#and while they keep trying they keep forgetting how to make the damn web pages functional

[cainite-bite]

no i dont want to use the app! i dont even want to browse it on my phone! let me open that shit on my desktop! why is everything barred to a stupid app on google store! get that outta here!

[duckprintspress]

How can I write quickly?

I (hi, I’m @unforth) have been asked frequently over the years how I write a lot quickly. I’m a pretty fast writer - for example, I wrote the 5600 words of my May Trope Mayhem fill from yesterday in under 2.5 hours. 

First, a little of my personal history for context. I’ve always written, starting from when I was able to string letters into (very poorly spelled) words and (horrible un-grammatical) sentences. When I started trying my hand at serious, professional-level fiction writing, I joined a community called novel_in_90, which was founded by the author Elizabeth Bear. The purpose of novel_in_90 was “to be NaNoWriMo but more realistic.” Instead of 50,000 words in 31 days, it was 67,500 words in 90 days, or 750 words a day. I participated in multiple rounds of novel_in_90 starting in mid-2005, and in 2007 I completed my first (godawful) novel. When I started, even writing a couple hundred words of day took me forever, but it got easier with time. 

During those same years, I also got a job that required I do professional writing on a deadline: I was a grant writer, and I only got paid when the grants won. That often meant working fast under high pressure, culminating in the weekend I wrote and edited an entire 40 pages grant that was due on Monday. I think, if I hadn’t had a solid foundation of “regular daily plodding writing,” I’d not have been able to marathon when the moment came...and it came because I had to, not because I wanted to. However, I learned a valuable lesson: I could. Subsequently, I found that, when I had the time and space and was rested enough to use my brain, I could bust out a huge amount. Like, I wrote an entire 150,000 word novel in 17 days.

My personal record is about 200,000 words in one month (it was the month I wrote that novel; I wasn’t tracking when I did that so I don’t know exactly), 25,000 words in a day, and I’ve topped out around 3,000 words an hour. I do know people who can do more...but not many.

Not everyone will be able to do this. Flat out, I MUST preface the rest of this post by saying that. Some people will find that writing fast fits their brain, and for others, it just won’t, and that’s okay. Fast doesn’t equal better, and it isn’t inherently “good” to write fast. Furthermore, even for those who can write fast, not everyone will find the same strategies helpful. I can share what works for me. Try out one item, some items, or all of these - if writing faster is something you want to be able to do, which it certainly never has to be. Use what works for you, and discard the rest.

Sit in your chair, put your fingers on your keyboard or touch screen, and write. You can’t write 1,000 words in half an hour until you write one word, however long that one word takes. I know saying this is obvious, but I’ve been asked “how can I write fast” by people who struggle to write at all...fast can’t be your priority until you’ve got a foundation of just writing. (Honestly...fast should never be your priority, but it might be helpful to you regardless, which can make it worth learning.)

Start small. Set an achievable goal, and make yourself meet that goal (daily, weekly, whatever) come hell or high water, no matter how long it takes you. Keep the goal small at first; you’re not trying to torture yourself, you’re trying to build a skill. If you set the goal high enough that you consistently fail, you’re not teaching yourself anything. And, if you find the goal IS too high...lower it. There’s no shame in working within your limits. Think of it like starting a new work out regimen: you wouldn’t try to run a 10k at a record time if you can’t run a mile slow. Treat your fingers and your brain the same way you’d treat your legs and joints. Give them time to grow, learn, and improve before you try to push yourself.

Trying to write daily is worthwhile if you want to work on your writing speed, because you’ll be forced to try to fit it in as you’re able - that might be ten minutes in your morning, or an hour in your evening, and it might vary from day to day, but making it daily means you have to fit it in somewhere.

Building skills takes time and isn’t easy. For some people, it will come easier than for others, and even when you’re fast, going from “I can write words fast” to “I can write damn good words fast” takes practice and dedication and accepting constructive criticism - speed alone will never be worth more than writing well.

Having a community can help. Ya’ll will check in on each other, cheer each other on, remind each other that missing a day or a goal isn’t the end of the world, and keep each other’s spirits up. If you don’t know other writerly folks online, I recommend Weekend Writing Marathon ( @weekendwritingmarathon ) as a good place to start (I used to be a mod there). Once you’re trying to work up to larger word counts in a day, remember that even writing fast will take minutes or hours. You can’t write 2,500 words in an hour if you don’t set an hour aside. Make sure you’re giving yourself the room and time you need to succeed.

You will probably never be able to do high, rapid word counts every day, every week, every month. The best runners in the world don’t run marathons every day. Set realistic long term goals.

Work on projects where you have a clear idea of where you’re going. I’m not saying “pantsers” can’t write fast, because of course they can, but if you want to write fast, and well, and coherently, to create a first draft that’s in pretty good shape, you’ll do better if you have a good sense of what you’re trying to accomplish with your story. That doesn’t mean you need to do all your world building up front, or have a complete outline (I never have either). All you really need is what happens next. I tend to plan projects - and write them - one full scene at a time, with only a vague idea what’s going to come after. (I’m personally a “plantser,” and the strategies in this post will likely be most effective to other plantsers.)

Visualize ahead of time what you’d like to write...but don’t get too attached to what you visualize. When I go to bed, I plan the next scene I’m going to compose, often to the least detail. I then forget all of it overnight, at least all the specifics, and I’m left with a general sense and shape of what’s to come. You’ll never be able to replicate the “perfect” dialog you pre-conceive, so give up on trying to. Instead, play through the scene and think about the emotional beats you want to hit and plot points you want to forward. If you keep that in mind, you’ll be able to get the words out faster than if you’re agonizing over every word or regretting the “oh-so-great” idea that you’ve since forgotten. 

Practice different work styles. If writing every day doesn’t work for you, try instead saying, “this is my writing day each week,” and aim for a lot that specific day, and write little or nothing other days. Try writing at different times of day and on different days, fitting it into your schedule. If you’re beating yourself up for not writing when you “should,” it’ll be that much harder to succeed, so instead, as I said for point 2 - set a reasonable goal that fits your life and working style, fitting it around your other responsibilities, and push yourself within that framework, instead of trying to shoehorn into a style that you “think you should” use to succeed. 

Track your word counts, and take notes on how much you did and what project you were working on. If you’re also experimenting with different times of day and different days, make sure you note that too. I personally use a simple Excel sheet (well, Google Sheets, now) - column one is the date, column 2 is “starting word count,” column 3 is “ending word count,” column 4 is “=column 3 - column 2”, column 5 is notes. Pay attention to when you succeed at writing faster, and when you don’t, and consider what factors might have played into your success...and then try to replicate those factors next time you’re doing a sprint. Control as many variables as you can while you’re “training.”

If you find social media distracting, trying getting a web browser extension that prevents you from connecting to websites for a set period of time.

If you find you tend to dither before starting, I find it helpful to run through everything that I might do to procrastinate (check my social media! grab a snack! make some tea! set up my playlist! check my social media again! finish making the tea! check my social media for what I swear will be the last time!), and when I’m done, it’s like, well, I’ve done all those things, I’ve got no choice left, time to write, no excuses left.

If you find you struggle with picking up a WIP, try leaving off in the middle of a sentence at the end of a session, one where you know exactly how it ends - or, leave off mid-paragraph, or when you are positive you know what happens next (and I mean literally next, as in the very next sentence.) It’s much easier to “pick back up” when your first words are super clear. (Do not do this if you think there’s any chance you’ll forget or end up in a situation where you won’t return to your WIP for months!) 

If you find you struggle to maintain continuity across multiple writing sessions, try rereading what you wrote the previous day before you proceed. Resist the urge to edit it!

Avoid stopping when you get stuck, even to do research. Don’t know a fact? Add a comment to your manuscript flagging the relevant text, “LOOK THIS UP LATER.” Can’t think of a word? Put in something you can use the “find” function on easily (I personally use “XX” since there are no words that have a double x in them) and so you can come back later, search for your chosen placeholder, and fill in the blanks. Not sure how a scene ends but know the next scene? Jump ahead.

That said, if you really don’t know what happens next, you don’t do yourself any favors by pressing on. As I’ve said previously, speed alone should never be your writing object. It’s better to slow down, consider your plot, figure out where you’re going, and then write, than to just plow ahead - or at least, that’s better if you want a manuscript you’ll actually be able to use for something at a later point. If you’re truly just practicing, you can also say “screw it, who needs coherence?” and keep going. I’d personally never have finished my first novel if I’d spent a lot of time worrying about making the pieces fit together and yeah, it’s a mess, but it’s a mess I wrote instead of a mess I got stuck on and never completed.

Don’t move the finish line. If you’ve set the goal of 500 words a day, don’t beat yourself up if you get 550 because you think you think you could have done more. If you say you’ll write five days a week, don’t get mad because you DID have time the sixth day but chose to use it on something else. If you make yourself feel like shit when you succeed, what’ll happen when you fail? And when you’re comfortable and really think you’re ready, change the goal - reassess every month, say, and up your goals. While working for speed, trying upping your word count goal without changing the amount of time you allot for working.

Your need to adhere to the above suggestions will change over time. Once, I always had an outline; now I often don’t need one. Once, I wouldn’t let myself stop even to use a thesaurus; now, I find I can look up words without breaking my flow or significantly slowing myself down. This is not an “all or nothing” prospect, nor is it a “do things the same way forever once you’ve found one (1) thing that works” prospect - you’ll experiment, and find strategies that work for you, and then at some point, your needs will change, and you’ll experiment more, and find new strategies that work for you, on and on, as your skills grow. 

To reiterate: writing fast should never be your objective in and of itself! Greater writing speed will come with practice and as a general side effect of improving your craft. Simply being able to write fast is useless; being able to write fast and well will enable you to get more of your ideas out there, so if that’s something you’d like to accomplish, focus on building your general skills and training yourself to be able to use those skills rapidly and in tandem with each other to produce decent writing, in a first draft, at a decent speed.

Once you try, you may find none of this works for you! That’s okay. That’s good! You tried, which means you learned something about yourself and your own writing style, and that too will help you to improve. Keep experimenting, keep learning, and find what does work for you - and accept that no two writers will ever be the same, and one of those differences will be writing speed. Some writers will never write fast, and that’s doesn’t make them any less awesome or valid. And some writers will always write fast, and that doesn’t make them inherently awesome or valid. Only with a suite of skills that suit your individual life, personality, work style, writing capabilities, goals, etc., will you succeed as a writer (for various, personalized definitions of the word “success”); speed is only one of those potential skills, and not one that’s particularly important in my opinion...yet I still get asked about it fairly often, so here we are, these are my suggestions

Go forth, and write some words! <3

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 8]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, sex toys, dom!seungcheol, blowjob, cumplay, overstimulation, minor degradation/dirty talk, big dick seungcheol is in the house ladies ‘n gents, what we’ve all been waiting for!!! 😩💕 this was actually meant to be a shorter chapter which I guess depending on how you look at 5k words I guess that can be seen as short!!, anyway thank you so much for your patience 🥺 I know a ton of you were waiting for this and it’s finally here!! hehe~ enjoy! have a great weekend!! 🍒 

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - ? 

“Well… It’s not much but welcome home for the next few days.”

Seungcheol helps you into his studio apartment; setting your things by the bed before turning to you.

“So, I take it the cat isn’t real then, huh?” You joke, plopping down onto the sofa. He shoots you a sheepish smile when he sits on the other end, cheeks blooming crimson.

“Uh… no, sorry... If there’s anything I lied about, it was definitely only the cat.”

The two of you share a laugh as you look around the apartment, noting the cookbooks on the kitchen countertop and the extensive PC setup on his desk. “Oh, I should show you around. I mean, it’s not much, but I figure I should let you know where everything is.”

You nod, getting up as Seungcheol starts showing you around the place. He shows you to the bathroom, lets you know where he keeps all of his snacks and even pauses to give you the wi-fi password. You follow him around the place, remarking that it seemed more homey and lived-in than your space did.

“I mean, it’s not much, but it’s comfy. I even tried to be a plant dad but I forgot to water them so that didn’t really work out.”

“Maybe just buy the fake ones for aesthetic purposes, y’know? Give it a greenhouse vibe.”

Seungcheol nods; chuckling as he brings you back to the living space. “Okay, I should go get the things from ‘Guk before it gets any later. And you have a show to do tomorrow too so we should definitely setup once I get back.” He makes sure he has all of his things, keys jingling in his hold as he makes his way to the door.

“Do you need anything else while I’m out? I’ll probably be about 45 minutes, give or take an hour if I catch traffic.”

You shake your head ‘no’ in response, walking up to him. “Just drive safe~” Waving, you wait until the door lock falls into place before you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

In truth, you’d never stopped thinking about the video you had uploaded hours earlier. It had lingered at the back of your head the entire day despite Seungcheol’s valiant efforts to keep your mind off of the entire thing. 

It was the first time you were alone all day and you were finally ready to face the repercussions of your actions, should they have gone sour.

Sitting on the sofa, you unlock your phone before hesitantly opening a web browser and typing in the URL for the camming website. Taking a deep breath, you login, already nervous when the browser lags due to the amount of notifications.

Your eyes quickly flit across the multitude of comments; cheeks hot as your fingers go numb.

“Oh my god…”

Seungcheol gets an earful once he gets the equipment from Jeongguk’s place; the younger male’s smug face ingrained in Seungcheol’s head even when he gets back to the apartment in record speed.

It takes him a bit of trapezing to get everything in one go, cables spilling out of the box that Jeongguk haphazardly put together, but Seungcheol manages to get the door open.

“Oh my god, ‘Cheol, there you are! Please hurry, come look at this!”

He quickly drags in the box, kicking the door shut before hurriedly jogging over to the sofa where you sat with your laptop. “I--I… I don’t know what to say, I’m just…” You quickly turn the screen to let him read the comments, a wide and giddy smile on your face.

‘Whoa… this is amazing…’

‘Wait who’s the guy???’

‘Please please more content like this’

‘Fuck you sound so good begging for daddy like this…’

‘In public? Such a naughty girl… but daddy will give it to you since you asked so nicely…’

‘Shit you really do look good getting fucked like this… better than your toys tbh’

“Whoa…” Seungcheol breathes out, scrolling through the rest as he sits next to you. “It seems like it did pretty damn well, huh?” You nod feverishly, leaning over him as you click on the video’s revenue page.

“‘Cheol look at this… The donations and revenue from this video alone... I--It’s… it’s more than I get in some of my live shows…” You trail off, wide eyes meeting Seungcheol’s equally shocked face.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment; various thoughts running through your head at the possibilities.

Seungcheol fares no different, already feeling the atmosphere change when you place the laptop on the coffee table.

“Seungcheol…” He can only chuckle in response, already knowing the next words that would spill from your lips.

“Let me take a wild guess… You want to film more like this?”

Nodding, you lean in close to him, wrapping your own arms around his as you rest your head on his shoulder. “I know we kinda… agreed to not get intimate so fast and--and I think we have a lot we need to talk about but ‘Cheol… I--I don’t want to beg but… Would you? Film some videos with me, I mean? They don’t have to be, like, both of us, they can just be from your POV and we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with doing on camera!”

He bites the inside of his cheek as he stares off into the living room. “How about this… Let’s set up, since you have a show to do tomorrow. And then Tuesday morning before I head to work, we can talk about it. I’m not saying no, I’m just… there’s some ground rules I think we need to put down first. Hard limits, things we’re okay with filming… Y’know, just, what we’re comfortable with.”

“Okay, yeah! That makes total and complete sense~” You open your mouth to speak again, only a small squeak coming out instead. “Hmm? Something the matter?”

“Just… Thank you. For everything. I really didn’t expect this to do as well as it did and--and just, I guess I’m in shock?” You laugh, pulling away from Seungcheol as he stares down at you. “And to be honest… I mean, it’s not like we haven’t thought about each other, right?”

Seungcheol feels his body getting warmer by the passing second; gulping when he understands what you mean. “Y-yeah, it’s just.. Hah, I guess I thought I’d have more time to woo you over.”

Letting out an airy laugh, you stand from the sofa and make your way towards the momentarily forgotten box of equipment; dragging it towards the bed before you sit on the floor next to it. “You have plenty of time to do that~ And anyway, who says I’m not already woo’d over?” You place a ring light down by your side just as Seungcheol sits on the bed, watching as you go through the items.

“Wow, Jeongguk sure has a lot of really nice equipment in here! Are you sure it’s okay we borrowed it?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a nerd for video equipment and I’m pretty sure as long as we don’t break anything we’re good.”

It only takes about 35 minutes and Seungcheol stepping on an outlet plug to finish setting up all the lighting equipment and camera as you and Seungcheol finally plop down onto the bed.

“Jeez, I never realized how convoluted it was to set up a few ring lights and one camera. I don’t want to see another cable for at least 50 years.” Seungcheol jokes; wiping a bead of sweat that trickles down his temple. “Is this how it’s set up at your place?”

“Mmhmm~ All the time. It’s like I’m never really ‘offline’.”

He stands from the bed a second later, walking to the fridge to get some water for the two of you. “Really? You don’t ever put the equipment away?”

You sigh softly, flopping onto your back onto the cold sheets. “In a perfect world I would, but it gets really annoying to always take down and put everything back up so I usually kind of just leave them in their places. But it’s fine ‘cause it’s only me anyway and I’m lazy~”

Seungcheol laughs as he places a glass of water next to the bed. “I guess that’s fair. I’d probably do the same.” You get comfy on his bed; eyes already threatening to slide shut.

“We should probably get some sleep, huh? I have work in the morning…” He mumbles, watching as you already seem to drift off into sleep.

“Mmhmm~”

Seungcheol’s bed is comfy.

So comfy that you barely register him leaning down to let you know that he’d be leaving for work. And so comfy that you spend most of your day in it until he gets back.

“Honey, I’m home~” He singsongs; kicking his shoes off at the door before making his way into the kitchen. “I grabbed some takeout on the way back, hope you don’t mind. My cookbooks came in a while ago, but to be honest, I’ve barely even looked at ‘em, much less even opened them up.”

“I don’t mind~ And thank you!”

The two of you set up in the living space, placing the food on the coffee table and easing onto the rug. “So how was work, darling~?”

Seungcheol chokes on a bite of food in an instant, hand on his chest as he tries to swallow it down. “Urgh, f-fine!” He pauses as he clears his airway. “Jeongguk really won’t let me live it down but it’s okay. He asked what you saw in me and that killed my ego a bit.” He snorts.

“Pfft, there’s a lot to like about you! He just doesn’t see ‘that’ side of you, y’know?” Seungcheol blushes, clearing his throat before trying to change the subject. “How was your day? Hope it wasn’t too boring?”

“Mmm~ Not really... Your bed is really comfy though! I didn’t wanna leave it~ Oh! And I spent some time brainstorming some ideas ‘n stuff for tomorrow!”

“Yeah? Anything good?”

Your cheeks flush crimson; a shy smile on your lips. “Maybe~ But we’ll save it for our talk!!”

dom.cheol: aren’t you a pretty lil thing?

angelhan has donated $70

dom.cheol has donated $300

artist8hao: oh? A new location again? It looks nice

alphagyu97: are we all forgetting the most important thing??

alphagyu97: whos the dude???

universe_WZ: you sound pressed over there, u ok?

hoshi_tiger_xx: honestly idrc that video was HOT

“Oh my gosh~ You guys!!” Your eyes flit to the side where Seungcheol sits with his phone in hand; a sly smirk on his face when your eyes meet. “Actually, I didn’t know you’d all like it so much… I kinda just thought to do it on the fly and my---my friend, um, agreed to help me…” Mumbling, you shyly readjust on Seungcheol’s sheets.

gc__koo: a friend? interesting tell me more

sleepy_wonu: who tf

kitty_junjun: i see our babygirl is getting more regulars~ so popular~

You giggle cutely as you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Did my video do that well?” You already know the answer but you read off a few more responses, biting your lip when you glance Seungcheol’s way again.

“Actually… my friend is here with me. He’s making sure I behave~”

Seungcheol pauses, head tilted questioningly at you. He mouths a simple ‘what are you doing?’ to which you wink back, readjusting yourself against the headboard.

“He’s really shy though… So he won’t be on camera~ But… But thinking about his fingers so deep in me… Fuck I’m--I’m already…” You trail off; hand reaching for the small bullet vibrator next to you on the bed.

gc__koo: guess he really gave it to you good huh?

xcaliburDK: fuck we kno he did… god that was so hot

tangerine_kwan: ur cute lil pussy was so wet and tight around those fingers, fuck

chwenon has donated $45

chwenon: it was so diff from seeing your own fingers or toys but in a good way

You trail the small vibrator across your body; mewling when you press it against the growing wet patch on your panties. “S-so you guys wouldn’t mind seeing more?”

gentleman_josh95: fuck yea i wanna see more

therealchan99: yes god plz, wanna see that cute lil cunt stretching around a fat cock

Seungcheol blushes as he clenches his jaw, suddenly a little embarrassed.

“Yeah? Mmh, I--I want that too…” You whimper. Using your free hand, you hook your thumb into the waistband of your panties as you shimmy them down before you continue. “Do you think my friend would be so kind as to give it to me~?” You tease; spreading your legs wide in front of the camera.

dom.cheol: if you behave, maybe he will.

artist8hao: mmm he’s right, only good girls get their pussies filled with cock

“Heeeey, but I’m good, right?” You pout, brows furrowing cutely at the camera. “I’ve been so good lately… Think I deserve a reward~”

dom.cheol: do you though? Have you been good, baby?

therealchan99: uh oh trouble in paradise?

gc__koo: maybe hes jealous

Jealous!? Seungcheol exclaims in his head; reminding himself to keep quiet as he stares at you incredulously.

You can only laugh loudly in response, shaking your head as you bring the wet toy up to your lips. You lick the wetness off of the silicone, lips settling into a sly smirk when you set the vibrator to it’s strongest setting.

“Let me show you how good I can be.”

“So, restraints?”

“For me or for you?” You blink up at Seungcheol from a mouthful of cereal, hair messy as you lounge in one of his shirts you happened to find on the floor. “Uh, well, mostly for you. I’m--I’m not opposed to it but… Yeah.”

You get comfy in his makeshift sofa bed, giggling as he sits across from you. “I’m totally cool with it! Oh! Um… you… you’re clean, right? Before we continue.” He nods in response, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I got tested a few weeks ago… Just in case.”

“Okay cool, so… Hmm… ‘Cheol is there anything you don’t want to do?”

“I should be asking you that, baby. ‘Cause I’m okay with anything you want to do… I think.”

“Okay so no piss kinks and no weird diaper baby stuff then.”

Seungcheol snorts, running a hand through his hair. “Sounds good to me. Is there anything you’re… really opposed to? Like choking or spitplay or degradation... I mean, you talking about it on your camshows is different from us doing it in real life so I--I just want to make sure you’re really okay with it.” You nod slowly, taking in his words.

“Yeah… I mean, I wanna try it with you. I trust you.” Pausing, you bite your lip as you try to hide the giddy smile on your face to no avail. “If we’re being honest, the thought of you being rough with me and spitting in my mouth is kinda really hot.”

He grits his teeth, already feeling his cock throb when you say that. “Ooookay, baby, I gotta go to work after this so let’s… not go there right now, okay? I don’t need ‘Guk having any more ammo against me.”

“Sorry, ‘Cheol~ I’ll be good! And--oh, by the way… Um, what about your v-voice? What are we gonna do about that…”

Oh, right.

Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek, contemplating. In truth, he’d been thinking about it since you asked him to help the first time and he knew eventually he’d have to revisit the topic. It seemed like a minuscule thing, but a part of him was a little worried that he’d be recognizable. “I--I’ll think about it. I’m more okay on the idea of it but I’ll let you know before we do anything.” Nodding, you get up from the sofa the same time Seungcheol does, walking with him towards the front door.

“Oh and one last thing, ‘Cheol!”

“Hmm?”

“Safe word?”

He takes a second to think, brows furrowing as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Cranberry.”

You raise a brow, blinking up at Seungcheol. “Really? Cranberry?”

“Yeah, why not, it’s easy to remember and it’s not Cherry but it’s kinda similar?”

“That’s fair, I guess.”

“Hey hyung, cool apartment! Didn’t think I’d see it like that, if you know what I mean.”

“Don’t you have popcorn to burn?”

Seungcheol sighs a breath of relief when he turns the lock to his apartment door; already excited to see you when he gets home from work.

“I’m back!” He yells, toeing his shoes off at the entrance as he sees you quietly shuffle to the entrance.

“I… I was bad today…”

Confusion crosses Seungcheol’s features as his eyes dance over your form still dressed in one of his t-shirts.

Oh.

Ohhhh. Okay.

“You were bad, huh? Wanna tell me what you did, baby?”

You nod in response, linking your hands with his as you guide him back towards the bed. You hand him your phone, already having it in video mode and recording by the time he adjusts it in his palm

“You don’t have to… say anything if you don’t want to.” Seungcheol nods.

Gulping, you peer up at him once you sit on the bed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after you left for work… I--I couldn’t stop touching myself thinking about you…” You rub your thighs together; already feeling the wetness pooling between them again.

“I made myself cum and I--I used your pillow to make myself cum and got them dirty… ‘m sorry…”

Seungcheol feels himself slip into character, bringing his free hand up to your hair before he slightly tugs on it.

“So your greedy ‘lil pussy couldn’t wait ‘til I got home from work? And you got my favorite pillows dirty? Naughty ‘lil thing. I can’t even leave you alone for a few hours, can I?”

You feel your body heat up incredibly fast, head tilted up towards the camera as he brings it in closer. You were fully expecting him to keep quiet, but you were incredibly elated to hear him interacting with you. “I k-know, I’m sorry! I couldn’t s-stop thinking about your cock…” He scoffs, grinning down at you when he sees the lust already pooling in your eyes.

“How are you going to make it up to me, baby?”

“Fuck, you’re so pretty choking on my cock.”

The tears blur your vision as you swallow around him; pussy throbbing around your fingers at the feeling of him already being too big for your mouth. His hand guides you down until your lips almost reach the base of his cock, a strained moan on his lips when you gag around him. “Ngh, god, your mouth is so fuckin’ small. Bet you can’t wait ‘til my cock is in that pussy of yours, huh?”

You moan around him in response; head getting fuzzy when the lightheadedness starts to bite. You continue to thrust your own fingers into your pussy, prepping yourself for Seungcheol as you scissor and curl the digits.

Seungcheol holds you onto his cock a second more before he tugs on your hair, pulling you off of his cock as you sputter and catch your breath. “You look good like this, baby.” He smirks, letting the camera catch your messy hair, teary eyes and swollen lips before he lets go of your hair.

“Now get on the bed. Legs spread for me.”

You nod; getting up from the floor on shaky legs as Seungcheol lets the camera follow.

You strip off all your clothes and get onto the bed before resting against the pillows and spreading your legs for Seungcheol to situate himself between them.

“You need to be punished for misbehaving, sweetheart. You know you’re not allowed to cum without my permission. And you got my sheets dirty.”

“I know…” You whimper, “I couldn’t help it…”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “I know you can’t. All you ever think about is my cock inside that pussy of yours. What would you do without me, baby? Do you think anyone could satisfy you like I do?”

Seungcheol slots himself between your legs, making sure to keep most of himself out of frame. He wraps his free hand around his cock, running it up and down before bringing his cock to your wet folds. He runs the head through your folds, letting it tap against your clit as you jolt.  “Do you want me?” He whispers; his eyes meeting yours.

He knew this was the second everything would change for the two of you, and he wanted to make sure you truly wanted it before he took the leap.

“Yes, please… I want you so bad…” You whimper, legs wrapping around Seungcheol’s waist. He nods shakily, making sure your phone is angled down as he slowly sinks his cock into your pussy.

The two of you share a broken moan as Seungcheol’s grip on your phone tightens and your own hands find purchase in the pillow tucked underneath your head.

Seungcheol was big.

And the stretch had you whining; a small sting biting into you as he slowly eased his cock into you. “Relax for me, sweetheart. You’re already so fuckin’ tight around me. You need to relax a little more.”

You try your best to even your breathing as you also attempt to relax; pupils blown wide when you look straight into the camera. “G-god, you’re so b-big, oh, I--I’m--a-ah!” Tiny cries spill from your lips as you cum unexpectedly, nails digging into the pillow as your walls flutter around him.

“Hmm~ Only got half my cock into your tight pussy and you’re already cumming? So easy.” He laughs, letting you ride out your high as he waits.

Internally, Seungcheol was dying. There were so many things he wanted to say but couldn’t; knowing he, too, at this moment, was playing a character with you.

“Fuck, your pussy is so warm and wet and I’m not even all the way in yet. Think you can still take the rest of me, baby?”

“I, hah, y-yes, please! Wanna fuh--feel all of y-you…” Mumbling, you don’t even wait to come down from your high before you’re already wanting more; squirming underneath him.

“If you say so~”

Seungcheol inches in the rest of his cock, exhaling harshly when he bottoms out completely. “Holy fuck, you’re so goddamn tight!” His free hand grips your thigh, nails digging into the flesh as he gives you a second to adjust to his size. You can feel your entire body trembling, pussy clenching around him as the sting from the stretch starts to subside and bleed into unadulterated pleasure. “God, please--please m-move!”

He starts slow at first, only shallowly thrusting into you as the two of you get used to each other’s body. And despite your first time together being on camera, Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind all too much, although he does remember to keep himself out as much as possible.

Your breathy moans and clipped breaths are music to his ears when he starts going a little faster; the sweat starting to trickle down his temple when he keeps at a moderate pace. “O-oh, fuck!” A string of incoherent curses follow as you wince when the head of Seungcheol’s cock taps your cervix.

“Oh, go----d, right there, please, it feels so g-good!”

“Right here? Does it feel good when you’re full of my cock?” Seungcheol clenches his jaw when you tighten around him, small curses falling from his own lips.

“Yes, yes, god, fuck… I--ngh!” Your eyes clamp shut as you fully get lost in pleasure; your head tossed back into the pillow when Seungcheol thrusts into you particularly hard.

You hear him laugh lightly, followed by a buzzing noise that has your eyes peeling open. “H-huh?”

Seungcheol smiles down at you, eyes filled with mischief when he plays with the settings on the vibrator in his hand.

“Well, you wanted to cum so bad that you did it without my permission, right? Since you wanna cum so bad, let’s see it, sweetheart.” He brings the toy to your clit; letting the vibrations throw your body into overdrive as your back arches off of the sheets.

“A-ah, Seu--Mmh! Fuck ‘m g-gonna cum a-again!” You cry, thighs quivering around his waist as he keeps the silicone toy pressed up against your swollen clit.

He doesn’t let up as he starts to thrust into you quicker, fucking you through your orgasm as he chases his. “God, your fuckin’ cunt was made for me. Bet you want me to cum inside too, huh? Fill you up nice and good until it’s spilling out of you?”

“Please, please, please!”

“You gotta cum for me one more time, baby. Get my cock wet.” You let out a choked cry, lashes wet with tears when he sets the toy to its strongest setting.

“Mmh, ‘m so s-sensitive… I--- I don’t know if--if I can, ah, cum a-again…” Seungcheol licks his lips watching your fucked out expression, cock throbbing between your walls. “I know you can, baby. I can feel you already getting tight around me again.”

And Seungcheol’s right; only a few more thrusts from him before you’re cumming one last time, heels digging into the small of his back as he finally shuts the toy off and grinds against you. And this time, your lips part in a silent scream, back arching off of the bed as your entire body goes rigid underneath him.

He makes sure to do a full sweep of your body through the camera in the midst of your high, halting his movements as he lets you ride it out before he continues.

“Oh my g-god, I--fu--fuck…”

Your body finally untenses after a few minutes; chest heaving in deep breaths as Seungcheol resumes his pace.

“Ready for me to cum inside that cute ‘lil cunt of yours?”

“Mmh, yes, give it to me~”

Seungcheol snickers, thrusting into you hard one last time before he pulls out completely. “That’s too bad~” He taunts, wrapping his free hand around the shaft of his cock. “Only good girls get creampies~” He lets out a cocky laugh, running his hand up and down his cock as he positions it over your abdomen.

You clench around emptiness, a weak moan floating through the air when Seungcheol finally cums, painting your chest in warm wet streaks of the salty substance. “Fuck, but you look so pretty covered in my cum too…” He grits out, cock throbbing in his palm as he works himself through his orgasm.

You watch him through foggy eyes; licking your chapped lips as you watch his brows furrow in concentration and his eyes slide shut as he, too, gets overwhelmed with bliss.

It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, palm sweaty around the phone as his thumb hovers over the ‘stop’ button. “W-wait…”

“Hmm? What’s wrong, baby?”

You run your fingers through the rivulets of cum coating your skin, gathering the viscous liquid on your fingertips before you bring them up to your mouth to lick them clean. “We can’t let it go to waste, can we?” Popping the digits into your mouth, you moan around your fingers as you clean Seungcheol’s cum off of them.

“You’re right, baby. We shouldn’t.”

You smile up at him, eyes dancing towards the camera for what feels like the first time in a long time before popping the digits out of your mouth.

Seungcheol’s eyes follow your movements, throat dry when you run your fingertips through the settling cum again. Except this time, you drag your fingers down until they’re teasing your clit, coating it in his cum. “Ngh, w-wanted you to cum inside but…”

His shaky eyes follow the way your fingers dip lower and lower until your cum coated fingers sink into your swollen pussy. He mentally screams, half tempted to shut off the camera.

“That’s right, baby. You want my cum so bad that you have to do it yourself, huh? Maybe next time you’ll remember to behave, won’t you?”

Nodding, you repeat the same steps a few more times; fingering Seungcheol’s cum into your pussy until most of it is cleaned off of your chest.

“I promise I won’t misbehave again~” You coo.

You wait a few seconds before you lean up, hand circling Seungcheol’s wrist as you bring the phone down and press the ‘stop’ button yourself.

“And scene!” You blurt out, laying back down in a tired mess as Seungcheol chuckles above you.

“Well, can’t say I expected that, if I’m being honest.” He moves back, eyes fixated on his cum that dries on your skin and the little bit that trickles from your pussy. “I’ve gotta ask, did you really… before I got home…”

“Honestly? Yeah… I mean the--the pillows were a lie ‘cause I didn’t wanna get them dirty but…” You chuckle tiredly, aiming to sit up which you find difficult to do. “Fuck, ‘Cheol, I think you broke me!” He pouts in response, leaning over you to make sure you were okay.

“Did I though? Be honest. ‘Cause I wasn’t expecting to go that hard on our first time together but it just---it--I--”

“Whoa, it’s okay! Seungcheol, relax. You didn’t hurt me… I r-really liked it actually… It felt--You felt really good. And I just wanted to, um, say sorry. I kinda sprung that on you out of nowhere too.”

“Honestly? I didn’t mind. I seemed to fall into character a lot easier than I expected which shocked me too.” 

The two of you fall into a comfortable yet shy silence; catching your breath.

Seungcheol makes the first move, sliding off of the bed as you fight off the sleep that threatens to take you. “Hey, we need to get you cleaned up and hydrated. I need to change the sheets too.”

“Mmm.. but ‘m tired, ‘Cheol…”

He smiles at your tired form, helping you into a sitting position before shuffling to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. “I know you’re tired. And you can go to sleep after we get you cleaned off, get the sheets changed and probably eat a little, okay?”

“Mmkay~ Oh, but the video…” He passes you the glass, making you finish it before you continue.

“What about the video?”

You wipe at your dry lips, handing the glass back to Seungcheol. “We… We should probably watch it back and edit it a bit to make sure everything’s okay, shouldn’t we? Just in case we, um, said something we shouldn’t have or something...”

A blush blooms on Seungcheol’s skin, suddenly shy at the idea that he’d have to not only listen to himself but also watch, at least, part of himself on camera. “R-right, which--which we can do tomorrow when I get back from work. If that’s okay with you?”

You nod up at him, a beaming smile on your face.

“It’s definitely okay with me~”

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Book Four - Part 9

Dapper wakes up somewhere new, feeling unwell, while Trick struggles alone in his room. Red, Blue, and Dok come home to help.

Tws for imprisonment, major illness, psychosis, sedation, and verbal and physical aggression from Anti.

Part 9 - The Locked Room

Anonymous asked: Sorry for saying you were a joke... it's just that your source material didn't really paint you in a nuanced or multidimensional way, and that's mostly what we're all basing our understanding on... You're a bit of a prick tho

Your camera comes back to life in unfamiliar hands as afternoon light spills across black hair and turns it to gold. Silver turns you gently in his palms, curious and bright-eyed, the panic of the night before gone from his face. Closer up, you can see some of the ways in which he is not Mark - a pair of small scars across his chin, a habit of picking at his lips that leaves them raw and red, a gauge in one ear.

As for your camera, the tiny symbol of an eye that usually resides in the corner, either opened or unopened, has been replaced by a small, presumptuous G.

“Hi,” says Shep, sat on his bed and looking at you. He hears footsteps down the hallway outside his room and furtively tucks you against his side, waiting for the steps to pass before he draws you out again.

“Hi,” he repeats, beginning to smile. “This is cool. I actually have a way to talk to you. Yeah, no, it’s okay. My source material is a joke, that’s why I said it even before you did. But - a prick?”

He pauses, glancing away.

“A prick,” he repeats in a mumble. “I think that’s new… I like that, let me just…”

He hops out of bed and takes a journal from one of his dressers, and then opens it up to reveal a long list of descriptors, some more inane than others, all printed in scrappy handwriting down the lines of his notebook. There are general adjectives in some places - “strong,” “bold,” “foolish,” “cute,” “conniving,” “selfish,” “clever,” “sweet” - but other places have full phrases or apparently random words - “you fucking annoyance,” “loves kids,” “buddy,” “your own kind of superhero,” “my soldier,” “a joke Mark forgot about,” “martial arts nerd,” “eats all the fucking candy in the house” - and it goes on for pages and pages.

On the first open line, he pulls out a pen and writes “a bit of a prick.”

Anonymous asked: damn, shepard. what happened to you lot?

Shep puts down his pen and turns to you, grinning. “Ah, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that. It’s been a long… eight years? And you haven’t exactly kept up to date with me. Which isn’t your fault. I guess. Not really.”

He side-eyes you, flipping his pen between his fingers.

“Anyway, this is my first year back in Dark’s houses for a while. I was living in the city for a few years after Dark kicked me out because I kept, uh. Bringing criminals back to the house for interrogations. They said I brought too much attention to us, so they had Google throw me out. Guess I deserved it… it turned out to be mostly okay. I had my own apartment for a while. My own pet rat. I was teaching martial arts and making rent. Then I kind of got into some trouble trying to be a fucking hero again… and I got lonely. Stressed all the time. Can’t keep a girlfriend. Rat died. Kind of a breaking point for me. So I came back here. Because of course I did. Because I always do. Because I don’t have any purpose without somebody else fucking giving it to me.”

He sighs bitterly, scratching at the web of cuts on his leg from Anti’s vines last night. Some of them are fairly deep, but he’s just stuck a mess of Band-Aids over the top and went to sleep with a towel beneath his legs just in case.

Anonymous asked: are you happy with this, shep? i'm trying to figure out how much we can trust you.

“You can trust me entirely, we’re just not on the same side,” answers Shep frankly, raising his eyebrows at you. “What’s not to trust? I belong to Dark. That’s true. There you go. Make of it what you will. And as for being happy, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve done much nastier things for Dark and enjoyed them much more. Parts of my life are still hard on me, but I’ve done what Dark tells me for the better part of eight years, ever since I pulled my head out of my ass and realized Mark was never going to come back and make me a real hero. So now I make my own choices. Sometimes I make ones he probably wouldn’t make for me. Sometimes I make ones almost no one else would be able to make. And that’s freedom. That adrenaline… that knowing that you are changing someone else’s life, that you matter, even in the worst fucking way possible… that’s freedom.”

Anonymous asked: are you doing ok, shep? seems like your life's been a bit of a mess.

“Yeah,” laughs Shep. “Honestly, things are fine now. I’m just never getting out of this house, you know? I don’t know. Ippy moved out two years ago. Yan’s in prison and nobody wants to bust her out after what she did. Dark has Google throw out or kill anybody who annoys them. Wil travels half the year, Eric works at the aquarium, Host’s published, even the twins have jobs, haha. And Bim…”

Silver scratches bitterly at his legs, maybe trying to draw a little blood now, bored of the scabs.

“Ran off about four months ago,” he mutters. “I miss him. Asshole. Didn’t tell me where he was going. Doesn’t answer his phone. Could have taken me with him. There was nobody quite that chaotic. I don’t know, maybe Dark just killed him to stop him from making our faces too public like he always wanted to, the little showman. But no, it’s okay. I’m like Google, you know? I’m just always going to be stuck in this fucking house. But I like it pretty well. Dark keeps me busy. And I like when the others come visit. I’m pretty much friends with everybody. Maybe I’ll get another rat soon.”

He flashes you a sudden look of alarm, his hands drawing away from his legs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m… first time I get to talk to you in years and I don’t have anything worth saying, I just - I can tell you stories! Maybe. Uh. I’m not good at telling stories. Ask Host. I should have taken video then so I could have something to show you. You’re going to forget again and then all of this will be for nothing and no one will even see me differently. Eight years! Fuck. Do you want to go talk to somebody else? I bet you do. Well, sorry I’m not good enough for you, okay? Guess I never was. Whatever.”

He shoves the camera onto the bed, picking tersely at his mouth.

The door swings suddenly open. A figure in a long coat leans against the doorway, crossing his arms.

“I can hear you being a little bitch all the way from my room,” drawls Host.

“Oh, fuck off!”

Host laughs and leaves him again. He’s not interested in chatting.

“This story isn’t about us,” he calls back at Shep. “Don’t damage the narrative integrity with your need for their attention. Let them see their baby brother. He’s not well.”

Anonymous asked: hey, shep, don't you start saying you're not good enough for us. no matter what mark says or did to you, made you a joke or whatnot, that doesn't mean you can't become something different. and i have no doubt that one day, people will know you, and people will love you. maybe you'll have your own story. you just... can't rely on mark to write it for you. sometimes you have to do things like that for yourself. and for what it's worth, i think you're pretty cool. you're different. for example, what's up with that book you just wrote in?

Shep grins weakly, acknowledging the foolishness of his own outburst.

“I try to get rid of the thoughts of him,” he says. “You should hear Dark snarl about the stories Mark told about them… but I’m just jealous. It’s stupid. And you guys - you never - ”

He shrugs and lets out a huff, the irritation fading again. He knows it’s all useless and unfair, but it never stops eating at him. What could have been. But he tries to cheer up for you.

“These are just things I am or might be,” he says, hefting the book. “Things other people have called me. I try to figure out which ones are true. And which ones I want to be. I’m not good at that part so much, though. Sometimes I decide I want to be, like, nice, but then next thing I know I’m shouting at somebody for looking at me wrong, ha. I’m glad the others put up with me. I mean, some of them are dicks. But we kind of make a team together.”

“I’m not what I was then,” he adds after a moment. “So maybe I broke away a little. But at the same time, I’m not sure the story I’ve told is the one that I wanted. Or the one that I want.”

Anonymous asked: it's okay, shep, we don't mind hearing you talk. could we go see dapper, though? i'm a little worried about him.

Shep lets out a sigh, breathing out some of his anxiety. “Yeah. Sure. Is that actually his goddamn name? We’ve got some pretty nutty names around here, but not ‘Dapper.’ I guess it’s kind of cute.”

He gets to his feet and scoops you up, wandering down the stairs. The house is quiet but for the whirling of a fan overhead and the buzzing of a show somebody left playing on the TV. Out in the yard, you catch a glimpse of a few of them playing badminton, dropping the birdie most of the time and then racing each other to pick it up and bring it back to their side. Wilford’s booming voice drifts into the house as though from much farther away than it is. Around their feet, barking joyfully, is a dog almost as enormous as Anti’s wolf-like form, wagging its tail furiously and racing to the birdie along with its owners.

“Actually,” says Shep, pausing outside the only door with extra locks. “I’m not sure Ippy will want me inside. Let’s see if he’s in here.”

He pushes the door gently open. Edward only glances up for a second before turning back to his notes. It’s a makeshift clinic room, barely even the size of the bedrooms, and it’s cramped with a desk and a bed and some examination equipment and dressers with supplies in them. Dapper’s on the bed, tucked up tight, asleep.

“What’s that?” asks Ippy.

“Uh, a camera.”

“Is it now?” he answers dryly.

“There’s an audience or something.”

“Is there someone who can tell me what’s going on with my patient?”

“Well. I guess. I think.”

Ippy reaches out, beckoning for the camera. Shep hands it over and Ippy drops you on the bed, still scrawling in his little notebook. “I’d like medical history, please, allergies, recent injuries, notable behaviors, sleeping habits, blood type, next of kin, etc. Start talking.”

Shep chuckles at his bluntness and pulls up a chair beside him, grinning at his friend as he works.

“What are you looking at?” mutters Ippy, and he reaches out to shove playfully at Shep’s head. “Called me in on my day off for this, huh. Fuckers. You’re lucky he’s actually sick or I’d be peeved.”

Anonymous asked: you can always change. seriously, shep, it's never too late to become someone different. and i'm sorry that none of us did anything. it's difficult, when mark made so many videos and gave so many more characters attention and left others with nothing. you did not deserve that, and i'm genuinely so sorry. does mark still even make videos? we haven't heard anything about him in a long time.

“You’re talking to them about this?” asks Ippy.

Shep shrugs, settling down in his chair.

“It’s very simple, Shepherd. Mark doesn’t have much control of his power and even if he did you were still early enough that you would have been created.”

“I know, Ip.”

“Telling a story about you would only limit your freedom and subject us to more publicity, which is dangerous.”

“I know, Ippy.”

“The audience can’t do anything for us without videos and them dwelling on the thought of us does not make you any more of a - ”

“I know, Edward!” snaps Shep. “Okay?”

Ippy rolls his eyes and turns back to Dapper.

“Mark makes videos sometimes, but he focuses on bigger productions,” adds Shep with a sigh. “I think he mostly wrapped up ego stuff, but you never know with him. We don’t talk. And ever since he got that bigger deal as a real producer - ”

“Can we not talk about Mark?” asks Ippy. “I don’t like hearing about him. He’s fine, I guess, but I just prefer to live a Mark-less life at this point, thanks. A life unmarked by Mark, as it were.”

“You really are peeved today.”

“I just have boundaries, Shep, maybe you should learn some.”

.

Dok wakes to the buzzing of the lights in the bathroom.

He shifts uncomfortably, feeling his back protest, but the cold plastic of a hospital chair is much better than waking up in that room back in the house, aching on the unfinished floor, dreaming of spiders crawling over his skin. He shudders and sits up, pulling his - oh. This is Red’s hoodie, wrapped around him. He sighs and glances at his brother splayed over the side of Blue’s bed, dead asleep.

The bathroom is silent but for those burning lights. He waits a long time, but nothing moves.

“Blue?” he calls wearily, getting to his feet. He knocks his fist gently against the door. “Okay? Want the nurse or something?”

Blue doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Blue, no silences,” he begs with a sigh, rubbing at his head. “Too many nights finding Trick hurting himself in the bathroom. Come on.”

Blue mumbles something. Dok grimaces and pushes open the door.

He’s okay, which he’s grateful for, though he’s almost too tired to be relieved. He steps forward and takes Blue carefully by the wrists. He was just standing there staring at them. Too intently. Too blankly.

“What’s going on?” asks Dok.

Blue turns to look at him and his eyes are fogged and all but blind. Dok touches his cheek to ground him, sighing in his brother’s stead.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t have to be sorry. Tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t… know. Just… looking at myself. So weird.”

“What’s weird?”

Blue reaches out and touches his own reflection on the surface of the mirror.

“Not me,” he mumbles. “More and more often, it’s not me. Not real. It makes me feel really… I don’t… I don’t like it.”

Dok shifts on his feet and pulls his sibling’s fingers away. “That’s called dissociation,” he says. “I get it too sometimes when Anti uses me. It can’t be easy having been possessed so often lately.”

Blue shakes his head numbly, managing to fix his eyes on him for a moment. “Dissociation,” he repeats.

“Let’s ground. Tell me three things about your body.”

“What?”

“Look. In the mirror. Tell me three things about yourself. Anything. Obvious things. It’s okay.”

Blue stares into the mirror, blinking. His mouth parts. But he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, there are tears welling in his eyes.

“Blue,” breathes Dok.

“Sorry,” repeats Blue frailly, turning away from the sight of himself, covering his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to see himself. He doesn’t want Dok to look at him. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him ever again.

“What’s going on?”

“I just want Anti’s fucking head, alright?” snaps Blue. “I just want to murder him. And then I’ll feel like myself again, and I’ll get my magic back, and then my body back, and we can have a chance to be okay again. And until then I just have to deal with this. Until I rip his goddamn throat out. Like I promised him I would. When my hands are covered in his blood, then I’ll feel better.”

Dok looks at him, taken a little aback. His hands curl together nervously on his stomach. He stares down at the floor.

Blue sighs bitterly through his teeth, shaking his head. “I know you don’t like talking about blood. Sorry.”

Dok shrugs. “Is fine.”

“Dok, I just can’t take much more, you know that, I know you feel the same way… surely you get this same bloodlust, don’t you, my darling? He’s been torturing you. Don’t you want to torture him back?”

Dok’s stomach turns. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

“I would not like to ever torture anybody ever again,” he says quietly. “I have had my fair share, thank you.”

They stand side-by-side in the bathroom, frowning together, cold.

“What if it doesn’t make it better?” asks Dok.

“What?”

“What if killing Anti doesn’t make it feel better?”

“Killing Anti will solve most every problem of mine I can think of,” answers Blue soundly, straightening up.

“Oh, goodness,” grumbles Dok, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even going to start with you.”

“Better not, you sassy little monkey man.”

“Monkey man? I am monkey man? How dare you say this.”

“Yeah. You’re bananas.”

“Blue, I will end you.”

But he’s laughing now and that’s what matters. Dok snorts and rolls his eyes, trying to let himself laugh a little too. He leaves the bathroom and flops down on his chair, gazing at Blue as he limps back into his bed and sits down. They look at each other for a long moment, trying to make each other smile with their own tired grins.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” whispers Blue. “I wish I could keep all of you safe.”

“Don’t have to be sorry,” Dok says again, letting his eyes slip shut. “I know you’re trying so hard. It’s not your fault at all.”

“I’ll kill Anti for you,” Blue swears, his eyes shining through the haze that seems to lie over them most days. “Then we can be okay again.”

“And what if we can’t?” asks Dok, barely even registering the words before he feels them leave his mouth. “What if we can’t kill him, Blue? What happens then?”

Blue stares out at the smog of the sky, wishing he could see the stars.

“Then I think he’ll kill us instead,” he answers simply. “And then, either way… it’ll be over.”

Dok nods slowly, not opening his eyes. Blue reaches out. They hold each other’s hands in the low light.

.

Anonymous asked: Hey there Ippy, we don't know much about Jameson medically, besides that he has schizophrenia and takes the medicine Haloperidol/Haldol, and he's allergic to rowan (as though he might be a chageling?). He's not a regular human either, he's basically Jacksepticeye's version of you guys.

“Ohhh,” says Ippy, standing slightly outside his clinic, arms crossed over his chest and eyes wide. “Schizophrenia. I’m relieved, actually. Because if this was fever delirium… we would have a problem.”

Google leaps out of the room, synthetic blood dripping down his neck, and slams the door hard behind him, panting. From within the room, hissing.

“Kid’s fucking nuts,” Gigi snarls.

“Kid’s fucking delusional,” answers Ippy sharply. “And that’s not his fault. This is on you for kidnapping somebody with a psychotic disorder.”

“He would have died there anyway,” sneers Gigi, stalking past Ippy. He has a red shirt now instead of blue. “That little monster wasn’t going to get him any help for that infection. And if you don’t do something fast, he’ll die here instead. He’s exhausting himself. Sedate him again.”

“No. Too much sedating. We have to calm him down. I’ll give him his Haldol intravenously so he can’t throw it up with this fever. You just have to steal some for me.”

“I only take orders from the Darkness,” answers Google.

Ippy sighs and shakes his head, turning stonily back to the door of his clinic. “If this doesn’t change, I’m sending him back to his brothers.”

“That place has no family. And Dark will speak with him before he’s let go. You get him well enough that he can have a discussion, then he’s free to go.”

Anonymous asked: JJ, honey, are you doing alright? I know you must be absolutely terrified right now, but at the very least you're getting medical treatment and they plan to give you back to Anti after you have a discussion with the Darkness. I know it'll be absolutely terrifying, but I think it's the only way to get home. Ippy is going to give you Haldol, if you'll let him? You'll feel much clearer if you do, then maybe you can make plans on what to do next.

JJ has not struggled this much with his symptoms since he and Red were homeless in Columbia and he knows it.

But he can’t make it stop.

“Tell my big brothers to come get me if they have to kill everyone in this house to do it!” his hands scream, and that is the last coherent thought you get out of him.

He moves! He has to move. He doesn’t just pace, he darts around the room, he races. His hands strike strike strike every surface. He pauses only for a moment to be sick over the waste basket, leaving him pale and dizzy, but even then his body is consumed by wracking spasms and shakes. He spins in a circle. He can’t stop looking at the lights no matter how hard he tries. His eyes are up, up, up. Fluttering, rolled back. Watching the light. Fixed on the light. If he looks away bad things will happen. The cameras told him so. Didn’t they? Someone did and he knows it must be true. He has to look at the light or the Darkness will get him.

“I’m already here,” whispers Dark’s voice in JJ’s head. He spasms and jolts back with terror, rubbing at his arms and shaking himself like he’s trying to act out a seizure, but despite his frantic motion and his fear, his face is numbed to any emotion, blank as it was when Red would struggle to understand him in Columbia. Dapper starts to sign wildly, but the words don’t make sense together to anyone but him.

“Skin. I was in. Blood up tree branch he made me go there and I didn’t want to! Can’t Red come? Miss candy and bedsheets, where? The radio, turn down. Does my blood come up? Does my blood rise?”

Ippy peeks his head inside the room. Dapper turns and sends a lamp flying towards him, smashing it against the wall, and Ippy ducks away again. Dapper grins joylessly, with his teeth, his eyes rolled towards the lights on the ceiling. He holds up his wrists and his hands dangle as though on string. Then he crumples to the ground, dazed and panting, scratching at the fever in his face.

“Jackie,” he begs. “Chase.”

Anonymous asked: dapper, jamie, my dear. you're okay, yeah? we would tell you if we thought you were in danger. and now i'm telling you to try to be calm, okay? we'll tell you if we think you're in danger. i promise.

For just a moment, he manages to drag his flickering eyes over to you. There’s a red light on the camera. That counts, right? Does it? His hands search the floors for his bear. Trick packed his things. Didn’t he? But what if it was a trick? Isn’t that why he named him that? Also guns and grey shirts.

He rubs at his aching, pounding head, and swats at a tactile hallucination on his legs. Just a snake, though, and those you don’t have to worry about. It’s dogs and cats that will tear their teeth into you.

He registers the promise vaguely, but his paranoia is so high he could be home safe and sound and still feel that Dark was slowly killing him. He casts his eyes over your message, counting the y’s. Nine. Does that mean something? He knows it means something. The universe is trying to talk to him. God is trying to talk to him. He just needs to listen.

Anonymous asked: ippy's gonna get you your haldol, okay? he's kind. he won't hurt you. do you think you can agree to that, dap? that way, if you are in danger, it'll be clearer, and if it's a hallucination that'll be clearer too.

He would like his Haldol. He would. That’s one of the only mercies Anti usually grants him. He registers that someone is coming into the room and you said it was okay. He rocks his head back and forth, trying to think, feeling drool clinging to his lips. Where is he?

Ippy tries again. Creeping, patient, quiet.

“Are you feeling up to talking?” he asks quietly, when he manages to get into the room without being assaulted. Dapper learned from Anti and when he does not have a blade he makes use of his teeth and his mean white fingernails.

Dapper rocks his head, still trembling from the catatonia, burning with fever.

“I don’t know where to fucking start,” Ippy mumbles, kneeling down beside him. “You’re going to puke up your medication. Google might get you some of the liquid stuff, might not. Depends how generous he thinks he’s being. And what Dark tells him…”

Dapper shudders, baring his teeth.

“Please turn down the radio,” he says, clawing at his ears between signs, but it just looks like more frantic movement to Ippy. “So many people talking all at once.”

“Can I give you something for the fever?” asks Ippy, getting up to get him some water and medicine. “Yeah? Try to keep you hydrated? I need to look at your wrist.”

Dapper clutches his arm to his chest, squirming. “Anti? You’re playing games with me? Can I come out, please? Been good.”

scunneredzombie asked: Jay, they're going to give you some of your medicine. You have a really bad fever right now, it's most likely making the psychosis much much worse. We're here to help and so is Ippy. You will be okay. Breathe, Dapper, just breathe. You will get through this. Remind yourself of things you know are real, things that are unchanging and true no matter what. Cling to those for now. That's what I do during my psychotic episodes.

What’s real? What’s unchanging? What’s true?

Dapper squints his eyes up at the light on the ceiling and tries to think. His hand is still searching for his things. Ippy passes his backpack towards him and Dapper finds his bear, dragging his gaze down to it. Red and Blue and Dok got it for him for Christmas this year. He’s had it for months, even in Columbia. The fur is alpaca. It doesn’t feel quite like any other texture. Cloudy and thick at the same time. Warm. It still smells, faintly, of their home in Peru.

He tries to breathe.

“Okay, I’m going to try to give you some medicine here,” Edward warns him carefully, moving closer. “It’s good for you. Just to bring the fever down a little. I’ll look at your wrist again here in a minute.”

JJ scoots away, shaking his head, but it only makes him dizzy. A hundred voices speak to him. Edward’s is rich and deep and all too familiar. He concentrates on the faint beep of the camera, a sound he’s grown used to over months and months of what would otherwise be total loneliness.

He hopes Trick is okay at home. He’s sorry he left him alone.

Anonymous asked: yeah, you're doing well, dap. just gotta hang on a little longer, okay? and ippy will help you, dap. you don't have to trust him, but you trust us, don't you? and we trust him. it's okay, dap. you're gonna be okay.

Ippy takes his chin in his hand and angles him towards him.

Nope.

Anchors fall away and Dapper feels something inside himself snap. This has always been the rule. This has always been the rule, the rule he has learned since his creation: no one touches him but Anti and his brothers.

No one.

And the punishments he’s seen Anti inflict on those who broke that rule -

Dapper does not often wish for a voicebox that works. But right now, all he wants to do is fucking scream.

His teeth flash and bite down hard on Ippy’s hand, making Dark’s look-alike yelp in alarm. Dapper slams their heads together and grabs him by the throat, burning with fury, burning with fear, burning alive on a pyre he did not set, and then Google is there, and he has him by the hair, and he shoves a needle deep into the neck of Anti’s most savage attack dog.

Dapper quails, gripping frantically at Gigi’s hand. He chokes and looks up into deep brown eyes. There is no red glow.

He slides to the ground, asleep. Google lets him go.

“Alright?” asks Google quietly.

Ippy swears under his breath and puts his hand to his forehead, teeth marks indented in the skin. “I’m fine, goddammit.”

“Keep him asleep til he’s better,” says Gigi. “I will not tell you again.”

Edward shakes his head slowly, biting his lip, but he doesn’t protest.

Jamie sleeps. The fever is burning in his flesh.

Anonymous asked: Trick is right, Anti. You keep asking, multiple times now, "why did this all fall apart?" And the answer is because you constantly excuse your cruelty, excuse your abuse and all the pain you cause, by blaming Jack and saying you "can't control yourself". You, sir, are just as capable as anyone else in the world of controlling your temper and controlling your aggression. You need to stop making excuses. They will leave over and over and over if you do not change.

“Leave over and over,” mutters Anti under his breath, his eyes angry, aglow in the morning light through the great window in the master bedroom.

Trick is still asleep, though he shifts now, his hair mussed around his eyes. The roots have turned brown. The bright green is beginning to fade to yellow.

Anti wraps his arms around his waist, tugging him close. Trick rolls over with a yawn, trying to rise, but Anti’s grip holds him in place. Trick cracks open an eye and finds himself pressed against him.

“Anti, hey, wake up,” he mumbles, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “Lemme go. I want a shower and some coffee.”

Anti is already awake, but Trick can’t see that, and he doesn’t move. Trick pauses. He starts trying to squirm out of Anti’s arms without moving enough to wake him if he is sleeping, but he doesn’t have much luck. Anti tightens his arms around him as he tries to escape.

“Anti?”

Anti glares out the window, ignoring his wriggling. Eventually, blinking in surprise, Trick just stays in place.

Leave over and over. Anti grips his ribs until his fingernails put cuts in Trick’s shirt. Leave. Ha. He isn’t going anywhere.

Anonymous asked: are you alright then, anti?

Anti gets out of bed after a half hour has passed. Trick is hot and uncomfortable, needing to stretch and change out of his sweaty sleeping clothes and use the bathroom. But he’s stopped struggling by the time Anti releases him.

The glitch gets to his feet and picks out an appearance for the day in the mirror, settling on the younger man he wore when Dapper was created, ruffling teal hair in the mirror. Trick sits up and gives him a smile. Anti doesn’t answer your question, but the way he looks at Trick - he focuses on the bruises someone left in his wrist as they pulled him along. Something simmers in Anti’s eyes. He turns towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asks Trick, hurrying out of bed. “Hey - Anti? Come on, have breakfast with me or something. Don’t leave me, dude.”

“I have to go get your little brother,” answers Anti. “Just stay here, Trick.”

“Anti, I - ”

He glitches away.

Trick stares at the door, mouth slightly parted.

Anonymous asked: You gonna do something that will stop Dark from kicking your ass a second time?

“Where in the narrative did Dark kick my ass?” snaps Anti, stalking into the forest. “Last I checked I was tearing them and their fucking soldiers a new one when Bubblegum McGee scoops my kiddo off the ground and disappears like the deranged little thief he is. And then all of them went sprinting for the hills. No. When I find Dark, I’m burning down everything they love and tearing apart that mangled excuse for a spine of theirs. Then we’ll see if they remember me.”

Anonymous asked: Trick? You want to talk for a bit?

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” says Trick, trying to recover quickly, nodding his head and straightening up. “Yes, please. House is super quiet without anybody else! Last time I was this alone was when Blue was in hospital and I’d come back to the house and try not to worry about everybody else too much. But I do have Noodle! He’s always got my back. I’m just going to get changed and then we’ll go make some breakfast and check on kitty cat, yeah? Doesn’t have to be a sucky day just cause things are trying to go bad. I can stay positive.”

Anonymous asked: Alright, we'll just have a bit of a "you" day. Decompress a bit. It's good to check in on yourself and have a little time off. (Give noodle some pets please!)

“Yes,” laughs Trick. He worries at his hands, yes, kneading his fingers into his palms, and you can see the edge of a breakdown somewhere in the back of his eyes, but he has survived a lot and he wants to prove to himself that he can be okay even without Dok sometimes. Maybe even to be okay when Dok isn’t, so he can look after him better. So he can look after all of them better.

Next time they’re scared enough to run away, he wants to be someone they can trust.

“Decompress - play some games, probably - chill with my cat - cook a ton - swim, maybe… yeah!” Trick pulls his shirt over his head and turns toward the door, grabbing the handle. “I’ll - ”

It’s locked.

Trick stops. Tries it again. Stares. Glances at you. Tries again.

It’s still locked.

He stands in front of the door. His hand rests on the door handle.

Outside, a mewl.

Anonymous asked: can the window open, trick?

“The… window?” he asks. “Yeah… yeah, it can. But I’m on the second story.”

He moves to the window and lets it swing open. The fresh air and the scent of the forest are refreshing, but the red brick of the patio is still several meters down.

Anonymous asked: where's noodle?

Claws pick at the carpet outside Anti’s bedroom. Trick hurries back to the door and kneels down, crouching to try and see his cat through the crack beneath it.

“Mrow,” complains Noodle loudly, scraping at the carpet with his claws out. “Meehhhh.”

“Daddy’s here, kitty cat, I’m right here.” Trick reaches for him as though he could pull him beneath the door. Noodle attacks one of his fingers, chewing on the end, but Trick doesn’t even mind. “Are you hungry? I’m sorry I didn’t let you out last night. Things were crazy, baby. But I’m coming, boyo, I’ll… I’ll, uh…”

What is he supposed to do?

Anonymous asked: do you think anti will be mad if you leave the room?

“I don’t know. It was probably an accident.”

Noodle yowls on the other side of the door. Trick stares at his kitten’s paws, his eyebrows drawn back in worry. You see him look down at his feet.

He knows it wasn’t an accident. And he wouldn’t have locked it if he was okay with Trick leaving.

Anonymous asked: Okay unless we know a for our window downstairs is unlocked, I wouldn't use the window, don't want you getting locked out of the house entirely. You think you might be able to find a key or break the lock if you need to?

“It’s… maybe I could? I don’t want to get in trouble. But there’s no keyhole on this side. I’d have to really bust the door up. And then he’d be so angry.”

Trick steps back from the door, chewing on his nails. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay. I wish he hadn’t done this, but he did. I’m safe in here. I have a bathroom with water and all the stuff I packed into a bag in case I got kidnapped is here. Dapper was keeping food in the drawers. I’m okay. But my poor cat…”

Anonymous asked: for now, at least, you can make sure noodle has food, right? is the food only in there? maybe you can grab a little something and push it under the door

“That’s a good idea. Okay, let me look.”

He goes back to the bottom drawer and pulls it open to reveal Dapper’s stash. He recoils a little, scrunching up his nose - he hadn’t realized how bad it smelled in the panic of last night, but now he notices.

“This is kind of nasty… we’ve only been here a couple weeks. Why would he keep - ugh, cheese!” Trick chucks the hot string cheese towards the trash, making a gagging motion. “He has to know this would go bad right away, right? Why even take it? Look, my cookies from last week. Hard as rocks cause he didn’t even ask me to wrap them. There’s lint on them. He just shoved them in his pockets. Fuck’s sake… oh!”

Here’s some stuff that should still be edible. Crackers still in their packs. A couple apples. Tupperware with brownies. One pack of raisins, one pack of dried cranberries. And a little pack of Dapper’s favorite - jerky. Most of it is gone, but there are a few good chunks still at the bottom.

“At least I can give him something, then,” says Trick, taking a breath.

Anonymous asked: Anti keeps his favorite trophy locked up in a case when not in use

Trick looks at you, eyes wide, and then away, trying to make himself scowl. He crouches down beside the door and pushes dried meat towards his cat. Noodle seems to accept the offering. He goes quiet and Trick hears him chewing. It’ll take him a while to get through that.

Trick sits back on his heels and stares at the door.

“Always wanted to be Anti’s favorite trophy,” he mumbles, something frightened and tired passing across his face. “Or thought I did, I guess.”

Anonymous asked: you have a choice, then, trick. do you want our help in leaving the room, to go to noodle? or will you stay here and wait for anti to come back and let you out?

Trick sighs and slumps down against the door, rubbing at his face. He stares out the window and thinks.

“You know… I think I’ll try to stay here for a while,” he says, giving you a smile that looks more like a grimace. “It’s not bad. We’ve definitely stayed in much worse places! I have lots of room and a clean bathroom and everything I need. Maybe I’ll take a bath. Yeah… it’s okay.”

He glances around the room. How long has he been in here? Two hours? Oh, twenty minutes. He bites his lip and sighs. He puts his head between his knees and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Always kind of knew it couldn’t really be fun for anybody to be locked in a room all day. But I thought maybe, with Dapper’s nerves, it was better for him just to stay up there with Anti. And when I imagined it, I guess I made everything nice. Him getting to eat his own food, sleep whenever he wants, just working on his art all the time. Doing whatever he wanted, you know? I usually imagined Anti actually… being here, though. Yeah. I guess that I thought that when he loved me, I’d be able to feel it.”

Trick pauses, looking up. Looking out at the sun.

“That’s always the thing with me, though,” he says. “Even when I know for a fact people love me - it doesn’t always feel that way. And I thought - well, Anti, he just… with his power, it’s like he can make me feel that way. Or maybe it’s just him. But those days when I would just spend all my time praying to impress him… and then he would brush his hand across my hair or smile at me… it would be my favorite part of the week. Like I finally got it all right. Like I’m finally worthwhile.”

He puts his head down again, looking at the carpet, his fringe falling into his eyes. It occurs to him that he doesn’t really like bright green. Or dying yellow.

“I love him,” he says, a little hollowly. “But I think maybe Dok was always right. Nobody else can magically fix me. I need to stop expecting Anti to put everything right in my head. That’s not fair to either of us. I should have been happier just being with Dok. Cause Anti gave me these bursts of joy, yeah, and he’s trying to be better to me these days - but Dok has been the earth beneath my feet for months now.”

He stares at the food in the drawer, rotting. He tugs uselessly on the door handle. He stares around the silent, empty room, and the silence stares back, and says nothing.

“I shouldn’t have been jealous of my little brother,” says Trick, heart sinking. “I should have been making sure he had ground to stand on too.”

Anonymous asked: yeah, i get that, trick. and i think anti does love you, as much as he can love someone anyway. although, trick, you don't have to answer this now, and if you don't want to talk about this right now i'll stop, but trick? if given a choice between dok and anti, who would you choose?

“Oh, hey,” protests Trick, a little weakly. “That’s family both, we don’t talk like that. Hey, it’s okay to love people in different ways, and I know you don’t like Anti. But the truth is that just because I’m closer to Dok, I would never ‘choose him’ over any of the others. We all gotta just love each other in the way we need. I want to do what’s best for all of them. If… if Dok and Red and Blue need some space from Anti, well… maybe they should have some. But even if I lived with some of them instead of the others, it’s not because I’m trying to pick someone as my favorite. We just all need different things at different times. Whoever needs me most is who I ‘choose.’ Whoever I can help. And I hope it’s always… all of them, you know? When you’re a family, helping one person is good for everyone.”

Anonymous asked: It's easy to fall into a "grass is greener" mentality but abuse is abuse no matter if you're crouched by a window with a gun, locked away in an attic, or running through the streets with stolen drugs. I don't blame you for wanting a higher standing with Anti but he's not going to give you what you want, to no failing of your own.

“Ha! Okay, fair… maybe being in the basement and being in the attic both kind of suck. But I’ve always had Dok. Having someone there with you is what makes it not sucky. Look, this house is fucking awesome! But there’s no one here with me right now. And that does kind of suck, even worse than when Dok and I were sleeping in the same pile of cheap blankets beside a window in a broken down cabin during a Norwegian fall. We had a good time in Norway, didn’t we? Before everything went wrong? Do you remember… we got fish in a restaurant in town, ha… and I got my crinkle paper…”

Trick pulls it out of the pocket of his basketball shorts and presses his fingers to the crinkly baby paper, familiar and fond. He smiles while his eyes grieve.

Anonymous asked: Those sound like fair conclusions, Trick. It sounds like you've been thinking a lot about yourself and how you've interacted with your family in the past. That's really good; well done. For what it's worth, I am really sorry you got left here alone. You don't deserve that. Are you sure you don't want help leaving, or looking for something else to do?

“Aww, you guys are like my therapists now,” laughs Trick, genuinely pleased. “That’s sweet, thanks. No, um… I’ll stay here a while, I guess. Think Dap would mind me looking through his sketchbooks? Maybe I’ll draw a little myself. Or… write, maybe. Yeah. Maybe I’ll write a little.”

Anonymous asked: trick, that's admirable. and i do mean that. you have a lot of loyalty. but trick, it's not just that they need some space from anti. anti has hurt them, time and time again. family doesn't hurt each other like that, trick. anti has gone too far, many, many times.

“I am loyal,” he agrees quickly, because that’s something he’s always known and one of the few things he’s almost always liked about himself. “Yes. Mh.”

He pulls his eyes away from the rest of the message uncertainly, fiddling with his hands as he sits down on Anti’s bed and pulls Dapper’s latest sketchbook off the bedside drawer. He’s grinning for a minute. They’re mostly pictures of animals. Some people scattered in there - dancers and babies and old people in love. Dapper’s good and he’s gotten even better since the last time Trick checked in on his art, which was… how long ago?

But there are other things in the pages too.

Faces that almost hurt from how familiar and yet unrecognizable they are. Images Trick recognizes from Dapper’s hallucinations, painful and threatening. One baby that is not like the rest in a way Trick can’t express. And… himself?

Himself burning?

Trick takes a moment to realize what this is. The night he got the burn that now laces from his palm to the back of his hand. He hadn’t realized Dapper remembered, or was even there, watching, as it happened.

In the image, a dark figure shoves him towards the fire. His shirt sleeve is already ablaze, his hand consumed, and yet - despite the fire, despite the pain, his eyes are like those of a monk in Mass, wide, adoring, tear-filled - and those eyes are fixed on the creature pulling him into the flame.

Trick shoves the sketchbook away from him, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he croaks, turning his face away from you. “Later. Okay? Later, I promise, just… not right now.”

It is the second time he has pushed your concerns aside in as many nights. There are messages waiting for him that he’s avoiding. But he still isn’t ready to hear it.

Anonymous asked: okay. that's okay, trick. do you wanna talk about something else, then? i can tell you a funny thing one of my birds did, if you'd like.

“Ha. Birds, wow, that’s awesome. Yeah, sure! Tell me.”

Anonymous asked: alright! so, my sister has an obvious favorite, and the bird knows it, and likes to hang out on people's shoulders and stuff. and today, she flew up onto my arm, and then stared at me face very curiously, and so i started talking to her, and she immediately tried to eat my teeth. very smart bird, who apparently does not quite get what is or is not food. she's very funny.

Trick snorts and covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, no! I do not like the sensation I am imagining. A beak picking at my teeth, haha. Geez. Sounds like a funny bird. Noodle likes to try to eat toes when we move at night.”

Anonymous asked: oh, yeah, my friend's cats are kinda like that too. for a while, when they were kittens, we had to be careful because they would try to attack our feet. is noodle chaotic like that?

“Half the time he is nuts-o crazy boy, and then half the time he pretends he’s a perfect angel and he just wants all of Daddy’s attention and all of Uncle’s attention and everybody’s attention one hundred percent of the time. And he looks up at you and cries until you scratch him.”

Anonymous asked: oooo, do you write, trick?

“Well, I thought since I’m sure jabbering your guys’ ears off, I could write some shit down. Dok had me do that for a while once. It was right after… well, there’s blurry spots in my memory. It was right after I started being his twin. I was pretty low. I was, um. Self-harming a lot. Losing a lot of my memories. So he recommended I write stuff down. Whatever I was feeling. And he said even he wouldn’t read it, he promised. We were in this kind of warehouse place at the time, and there was nowhere to sleep. Not a lot of privacy except my pieces of paper. They’re gone now. But I think they kept me focused on something, at the time.”

He holds Dapper’s pencil in his hand, taking a loose sheet of paper. But his eyes get fixed on the stretched out sketchbook on the floor once again. He looks away from the image of himself with a grimace.

That night - that look on his face - that wasn’t what he remembers. Not exactly.

Want to know a secret? he writes.

He has scrawling, beautiful, messy handwriting.

I was pissed at you that night. You left me and Dok to freeze. I don’t even think I started that fire because I was trying to keep Dok warm.

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. Bites on his lip. Puts his pencil back down.

I wanted to make you angry. I wanted there to be a confrontation. I was angry at you. But I didn’t know how to tell you because you didn’t care about me back then and that was what burned, more than this goddamn scar on my hand. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. But all you did was hurt me worse. You act like you want things to be good between us now but we’ve never even talked about

He stops and sighs and scowls before crumpling the paper up, scratching at his scalp.

“Forget it,” he mumbles. “Not that. Just…”

Noodle mewls at the door, beginning to get bored with his jerky. Trick smiles softly and chuckles, turning away.

When you were a kitten your body was like a slinky and I could feel every one of your bones. Hot little spine rubbing against my wide palms. Big fuzzy leaf ears. When you were a kitten you made a weight beneath my throat and when I breathed I would feel the tiny thump of your heart. You are the memory of someone I lost.

And Trick is stopped again, closing his eyes again, turning away again.

“Maybe I’ll just go get a hot bath. Relax a while. I’m okay. Poor kitty cat. Don’t be lonely, okay, baby boy? I’ll be back in a while.”

Anonymous asked: Keep your head high and your standards higher, Trick.

“My standards for this rich guy’s bath are high as fuck right now,” he says, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “Motherfucker got bath bombs and everything. This better be some Spirited Away experience or I’m out. Minus the evil lady, though. Just the big steamy bath and the nostalgia, please. Hey, keep an eye on my kitty for me, yeah? You’re still in the cameras all over the house? I’ll be out in a little while. Maybe a long while. Thanks, guys. Uh. For real.”

Anonymous asked: I'm sure noodle is going to be okay, Trick. If you're worried about him just stay near the door and he should be fine óvò You might want to try to slip him something to eat tho, I have no idea when was the last time anyone could've fed that kitty

Trick slips him one more piece of jerky and lets him chew on his finger for a moment before he slips into the bathroom. Noodle has his snack happily outside the door, and then, deprived of Trick’s presence, he goes exploring.

Trick has made toys for him out of anything he could find. He plays with string and a ball that makes a jangling sound. He zips around the house for a while. He searches for Trick and Dok, or anybody to give him some attention.

Usually they’re down in the basement. Usually they all stay down in the basement, Noodle himself shut in most of the day to avoid Anti, though he’s perfectly content to stay down there with everything he needs. But today, he gets to explore. The door was opened while Dark’s soldiers searched the house and he’s free to roam. It’s a little exciting.

He’s okay. For now, he’s okay. Trick has fed him and there’s a little water still in his bowl by the door. He’s okay.

But Trick was too hot in his bed for a reason. And he’s right - the windows do open.

Noodle gets tired of the basement. Noodle gets tired of his toys. Noodle wants to see Trick and the others.

He explores. The fresh breeze and the smell of the trees - the movement of the grass and the warmth of the sun - the song of the birds, the scurrying of mice, the cool water of the pool - they call to him.

He has not been outside since he was too small for anything but milk. Not until today.

He slips out through the window of Red and Blue’s room, and he explores.

Anonymous asked: hey, shep? dapper's brother has a golden cat, who we just saw leave, but he's away from the cameras at the moment so we can't tell him about it yet. could you and the others keep an eye out for the cat? his name is noodle, although i don't know if he knows it or not.

Shep hears the beeping in his pocket and pulls the camera out immediately.

“Shep! Come on, throw it in!”

“Just a second!”

His eyes scan your message and brighten, a hint of gold from the sun lighting up the brown curve of his irises. He feigns disinterest for a moment, pausing to kick a soccer ball back towards someone on the lawn. You can hear a dog barking and voices chatting. The sun is overhead. It’s a beautiful day.

“Would that make you happy?” asks Shep. “If I found the cat for you?”

He looks up at the forest.

Outside of the sunlight, Darkness reigns in more ways than one. The trees are thick and tall and heavy, shrouding the earth in a loving chill. Animals scamper across the dirt and lean plants curl up from the ground and latch onto the broad backs of trees, clinging to damp red wood. And for miles - for miles - it stretches on before him.

“Okay, then,” he says. “I will.”

Anonymous asked: it would help. thank you, shep. anti doesn't like animals, so i wouldn't recommend bringing the cat back to the house they're in, but you can bring it here and we'll tell the brother about it.

“I’ll start looking right now,” he says. “It’s a big forest. But I can do it.”

Anonymous asked: sleeby jj...Soff sleeby bean.. get well soon

His eyes slide open to your familiar light.

He stares at you for a second, his eyes heavy with shadowed circles.

Then he registers the message and manages to roll his eyes for the first time in days, huffing out a bit of a sigh.

“Not a bean.”

It’s only as he signs it that he realizes he’s no longer restrained.

He sits up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead and grimacing. He doesn’t feel well at all. His stomach swims with nausea and he can feel his blood chugging sluggishly through his veins. But it’s better than the last few days.

He glances around the room, blinking slowly. He’s alone and there’s light streaming in through the barred window.

Alright. He’s had his nap. Time to start trying to escape.

Anonymous asked: Jj, think about this first. Anti is already coming for you, and if you try to escape you'll be in miles and miles of unknown forest, with no haldol, no medication for your fever, and no way to be sure you can get home. At least maybe wait until you've gotten over the infection and until you can steal some haldol to have with you? Just trying to analyze the situation fully before action is taken.

“I am not going to sit quietly while the monster who has haunted my nightmares - well, one of them - keeps me prisoner. I only do that for Anti. Come on, don’t be boring! Help me get out, yeah?”

He struggles to his feet, but as soon as he’s found a moment of balance he loses it again, tumbling into the wall and holding himself there on shaking arms and legs. He swallows thickly and turns towards the windows, yanking on the bars with his good hand. The other one is swaddled so thickly in bandages he can barely feel it, but at least his fingers stick out to let him speak most words.

That being said, he has about four good yanks on those bars before his head is swimming. He slumps against the wall, clinging to the metal. His whole body aches.

“Maybe you have a point,” he admits sullenly, rubbing at his face.

Anonymous asked: Haha, sorry Jay, not trying to be boring! I just want to make sure you've got a second voice to help think clearly. Look around you maybe? See any spare haldol or fever medication you can swipe and save up for when you do the grand escape?

“Thank you,” says JJ, grinning slowly, though nothing quite makes it to his eyes. “Okay, let me look. I think I must have something in me now because my psychosis is a lot less intense right now.”

He glances around the room. He isn’t hallucinating and his thinking is much clearer, but his expressions are still dulled, his face is twitching, and he isn’t sure what’s true and what’s not. He needs rest and a lot less stress.

He checks the drawers, but everything’s locked up.

nikkilbook asked: JJ, remind me again why Dark frightens you so much? I’m sorry, but I can’t remember clearly. He doesn’t remember any of you either. He showed up that first time because he didn’t know why Anti was trespassing in his territory.

Dapper looks over at you.

He turns away for a second, chewing on his nail. Shrugs. Sits down on the bed.

“Not a fun time,” he signs eventually.

scunneredzombie asked: Rest up, if you can, JJ! I'm almost completely certain you'll be safe here. Darkness won't hurt you because they want you healthy enough to talk to them. You need rest and to let your haldol take effect.

“Dark can do a lot worse things than hurting anybody,” he answers. “It’s the talking to them that’s more likely to fuck me up than anything. And I never want to see them again. Tell them to leave me alone! Where’s my big brothers? Are they coming to get me yet?”

Anonymous asked: How are you feeling, JJ? Still burning up?

“I actually feel quite cold.” He hugs his arms around his sunken chest, staring around the room. His lips are chapped to blood and his face is the color of bleach. He doesn’t look well.

“This is miserable,” he admits, his signs soft. “I remember when I was created I always had energy and felt strong and healthy most of the time, even when I got hurt. I bounced back. The last few months, I’m just… every day I’m sicker. My bones break and I catch every cold and infection. Keep have psychotic episodes. Don’t sleep well.”

He realizes he’s just complaining and makes himself stop, digging his nails into his palms. Won’t help anything. He needs to get out.

He creeps to the door and takes the handle in his hand.

“Going somewhere?”

He turns, spitting, back to his bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up like an angry cat’s as he snatches a pen off the nearest counter for self-defense.

Wilford nods patiently, following his movements as he swings his legs on the side of the little clinic bed. “Very good, very good.”

“You stay away from me.”

“Oh, my dear, forgive me, I don’t understand a word of that. Shall I get you paper?”

Dapper steps away from him, watching him with glittering eyes. After a moment, he nods.

Wilford pulls a pad of paper out from behind his back as though it had been there all along and sets it on the bed beside himself, smiling.

“What are you so frightened of, young man? Come on, then, calm down.”

Anonymous asked: Are you wearing your dress-shoes? The heel might be good for smashing the locks off the drawers! Though you'd have to be uh... as quiet as smashing can be haha.

JJ looks down at his bare feet. He scowls. Just like the day he was created.

But Wilford has boots on. “Give me those,” he demands.

Wilford doesn’t speak sign language, but he gets the gesture. “Sure,” he says, tugging a boot off and tossing it to him.

Dapper slams a desk drawer handle remorselessly. A loud clang signals the death of the handle as it flies to the ground. Dapper yanks the drawer open.

“Ippy says you’re all sorts of unhealthy,” says Wilford cheerfully, still kicking his legs, halfway bootless now. “Do you feel better today? He said you have so little Vitamin D he could probably break your bones with a pillowcase. You need some sun, dear boy!”

Dapper searches through the drawer, but there’s nothing but cotton swabs, gloves, tongue depressors and everything boring. He raises the boot and smashes another dresser handle, a little breathless.

scunneredzombie asked: Anti is trying to find you right now, I'm pretty sure. I understand not wanting to see them, they're frankly a terrifying jedi-powers 3D glasses fender-bender in you all's life. You'll be home soon, JJ. But you need rest right now, you could end up hurting yourself if you're in a bad mindset or not with the proper medication. I know being careful is no fun, but right now it seems like the best option. I know this sounds fucked, but trust Anti to find you. Like he'd give you up that easily, ha,,

“You don’t want to see Dark?” asks Wilford, finally sounding genuinely wounded. “Oh…”

“You stop,” signs JJ fiercely, whirling on him. “You’re lucky you’re out of your mind or I’d call you a creep for staying around that horrible - that horrible - thing. Whatever. Leave me alone. You’re a killer just like them.”

“I think your camera’s right. You ought to sit. You don’t look very well.”

Dapper glares, panting a little. He glances around the room again, a sense of despair shuddering its way over him. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. He grips at his hair, breathing through his teeth.

“Hey,” says Wilford. “It’s okay. Can you hear me at all? Do I need to be writing things down too? My handwriting is very good. Would you like some water?”

He clears his dry throat, his eyes flickering over to Wilford. Actually, he would. He’s parched.

Wilford nods and gets up. He disappears for a second and returns with a glass of water. JJ takes it from him with shaking hands, sinking down onto the bed.

Anonymous asked: Hey Wilford, you're not... planning on hurting JJ, are you? You don't seems like you have any intention of it but knowing you we can never be too wary >_>

“Excuse me!” Wilford waggles his finger indignantly, making a noise like pshaw! again and again. “I have never hurt a living soul in my life. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m a pacifist, actually. Excepting that door-to-door salesman who would NOT stop coming by…”

Dapper hisses out a breath, pressing at his forehead, feeling faint again. He scoops up Wilford’s pad of paper and sets Ippy’s pen to it. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?” he scrawls out in a bitter, looping cursive.

“Do you?” spits back Wilford just as quick, a little fire flashing through his eyes.

Dapper sinks in on himself, exhaling. “No,” he writes. “Not ever.”

Wilford eases again, grinning his nonchalant, slightly dazed grin.

“Why’d you come in here?” writes Dapper.

“To see you,” answers Wilford eagerly, clapping his hands together. “Finally, a new ego with a real aesthetic!”

“I’m not a new ego, Wil. Look, I don’t look like you.”

“No, you’re not like me - well, like him,” insists Wilford, undaunted. “You’re one of the boys that runs around with him sometimes. He can create things too, that’s alright. You can still stay here.”

Dapper softens a little, quirking his eyebrows. “You’ve met Jack?”

“Seen him! They made a lot of videos together for a while, do you remember? Every day!”

JJ laughs, shaking his head. “You’re thinking of Ethan.”

“No, who? Noooo. The brown-haired one. Loud? Bouncy?”

“They’re both - ” JJ cuts himself off, laughing into his hands. “Never mind.”

“I don’t have my glasses on.”

“Apparently.”

Anonymous asked: Hey JJ, did you and Wil knew each other before the whole timeline mess?

“No, not really,” JJ signs to you gently. “I’ve never really had anyone outside of Anti.”

“Are you mute?” asks Wilford politely. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I’ve never been able to talk,” he writes out. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be able to stay for long.”

“Oh,” says Wilford, face falling. “Oh, I thought that was why you came.”

“You took me from my house. Do you remember?”

“No… you’re thinking of one of the others, I think?”

Dapper lets out a sigh and smiles. “Never mind. Just - ”

It’s then that Edward enters the room.

Dapper stiffens, rubbing his shoulders and staring down at the floor. Ippy looks relieved, stepping carefully into the room, as though approaching an animal caught in a fence.

“Hi,” he breathes. “Feeling any better?”

JJ looks away, uncomfortable.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap? I just wanted to let you know that it's ok to be experiencing symptoms right now. You're under so, so much stress, your body must be having hell and two pence. It's ok if you feel apathy, have a hard time with facial expression, hallucinating. You will be okay. You will get out soon, and you will have time to de-stress, you will see your brothers again soon. Know even through the fear, everything will be okay. You were made for happy endings.

“Do you have symptoms like these often?” asks Ippy.

Dapper plays with the edge of his paper, unsmiling.

“Your, uh… friends? Said you had a psychotic disorder. When was the last time you saw a clinician about that? Seems like you’ve been on Haldol a pretty long time.”

Dapper draws circles on his pad, not looking up.

Ippy sits down in one of those backless chairs that doctors roll around their offices in. “Are you aware that you have a Vitamin D deficiency? Serious enough to be impacting your bone strength?”

Dapper glances at Wilford but doesn’t answer.

“Broken rib… infected wrist… some pretty serious scarring…”

Dapper leans down to write something. Ippy waits patiently. Dapper turns the paper around and he’s written “stop talking to me” across the whole page. Ippy rolls his chair away and lets out a grumble beneath his breath, getting up to -

“Hey! Who broke my drawers!”

Wilford and JJ exchange glances.

“Probably the dog,” answers Wilford wisely, and it almost, almost makes JJ smile.

It’s okay. He’s okay. It’s okay for him to be psychotic. He’s just got to get through it, like he always does. It’s okay to struggle.

Anonymous asked: Hey now! Let the doctor take care of you, bud. You deserve some proper medical attention, you deserve some healing after everything you've been through.

“That’s not my doctor,” signs JJ bitterly, glaring Ippy down as best he can, though he mostly ends up looking like he’s squinting. “Give me back to my brother.”

“Five questions,” asks Ippy. “Yeah? Then I’ll give you some space.”

“One question.” He holds up a finger.

Ippy holds up three.

Dapper turns his head away. Tries to glare again. Nods. Fine.

“When was the last time you saw a psychiatrist?”

He’s never seen a psychiatrist. That’s why they mostly just call it a psychotic disorder. Schneep says it’s probably schizophrenia, but he’s a surgeon. Until Anti stole Dok, he would just tell Dapper that Jack fucked his head up as bad as his voice.

“I don’t have a psychiatrist,” says Dapper. “The Haldol is fine. It manages most everything.”

“Most of the positive symptoms, I bet,” says Ippy. “And even if antipsychotics are helpful, they still need to be adjusted sometimes, and you should probably be seeing a therapist for behavioral therapy.”

“What’s positive about psychosis?” asks Wilford. “Is that like the fun kind of psychosis? A little LSD, anybody?”

“Wilford,” sighs Ippy. “Positive means something added. So things like hallucinations, delusions, hyperactivity, disordered thinking - those are positive symptoms. Most antipsychotics work best for those. But there are negative symptoms too - depressed mood. Flattened expressions. Lack of enjoyment or pleasure. Feelings of hopelessness.”

Dapper stares at the floor. After a moment, he writes “question two” pointedly.

“Why do you look like Mark’s friend?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is. Don’t waste either of our time.”

“Dark says Jack doesn’t have videos with you or any of the others.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, grumbles Ippy, rubbing at his forehead. “Forget it. Who gave you all your scars?”

Dapper’s eyes flicker. He glances away. “Self-harm,” he writes.

“Liar,” answers Ippy evenly. “They go all the way to your back.”

Dapper hisses, tucking his pad up against his chest for a second. He lets out a breath of air, shaking his head.

Anonymous asked: His ribs are broken because his "big brother" nearly beat him to death then left him sitting in filth for hours until he passed out. He's deficient in vitamin D because he spends his entire life locked inside one room and that same brother almost never lets him out. He's scarred from year of torture and abuse. Let's just say he doesn't have the easiest home life.

Ippy sits back, setting his clipboard aside.

Dapper closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t feel well.

“Please just leave me alone,” he writes. “There. You got your answer. My brother did all of it. Go away.”

Ippy gets up. He takes Dapper’s bear off the bedside table and hands it carefully over to him. Dapper swallows and accepts it, pulling the familiar warmth and texture and smell to his chest. It’s grounding.

“Want to come sit in the sun for a while?” asks Ippy.

Dapper looks up at him, eyes wide. Ippy waits.

Dapper sighs and shakes his head, curling up against the wall. Even if he wanted to accept anybody’s niceness right now, he’s too tired.

“Okay,” says Ippy. “You don’t have to. But you should know - now that you’re awake and talking - ”

“No,” Dapper is already writing, the pen shaking in his grip.

“They just want to talk. That’s all. They won’t - ”

“Tell Dark to stay away from me,” writes Dapper frantically, tears budding in his eyes. He underlines it. Again and again.

Tell

Dark

To

Stay

Away

Ippy gets to his feet wearily. He unlocks one of his drawers and sets a Haldol and a Vitamin D tablet out on the dresser beside Dapper.

“Get a little sleep,” he says. “You’ll feel better.”

“I want Dok,” writes Dapper. “Please.”

Ippy is already shutting the door behind him.

nikkilbook asked: Edward, do you have any contacts in the city that work with homeless shelters or other kinds of emergency housing? I think that’s where three of his brothers are.

Edward’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? Sure, there’s some shelters. I usually refer them to LAAG. Sets you up in a hotel for a month or two if you’re out of somewhere to stay. Mostly for moms with kids, though. There’s some men’s and women’s shelters in town. Lot of homeless people out here, unfortunately. Hey, Gigi.”

“What?”

“What’s the closest homeless shelter?”

“Are they finally kicking you out of that pigsty you call an apartment? The closest homeless shelter is Missionaries of Charity Relief Services, 23.6 miles away. There is an adjoining soup kitchen.”

“There you go.”

nikkilbook asked: Could you send someone (non/less threatening, if possible?) to ask after them, see if they’d be willing to come and help you with JJ? Though one of them, Marvin, is hurt really bad as well because of some messed up dark magic crap that Anti thought was a good idea. Schneep, the doctor that JJ keeps referring to, is doing his best, but he’s technically a surgeon with holes in his memory.

“Excuse me,” Google cuts you both off, stepping forward. “You have to run decisions like that past Dark.”

“Then ask Dark,” answers Ippy mildly. “I’m sure they’d love to worm their way into somebody else’s heart. They wanted that other kid that was there, right? Bet they’d be happy with you if you brought the other three back to them.”

“You think you’re very clever.”

“But I got you thinking about it, didn’t I?”

Google glares at him.

Then his composure breaks, just the smallest bit, and you see a smile on the edges of his mouth. Ippy laughs and trails past him towards the kitchen. “Come on, you goddamn sycophant. It’s curry night. You can help me make it.”

“I’m not your maid,” says Gigi stubbornly.

But he follows right after him into the kitchen.

Anonymous asked: Does seeing outsiders reaction help you realize it JJ? How horrible Anti really is to you? You're dying, Dapper. You might be dead if you hadn't gotten medical treatment. You have all the scars because of his actions. All of your pain was caused by him. You have a psychotic disorder and he's never /once/ taken you to a psychiatrist. If he was your brother, if he loved you beyond being his pet, he would have at least taken you to therapy. Can you see the damage he's done, Dap?

“Save the realization tactics for my brothers, my friend,” JJ signs quietly. “I’ve always known exactly what Anti is. I used to stay because I was scared of what he’d do to me if I tried to get away. Now I just know there’s no escaping. Not for me.”

And that is when the light from the sun flickers and dies.

Dapper closes his eyes. He knows. Right away, without pausing.

“Dark,” you see his mouth move.

“Feeling… hopeless?” asks a voice that echoes. “I can help with that.”

“No,” says Dapper. “No, you can’t.”

And he gets to his shaking feet.

Anonymous asked: They made a deal JJ. This is the last time. If you don't allow yourself to escape, allow yourself freedom and family, true family, love... Then I fear you'll be stuck with him forever. Let yourself escape. Let Jameson Jackson live. Let your soul breathe again.

JJ holds the camera close to his chest, sinking down beside his bed as his legs give out on him. It makes Dark tower over him. He closes his eyes.

Family, true family - what he wouldn’t give for them to be here right now. And it’s odd to him because most often, when he wishes for family, he wishes Anti were here to protect him.

Today, he doesn’t wish for Anti at all. Even if Anti would protect him from Dark, it doesn’t matter. He wants… fuck, he just wants Red and Blue and Dok and even Trick, because every one of them, he has begun to realize, would take care of him if they ever had the chance to. Blue would be shouting at Dark to back off, Red would already be on the attack, Dok would be making him feel better, and Trick, he thinks, would just be wrapped around him, holding him, just like he did when Gigi and Shep came to take him away.

Maybe he wasn’t stuck up in the attic or in the backroom or in Anti’s bed because everyone else hated him or didn’t want him around. Maybe it was always just Anti’s barriers.

“How interesting the pair of you are,” Dark says, looking down at JJ with your viewpoint in his hands. “To know him intimately… to speak with him. Even when I talk to you, it’s always me on the one side of the camera, and you never able to answer… Mark sees to that. How interesting, though, to be the ones to tell him he’s loved.”

Dapper takes the writing pad in his trembling hands. “What do you want?” he writes.

Dark leans down, too close to him. “I told you. Let’s talk. I want to know everything about that monster you live with - and just how I can get rid of him.”

Dapper creeps along the wall away from Dark, shaking his head minutely. He and Anti have their struggles, but he doesn’t sell his brother out, and especially not to Dark.

“Come on, little one. What are you so scared of? My soldiers have all seen the markings all up and down you. Wouldn’t you rather let me extract a little vengeance for you?”

“Not little,” writes Dapper. “What do you want with Anti? Why kill him?”

Dark cocks their head coolly, eyes flashing red and blue.

“If you don’t remember him, there’s no reason to be angry.”

Dark doesn’t answer. Dark never answers if they don’t have to. They don’t give up information, period.

“I hope you know I hate your guts,” says JJ.

And then Dark’s hand is on his throat.

JJ wheezes in alarm, grabbing Dark’s arm as the room seems to flood with a darkness so thick it seems to shove at his bones like a fist or a car collision. He kicks his legs desperately and, for a moment, manages a shrill whistle of alarm - and then Dark makes him still.

The calm is like an infusion of something, settling into his lungs and chest and softening his violent terror into a whimpering fear. Dark drags him back to his bed and throws him onto the mattress. And Dapper, shaking and petrified with a weepy, muted alarm, curls his body into a roly-poly and hugs his bear to his chest, staring up at Dark with huge, watering eyes, because the times when he acts childish and too cute to hurt have never been anything more than a fear response.

“There you go,” says Dark, sitting down in the chair beside the bed and leaning back, their eyes closing for a moment from the strain it puts on their spine. Anti’s attack has left them physically shaken and weak, the pain haunting them through waking and dreams. For that, they will have revenge - and for the way that the thought of Anti has haunted them for more than a week now. “Be good now and tell me how you know me.”

“My brother brought me to you some years back to reset me even better than he can alone,” writes Dapper shakily. “He manipulates thoughts and he can possess people. You manipulate souls and emotions. I woke up a different person. Since then I feel like I have a different personality every day. You and Anti took who I was from me.”

Dark shakes their head faintly, squinting for a moment. They glance at Dapper, at his eyes, at his chest. They don’t say anything.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” writes Dapper.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” says Dark gently, and they try to make it feel, in Dapper’s heart, that this is true, but all he does is close his eyes and hide.

Anonymous asked: hey, jamie, dapper, my dear. i know you've been hurt by dark before, and i'm not saying you have to forgive them, or trust them, or anything. but can you try to trust us, when we tell you that you are safe? i wouldn't say that lightly, dap. but right now, you are safe. deep breaths. we're here to help you.

“There, that’s right,” agrees Dark quietly. “Don’t be scared.”

Dapper shudders under another wave of their power. Affection and faith well up in his chest, and this feeling, at least, has an anchor of truth in his head, a foundation it can stand on. Yes, he remembers the days when you have kept him company, the days when you have warned him of danger or convinced Anti to leave him alone. He remembers Trick and Dok taking him for fish and chips, presents you picked out for him, and the beeping of the camera on so many of the nights in the past seven months where he would have been completely alone without you.

He sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“If I met you and your brother,” says Dark. “Why don’t I remember?”

“You are a creature manipulated by the stories your creator tells,” writes Dapper slowly.

“Mark did this?”

“No. Another storyteller. My creator gave me his power of manipulating stories. Last year I changed things without meaning to. There are inconsistencies now - people who remember things that never happened in this timeline, and people who have forgotten things that happened to them in another life. And then there are things like you, somewhere in the middle - torn between memory and loss.”

Dark’s eyes narrow, smoke curling off their shoulders.

“I know you don’t remember Anti,” writes Dapper. “But at the same time, you do.”

“Enough,” says Dark. “Quiet. Let me think.”

Deep black eyes pierce into JJ like a scalpel. He stares up at the light, trying to breathe.

“The truth is you know nothing of what’s happening around you,” Dark murmurs.“You’re delusional and ill. You remember things that haven’t happened because you have a disorder.”

“No,” signs JJ, shaking his head. “No.”

He does have delusions sometimes, very intense ones. But he won’t let Dark tell him that he doesn’t know his own power - the piece of himself that Jack gave him.

“Look at you.” Dark shakes their head, eyes glittering, and smoke curls around them like creeping cats wandering through the air. “The moment you’re away from him, you crash, is that it?”

Dapper closes his eyes, turned up to the lights.

Dark hums and gets to their feet, drawing out wine and glasses as though from the shadows themselves. They pour two cups of rich, black wine and press a cool cup into his hands. Dapper’s fingers wrap around the glass slowly, his eyes blank.

“Why did you become psychotic the moment you were away from him?”

His gaze flickers up to Dark’s. He doesn’t answer.

“Of course,” mutters Dark, backing away and sitting down in their chair. “You live with a mind manipulator. I bet he makes the voices quiet, doesn’t he?”

Dapper’s mouth parts, a gleam of something hard appearing for moment in his eyes before shifting away again, leaving him tired and only vaguely annoyed.

“Admit it,” says Dark. “You rely on him. Don’t you? You wouldn’t last on your own, not without him. The medication manages some of it and he manages the rest. When he’s away, you can barely survive. You need him – desperately.”

You can hear Dapper breathing now. His eyes are fixed on the light above. He holds his wine too tightly in his fingers.

“And he tells you so,” adds Dark slowly, staring at Dapper’s face. They tilt back their wine and they drink. “Doesn’t he? Constantly, I would guess. You and him both know that you need him – and he loves it.”

Dapper doesn’t have anything to say to them. He wants to be far away. He hates them.

“It must be difficult to be both – ”

“Don’t even fucking start with me, jackass, as if you know anything about what it’s like to be mute and psychotic and abused by the person I love most in the world, as if you’re not the one who fucking triggered my schizophrenia, as if you know anything about my life or what I’ve done to – ”

“Calm down,” says Dark gently, and Dapper feels a rush of unnatural calm flood over him. For a second of raw terror, he is completely aware that he’s being forced to feel something he doesn’t really feel, and then, the next moment, he is slumped back in his chair, letting out a low sigh of relief.

“I can’t understand sign language, so you’ll have to write for me,” says Dark. “We can have a calm conversation if you stay level-headed instead of getting so out of control. I’ll forgive you because of your fever.”

Dapper reaches dazedly for the writing pad, trying to keep his thoughts straight. This is happening again. He’s losing himself again.

“You talk about my brother controlling me and then shove your way into my chest yourself,” he manages, his handwriting scrawling and small. “Just tell me what you want from me or let me go home.”

Dark drinks from their glass again, never breaking eye contact.“What do you think I want?”

“I think,” Dapper scrawls. “That you don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.”

It is Dark’s turn for their eyes to gain a hardness. Something glitters in black irises.

“And you hate that, don’t you, Darkness? More than anything. More than anything.”

Dark does not answer.

“You want to know how to kill Anti because you remember him,” writes Dapper. “The fragments of the memory of him haunts you because you hate not knowing and you hate being confused, and the thought that I somehow changed your story is second in bitterness only to the knowledge that Mark has already told it for you. Of course you don’t want to admit you don’t remember. It means someone else changed you without your permission. Your greatest fear.”

“Watch your words,” warns Dark.

“Anti hated you at first. We would agree that you were a creep, a control freak, an asshole. But you were insistent. How pretty he was, you would say, and how you had finally found someone who matched you in ferocity. After a while, it started to flatter him. He decided he was some sort of exception to you. You would be terrible to everyone else but good to him. He loved that. The thought of being special to someone. His abandonment issues made him look past everything horrible about you.”

“You’re making this up.”

“You taught him to dance,” writes Dapper, his words coming faster and faster beneath his scrawling hands. “Do you remember? Your hands on his waist as he finally trusted you enough to put his head on your shoulder. You would bring him flowers, roses he pretended he didn’t want and then put in a vase by his bed, purring to me about how wrapped around his finger you were. You would go hunting together and let him have the kill because you loved to see him lose his mind with the power and the fun of it all. His sadism was wild any time he was with you. He would come home and hurt me on accident - mostly - because he was so violent and worked up he couldn’t control his energy and his excitement. Do you remember?”

Dark’s eyes are raised to JJ’s now, staring at him, their mouth faintly parted.

“Have you been dreaming, Dark?” asks Dapper. “Killing him won’t make it stop. Speak with him. I don’t think the two of you know what love is, but you loved the time you spent together.”

“You’re sentimental as well as delusional,” answers Dark, tilting back their wine.

“I would listen to me if I were you,” writes Dapper. “Because at this point, Dark, there are outcomes - you cool his fury, or he will kill you.”

Red and blue in Dark’s eyes. Bone through their rotting fingers.

“My brother has taken on power he should never have stolen,” says Dapper. “You can’t beat him with Blue’s power combined with his own. Calm Anti down, Dark - or he will burn down everything you love.”

Dark blinks, revealing, if only for a moment, an unsettled look on their face.

Outside the window, the others are laughing and talking. Dark catches a glance of Wilford’s bubblegum hair and the movement of the enormous dog you spotted earlier. Host’s voice murmurs down to them through the ceiling and someone is cooking in the kitchen, making the house fragrant with garlic and spices.

“Please leave me alone now,” says Dapper.

“One last thing. Is it true that you can time travel?”

“Yes,” Dapper answers. “I know you can feel the power in my chest.”

“I could take it,” says Dark. “If I wanted to. Your power is a part of your soul and that, my darling, is my specialty.”

Dapper flips a page on his pad and writes across the full page:

“It would burn you alive.”

A flicker of a small on Dark’s coy mouth.

“Yes,” they say. “I suppose it would. I’m not as stupid as your brother.”

“Whatever you say,” writes Dapper dryly.

Dark gets to their feet, draining the last of their wine.

“Can I go?” writes Dapper desperately.

“Hm? Oh, no. We’re not finished, doll. Hey.”

Dark reaches out to cluck his chin, but Dapper jerks back, terrified. Dark laughs and takes their hand back, leaving Dapper with a sudden and painfully intense feeling of exhaustion. He crumples against the bed, his eyes flickering shut.

“Get some sleep,” murmurs Dark, turning their back and beginning to disappear back into the shadows. “Hostages are no good to me dead.”

Dapper fades into darkness.

.

Blue wakes up to a hand on his shoulder. “Mh? What is it?”

He hears his twin chuckle softly above him. “You make cat noises when you’re waking up.”

“Mmmhhhh,” protests Blue sleepily, cuddling down deeper into his blankets.

“You can go back to sleep,” Red whispers. “I just wanted you to know I’m heading back to the house for a couple days. Stay here with Dok and I’ll - ”

Blue is awake. He almost flinches out of the sheets, sitting up fast and grabbing Red’s sleeve. “Wait, no. I’m coming with.”

“No, Blue, you need to stay here and rest.”

“I’m feeling much better,” replies Blue, his tone brooking no argument. “And I am NOT going to be miles and miles away while you go back to an Anti who’s no doubt furious. I need to see the others too. I have to make sure they’re okay. That’s my job.”

“I’m coming too,” answers a quiet voice from the doorway - Dok slipping into the room with three cups of hospital coffee.

“Guys, no,” protests Red. “Please. I’d rather you be here. Dok, Anti threatened to kill you.”

Dok shrugs, placing coffee down on the bedside table. He plucks at his necklaces. “We might need these,” he says, picking at each raven talisman in turn. “And I… I need to see Trick.”

“We’re both going, Red,” Blue insists, touching his arm and squeezing reassuringly. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here.”

Red smiles weakly at the both of them. “Just… promise me you won’t try anything stupid, okay?”

“Promise,” says Blue.

“I never do,” answers Dok dryly.

The twins laugh quietly at his answer. It does not, however, hide the fear that trembles in Dok’s fingertips and rattles the insides of his chest.

He can do this. He can. He has to.

immabethehero asked: Good luck dudes!

“Thanks,” says Ro, looking up at the house. “Yeah, thanks, we appreciate it.”

Blue and Dok are behind him. He can hear them whispering to each other, but he doesn’t want to interfere. Blue is wrapped around Dok like a vice, rubbing his back as he tries to reassure him, and Dok clings to his necklaces and his sibling and hides.

“Is, um.” Ro stares at the windows and door. “Is Anti really angry? Is he in there right now? I don’t really know what to expect…”

Anonymous asked: uh, trick? i believe noodle has decided to go exploring. outside. i'm going to tell the others, so they can look for noodle too, but i thought you should know.

“Noodle?”

You find Trick kneeling by the door, scratching at the carpet and trying to catch his cat’s attention. Yesterday, he waited patiently for Noodle to come back. Today, four days after Dapper was taken, Trick has only seen Noodle twice, and the light in his eyes has become desperate and frantic.

“Baby!” he hollers, sticking the last piece of jerky under the door. “Come here, sweetie! Daddy’s upstairs. Where are you? No, no, no, he can’t have gone outside. Noodle, come here! He’s never been outside in his life. He’s always been with me. Noodle!”

He wipes at hot tears on his face, back shaking from how long he’s been crouched there. Anti has let him out of the room a couple times, but he’s been with him the whole time, so all he’s done is make himself dinner a couple times or watch a movie with Anti.

He wants things to go back to normal.

“Noodle! Please come here! You’re scaring me!”

Anonymous asked: Dok, what if you feigned that you were "taking off" your necklaces, but quickly clasped the animal one around Anti, then got him weak as you could and used the light? Or perhaps told him the only way to stop their power was for him to wear them, then put the animal one around his neck? Do you think a plan like that would work?

“Yeah, if I can manage that I would like to do this,” says Dok frailly, gripping Blue’s hand so hard it’s beginning to bruise. “Might not be able to trick him, but could maybe act fast and hurt him.”

“Remind me what all of these do,” murmurs Blue, touching his brother’s collarbone.

“This one is light, this one is transformation, and this one keeps Anti out of my head,” Dok whispers. “They said I should give the light one to a warrior.”

Blue glances at Red, pacing his way towards the house. He wants to be the first one inside, to bear the brunt of Anti’s fury. Blue pulls Dok after him, trying to think.

Anonymous asked: Trick has been alone for such a long time, and Anti has been locking him all alone in one room most of the days, he really needs you Dok, needs you to help him fight. As for Anti, he's been in and out of the place, we're not sure what he's doing.

“Anti locked Trick in his room?” asks Red.

“Let’s go,” says Dok, pulling away from Blue and hurrying towards the house.

“Dok! You don’t know if Anti’s in there!”

“He’s already seen us on the cameras from this close,” answers Dok, yanking open the door to the house and moving inside. “If he wants to come after us, he will. There’s nothing we can do about that. Right now, I just want to see Trick. Where is he?”

He runs down into the basement where they’ve been staying, but Trick isn’t there - and neither is Noodle. Dok returns to the ground floor, where Blue and Red are looking through their own room. Blue shuts the window that’s been open for days, making the room hot and airy.

“Where’s kitty?” asks Blue.

“I’m sure he’s just with Trick,” answers Dok. “Right?”

Anonymous asked: Trick is locked up in Anti's bedroom, and Noodle is missing, he escaped outside. Trick's been alone with no one but Anti for this whole time.

Blue and Red exchange wide-eyed looks, Red already pacing towards the door to look around for the cat. Dok races upstairs, feeling more awake than he has in weeks.

“Trick!” he knocks rapidly on the door and shuffling sounds greet him from the other side.

“Anti?”

“Trick, it’s me,” Dok calls.

“Dok!”

The way he calls his name is almost a sob. Dok scrambles with the lock on the door, turning the stiff lock to the right. Trick shoves the door open and meets his eyes.

“Are you okay?” croaks Dok.

“Fine,” whispers Trick, though his hair is limp and dry and his eyes hollowed out. “Are you?”

“Yes. I’m okay. Listen, Trick, I just - ”

Trick crashes into him and hugs him to his chest. They fall back against the wall, pinned together, skulls pressed together and arms wrapped around each other’s ribs.

“You don’t have to explain,” says Trick. “I should have protected you better, so you didn’t have to run away. I’ll be better for you, Dok. I’ll take better care of you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been someone you could trust.”

“Trick…”

They wrap tighter around each other, rocking each other’s bodies against the wall, safe in each other’s grips.

Anonymous asked: He's here.

Blue is hugging Trick and Dok to himself, babbling at them about how he loves them, about how he missed him, about how happy he is to see him. Trick is relieved to feel less alone for the first time in days. He tells Blue he looks better and that he loves him too.

It’s Red who sees Anti.

He’s leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at him with cold blue eyes.

Red swallows. Anti doesn’t say anything.

He signs “come here.”

And then he walks away.

Red feels a shudder down his whole body. He glances back at his brothers, celebrating the mini-reunion together, talking about everything that’s happened.

He doesn’t see Dapper. Anti must have him with him.

Red needs to see him.

He swallows once again, clearing his throat this time. He won’t be afraid. He can’t let himself get lost in Anti’s lies again. He sees what he is more clearly than he has in years and now - now he has to protect his brothers from the monsters in the middle of them.

He moves down the stairs after Anti.

Anonymous asked: Uh guys, look out, the big-bad wolf is here

“Big bad wolf…”

Anti turns back to Ro for a moment in the middle of the hall, his eyes burning red.

“That’s me, then, right, Jackie?”

Ro’s blood seems to frost over in his veins. He stops short in the hallway, mouth parted.

Anti narrows his eyes and turns away, leading Ro further down the hall. Red can barely bring himself to follow, but his nerves are tempered by his confusion.

Anti has never called him Jackie before.

“Where’s Dap?” he asks quietly, stepping after Anti.

Anti doesn’t answer. He steps into the office room where you once found Dapper drinking and waits.

Red steps in after him, chewing on his lip.

Anti closes the door behind him and sits down at the desk, propping his feet on the table. He glares at Ro, flipping a knife in his hands.

“You got a deathwish or something,” says Anti.

“No,” Ro manages. “No.”

“Tell me why you went,” Anti snaps.

“You were threatening Dok. Blue was sick. I got scared.”

Anti stares at him, eyes burning with flame.

Anonymous asked: Anti Blue was dying and you were threatening Dok. Don't punish Red for being their protector, that's literally what you make him be. Thanks to his action, neither of them are dead. You have him to thank for the time away you got to think about your temper.

Anti takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. “Was that all it was?”

“Yes,” says Ro quietly. “I just didn’t want them to get hurt. Anti, you can’t threaten to murder Dok and expect me to - ”

“I can do what I want,” snaps Anti. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“What’s your fucking name?”

Ro licks his mouth anxiously, glancing around for a second. He wishes Blue were here.

“It’s Red, Anti.”

Anti sighs, shaking his head at him. His posture relaxes slightly, letting his head thump back against the office chair.

Anonymous asked: Dapper isn't with him because Dark's soldiers stole him away. It seems like Anti can't find him.

“What?” asks Ro, incredulous. “Wait, you mean you actually let that monster get their hands on him?”

“You weren’t here!” shouts Anti, glitching to his feet and making Red stumble back. “You were the one I chose to protect them, Red, but you ran away without him or Trick like they meant nothing to you!”

“I thought you would keep them safe!” cries Red.

“I would have been able to if you had been here and I had known about Dark!” Anti snarls back, slamming his hand into the office table, a slight tremor in his palms. “But you and them both turned your backs on me! I can’t trust anyone but myself!”

“You were going to hurt Dok!”

Anti’s palm connects with Red’s face, sending him staggering back. He feels blood rush to the handprint on his cheek and he grips at his face weakly, looking up at Anti with watery eyes.

“You would have been useless if you were here anyway,” growls Anti. “You’re terrified of Dark. Fucking coward boy. And to think, Jack called you a hero.”

Hurt and fury light up in Ro’s chest. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, straightening his back again and clutching his hands into fists.

“I found Dark today,” says Anti coldly, turning away. “We can get Dapper back. If you help me, maybe I won’t fucking slaughter you for running away like the little bitch you are.”

“I’m not a little bitch,” says Red. “You… you’ve never liked me.”

“Correct,” answers Anti.

Anonymous asked: Jackie's throwing caution to the wind, you're willing to throw everyone's lives to the wind. Even moreso now that this is the last run-through, right?

“If you turn on me like that again,” says Anti. “I’ll kill you like I promised you I would.”

“You expect my loyalty,” says Ro. “But you don’t even like me. You threaten us and hurt us. How do you expect me to stay?”

“You’ll stay because if you don’t I’ll end all five of you,” snarls Anti, Jack’s teeth in his mouth giving way to those of a dog. “What, you think you did a good job, running away from me? Think you saved them from anything? I know you were staying in Ashley Valley Hospital Room 412.”

Ro’s blood is cold.

“I know the fake names you used, I know the food pantry where Dok was getting you food everyday, I know what Blue’s doctors said, I know, I know, I know. You can’t get away from me, Red. You never will. All the more because you’re a spineless, needy moron who can’t think of anything but a man who doesn’t love him anymore and whatever bullshit your mind fixates on on any given day. You’re broken, Red. Same way Jack made Chase and JJ broken. Even when you were Jackie, you were still pathetic.”

“Wonder why Marvin and I were able to beat you to hell, then,” says Ro.

It’s a mistake as soon as he’s said it. It’s a mistake. It was a bad choice. He shouldn’t have said it.

But he doesn’t regret it.

Anti takes a step back towards him, his eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

Jackie takes a step towards him too, fists clenched.

“When I said that you made me forget important things in the past,” he says. “I meant that you made me forget people I loved and the places I come from. But there are other things you made me forget too, Anti. You’re not as untouchable as you’ve always told me you were. And you know what else?”

Anti’s eyes are pupil-less, iris-less, white.

“I think you’re still afraid of me,” he says. “I think that every time you flinch back from a bird at the window, you are flinching away from the memory of just how bad I hurt you the first time you stole my baby brother.”

Anonymous asked: Stand strong, Jackieboy man. You've got a war to fight.

Stand strong. He straightens his back. The others need him.

“Come on, then,” he snaps, taking another step forward. Anti takes a step back. “I can see it in you. That you want to hurt me. It’s a look I’ve gotten used to. That you want to see me begging so you feel less scared.”

“You shut your mouth, Jackie,” says Anti.

“No,” spits Ro, clenching his fists. “No, I won’t. I’m tired of you silencing me. I’m not stupid and I’m not a coward.”

Anti strikes him, harder than the first time. Red backs off, grabbing his face with a gasp. Tears water in his eyes. He straightens up again, seething.

“You’re the fucking coward, Anti,” he croaks out, something snapping in his chest. His little brother really has always hated him, no matter how hard he tried to love him. “I won’t let you tell me differently anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Hey younger brothers, you miiight want to go to the office with Red and Anti, something tells me it's about to go downhill from here, and you'd be stronger together, protecting each other.

Blue blinks and looks around, realizing only now that his twin is gone.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes.

He turns and races down the stairs, tearing towards the office.

Anonymous asked: You are not pathetic, Jackie. You are a hero, through-and-through. You've spent your every waking moment protecting them from abuse in any way you were able. "Broken" is just Anti being an ableist, abusive asshat. You are stronger than him. You always have been, no matter what he tries to convince you of. Break free of him, Jackieboy Man.

“Yeah, you know what, they’re right,” Jackie continues, lifting his chin up and glaring at Anti as bruises form on his face. “You know what I think, Anti? I think you’re so desperate to believe that our creator - that Jack - ”

“Don’t say that name!” screams Anti, slapping him again.

Red laughs. “I think you’re so desperate to believe that Jack was in the wrong that you tell yourself he did something wrong to us just because of things like me being autistic. And that’s pretty fucked up, Anti. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with Dap and Trick. Honestly? I think Jack was probably an okay guy, and you’re the one who’s always been the villain.”

“Stop it!” screams Anti, driving his fist into Red’s chest. Red steps back, but doesn’t falter. “Stop it, stop it!”

“You like to act like you’re in control and you can’t even control your temper and your fucking daddy issues!”

“Red!” shouts Anti, his eyes flashing. “Stop it! You’re just like Jack, you’re just like Dark, everybody turns on me eventually! You were always just Jack’s little soldier, his failsafe! You think I made you a guard dog? Jack used you for years to get what he wanted.”

“Jack was trying to protect us from you!”

“You don’t even remember!” Anti grabs Red by the throat and slams him into the wall, crashing his head into wood. “Who have you been talking to? You - ”

“Hey, stop, stop!” cries Blue, appearing to grab Anti’s hands, trying to tear him off his twin. Anti kicks his cane away from him and sends him crashing to the ground.

“I ought to put both of you right back in the hospital!”

“Anti, don’t hurt him!” shrieks Blue. “Dapper’s not here! You can’t fix this if it all goes wrong!”

Anti’s grip tightens for a moment on Red’s throat. Ro chokes, gripping at his fingers.

Anti drops him to the ground.

“You’re right,” he spits, turning to grab Blue by the hair, dragging him back up to a sitting position. “So I’ll deal with you two once I have my boy back.”

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 1

It's five in the afternoon just outside of Corpus Christi and I and my poor old Elantra with the broken AC are stuck in a traffic jam because some dickhead decided he wanted to cut across five lanes of traffic and got mangled by a semi truck. And then the jam’s compounded by all of the damn lookie-looes slowing down to a crawl as they squirm through the two lanes still open, the metaphorical arteries of the gigantic beast that is the United States highway system, trying to get a good look at something gory on the way home.

I'm slowly melting into my seat, barely able to keep my eyes open. I keep glancing over at the water bottle I'd set snugly into the passenger seat, my cupholders being full with spare change and old receipts and little mini bottles of hand sanitizer, but just the way the sun's reflecting off of it makes me sick thinking about how warm the water would be by now.

I'm a few cars back from the wreck now. A police officer, looking sweaty and tired, steps out into the road, stopping traffic to let a couple of paramedics cross. A loud radio ad is playing in the car next to me and I look over. The guy in it looks about as done with this as I feel. I smile to myself, go back to watching the wreck.

The paramedics have stopped now and are talking to the policeman in the middle of the road. He looks annoyed, gestures at the cars ahead of him. One of the paramedics shakes his head and points back towards one of the cars.

The radio ad ends and the throbbing beat of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" comes on and I find myself singing along under my breath without even thinking about it.

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray

South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio...

Another paramedic joins the group in the middle of the highway and then they hustle over to the wreck. The police officer gestures and we move fractionally forwards, then stop again. The asshole in the giant pickup truck ahead of me has decided to stop and watch them peel the door off the crushed sedan like the scab off a fresh cut. I can see something pink and fleshy and hurt-looking inside, where the driver's seat ought to have been, and I look away quickly.

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning since the world's been turning...

I end up meeting the eyes of the guy in the car next to me. He's bobbing his head along to Billy Joel and gives me a somewhat sheepish, embarrassed look. He's balding, looks about forty. A tired, haggard, sweaty face. I roll my eyes and smile at him and he smiles back. Someone behind me honks and I twist backwards and give him the finger, really slam it at him against the dirty rear window. We're rolling forwards so slowly that it's absurd to even honk, just people blowing off steam. I suppose on some level it's equally absurd to give him the finger for it, but whatever.

Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball

ARPANET, Free Tibet, what's in Mystery Flesh Pit?

Buddy Holly, Ben Hur, space monkey, Mafia

Hula hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go...

Wait. What?

Now that we're past the wreck the highway widens out. More lanes open and the guy next to me merges over to the left. Billy Joel's voice disappears into engine noises and honks and the sound of the wind whipping past my open windows, but I still keep thinking about the lyrics I had just mouthed along to.

What the hell is a Mystery Flesh Pit?

I glance over at the phone sitting in its holster on the dash but something about the way the car I’d just past had crunched in on itself like a discarded candy wrapper makes me think better of it. I shift a lane or two to the right, get in line for my exit, and then I'm off the freeway. I make every light on the way to my apartment, all four of them, and it's just enough time that I forget about the line in the song. I jump into the shower and let the cold water run over me for fifteen minutes, which turns into thirty, which turns into forty-five, which turns into an hour.

When I get out I'm shivering but the warm Texas air blowing through my open window wraps me up like a warm hug, and I shrug into a flannel shirt, leave it unbuttoned. I put my cigarette out, leave it crumpled in the ashtray, stifle my coughs. I’m still not used to smoking this much. I eye the half-empty pack laying on the table but I let it alone.

The letter I received yesterday is on the kitchen table where I'd dropped it. The envelope is still on the floor somewhere. I think about going back and reading it again, or going and finding the envelope and throwing it away, but I don't want to. There wouldn’t be a point.

My phone buzzes; I see the name of the contact and let it ring. I don’t want to talk to him.

Outside, down in the courtyard, an old man is taking his dog for a walk. There is a vast darkened array of clouds closing in from the east and it already smells like rain, the wind is carrying it. I might take a walk too, later tonight.

I go back to the dresser and take my shirt off, slip a bra on, and then put the shirt back on. I almost light another cigarette, then I stop myself.

What the hell is Mystery Flesh Pit?

I had almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite. Billy Joel got stuck in my head and while I'd been puttering I'd hummed along until I got to that verse.

I shake my head and go get my laptop, type it into google half-expecting to find a porn site. A few travelogue type posts, a Wikipedia page...I click on that one and get hit with a redirect. Permian Basin Superorganism Containment Area? ("Mystery Flesh Pit" redirects here. For the defunct U.S. National Park, see...)

I read the page, and then I stop. The growing sense of unease I felt while I devoured the Wikipedia article is now almost too much for me to handle.

This can't possibly be real. This has to be a prank or something, some kind of internet joke gone out of control. I click on the link to the National Park and see pictures, too many and too high quality to be faked. It's like something out of a Michael Crichton novel but it's real. It has to be.

The Permian Basin Superorganism (Immanis Collosseus), I read, is a subterranean organism unique to modern biology, being the sole occupant of the Phylum Immanemqa. The organism was discovered by a pilot well drilling crew in 1973; later efforts were made to expose more of the organism through drilling and surface mining explosives. The Permian Basin Superorganism is notable for its immense size, being the largest living animal on the planet, its equally immense age, and for the degree and sophistication of human exploitation concerning the animal, culminating in the opening of a National Park largely within the creature’s body, allowing visitors to descend within the Permian Basin Superorganism and…

I read about gullets and bones and digestion, about an ancient animal of some kind living baked into the stone and earth outside of Gumption, Texas. I read about the sheer enormity of it, I read about how a mining company turned it into a tourist attraction, splitting its throat wide open with metal retaining walls and letting people ride an elevator a thousand feet down into its insides. I read about ballast, some kind of secretion exuded by the creature that acts as a kind of panacea, healing afflictions untouchable by conventional medicine. They made great baths out of the glands that produced it, let people bathe in its diluted aphrodisiac waters. I read, finally, about the 2007 disaster that closed the park, when a pump failed to activate and drowned the thing, making it wake up – god, wake up? – and swallow almost seven hundred people, making it spew caustic vomit so high into the air that there are still pockets of it being found here and there nearly a hundred miles away, burning into the ground and poisoning water tables. And the way they managed to get it to go back to sleep is classified by the US Government. Did they nuke it? Christ, Gumption is only...okay, well, it's about five hundred miles away, so I guess I'm a little less concerned, but, god, this happened in the same state as me and this is only the first time I'm hearing about it. July Fourth, 2007...

I realize after a moment, with a strange little knot in my stomach, that actually, I did hear about it. I wasn't in the state in 2007. It was four years ago, I'd just gotten out of school and I was still in Oklahoma, but I remember my parents telling me about an earthquake at midnight that they'd felt, that woke them up, knocked a couple of things over. I had never known...

I feel a little like I've just woken up and gone to the bathroom and looked outside and all of a sudden the sky is a bright green, and everybody I ask about it just looks at me really strangely and says that it's always been green.

I google my way all over the internet, looking at photos people have taken decades ago on their family trips, hosted on filesharing sites or on ancient GeoCities-era pages. I see smiling families, people in hiking gear, people swimming inside biological hot springs, people digging pitons into great sheer walls of flesh, not minding the blood that gushes out. I see a shaky video someone's taken of their television, of CNN back on the Fourth of July, 2007, I see a vast bloody pit, carved into the great flat nothing of central Texas.

I feel like my head is spinning. I get up, get away from the computer, grab another cigarette and smoke it slowly, standing on the balcony, looking out over the sprawling cityscape in the general direction of Gumption, Texas, or at least where I think it should be. If north is that way, then…

Alright. It's real. There's enough evidence, photographs, videos, spread across so many different web sites that it would be impossible to fake. I look up an old rating list of National Parks, making sure that it's from around 2004 or so, and find Mystery Flesh Pit near the bottom. The tiny two-sentence blurb describes it as "strange," "horrifying," and "easily skippable," so I guess that could also explain why I had never heard of it.

And, of course, the ballast. Some kind of miracle liquid. I read on Wikipedia that they’d tried to synthesize it after July 4th, after the supplies had been cut off, but no matter how molecularly perfect they could make the compound it was so much drossy bathwater, without the power to cure even a hangnail. It has to come straight from the source for it to be any good - who knows why.

There is a slow, anxious curl unwinding in my stomach, and for a moment, I fear the results it may lead me to.

I look at the map I'd opened in another tab again; Gumption, Texas; a tiny little county named after a tiny little town, or so I've heard. Now that I’m thinking about it, I vaguely remember passing through Gumption once, very briefly, during a family road trip back when I was six, but I don't remember much more than that. The only reason I even recognize the name of the town is because at the time I thought it was a funny name and I kept saying it to myself after I'd asked my mom what the word on the sign meant when we drove into town. Welcome to Gumption. Did it have more, perhaps? “Home of the Mystery Flesh Pit?” I don't remember visiting the Mystery Flesh Pit National Park, that's for sure. I think that would have stuck with little six-year-old me.

I eye the scale on the map, use my fingers to estimate the distance from Corpus Christi to Gumption.

It'd be a solid day of driving, seven or eight hours on the road, not counting breaks for food, sleep, restroom. I grimace at the computer screen, then zoom the map out. Lubbock, though...I could take a plane to Lubbock. That'd be, what, like two hours? Maybe? And then rent a car, drive down to Gumption...

I swallow, then laugh at myself. Why bother? I think. Why bother driving down to look at some fences and security guards? It's closed off, the Wikipedia page said, nobody in or out, just some scientists and a sedative plant. The fun stopped when it woke up, back in ‘07.

Flights are cheap. Ninety-nine dollars, ninety-five dollars. I start to type in the address to check my bank balance, then stop, fold the computer closed. I want a cigarette.

On my way out to the window my foot brushes against the envelope I'd left discarded on the floor and again I think of picking it up and putting it away, and again I leave it there. It doesn't really matter.

It'd be a horrible waste of money, probably. And I doubt I'd find anything really meaningful. Even if, you know, I use the excuse of going and looking around so I could write a story on it or something, I don't know if Jim, my editor, would really care that much. From what it seems, Mystery Flesh Pit is ancient history.

I take another look at the sheet of paper sitting on the table, curled over on itself like a dead spider. Fuck it, I think, then repeat myself out loud. I stub out the cigarette and go retrieve my cell phone, look up the phone number for American Airlines out of Corpus Christi airport. Fifteen minutes on hold later I am the proud owner of one business class ticket to Lubbock, Texas, leaving in four hours out of gate nine. I hang up the call and say "fuck it" aloud again because it makes me feel a little better, and then I go pack.

The plane ride is okay. Security was a bear and a half but it always is. I realized from the pleasant-unnerving swooping sensation in my stomach when we took off that it had been long enough since the last time I'd been on a plane that I had forgotten what it feels like. I was lucky to grab a window seat next to a little kid and his father; they didn't bother me as much as I'd expected. Once he turned to me to show me something on the handheld video game he was playing but his father quickly intercepted him and apologized to me; I was a little put out, honestly, I would have wanted to look at it. I'd forgotten to stick a book in my carry-on so I had been stuck staring out the window, and about a half hour in the plane had angled in such a way that the setting sun was glaring me right in the face and daring me to enjoy the scenery, so I did the most sensible thing I could and closed the shutter and tried to fall asleep. I think I managed to do so about fifteen minutes before we landed, which lead to me letting out a rather embarrassing yelp when the landing jolted me awake. The kid and his dad looked at me and I blushed, mentally kicking myself for blushing, but I smiled at them and shrugged and said that I'd fallen asleep and we had a laugh about it.

Lubbock is alright, I guess, if you don’t look at it too closely or stay too long. I rent a car at the airport and drive into town, and consider driving to Gumption that night, but I decide after some deliberation that it'll be better to do a little reconnaissance here first, if I really am going to make a story out of this. Am I? I've been treating that as my excuse so far and yeah, I brought my voice recorder and my camcorder and my DSLR and plenty of memory cards and extra batteries...but I guess I hadn't really taken it seriously.

The city's very alive at night, more so, it seems to me, than Corpus Christi, but I also don't get out very much back home, so maybe my perception is skewed. Everywhere I look there are clubs and shows and bars and things, and then, as I pass into the seedier areas, huddled groups of people spotted here and there. I imagine they’re eying me as I drive past and I tamp down the little curl of fear rising in my stomach.

I find a Motel 6 and then I try to find a Waffle House, but seemingly there aren’t any in Lubbock. I settle for someplace called The Pancake House, and then in a couple of hours I feel better, and then a couple of hours after that I finally manage to fall asleep.

I wake up having slept like the dead. I think about going someplace for breakfast but think better of it after I sit up too quickly and my stomach gives an uneasy lurch in protest. I get dressed leisurely – it is my weekend, after all. For a moment I even manage to fantasize that I'll be able to catch a flight home in time to make it to work on Monday but then I laugh at myself, which I seem to be doing quite a lot of lately.

Barely a hundred miles away, Mystery Flesh Pit is waiting for me. I don't know what I'll find there – personally, I feel rather certain it'll be a hell of a let-down – but it feels nice to have a purpose for once, to feel as though my life is being put to some kind of use other than to see how many cigarettes I can smoke in a single day and still retain some dignity.

It's nice to not have to think.

I take a breath and throw some clothes on and get started on the hard part.

 * * *

 The guy mopping the floor at the bus stop:

"Excuse me, sir? Do you know anything about the Mystery Flesh Pit Disaster of 2007?"

"The what?"

 Businessman on the street, approached while tying his shoes:

"Excuse me, sir? I'm doing some research on the Mystery Flesh Pit disast –"

"I'm sorry, lady, I don't have any money."

 Lady at the counter of the pharmacy:

"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm trying to find out some information on the Mystery Flesh Pit, do you have a moment to talk about it?"

"Sure, honey, but I'm afraid I don't know that much about it. That was back in, what, 2003? 2004?"

"2007, actually. Did you ever happen to visit while the park was still operating?"

 "It was a park? I just remember something about some sort of tunnel collapse."

"Right. Thanks for your time."

 Guy at the 7-11, asked while filling up the tank on my car next to him:

"Hey, dude, you know anything about the Mystery Flesh Pit?"

"Went there once when I was a kid. Pretty cool. Why?"

"I'm a reporter, doing a story on it. You remember the disaster that closed it down?"

"It's closed now? That's lame. What happened?"

"Thing woke up and ate everybody."

"For real?"

"Yeah. I've been asking around, like nobody's heard about it. Kind of surprising."

He taps his finger to his chin. "You know," he says thoughtfully, "it has been like five years since then."

"Four years."

"Even so. People don't have any kind of attention span any more."

His pump clicks off and so does our conversation.

 Yeah, alright, maybe it isn't a very representative group, but it seems like nobody cares. Is that reasonable? Well...seven hundred plus people died, most in pretty gruesome ways, according to Wikipedia. Then there were the, god, the thousand or ten-thousand-plus people affected by the vomit and ejecta scattered hundreds of miles away. I’m not sure. You'd expect that apathy from the rest of the nation, maybe, I don't know why somebody in Arkansas or Kentucky or Illinois or wherever would give a fuck if they didn't personally know somebody who was affected, but here? Just a hundred miles from the place or so?

Maybe they did a really good job of cleaning up the cities, maybe it's only the little towns and places where the legacy of it has really clung on. I know there has to be a story, somebody who was there, somebody who saw it. That jerky camcorder video of CNN is a start, but something real, something visceral, in the words of a survivor...

That was the one thing I didn’t find much of. No memoirs, no autobiographies, just a few mentions here and there but nothing like a back-to-front story of what that night was like. That is what I’m really after.

I put my cigarette out in one of those trashcan-cum-ashtrays that dot the corners of every city I've ever been to, Lubbock no exception. I get in the rental car and again forget that it has crank windows instead of buttons. "To the library, and step on it," I giggle to myself as I pull out into traffic. I feel a little lightheaded and I remember that I never bothered to eat anything.

Perusal of the newspaper archives at the Mahon Public Library downtown confirmed what I'd already assumed – that there was no big government coverup, there was no conspiracy of that sort. The disaster at the Mystery Flesh Pit was capital-letter Very Big News for about a month, back in 2007, at least in the area. The stories towards the end of the month cast a little light on why it didn't last, though – it wasn't ongoing, it was just sort of a one-and-done thing. Yeah, finding the caustic vomit everywhere kicked up another stink a week or so later but the Powers That Be seemed to get that under control fairly quickly, at least in more populated areas. After that there were grumblings about disclosure and fault and blame and all that, and quite a few articles about Anodyne Mining or whoever going bankrupt but by the end of the month, aside from a few overly sentimental memorial pieces dedicated to delicately sidestepping the exact causes of death of the people they were memorializing, the news had moved on.

A librarian pokes around the corner with a cart and smiles at me; I smile back at her. She's young, pretty, long skirt, dark eyes. I scoot forward so she can pass behind me. I read on for a while, the faint swish of her skirt and the slim sliding sound of books going back into shelves registering dimly and pleasantly in the back of my mind. I put the paper down and stretch a little, and then I notice she's glancing over at me. I smile at her again.

"Doing some research?" she asks, and I nod.

"Yes," I say. "I'm a reporter for a paper in Corpus Christi and I'm doing a story on the Mystery Flesh Pit. Have you heard of it?"

As soon as the words pass my lips there's something dark and guarded lurking in her eyes that makes me perk my ears up. She waits a couple of seconds before she answers, clearly thinking of what to say, of how much to tell me. I mention, after a moment, that I'm surprised that so few people here in Lubbock seem to really remember it or care about it, and she nods, leans up against her cart.

"It was a big deal for a while," she says, gesturing to the stack of papers next to me, "but after that I guess it just wasn't exciting any more. The only people who really remember it are out in all the small towns where it really affected them. Here, in Lubbock, they just had vans working overtime to clean everything up and then it was easy to forget about. Every now and then I hear about them finding another pile of that vomit somewhere just...festering away out there in the desert."

"Were you there?"

"No," she says, "but my brother was."

"I'm sorry," I tell her. I want to reach out and touch her or something but I don't know if she'd appreciate it, so instead I keep my sympathy subdued. "Is he - ?"

"No, no," she says quickly, "he's alright. He was a park ranger there, he just…happened to be working that night. He, ah...it really fucked him up for a while," she says finally, giving me a grimace. "We haven't talked in a long time."

"I'm sorry," I say again. "That must have been hard, for both of you."

"Yeah," she says, cutting her glance downwards. "He always said some strange things about the disaster, real Alex Jones type stuff. But he just couldn't, you know, move on at all. We got in a big fight about it and, well, that was that."

I wonder what to say for a moment before I cross my legs, set the newspapers aside. "You must have gone there, then, while it was still operating."

"Yes, plenty of times."

"What was it like?"

She laughs softly. "God, that's such a...like, where do I even begin, you know? Have you been to many other National Parks?"

"A few," I tell her. "Not as many as I'd have liked. Crater Lake, Devil's Tower, Badlands, Petrified Forest..."

She laughs. "Real Midwest girl, aren't you?"

"Hey, Crater Lake is in Oregon, that's not the Midwest."

"I wasn't knocking it. Um. Well, it wasn't like any other park you've ever been to, I can guarantee that. It was like, you drive up to it and you park and you walk up these stairs to get to the main observatory building, and you get in there and you look down and there's just...skin. In a hole in the ground. It was extremely disconcerting. From that distance it didn't look real, it looked like it was plasticine or something, like it was a model. And there was something...I don't know, kind of lewd about it?"

"Lewd?"

"Yeah. The way they were spreading it open with these giant metal, like, flanges or whatever, and how it was all raw and pink around the opening...Freud would have had a field day with it. Made you feel like you were watching a gynecological exam."

"I still kind of can't believe they found this thing and thought opening a theme park was the best thing to do with it."

"It was the 70s, I guess." she shrugs. "Place is old, you know. Anyway, once you actually got down into it, it was...it was an experience. You rode this giant elevator down and they had a massive visitor center something like 1200 feet down inside the thing's throat, and you could look out the windows and see all this flesh outside. It was honestly like something out of a movie, it was so surreal. I went there a bunch of times with my brother cause he got an employee discount and I could get in for five dollars and I saw at least ten people have panic attacks and hyperventilate."

I think about my next question for a moment. "Would you say overall that it was, you know, a negative thing? Like, the park on the whole."

"No, absolutely not."

"Why's that?"

She licks her lips. "I think that it's really easy to forget how small we are. We've done all these great things, we've built civilizations, we've put people on the moon, we're exploring the bottom of the ocean, I think humanity in general likes to think that we have everything figured out." She shrugs. "The Mystery Flesh Pit is a really good reminder that we know basically nothing. I mean, they were studying it but they knew practically nothing about it, not how big it was, not whether there were more creatures like it elsewhere in the world, not where it came from, not even if it was awake or if it could move or what the thing looked like as a whole. I think what they ended up doing with it was stupid as hell, but as far as the experience of actually going down inside of it and walking around on a trail and, I don't know, watching macrobacteria roll past outside the fence or seeing something really weird moving around down there and seeing the park ranger guiding you not know what it is either, that's an experience I genuinely wish everybody got to have. It'll change your life."

"How did it change yours?"

She laughs. "Besides, you know, everything with the disaster and my brother and all that shit? Just going down there really made me realize who I was."

"How, exactly?"

She shakes her head. "Like I said, I figured out just how small I was and how – I don't know, how insignificant we really are. These days whenever I get worried or bothered or I stress out over something I think about standing there in the elevator looking up through the glass ceiling and watching the light get smaller and dimmer, like I was falling into a bottomless pit, and I find peace."

"Seems like an odd way to find peace."

"Different strokes, right? Anyway. I really ought to put these books away. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

I think about it for a moment, then shrug. "I'm planning on heading down to Gumption tomorrow, aside from the pit itself is there anything else I ought to check out?"

She lets out a low whistle. "I think you're going to be very disappointed. They don't let anybody go to the Pit any more, it's all sealed off, has been for years. And Gumption, well...that town has seen better days. I'll give you a tip, though, even though maybe I shouldn't. Look for my brother there, I know he still lives in town. I can't give you his number or his address, unfortunately, because I don't have them any more, but I know for a fact that he works at the only gas station in town, a 7/11, so ask around there and you'll be able to find him. His name's Peter; I'd tell you to tell him I sent you but I kind of get the feeling that might not get you very far."

I thank her for the tip and set the newspapers aside. If I head out tonight I might be able to get some good shots of the fence around Mystery Flesh Pit. I think of it, of the sunset, then discard the thought. Forget it. I'll need a whole day to really dig into it, I think. And more's the better. I have plenty of batteries, I have plenty of storage. Easy girl, there's no rush. Assuming they let me just walk up and start filming, but if I really hype myself up I can half-believe I could talk my way into at least getting some shots of the fence, at the very least.

"Oh, and one last thing."

I blink, look back up at her. She has a faint smile on her face, probably from watching me zone out, that fades quickly. "Don't stay in Gumption too long."

 * * *

 The drive down to Gumption is dusty and hot and boring. I get about halfway before I realize I'm not driving my poor old Hyundai, I'm driving a rental car, and that it has a functional air conditioner, and then I feel very silly, for though the wind certainly felt nice on the whole I would have much rather just rolled the windows up and sat in the cool air. I see a grand total of four other cars, all coming from Gumption, on the two-hour drive. It's mostly a straight shot but my phone tells me to take a county road that turns into just a dirt track towards the end that, after a little meandering, plops me out onto a back street of Gumption, Texas.

The research I'd done suggests that at one point Gumption had been a bustling little town, fuelled by the Pit’s tourist draw, and initially its size would indicate that it still is. But as I drove slowly through the empty streets, the general air of disrepair and decay became more and more apparent. I see a couple abandoned houses, and not the foreclosed sort with realtor's signs out front, but straight-up shattered-glass, boarded-windows, holes-in-the-roofs abandoned. The ones that weren't just looked sad, like no one was taking care of them properly. The cars parked on the street are all at least five or six years old, as best as I can tell. I see only two people out and about while I'm driving around at 15 miles an hour, getting some video footage, cruising down the middle of the road, eyes flicking between the empty street ahead and the screen on my camera. One, a youngish-looking black guy, keeps his head down and doesn't look at me, and the other, an old man in a wifebeater mowing his lawn, stares at me all the way down the street, until I turn the corner and pull onto the main road.

There's the 7/11. I'm tempted to head to it right away but I refrain, look for a diner or something, but the ones around look about as welcoming as the rest of the place. There's a McDonald's but it's so small it doesn't even have a drive-through, which is something I'd never seen before. There's a drug store and a liquor store and one of those tiny little storefront churches, something something Starry Wisdom. I think about going to McDonald's but instead I pull a u-turn and head back to the gas station. The clerk, a haggard-looking woman, doesn't look up from her magazine when I walk in. I wander to the back and grab a Coke out of the fridge unit. The credit-card reader is broken so I have to dig around in my wallet and find some bills. The entire exchange continues without any speech at all until I work up my nerve and lick my lips and ask her if there's a hotel around here somewhere.

She looks at me for a few moments and then jerks her head towards the road. Her voice sounds like a frog croaking. "There's a motel down the road a ways. When you pull out take a left and turn at Third street."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"By the way."

"Yeah?"

"Can you tell me when Peter works?"

I had to think for a moment to remember his name. I have it written down in a notebook but it's out in the car. Her eyes flash a little more lively. "Who's asking?"

I think of what to say for a moment before I shrug. "A friend."

For a moment I think she's going to tell me to fuck off, but something in my face must have convinced her. "He's off today. Come in tomorrow at eight or nine at night, he'll be here. He works graveyard most days."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

I walk out the door and the heat hits me like a thrown punch. I blow a breath out and lean up against the rough cinderblock edge of the gas station building and drink my Coke.

It's four in the afternoon and it'll take me maybe half an hour to drive down to the Mystery Flesh Pit. It'll be cooler, too, in the evening, and if this town is any indication I doubt there'll be much of a line. I wonder where the people who work there live; maybe they have a dormitory there or something. Clearly they don't live here. Maybe there's some little patch of suburbs somewhere, behind those hills over there, perhaps, where all the people are, but it's four in the afternoon and I've seen a grand total of three other cars driving around, so maybe not.

The guy at the motel gives me a nicer greeting than the lady at the 7-11 did, although not by much; at least I get a few dirty molars of a smile out of him as he hands me the key to my room. I had to wake him up from his nap at the front desk in order to get the room to begin with, and though I tried to do so as gently as I could he still started and almost fell out of his chair.

"Here for the Pit?" he asks as I'm about to leave, and I turn back, glance at him.

"Yeah," I say after a moment. "Just going to see what's there now."

"You're heading over now?"

"Yes."

"Huh," he grunts after a moment. "Most of you folks don't do that 'till dark."

I frown. "Us folks?"

"You know, you..." his eyes roam over my face and his mouth drops open very slightly. "Oh," he says heavily. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing, ma'am. Now if you'll excuse me –"

"Wait, hang on –"

"You have a good day now, ma'am."

He disappears into the back room and I stand there, glaring at the door as it swings shut, key still looped around my finger. I have half a mind to vault the desk and head back there and demand to know what the hell he was talking about, but I take a deep breath and let it out. What could he have meant? Maybe he thinks I work over at the Flesh Pit or something, although that wouldn't explain why they only head over after dark...that doesn't make sense. Tourists, maybe? But that doesn't make sense either.

I chew on my lip for a little while and then shake my head, push the door open and let the heat swallow me up again. There's no sense brooding on it; the only thing to do is to move forward.

 * * *

 The drive down to Mystery Flesh Pit is, if it were possible, even hotter and more boring than the drive down to Gumption. The heat is pounding on the window and begging me to let it in so I turn up the AC, trying to drown it out, but it's no use. No matter where I put my arm the sun is pouring down on me, and if I leave it still for more than a moment I get that unpleasant prickling sensation that tells me I'm starting to burn already. I've already got a pretty terrible driver's tan from the ride down but this is just overkill.

No cars pass me on the long road that my phone assures me is the way to the Permian Basin Superorganism Containment Corporation. It's only wide enough for one so if someone did come by someone's going off the road. Hopefully not me, as this rental Toyota is not built for that sort of thing. It's already been complaining at me creakily and jostling me around. I'll have to get it a car wash or something when I get back to Lubbock, whenever that ends up being. I didn't read over the rental contract very closely but I'm pretty sure if I bring it back this dusty there's some kind of fee.

You can see the outline of the plant, growing larger up ahead. It looks unassuming, exactly like any other indecipherable cluster of industrial buildings you'd see along the side of the highway, all greyish-white, tubes and pipes and tanks and corrugation, warning signs and fences and barbed wire, power lines and scaffolding and light poles, all clustering out of the ground like mushrooms after a cold rain. The guard in the gatehouse is watching me as I pull up, but I turn off the road, turning the car around so I'll be ready to go whenever I need to, well away from the road so anyone trying to get in or out can get by without any trouble.

The sign on the fence broadly proclaims that this is the site of the Permian Basin Recovery and Superorganism Containment Corporation, and says that the administration building is to the right, along with the barracks, infirmary, commissary, and so on.

I get out, shut the car door, take my camcorder with me. I keep it on but held low, taking a shot of my feet. I wander up to the gatehouse and the guard steps out, hand on the butt of his pistol, resting loose but confident. He has an MP helmet on and I wonder whether the National Guard is in charge of security or something, and then I wonder if I'm about to get got for trespassing. Surely there'd be more of a commotion if I was, right?

The guard has a sharp face but disconcertingly watery eyes. "Hi," I tell him.

"This area's off-limits to civilians, ma'am," he tells me.

"I'm not trying to get in," I assure him. "I'm a journalist, I just want to take some photos. Is that okay?"

He relaxes a little, points up and down the fence. "Right now," he says, "you're on public land. You go over that fence, you're trespassing on Federal land. Understand?"

"Yessir," I grunt, reflexively. Some old habits never die.

"You can take photos of whatever you like except for people inside the fence, understand? Before you leave I will check your camera."

"Yessir."

"Any questions?"

"Can I take a photo of you?"

"Am I inside the fence?"

"No."

"Then yes, you can."

I bring my DSLR up, snap a picture of him. He gives me a cheesy grin. I look at the display and then back up at him. "You blinked."

"Better take another."

I do so. "You know," I say to him, "this is a much more civil interaction than I expected it to be."

He pauses, halfway back to the guardhouse, to shrug at me. "You're just lucky that the government doesn't also own the land around the park. On most military bases it's like that, you know, they own a hundred-foot radius out from the fence, but here it's different."

"Cause it used to be a National Park?"

"I believe so."

"Do I have to stay in your sight or anything?"

He shakes his head. "No, there are cameras. Just make sure you don't touch the fence, it's electric."

I look at the sign on the fence again; I'd sort of skimmed over it before but a few more things catch my eye this time, especially the bright red one proclaiming that it's charged to 10,000 volts. I whistle. "Y'all really don't want people getting in, huh?"

"It's dangerous."

"So I've heard. Want to do an interview?"

"Can't do that, ma'am. What paper are you with?"

"Corpus Christi Star-Tribune."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're a long way from home. What brings you down to Gumption County?"

I briefly explain what got me interested in the Mystery Flesh Pit and he nods. "Lot of people seem to have forgotten about this place. It's for the best, I'd say."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No, ma'am," he says, but not unkindly. "I can't talk to reporters."

"Come on," I wheedle. "Who'd know?"

"We're on camera," he repeats.

"Fair enough," I shrug.

He gets back in the guardhouse and I run a hand through my hair and turn my attention to the fence. I take a shot of the gates, of the fence, of the signs on the fence, of the great bulging buildings visible through the fence. I get a nice one of the fence extending along into the horizon, a great metal wall bisecting the flat, hot plain of West Texas earth, extending into infinity, it seems, a shimmer of heat distortion bubbling off of it down in the distance. I get another good one of the sun dipping downwards behind the plant, swallowed by it, casting shadows across my face, long spidery ones that scrape the ground. Then, once I'm at about fifty-percent capacity on my memory card, I put the camera away and sit there on the trunk of the car, kicking my heels idly against the gravelly ground, taking it all in. I read the sign again and I call out to the guard. After a moment he comes out of the gatehouse again.

"What is it?" he asks.

"What's that sign mean?" I ask him, pointing to it. He turns, looks at it.

"I don't think it's very ambiguous," he tells me, and I roll my eyes.

"No, I'm serious. What the hell does it mean? 'Over 500 people die each year attempting to commune with the Organism?' What does that - ?"

"Ma'am, I really can't talk about it."

I look at him carefully but he seems serious, and the sign, well...it's a sign on an electric fence on federal property, so surely it's serious as well. I turn my camera back on and snap a photo of it, then I realize that there's a bit of background noise, coming slowly closer. It's the rumbling of an engine.

There, down the road, is an unmarked white Econoline van. It flashes its brights at me and I step out of the road, let it pass by, while the guard at the gate straightens his uniform. It pulls up to the gate and the guard leans in. He and the driver have a brief conversation before the guard steps back and reaches into the booth to open the gate. The gate opens but the driver of the van sticks his head out, looks back at me. He has a jowly, bristly face, about two five-o'clock shadows away from a beard, and a large bald spot.

"And you, what are you doing here?" he calls, and I get up, a little surprised to be addressed so abruptly. The guard comes out in a hurry, shaking his head.

"Sir," he starts, but the guy in the van isn't having any of it.

"Shut up for a second," he says. "Lady, what're you doing out here?"

"I'm –"

"Sir, you really shouldn't –"

"Look, lady," he says, gesturing me closer. "Things don't have to go this way. There've been a lot of advances with medical technology that can really help you out with those urges. There's –"

"Urges?" I ask. I get a prickly feeling all up and down my spine, like I'm hearing something I ought not to.

"Sir," the guard says, urgently now, "she's a reporter."

The man's mouth snaps shut so quickly he might as well have been a cartoon character. He flushes an angry red and glares at the guard as though he wants to say something but he just ducks his head back through the window of the car and drives through the gate, which closes after him. I shake my head.

"I suppose," I say after a moment, "that you aren't going to tell me what he meant?"

"Not a chance."

"Well," I say, getting up and stretching, "it's been fun."

"You have a good night now."

"Am I going to get a visit from the Men in Black at my hotel room later?"

"I wouldn't worry about that."

"Riiiight." I waggle my eyebrows at him. "That's exactly what they'd want me to think."

He laughs. "Good luck," he tells me.

"I get the feeling I'll need it."

"You’ll be fine," he says after a moment, but I do not feel reassured.

 * * *

 I drive back to Gumption with the setting sun blazing in my rearview mirror. It slips out of view entirely and coats the sky in dusky purples that quickly fade to black, and then it's the figurative middle of the night. One-handed I manage to wriggle a cigarette out of the pack on the seat next to me and transfer it to my mouth and then feel around for my lighter, and then I groan and pull over. The guy at the rental desk at the airport had seen the pack of cigarettes in my hand while I was filling out the paperwork and told me very strictly that I had better not smoke in the car and I, of course, had managed to forget completely. It's a good thing I remembered before I lit up.

The night is cold but not unbearably so. I spend a long time there, leaning against the trunk of my car, cigarette in my hand but forgotten momentarily, staring up at the sky. There's so little light pollution out here that I can see what feels like all of the stars, practically, great scattered dustings of them sweeping across the whole of the night sky like someone had tossed them there. There's the Big Dipper, there's Orion, there's the Little Dipper... I think that bright one is Mars, maybe, it looks a little reddish. And that cluster there must be the Pleiades.

I take a breath and blow it out and realize exactly how tired I am. It's somewhere lurking in the back of my skull, right behind my eyes, coiled around my neck. If I closed my eyes I'd probably be able to fall asleep out here, right on the hood of the car.

I crack my neck and wince. The moon's bright and full tonight, at least, so I can still see the barren terrain all around me.

I consider the cigarette for a moment before I throw it to the ground and crush it out. I don't normally litter, really, I swear, but the exhaustion creeping over me is making me not care.

There's a long drainage ditch along the side of the road here, terminating in one of those white-concrete tunnels disappearing into the dirt, its mouth wide enough to swallow me whole if I felt like going down there. I stifle a yawn, kick a rock down into the ditch, and traipse around the side of the car, get in and start it up. From where I parked it, the headlights angle downward enough to reveal a sliced-pie cut of the inside of the tunnel and there, inside it, I see for only the briefest second a pale, wide-eyed face staring at me, along with a dark-jacketed body and a hand, curled there on the floor of the tunnel like a spider before, in a flash, the man retreats into the darkness deeper in the tunnel and is gone.

I can feel my heart beating out of my chest and I realize my mouth has dropped open. Real animal fear has seized me and my rational mind cannot jerk back the reins. I put the car into gear, fumbling first and sticking it in neutral, and then push the pedal all the way to the floor and roar off into the dark.

I was very lucky that there was no one trying to get to Mystery Flesh Pit that night, for I probably would have flipped the car trying to go around them. The closer I get to Gumption, the slower I drive, until finally I manage to get myself to stop the car just outside of town. I pull over again and get out, curling my lip at my shaking hands, and light up another cigarette.

It was just a homeless guy, hiding in a drainage ditch. I probably spooked the fuck out of him, pulling up right there on top of him and hanging out. He must be wondering what the fuck I was doing out there. Probably scared him more than he scared me.

Why did I wig out so bad anyway? I like to think I've got a pretty good nerve. Well, stress is a good excuse, I guess. Or perhaps it's because he was simply hiding down there, unknown, unnoticed, the whole time I was sitting there on the hood of the car, completely oblivious. He could have rushed out and attacked me, if he'd had the guts to, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.

I take another drag at the cigarette and glare up at the stars again. Ursa Major, Orion, Pleiades. Sometimes, when it's quiet like this, I allow myself to think about what the coming year, or possibly years, if I'm lucky, will be like.

Whatever.

I crush the cigarette out and drive back into town, head back to my motel room. I feel better once I've showered and put on some shorts. I get into bed and pull the covers up, and even though they're the scratchy, weird-feeling covers used in seemingly every cheap motel in America, regardless of location, I drift off to sleep easily enough.

Continue with Part 2

Back to Table of Contents

[dweetwise]

Felix and Ace having met before. Ace won a grand prize at the table and got an executive suite. Though his next door neighbor was Felix who was here on a business meeting to design a similar casino. (I am sorry I love imagining people meeting people before the fog)

this isn’t exactly what you asked for buuuut i needed to write something for waiter ace and you blessed me with this ask uwu also if you didn’t want a ship i’m sorry but that’s what i assumed! warning for closeted felix and mentions of the s3x but nothing nsfw actually happens

word count: 1860

Felix X Ace: Strictly Business

Felix wasn’t exactly prepared for the fog to transport him into another dimension. He'd read some theories, sure, and he'd seen his father disappear into thin air all those years ago, but to experience it first-hand was another thing entirely.

He also didn't expect the world in question to be controlled by an eldritch being that forced its captured victims into a gruesome game of hide and seek, killing and resurrecting him and others at will.

But he sure as hell didn't expect to come face to face with the biggest mistake of his life.

It takes Felix a minute to recognize the man, the small camp having so many new faces and names to memorize and they’re all speaking over each other—it's a lot to take in. But then he spots a familiar face, and everything the ginger woman is trying to explain to him becomes white noise as the man he focuses on laughs at something a boy in a beanie says.

Felix’s thoughts drift back to what feels like a lifetime ago, when he was on a business trip in Austria, staying at a luxurious casino. 

Him and a couple of other junior architects were invited to design an expansion to the building, and the best idea would be hired. Felix hated competition, he hated having to work on the field, and he hated the lavish, over-the-top style of the casino. But he was only starting to get his name out there, and couldn't afford to turn down any opportunities—if he played his cards right, this could be his stepping stone into more high-profile projects. Maybe he'd get to design an entire casino next time, without the twenty fake fountains and fuck-awful gold trims.

They were waited on like VIP:s while attending meetings in lavish conference rooms and bullshit marketing presentations about the brand. It was basically an all-inclusive stay, but Felix still despised it. He would have given anything to skip the unnecessary pleasantries and stay at home to draw the designs in peace.

He hated it right up until one of the waiters serving their mid-presentation coffees caught him suppressing a yawn and gave him a cheeky wink and a smirk. Felix had blinked, thinking he imagined it, but the more he kept staring, the more the waiter's smile seemed to widen.

Felix wasn't gay, but being an architect, he could appreciate aesthetically pleasing things in life. Like the waiter's symmetrical face, high cheekbones and good hairline. And eyes that sparkled with mischief even while he was outwardly completely professional.

And the way his work pants clung to his perky ass.

The waiter was suddenly a hundred times more interesting to him than the entire project. The project was predictable, and Felix once again found himself drawn to the unknown.

It wasn't a challenge to get the man's attention. He only had to linger behind after a dinner, and soon enough, there was a gloved hand brushing fleetingly against his neck as the man collected his plate. With the rest of the group having moved on, and Felix having had more than a few drinks, he'd asked if there was any possibility for room service. He was rewarded a lopsided grin and warm eyes shimmering with promise.

He always was much smoother when drunk off his ass.

He doesn't even remember what he'd designed by the end of his five-day-stay in the casino. He only remembers fucking the cute waiter against the tacky gold-trimmed headboard of the king-sized bed in his suite. And in the hot tub. And in a supply closet. It was a long week, okay?

His companion was named Luca. He'd only been working in the casino for a few months and was thinking of moving back to Italy, not being a fan of gambling or the over-the-top establishment. He had a charming accent and only spoke a couple of words of German, forcing Felix to use his own shaky English.

It was a shallow thing. Felix tried to keep his personal life private, and he definitely left out the part where he had a girlfriend back home. He'd ended up exaggerating his professional success, but wasn’t that what people did? He was just trying to make a good impression, 

After the week, Felix never talked to the other man again. He got home, unpacked his bags, and freaked out. He didn't even want to think about how unprofessional he'd been and how risky it was.

And definitely not about how much he'd enjoyed it.

The more he tried suppressing the thoughts, the more insistent they got. His brain was periodically invaded by images of warm brown eyes, expressive lips twisting into a hundred different smiles, and a laugh resonating in his ear, rich like his favorite double-roast coffee. The memories had haunted him for close to a decade, and he thought he'd finally gotten past them, ready to be a good father that had his shit together.

But here he is, seeing the same brown eyes light up with the same carefree smile and the sound of the same damn laugh echoing through the air and all the memories come flooding back.

The woman next to him hollers something to the group, and the familiar face looks his way. Even with the now grey hair and added wrinkles, Felix still finds himself just as transfixed as he'd been ten years ago.

He's introduced to the group, but he only really remembers one name and the overwhelming sense of wrongness that follows it; Ace. The revelation isn’t made any easier when he notices there isn't even a flicker of recognition in the eyes he remembers so fondly.

In the following couple of trials, Felix is only disappointed further. “Ace” doesn’t have an Italian accent anymore, in fact Felix catches him instead saying something in Spanish to the woman in a blazer. He’s also very keen on gambling, and the shiny satin smoker jacket he wears in one trial could have been straight from the tacky casino they met in. Was anything he told Felix about himself true?

It takes him a while to confront the man, debating back and forth inside his head. All of his focus should be on finding his father, and he needs to keep these people at arm’s length. Ace not remembering him is the best possible outcome of their brief past together, he tries to rationalize.

But in the end, curiosity wins over rationality, and when the opportunity presents itself, Felix is unable to resist.

“You really don't remember me, do you?” Felix asks, alone in the camp until Ace returns from a trial. The man pauses, eyebrows pinching together in confusion “I didn't leave you to die on hook, did I?” Ace asks. “That happens sometimes.” “No, I mean back in the other world,” Felix explains. “We've… met?” Ace asks.

Well. If that's what you want to call it.

“Yes,” Felix simply says and immediately, Ace cringes. “I'm sorry?” he offers. “Excuse me?” “I can count on one hand the people I've encountered who remember me fondly. There's a 99% chance you hate my guts, so I figured I'd get it over with quickly," Ace explains, seeming a little wary. “I don't hate you, I just can't believe you'd forget and… lie.” “Oh, I… I do that. Did—whatever. Nothing personal,” Ace shrugs. “I really don’t remember you, sorry.” “Casino in Vienna. 2011. I stayed at the hotel for a week. You were a waiter. You said your name was Luca. We—” Felix hesitates. “…'met'.” 

Multiple times on multiple surfaces.

“Vienna, huh? Hmm... Oh!” Ace's face suddenly lights up. “You were one of the suits, right? Some kind of… lawyer?” "Architect,” Felix corrects, a little miffed. “Same deal,” Ace dismisses with a wave of his hand. “So, are you still neck-deep in the closet?” “What?” Felix recoils. “That's—I'm not gay. It was a one-time-thing.” “That would be a yes,” Ace muses, almost as to himself. “So you do remember? All of it?” Felix prods. “Guess so. What, you want a repeat performance?” Ace asks, raising an eyebrow. “No! I just…” Felix falters. 

‘Wanted to make sure you didn't forget me because I’ve been thinking about you for the past ten years’? No way he’s admitting to any of that, so he puts on his business face.

“Wanted to come clean. So we're on the same page. To avoid any awkwardness,” Felix says instead, and it’s definitely not as smooth as he would have liked. “Right…” Ace says, regarding him skeptically.

There's a few seconds of extremely awkward silence while Ace just stares at him and Felix looks into the fire, trying to keep his face neutral and not sweat bullets. Eventually Ace sighs.

“Look, can I give you some friendly advice?” he asks. “I… I guess so," Felix says, a little confused. “Drop the act,” Ace says, looking him dead in the eye. “The manly man, excited father, respectable lawyer—” “Architect,” Felix, again, corrects in annoyance. “—suit guy thing, whatever. It's not going to serve you any purpose in here. These people see right through any bullshit, trust me on that one,” Ace adds with a knowing smile that Felix has never seen before.

He doesn't have any time to think of a reply before they're interrupted, the girl with a beanie cussing up a storm while a young guy in a sailor uniform sits down in front of Ace expectantly and the man cracks a joke and immediately starts tending to the bloody gash in the kid's shoulder.

The wound is bleeding heavily but the duo keeps chatting without a care in the world. Felix remembers he got a gauze roll from the… blood web?—and he rifles through his meager belongings before approaching the two.

“You… um,” Felix stammers, holding out the item to Ace. “Would this help?” “Cool!" the teen chirps while Ace takes the offered item silently, regarding Felix with an unreadable expression. "Thanks—uhh, what was your name again?" the kid grins sheepishly. “Felix,” he says. “And… yours?” he asks, swallowing his pride and now hesitantly curious to learn more about his companions. “I'm Steve! This is Ace, and the moping bitch over there is Nea!” Steve exclaims with a bright smile that shows his bloodied teeth. “Dude, fuck off!" the girl, Nea, calls. “Hey Felix, anyone teach you how to use a flashlight yet?" “No, not really," Felix confesses, cautiously approaching the girl. “I understand the need for tools and medical supplies, but… what would you use a torch for?” ------------------ “So how's the new guy holding up?” Steve asks. Ace looks over to where Felix is sitting with Nea. “Allvarligt—förstår du mig inte?” Nea has apparently moved on from flashlight training to Swedish lessons. “For the last time, your Swedish sounds like gibberish to me," Felix explains. "Just because the languages are related—" “Sheiße,” Nea interrupts with a grin, moving to swear in German. “A multilingual genius, I see,” Felix deadpans. “He's learning,” Ace says, hiding his own hopeful smile behind the fluffy hair of the boy he's patching up.

(nea’s line: “seriously, you don’t understand me?”) i’m not 100% happy w this fic, esp since it’s about a new character but it’s a start at least! i also really wanted to throw in a “sure you’re hot but you were so boring i forgot all about you” line but it didn’t fit and now you just have to imagine that’s what ace was thinking

[iamkatehardy]

Do You Feel In Charge? (Bane x Wayne Reader) - Part 1

Requests: @tarjanisfrye: “ Hello dear! Hope you're doing fine. I want to know if I could request some Bane /fem reader named Amara, in where Talia questions the time Bane spends watching over Amara instead of, you know, doing his thing as Gotham's Reckoning? Thanks! ♡”

@deaflikehawkeye: “ Bane where he falls for Batman's daughter who is a crime fighter turned villain. Who he teams up with and who has no idea that he likes her.”

@udontadixonlover : “ Bane request: Our reader wants to join the ranks of Bane’s Reckoning. She wants to watch Gotham burn and the rich become as lowly as everyone else. Bane is IMMEDIATELY turned on at how she carries herself and her goal. She’s a keen fighter and not afraid to get her hands dirty. (😏 in both ways 😂) then maybe Big Papa wants her and takes her. Whatever Daddy wants...Daddy takes. 🖤” & “Okay...Bane OBVS Maybe, during “Gotham’s Reckoning” our reader maybe has a problem with some of Bane’s new recruits? They end up trying to touch her up and cue Mad!Angry!Bane. He shows them who she belongs to, then the Dom!Bane develops? I don’t know 😂 I do try and think these things through...honestly! 😂🖤”  

Anon : “ Hi love ur writing can u do 168 174 188 from the prompt list with bane please.”

Anon:  ” I was going through your smut prompts, for scientific purposes of course, and I stumbled upon these 3 and my mind went to Bane... think you can get can an idea for somethin’? 12) “Don’t be so rough. There can’t be any marks.” 54) “C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.” 55) “What? Does that feel good?” “

Anon:  “ Smutty Dom Bane where the reader kind of bullies Bane for the lack of sex/woman he has, but he proves it otherwise” – I’ve answered this ask, so it might not be LITERALLY this

Anon: “ Smutty Bane drabble with the reader being a total sex kitten for him and getting rewarded for being such a good, obedient girl please!”

A/N: So, although it’s not much, I decided to post what I have so far because I haven’t posted in ages😥😥 ❤ Hopefully, I will finish it tomorrow or after and post it , with all the smut and the fluff I owe you 😍

 Do You Feel In Charge?

Years after Batman’s mysterious disappearance, Gotham was said to be cleaned from crime, thanks to an intricate web of lies and deception. But there’s no rest for the wicked, is there? The League of Shadow had wreaked havoc upon the city and it was, once again, plunged in crime, violence and anarchy. Those were dark days for Gotham.

There was only one thing people needed; the only thing that could save them, the same one thing you despised the most: Batman. The masked hero, once seen as people’s savior, had been your erstwhile hero too, the example of everything you wanted to be; but sometimes things change.

More than a billionaire, more than a businessman, more than Gotham’s vigilante, Bruce Wayne was your father. Although he successfully raised you alone, giving you the best education he could and providing everything a child might want, Bruce was far from being the perfect father. In your view, his obsession with Gotham had gone way too far, costing him his relationship with you.  

When you came of age, you decided to leave your hometown and find your calling elsewhere. As for your father, he had been hiding from society; no one had seen or heard about him for a very long time. After several years studying abroad, you finally got a call from him, for the first time in a long while. You didn’t expect him to tell you he missed you, or that he loved you, there was never an expression of love or nurture on his part; the subject was almost invariably the family’s business. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was making him restless and he made it clear he wanted you in Gotham.

The return to Gotham was somehow painful; everything in that place reminded you that your father had always chosen it over you.

Just as you suspected, Bruce’s phone call had an ulterior motive. The nightmare was real again when he asked for your help to save Gotham. In all those years out of the damn city, you almost forgot all the hatred and need for revenge that once consumed you, but hearing Bruce’s unexpected request, those voracious feelings struck you again, like a lightning, tearing off a piece of your being and leaving searing pain in its place. He had trained you for years, pushing you to be better than he ever was, with a single purpose in mind only: you knew it hadn’t been for your protection, but to protect Gotham, when he could no longer do it for himself. The truth was he was a wreck, the corporation was a wreck, the whole city was a wreck, so he placed his hope in you.

A silent agreement was forged between you two when he took you to the Batcave, to give you all the information he gathered about the enemy: the possible locations, the possible plans and the possible ways to destroy him. What Bruce didn’t know was that your plans for Gotham didn’t match up his.

One night, you found yourself in front of the mirror, glaring, looking beyond your own reflection, faced with impossible choices that seemed to be wrecking your mind and tormenting your soul.  After a long reflection, without clear answers, you took a deep painful breath and steeled yourself.

After leaving the manor, cloaked in the silence of the night and the darkness that befell the city, you wandered through the streets.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend; it was time to find an ally. Although trying to reach Bane could have an unexpected outcome and you were uncertain of your fate, you were unafraid of what was about to come; a storm isn't always just bad weather, and a fire can be the start of something.

After many years of training, of disciplining and struggle, you had the ability to move like a shadow in the night, like a wraith. You were only seen when you wanted to be seen, and heard when you wanted to be heard; no movement betrayed you and no sound gave you away, unless it was your wish. This favored you, since being noticed ahead of time would certainly be your death sentence. Ready for everything for the sake of your goal, you slithered soundlessly into the sewers, avoiding the henchmen who patrolled the huge underground maze. Sneaking into Bane’s territory was a dangerous feat, requiring sacrifice, skill, but foremost inhuman bravery; one wrong move and it would end in a disaster.

When you found his chambers, for a moment you almost lost your breath; although he was laid resting in an old mattress, he still had a strapping, strong, intimidating figure, a beast that could certainly kill with his hands. With extreme caution, you slid against the cold wall, until you reached his desk, full of maps and papers.

The instant he heard the page flipping sound, he became alert immediately, swinging his legs over the mattress and getting up out of the bed.

Sliding from the shadows and into the dim light that shone on the wall, you gradually revealed yourself.

Bane merely squinted, observing you in silence, before he moved towards you. His muffled breaths through the mask echoed around the chamber and his hands hung on his jacket lapels.

“Let’s see. What have we got here?” – With a slight frown, he cocked his head, waiting for an answer. His broad frame shadowed your figure, much smaller in comparison to his.

“That depends on you, I guess.” – You met his stare, not flinching for a second.

“The question is how did you get here?” – He circled his hand around your neck, squeezing it lightly. – “And where are the rest of them?” – His penetrating gaze studied your face.

“I came in peace, to make a proposal. There’s no rest of them, I work alone most of the time; it makes it much easier to stay undetected, as you can tell.” – You gave him a brief, dirty look, before you suggestively looked down at his hand, with which he held your neck. – “Isn’t that an important trait in an ally?”

“It takes a backbone to be out here alone, I gotta give that to you. But what exactly makes you think you can call yourself an ally of mine?”

“It has been brought to my attention that you want to destroy Gotham. Now, if this were to be true, we would have a common goal.”

“Destroy Gotham?! And though she be but little, she is fierce.” – He mockingly said, letting go of your neck and grabbing your chin instead. – “And what has Gotham done to you?”

“Not Gotham itself, but the other important part of the equation you keep forgetting about: Batman. Gotham is Batman’s kryptonite, so that’s where I’ll strike.”

“Batman is not in the picture anymore.” – Crossing his arms, he started pacing around the room

“Please allow me to correct what you said; he’s not in the picture yet, but he’s planning to be back soon.”

Bane turned around and just looked at you in silence, for a while.

“I know his every move before he makes it; I know exactly how he thinks… His plans, his fears, his goals, his strengths and weaknesses… ” – Your icy stare mesmerized him. – “I’d say I know him way better than your League of Shadows does.” -  A sassy smirk appeared on your lips.

“Oh, and just how would you know all that?” – Thoughtful, he narrowed his eyes,

“Because he has been mentoring me, ever since I was a child.”

“Now, that’s a surprise.”

“I can give him to you. What you do with him is entirely up to you, as long as you get him out of our way.” – You looked at him, moving closer with a smirk on your face. – “Alone we're impressive, but together, we're a force to be reckoned with; we can take this city down.”

He couldn’t help admiring your determination, but he had questions about you and your past.

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” – He took a deep breath, moving closer, inches away from you, as if testing you.

“I’m (Y/N), formerly known by the name Amara Wayne.”

“Wayne, as in Wayne Enterprises?” – He raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

“And as in Bruce Wayne. Let’s not stand in ceremony here, we both his little secret.” – You shrugged.

“Don’t tell me you’re his sweetheart.” – A sneering chuckle was heard behind the mask.

“Oh, no, I’m his child.”

With that, he fell silent and pensively nodded, staring straight into your deep eyes.

Tag List : @carmen-kray , @titty-teetee , @iv-nyc , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @tiredoffeelinglost , @marvelgirl7 , @captstefanbrandt , @evilispretty-dead , @mollybegger-blog , @bignastyfan-nz , @scarrasco1325, @miidailyinspiration ,  , @haroldpain , @marvelslut16 , @willowick13 , @outofbluecomesgreen , @elemephstudies , @my-little-lucky-scissors , @overitall2018 , @innerpaperexpertcloud , @matoki-darkpanda , @jay-bel , @tarjanisfrye , @sadgirrrl666 , @baliadelcuore

[salmonthestoryteller]

The School of Hard Knocks

Written for Michael Guerin Week - Drunk and Disorderly

The School of Hard Knocks

A Roswell New Mexico Fanfic

Michael’s hand hurts, but he can’t let a doctor see it, and he can’t let Max heal it.  How would he explain a healed hand to Alex?  Let alone if Jesse Manes saw it.  The pain is severe, and he needs something to dull it or he won’t be able to think of anything else.  He’s seventeen, and he can’t buy alcohol legally, but he can buy all the acetone he wants.  The money he’s been saving was supposed to go to college supplies, but he can’t live in Albuquerque and keep an eye on Isobel at the same time.

He probably could repair cars or work on the ranches one-handed, especially with the help of his powers, but even the ranchers familiar with him shake their head and tell him to come back next year.  He lives in his truck for the rest of the summer, spreading out his college money for food, acetone, and fresh bandages.  He showers at the Evans house when he visits Isobel.  There’s a sad, haunted look in her eyes when she looks at him sometimes, but it would be worse if she knew the truth so he lets it go.  Max struggles with Liz leaving - he’s pretty sure he stops writing.  He definitely stops talking to him the way he used to.  It seems all their dreams have gone up in flames along with that car.  None of them see themselves or each other the same afterward.

-----

Alex leaves at the end of summer.  Michael’s hand is doing better by then.  He spends the night parked on Foster Ranch drinking bottle after bottle of acetone anyway.  Hoping it will numb the pain in his heart the way it numbs the pain in his hand.  Apparently there are some things acetone can’t help with.

-----

Sanders hires him when he asks for a job at the end of summer.  His hand is healed enough that he has some use with it.  It’s hurts, though.  It spasms sometimes.  He drops tools occasionally, and is always in pain at the end of the night.  He drinks more acetone, falls asleep in his truck, and is grateful for New Mexico autumn weather.  He knows it will be getting colder in a few months, though, and crashing in Max or Isobel’s rooms on the worst nights is no longer an option.

Months of not working while his hand healed has emptied the savings he’d built up for college.  Gas for his truck and buying food out - no fridge or stove means he can’t exactly make his own meals - make it hard for him to save up for a down on an apartment.  With his relationship with Max strained it’s awkward to borrow the Evans shower.  He finds himself heading out to truck stops or occasionally blowing money on a motel room.  His truck is probably cleaner than the motels, but his truck doesn’t have a shower.

He discovers the bunker at Sander’s Auto on a slow day while searching for spare parts he can use. It’s coated in decades of dust and musty from being closed up.  It doesn’t have a shower - but it has electricity.  Desert winter will hit in November, maybe December if he’s lucky.  Previous winters he’d spent plenty of nights wasting gas to run the heater in his truck for an hour, turning it off until it gets too cold to stand and then turning it back on again to keep warm.  He’s lucky both that his natural temperature runs hot and that he's immune to human illness.  Not being able to get sick isn’t the same as not experiencing negative physical side effects from the cold, though.  He’s also noticed his hand aches from it now.

He spends his spare time cleaning the bunker.  He splurges on a space heater and a folding cot.  He spends his first winter after high school curled up by that space heater trying out the different alcohols he’d discovered collecting dust in one corner.  Their effect is better when mixed with acetone.  When he’s drunk he can almost forget how rotten life is.

-----

The ranchers are far more willing to hire him once he has two working hands again.  He knows a little about gambling from previous summers he’d worked at the ranches.  Now that he’s an adult - is eighteen an adult he wonders sometimes - they aren’t holding back.  He loses a few wages before learning how to cheat.  How to count cards.  How to use his powers to rearrange cards to his liking.  When he’s back to working for Sanders in the autumn - already planning on spending the winter in the bunker again - one of the ranchhands asks about buying some copper wire under the table.  It’s not his to sell, but the money is a larger amount than he could get elsewhere at one time.  Sanders is half-blind and never knows how much of anything he has.

Michael can’t legally buy alcohol, but one of the ranchhands makes moonshine.  He buys some, mixes it with acetone, and drowns the guilt away.  He needs the money more, he tells himself.  It doesn’t actually make him feel better.

-----

When Max joins the Roswell Police Department he offers to pay for online college courses for Michael, but he rejects the idea instantly.  He can’t stand the thought of being some charity case to his ex-best friend.  Someone too pathetic to stand on his own.  Too broken to take care of himself.  It’s not like a college degree would do him any good in Roswell.  What jobs could he get even if he did have one in the career of his choice - contract work for the military base Jesse Manes all but runs?  That wasn’t going to happen.  Roswell had three businesses.  Ranches, Tourism, and Military.  No degree was going to help as long as he was stuck in a town where it wouldn’t make a difference.

He doesn’t need a dead tree to fix cars or work on the ranches.

There were always college books for sale in second-hand stores and Goodwills.  Michael starts to fill the bunker with them as he sits in it at night, devouring all the information he will never get to learn in a UNM classroom.  He starts sketching designs and making calculations again.  Then he finds a piece of the spaceship one of his nights stargazing at Foster Ranch and that changes everything.

-----

Isobel wrinkles her nose at his threadbare clothes, and Max looks at him with guilt-filled eyes.  He can tease Isobel until she rolls her eyes and mocks his new cowboy hat - there’s nothing he can do about Max.  It makes him angry, and frustrated.  He doesn’t want his guilt - he wants his best friend back.

He’s saves enough to buy an old airstream from one of the ranchers by the time he’s twenty.  The ranchhands take him to the Wild Pony for his twenty-first birthday.  He wakes up in the drunk tank, having apparently having taken part in a brawl he doesn’t remember much about.  Max looks furious with him, no hint of guilt in his gaze this time, and lectures him on drawing attention to himself.  It’s not the closeness of nights spent drinking acetone and talking about grades and girls and plans for the future.  It’s still the most they’ve interacted in almost four years.

The next time he starts a fight at the Wild Pony, it’s all him.  Max glowers and lectures and if this is the new normal, Michael can get used to it.

-----

The ranchhands only laugh when Michael is late for work because he was in the drunk tank, they don't judge him for it.  Plenty of them are late for the same reasons after payday.  The ranchers shrug when he’s arrested for gambling.  Foster calls it a damn stupid reason for jail time.  Sanders tells him not to drink on work nights.

Max lectures, and scowls, and the look in his eyes says he doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him.  He pays his bar tab once, and it leads to an argument.  Neither of them ever say they're sorry for it.  That’s not something they do anymore. Max lectures, Michael mocks him; they argue.  They aren’t friends anymore, and Michael begins to wonder if they ever were.

Isobel wrinkles her nose and complains at his choice of bars, and his Cowboy aesthetic, but still invites him to her wedding.  She smacks him on the back of the head when he shows up in his cowboy hat.  She complains about him getting into trouble, even though she’ll bandage his wounds and bring him acetone.  She looks at him like she knows he’s doing this because of a crime he didn’t actually commit.  It’s still better than her knowing her own involvement.

The disappointment in both their eyes still stings.

It stings because Max’s jeep was a gift from his adopted parents.  And he somehow doesn’t think about the fact that Michael saved up and bought his truck with his own money at sixteen.

It stings because both of them see that he never went to college, not that he’s never been out of work since his hand healed.  Max became a cop instead of a writer, and that’s okay.  But him being a mechanic is somehow pitiable.

It stings because he didn’t have parents to co-sign vehicle loans or credit cards to build his credit history so that he can have a thirty-year loan on a house neither could afford otherwise.  Yet his living in an airstream makes Isobel wrinkle her nose, not thinking about the fact that he was living homeless for three years to save up the money to afford it.

It stings because Max says Roswell is home, and Isobel buries herself in marriage and town events and playing human.  Neither of them wants to talk about the past or where they're from or if it’s possible to find out.  Which means Michael spending week after week, month after month, year after year, rebuilding the console of their crashed spaceship is an accomplishment that would mean nothing to them.  Pages of spaceship designs - later scrapped for new ones that get scrapped for even newer ones when he reads the latest studies on space travel and thermal dynamics - aren’t proof he can present that he’s been doing something with his life.

It stings because he's not low on money because he gambles and drinks and has to pay for speeding tickets. He's broke because three rolls of copper wire only affords him one spaceship part and there's two for sale on the dark web so he spends his wages on the second.

It stings the one time Alex asks him why he never went to college and made a life for himself.  Apparently pulling himself up from being homeless and starving isn't an accomplishment worth noting.  The following argument ruins their last day of Alex’s leave together and hangs like a bad memory over the start of their next encounter.  

Let me guess, another drunken fight at the Wild Pony, Michael?

You can get another job, Michael.

You’re wasting your life, Guerin.

Acetone and whiskey sting less going down then years of work getting where he is being dismissed by those whose opinions matter the most.

End

It’s sad that Michael never went to college because he wanted to go to college.  But I kinda hate how the other characters keep acting like Michael is a failure at life because he doesn’t have a house with a white picket fence and dead tree on his wall.

He was homeless, had no family, and suffered a life changing injury at 17.  At 27 he owns an airstream, both his bosses that we know of clearly like him, and he's created his own secret lab. That's hardly failing at life.

As for his drinking,

One, Michael clearly experiences pain from his hand. He can't exactly get pain killers and the hint from Max to Liz is that human drugs don't work on them. So what does he use for that pain? Acetone and Alcohol.

Two, confession time, I didn't realize Michael was supposed to be an alcoholic for a really long time.  I… my personal experience (ymmv), as someone who grew to adulthood in the American Southwest, is that people in the Southwest drink. I mean, I sang drunk karaoke with co-workers, one of my managers was known to occasionally show up to work on Monday morning with a hangover. I worked with people who had seen the inside of Tent City, and whose boyfriends were banned from bars for fighting. I just thought Michael was, y'know, a pretty typical Southwest small town mechanic/cowboy. Drinking included.  Then I started to notice other fans referred to him as being an alcoholic and I was like - oh? He is? XD

[oculusius]

Desk Jockey

“I want that report on my desk at 6 AM tomorrow or your ass is on the street.”

I look up from my keyboard, from the sickeningly modern, blank desk to the even worse face of my branch manager. Picture what you’d expect the person saying this to look like, and you’re probably right. Tall, dark hair combed back, slicked back with just enough gel to not be disgusting. Attractive, but only conventionally, because it hides his fetid interior. The rotten, wriggling insides of the kind of guy who relishes other’s misery, especially when he’s snorting high grade blow on the weekends. Though he’d probably prefer orphan’s tears (But that’s a story for another time).

I’ll do my best, you fucking cretin.

I mumble out some garbled excuse. I won’t even tell you what I said because I forget, or rather, it was so insignificant that I never committed it to memory in the first place. “Sorry Eric,” (He’s one of the ‘hip’ bosses that makes us call him by his first name), “Won’t happen again”, Please don’t take my healthcare away I will literally suck your dick to keep it. He shakes his head and walks away. We’re the last ones in the office, one of the tallest buildings in our shitty, Midwestern town; all glass and steel like some gaudy San Francisco startup. The only lights still on are in the lobby; besides that the only other illumination is from the sickeningly crisp glow emanating from my monitor. As soon as the elevator doors close behind Eric, I grasp my hair in my hands; it’s drenched in sweat and I’m balding already, despite being in my late twenties. Flakes of dandruff are appearing on my scalp, but by the time I get home from work I’m too damn tired to remember to get that special shampoo. Stress related? Probably. Did I have time to fix it? Fuck no.

I swear to God you motherfucker I’ll name you when I eat a fucking bullet you shit fuck…

Stop. The more rational voice in my head. Finish this shit in the next—5 hours? Shit, it’s already 1 AM! I’ll smash bottles and get proper wasted when I’m finished. And when the following day is over, seeing as I’d probably be pulling an all-nighter. Fuck. I take two caffeine pills from the nondescript tin in my top drawer.

Alright. I need to get the excel sheet from that old email inbox the intern left when he quit (not that I blame him). To do that, I need to go through my inbox and find that time I CC’ed him about scheduling that conference call. But to get into my inbox, I need to reset my password because company policy is to change passwords every 3 weeks, and it can’t be a past password…

Alright. One step at a time.

 It’s two hours later. I found the file, finally. I feel like I crossed the fucking Rubicon with no limbs to get here. Now, to get the shit I need from it and send it to Eric. I hope he chokes on it. While bleeding. From every orifice, and then some. I open the file, and I’ve never been so goddamn happy to see the sickening green of excel. Document recovery—what’s that? Fuck it, I’ll deal with it later. I ctrl f the account name. Beads of sweat are dripping off my forehead. Outside, it’s still the vaguely pinkish black of night in any big city. I might actually get some sleep tonight…

WHY IS THERE A FUCKING HYPERLINK HERE?

Oh boy, this better not cost me my job. I get sent to a greyish webpage, the kind of soulless portal that screams ‘high finance’. A nondescript login page for “Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management LLC”. I roll my eyes. Management occasionally threw us these shitty platforms because their friends from way back developed them, and they wanted to help them out. Because God forbid we use Citibank.

There’s no login, but there’s a support number on the bottom of the page. Maybe if I call, they can help me? It’s worth a shot. I mean, I had nothing but time, and if it actually worked and saved my job, I would fly all the way to India or some shit to kiss that phone technician on the lips. Alright. God, when I was an undergrad did I ever imagine this would be my waking life (or lack thereof?) I should’ve joined the military. Better to be blown up overseas then mentally scarred over here.

4-887-612-393: 24/7 Live Support

I call from my office phone, in the hopes that it’ll lend credence to the claim that I fucking need this login. The phone rings for what seems like half an hour, but I can tell from the clock on the wall that it hasn’t been a single, godforsaken minute. Maybe I’d died and gone to purgatory? Seemed believable enough—although, I wasn’t sure what I’d done in a past life to deserve this. Maybe I was a Mongol slavedriver, and…

“Hello, this is ZenDesk, my name is Robert. How may I help you today?” My crisis of existential spiraling instantly, mercifully, shatters. I put on a cheery voice.

“Hi, I work at [company name]. I really need to find something for my boss, and in this accounts payable excel file, it says that I’m supposed to login to a ‘Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management?’ I have all my company info if you need it, I was just never told we used this firm before.”

A beat passes. I hope he heard the desperation in my voice, because if I had a guardian angel, it’d be on the other end of that phone line. Why did I tell him I never heard of this place? He doesn’t care! He isn’t paid to care!

“Of course, sir. Just a moment please. What’s your name sir?”

That thin veneer of politeness again.

“Uh, Keith Sanders. I also have my company email, if you can send the password there…”

“OK sir, what’s the address?”

I spell it out for him. My fingers are digging into the faux-leather of the chair. I’m starting to sweat. If this doesn’t work, I’m fucking hosed…

I tell him the address, and soon I have the URL to reset the Kleene-Rosser password. Surprisingly, my company email works for the username. Lucky guess I suppose? I thank him, truly from the bottom of my heart, and wait for the page to load.

According to the web page, the site was some kind of file storage service. Besides a few nondescript tabs on the top leading to “Home”, “Support”, etc. there’s nothing but a grey background set behind a very basic file directory.

[company_name]/Accounts/Accounts_Payable/2019/May/.

There it is! So deceptively close. 05.19.19.xcl

When I try to open it, I hear the most awful of noises: the Windows 10 error sound, impossibly loud. File corrupted. WHAT THE FUCK? HOW DO YOU CORRUPT A FUCKING EXCEL FILE? SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS SIDEWAYS?

I dig my fingertips into my temples. I can feel the faint outline of an engorged vein on the side of my head. I imagine it, an angry, vibrant purple, the shooting representation of my immense, earth-shattering frustration.

It was as if every cog in the infernal machine that was my work place was designed specifically to drive me fucking bananas. Like my life was some cosmic joke to see how much I would endure before going postal, or at least smashing my monitor. Jump out an office window, strapped with speakers blaring “FUCK THIS PLACE” over and over again, even when they’re scraping me off the pavement with a comically large spatula. Every little thing piled atop one another to form the worst shit tsunami eternally suspended above my head. Every wriggling, squealing fucking cell in my brain…

Alright, let’s think of solutions. Eric wanted the file, and if it was corrupted, I’d just tell him the truth: that it’s how I found it. Man, why did I drive myself up the wall earlier? So stupid… I log into my email. Actually, I don’t. As soon as I hit enter in the URL bar, I get that fucking google “no internet” error dinosaur. At this point, I try to keep rolling with the punches. Alright, network diagnostics, here we go. After what feels like centuries, after windows resets the router, etc. I finally get an answer. Sort of. An error code. I had two hours left before I was unemployed. I take another caffeine pill and keep going, determined to see this shit through to the end.

Hidden on the fifth page of the search results is my answer. It’s on an obscure, early 2000s web forum that had a grand total of 2 users online, probably bots. A post from a literal decade ago has my same issue, and one of the commenters mentions he had the same thing. Apparently, it’s a hardware issue with the router. Despite being woefully underqualified to deal with IT issues, I have no other choice. No fucking way Eric will believe that the internet cut out 2 hours before my deadline. I find the tech support number, and pray that the information is up to date and that they won’t have to send a technician out to fix it.

As the phone rings, I ponder my situation. I was unlucky enough to find what I needed right as the Wi-Fi died, and it was probably one of those issues that fixes itself in an hour anyway. There it is again; I can almost see the shadowy gears of the universe working against me, trying to crush my psyche beneath their teeth into bits of mental scrap. When I finally get a response, I’m caught off guard. This guy seems American. His voice is a bit hoarse, and I picture him as the fat comic book guy from the Simpsons, gut and all.

“----- tech support. How can I help you?”

I don’t like the way his voice trails off every word, leaving a breathy wisp behind like the tail of a comet. It makes me want to shudder.

“Yeah, uh—“

My mind blanks for a minute. I’ve been derailed, and it takes an agonizing few seconds for me to decide what I want to say.

“I was trying to email my boss, and—“again with the unnecessary details “I got this error code, and I saw online that it was an issue with the router.”

“Uh huh.” He sounds skeptical. And disapproving. I imagine he’s wrinkled that gob of cartilage clinging to his face he calls a nose. “What’s the model number?” He finally asks.

I read off the name, and he laughs. He fucking laughs. Is my suffering amusing him? Arousing him?

I have a clearer image of this guy now. Pervading my mind, filling the gaps in my brain, covering my synaptic gaps with fucking cement. He’s grossly overweight, in some dark room somewhere. He smells like BO and he is sweaty milky beads off his forehead that are landing into his keyboard and congealing. The scent is odious, like a corpse coated in mayonnaise and left in a tomb for five millennia, except it’s still wet.

“Sir?” That subtle tone of annoyance again. “Do you understand me, sir?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Would you mind repeating that? I was just—talking to someone.” Idiot he can tell you weren’t.

I write down his instructions, but first he pontificates about some issue with a chip in the router or some shit. Apparently I have to call the manufacturer? And they can help me dust it off or some such?

He’s fleshy and sickeningly soft, like a malformed, hairless puppy. That shirt’s been pasted to his damp stomach longer than you’ve been on Earth. It’s just a crude impersonation of the kind of people that run this industry. And you’re just his plaything, to be antagonized and fucked with until…

As soon as my attention is re-centered, I say “Alright thanks bye” without even knowing what he was rambling about before. He laughs. No, cackles. I can practically smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath. I slam the receiver down. It was starting to stick to my face with sweat and I really wanted to switch to my cell anyway. Peeling it away was orgasmic.

I examine the napkin I had scribbled on. I’d written it down in a haze, and it almost felt like I was reading someone else’s handwriting. Was that a 5, or a 6, or what? Doesn’t matter. I plug in the numbers, to some obscure fucking company I know nothing about. There’s like 12 digits, not like any number I’ve ever dialed. Unbeknownst to me, I was about to make the worst fucking mistake of my life, worse than taking on that debt to go to college or that time I puked on grandma’s casket at the funeral. Light years away, I imagine, some metaphysical blade was eagerly, sexually, preparing to scoop out my insides and flay them across time and space, flicking its imaginary tongue back and forth in anticipation.

I had expected that infuriating error code, but instead, I feel it. All of it. The other side is cold, and every hair on my body stands right on edge.

“Hello?”

The phone’s definitely connected.

“Hello?!”

This time it seems to echo. I’d opened a door, a beaming ray of light into a place that hasn’t been graced by it in eons.

“Is this Infolink appliances?” I gulp suddenly. My throat is impossibly dry. Everything that made me me, my identity, my memories, my interests… were spilling out into space, into an impossible void far blacker than even the darkest of nights. Please. Like my brain was a plastic bag full of air, but now it’s been punctured. It’s getting sucked out like a breached spaceship, and my body is curling around the now torturous void. I am a husk.

I drop the phone on the ground, and the screen cracks. But I’m far beyond caring about that screen now. The spiritual, inky black is billowing out of the phone like an endless wave going out in every direction. And there’s something else. A raucous laughter, and sneering, they’re laughing so hard somewhere backstage that their mouths, or whatever they call those fucking gullets, are overflowing with sickening white foam with streaks of yellow bile. Dark silhouettes that have been eagerly waiting this whole time for this horrible climax. I’d played my part. Everything else was out of my hands now.

[lilacmoon83]

A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 25: Boiling Point

Snow and David collapsed amidst the climax of their passion and they took in gasps of air, while they slowly came down from their euphoric high. Snow lay cuddled against him, as he pillowed her head on his chest and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"I love you so much…" he whispered. She looked at him with a dreamy stare.

"I don't know how I lived without this for twenty years…" she swooned. He smirked.

"Glad to know I didn't lose my touch," he teased.

"You definitely did not, Prince Charming, but there was never any worry of that," she purred, as their lips met again in short, passionate locks.

"Mmm...I could make love to you for eternity and I'd never get enough," he whispered in a husky tone.

"Well...good thing eternity is exactly what we have, my handsome prince," she whispered in his ear. He grinned and kissed her again and her body thrilled, as his hand slid down her side and sensually down her leg. He lifted her leg and hooked it around his waist and she moaned, as his hands worked magic again and his lips moved down her neck.

"Charming…" she gasped, as she combed her fingers through his hair and the ministrations of his strong hands on her body and his soft lips drove her mad. Her writhing and singing of his name spurred him on and lovemaking began anew, as he proved he had neither lost his skill nor stamina. Her back bowed and she raked her nails sensually along his back, until he shuddered against her and they rode another climax together in perfect sync, before collapsing again.

"Oh…" Snow sighed, as her body still trembled and he spooned her against him. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder and then to the shell of her ear, giving her goosebumps.

"Mmm...it's almost seven. We're going to be late for dinner at Granny's," she mentioned.

"Yeah...we should probably clean up and get going," he agreed. She bit her bottom lip and turned in his arms.

"We could clean up together…" she said. He grinned.

"That will make us even later…" he warned, but she shrugged.

"They'll understand...we have a lot of time to make up for," she said, as she took him by the arm and led him into the bathroom with her. He kissed her passionately and deeply, as they stumbled toward the shower. She turned away and moaned, as he kissed the back of her neck, as she tried to get the water turned on. She finally managed to turn it on and they got in, as steam billowed around them and they became lost in each other once again.

~*~

August walked briskly along the streets of Storybrooke on his way to Granny's. He was anxious to tell his family about his conversation with Tinkerbell. She wanted to take Emma away from Storybrooke so the curse could never be broken and they had to find a way to stop her. He was so focused on what he was doing that he collided with someone and nearly fell over, but managed to keep on his feet.

"You…" August said, as he saw that he had bumped into Greg Mendell.

"Ah...Mr. Swan, I was actually looking for your mother. Care to tell me where she is?" Greg asked. August snorted.

"Oh I think you know that's not going to happen," August refuted.

"We just got the DNA results back. Care to tell me how it's possible that a man your age fathered your sister, who is only a few years younger than you?" Greg questioned.

"Nope," August refused again, as he pushed past the man, brushing his shoulder when he was suddenly hit with one an oncoming trance.

"Something the matter?" Greg questioned, as he was ignored, but watched curiously, as the other man pulled a large, brown leather book out of his bag. August stumbled away though, as he didn't want to go into one of his trance's around the outsider. But he couldn't ignore the call for long and collapsed onto the nearest bench. He opened the book and extracted his glowing pen, as he began writing.

Greg caught up to him and curiously observed what was happening, not quite sure what to make of it. It was only a few moments before August came out of the trance and was able to look over what he had written. But it was not at all what he expected. And Greg was incredibly surprised as well.

"How...how do you know about this day?!" he demanded to know, as he swiped the book and looked at the pages. He put his hand on the illustration of his father that he had watched appear on the page like magic.

"Wait...is this you?" August asked, as he read the text.

"Your Dad...he was killed when everyone came over with the curse," he muttered and then heard the cocking of a gun. He closed his eyes and sighed. He should have seen that coming and realized that digging on the dark web for answers about their outside guests might not be necessary now.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about this...this...demonic town," Greg hissed.

"If you're looking for someone to blame for your father's death...then you can look no further than Cora Mills," August answered.

"Then you can explain why while you lead me to her," Greg said, as he prodded him to get up with the gun. August got up and started walking.

"I don't know where she is and she doesn't give a damn about me. I'm not a good hostage if you're looking to get to Cora," he warned.

"She has a daughter...take me to her," Greg demanded. August snorted.

"Cora doesn't even care about her own daughter, at least not in the way she should. Don't you get it? The only person that Cora cares about is Cora," he warned, as he slowly turned to face him, even as Greg still held the gun on him.

"She needs to pay," Greg hissed.

"You're right...we agree on that," August said, as he flipped through the book and showed him another page.

"She has hurt my mother more deeply than anyone and we want her to pay as much as you. Believe me...the whole town will once they wake up," August explained.

"Wake up?" Greg asked in confusion.

"Read the book if you want to, but know that the reason this town is here is because of Cora. She did all this. She ripped families apart and everyone else here are victims, just like you," he replied.

"How can I trust you? How do I know that you're not lying?" Greg questioned.

"Because everything he said is true. Cora destroys every life she can and she does it with glee...including mine," Tink said, as she arrived. Greg looked at her in confusion.

"Tia?" he asked, but she didn't answer him.

"Thought you didn't care what Cora does to this town. As long as you get what you want," August said bitterly.

"You think I want to lock your sister up?" Tink asked. He snorted.

"You made it pretty clear that you weren't going to stop until you did, but if you think her parents won't unleash holy hell on you if you try...then you're not very smart," August replied.

"You think I'm afraid of Emma's parents?" Tink questioned.

"You should be," he warned.

"Maybe we can make another deal," Tink said. He rolled his eyes.

"I don't bargain with psychopaths...especially with the one you work for," August retorted. Tink clenched her teeth.

"That psychopath wakes up if your sister breaks this curse," she reminded him.

"And if she doesn't...no one wakes up and Cora continues to terrorize my family!" he said hotly.

"Or...we arrest Cora and take her to prison in Portland, Maine. I have Home Office connections there that can make it happen. It's not like we can't find real evidence of countless crimes she's committed," Tink said.

"What about Emma and Neal?" he asked.

"If we take Cora out of the equation and she promises not to break the curse...then everyone wins. We can't make Neal's charges go away, but it's not like anyone else can get in here without this magical map that Cora sent to us," she said, as she held it up in front of him. He sighed.

"I'm not sure my Mom will go for that. It still means people she cares about will be cursed," he said.

"But they'll be safe with Cora gone and can be happy without the fear of her hanging over them," she reasoned.

"I can live with it, honestly...but you have to sell this to my family," he said.

"Then let's go," she replied

"Hey...wait just a minute," he demanded, as he pulled the gun on them again.

"Can you do something with him?" Tink asked.

"I can't abuse the power of the pen like that," he replied. She rolled her eyes and stalked up to him.

"Put the gun down, Greg. Cora is going to pay. She is the reason your father is dead...her and no one else in this town," she reasoned with him.

"But Tamara said…" he started to say.

"Forget what Tamara said! She wants to blow up this town, because she hates magic and I know that you only really care about making the person that killed your father pay. Stick with us...and we'll see that it's done," Tink promised, as she held out her hand.

"Give me the gun...because Cora is going down, but everyone else in this town is innocent of her crimes," she added. He sighed and gave her the gun.

"Fine...but please tell me what the hell is going on and why did you tell me to read a book of fairy tales? What does that have to do with any of this?" he asked.

"That's not just a book of fairy tales...it's a history book. Of everyone in this town and since you're in the book now, you should know why," August replied, as they made their way to the loft.

~*~

Snow moaned into his kiss again, as she sat straddled in his lap. They had managed to finish showering and somehow got dressed, but only made it as far as the couch before they were becoming lost in each other again.

"You know...maybe we can just ask Emma to bring us home some takeout," she suggested. He grinned.

"I really like that idea," he agreed. Just as she was about to call their daughter, there was a knock at their door.

"I wonder who that is?" he asked. She reluctantly got up and straightened her clothes.

"Probably just Auggie...he's always forgetting his keys," she mentioned, as she went to the door. But she gasped, as she was staring into the barrel of a gun when she did.

"Snow!" David cried, but the cocking of the weapon stopped him in his tracks.

"I'd advise you not to move...unless you'd like a hole in her pretty little head," Cora warned, as she swept into the apartment. But David saw the uncertain look on Kathryn's face.

"Kathryn...think about what you're doing. This isn't really you," he tried to reason.

"He's just trying to get you to lower the gun away from his precious Mary Margaret. She is all he cares about. You might as well be trash," Cora told her, which seemed to bolster her, pushing her from uncertainty back to furious.

"Shut up…" she snapped to him and Snow cried out, as the blonde grabbed her by the hair, before putting her in a headlock.

"Kathryn please...don't do this…" he pleaded, as she pressed the barrel to Snow's head.

"Cora is right...I might as well be invisible…" she hissed, as he started to reach for his wife, but she pressed the gun harder against the raven haired beauty's head.

"Don't move!" she warned, as her fury took over.

"Damn you...you just can't stand not touching her for five seconds, can you?" Kathryn complained in disgust.

"When we were married...I begged you to touch me! But you never wanted me...I had to force you into bed!" she cried.

"Kathryn…" he started to say.

"Shut up!" she screamed in fury.

"I begged you to be with me...but you wouldn't!" she shouted.

"But her...you just can't keep your hands off her!" she said in disgust.

"I can even smell you all over her!" she added.

"But divorcing me wasn't enough...your bratty son had to print that article about my family. We're ruined because of you!" Kathryn cried.

"And they will pay for it, my dear Kathryn," Cora cooed and David looked at her.

"Taking us hostage won't stop our daughter. She'll break your curse, regardless of what you do to us," he warned. But Cora smirked.

"Oh no...she won't be doing anything once this town implodes. Welcome back, by the way, though I've known all this time that you were awake," she said. David looked at his wife and then back at the evil woman.

"How?" he asked. She smirked.

"My loyal Sheriff Graham bugged the station weeks ago. I know all about what you found in the cave beneath the toll bridge. You were wise to have Mr. Gold hide it from me, but that doesn't matter now," she said.

"We're going on a little trip to the mines and you're going to walk there calmly. One wrong move and I'll happily pull that trigger myself and put a bullet in her skull...with glee," Cora warned him. He turned and looked at his frightened wife.

"It's gonna be okay…" he promised.

"Stop lying to her and walk, Prince Charming, because for you two, it's going to be anything but fine when I am done," Cora hissed.

~*~

Emma checked her phone again and put some more fries on her son's tray.

"Man...they're never this late. I wonder what's holding them up?" Emma questioned. Neal chuckled.

"You sure you want to know the answer to that?" he asked rhetorically, as he ate another onion ring.

"Eww...no," she complained, as she lightly smacked his arm.

"Yeah...at least you've never walked in on them. Trust me...there's not enough alcohol for that," Regina complained, though in amusement, as she sipped at her drink and then winced.

"You really need to teach them how to make a good appletini...cause this one is not," she complained to her boyfriend. Ethan had joined them and so they had been careful about exactly what they were discussing, because of him and Lacey. Regina was very happy for her sister, but she longed for her own husband to remember. Being with him as Ethan had been wonderful, but she missed the part of him that was Robin deeply and she swore her mother was going to pay for it all.

"Well...this is a diner. Appletini's aren't their specialty," he said, as he took a bite of his lasagna.

"Mmm...and not lasagna either," he complained. She smirked.

"Or maybe I just spoiled you with mine," she teased and he smiled.

"Yours is the best I've ever had," he agreed. Emma looked up, as the bell rang on the diner, but was disappointed to see that it wasn't her parents. And the look on August's face gave her a bad feeling.

"Mom and David aren't here?" he asked, as she noticed the blonde detective with him and the assistant district attorney from Portland.

"No...they're still home. They should be here soon I hope," Emma replied.

"No, they're not," August said, with a quiver in his voice.

"What?" Emma asked.

"I was just at the loft, Em...they're not there," August replied and she swallowed thickly.

"Maybe...they just went for a walk?" Neal suggested.

"I've called Mom three times and it goes straight to voicemail. David's phone too...something is wrong," August said, as he groaned and started to go into one of his trances. Emma jumped up and helped him sit down, as he opened the book and the pen glowed. Emma peered over her brother's shoulder and gasped.

"Oh my God…" she uttered.

"She has your parents…" Neal uttered.

"That's not all she has," Rumple said, as his eyes were wide with fear.

"Papa...what is it?" Neal asked.

"A trigger," August answered for him.

"Trigger?" Regina asked. Lacey and Ethan were completely lost at what was going on, as was everyone else in the diner, but August's strange trance had not gone unnoticed.

"This...it may look like a diamond, but it is a trigger that will allow Cora to destroy everything...literally," Gold said.

"Wait...what?" Neal asked.

"If this is activated...then it will literally wipe the town off the map and let her start over, while killing the rest of us," August answered.

"Except…" he started to say.

"Except what?" Emma asked with bated breath.

"There's no magic yet...it's hard to say without it on what scale the destruction will be," August replied.

"He's right...it could still be very bad though, maybe worse," Gold said.

"How is it worse than total obliteration?" Regina questioned.

"Because total obliteration would be quick and painless. Partial destruction is possible here and would mean the possibility of survival, but not without suffering. In any case, I really have no idea what scenario we will be dealing with," he told her. Regina pursed her lips.

"Then we stop it...we need to get to the mines," Regina said, as they got up.

"Neal...you need to take little David and get out of here in case we can't stop this," Emma said.

"No...I'm not leaving you!" he protested.

"There may still be a way to counteract the trigger if it is activated," Rumple said.

"Then why the hell didn't you say that before?" Regina snapped.

"Because I don't know if it will work at all, a little, a lot...I don't know," he snapped back and she sighed.

"The sapling...it's made of pure true love's magic, like you Miss Swan. It could foil Cora or minimize the damage," he said.

"Or it could do nothing...and if it does nothing, we need to get people as far away from the epicenter as possible," Regina replied.

"Papa and I'll get the sapling," Neal decided.

"Emma, Regina, and I will go after Mom and David," August said, as he stood up.

"Tink...can you, Ethan, and Lacey start leading people toward the town line. If the worst happens, get everyone over the town line," August suggested.

"How do you suggest we get everyone to follow us?" Tink asked.

"Because it's an order for their safety from their new Mayor," Regina announced, as they left, with Neal and Rumple heading for the shop with little David, while August, Emma, and Regina took off for the mines to save Snow and David. And hopefully, stop the coming disaster...

[theorangedeath]

Some webcomic recs

Webcomics are as underrated as they are varied. I mostly read printed comics now, but there’s no way I’d have gotten there had I not found webcomics before - believe me, I tried, but this damn hobby is super inaccessible to a beginner, not to mention expensive. Webcomics are like fanfics in that regard - hell, some of them are fan comics - in that there’s something for everyone, all within your reach, but in order to find something you like you have to either 1. Get very, VERY lucky, 2. Be prepared to read a lot of bad stuff in order to get to the good stuff, or 3. Hear about them from people you trust. 

I was a 2 - i would read anything, back in the day - and while i’m not as unconditionally enthusiastic as i was, there are still some gems I wish got the same appreciation as some talents in the industry. I’ll spare you the rest of the article (dm me for comic rants though), let’s get to it! 

note: all the comics are numbered as “1″ because tumblr messed up the google docs formatting 

Comics i still follow as they update because either tumblr starts posting about them right away or they’re on tapas

Check Please! 

https://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/

I’m probably not the one introducing you to Check Please, as it’s one of the most popular webcomics out there, thank god. The parts of the fandom i’m familiar with are cool and wholesome, just like the work itself. It’s about a southern gay kid, Eric Bittle, who joins the hockey team in his college. It’s impossible not to love every single character there, the sports drama elements are great, and the format is like solidarity put into panels. The Samwell Men’s Hockey team’s motto is “we’ve got each other’s backs”, and there isn’t a single part of the comic that doesn’t 100% incorporate that. 

Heartstopper

https://tapas.io/series/Heartstopper

The 2000s so far have been a rough contest for the title of “sweetest ya romance” but guys, we found it, we can stop now. Nick and Charlie are in highschool, Charlie is gay and out (not by will), Nick plays rugby because apparently that’s what british jocks do. Can i make it any more obvious? It took me a while to fall in love with the artstyle but when i did i fell HARD - the creator is re-drawing some of the older chapters, though, so your experience might be different. The story’s captivating right away, and you want everyone there to be happy from pretty much page 1. The creator also writes ya prose, and some of her books are about other characters from the same school. I love all of them, but Radio Silence is my personal favorite. She also has two novellas about Nick and Charlie themselves, available as e-books. 

Charity Case 

https://tapas.io/series/Charity-Case

I rarely start new webcomics anymore, but boy, this one got me FAST. and that was even before I realized it’s a polyam love story, which i love but is surprisingly rare in webcomics - at least the ones i know. Julien, an irresponsible young musician, resorts to sharing an apartment with two roomates who are a couple. I fell for the unique, gorgeous artstyle first, and by the time i realized i’m also super invested in the story and characters, it’s already become one of my favorites. Plus, Julien’s hair looks so soft! 

The Property of Hate 

http://thepropertyofhate.com/TPoH/

THIS is what comics should be. There’s so much passion here, not just for the story but for the storytelling as well - and the two aren’t as separated as you might think. A young girl is recruited by a TV man to be a hero. The world they enter seems nonsensical and arbitrary at first, but as they travel she discovers its logic, stories and secrets. She will also, as her title suggests, need to save it. There’s so much i love about this comic that i don’t know where to start, so i’ll just say this: it’s absolutely inspiring, in every sense of the word. Also, read the creator’s duck comics, they’ll make you feel things. 

Webcomics i occasionally remember to catch up on, get blown away all over again by how good they are, vow to check them regularly for updates then forget. And repeat 

Wilde Life

https://wildelifecomic.com/

I think this is the first ever webcomic i read that had a plot? I got on the wagon at around chapter 1 or 2 and it’s hard to believe it but it only gets better with time, even though it already starts at 100%. Oscar moves to a new town and immediately makes friends with a ghost and a grumpy teen werewolf. It has both monster-of-the-week type problems and overarching plots, and reading it feels nostalgic and brand new at the same time. The fantasy world has this special feel to it, that makes me miss growing up in the american wilderness even though i, well, didn’t. Plus, the creator is cool as hell. I knit her a hat in high school in exchange for a commission. 

Sfeer Theory

https://sfeertheory.com/

This comic got me through a hard time and i’ll forever be grateful for that. Also, it’s really, really good. This is another case of a comic where you fall in love with the art right away and before long you find yourself caring very much about the characters and the story. You might also find yourself growing out your hair to style it like Luca’s. If you’re me it’ll be a lost cause, so, uh, keep that in mind. Luca works as a technician at the prestigious Uitspan university. A mysterious, powerful man is looking to change that. While the comic’s biggest strength is probably the gorgeous, fascinating worldbuilding - and Luca’s hair - the characters are also ridiculously easy to relate to, even if we don’t know anything about them. Even the most meaningless extras are somehow compelling thanks to the dynamic, rich art style. And did i mention the hair? If you like it, you won’t be disappointed by everything else Little Foolery makes. 

How To Be a Werewolf

http://www.howtobeawerewolf.com/

I almost didn’t read this one! My brain has decided i don’t like werewolves and i don’t know how to reverse that. But then i saw Elias’ body language and it was extremely fun and friendly, and so was the rest of the comic, and the rest is history. Malaya knows she’s a werewolf, but seeing as she doesn’t know any other werewolves, dealing with that is hard. That is until Elias discovers her and decides to help, along with the rest of his pack. It’s filled with family and solidarity feelings, some dark mysteries and themes, and the art is beautiful and expressive. 

Monsterkind 

http://monsterkind.enenkay.com/

Another case of read-everything-this-creator-makes-it’s-all-amazing! Wallace, a social worker, moves - or rather, is moved - to District C, which is mostly populated by monsters. His heart’s in the right place, and apparently so is his apartment, because his neighbors are cool as heck and agree, some of them reluctantly, to help him get his bearings. There’s a mystery to uncover, some monsters to help and a dashing tea octopus to woo - for Kip to woo, anyway - and it’s all a delight to read. Every single character brings their own lovable-ness to the table, and even with the darker parts, reading this comic kinda feels like being hugged. 

Comics that no longer update

The Less Than Epic Adventures of TJ and Amal - finished 

http://tjandamal.com/

Guys. guys! I’m pretty sure this is my all time favorite comic, web OR printed. I have the printed version, i still read it online occasionally, a lot of the songs mentioned in it are now saved on my spotify, i had it as my phone background for a good couple of years, the whole package. Amal comes out to his family and it ends with him having to drive to his sister’s graduation in Providence. There’s a guy in his kitchen who just so happens to need a lift there, and he’s willing to pay, and Amal’s too hungover to argue. What follows is the best roadtrip story ever. I’m seriously considering getting my license just to recreate that route. I just really love this story, okay? Oh, and if that wasn’t enough, the creator’s music taste is GOOD. 

Prague Race - to be continued in text 

https://www.praguerace.com/

The fantasy aesthetic to end all fantasy aesthetics. And the characters are good and interesting. And the world is well built and leaves you wanting more. AND there’s a cat. And it looks so good! Leona is irresponsible and spontaneous and gets her friends in some weird shit that leaves them trapped in a strange world, dealing with several curses, trying to survive and make sense of it all. I could spend a lifetime looking at the art and die happy. 

Shoot around - finished 

https://www.webtoons.com/en/drama/shoot-around/list?title_no=399&page=1

A girl’s basketball team and its coach, Jeff, deal with a zombie apocalypse. They make the most of the post apocalyptic world. There’s drama, friendship, found family, love and hope - it’s basically everything a zombie apocalypse narrative should be. And i love how the creator plays with the colors from chapter to chapter! 

Rock and Riot - finished 

https://tapas.io/series/Rock-and-Riot 

It’s cute! It’s fun! It’s a 1950’s queer ensamble cast high school drama! It’s what Grease would’ve been like in a better timeline, except we still got it in this timeline. The artstyle fits perfectly with the story and characters, but if you want to see what’s the creator capable of now, read their newest comic, Project Nought. It’s a cool sci fi story and just like in Rock and Riot, it’s super easy to connect to every character there. 

Alright there’s a lot more but i somehow wrote 4 google docs pages of webcomic recs in one sitting (this is what i’m able to focus on? Really, brain?) and i think that’s enough for now. Like i said, please dm me if you want to talk about anything here, rec some of your own, listen to my rants or tell me i’m a nerd. Or all of the above. I might make a similar post with print comic, but right now i have some dogs to pet. Keep being cool! 

[mobius-prime]

199. Sonic the Hedgehog #131

Deep breaths, guys. I know what the cover page says. I know. We'll get to that. Just hang in there. I think you might like what I have in store.

Home (Part 2 of 4): The Gathering

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Jason Jensen

So not much actually happens in this installment of Home other than the various characters talking to each other about and preparing for the upcoming battle. Since Sonic has been gone, a new Freedom Fighter Special has been constructed that can cut travel time dramatically around the globe. A journey that in the Tornado or on foot (in Sonic's case) would have taken up to two hours can be completed in a mere half hour now, thanks to Rotor's engineering prowess. And thus, Sonic and Tails head out to Old Megaopolis to stop Eggman's twin nukes from launching, along with an… interesting backup team, to say the least.

Man, remember Fiona? It's been ages since we've seen her! It appears that while Sonic was in space, she joined up with the crew in Knothole and has been helping them fight Eggman. That's definitely a better life for her than to be running with the likes of Nic the Weasel, eh? Meanwhile, Knuckles, Julie-Su, Amy Rose, and the other two (active) members of the Chaotix head to Fort Acorn, where General D'Coolette is giving a speech to the soldiers under his command. We've never even heard of this fort before, but according to the general it's been here for ten years, keeping a forward watch on Robotropolis, and this watch has been maintained even after Robotropolis' destruction in case of just such a situation as the current one. With their reinforcements from Knothole, the crew at the fort prepare to defend the city against a massive swatbot assault to lower the forcefield keeping the radiation in check. Back in Knothole, extra measures are being taken to make absolutely sure that even if the worst happens, the citizenry will be safe.

Station Square, for their part, has sent a squad of GUN commandos to help in the battle at Old Megaopolis. The commander of the military is baffled by this decision, wanting to send in their full fighting force, but the president instead opts to trust his allies from Knothole - though just for insurance, he's sent one of his own operatives along for the ride…

Now that's what I like to see! It's about time Rouge got herself some proper screentime. As all this is going on, Eggman waits aboard a docked battleship in the harbor of Old Megaopolis with his assistant M, and orders A.D.A.M. to begin the missile countdown. However, almost immediately, the sound of a biplane puts them on high alert, and Eggman is shocked to see Sonic and Tails bearing down on his location, not having expected them to be able to get here nearly so fast. See, Eggman, this is why you resist the siren call of your ego and keep your damn plans to yourself. All you did was give your enemies ample warning to prepare to foil your evil plot, you idiot!

Mobius 25 Years Later: Prologue

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jensen

Okay, guys. This is it. We've reached the most Penders thing of all time. This is something that has been hinted at here and there from all the way back in the Sonic In Your Face special to now, and we're finally seeing the culmination of all of that buildup. All the intricate worldbuilding, all the complex character arcs, all the intrigue and political spider webs and back to back wars and everything that the world of Mobius has been through up until now - there's so much to explore, so many directions it could have gone. We're about to see what this world might look like twenty-five years into the future, and with so much rich history to draw from, what might you imagine this story might look like? What genre might it fall into? Well wonder no longer!

It's a drama. It's a teen drama.

There's a reason that Mobius 25 Years Later is widely considered to be one of the worst parts of the comic. The tone of it is just so far off anything else we've experienced so far that it clashes horribly with what we've come to expect. It's not some masterful subversion of expectations or something - in a lot of ways I consider it to be a genuine insult to the rest of the preboot's material up to this point. It's painfully and immediately clear that this is a story Penders has wanted to tell for a while, but, not being able to fit his "middle-aged adults adulting everywhere and being so adult-like while ignoring the feelings and difficulties that ordinary teenagers face" plot anywhere into the rest of the comic, he's opted to just fire the world a couple decades into the future, pair all the major characters off into weird and oftentimes arbitrary heterosexual marriages, give everyone 2.5 children and a titanium picket fence, and then throw in some allusions to the old "war against Doc 'Botnik" here and there lest we forget, entirely understandably at this point, that we're reading a Sonic the Hedgehog comic here. This thing goes on for nineteen whole issues, taking up each subsequent issue's backup story, and ultimately has no real impact on the actual story involving the characters we already know and love. However, this is technically canon, or at least a version of canon (as when you play with alternate realities and multiple timelines, futures are bound to get mixed up here and there), so we're gonna be covering it - all of it. I wouldn't be tempted to skip it anyway, as by delving into each chapter in this trainwreck, we can actually explore why this whole thing fails so hard, and why it's therefore so loathed in the fandom. Plus, I do recognize that some people actually do enjoy this arc for various reasons (one of my close friends does, and has a whole AU of her own relating to it in fact), so I do plan to at least try to be fair in my review - but I really can't hide that I find this whole affair boring as hell, often downright offensive, and ultimately completely out of place. With all that in mind, let's dive in!

We begin with a full page of exposition delivered to us via high school lecture, because everyone knows the best way to establish your worldbuilding is by infodumping it directly into your audience's eyeballs. Apparently, over the last twenty years, Angel Island has been heavily developed into its own independent republic, with a new city, Portal, acting as the center of trade between the island and the mainland below. We're once again introduced to Lara-Su, who, instead of being the badass time-traveling young adult whom we followed before, is now an ordinary teenager taking ordinary high school classes among a bunch of ordinary high school echidnas.

One of the biggest failings of this story is that Penders writes every teenage character how he thinks teenagers act, from his point of view as a middle-aged adult. This becomes abundantly clear the longer you read, as every teenager is a hormone-fueled, authority-defying, entitled, whiny, fickle child who just doesn't understand how the real world works, while every adult is a wise, experienced, and highly logical individual who always knows more than their younger fellows and refuses to pay attention to the whims of mere children. Like, I'm not even exaggerating here - I'm going to be pointing out every instance of this kind of behavior over the entire rest of this arc, and you can't stop me, so nyah nyah. Penders shows so little respect for the mere concept of teenagers, which is a terrible attitude to have not just in general, but especially if you're one of the head writers for an entire series about teenagers saving the goddamn world! Anyway, case in point: the teacher, instead of admonishing Rutan for being a bully, merely snaps at Lara-Su for not acting enough like a "young lady" and tells her to stay after class. Ugh.

Later that day, Rotor arrives on Angel Island as a liaison for the royal ruling couple, Queen Sally and King Sonic, because yes, Sonic literally becomes king in this timeline. He catches a ride from Harry - hey, good to see our favorite dingo still doing well for himself at least - and meets with Espio, who is now apparently Knuckles' secretary or something. At least, that's all I can assume from this weird-ass conversation.

As a matter of fact, yes, Sonic and Sally are bringing their two children, Sonia and Manik, to the family dinner! How very mid-70s domestic family unit of them! Espio informs Knuckles of this over a television screen as the latter broods around in some kind of high-tech facility. Unlike what we've seen of Espio, the years have dramatically changed Knuckles' appearance - his right eye is missing, replaced with a mechanical one, and he sports the cowboy hat that Hawking gave him in the past (you know, the one we never saw again after he received it). While I actually quite like the idea of a main character in the comic losing something as important as an eye, I feel like there's a huge missed opportunity here - instead of just thrusting us into an alternate future where everything is fine but one character is inexplicably missing an eye, how about actually showing us the story of how that eye was lost? Show us a Knuckles who's learning to cope with the loss of an important body part, and having to adjust to his mechanical prosthetic! Go into his feelings about the subject, as someone who has so long been opposed to a faction that thrives on mechanical prosthetics, instead of just skipping over what has the potential to be the most interesting part of this story! Ugh, sorry, there's just nothing that gets to me more than a missed opportunity like this. Knuckles and Espio exchange some tortured small-talk about their kids for a little while, with the only interesting part of the conversation being their discussion of Rotor's arrival and how he's likely here to see someone named Cobar, with whom he apparently has a history. More on that later. Knuckles excuses himself from the conversation, as he has to be home in time for his daughter's "Unveiling" tonight, and as the call ends we zoom out to see that apparently nowadays, the Master Emerald is hooked up to all sorts of technology in this facility, presumably maintaining everything automatically. However, this story isn't done throwing weird curveballs at us yet - it's time to see what our former villains are up to in this future!

There is so much to unpack here. Dimitri, feared overlord of the Dark Legion, is now an amiable cyborg-head-in-a-bubble. Lien-Da, the treacherous second-in-command who regularly spoke of betraying Dimitri and taking the Legion in her own darker direction, is now apparently a single mom who's embraced the domestic life, taking care of her rowdy teenage son while, predictably, complaining about the behavior of kids these days. And weirdest of all, apparently everyone is just fine with these literal former terrorists living in their midst and doing ordinary mom and grandpa things, with Lien-Da even apparently amenable to the idea of trying to make up with Julie-Su because "they're family," despite her history of, you know, erasing Julie-Su's memory multiple times and killing her biological parents as revenge for her birth. I mean, is this what Penders thinks adulthood is? Is he even entirely sane? Does he know the definition of terrorism?

Any-goddamn-way, Knuckles arrives home to his eerily sterile-looking steel-plated mansion that looks more like the lobby of a pharmaceutical laboratory than a place where people live, and greets his loving housewife Julie-Su, who's gained a cute giant ponytail but lost absolutely everything else that made her unique, including her own cybernetic parts and just her personality in general. She informs Knuckles that Lara-Su has locked herself in the bathroom and is having herself a mighty tantrum, refusing to come out to get ready for her Unveiling ceremony, which is apparently the equivalent of a Quinceañera for echidna girls. Knuckles, instead of doing something reasonable like asking her why she's upset, starts aggressively demanding that she come out of her room this instant, while Lara-Su repeatedly yells about how she doesn't wanna. Ugh, teenagers, amiright?

Seriously, I just can't get over how little respect Penders has for teenagers in his writing. Like, yes, I acknowledge that teenagers aren't always the most logical of beings, but they're also not goddamn three-year-olds either. They're old enough to articulate their desires and express their unique opinions, and often do so in very mature ways, especially if they're raised well and treated with the same respect you'd afford any adult. I should know, I was one myself. I would have assumed Penders was one as well at some point, but perhaps he just popped into the world one day as a fully-formed 43-year-old, full of disdain for those younger than himself. It would certainly explain everything we're seeing here.

Anyway, it turns out that the reason Lara-Su is upset is because Knuckles refuses to train her to be a Guardian, and so she whines and yells about it from behind the door like a petulant child as Knuckles continually refuses to actually give her a solid reason why he won't let her be one. When Julie-Su basically forces him to calm the hell down and explain himself, he reluctantly explains that since all the duties of a Guardian have by now been taken over by other functions of their society, he feels there's no longer any need for one, himself included. This is apparently enough to make Lara-Su immediately happy enough to burst out of the bathroom and grab her father's arm, suddenly totally excited to go to her Unveiling as long as Knuckles promises her the first dance. Ah, the fickle mind of a silly, silly teenager!

Kill me.

[hellaciousdecimation]

The night had started all too serious, as Khivol had prepared himself to confront his sister alone. Rafkyl had been understandable nervous for his friend, wanting to go with him, however as Khivol removed the pendant that had hardly left his side, and handed it to the sea dweller, Raf knew there was no way he could; after all, he had his own matters to tend to, and it seemed that the elder god planned to join him. As Khivol left his apartment, he absolutely had planned on going straight to his sister’s office, yet as he arrived at the corner of a street, still several blocks away from the small shop she had rented out for the past thirty or so sweeps, Khivol couldn’t help but feel something tug at him to turn down the street to his left, instead of continuing straight. 

As he did, he immediately knew why the street felt familiar, the jade coloured neon sign down near the end of the street catching his eye. His hesitation to continue onward quickly faded away, as he found himself nearing the small occult shop, the sign he remembered making sweeps ago hanging above the doorway. Before he knew it, he had his hand on the door knob, and he stepped inside, the smell of incense, candles and odd ingredients hitting him like a gust of wind, and the droning hum began in the back of his head, like a whisper he had hoped to forget. 

Behind the counter was a petite jade, who idly flipped through a magazine, while chewing on some gum and leaning on one of her arms. Glancing up from her magazine, returning her eyes to it’s pages only to shoot her gaze back up to the indigo who had just entered the shop, the woman’s lips twitched into a smirk, as she slipped out of her chair, heading over to Khivol. 

“ Oracle be damned.., so you are still alive after all? Your sister had me convinced some asshole had landed you in your grave, she worries too much, clearly.” Branni chuckled, crossing her arms, looking up at the indigo who now towered over her. Her soft tones pulled Khivol out of the anxiety that he had started feeling, her talking to him like nothing ever happened, making him feel at home. However, before he was able to speak, Branni raised a brow, looking over his face, and tilting her head in intrigue. “ What’d you do? You’re not wobbling or anything… and.. What’s with that aura?” 

Khivol’s brows raised then furrowed, before realizing just how long it had been since the two of them had talked. Realizing the change in his body language, Branni motioned for him to follow her, leading him to the back of the shop, where she began to make some tea, and he took a seat at a table, covered in a velvet cloth, and a red, blue and gold patterned scarf was repurposed as something she draped across the table, clearly something she did her readings on. It took him a moment to realize it was one of the many things he had given her while they still were together. 

“ You still take your tea the same?” Branni’s voice pulled Khivol out of his thoughts, and he looked to her, surprised to see a reddish coloured jar of honey in her hand. 

“ You seriously still keep some of that around?” He smirked, chuckling before nodding. “ Yeah, same as always.” Branni smiled, placing her free hand on her hip, giving him a smirk once more. 

“ Yeah, of course, I wouldn’t want to be out if you visited..,” As she added a teaspoon of the ruby honey, as well as a touch of milk from the minifridge tucked under the counter,, Branni glanced at Khivol over again, raising a brow at him as she set his and her tea down at the table. “ So, I take it that it’s a long story? Well I‘ve got all the time in existence. What the fuck has happened since we last talked?” 

Setting his hands around the cup before him, soaking up the warmth it radiated, Khivol took a moment to organize his thoughts. Before taking in a deep breath, sighing softly as he began to speak. 

“.., I started trying to.., numb myself with drugs and alcohol, I hoped it’d kill my sixth sense, so I could be with you again.., It worked, however it took a lot longer than I thought, and in that time I.., I tried black jack with some of the people I drank with.., that turned into a.., a terrible cycle of addiction and debts..” Raising a brow, Branni refrained from interrupting him, letting him continue on. “ What started as a way to be able to live my life without discomfort turned into me ruining my life.. And I couldn’ face seeing you knowing the mess I had made.., even if I had the abilty to actually be near you.., the guilt became my new sixth sense…Well, two sweeps ago I.., I think I was nearing my limit. I was starting to accept that things would never get better.., but then I met him.., an elder god by the name of-” 

“Dhy’Yhvn?” Branni asked, cutting Khivol off as she realized just what the aura was that she was sensing. Khivol looked up at her, surprised but not at that she could know, but that she did know. 

“ Yeah. I take it you learned a lot about other elder gods from the Oracle then?... Yeah he showed up.., promised me he could help me and that he wanted to help me.., I think it was that he wanted to help me that made me give him a chance.., It’s been two years now.. I haven’t gambled, I don’t rely on my vices and.., I’ve felt in control again..” Branni sips her tea, processing all he had told her. Although his words were brief, she could tell all the intricacies he dared not speak, her insight being able to fill in the blanks, “ I’ve learned some from them.., But I’m guessing that’s why your sister came to me, you haven’t talked to her since meeting him, Knowing her I don’t blame you..,Lys never liked the supernatural, let alone the things beyond what we consider just that…” A silence washed over the two of them before Branni glanced over to the Tarot deck between them, and she reached over, splitting the deck into five piles, and setting them in the spread that Khivol recognized as the one often referred to as the Message from the Universe. Humming as he sipped his tea, Khivol raised a brow at Branni, his ears twitching as he formed what he was about to ask her. 

“ When she talked to you, did Lys have her around?” Before he got his answer, Khivol told Branni when to stop shuffling each pile, and told her which to reverse the alignment of. 

“ Yeah, I could sense this ‘Goddess’ before she even entered the shop.., what a lie, I know Lystal doesn’t believe it but it’s still terrifying to think of who she’s defied with her web of lies.., The Oracle only has spoken good of Dhy’Yhvn.., the rest she wouldn’t trust any more than she herself should be trusted. Shall we begin?” Taking another drink from her tea, before setting it to the side, Branni cracks her knuckles, turning the first card over, revealing 

“ The seven of wands, This card suggests that someone, or something is blocking your path, Before you can continue on your journey, you must face this challenge, you need to be strong, confident and brave, this is not a fight to ignore and because it’s reversed you must consider what it is you’re defending. Perhaps you should lower your defences while dealing with this.” 

Khivol exhaled sharply out of his nose, a knowing smile on his face. “ Work life, Right?” Branni nodded, raising a brow at him. Moving onto the next card. 

“ Four of cups. This card represents that you have been disappointed by something or someone, and you are stuck emotionally. You can’t be bothered to look further than your own brooding mind and it’s a shame because what you need is not far away, you just need to listen to the voice of wisdom to get there.” After a moment of letting Khivol take in the card he had gotten for his emotional life, Branni turns over the next, the one that represents his intellectual life.” The Queen of swords.The Queen knows much from her experiences and her studies bay it have been from books or the people around her. While the Queen can exist comfortably in any situation, interacting with people, sharing intellectual pursuits and making good, loyal friends, the queen may come off as apathetic, unable to show affection and may come off as intimidating and lacking warmth. For you, the Queen is reversed, suggesting that the Queen is cold, judgemental and harsh, her intellectual gifts being diminished by her bitterness, and she may even use her intelligence to inflict unnecessary pain.”  

Khivol hesitated from taking a sip of his tea as Branni explained the Queen card, simply giving her permission to continue as she noticed his expression change stopping her from turning the next card. 

“ The Page of Pentacles is someone who is skilled with crafty, hands on approaches to the world, enjoying learning new things and excelling in things like classes and workshops. The Page of pentacles uses their craft to help them earn and save money, always trying to have something extra on top of their income, often using it to express their generosity, giving unexpected gifts. However when the card is reversed, it suggests someone who is under a position of servitude, or someone who may not want to give more than they have to.”  Not seeing anything in Khivol that tells her to stop for a moment, Branni moves on to the center pile, turning over the card, revealing the major arcana that represented Khivol’s Spiritual life. Upon seeing the card, both her and Khivol both took a moment to laugh, meeting eyes with one another. Branni glances down once more at the card, beginning the explanation, knowing all too well that Khivol already knew, but still took enjoyment in hearing her speak. 

“ The Hermit stands for seeking one’s own truth, representing self reflection and withdrawing from the situation at hand as to find the answer you need.” She looked up at Khivol once more, giving him a smile. Khivol shook his head in disbelief. 

“ They always know too much don’t they?” Sitting up in the chair to take the Hermit into his hand, looking deep into the illustration depicted, Khivol sighed. “ That’s what this was, wasn’t it.., some time to think.., some time to reflect on the questions I had….” 

Branni waits until she’s sure he’s done musingn before weaving her fingers together, leaning on her elbows looking up at her old mate. “ Want to talk about what each of these mean to you?” Running his thumb against the card’s smooth surface, before returning it to the pile it belongs, straightening it out idly, Khvol nods, looking at the cards before him.

“ A lot of these just tell me what I already know.. I need to talk to Lystal.., I need to tell her how I feel and why I’m doing what I’m doing.. She is the Queen and I am disappointed in her.., not just because of all of this ‘goddess’ bullshit, but because.., because of how she’s treated me…, I don’t blame her.., not entirely but it still hurts and I.. I’m just tired of how she’s handled my problems.., Like I wanted it all to be like that.. Like I enjoyed it..” a depressed sigh follows his last words as Khivol takes a moment, looking to the page of pentacles. “.., However I’m also another obstacle.. One because I’ve held myself back in becoming happy.., but also I.. I’m not giving enough of myself into the things I care about.., to the people I care about..I’m scared, I think we both are.., I’m… scared of…” 

“ Of losing someone again?” Branni reached over, placing a hand on Khivol’s, her brows knitted in concern as she watched his expression change from shock to sadness as he holds back tears. “... Khiv...I know how much it hurts.. I still love you. The only reason I did it was be cause I was going to end up killing you, and I couldn’t stand that.. I wanted you to learn to control your powers.., not burn them away.., I’m sorry..” 

“ I don’t blame you Bran, I could never..” 

“ No but you’re blaming yourself, and it wasn’t your fault, It never was your fault, Not the accident, not your powers.., not any of it.. And you can’t let fate make you afraid of getting with someone else.., If you love them, don’t let them get away… I’m sure they love you too, You deserve love.” 

Khivol’s breath hitched as he laughed nervously, quickly being unable to hold back the tears that began to roll down his cheeks, however instead of the natural indigo hue  they typically were, his tears were tinted with the same strange blue hue that took to his eyes when Dhy’Yhvn’s blessing shined through. Getting out of her seat, Branni goes over to him, pulling him into a hug, which he quickly returns, sobbing into her chest as she soothingly pets the back of his head. Many minutes passed before the Khivol scooped the tiny jade into his lap, calming down from the emotional breakdown enough for Branni to part their embrace, so she could get a good look at him. 

“ It’s going to be okay Khiv..,Let’s not be strangers anymore okay?.. If you ever need someone to talk to.. I’m here..,” 

“ I’d like that… Thanks Bran….” Khivol smiles, resting his cheek against her head. 

[androidsfighting]

The Adventure Zone fic rec masterlist!

surprising no one, I read WAY TOO MUCH FIC so here’s an incomplete list of some of my fav fics in this fandom! mostly Taakitz and Taagnus, of course. Not in any particular order - adding most recent additions to the top. i made an effort to provide commentary but as you can see i gave up quickly

UPDATE (7/24/19) - added a bunch more fics i’ve read recently, and a couple amnesty fics at the bottom :)

Taakitz

The Winter Prince by tactfulGnostalgic

Taako is nobody’s saboteur. He’s just an ordinary assassin just trying to make ends meet, staying out of trouble (mostly) and keeping his nose clean (sometimes). But when a mysterious buyer makes him an offer he can’t refuse in exchange for the head of the neighboring prince, he ends up falling headfirst into the tangle of a foreign court — and the arms of its ruler, Prince Kravitz.

Blood and Bones and Photos by Evitcani

Kravitz has always dreamed of cities: wrapped in vines, streets peaceful and empty. He never knew the world before the end. Still, life goes on and on and on. The homes he's known are in compounds of chain-link fences patrolled by armed guards, feral zombies creeping around the edges who sing to him in the unsettled night.

There is no cure. There is no hope. There is only what little the survivors scraped together.

Then there's Taako.

And the new world that Kravitz was born into ends too.

Wrong Number by argentoswan

Taako texts a wrong number. Kravitz responds. Everyone else is confused, but they're going with it.

(6:32) so we have moved from strangling to murder (6:39) This is… still the wrong number. (6:41) i know i’m crowdsourcing ideas. quick, best way to hide an extremely tiny body?

A Bit Alarming by argentoswan

Taako gives up his freedom in exchange for the safety of his friends, and ends up locked in an enchanted castle with a surprisingly polite skeleton. Beauty and the Beast AU.

"'I’m afraid your friends were trespassing on my property. It was exceedingly impolite.' 'Yeah, and it’s super polite to lock them in the fucking dungeons.'"

study in light by weatheredlaw

He tells you things, things you don’t know what to do with. They fall out of his mouth and into your open hands, and you fumble them.

Deflection Toward The Relative Major by AuthorGod

He means to say all of this, but all that comes out is, “Why? Why choose me?” Instead of someone better suited he means; a warrior, a wizard, a priest.

I come back to this fic constantly. I love Kravitz-centric fic (surprise surprise) and this is one of the best there is I think

of aspen crowns and catskin down by mildlydiscouraging

The streets of London are slick and dark, and not just literally, although they are so often that too. Here there is not only murder, mystery, and mayhem, but magick as well. Here people go through their everyday tragedies and refuse to see the depths behind their troubles. Here two (and a half) detectives search for the truth.

In the dusk of autumn, with wind slicing down alleys, the good people of London are disappearing. It's up to Kravitz and Taako and, honestly, mostly Angus to solve the case, and maybe a couple other mysteries along the way.

SPOOKY VICTORIAN AU aka MY ENTIRE SHIT

those afternoons and evenings and does he project, does he have ideas? by mildlydiscouraging

The moments and years in between, in which feelings take root despite the constantly changing landscape. Alternatively: The world has been ending for forty years and Taako and Kravitz can't stop falling in love.

tazswap with Kravitz on the Starblaster, absolutely gorgeous prose

Reverie by Itdominic

There was a time Taako really could have taken or left it - life, and the world and whatever. Things aren't like that anymore, he tells himself, luckily, because this whole situation might get to be a real fucking drag otherwise.

heartbreaking but absolutely gorgeous

finale by teacuptaako

After everything, the distinction between alive and dead fades to a confusing grey.

In the wake of ‘The Day of Story and Song,’ Taako and Kravitz start to build their futures together: a labour of love, compromise, trust, and a slowly unravelling web of secrecy.

While the two of them grow closer and closer together, they and the rest of the world get further and further apart.

kravitz centric again, this is such a WEIRD fic and i literally haven’t stopped thinking about it since I read it

Drag Your Cities to the Sea (No Light, No Light) by  Desiree_Harding

"The months in Her retinue are long, and the work is hard. Her standards are high, and to satisfy them, Kravitz must be ruthless. But his conviction never falters. She is omnipotent. She is the avenging force of Justice, and Kravitz Her hand. She will keep the kingdom free, and for Kravitz to do her bidding is the greatest honor on this earth."

"Taako’s fingers curl tightly around the ropes of the Starblaster’s rigging as the ship cuts smoothly through the waves of the Sea of Souls below, his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes on the horizon...In these moments, it’s freedom that hangs sweet on his tongue and settles in his lungs, and Taako loves nothing better."

It's a pirate AU! You know the rest!

i live for AUs

All the Things You Prayed For by @anonymousalchemist​ and @marywhal​

Taako's been dead for two years. Taako's been dead for seven decades. Depends how you count it.

Her brother is dead and Lup’s a whole lifetime into the future. It’s a brave new world out there and she’s trying not to think about it too hard. She gets the feeling that if she starts thinking, she won’t ever stop, and she can’t afford to be out of commission. She's the only Captain America the new century’s got.

Lup is Cap, Taako fell from a train, and eventually all ghosts come in from the cold. You guessed it—it's a TAZ/Marvel shakeup baby. We're bringing the party to you.

THIS FIC OWNS MY ENTIRE ASS

The Shape of Our Days Neverending by anonymousalchemist and marywhal

After the epilogue, Taako and Kravitz have a really good day. 

just some heckin good fluff amidst all this angst

Other Lives by marywhal

When Kravitz signed up for the job in Phandalin, he didn’t expect adventuring to become his life. He was bored playing for the well-to-do of Neverwinter, sure, but not this bored. He was supposed to make some quick cash, pay off his gambling debts, and go back to his comfortable existence as a bard. He wasn't supposed to join a secret organization trying to save the world.

But here he is, paralyzed on the floor of a crystallized laboratory, and he has yet to keep a suit intact through a single adventure

more tazswap! this is unfinished rn but it’s real good so read it anyway

Bury the Lead by marywhal

Taako’s senior year at Neverwinter High could be going better. Faced with a choice between joining the school’s floundering newspaper or being expelled, he opts for a career in journalism.

Lucretia, the paper’s editor, kind of wishes he'd gone the other way.

if you haven’t read this yet what are you doing with your life

These Unfinished Creatures by marywhal

Someone in Neverwinter is stealing souls from the astral plane. The Raven Queen’s favourite reaper is undercover and on the case.

Relearning how to be human is entirely incidental.

MORE spooky Victorian AU what did i do to deserve this fandom honestly

(you should read everything by marywhal but these are my favs)

our get-along suit by anonymousalchemist

"So, let me get this straight," the reaper says, scythe held flush against Kravitz's neck. A trickle of blood drips down toward his collar. Kravitz swallows shallowly. "You picked up a suit, and the suit happened to be a lich, and the lich wouldn’t let you go, so you just rolled with it?"

"His name is Keats," Kravitz says. "And. Er. Sort of?"

Our own, soft hearts by Wildgoosery (series)

Stories involving a Moon Wedding, its attendees, and its aftermath, written in wildly different formats.

you should read everything Goose has posted but this is one of the first Taakitz fics I read so I have a real soft spot for it

The Body Eclectic by SpaceJackalope

In which Kravitz has many feelings about being dead, having a body, and liking people and things.

A Quiet Refrain by @inkedinserendipity​

It starts with some of the most mediocre eggs Taako's ever clapped eyes on. Seven out of ten for taste. Zero out of ten for plating. Somehow, they're still the best damn eggs he's ever eaten.

(Or: Taako realizes he loves Kravitz back.)

it was your heart on the line by @inkedinserendipity​ and it’s sequels (links here)

one of many fics that inadvertently inspired synecdoche

Istus must be laughing. by writersstareoutwindows

"Whenever people talk about tattoos, Taako rolls down his sleeve. They’re sitting in a circle, usually drinking, laughing and elbowing and sometimes kissing. Whenever they realize Taako hasn’t said anything, he sips his drink, arranges his hair artfully over his shoulder, and says, 'Nah, nah, nah, my dudes, I don’t hold to that,' wiggling his fingers, 'mumbo jumbo tattoo fate-or-whatever bullshit. Chaboi Taako’s a free agent.'"

The present going forward. Memories in a jumble. Not a very neat story, but it's theirs.

another fic that inadvertently inspired synecdoche which i forgot until now!!

things left in the stars by mechanicalclock

You don’t collect things from places that you will never visit again, that’s foolish. It's about learning to let go in all the new ways, adapting quicker and quicker, having fun and forgetting.

Taako and Lup learn to remember.

a moment to bathe in our victory by AnonymousPuzzler

The apocalypse comes and goes. In the aftermath, Taako takes a bath, Kravitz worries too much, and some new feelings are reflected upon.

Taagnus

The end of the word does come and go, Page of Cups, Reversed, and Taking the dogs home by anonymous

About how the world is still here, and how going on can be done.

yellow by weatheredlaw

Washing the dishes, their fingers brushed in the soapy water of the sink and Taako felt a jolt.

Magnus turned and gave him a smile.

Strange Bedfellows by treshornybros (IamJohnLocked4life)

It quickly becomes a habit, and then routine. Magnus is oddly good natured about it. But then Magnus is good natured about everything, so maybe it's not that odd. No one else seems to notice.

They always sleep back to back.

Taako should find that comforting, and he does, at first. It's just like sleeping with Lup.

Sort of.

unremembering by  bluebatwings (series)

Their lives divided up into three parts: before, unremembering, and after. Love stories.

At the Interval by AuthorGod

Time grows stagnant. Taako watches as world become fractured and consumed, cultures and civilizations wiped out. All the potential a single person is capable of in a lifetime, just ripped away in a moment.

It doesn't get to him, and it doesn't get to him, and it doesn't until it does.

breaking the same old heart by tardigradeschool

Taako and Magnus in triptych: before, during, and after the Bureau.

The Blue Hours of Morning by daisybrien

Refuge takes its toll. Magnus and Taako talk it out, drunk on the living room floor.

Taagnitz

the only life you could save by @epersonae​ and hops (series)

this could also go in the Other category bc it’s All The Ships (including magcretia which isn’t even my thing but they write is so so so well that now it is my thing!) but I’m digging through my ao3 history and not finding much taagnitz that’s not  pwp/mine (a travesty) so it’s going in here. it’s also about taako and lucretia working their whole Thing out and it’s VERY VERY GOOD

no blinding light by provocation

Elves live much, much longer than humans. By the time most humans die, elves are just reaching adulthood.

Kravitz, on the other hand, is going to live forever.

the fic that made me ship taagnitz

in the focus by weatheredlaw

The sky was clear and the arms of the galaxy that surrounded them arched overhead as they lay in their sleeping bags, staring at the stars.

or: Kravitz knows there's room in all this for something between him and Magnus — he's just not sure what that looks like.

Dust by levelone

It was supposed to be simple: Taako was on TV, and Kravitz is a writer here for some pull quotes. Instead, when they meet in an empty diner in the middle of a desert, Taako says something impossible—and Kravitz believes him.

Oak and Mahogany by hideki16seiyuu

“Don’t try to pull one over on me, handsome. He’s going gray already.”

“He’s in his fifties now, Taako.”

“How much longer is left?”

“Longer than you’d think.”

---

Human lives can never match that of elves in length.

Take Up a Place Beside Me by goodnicepeople

"It's gonna be hard," Taako says, when they're alone again. "You can't... do that. Every time."

Or: Taako and Kravitz move in. Others move on. Some get dogs.

you are the life i needed all along by iwillbeyourgoal

along with the other memories he's gained from the stolen century, taako starts remembering his relationship with magnus on the starblaster.

these small hours by  ShowMeAHero

Taako and Magnus get their memories back, and now they need to negotiate some emotions, because they're having a hell of a lot of them all at once.

Other ships/Gen

I Have Seen the Fields Aflame by Desiree_Harding

She hadn’t meant to disappear. Had she known what was going to happen, that one weekend was going to lead to seven entire years without her brother, she never would have gone. But that was all it took.

A modern au in which Lup goes missing, and discovers that the coming home is maybe the hardest part of all of it.

i cried for like an hour after reading this

a thousand points of no return by anonymousAlchemist

Since wizard's daemons often settle as birds and urban legend says that elves are separated from their daemons, no one looks too closely at the fact that Taako and Lup are both single entities, missing the other halves of their hearts. They walk like people, they talk like people, and if they're hard to read because their daemons aren't fluffing up their feathers or swatting playfully with their paws, well, elves are notoriously enigmatic anyway.

This lasts until their first death.

All deaths on the Starblaster are strange. When Magnus first died on the animal planet, I'morko followed right after, both of their bodies dissipating into golden sparks, a strange inversion of the natural order. The pattern holds. Year after year, person and daemon alike dissipate into a fine mist of dust, knit together by the bond engine in the new plane.

During their fifteenth year, Taako is shot through the heart with a well-aimed magic missile. Lup screams and casts one last firebolt, spell-sculpting around their bodies, before unspooling into a fine golden sand.

snake eyed, with a sly smile by faehunting

The circus is a mystery that sets itself up for people who track its movements, for people who are desperate to find it, to find anything. The circus is a mystery that sets itself up for people to stumble upon.

In the morning, the circus is nothing but negative space and the revellers it left behind. They sit up. They try to wet the dust in their mouths. They start the journey anew.

creepy fae weirdness!!!! yes!!!!!

I’m With The Band by redqueentheory, Wildgoosery, and Woven_Gulch (series)

A series of connected stories, equal parts sentimental and horny, about how Brad and Taako and Kravitz fall in love.

wacky BDSM crack ship becomes Greatest Romance Novel I’ve Ever Read, has made me cry multiple times

these strange creatures by anonymousalchemist

Taako sweeps himself into the common area of the Starblaster with all the drama and panache that he reserves for alternate Tuesday afternoons. Barry ignores him with all the practice he has from a decade of alternate Tuesday afternoons.

“I’m exhausted,” Taako whines, draping himself across Barry’s shoulders, the sharp point of his chin poking into Barry’s collarbone. “I’ve been up since for-ev-er, working on this dumb transmutation thing for Lulu.”

“Go meditate, then,” Barry says, absently reaching up to pat Taako’s head.

“Meditate?”

“You know, meditation? Isn’t that, uh, one of your elf things??” Barry finally looks up from his book, barest hint of a wrinkle in his forehead. Taako shakes his head.

“Never heard of it, homeslice. Musta skipped that day at elf practice.”

Barry laughs.

“Elf practice, sure.”

you know... elf practice

all your saints and saviors by anonymousalchemist

It’s not so much that she wants to die per se, as much as it is that she’s done living. The female human life expectancy is seventy-two years on this plane (it was seventy-four years on her home plane) and she’s lost count of her birthdays. But the math is easy. She was twenty when she boarded the Starblaster. A hundred-twenty when they landed in Faerun. A hundred-thirty when the Hunger was defeated. She’s fifty six years overdue.

She’s done her job, is the thing. She saved the world, in exchange for youth, friendship, family. She gave up everything but determination. She considers it fair trade. But now Lucretia is a single-use tool whose purpose no longer exists.

In Her Bones by epersonae

She lives through the destruction of her home, but still they're separated, until Julia sees the green light, and the blue light, and has to figure out what to do next.

better give that heart a listen by tardigradeschool

Barry needs a fake husband if he wants to stay undercover. Magnus is more than willing to help him out. Davenport needs a vacation.

herald of a new dawn by inkedinserendipity

When Lucretia is five years old, she meets her familiar. At seven, she remakes it; at eight, she remakes it again.

Seventy years later it saves her from an unkind world. And a Century after that, it fixes a family that had started to break.

from me to you, with love by inkedinserendipity

Magnus shuts the drawer and says, almost absently, “Tell her I love her, okay?”

Kravitz pauses, debating. He takes a deep breath. “Magnus,” he says, and Magnus, detecting the shift in his tone, looks up immediately. “You know that she already knows, right? She knows that you love her,” Kravitz says gently. “You do tell her every time.”

Magnus chuckles, rubbing a sheepish hand along the back of his neck. “I know,” he says, turning a bit pink. “I just - I love her, you know? I really do. And I guess, when you love someone, you want to tell them that every chance you get.”

your stitches are all out (but your scars are healing wrong) by tardigradeschool

When it’s over, and she can barely feel what makes her herself anymore, the umbrella is tattered beyond repair. With her last traces of energy, Lup grasps for shelter, reaching out for somewhere to store her torn soul until she can be helpful again. At the edge of her awareness, she feels a familiar shape, a familiar warmth -- in her exhaustion she could almost mistake it for her own body. She reaches for it and pulls herself clumsily inside.

Safe and contained, she lets consciousness go.

Voidfish (Reprise) by inkedinserendipity

Angus McDonald is many things — the boy detective, for one. The youngest member of the Bureau of Balance. The unofficial little brother of the THB, however Taako insists he's actually their mascot. He’s a researcher, and a scholar. He's not a fighter. He’s not a hero.

But he can save the world all the same.

Patterns of Migration by goodnicepeople

Magnus builds a house. Angus finds a home. Migration brings things back, in turn.

Hard to Starboard  by BlueColoredDreams (series)

In the best world, it ends like this:

By starting over.

and the warmth will never die by Junkyard_Rose

Taako's been gone for maybe two years when Lup thinks she sees him shoplifting from a Hot Topic.

you ever read something that makes you astral project and you can't think about anything else for the rest of the day? me too

(in this category because it's mainly about the twins but it's also taakitz and blupcretia aka the ideal fic)

and at a certain age the child is grown by bimaukery

There are people in his grandpa's house.

AU where the IPRE family all moves in together and find the place less empty than they've been led to believe.

Amnesty

i left a light beside the bed for you by SyllableFromSound

"If she stares at the ceiling without blinking long enough, it starts to look fuzzy. Like there's a grainy film of static over the surface of the plaster. It makes her think of mist outside a window, of the big old tube TV that had sat in the living room of her house for her first few years of life and that had tingled warmly when she pressed her hand to the screen. Everything feels a bit fuzzy now, maybe because it's 3AM. Everything feels warm and a bit familiar.

Finally, Dani says, quietly, 'This is what I imagined it would be like if...if things had gone differently.'"

In which a couple of outcasts have some late-night chats and Aubrey ingests a foreign object to prove a point.

older than the trees by lamphouse

Summer is returning to Kepler, bringing with it humid late nights, not as many tourists as there used to be, and a certain moth man. Unfortunately, they're not the only ones.

Duck talks some shit out. Aubrey chills. Ned gets grifted. Indrid learns to see.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Clover and Lace, Chapter 14

As always, a massive thank you to @winterisakiller who cheered this story into existence far faster than is sane. The masterlist can be found on my page but if you can’t, search Kit’s Masterlist. 

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Julian sat in the comfortable leather seat of his too expensive car and he felt like vomiting. After a few deep breaths, pulled his phone out and scanned both his iris and fingerprint. There was time for that later. Now was the time to take action and find Rosemary before she got hurt. Or worse.

“Engage Black Rabbit override.” He spoke calmly.

“Good day, Lord Ramsey.” A small black rabbit came onto the screen.

“Not a good day.” He mumbled.

“What can I do to help?”

“Two tasks- Tend the web for the Lady’s location.”

“And the second?”

“How do you feel about playing with Stark’s Jarvis? I need the AI occupied and security systems overridden.”

“Consider it done. I look forward to meeting Jarvis.”

“Find me the location of Steve Rogers once you’re in.” Julian plugged what anyone would assume was a blue tooth headset into his ear. After connecting the systems, he stepped out of the car.

By the time he stepped onto the grounds of the Tower, Rabbit had engaged and hijacked Jarvis. The she blocked his control while filtering his responses. Black Rabbit was designed in part with the rumored Stark AI in mind from early on. It was finally time to test her against it.

When he stepped through the doors, Rabbit directed him to take the elevator to the left. He had to walk passed two security guards and the information desk. As he approached, the door opened for him.

“Sir?” A receptionist called out but was ignored. She picked up the phone intending to inform security that someone was on the Avengers private elevator without authorization or checking in at the desk. When she picked up the phone she found that the line was filled with a high pitched voice singing ‘black rabbits playing in the sun’ over and over again. That left her no option but to wave down the floor security who wouldn’t make it in time to stop him.

“When we stop, you’ll walk out and into their meeting room rather unannounced. A dramatic entry complete with the setting sun, just like you like it.”

“Thank you.” The doors opened and the show was on.

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Tony was pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat at the large conference table. On either side of him were Steve and Nick getting into the closest thing to a screaming match he had ever seen. Steve wanted answers and Nick seemed to dodge every question. The team sat divided. Looking up at the sound of the automatic doors opening, Tony saw something he never expected.

“Mark? How the hell did you get here? Why are you here? Jarvis, did we forget security?”

“Sir, I’m not feeling so well.”

“Black Rabbit, let him go however remain present in his systems.” The voice that came from Mark was different than Tony had ever heard before and was now carrying a heavy accent.

“Yes Lord Ramsey.” A voice Tony did not program into the system spoke from the in house sound system. Steve’s head shot up as soon as the unknown AI spoke the name.

“Who are you?” Tony asked as Steve stood, drawing some of the others to their feet as well.

“Where is she?” Julian asked instead of answering.

“How did you get in here?” Tony shot back.

“Our Black Rabbit system unlocked your doors. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so cocky, Stark. Even you can be hacked.” Tony had to admit he was impressed. “Now, tell me what you did with her you bloody cock!” Julian’s voice grew louder with each word and no one was wholly sure who he was screaming at exactly.

That was, no one except Steve. “You’re her brother?”

“Yes, now return her to me. Save me some time and I won’t sell every shield secret.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked as the room erupted into a mess of questions. “I left-”

“You left the bloody flowers behind. Where did you take her?!”

“She’s gone? What flowers?”

“Oh you have some nerve acting so fucking surprised, like a clueless cock.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Bucky snapped, trying to draw Steve’s attention before turning to the stranger. “Who the hell are you? Who’s missing?”

“My bloody sister. You lot fucking weaseled your way into her life- into her heart. Fucking golden boy sweet talked his way into her pants just to capture her and use her for what? Information?”

“Lord Ramsey?” The unknown voice of Black Rabbit called out only to be ignored.

“Now that you’ve betrayed her, you’ll not get to dip your cock in her again. She won’t even make the web sing for you. You think she’s weak?”

“Lord Ramsey!” The voice of the AI came louder.

“What?!” He finally snapped.

“I’m not able to find trace of Lady Ramsey within Stark databases nor Shield’s.”

“Excuse me but mind getting out of my computers?” Tony snapped at the AI.

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark, I’ve a job to do. I’m sure Jarvis can understand my concern with my Lady being missing. He is being most accommodating.”

“I’ve not had much choice in the matter.” Jarvis added, seemingly annoyed.

“No trace? So, he doesn’t trust Jarvis as much as we do you.” Julian tried to ignore how unlikely it was that Stark would keep a secret from his AI.

“No trace.” Rabbit confirmed.

“She’s missing?” Steve again asked, taking a few steps closer to the stranger that looked in some ways so much like the woman he loved.

“Sir, I am finding records of every medication Mr. Stark has taken over the last three years. Every diet he has been on. Ever lab result. Every doctor’s report. Every STD test. Every panic attack. I feel safe in the assumption that he is in no way involved in the abduction of Lady Ramsey.”

“You took her.” Julian seemed to ignore the information that the AI had provided.

“We didn’t take her.” Steve looked back toward Fury, the one person he couldn’t be sure of.

“I had no part in her disappearance. Shield wished to source her for information in exchange for protection- Assuming she is indeed who we believe her to be.” Fury offered.

“And who do you think Steve’s girlfriend is exactly?” Bucky asked critically.

“We had reason to suspect that the woman claiming to be Sara Wilson was in fact young Miss Ramsey- who’s first name we’ve not been able to verify or obtain.”

“Rosemary.” Steve offered. “The detective called her Rosemary.”

“I am aware. And yet- we’ve not been able to find a single piece of paperwork to verify the name. What we were able to verify in the birth records was the fact that she had a twin brother who’s name we also couldn’t verify. So, I’ll ask you Mr. Ramsey, what is your name?”

“Ramsey.” He said simply, crossing his arms. “Why should I trust you?”

“Frankly, you probably shouldn’t.” Steve answered. “Shield has an agenda- they always do.”

“What an honest way to speak in front of the Director himself.” Black Rabbit commented. “Perhaps one that would speak of his own Director and organization might be worth trusting?  

“Who asked you? Shut up, Rabbit.” Julian snapped at the AI earning a snicker from Tony.

“Good to know I’m not the only one who’s AI forgets their place.”

“Sir, I’m always aware of my place. I simply choose to step out of it.”

“You can trust me.” Steve offered. “I told her I would protect her and I meant it.”

“And look how bloody well that worked out, trusting someone else?” Ramsey had a point. Steve had said he would protect her and now she was gone and he hadn’t even known. He still didn’t even know what had happened.

“So…” Sam leaned back. “What are your actual names then? And who would want to take her? That pretty little detective didn’t seem to be one for kidnapping.”

“No- I’ve had eyes on her since she landed. Whatever her issue is with Miss Ramsey, it’s personal but she isn’t aware of the depth of Mrs. Ramsey’s ties to the underworld.” Fury added.

“Just call me Ramsey.”

“So if you’re Ramsey and she’s Ramsey…?” Sam pressed.

“You can call her whatever he was calling her. I don’t really care- once she’s safe I’ll make sure you never find her again.”

“Or we can arrange something that gets you and the little Lady Spider both protection, papers and even the opportunity to live something of a normal life.”

“Lady Spider?” Natasha asked only to have Steve parrot the question.

“She is the woman known underground as ‘Lady Spider’, is she not?” Fury asked.

“Is she the ‘Lady Spider’?” Steve asked, while Ramsey debated if he wanted to answer truthfully. “If she is we need to know!”

“Why?” Julian didn’t care for being yelled at but there was something about the way Steve’s demeanor changed. “Why’s that so important?”

Bucky pulled out and unfolded the note that had saved their lives. It had been their intention to look into who the “Lady Spider” was and to possibly even find a way to thank her. They had their questions for her as well. After all, she had somehow been able to find information about the mission and their location. They needed to know how she knew.

Before the contents of the paper could be disclosed to Julian however, Rabbit spoke up. “Sir, I’ve been able to obtain footage of Lady Ramsey that appears to show her not in Shield custody.”

“Why do you say that?” Julian asked.

“Shield doesn’t utilize powder blue Ford’s in their official operations.” Julian had to admit that the damn AI had a point. A powder blue Ford wouldn’t be standard issue. That raised the question of who she was with. “Shall I display it?”

“Fine.”

For the first time since Steve walked into that conference room to demand answers from Fury the room was silent. Steve and Ramsey both intently watched when a crystal clear screen lifted up through the center of the table. Ramsey moved to stand regretfully close to Steve in order to see better.

They all watched as a black brown Subaru first pulled in front of what had once been a Blockbusters seemingly a lifetime ago. The building now sat empty in what clearly was a dilapidated and less than savory neighborhood. The location details scrolled across the bottom of the screen but Steve and Ramsey both paid the information no mind as they watched the scene unfold.

The doors to the Subaru opened and a large man stepped out of the driver side while a powder blue Ford pulled up from the other direction. More men stepped out of the Ford. As they spoke the back door of the Subaru opened and a woman was pushed out onto the ground by yet another large man. The auburn hair that was so uniquely hers was the first thing that Steve saw.  

“J, can you zoom this?” Tony asked out of habit. In reality he wasn’t sure if Jarvis even had enough control over the systems with the Rabbit AI present.

“Will do, Sir.” Jarvis answered and appeared to be functioning normally.

With the feed zoomed in they could see the small rip in the knee of her jeans and the dark patch that could very well have been blood. Still, both Steve and Ramsey give anything to know it was mud. They couldn’t be so lucky.

They watched as Rosemary crawled away only to have the man who had shoved her out of the car reached down and grabbed a handful of the hair Steve so loved. She was violently yanked up by him but swiftly turned and landed a kick between his legs. Pride swelled in both the men watching on as the man buckled over.

“Is that her?” Clint asked only to be ignored by both Steve and Ramsey.

“That is indeed Lady Ramsey.” Rabbit answered as the team watched.

The man grabbed her ankle before she could get more than a foot or so away however. She was pulled back toward him and as she turned to kick at the man again they could see the blood on her palms. The man had no trouble swatting the blow away and grabbed her by the wrist. She was hauled to her feet and her arm was twisted behind her. Steve was thankful for the lack of audio as she appeared to cry out in pain. He wasn’t sure what hearing that would have brought to life within him.

Ramsey was watching him closely, not wanting to continue to watch as his beloved sister was harshly yanked around. He could watch the footage again and gain just as much from it. What he had now was the only opportunity to observe and analyze Steve’s reactions to what he was seeing.

A silent rage was brewing within Steve as he was observed. Ramsey had spent much of his life learning to read people. At first only to know who’s pockets he could pick and get away with it, who wouldn’t notice their wallet missing for an hour or so but later in life to read businessmen and women both in legal scenarios and in the underground.

Steve’s jaw twitched and clenched as he stood stock still, frozen in place. The man held Rose on the screen with one hand in her hair again and the other keeping her arm hiked up high behind her back, keeping her securely in place. His eyes trained on one man in particular that he recognized.

“Give me a look at the man in black.” He ordered and the AI opened a side window with a zoomed shot of the man in question’s face. It wasn’t clear but Steve had no doubt that he recognized the man. He was one of the few high profile faces contained in the mission folder for their most recent mission.

Steve’s attention was drawn back to the larger video. The men appeared to speak for a minute before money was exchanged. They watched as the men nodded and shook hands before a few words were spoken before Rose was violently shoved forward. She landed against the chest of another large man who wasted no time in grabbing her arms and shoving them behind her back and securing them.

Their touches were harsh and violent leaving Steve with no doubts that she would have bruises from them. Harshly, she was shoved in the back of the vehicle and out of sight. The men spoke for another moment and in the window Steve could see where the sole of her boot repeatedly made contact with the window, trying to break it out. The men entered their respective vehicles and drove away.

“Run the plates.” Ramsey ordered.

“Lord Ramsey, they are forgeries. The DMV has no records of these plates.” Rabbit answered.

“I have access to traffic cameras.” Jarvis supplied. “I’ll begin tracing their path as best I can.” Ramsey had to admit that it was nice not to have to waste even more valuable time hacking into the systems.

“Why did you want to know about Lady Spider?” Ramsey was calmer now that he’d had a moment to observe and think. Bucky held out the paper again to Steve who handed it to Ramsey. “What’s the story with this?”

“We were on mission and the letter came to the safe house delivered by a villager. He ran off before we could get more information.” Clint offered.

“He wouldn’t have told you anything anyway.” Ramsey tossed the paper onto the table. “Rabbit- What was Rosemary’s last transactions?”

“Lady Ramsey purchased information regarding the location of the safe house in question.”

“How?” Sam asked.

“It was offered on the open information market. Shield should show more appreciation toward their lower level agents.” Rabbit answered. “She blocked Marques from purchasing the information.”

“shit.” Bucky sat back. “We could have been ambushed that night.”

“Indeed. Lady Ramsey did not wish for your team to be endangered. Additionally, she called in a favor from one of Marques’ high ranking confidants in order to arrange the movement of a large supply of bio weapons. Subsequently, she had the weapons transferred locations seven times. As of this morning she was negotiating the disposal of the weapons.”

“Steve, I think your girlfriend saved our lives.” Tony pointed out, leaning back in his chair.

“That was Lady Ramsey’s intention.” Rabbit added.

“And put a bloody target on her own back.” Ramsey grumbled. If only she let them all die and listened to him. “You better have been worth it.”

Ramsey found himself regretfully falling into a tentative truce with the people he never in his life expected to be working with. He didn’t like them. He didn’t want to work with them. It was their fault that she was taken. He still held that animosity in his heart. Yet he knew without a doubt that by working with them, Rosemary could potentially be saved sooner.

That didn’t mean he had to like it. Still the longer he spent with them, he could see why Rosemary was drawn to Steve. She had always had a goodness to her that seemed to survive no matter what she had been thought. Shield was offering her a way out.

His company was profitable enough to support him in a legal life if he wanted. They’ve come so far that if they wanted to, if they had protection there was no reason why they couldn’t turn back and live an honest life.

Would that be what Rosemary wanted? He hadn’t even given it any thought but what if Rosemary wanted out? What happened when they got older and wanted families? What if she was ready to settle down? What if didn’t want to say goodbye to Steve? What if he was forcing what he thought was best on her? What if he hadn’t been giving Rosemary a change to live even as he worked to keep her alive?

What if?

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Tag list: @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @dangertoozmanykids101, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @bambamwolf87, @princess76179, @fairlightswiftly, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @michelegurl

Want in on the tag list? Just say the word.

[corpus-chorus]

A dev’s insight to tumblr’s updates

Alright guys. I’m sorry to make this long-ass discourse post when I’d really much rather just be doing my art reblogs and basking in my warm community, but I feel this needs to happen, because a lot of you may not be aware of what goes into updates like this.

To be clear - I’m not making any comment about the color change itself. It doesn’t actually bother me, seems kind of silly to flip a lid about when there’s plenty of extensions to fix it if you don’t like it, but I get the annoyance of having something familiar change into something that makes you uncomfortable, especially with no warning.

But then I started to see a bunch of rants on how shitty this update is when there were so many bugs that needed to be fixed instead, and I just need to take a moment to address app development in general, because y’all seem fairly misinformed about the whole thing.

So let’s get one thing straight - bug fixing is not easy.

Yeah, that sounds like a copout, doesn’t it?

But let’s talk about how bug fixing works, alright? Because there’s a couple of things we gotta look at when considering changes like this.

How much code is needed to fix the bug? Yeah, this one’s pretty straight forward, right? How many lines of code do the devs have to write to fix whatever’s broken? Except you’re forgetting the time it takes to find the bug in the first place. And this isn’t about popping into one file and looking through the lines until you see what’s broken. Bugs aren’t just typos. Bugs are NOT easy to find. Generally, if I’m working on a bug, and it takes me 4 days to fix, 3 of those days were probably spent just defining exactly where the bug came from and the places it exists. And that’s with me being super familiar with the codebase. If I didn’t already know that the core value displayed on the groupings page was coming from the hciReplacements inspector (out of 30-some inspectors), which is pulling data from the hagi, which is pulling and calculating data from the clip model, of which I know the exact layout, it probably would have taken me double or triple that time. And now, on top of that, what if the bug is an extreme edge case no one thought about when they built the core code? I might have to rewrite the entire functionality of the thing that pulls all that data, and holy hot hell is that gonna take some time.

How much QA effort is required? Contrary to popular belief, no, developers don’t just make bug fixes and immediately push them out to the app. It’s gotta be tested, usually by some sort of QA/QC team. And, fun fact, QA can take longer than the development did. Because the QA team is looking for EVERY POSSIBLE USE CASE of the exact thing you’re working on. Every single possible way a user might interact with that. That takes a skilled worker to think of all of those possible use cases (and spoiler alert, they’re human, so they still fuck up sometimes), and it takes them time to find them all.

But ON TOP of that, you also have a LOT of unexpected consequences to code changes. Maybe you just needed to update to cores count so that it’s the total cores on a node instead of total cores per processor, but you didn’t realize that another part of the code was assuming that value was cores per processor, and congrats, you’ve screwed the values all through the rest of the app.

And that’s just a data example. You can make critical errors if, say, you rename a value, and miss one of the places that value’s used, so now that value doesn’t exist in that specific scenario, and congratulations, you’ve actually caused your app to crash if the user follows a specific series of actions, and oops, looks like that set of actions wasn’t one QA thought of, so now users get to find it instead. You were just trying to fix a little data bug, and you’ve now broken the entire app. Good job.

How old is the codebase? Why is this important, you ask? Well, if you’re not in the industry, you may have never been introduced to the idea of “legacy code”. Legacy code is, to over-simplify, old code. It’s code that’s been around for a while. It’s code that dozens of people have had their hands in and is therefor a bit of a mess, no matter how hard you try to keep it clean, or how well organized your team is. Because maybe Eric built that one file really well to start with, and Suzy made some great additions to it, and Tom just made a few bug fixes, but he names variables a little differently, so Jason didn’t realize that the function he needed already existed when he went to build it a few months down the line, so now there’s two versions of the same thing, one used in one place, one used in another, and when Meredith goes to fix a bug related to it, she doesn’t realize she has to fix it both places, and wow, that is a bit of a mess, isn’t it?

The codebase I’m working in currently is about a year and a half old now, maybe a little more. When our first version was released, our codebase was 51,714 lines of code long. As of today, it is 357,932 lines long. With new features on the horizon, it will continue to grow, and the web of dependencies tangled through the codebase will get bigger and more complex. This is just a fact.

So keep in mind that that’s an app that’s about 1.5 years old. Tumblr was launched in, what, 2007 or something? That’s 11 years. 11 fucking years of coding, of dozens, if not hundreds, of people contributing to the codebase, in their own coding style, with their own knowledge levels. This is like if a team of 100 writers was working on a fic series for 11 years, and they didn’t all get to work together, and not everyone took notes. You’re gonna have plot holes. You’re gonna have inconsistencies. Shit’s gonna be messy.

And then there’s the pinnacle question. 

How much do the devs care? How much you wanna bet a lot of the devs on this site started out with a genuine passion for it? How many do you think worked long past the hours they were getting paid for just to make sure they were making something they could be proud of? How excited do you think it used to make them to release new features, and get to see it make people’s lives better?

When you care about a project, you think beyond the exact task you were given. You think about the impact every line of code you write is going to have. on the users. Because you want the users to enjoy the app. You want them to be happy with it. You want all the work you put into it to mean something.

When you care, you make less bugs. When you care, you don’t get lazy and just make temporary fixes. When you care, you put your heart and soul into your work.

How much heart and soul do you think the Tumblr devs want to put into this site at this point? When every single update, every single effort they put in, is met with criticism and hatred? When they’re told that nothing they do is ever good enough? How much do you think the devs care about getting everything perfect and on time and working themselves to tears on this site when they know damn well that the second they release an update, it’s going to be met with nothing but hatred and ignorant people treating them as if their hundred of hours of effort were stupid?

If I was a dev for this site, I’d hate my fucking job.

So let’s review. When you ask for bug fixes, I promise, there is someone on that team very concerned about addressing that bug fix. When you complain that tags are borked, or searching is shit, or whatever you get frustrated with that day, I promise, some dev is already working their tits off trying to find exactly what it’s going to take to fix that for you.

But understand that, that ask? That ask that might seem super simple and straight-forward to you from your comfortable couch? But it might take a team of devs working ungodly hours for months to be able to do. It might carry risks as high as accidentally deleting posts or banning blogs or breaking the entire bloody site. So they wanna spend some time and get that shit right so that you’re not stuck with something even worse than the bug they were fixing.

The people working on these bug fixes are human beings. We seem to remember that about everyone else in the goddamn world, but not the people who work tirelessly to give us the very site that we’re having these conversations on right now.

This update? Yeah, it might seem trivial to you. It might seem like they’re “wasting their time” with “stupid bullshit” when they could be fixing bugs.

But let me make it very clear. They’re trying to fix the bugs. They’re trying to stop the porn bots (and oh, fucking boy, I could make an entire post just about how insanely difficult that is, because some of you people seem to think the devs are fucking GODS or something). And maybe this update is stupid to you, but I can tell you right now, having this update right here is not the reason these things are not going to be fixed tomorrow. This is the frontend team making an aesthetic change - I promise it didn’t stop the backend team from their tireless work to fix the tags.

so tl;dr Fixing Tumblr’s bugs is not some simple, do-it-in-a-month, just-get-more-devs fix. And tearing into this release is doing nothing but reminding the probably very tired dev team that their work means absolutely dick to a large portion of ungrateful fucks on this site.

Complain about bugs. Tell Tumblr about their bugs. Make sure they know. And then sit the fuck down and wait - they’re fucking trying.