain. Not much privacy in a one room.’

The room is too small. A bed in one corner, a kitchen in another. No bathroom she can see, and a table worn with use. A shower curtain draws over one corner. A mattress that would look at home in a dumpster lies behind it. More stains, more stink. The curtain rustles.

‘Don’t mind the smell. Landlord found rats in the building. Exterminator came, but I think some got stuck in the walls. Hard to have an appetite when the place smells like death.’

The smell hits her harder now. Not just rot, but rotting flesh. An almost sickly sweetness to it, like pus or dead flowers. It fills her nostrils and makes her head spin. The floor is still stained brown.

‘You don’t mind if I lock the door do you? We get some interesting folks in this neighbourhood. I’d rather be safe.’

The lock clicks behind her. The room is suddenly stifling. The food sits on the table, but it smells like everything else in this place. Death in every bite. Her stomach turns.

‘So you haven’t got anyone then, baby? No-one waiting for you to come home? Young girl like you, you shouldn’t be all by yourself. Not in these parts.’

The words send shivers down her spine. The questions a red flag warning her to hold her secrets close. The door is still locked. The food is still warm. The air is still acrid. The woman is still staring. ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she stutters. ‘I’ll just find a shelter,’ the words hang empty in the stale air. ‘It’s really not worth causing you all this trouble...’ The excuses fly past her lips as she edges towards the door. Her phone is in one hand and her bag in the other. There’s a baseball bat by the door, she realises. ‘Are you sure, baby? I really don’t mind.’ The woman takes a step forward and Gretel runs.

‘Hello. Yes, police. I’d like to report an attempted abduction. I got away but it looks like the woman has done this before. Yeah. Blood on the floor. Clothes in bags. Shoes for like 10 different kids. The whole place smelt like there was something dead there. Yeah, I have the address. Please, she just grabbed me off the street. Wanted to know if anyone would come looking for me. I think she tried to drug me. Everything happened so fast...’

It is on the news two weeks later. A black woman in her early forties, shot by police officers when they entered her home on belief of suspicious activity. No one is sure if they had a warrant. No one was wearing body cameras. Apparently she was aggressive. Pulled a weapon. The officer in question had no choice. Six shots for one woman. At five foot two and 160 pounds it must have been some weapon she was carrying. Gretel watches it all play out from the couch of the friend she’s crashing with, counting down the minutes before she has to go start her court mandated community service. 30 hours. It speaks to how broken the fucking justice system is, she thinks.

Twitter and a multitude of news channels host a trial for the woman, post-mortem. Alternating constantly between prosecution and defense; the masses providing a widespread jury incapable of forming consensus. The prosecution opens: ‘The woman was a suspected kidnapper, possibly a child molester. There had been evidence to suggest she was at least a drug user. Weed under a mattress. You know the type.’ The defense rebuts: ‘The woman volunteered for her church’s thrift store, the clothes and shoes were donations that needed to be sorted. She suffered from a chronic condition, the drugs were prescribed to help her manage the pain. The supposed weapon the police keep talking about was a baseball bat she reached for when the door was broken down. She thought it was a home invasion.’ The masses lay their verdict; a hung jury. ‘Blue lives matter.’ ‘Justice for Lucretia Jones.’ ‘He was just doing his job.’ ‘Defund the police.’ The trial is complete and the sentence is hollow. No matter which way the decision falls the witch already lays dead. Burned before trial. Killed without mercy. The cycle continues, it is just the victims that change. Gretel turns off the news and keeps on living. ‘I’m a modern day witch,’ she says, as she drops more tinder onto the pyre.

[superdamc]

Galvanized steel frame can be roll formed as steel studs for use as a structural or non-structural building material for both external and partition walls in both residential, commercial and industrial construction projects. The dimension of the room is established with horizontal track that is anchored to the floor and ceiling to outline each room. Customized steel frame stud and track with reinforcement.

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Café Badante

Word Count: 1k+

You didn’t know what it was that day, but nothing seemed to be going our way. You missed the bus, walked into class late and got called out by the professor, you left your water bottle in psycology on the other side of campus, and many more things that just compounded until you were sorely ready to give into the one thing that your mother had warned you about: drinking when you were sad.

It was simple and classic conditioning. If a person was sad and then they drank, they would feel better. Then, they would keep coming back to alcohol as a way to soothe their aching souls which inevitably leads to addiction if not a mild form of it.

But there has to be some statute of limitations on drinking whereby the body accepts that it had been through so much that it will not get you back for engaging in one martini on the rocks. Sadly, you knew that wouldn’t be the case, so you made your way over to the lesser of two evils, caffeine.

It was a new establishment that had popped up recently near the academic campus of your university. Rumor had it that it was owned and operated by a recent graduate of your college. A one Kim Seokjin who had gotten his degree in food science which he had channeled into the chalkboard menu located above the wooden counter. There was an odd mix of foreign and local elements in each dish which had you questioning the taste of some of the plates. Still, you weren’t here for dinner, you were here for that disgustingly sweet coffee that you seemed to be addicted to.

There was a counter on the far end of the kitchen area that reminded you of a bar in some respects. The glasses hanging from the ceiling, the tall glass bottles lined the shelves as if on display. Maybe you had inadvertently ended up in a bar anyways. The man on the other side of the counter was tall, dressed in a smart white shirt and black waist apron. He was cleaning glasses. And again, you were shocked with how much he reminded you of a barkeep.

He looked up at the ring of the bell above the door and took you in. His macchiato eyes seemed to analyze you before nodding and turning to start making a drink.

“You seem like a sweet americano girl to me.” His voice had a higher pitch than more men his age, but it was soothing to listen to: very soft and caring in the best of ways. His voice made you trust him.

“Lucky guess,” for in fact that’s what it seemed to you. No friend of yours had ever understood your taste in coffee: you would order an americano but then proceeded to add an eccentric amount of sugar. It was honestly a surprise that you hadn’t gotten diabetes yet.

“I wish it was.” His words were cryptic at best, but you decided to not question it. Reaching for your backpack, you opened the smallest pocket to pull out your wallet to pay, but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it now. You can pay on your way out. For now, just take a seat and enjoy.”

God that was the nicest thing that happened to you today. Not bothering to be modest, you dropped your stuff on one seat and took the one next to it. In the next moment, he turned around with a white cup on a dish and placed it in front of you. Immediately, the dark scent of coffee tickled your nose and it took all your self-restraint to no just collapse on the counter.

Wrapping your hands around the cup, you let the warmth seep into your every pore. Maybe this is what you needed: not an escape but something that grounded you.

“Hard day huh? I’ve been there.” In the moment that you had been focusing on the soft foam atop your coffee, he had gone back to his newly-washed mugs. The consistency was nice: predictable and machine-like.

Your only response was to give a half smile. Normally, that would be a bigger and faker smile, but you just felt too weak to do so.

“I’m hear to listen if you need it,” he said with a small private smile of his own. “I’ve been through this place too so I can help.”

You took another sip, the dark liquid sped down your throat and the scent seemed to go to your head. It was heady and honestly made you feel as numb as you wanted to be. For a second you wondered if he had spiked the drink, but from the warmth in bis eyes you know that couldn’t be.

He carefully reached out and laid a pal on your hand and spoke so softly that you almost missed what he said.

“Let it out.” And you did.

And all he did was listen. No intermittent sounds of understandings to punctuate your tale. He just stood there, cleaning his glasses and listening to you spin your words of gold.

Jin watched your face morph with the different emotions that you expressed with your words. Every small frown or self-deprecating laugh made the corners of your mouth twist and turn. The sadness that made the color deeper and vaster than the ocean could ever be. The rolling waves of your voice that washed over him in comfort, drowning out the silence of the shop in the soft hours of the early evening. He fell in love like one does with coffee; the feeling lazing streaks up and down his nerve.

-----------

Since then you had been frequenting his store most days after classes. You had an honorary spot at the counter and would talk with him as he fulfilled orders for his customers that seemed to consist of starry-eyed girls. You did your homework there, sipping on a new flavor every day; Jin had become determined to change your taste in caffeine since he himself had tried your favorite americano and promptly spit it out.

With another expectant gaze on your reaction, you lifted the cup to your lips an took a sip of whatever new concoction Jin had prepared for you. He waited and watched as you let the liquid flow across your tastebuds.

Swallowing, you smiled and shook your head. “Better luck next time. I still prefer my coffee.”

He groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I slaved over that cup.”

Laughing at his expense, you inquired after his motivations. “Why bother? It’s just a cup of coffee.

“I promised myself that I’d ask you out to dinner once I got it right.”

Looking like a deer caught in headlights you searched his face for a tell that would give away his joke, but there wasn’t.

With a shy smile, you looked back at him. “I guess I’ll have to wait before I say yes then.”

[lillaxtrigger]

Young hope: Chapter 19 (Pt6)

The Nightmare triplets finally reunited, the trio ascend the top of the Höllenfeuer cults castle; shredding through whatever stood in their path towards the top. Priss’s psychic prowess blending together with Savage and Carnage’s physical might turn the trio into an unstoppable lethal machine; one that proves unstoppable against the unholy denizens of the stronghold. Together, no man, nor beast dared standing a chance against their teamwork; not even the strange or outlandish.

One of these demons that attempts to halt their charge takes the form of a tank with the top half of a living demon; the beast spurting out a massive bullet out from its maw towards the oncoming trio. Though the explosive streaks through the halls, Priss casts forth her telekinesis towards the bullet and slows its flight towards her and her brothers; coming to a halt inches from the psychics head. Having stopped her foes round, the blue medium aims the bullet back towards its cyborg sender; intending to lend the beast a taste of its own medication. With a surge of her telekinesis; the psychic hurls the demons projectile back into its own maw; the shot exploding from within its head. The unholy cyborg stunned by the internal boom gives Priss’s brothers the moment to move in, the duo racing straight towards the tank. Grasping hold of both sides of the demons top half, Savage and Carnage uproot the beast from its metal tracks in mess of gore and organs. The brothers crash the demons severed half down upon its own lower wheels; breaking both in a bash of blood and metal. Having left their foe in a heap of burning flesh and steel, the trio continue in their crusade towards the top.

Ascending the staircase, they find a cultist taking his stand at the top of the steps. “Now my children...” Unveiling from his robes, he reveals his torso to be an entire hive; numerous deadly insects swarming out from his chest many holes. “Go forth and feast!” The swarm nearing the trio, Priss warps from between her brothers side and reappears to the bugs masters back. Effortlessly, the psychic robs the keeper of his will and orders him to call his ranks back. “Come my children, given daddy a kiss.” From the brothers front does the cloud of bugs retreat back towards their keeper; the swarm landing upon the cultists skin. Once the insects land, Priss instructs their master to have his own bugs bite and sting his whole body. Releasing her control over the living hives mind; the psychic withdraws from the cultist as he lets out an agonizing wail. “Ah, my children! Why have you forsaken me!?” Their bug keeping opponent distracted, Savage and Carnage leap from the set of steps and blast out from their eyes a trio of scorching hot rays. “I pay for your tuition and this is how I’m repaid!?” The three burning beams instantly ignite the living hive in a bellow of flames; the nightmare triplets leave their bug keeping foe to burn to a crisp.

Out from the steps and around the corner, the triplets soon come face to face with the slimy girth of a massive slug; its cheeks rapidly swelling at the seems. Quickly, the trio make haste towards their lumpy adversary in hopes of quelling its spewing assault. Faster do the Nightmare triplets race against the slugs puffing maw, the potentially deadly substance gathering in its mouth looming over them. Though only a few feet away from their limbless foe, the trio’s efforts to halt its oncoming upchuck being utterly too late. From the cheeks of the slugs maw bellows out a rainbow of beads, the trio watching as the mess of colorful circles spill out onto the velvet carpeting beneath their feet. Hungry enough, Carnage clasps one of them between his claws; tossing the colorful bead right in his mouth. Savage and Priss are repulsed as they watch their green brother chew upon the piece of colorful piece of puke; hearing the sound of satisfaction between his teeth. “Mmm. Skittles.”

Their ascension soon takes them outside the castle; facing one more massive set of steps leading up towards the highest tower. The moons lunar glow shines upon the trio like a spotlight; casting their shadows down upon the forest overlooking the castle. Finally, the trio rise towards the towers doors; it irons plate bound by demonic seal. To anybody else, this would be the anticlimactic end to their hard and strenuous journey. But not them. Not to the Nightmare triplets.

“Savage, Carnage. To the doors.” the psychic commands her brothers. As instructed, the demonic duo take to the twin doors; grasping tightly upon their handles. Floating betwixt the iron entrance, Priss focus her psychokinetic thoughts on the final gate before her. With all of their supernatural might, Savage and Carnage begin to pull upon the doors iron handles. As they pull, their sister channels the depths of her mental abilities into the barrier; each of them visibly struggling against the blockades fortitude. In their efforts do each of their eyes glow their respective color; shades of red, blue, and green start to consume the trembling seal. Finally, their excruciating endeavors are repaid; the seal shattering to shards as the doors fling wide open.

Among the fluttering pieces do the trio attempt to regain their strength; their breathing heavy and rasp. “Damn. Haven’t had a good workout like that in a while.” Carnage comments. “Yeah. Didn’t figure that some stupid door could put up one hell of a fight.” Savage adds. “Best prepare ourselves boys. For this final task of the night may perhaps be even harder.” Priss foretells. Rising from their rest, the trio stare into the darkess of the tower. “Both of ya ready?” the red brother asks. “Yeah, raring to go.” the green brother confirms. “Right. Let’s us head inside.” their blue sister demands. With of three of them prepared, the triplet rush into the shadowy void; the iron door closing behind them.

Stepping within inky void of the towers chambers, the Nightmare triplets come to a wide spotlight piercing through the middle of the veil of darkness. “Now where might the motherfucker in charge be hiding their sorry hides?” Carnage wonders. “Yeah. Wanna see out long they hold out before we make them squeal.” Savage mentions. Her eyes trialing down towards the illuminated marble, Priss spots lines of shadow centering around a square one in the middle. Gazing above, a small smirk is drawn across the psychics cheeks. “I think you’ll find the cults enigmatic leader to be cowering within the box above.” Following their sister’s advice, both demon brother aim their sites towards the shining ceiling of the tower. Casting their shadows below the light be a bizarrely decorated coffin; its iron engraving covered by the countless rings that suspend it in midair.

“Jeez, their castles getting wrecked and this jackass is just sleeping through our whole demolition show?” Carnage comments. “Think its about time they woke up and smell the blood in the air.” Savage suggests. Upon saying this does the red demon leap towards the iron coffin; the chained rings holding it in place trembling with the giants weight. Savage soon grabs hold of the rings holding the coffin in place and severs them from the chambers walls; both him and the metal box plummeting down towards the marble floor. The loud crash of the coffin and the tings of scattering rings mix as they bounce along the towers brickwork.

Once having grounded the coffin, Savage attempt to pry the box open with nothing but his bare claws; the lid budging not a single inch against the demons supernatural strength. “Come on...The hell’s keeping this damn thing shut!?” Savage questions, straining to open the coffin. As the red demon struggles to pull the box apart, his ears catch a hint of snickering from his green counterpart. “Can’t even open a fucking box.” Carnage mocks under his laughter. Upon this insult does Savage halt his efforts and rise from the coffin; offering his brother to rise to the challenge. “Alright asshole, you care to have a crack at it? Be my guest.” “He he he, gladly.”

Approaching the coffin, the green demon grasps hold of its engraved lid, boasting to both of his sibling to: “Just let me show ya pussies how a real demon gets it done.” With that said, Carnage starts to pull upon the box’s iron top; the casket refusing to yield to his supernatural strength. “Just...need to...Throw in...a little...muscle...A little...elbow grease!” Like his brother before, the green demon struggles to budge the lid in the slightest; his siblings hearing his straining grunts. “Wow, so that’s how real demons do it. God damn. You sure showed us.” Savage sarcastically mocks. His grip slipping against the coffins iron lid, Carnage lets a growl escape between his teeth. “Fuck this! Imma just smash it!”

The green giant readies to slam his claws down upon the coffins metal shell; but his sister orders cause him to halt. “Both of you knock it off!” Glancing to the psychic, the two brother hear Priss continue with: “It’s obviously sealed shut like the door. We need to work in unison if we want to get it open.” Hearing this, both of her brothers move to each side of the coffin; grabbing hold of each end of its lid. “Now, when I start, the two of you begin to pry the lid open.” Before either of the brothers could begin to pull, both of them feel the iron box suddenly quake. “Damn sis. And you’re telling us to calm down?” Savage comments. “Yeah. We haven’t even busted this freak out yet.” Carnage adds. “I...That wasn’t me.” Priss warns.

Right then and there, the engraved coffin starts to violently rumble; the triplets backing away from the quivering box. All three of them scramble as the casket frantically bounces all throughout the chamber, the psychic ascending out from the coffins reach as her brothers roll out from its rampage. Soon, the casket comes to a standstill; the trio staring down as it settles at the center of the room. The lid then blasts right off the iron coffin; a puff of yellow smoke erupting out from within. With the casket having calmed, the triplets start their approach; curious who, or what, could be lurking under its metal shell. Before they could peek through the golden shroud, a figure then leaps out from the thick clouds. The smoke parting, an armless woman dressed in red tights flips through the air; a cheerful howl echoing through the towers chamber.

The woman soon lands perfectly onto her coffins bottom edge; her eyes laying upon her uninvited guests with a smile. “Wow. Wow. Wow! The three of you were nothing short of amazing. A three demon troupe act to transcend the ages! The entrance hall, the arena, the library, even the gallery. Every second filled to the brim with heart pounding action. I haven’t watched such an outstanding performance in decades!”

Something about the leaders compliment struck a cord to Priss; more specifically how she had been apparently been watching the three this whole time. Before she can press on any further, one of her brothers speaks up on the matter. “Huh, so that how they all knew we were here.” Savage insisted. “Warning your little minions about us and sending their sorry asses after ours.” Both of them mentioning such makes the psychic look to her brother; surprised how quickly they’ve picked up on the details. “Oh, yeah. The way you just tore through my cultist was truly a show. My eyes were practically glued to you guys.” the leader cheers. “Hmph! I find it rather difficult to believe that you watched all of us inside your metal briefcase.” Priss presses. “Oh, don’t worry. I caught every bit of it. I saw-” In that moment, the cult masters eyes shut tight, commanding dozens of giant eyes unveil from the surrounding black void. “Eeeeeveryyyyyyythiiiiiiiiiing...” The trio jump back, preparing for whatever all of the masters peepers ready to unleash. But just as swiftly as they appeared, the countless eyes draw back into the shadows; the leaders own opening once more. This little demonstration was more then enough of a warning to Priss that this woman needed to be dealt with as swiftly as possible. Under her brothers shadows does she draw forth her blade, vanishing from thin air.

“I was actually hoping you’d make it here to be honest.” From behind does the psychic rematerialize aiming her weapons end straight towards the cult leaders kidney. Right when her sword was ready to taste flesh, her armless foe leaps out from her lunge; flipping high in the air.

From the arc of her ascent does she halt in her flip; floating right in the center of the chamber. Scattered around the marble floor do the countless swiftly rings rise from the tile; demonic eyes opening from their rims. Awakened from their slumber, all of the golden hoops jump straight for their master, linking together from the end of the cult leaders shoulder. From the end of the chains do a pair of golden hands sprout from the rings; the cult masters newly formed arms reaching both sides of the chamber. “I’ve been dying to experience your unholy strength against my magical mayhem firsthand!”

From the air does the cultist cast one of her ring made arms towards one of the demon brothers; Savage anticipating her attack and blocking against her oncoming strike. But rather than punch, the ring wrap around the red demons bulking figure; the gold constricting Savage completely. One of her foes enveloped in her grasp, the ring master swings the red giant all through the towers chamber as she drops back down. Aiming to halt his brothers wild ride; Carnage leaps towards the cult leaders arm and severs her hold on Savage with just a single snip of his claw. Both the red giant and the rings scatter along the tiled floor; Savage breaking free from his golden binds.

Seeing the leader descend, Priss takes another crack at her assault and darts towards the cult master once more; dashing to where she would fall to. In the midst of her plunge, the ring leader casts her other arm towards one of the living rings littering the floor; her whole limb passing right through the hoop like a shining portal. From there does the cultist dive right into the ring, slipping out from the triplets site. “The hell!”

Picking the living ring off the marble tile, Carnage looks through the golden hoop; finding nothing but empty space between its metal. Nothing more than just a simple hole, though it doesn’t stay as one for long. While the green demon gazes through, the leaders head pops right out; blowing out a bellow of frost onto Carnage face. The blast of icy breath causes the giant to stagger; flinging the living gold ring away. Clanging along the floor, the living ring rolls along the hard marble until it falls; facing the roof of the chamber.

Out from the golden hoop does the ring master rocket up, slinging her unsevered arm towards her psychic foe. Priss watching golden chain swiftly approach, she draws forth her blue blade and readies to counter the masters grip. Enveloping her sword within a coating of her telekinetic power, she deflects her golden foes grasps with but a single swing; the cult leaders row of rings staggered in the air. Right in that moment does Priss’s red brother snatches the golden chain, Savage jerking on the rings with all his might. The ring master proves powerless to stop the red demons overwhelming tug whilst airborne as she careens right towards Savage. Right when the cult leader was in slugging range, the crimson giant delivers a mighty uppercut to her jaw; sending the bejeweled bitch flying across the chamber and shattering her other arm.

Hurtling through the air, the ring leader precious rings slide across the marble floor below; the golden hoops aiming to catch their master from her plummet. “No you don’t!” the green demon barks. Determined to not let the cultist slip away, Carnage fires from his eyes a red hot ray towards the descending cultist. Two rings leap out from the pack; one that swallows the burning beam within its void, and the other returning the ray to its sender. Busy blocking his own beam, Carnage fails to intercept the cult leaders dive down towards her beloved rings; falling straight through their awaiting void.

“Dammit! Slippery bitch!” the green demon curses. “Chill, man. We just gotta wait til she pops out again and jump her.” Savage suggests. “Savage is right. Gather those rings scattered across the floor and we’ll ambush her when she emerges.” Priss plans. On that order do the brothers plan to gather the rings; Savage swiping one of them off the marble floor with a more careful claw. Don’t want to repeat his green siblings mistake and wind up with a face full of frost. But this careful approach winds up hurting more than helping, as the hoop easily flying out from his crabby grip. Following it be the rest of the rings, ascending out from the brothers reach and gathering in the center of the chamber. In a gleaming burst, the golden cluster splits apart; the countless rings revolving through the towers chambers.

The Nightmare triplets gather right in the center of the twirling collection of shimmering demonic hoops, ready for wherever their master may breach. “So sis. Any more idea’s you got cooking?” Carnage wonders. “Stick together and observe. It’s still remains unclear what all the leader of this cult is capable of. For now, we must await and prepare for any counterattack she deals out. So best be on your toes, boys. Is that clear?” the psychic orders. “Yes ma’am!” both of her brothers respond.

Soon, one of the rings illuminates a shining golden glow; erupting from the light be the ring master herself. Careening through the air, the armless cultist spirals into the awaiting maw of another of her demons; flipping into the rings golden void with an echoing cheer. From one to another, the trio watch as the ring master launches out from hoop to hoop in an unholy circus act. From this display of portal centered acrobatics, their tight toting foe spews out a torrent of fire down upon the trio. Ascending from her brothers side, the psychic rockets upwards towards the raining flames. With but her telekinetic powers, Priss shields her siblings from the roars of the burning storm; quite literally pushing the descending blaze aside. Instead of on her brothers, she redirects the flames towards some the surrounding demon rings. Feeling the searing burns of their own masters flames, the golden hoops struggle to stay afloat in the air; eventually plummeting back towards the marble. “Savage, Carnage! Break them!” Priss commands.

Without any further word, both of her brothers charge towards the fallen demons, Savage and Carnage splitting off towards opposite sides of the chamber. Still suffering from the flames of their master, the demonic rings are far too distracted to escape from the giants scooping arms. By the dozens do the two pick the demon hoops off the floor, effortlessly snapping their weak metal shells to pieces. The site of seeing her precious rings being broken sends the cult leader in a frenzy; launching herself down towards one of the giants below. “My babaaaas!” Dropping down on Savage, the cult leader bites down upon the side of the red demons neck. As he attempts to reach for the ring master behind his back, Savage flails about as he cries for his sibling to: “Get this, crazy bitch off me!” Though his bulky arms prove to big too reach her, his siblings show to be more than enough to pull her off; Priss and Carnage yanking her right off their brothers neck.

Once pried from his brothers back, Carnage slams the cultist down upon the marble; the tile floor shattering upon impact. From the cracked stone, the ring leader is pinned to the ground; Carnage holding her down by her legs as his psychic sister weighs onto her upper half with her telekinesis. Almost instantly, the chief cultist maddening fury shifts to amusing giggle; taking the two holding her down aback.

“The hell you finding so funny?” Savage questions, grasping the side of his neck as he approaches. “The three of you are simply spectacular. Such power, such thought, such coordination. For far too long, my eyes have yet to behold such a grand show of unholy synergy. Though I know all too well that we have yet to reach the end. So if all of you may be so kind...” From those words does a spontaneous wave of electric discharge out from the ring leaders body; the shock causing the triplets to stagger back. “Lets give this performance the finale that it deserves!” Free from the trio’s grasp, the cultist directs one of her grounded rings right under her; escaping into its golden maw.

In his recoil, Savage attempts to catch the hoop that orchestrated their foe escape; pursuing the ring as it starts to ascend to the ceiling. The red giant follows the rings rise with a mighty leap; his claws reach towards the golden demons edge. Unfortunately, his shining prey eludes his grasp; slipping from under Savages own arms. Landing back upon the cracked marble, the red demon looks up towards the ring as it rejoins its brothers; soon hearing the cries of his own siblings reach his side. To his right does Savage see his green brother crouched down; staring upon his sister as she rises from the floor. As the red giant rejoins them, he could hear Carnage worry with: “You doing okay, sis?” “Indeed, just mildly shocked is all.” she response, a small hiss escaping her teeth as she holds her temple.

Your wasting your time.

“It might be best to attempt to end this orchestrators “show” as swiftly as possible.” the psychic adds. “So we bailing on the info she’s got or what?” Savage asks.

Do you really think that ditz will have anything worth to you in her head?

“No. We shall plunder her mind for knowledge yet. We just need to formulate a strategy to strike at the right moment. To catch that cultist at her most vulnerable.”

In that moment do all three of them hear the echoing clangs of metal from above. Gazing upward, the triplets bare witness to the collections of rings gather once more; slowly beginning to take shape before their eyes. All of the hoops stretch out as they link themselves together, one end of the line shrinking while the other grows. Before them, the school of demonic jewelry takes the form of a golden serpent; its glimmering gaze staring down upon the trio. Opening its ringed maw, the ring master pops her head out; bellowing out from her own mouth triple streams of fire, ice, and lightning. The cult leaders elemental ray closing in, both the psychics brothers shield their sister against the assault with their own brand of beams. Clashing on impact do the opposing rays cause a smoky explosion, the triplets racing out from the shroud with the shimmering serpent on their tail.

Hoping to give his siblings some space, Savage splits from Carnage and Priss to face the snake head on. With a single swing to its head does the giant break the collection of gold apart; the countless rings scattering on impact. Though his punch splits the glimmering beast apart, he fails to witness its reassembly from behind; its shining tail slapping the red demon towards the chamber wall.

While attempting to distance themselves from the glimmering collection of rings, the psychic soon hears her green brother tell her: “Sis, listen. Think I might know a way we can pin this cultist bitch down.” Hearing this makes doubt immediately sprout from within Priss consciousness; knowing her brute of a brother not typically being one to craft strategic plans. Just what kind of half baked idea does he got brewing in his head this time.

Right before she could press on further, she soon feels the cold air of a sharp icicle streak past her side. Glancing back, both find the golden serpent swiftly in pursuit; from its glimmering mouth, a sliver of icicles expels towards the two. Acting fast, Carnage blocks the barrage of ice from reaching Priss; the lethal frost shattering upon colliding with his massive bulk. “Carnage!” “See her spewing those icicles out from her rings?” Glancing from behind her brothers figure, she finds behind him and the constant volley of ice be the ring leader herself; her head tucked within the maw of of her ringed beast. “Just gotta toss ya in there and so you can finish her off.” “What!?”

Halting in her frosty assault, the cultist retreat back within the safety of her rings and commands her gleaming serpent to charge forth. “Have you even thought all that through?” Before Carnage could give an answer, the golden snake tackles him aside. Skidding across the cracked marble, the green demon stops the collection of rings in its tracks. Holding the hoops back, he finally answers his sisters question by admitting: “Just came up with it on the spot. Sound good to you?”

Admitting as much makes the psychic wonder of all the ways that such a poorly conceived strategy could go awry. Being tossed towards the glimmering rings, only to be smacked back by its golden hard tail like a little blue shuttlecock. Missing the beasts entirely and sent crashing straight into the wall. Actually aiming for the head, only for its mouth to open and spew out a deadly dash of lightning on her sorry blue hide. Far too many ways for such a plan to wind up going horribly wrong.

The green giant looks down, realizing that he’s loosing ground as the shining serpent starts to push him back. Carnage then tosses the glimmering set of gold aside, careening through the chamber as it skip along the marble. In the midst of its flight does it revolve back around towards the green giant, its master protruding out from its maw to spew out a wave of flames. The searing blaze too close to evade, Carnage readies to block against the potential burns. Feeling not a single burn on his skin, the demon looks beyond his arms to witness his psychic sister protecting him from the raging pyre. As Priss redirects the flames away from his brother; she can’t help but criticize his scheme with: “I’m not entirely sure about this little plan of yours, Carnage. Perhaps you should reconsider?” “Well, you have any other bright idea’s?” her green brother sarcastically questions.

Truthfully, all of this golden pandemonium hasn’t even given the psychic much time to relax; much less brainstorm. The only points that she’s been able to take notice off is that though the rings that make up the serpent can be broken by her brothers, though their fiery eye beams shall only be reflected. Unfortunately, the site of her precious jewelry being destroyed has the cult leader taking far more cautious tactics. Even direct assaults fail to bare any fruit, the scattering rings swiftly reassembling before any further action can be taken.

Then there’s the matter of the ring master herself, breaching from the safety of her demons dimensional space to emit her elemental magic from her shimmering serpents maw. So far, she shown to be capable of casting three different types of mystic strikes; a burning blaze, an icy storm, and a shocking lightning. If Carnage’s strategy involves simply flinging the psychic within the snakes glimmering mouth, then the timing to accomplish such a feat has to be unbelievably tight. Such an immensely dangerous gamble may not be worth taking.

Right when thinking this does she wonder back to the aftermath of their garden brawl; reminded of the what Carnage had mentioned during his rantings. “Always shooting down our idea’s and telling us that we can’t do shit! You ever stop and wonder that we might be smarter then you think!?” … Perhaps spurning his scheme so hastily may not be such a wise idea. In fact, with a little modifying, it may just work.

This in mind, she turns away from the bellowing blaze that she blocks and asks his green brother. “Carnage, might I suggest adding my own details to your strategy?” A smile forming between his cheeks, the giant answers her question with another. “What ya got in mind, sis?”.

The gleaming collection of rings halt their flaming assault, their master retreating back into the safety of their void. Once their master was safe; the countless hoops soon thrust themselves in the green demons direction. With but both his arms, Carnage stops the gleaming serpents rush in its tracks; the sound of clanging gold echoing through the chambers. As the green giant grabs hold of the snakes rings, his sister slips from behind his back and glides along the serpents shining backside. Coming towards the end of the glimmering beast, Priss finds its tail swiftly rising to tempt and end her flight. Though the serpents tail threatens to smack her ascent down, the psychic slips right through its shimmering whip; her small figure squeezing right through the hoop at its tail end.

Away from the glimmering collection of rings, the blue psychic glides towards her red sibling; which of whom was recovering from the serpents surprise swipe. Savage attempting to stand from the wall, he soon feels the telekinetic pull from his sister aiding his rise. “Didn’t realizing how much punch gold can pack. Figured it’d be so soft since it was so easy to snap in half.” “Speaking of snapping, Carnage and I have enacted a plan to break through the ring leaders defenses and finish her off. Care to have a listen?” A smile creeping out between his cheeks, only one statement leave the red demons lips: “Lay it on me, sis.”

Both of his claw grasping upon the glimmering snakes head, Carnage flings his golden foe away with all his might; sending the shining serpent slamming into the chamber wall. Colliding against the wall, the collection of golden rings scatter; bouncing and clanging all through out the tower. Watching the rings fly, Carnage soon realizes that the jewelry collection was bouncing straight up; glancing up the green demon found the serpent reforming right above his head. The snakes open maw forming first, the cult leader hesitates not another moment to drop a lightning strike down upon the green guys ass. Though Carnage attempts to block the bolt, the lighting crashes far too hard for him to stop; its electric sting spreading all over his body.

The overwhelming shock brings Carnage to his knees; his foes golden glimmer shadowing over the giant. Stunned, all the demon could do was gaze above as the shining serpent starts to dive straight down towards him and brace for the eventual crash. Before the serpent could slam its golden hide down upon the paralyzed demon, a giant red blur tackles it right out of the air. “Yeaaah bitch!” Hearing his brothers cry makes Carnage break from his brace, witnessing the crimson demon ground the golden set of rings. He then feels a soft palm touch his side; looking back to find his psychic sister at his shoulder. “Are you alright, big guy?” she worries. “You kidding?” Slowly beginning to rise off the cracked marble, Carnage finishes answering Priss’s concerning question with: “It’s gonna take more then a small as hell spark like that to turn me in.” “That’s the spirit. Now come. It’s time to set our strategy into motion.” Having said this, Priss and her green sibling rush forth to their red brothers aid.

Struggling to hold onto the shimmering serpents back, Savage is soon flung off; slamming his back against the cracked marble floor. “Ahhgh!” Stunned by the rough landing, Savage lays flat on his back as he witnesses the glimmering collection of gold ready to drop its golden tail down upon him; helpless to little but cover his face and brace for the impending impact. Though he clearly hears the tails clang echo throughout the chamber, the red demon feels not a single bit of its golden sting. Recoiling from his blocking brace, Savage sees his green brother halting the snakes strike; Carnage glancing back with a smug as hell grin. With the red demon grinning back, he rises from the broken floor and aids his brother hold on the golden serpent. Once gaining a firm hold onto its glimmering hoops, both brothers heave the snake overhead; sending it slamming right down onto the marble below. Upon impact does the jewelry that make up the serpent disperse; the countless rings scattering throughout the chamber. Huddling at each other’s backs, Savage and Carnage watch closely as the collection of hoops fly throughout the tower; noticing the set of golden demons ascending high above their reach. “Bunch of fucking pansy ass rings! Not even bothering to take us head on anymore!” Carnage complains “Hard to blame them, really. Takin both of us on is a surefire way to wind up 10 feet underground.” Savage boasts.

Launching out from one of the hoops be the ring leader herself; she rains down from her own maw a deadly flurry of sharp icicles towards the two. Before the sliver of frosted daggers could reach the duo, the cold steel of the psychics blade halts their descent; Priss directing her sword with but her telekinesis. Finally, the psychic lunges forth towards her blade; grasping her physical palms upon its grip and dispatching the last piece of falling ice right before it digs into her brothers head. “Both of you stay focused.”

Regrouping with her red and green siblings; Priss watches as the cult leader flies right into the safety of her rings. “We only have a single shot to make this work. I want the both of you at your top performance. Is that clear?” “Read ya loud and clear sis!” Carnage confirms. “We got your back.” Savage adds. “That’s what I like to hear, boys. Lets show this tacky cultist how the Nightmare triplets are truly led.”

From above, the psychic notes a spark of light overhead; watching as the head cultist makes her dive down towards the trio Covered in a thick coat of electricity, she swiftly descends like a bolt of living lightning; Priss warning her brothers of the impending danger with: “Above you!” Both Savage and Carnage glance up just in time to watch the leaders lightning fast dive for all of them split apart and evade the ring leaders electrifying landing; wayward sparks shooting off from the crash down. In their retreat, the demon brothers fire off their brand of burning beams towards their armless foe; the ring master twirling about as the red hot rays approached. Out from her mouth, a whirlwind of snow surrounds the cult leader in her pirouette; the collision of frost and flames forming a shroud of thick white shroud. Knowing all too well of the ring leaders evasion tactics, Priss darts forth towards the emerging steam; hoping to cease her foes escape. Dispersing the cloud with her telekinesis, her endeavors prove to be too late; finding not a trace of the cultist left behind. At her back, one of the ring masters demons flies right over the psychic’s head; Priss watching as the hoop rejoins its brethren.

Along the side of the chamber, Carnage witnesses the ring leader launch through the air; realizing the moment to act upon their plan had arrived and dart towards his sisters side. As the psychic watches the cult leader spouts forth another blazing wave, the cries of her brother bait her attention. “Yo, Priss!” Turning towards her approaching sibling, she hears him finish declaring that: “It’s time for action!” Hearing those words is enough of a signal for her to advance; the psychic gliding over to Carnage. Once the two meet, the green giant grabs hold of his psychic sister; Carnage ascending towards the oncoming flames with a twirling leap. Upon the apex of the giants ascent does Carnage halt in his spiral; taking aim to where the cultist would retreat towards. His aim proving true, the green giant hurls his sibling through the air like a pigskin; Priss drawing forth her blade in her hasty flight.

From behind her wall of fire, the ring leader witnesses her psychic foe push through the flames with her telekinesis. Wishing to put an end to the little blue dwarfs swift approach, the cultist readies to cast forth a dose of lethal lightning; her body glowing emerald green as she charges her strike. Finished pushing away the wave of flames, Priss soon sees her foes discharge a bolt of electricity from her maw; realizing all too well how little time she has to deflect the oncoming lightning. Right upon her moment of doom, she feels the heat of a burning beam streak past her figure; intercepting the bolt from striking Priss down. Glancing back towards the direction of the red hot ray, the psychic finds his red siblings eye dimming; Savage giving her a supportive smile. With a grin of her own, Priss faces back towards her armless foe; the ring master stunned from the sudden interception. In a trail of white smoke, the psychic follow the cult leader within the void of her rings.

Both gliding through the ring filled void; the cultist recovers from her daze and attempts to halt the psychics approach. Her hoops surrounding them; the ring master commands her collection of golden demons to charge forth. In her dash towards their master, Priss weaves around the oncoming set of hoops; feeling the metal of their rims as she brushes past. Seeing her psychic pursuer closing in, the ring leader casts her glimmering minions forth all at once. With but her blade, Priss attempts to fight back against the cultist golden forces; swiping and blocking the surrounding glimmering demons. Swiftly however, the psychic is overwhelmed by the tacky jewelry collection; the ring master turning back with a satisfied grin. The cultist smile quickly dissolves upon witnessing the blue dwarf warping right in front of her, Priss keeping a tight grip upon her blade.

With a single slash, the psychic tear the ring masters tights right off; hoping to uncover any artifacts that keep her mind under lock and key. In her hasty inspection, she finds not a single trinket to block her influence, but a single magic symbol burnt within the ring leaders skin; a seal that the psychic simply can’t just remove.

Seems like your little search for answers has come to an anticlimactic end, my dear. All that motivation and synergy just to come to a dead end. It’d be funny if it weren't so pathetic.

Attempting to tune out the taunting thoughts, Priss delves into the deep depths of her consciousness. Deep within her mental well does she draw forth her mental power; directing every ounce of psychic energy into her blade. The blue luminescence of her sword reflecting upon the approaching rings, she aims the tip of her blade down towards the center of the seal. With a single thrust; Priss drives the steel of her blade through the ring leaders burnt flesh; a pink smoke erupting from her flesh wound that soon envelopes the entire void.

A little girl in rags is seen racing through the pouring rain; scurrying towards the entrance of the woods with a raging mob in pursuit. Along the muddy trail, her bare feet carry her deeper within the dripping forest; the shadows of her pursuers growing faint with every step. Soon, her sprint takes her towards a set of decayed ruins; the little girl hasting not another moment to rush within. From the open entrance, she finds not a single bit of the mob in her site; the shadows off her pursuers having vanished. Though she readies to exit the ruins, the thunderous clap of lightning swiftly draws her back inside.

Baited deeper within the dilapidated temple, the young girl takes note of the demonic carvings set along the stone walls. However frightened she may be of the unholy faces that stare down upon her, the girl keeps venturing deeper within the ruins depths.

Her ventures soon lead her to a lone chamber baring a single pedestal; laid atop the stone column be an untouched book baring only one world engraved on its golden cover. Garlov.

Approaching the massive text, the poor girls curiosity gets the best of her; her dirt ridden palms resting upon the tomes cover. Slowly, she pulls back the text’s face; a pink smoke pouring out from its contents. The fog quickly coats the entire chamber in pink; surrounding the frightened little girl as she looks upon a rising figure from within. Paralyzed with fear and dread; the small child can does little as the figures crab claws lift her from the stone floor by her arms. Ascending from the hard rock as she looks upon the figure burning yellow eyes, the girls frightened gaze slowly forms into a hopeful smile. Soon, a devilish grin pierces through the pink smoke; the claws of the figure snapping the little girls arms clean off.

Before anymore of the leaders memories could surface, the psychic reawakens to the physical world; opening her eyes to the site of her brothers stares. “Finally. Thought you were done in for a sec there.” Savage commented; a relieved smile stretching across his cheeks. “Ya find anything in that crazy cunts brains?” Carnage questions. Rising from the cracked marble floor; Priss starts to rub her temples as she relays to her brothers that: “The only thing I managed to fish out is that she managed to obtain the book of Garlov from the one who we’re pursuing. Not a single ounce of his whereabouts I’m afraid.” “That it? Gone through all that shit and a half for nothing!?” Carnage barks. “Hey, least we know that book came from that bastard. Got something outta all this.” Savage mentions. “Indeed. Not to mention that your little strategy was just what we needed to prevail, even with how hastily it was thought of. Quite the nice surprise to be honest.” Priss admits. Hearing such praise coming from his snooty sister turns the green giants sour mood right around; letting out a small snicker escape from between his teeth. “Told ya you I was smarter then I look. Should stop shoot our idea’s down from time to time.” “Not that ya really looked that smart to begin with.” he hears his red brother comment. “The hell does that mean!?”

Out from her delighted smile, the psychic ears soon pick up a dying gasp from between her brothers; the trio looking across the chamber to find the cult leader kneeling upon the marble with the psychics blade within her chest. “He...He promised me...the book would help...bring harmony between human and demon kind. To harrow in a new age...of crossbred species. Was all of it nothing more...than a fleeting dream...Nothing more...than empty lies?” Letting loose her final breath, the leaders figures dissolves into tiny rings that scatter along the marble; the blue psychics sword joining their clanging symphony as they fall. Priss draws her blade our from under the pile of scattered jewelry with her telekinesis; returning her prized sword to her hand. “Come boys. Are work is done.” the psychic orders.

Finally walking out of the Höllenfeuer cults castle front gate; the Nightmare triplets are met with the welcoming warmth of the morning sun. Resting within the green giants arms be the slug that spews out skittles; the rainbow colored candy spilling out onto the freshly dewed grass. “I will never understand what drove you to desire bringing that disgusting creature back home with us?” Priss decrees. “You kidding? If you get to bring home a badass sword, then I’m bringing home a souvenir for myself.” Carnage counters with. “Fair enough. But why specifically that skittles barfing abomination?” “Cause skittles be fucking delicious. Don’t need any other reason to taste the rainbow.” “This is bullshit! Why the hell does he get to pick something out, but I get jack shit!?” Savage curses “Tough luck, bro. Should’ve picked something out while ya had the chance.” Carnage taunts.

His claws grasping upon the slug, the red demon attempts to pull the demon away from his siblings arms; Carnage pulling back against Savages tug. “Gimme that!” “Fuck you! Get yer own!” “You’re hogging all the skittles for yourself! Let go!” “You didn’t even want him at first! Your just mad that I got something and you didn’t!” “Both of stop!” their sister demands. Upon her word do the duo instantly still their bickering; both brother looking upon their sister as she turn to declare. “Since both of you want to keep that slug so badly, then both of you get to share the responsibility of taking care of it. Is that clear?” With their sisters decree do the two look to one another, their eyes soon drawn to the slug that they once fought over vomiting out a river of skittles. Holding the demonic slug over their heads, both Savage and Carnage woof down the rainbow candy that spills out from its orifices. With a sigh, Priss shakes her head as she turns away from the revolting site. “How disgusting.”

Drawing out her prized blade, she gazes on her reflection as the twilight sun shines upon its steel. The skill she’s demonstrated tonight with this weapon may not rival her mothers, but her teaching have obviously shined through. All of those countless fencing ours, all those ruthless sparing matches, all of her practice has finally started to surface. Upon the reminder of her mother does the thoughts of her aunts soon draw forth; the psychic tightly gripping her blade as she’s reminded of what “he” has done to not only them, but her brothers. Every scrap of information regarding “Him” they uncover is another step closer towards taking their revenge; perhaps even restoring their broken family.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fucking finally. This took way too long to finish. I'm so sorry. Still though, I enjoyed writing for these three as much as I did. Hopefully, I'l never have to write this much in a single chapter for a while.

[anistarrose]

Some Sunny Day - Chapter 7: Dark Void (Gravity Falls Same Coin Theory)

Summary:��An encounter in the Mindscape begins to expose a harsh reality that none of the Pines want to face, Stan least of all.

Warnings: Manipulation through lying, (brief) self-blame

Previous / Next

The Beginning

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

“There’s nothing down there,” Stan repeated, coils of dark fog winding around his arms and seeping into the sleeves of his suit. “You should have stayed in the real world, Ford.”

In the vending machine behind him, a black liquid began to rise in level, filling it until its lights no longer flickered and the sounds of the piano music grew muffled. Then, the darkness began to seep out and snake across the floorboards like an oil leak, staining everything black.

Ford’s stomach churned, and a sickening sour-sweet taste burned at the back of his throat. “Stanley, you… you have to have heard that song, you couldn’t have not heard —”

Stan tilted his head like a confused dog, expression still impossibly blank. “Song?”

From either Dipper or Mabel, Ford heard a sharp, upset intake of breath, mirroring the tightening feeling in his heart. “What — what did Bill do to you?!” he gasped.

“Bill?” Stan murmured. “Bill’s dead.”

He paused. “Right, Stanford?”

Finally, there was something flickering in his expression — the faintest hint of fear, of vulnerability, like a frightened child turning to a trusted adult for reassurance. “We killed him. Didn’t we?”

“You’re scared of what’s behind that machine,” Ford realized aloud. Curling his hands into fists to hide how much they were shaking, he added: “Stanley, I know it’s frightening, but you can’t just… trap yourself in some fantasy where everything’s alright. I’m sorry, but in order to fix this, you have to admit that Bill isn’t —”

Stan flinched, and as the wave of terror contorted his face, a bolt of blue lightning flew across the room, illuminating its every detail for a few brilliant microseconds.

“T-there’s nothing down there, I told you!” Stan stumbled away from his family, pressing his back to the dripping, almost unrecognizable vending machine. At his feet, a whirlpool of darkness grew, throwing off tendrils that struck the few remaining light patches and drowned them in shadow.

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper and Mabel cried out in unison, just as Soos yelled “Mr. Pines!” and stepped forwards —

The Shack shuddered, floorboards torn apart beneath Soos’s feet. From beneath them, there erupted a geyser of cold, churning, all-consuming blackness —

“Soos!” Mabel yelled, reaching forward — but his form had already vanished into the plume of dark water. “Soos! Soos, say something! Are you —”

“If you won’t leave,” Stan interrupted, speaking in only a whisper yet somehow becoming the most commanding voice in the room, “then I guess I’ll have to…”

He made a motion like he was snapping his fingers, but no noise came. Around Soos, the water swirled into a perfect sphere, floating off the ground and towards the impossibly high ceiling until it disappeared into the ink-black clouds.

“Grunkle Stan, t-that wasn’t you, was it?” Dipper stammered. “You wouldn’t —”

Stan stared downwards as the fog around him thickened, droplets of darkness condensing on his fingers and then rolling off, joining the rivers that carved their way between upturned floorboards. They flowed stronger and stronger, wider and wider, splitting off separate channels that wound around the Pines and forming a constantly shifting web.

Dipper pulled Ford back from one of them, only to nearly stumble into another himself before Ford caught him. His knuckles were white as he gripped Ford’s hand.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Stan said.

“Stanley…” Ford whispered. “Stanley, please…”

Mabel took a single cautious step towards Stan, watching the floor carefully, but one of the darkest clouds above released an absolute waterfall of a downpour, sending a wave of blackness cascading down towards her —

Without a moment to spare, Ford summoned a glowing rectangular blue barrier above her, tilted to direct the water back towards the foggy chasm — but even then, Mabel barely had enough time to dive out of the way before it shattered, its fragments dissolving into darkness.

“Run,” Ford choked out, wiping dark splashes off his face with a trembling arm. When Dipper and Mabel turned to him in shock, he raised his voice: “Run! It’s too dangerous to stay here!”

Because Ford had been horribly mistaken, because this just couldn’t be the real Stan, because Stan would never do anything like this, no matter how frightened he was…

…would he?

No. No, he just couldn’t.

“It’s Bill!” Ford shouted to the kids — it has to be — and with that, another bolt of lightning tore through the air, evaporating fog away for a single moment before Stan screamed, a huge wave appearing behind him and chilling the whole room as it surged towards Ford and the kids —

They ran, not having any time to try to find what had happened to Soos, not having any time to look down at their footing — only time to pray to blind luck that none of them would step in a riptide current of darkness, and be carried away into whatever void awaited them.

Fighting against all his survival instincts, Ford turned back for just a moment and saw that Stan was following them, wading through the surging waves like they were nothing.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Stan cried, and in any other situation, the sheer anguish in his voice would have been more than enough to make Ford believe him.

“I’m just doing this to keep you away from — from it! To try to protect you from it!”

“But from what?!” Dipper yelled over the sound of crashing waves, coming to a halt altogether as he turned to face Stan. “If it’s Bill, we need to know about it, so we can —”

The floorboards snapped beneath his feet, spraying gray splinters everywhere and sending him plummeting down to the cold, dark void below. For a split second, his tiny hand still reached out of the water, grasping desperately, futilely, at the jagged edge of one of the planks, but before Ford could grab ahold of it, it was pulled out of his reach, dragged by some impossibly strong current.

Mabel cried out, but the water began to gurgle upwards from the hole left in the floor, slowly at first but then erupting into a raging waterspout. Out of pure reflex, Ford grabbed her and began to run, carrying her away even as she struggled to free herself from his grip.

“We’ll go back for him,” Ford gasped, “I swear. We’ll go back for him and Soos as soon as we can. We won’t be any use to them if we’re — if we’re captured ourselves.”

He took a step onto one of the winding, floating staircases, and it melted, pouring down into the abyss. For a moment, Ford and Mabel hovered in the air like they were in some old-fashioned cartoon, but gravity took hold of them a second later, and for a moment they were falling, the g-force pulling at them and twisting Ford’s stomach —

But they were in the mind, and eventually they imagined themselves to a halt, floating in a sea of thick gray clouds — just plain, cold, uniform gray, stretching on forever in every direction. Stan was no longer anywhere to be seen.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel whispered. “Which… which way is up?”

Ford was about to point to above their heads, when suddenly a splatter of black rained up, from beneath their feet. And then there was another, coming from behind them and moving in a nearly horizontal direction.

Ford cursed in an alien language.

Of course, of course. This whole area disregarded the laws of gravity; he’d seen that with all the staircases. The way that felt like up to him, the way it felt like he’d fallen from, could easily just be a trick, an illusion — in fact, he’d bet that it was.

An illusion… Something was nagging at him, something he knew he was forgetting. Something important, something dangerous.

“Mabel, could you pick a direction for us to go?” he asked quietly. “I… I don’t know any way to get out of here, other than trying everything until something works.”

There was, of course, always the chance that they’d just get more lost, but what other choice did they have? No one was coming to help them, and there had to be at least an hour remaining before Stan’s sedative wore off and he woke up, if not even longer…

Mabel nodded, and pointed a bit above and to the left of them. “Let’s try that way, I guess?”

“That’s good,” Ford replied, and then added more quietly: “I’m… I’m so sorry that I put you in danger like this. You’ve been very brave.”

Mabel squeezed his arm. “We wouldn’t have let you leave us outside the Mindscape anyways. You said you knew that, didn’t you?”

“That’s true.”

They floated upwards (?) through the fog in silence for a moment.

“Keep squeezing my arm like that. Make sure we don’t get separated.”

“I will,” Mabel replied. Then she frowned. “If I get… if I end up like Dipper and Soos, you’ll go on without me, right?”

“In the moment… I may have to. But I’ll come back. I promise.”

“I know you will, Grunkle Ford. But… if you get captured, what do I do? How do I save you and the others?”

“I…”

What was Ford supposed to say — that he had no plan other than relying on sheer determination, possibly with an additional hint of self-martyrdom if required?

Something cold splattered against his arm, bleeding through his coat and sweater, turning him numb and blurring his vision…

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel yelled, as if from a distance. “Grunkle Ford, you’re falling!”

He shook his head, and again he could feel Mabel gripping his other arm, the only thing keeping him from plummeting into the foggy abyss.

Let me fall, let me forget about all this, let me rest… part of his mind kept saying, but he managed to focus on the idea of his body levitating, and he floated back up to Mabel’s side, narrowly dodging another shower of water.

“It — it’s messing with my thoughts. We have to keep moving.”

Mabel started to say something, but more rain began to fall from all directions, and she and Ford both summoned a spherical barrier around them — Ford’s half metallic and glowing blue like alien technology, Mabel’s half pink and plastic like a hamster ball. But the darkness ate away at both sides like acid, spewing out dark wisps of vapor that blurred into the endless expanse of gray clouds and darkened them even more…

“We can’t block it off,” Ford realized. “We — we have to just make a break for it, and dodge all of it somehow —”

But I’m not even sure we’re heading the right way. I might as well just let it consume me — it’ll be a peaceful way to go out, at least…

“Let’s go!” Mabel told him, pointing to a direction where the rain seemed less intense and pulling Ford along. He barely snapped out of his thoughts in time to dodge a splash from the barrier as it collapsed in on itself fully, melting together towards its center and spraying off rain like some sort of dying star.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t just give up and pretend like nothing was wrong — Mabel needed him, Stan needed him…

From the clouds, a familiar dark figure materialized, drops of shadow slowly dripping off of his suit. Frowning very faintly, Stan flicked his hand, and a torrent of water rained down from above, swirling like a descending tornado and heading straight for Ford —

Mabel shoved him out of the way. The cyclone grazed her back, and darkness bled through her sweater, her hair…

She let go of Ford’s arm, and before he could reach back out to her, she floated away from him, limbs hanging limp. A detached, peaceful look spread across her face as she fell, the grey clouds closing around her until it looked as if she might have never been there in the first place.

“She’ll be safe now,” Stan whispered.

Something inside Ford — something that had been lurking somewhere between his desperation to save Stan and his instincts screaming at him to flee, something that had been growing strained ever since finding the vending machine — something snapped.

“What have you done?!” he roared. “What have you done to them?! Bring them back, or I’ll —”

“I’m keeping them safe.” Stan paused, as if unsure whether to continue. “And happy.”

“You’re lying,” Ford growled through gritted teeth. “You’re not Stan, and I was a fool for thinking you were. You’re B—”

“NO!”

Stan shuddered, wrapping his arms around his chest and tucking his hands beneath them. “D-don’t say that! Don’t say that I’m him —”

“I’ll say what I want, because there’s no way Stanley would ever do this. You are not my brother. You’re Bill Cipher, and nothing you say will delude me into believing otherwise —”

Stan let out a sob, his tears spilling out into waves that circled the two of them, cutting them off in every direction except for far, far above. Even beneath the sound of the raging water, Ford could hear Stan repeating, like a ritual:

“I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I can’t be I CAN’T BE I CAN’T —”

Really, honestly, Ford wanted nothing more than to hug him, but he knew the being that resembled his brother had to be an illusion, had to be Bill getting in his head —

In his head.

The nagging feeling from earlier returned to him, erupting into an explosion of panic, and self-hatred, and regret for his own stupidity.

For decades now, he’d taken it for granted that his mind was protected from Bill, his memories safe from interference, with only the occasional vivid dream left vulnerable to the demon. But the metal plate in his head was a physical barrier, not a mental one… which meant that in his body in the real world, it did nothing.

And his consciousness and memories, which he’d willingly projected into another mind, were left exposed.

He — foolishly, irresponsibly, idiotically — had felt safe bringing the kids and Soos into Stan’s mindscape with him because he’d figured that he’d be immune to the type of tricks Bill could play, that he would be capable of snapping the others out of it if the need arose. But he was just as vulnerable as they were, of course he was.

I’m such a fool. I just put everyone in even greater danger. There are so many decisions, spread out over so many years, that I could have made differently to prevent this.

Just a few yards away from him, Ford saw Stan’s face contort into a grimace, ink-black droplets leaving dark trails as they ran down his cheeks. Ever so slightly, he shook his head, and the whirlpool around them began to draw closer —

Ford launched himself into flight, moving as fast as he could possibly imagine and aiming for the opening at the top of the cyclone — the opening that was growing smaller and smaller with every second. He didn’t have a plan, other than to hope against hope that his thoughts and memories hadn’t been manipulated too much yet, and that he’d be able to continue fleeing from Bill until Stan woke up and he was brought back to the waking world —

The spot of light above him narrowed to a pinprick of light gray within the black, and the water grew closer and closer to him, spraying him with a mist of a thousand comforting thoughts: nothing’s wrong, your brother’s safe, just relax and forget about all these worries —

He had to power through this. He had to keep his thoughts his —

He reached for the opening above him, but the waves closed in around his wrist, numbing his arm and spilling down over the rest of his body. They raged around him, absorbing all light and striking out all thoughts, until the surroundings finally grew calm and uniform and blank.

Where am I, how did I get here, what…

Within the darkness, a single slit-pupiled eye blinked open, black droplets spilling off its lashes.

And then, from behind Ford, someone pressed a gun into his hands.

***

“Hey, Soos, you with me?”

Soos opened his eyes to find himself on the porch of the Shack — the real, colorful one, not the mindscape version — and to see Stan standing in front of him, one hand placed on Soos’s shoulder. He was back to wearing his white t-shirt and red beanie, and the smile on his face was wide, but not too wide. Soos hadn’t felt so relieved since Weirdmageddon.

(Relieved, or confused.)

“Mr. Pines, you’re okay!” he blurted out, wrapping Stan in a bear hug before he could stop himself, but Stan returned it, gently hitting Soos on the back.

“‘Course I am, bud. Remember? You guys got rid of Bill once and for all.”

Soos’s brain felt like it had gotten dust in it like a video game cartridge, and needed to be blown out in order to process his thoughts correctly. “Uh, actually… I’m not really sure if I do remember —”

“You did good back there, Soos.” Stan withdrew from the hug, a football appearing in his hands like it had materialized out of thin air. “Hey, you wanna toss the ol’ pigskin around? We haven’t done that since the one time last summer, have we?”

...then again, maybe remembering wasn’t all that important.

“Sure, Mr. Pines!”

“Alright, then! Go long!”

Soos started jogging out across the field, turning his head over his shoulder to look back at Stan, who was watching with a smile on his face. The first through arced through the air perfectly, landing in Soos’s hands with a satisfying clap.

He still had no idea what had happened to Ford and the kids, but for some reason, he found himself wondering about it less and less as the game of catch went on, until the thought couldn’t have been further from his mind.

***

Dipper stumbled to the ground, barely avoiding the wailing, glowing green specter as it soared over him.

“Heads up, Dipper!” he heard Stan yell, and he reached above him just in time to grab hold of a small rectangular device. On one end, it had two silver antenna, and between them, a conical piece that somewhat resembled a nozzle, while on an adjacent side it had a series of color-coded control buttons and switches.

Pointing the nozzle end at the ghost as it sped towards Ford (who was naturally just holding a camera and smiling without an ounce of concern), Dipper pressed the largest blue button —

A web of holographic, crisscrossing lines sprayed out, shifting in color from pink to purple and back to pink, ensnaring the ghost and automatically pulling it back towards him. It struggled against the net, wailing at an even more off-tune pitch, but it didn’t produce enough force for Dipper to even feel its pull, much less to dislodge the device from his grip.

Perfect!

“Hey, it worked!” Stan whistled. “You really caught yourself a spook!”

“Of course it worked, brother of little faith,” Ford retorted, raising his voice not out of serious anger but simply to be heard over the ghost’s howling. “That adhesive can trap anything, with or without a physical form. You should have seen how extensively Dipper tested it!”

Stan might have offered another good-natured wisecrack in response, but Mabel cut in: “Hey, bro, I get you’re excited about your new pet ghoul and all, but can you get it to quiet down? My ears feel like they’re melting!”

“Oh, uh, right! Sorry!” Dipper flicked a switch on his invention, and the ghost’s cries grew muffled. He turned to Ford, who was holding the camera, and announced: “This concludes today’s episode of Guide to Haunted Mansions with Dipper and the Pines Family! Join us next week, as we examine our new specimen in the lab! You’re not gonna want to miss it!”

Everyone cheered, chanting Pines! Pines Pines! as Ford got one last shot of the mansion’s room to close on.

“We may want want to edit out the part where I mentioned the adhesive,” Ford suggested once the camera was off, “lest some viewers with too much time on their hands realize that it’s of extraterrestrial origin. I’d rather not have the shadow government on our backs.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, good catch. I’ll edit it.”

For the briefest of moments as he turned towards the door to leave, he had a faint nagging feeling that something was wrong, that this whole scene was too perfect to be true, but he ignored it. On the way out, Stan gave him a high-five and an affectionate punch on the shoulder.

***

Mabel knew she was falling, knew that she probably shouldn’t be falling, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to stop, to fly back up. She felt peaceful like this — and what would she even go back to? More of Stan acting like that? Acting like…

With what felt like her last spark of energy, she pulled her arms and legs close to her body and squeezed her eyes shut.

I just wish Bill would leave us alone…

…

…

She pulled her sweater tightly over her head and knees, and settled down onto the ground.

“I just wish summer could last forever…” she found herself murmuring.

“T-that might be possible!”

“Sweater Town is not accepting incoming calls right now.”

“M-M-M-Mabel, it’s me!”

She peeked her head out of her sweater, finding a forest bathed in the red light of the setting sun. “Wha? Who said that?”

“I-I-I can help!” Blendin flickered into existence before her, his suit showing the briefest glimpses of an autumn schoolyard, and then, a burning ruin — both so quick they seemed almost imagined.

“The… time travel guy? What are you doing here?”

This all felt so wrong, for so many different reasons…

“You said you don't want summer to end, right? D-did-did I hear that right?”

“Yeah... why are you asking?”

Mabel didn’t trust this sort-of-friend of hers one bit, didn’t want to know where this conversation was going. It just felt chillingly, inexplicably sinister…

“Look, maybe it's against the rules, but you once did a favor for me, so I thought I could help you out!”

The setting sun gleamed off Blendin’s goggles, making them gleam yellow instead of red for just a moment. “It's called a time bubble, and it prevents time from going forward! Summer in Gravity Falls can last as long as you want it to!”

There was a feeling of déjà vu buzzing at the back of her mind like a fizzing caffeinated drink, faint but anxious, telling her she’d done all this before, that this had already happened —

She shook her head, and the buzz faded.

“Really?” she asked Blendin. “But… how does it work?”

Blendin pressed a button on his watch, and a holographic projection appeared in vivid light blue, showing a cracked sphere with four ducts connecting it to a striped base. Mabel had never seen it before in her life, or at least, she shouldn’t have, but the sight of it sent a chill through her.

“I just need you to get a little gizmo for me from your uncle. It's something small, he won't even know it's missing!”

“No,” Mabel whispered without knowing why, and then repeated, louder: “No. That — that thing’s dangerous!”

How do I know, why do I know this —

“What?!” Blendin exclaimed. “No no no, it’s — it’s perfectly harmless, I promise! And — and I can’t make the time bubble without it, so just hand it over, or I’ll have to —”

Mabel pulled Dipper’s backpack close to her and sprung to her feet, kicking Blendin in the knee and making a break for the Shack. “Dipper! Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan! Help!”

Time and space felt distorted, like her legs were carrying her further with each step than they should have been able to. Somehow, without actually looking back, she could see Blendin following her, hot on her heels at first but then slowly starting to lag behind…

Ford burst out of the Shack and fired a blast from his stun gun, striking Blendin square in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, the world turning gray for a second as a burst of yellow flew out from his form. Then color returned to the forest — no longer red, but rather, the peaceful, beautiful pink of a late August sunset.

Somewhat numbly, Mabel handed Ford the backpack, and he rifled through it quickly as Dipper and Stan rushed over, looking concerned.

“The rift is still stable,” Ford reported, his frown still tight with worry. “Now, Mabel, are you alright? Bill didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I think? Does… does this mean Weirdmageddon won’t happen?”

Ford put a hand on her shoulder. “No. No, it won’t. I still have to seal this rift, but once that’s done, Bill will never be able to physically manifest in our dimension this way — thanks to you seeing through his tricks. We’ll be safe.”

Why did she even know what Weirdmageddon was? Why was no one surprised by her knowing? What was happening to —

“Mabel, I was so worried!” Dipper hugged her. “I’m so sorry for what I said — I’m not going to stay in Gravity Falls, I know that now…”

The apology barely registered for Mabel, the words muffled by the fog in her head. She’d already forgiven him, a long time ago.

“It’s okay, Dip,” she managed to say. “I don’t blame you…”

As Ford headed inside to seal the rift, Dipper following him, Stan and Mabel were left alone. He gave her a gentle pat on the back.

“Hey, pumpkin, you okay? There’s no need to be scared of nothin’ anymore. The triangle can’t do jack now.”

There was a gleam in Stan’s eyes that Ford and Dipper had lacked, Mabel realized. He seemed less distant. More real. More reminiscent of everything that felt wrong about all this.

“A-are you okay, Grunkle Stan? Bill didn’t do anything to you?” she blurted out, grabbing him by the arm.

It couldn’t be this easy. They couldn’t really be safe. Stan, especially, couldn’t really be safe, it just didn’t feel right —

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m fine.” He smiled to her. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I promise.”

“I know…” she told him, even though she really, really didn’t know anything. Her thoughts were jumbled, jumping around like popcorn in one of those glass-walled machines, striking the sides of her skull and exploding and just creating so much chaos that she just couldn’t find the right ones, couldn’t remember what she should have, what she needed to remember —

Stan hugged her, and the chaos faded to a distant roar, faint and consistent and easy to tune out.

“Bill’s never laid a hand on me,” he assured her. “I’ve got nothin’ to do with him — unless I run into him when he’s giving one of you guys a hard time, but I’ve got a feeling he won’t be doing much of anything like that anymore. That rift thing is what he wants from Ford, right? And he can’t get that now.”

Mabel nodded. Yeah, that all made sense. Stan was right, of course he was…

“I just… I had a dream, I think. Or a nightmare. Where Bill got into our world, and it — and it was all my fault, and I didn’t want to believe it so I locked myself in this… in this bubble… ”

Bubbles, dream bubbles, prison bubbles, Sweater Town, block out all the bad stuff, hide there forever, lying about it to keep you away from it —

“Must have been a trick that demon played,” Stan murmured, words oddly soothing — almost hypnotizing. “But it wasn’t real. And you’re stronger than that nightmare, I know you are.”

That’s right, everything is alright. Nothing bad happened, nothing was your fault —

But this isn’t real; that all was, Mabel was finally able to put to words. This is the dream, that was reality.

But she didn’t dare say as much out loud. Instead, she whispered: “Thanks, Grunkle Stan, you’re right. I’m… I’m gonna go inside now.”

“No problem, pumpkin,” Stan replied, helping her up. “You ever need anything, just come and ask.”

Mabel nodded, and then, the second she was out of Stan’s sight, she huddled down in the corner and shut her eyes, afraid to look at whatever illusions the dream might summon to tempt her.

Her first thought was that this was Bill’s doing again, that he was trying to trap her, to keep her and Ford and the others from finding where he lurked in Stan’s mind… but deep down, she knew that wasn’t it.

She remembered what it had felt like to be in the bubble Bill created, and like this one, it certainly had given her what she wanted — or at least, what she believed she wanted. But this… this illusion was more powerful. A stronger pull, a more irresistible temptation, so strong that she almost hadn’t even realized it was all a dream.

This was what her heart had yearned after for the past ten months. To be free of this guilt, this knowledge that she’d almost gotten her family killed.

And if anyone was going to understand that, it wasn’t going to be Bill. It was going to be Stan.

Stan, who must have been so afraid for his family’s sakes. Stan, who just wanted them all to be not just safe, but happy. Stan, who had always been so good at lying about his own happiness, so of course he would be good at lying to make others happy, too.

Stan, who was so similar to Bill, yet even more different.

“I’m gonna find a way to save you, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel whispered. “I’m gonna find a way to make it so you don’t have to lie. I promise.”

She told herself she wasn’t being hypocritical for tuning out the intrusive thoughts of what if he can’t be saved? and what if the truth is even worse than you think?

Because those thoughts couldn’t be true, she just wouldn’t let them be true…

What if there was never anyone else here that Stan needed saving from?

What if he only needs saving from himself?

***

A high-pitched, horrifyingly familiar voice screamed from all around Ford, the darkness seeping out of his surroundings and condensing together into one perfectly equilateral triangle.

“Oh, now what do we have HERE? Six-Fingers really thinks he can figure out a way to run the portal ‘safely?’ News flash, BRAINIAC: you’ve never —”

Ford found himself squeezing a trigger.

A brilliant beam of light shot out at Bill — blasting a hole in his chest, sparking a fire that consumed his triangular form in an instant, raging bright orange like burning sodium. For just a moment, there was an awful shriek of panic and horrified realization, but before Ford could even move to cover his ears, it was gone — it echoed for just a moment, and then faded out entirely.

Faintly red-orange embers were drifting to the ground, burning out and joining all the other particles that made up the dirt floor as if they had never been a part of anything else, a part of anything dangerous. Their orange glow disappeared, replaced by the faint blue light that the portal machinery projected, humming steadily and peacefully.

It was all very quick, and very decisive, and very not right. The world seemed to shift around Ford, and he felt as if he too was drifting to the ground, extinguished —

A steady hand caught him by the arm and held him until he regained his balance. A gruff, comfortingly familiar voice spoke from behind him:

“Hey, Stanford, you okay? We did it, buddy. Bill’s dead. We’re safe.”

Unsteadily, Ford turned, and saw Stan looking at him — his long brown hair was a mess, and his red jacket was singed, but his expression was comforting, full of relief. The portal cast its blue glow over him, too, flickering slightly like a fire…

“Where… what year is it?” Ford mumbled.

“It’s 1982,” Stan replied, patting him gently on the back. “You and Fidds made an invention to blast Bill out of existence. You remember that, right?”

“The portal… why is it…”

“We restarted it as a trap — because the gun only worked on him if he took a physical form. Is… is this coming back to you?”

“…Right,” Ford replied. “Right. I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me —”

“Hey, it’s okay. I… I get why this might be a lot to take in, but… you’re safe from Bill now. He’s never gonna hurt anyone again.”

“He’s…”

He’s really gone? I’m safe from him? You’re safe from him?

“Stanford! Are ya alright?” Fiddleford was running over to them now, slamming the door to the control chamber closed behind him.

“He’s gonna be,” Stan said confidently. “It all worked out just like we planned — Ford just needs a second to —”

“No,” Ford whispered. “Fiddleford, why are you… why are you…?!”

“Pardon?” Fiddleford asked, looking to Stan uncertainly.

“Young,” Ford finally choked out. “Why are either of you young? Why is Stan —”

Then the truth dawned on him, and as obvious as it seemed, it was a struggle to choke out, a struggle to admit. “This — this isn’t real, is it?”

“Whoa, Ford!” Stan put a hand on Ford’s arm. “Calm down. It’s okay, it’s —”

“It’s absolutely not okay!” Ford shouted, pulling himself away. “And you — you’re not even denying it!”

Stan let out a sad, quiet sigh.

“Does it really matter if this is real, Ford?”

“Yes! Yes, it does! It…”

Stan and McGucket were both staring at him, but now that Ford knew what to look for, there was a dullness to Fiddleford’s eyes, a lack of detail in his expression. While Stan… felt more real, more genuine. The bodies that all of them wore now were illusions, but the real Fiddleford wasn’t present in any capacity, as opposed to Stan, who was very much himself.

And Ford couldn’t bring himself to be that angry with the real Stan.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

He felt like he should remember something important about how he got here, something that might explain why Stan was here but Fiddleford wasn’t really, but reaching for the memory felt like plunging into a violent current, dark and chaotic and impossible to navigate —

What have you done? What have you done to them?

I’m keeping them safe. And happy.

“Ford, you don’t have to stay here,” Stan told him. “This isn’t some… some prison, some diabolical trap. I just… I thought you could use a break from reality. Some time to relax, in a place where… things went better. Where you can actually do the things you always wished you could do.”

“So — so you created this? Not Bill?”

“Yeah. Remember, we killed Bill in real life, too, it just… took a lot longer.”

Ford’s heart was pounding, like his body, his instincts, knew something his conscious mind didn’t — but Stan gently took him by the shoulders and turned him around to face the portal, its glow hypnotizing.

“In this world, it’s safe to use. You can explore anywhere you want to explore, alongside anyone you want to adventure with. You can even meet anyone you mighta given up on seeing again.”

Ford could think of a number of different people he’d given up on seeing again, had parted ways with far too soon, people for whom he would rejoice at an opportunity to talk to, even knowing they weren’t really there — but he couldn’t let himself get caught up in this illusion. He’d been in the middle of something important when he’d gotten pulled into this dream, he was sure of it. It was just the specifics that kept eluding him…

But then again, he’d already spent a fair amount of time here, hadn’t he? He could surely afford to waste just a little bit more.

“Ten minutes,” he told Stan. “That’s all.”

Then added: “...maybe fifteen, if we’re in the middle of something when the first ten minutes end. But that’s the absolute most.”

He knew it was a dangerous concession to be making, but he could control himself, of course he could.

(And…. ten minutes did feel unfairly brief. So did fifteen minutes, for that matter…)

Stan’s face lit up with excitement and maybe, just a hint of relief?

“Then to the portal!” he cheered, voice full of contagious enthusiasm.

“To the portal!” Ford echoed, oblivious as the watch on his wrist sublimated into a plume of dark fog.

***

“I've been lying about it to try to keep you away from it! To try to protect you from it!” — Stanley Pines, Scary-oke

***

The way I see it, Stan obviously loves his family and understands their desires far better than Bill could, but that also means the illusions he summons are even more powerful and tempting than the ones Mabel and company overcame in Weirdmageddon…

(Also, I recently wrote a Same Coin one-shot, The Phoenix in the Birch Trees, that can be taken as a prequel to this story. You don’t have to read that one to understand anything that goes on in SSD, of course, but I thought I’d leave it here in case anyone who missed it before is interested!)

and yeah the title is a pokemon reference. because, you know, nightmare demons who don't actually mean harm but trap people in dreams to protect themselves

[metalrollformingmachine]

Liked on YouTube: Ceiling Channel Roll Forming Machine Máy Cán Khung Trần https://youtu.be/x8TE4uRFaVo

[mandi-celeste]

Brave New World (A Scoobynatural Fanfic)~

So, I’ve been writing this on and off since the Scoobynatural episode aired. At first, it was just for myself, just to get this scene out of my head. The past couple of days I’ve been feeling the urge to share it though, so…here it is!

I’m planning on writing more for it, but can’t say for sure when the next chapter will be uploaded. It depends on reader feedback/response I suppose (it’s not worth sidelining my main WIP for this if it’s not getting a reaction from readers, ya know?).

So, if you like this little tidbit of fic, please reblog and let me know (of course, if you’re shy it’s okay to just like the post or reblog with a reaction gif, that’s cool with me! :) ).

Enjoy!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Shaggy couldn’t sleep.

He stared up at the ceiling of the room he was sharing with Fred and Scooby, listening to their breathing as he tried in vain to count sheep. It was a wasted effort on his part, because he never made it past ten or eleven of the fluffy figments of his imagination. He was too distracted. Everything that had happened in the past few hours ran through his head for the hundredth time, and he shuddered. Wishing they were back home, where everything was normal and safe.

Ghosts, monsters, demons, even angels; according to Sam, Dean, and Castiel they were all real after all! And alternate realities too, as it turned out. Thanks to a freaky purple light, that had appeared out of nowhere and enveloped the gang while they were walking to the Mystery Machine to go celebrate the victory of their joint investigation with the Winchesters and Cas, he and his friends were now all trapped in one of these other realities. Unfortunately for them, it just so happened to be one where all the things that go bump in the night seemed to thrive.

It was everything he ever dreaded, and worse!

Scooby whimpered from his spot at the base of the bed, jolting Shaggy back to the present. He quickly sat up and leaned forward to pat his sleeping dog. Whispering ‘it’s okay, Scoob’ soothingly, over and over again with each gentle stroke, until his best friend stopped twitching and settled down into a more peaceful slumber. The scrawny teen stayed like that for a moment, studying the dog, and then he let his eyes wander over to Fred’s sleeping form.

He couldn’t help feeling a little envious of how his friend had just, more or less, rolled with the insanity that had been thrown at them that night. Then again, Fred was usually the first to recover from a surprise thrown their way. Velma and Daphne still seemed a little unsure of the situation when the five of them had parted ways to turn in for the night, but they did their best to not let it show much. Shaggy knew his friends well, though. By the morning, the girls would be just as calm and collected as Fred seemed to be about the whole thing.

It still rattled Shaggy though, how different everything looked in this world. How different they themselves looked. It was like walking around in a 3D movie, or a cartoon! And it wasn’t just the physical change that disturbed him, he had noticed other changes since they had arrived in this world.

His appetite wasn’t as strong here, although Velma and Sam both theorized that might just be his nerves. Velma’s eyesight seemed a little bit stronger since her arrival, which she had been surprised to discover when her glasses had gotten knocked off when they first found themselves in the bunker. And Daphne had noticed, whispering to the rest of the gang as to not offend their hosts, that their new friends looked older in this reality than they had back home.

The biggest change, though, had been in Scooby.

Shaggy had noticed something was off pretty quickly after they had arrived in this frightening new reality. When he realized what it was, it had come as a terrible shock to all of them. Scooby Doo couldn’t talk in this world.

Dean seemed almost as upset by this revelation as Shaggy had been.

Castiel had tried to fix that. After revealing to the gang that he was an angel of the lord, a fact that Shaggy was still processing even now, he had tried to restore Scooby’s ability to speak. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. The best he could do was allow the rest of them to at least feel the unique dog’s emotions, a kind of psychic connection, but as comforting as the existence of the link was…it just wasn’t the same.

“At least you can still understand us,” Shaggy thought as he ran his hand across the dog’s shoulder one more time. Then, with a tired sigh, he got up.

Even though he wasn’t actually hungry, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try to find his way back to the kitchen and help himself to a midnight snack. That always seemed to help back at home when he couldn’t sleep if he was too worked up over a case, maybe it would help now.

The bunker was still hard to navigate. Instead of locating the kitchen, he stumbled across a recreational room instead. He flicked on the lights and smiled. “Zoinks! Like, this is a pretty groovy space!”

Dean’s so-called ‘Dean Cave’ was a room that Shaggy could easily imagine himself and the rest of the gang hanging out in a lot in the coming days. He wasn’t much of a foosball player, but he knew Fred would be eager to go a few rounds with everybody. “He’ll coax Dean into playing, no doubt about it.” The jukebox in corner showed promise, and he found himself wondering what kind of music their new friends liked listening to. Would it be bands he and his friends were familiar with, or some groovy new future music?

It wasn’t until he noticed the miniature fridge plugged in by the in-progress bar that his eyes really lit up. Shaggy’s stomach grumbled at the sight of it. Maybe his appetite was coming back to him now that the shock of their trip was beginning to wear off?

With a sigh of relief, Shaggy strode over to the fridge. Walking between the foosball table and the two reclining chairs that were placed squarely in front of the TV that Dean had set up there, having replaced the one he had broken with the one that had been in his own room before calling it a night a few hours earlier.

Shaggy jumped a little in surprise when he stepped on something hard, and heard the click of the TV turning on as he lifted his foot to get a look at the object. It took him a moment to figure out what it was, he was used to the clunkier TV remotes back home, but once he did he was grinning with childlike wonder as he picked it up and flipped through the channels. There were so many stations!

If there was one perk about this creepy reality, it was that they were so much more advanced than the one he came from. “I guess it won’t be too awful, staying here for a while.” He thought to himself as settled on a random station, not paying much mind to what was playing as he turned his attention back to the fridge.

“Like, Scooby and I can stay here and investigate the kitchen!”

Shaggy’s eyes widened with surprise at the sound of his own voice, and he glanced at the TV again. Stunned by what he was seeing, he let the fridge door close on its own and wandered over to stand behind the reclining chairs. He rubbed at his eyes, and blinked with astonishment as he watched the rest of the scene on the small screen continue to unfold. He was on the TV! So was Scooby and the rest of the gang, looking like their normal selves!

“Wha-what’s going on…” Shaggy murmured, feeling the all-too familiar sensation of the hair on the back of his neck standing up and goosebumps rising across his arms.

He remembered the case he was watching.

Was there some kind of TV crew secretly taping them the whole time? But, no. That didn’t make any sense. Way too many cameras would have needed to be used in order to pull off what he was seeing. Plus, he remembered how cramped and creaky that particular house had been; even if both he and Scooby had been oblivious to a camera crew, he was certain the others would have noticed a bunch of men hiding in the house filming them eventually.

Not to mention the fact that this case was close to a year ago now, and no one ever approached them about it.

He was starting to wonder, as he rubbed his eyes again, if he was dreaming after all. But he knew he wasn’t, and as the program ended he felt a sense of unease begin to prickle at him.

“You’re watching The Classic Cartoon Hub!” Said a narrator as the lineup for the next two hours displayed on the screen. “Up next is another episode of Scooby Doo!”

Suddenly feeling weak in the knees, Shaggy gripped the top of the closest recliner. Stumbling his way around it, he slowly sank into its plush cushion and stared on in shock as the screen went black for a moment before the sound of squeaking bats rang in his ears and the opening theme began to play.

“This can’t be real…it has to be some kind of crazy joke!”

He spent the first ten minutes of the program repeating that thought in his head. The case being shown in this episode was a much more recent one, the gang had solved it just last week, and he found himself quoting word for word the conversations he remembered most clearly from that night. By the time the program went to a commercial break, he was too dazed to really pay attention to it anymore. An ad that played a few commercials in advertised a Scooby Doo marathon for the best episodes and movies from 1969 to the present day, and Shaggy felt the dread he was feeling sink its claws in deeper.

“We’re not real…I’m not real…”

Shaggy never did fall asleep that night.