#as for alicent..... she's a piece of shit it's her life's mission to be a total asshole

[pinkfey]

tagged by @lexcanium @shadowglens @druidgroves @risingsh0t to make some ocs in this picrew !!! thank u all so much!!!!!! mwah mwah !!!!!!!! tagging @kirnet @narshadda @malefiicarum @rosebarsoap @kymal @nuclearstorms @shepardgf @aartyom @steelport @arklay @devilbrakers @merry-harlowe @gelvaan @morvaris @calenhads @brujah @cultistbase and you !!!!

finally breaking my tag game silence!!!! have some star wars ocs 🫣

ilya (she/her) ♡ kinasi (she/her) ♡ safiya (she/they) ♡ alicent (wip) (she??)

[flowerslut]

No. 8 EVERYTHING HURTS AND I’M DYING Stomach Pain | Head Trauma | Back from the Dead No. 22 PICK YOUR POISON Toxic | Withdrawal | Allergic Reaction

Rating: T for strong language and themes Words: 1,664 Summary: Jasper is a freshly relapsed heroin addict. Alice is a homeless amnesiac. Their paths cross on one dreary morning and things... well, they spiral from there.

A/N: This is a snippet from a chapter of my unposted, all-human, Jalice AU, One Fell Swoop, that I’ve been mentioning on-and-off for the past few years. It’s a fic I started in high school that pre-dates CotN. I’ve been rewriting it for the past few years now—the original is on FF.net somewhere under a different title and penname, and is much shorter and very different—but won’t be posting updates until it’s finished (hopefully sometime next year.) 

One Fell Swoop - Chapter Three

DOPESICK

The motel was nicer than he expected, and he’d stayed in some real dirty spots before. 

Alice had handed him a few more hundreds before he got out of the car to go rent them the room, insisting that he take the extra money because “you never know how much things’ll cost.” It was a weird way to justify handing a stranger five hundred dollars, but Jasper just silently pocketed the money and asked her to open the glove box and hand him his wallet.

It wasn’t until she retrieved it, opening it curiously before handing it to him when he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry. You never told me your name.”

That had stuck with him the entire time he was talking to the clerk at the counter; a nice older gentleman who wanted to make more small talk than Jasper had the energy for. Jasper at least had it in him to apologize for his brusqueness, remarking that he was exhausted and eager to have somewhere to rest for the night.

Even as he was trying to excuse himself from the awkward small talk, and trying to ignore the soreness that was beginning to take root in his limbs, in the back of his mind he couldn’t believe he hadn’t told Alice his name. And here he was, staying in the same fucking hotel room as her before driving her three and half hours. The fact that she trusted him not to kill her was downright stupid. 

The look in her eyes after he’d grabbed her arm was still burned into his head, though.

Again, he thought about his new-found reasoning for doing this. Perhaps a nice deed at the end of his life would mean something. He could at least try and prove to whatever karmic gods were out there that he wasn’t a total fucking piece of shit.

A suite was only ninety bucks, which was why when they eventually parked in front of the room and made their way inside, Jasper was shocked that it looked so clean. Nothing fancy; two queen beds, a TV mounted on a dresser, with a mini-fridge microwave combo, and the bathroom on the end.

It didn’t look like the wallpaper—or even the furniture for that matter—had been updated in a few decades, but again: it was clean.

Alice heaved her bag all the way across the room before planting it on the floor of the bathroom. “I’m going to shower now, if that’s alright?”

He just shrugged, unzipping his jacket and tossing it onto the bed closest to the door, silently claiming that one as his own. When she’d finally closed the door behind her and Jasper heard the shower turn on, he placed his wallet and keys beneath the corner of his mattress. Not the best hiding place, but even though this girl seemed to trust him (against any and all reason) he didn’t quite trust her.

Jasper kicked off his boots and tossed them toward the door before reaching out and moving his jacket from the bed to a chair beside it. He had to quite literally peel his socks off; he hadn’t realized how wet they’d gotten over the course of the morning. The fact that he hadn’t even noticed was absolutely a testament to how far removed he was from his usual state of mind. How utterly zonked he’d been.

But he’d left Redding yesterday afternoon with mission and a couple of baggies in his pocket. He’d been far too focused on dying—and way too eager to keep (what he’d thought was) his final high going—to think of much else.

He emptied his pockets, placing the cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table. If felt weird to reach for his phone, forgetting that he’d also turned that off and thrown it in the glove box last night.

His growing headache made it easy to stop thinking about the urge to check his phone. It would only make him miserable and he didn’t want the distraction that it could potentially provide. He didn’t need to be distracted any further. This damn girl was a distraction enough.

He had to resist the urge to take his shirt off before climbing on top of the bed. It was just… ungodly warm in this room. At least he knew the heater worked. He hadn’t thought to ask the man at the front the weather forecast, but if tonight were anything like this morning had been, it would be barely above freezing.

Fuck, he really should have grabbed some Aleve or ibuprofen before he left the visitor’s center. His nausea had only slightly lessened, but it was still there. Ugh.

Thankfully, the sheets were cool to the touch. Jasper threw the blankets to the side and pressed his face into one of the pillows, breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly. He hoped that a few hours of sleep would help his head feel less like it was full of a balloon ready to burst.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

But when he woke up suddenly, the only thing that registered was absolute, indescribable pain. He stumbled out of the bed, only barely staying on his feet as he made a beeline for the bathroom. He vaguely heard Alice trying to call out to him, but he only ignored her. He had to get to the bathroom now before he vomited all over the floor.

The painful nausea and full body chills all registered at once when his bare feet hit the cool tile of the bathroom floor. When he slammed the door behind him, he barely made it over to the toilet before he was violently emptying the contents of his stomach into it.

Then, his hell began.

It was excruciating, having to lie there on the cold, hard floor. He kept cycling from burning hot to freezing cold and then back again, and when the shaking started it didn’t stop.

Although he never fully lost consciousness, every so often he would feel his awareness begin to fade, his body attempting to give him a reprieve from the agony he was enduring. But he was never able to let his mind go too dormant before he was hyperaware of each and every one of his pains again. 

During those moments he would try to move, shift, or do anything to find a position he could lay in to lessen the pain, but it only served to make him sicker. Every shift of a limb, ever twitch of a muscle was torture. When the pain got especially bad, he would start talking. Just rambling and babbling about utter nonsense to try and distract himself.

He vaguely recalled desperately calling Alice’s name a few times. He knew it was something he’d regret if he made it out of this alive (he was dying he was actively dying he was going to die) but when his mouth started forming words, he’d just let them fall out. 

Whether she could hear him or not he had no clue. He never heard her respond or enter the room, nor could he hear anything outside of the small bathroom. But every time he had a few minutes of clarity he’d start talking. He gave rushed and specific instructions on how to find his phone and how to call up a couple of numbers and “listen, just ask for Beni and tell him it’s Jasper.” Minutes and minutes of rambling nonsense fell out of his mouth before he’d trail off and press his head back against the tile as hard as he could to try and lessen the pain everywhere else.

He didn’t remember when he faded again, but at one point he came back into awareness, curled on the floor of the bathroom, still shaking. There was a blanket thrown over him that he gripped so tightly he was sure he heard some of the fabric pop and tear. He still could not get the shaking under control and he somehow knew he was going to die there on the floor.

Isn’t that what you wanted? You should be so grateful that it’s happening.

He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a groan of pain.

When a cool something pressed against his forehead, he let out another low groan.

“Sorry,” a voice spoke, “you’re sweating like a madman.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to say her name, and for a moment, he couldn’t even remember it. All he could remember was that she wore a brown dress and had a pretty face. He started babbling at her once he realized she was actually there, and when he started he couldn’t stop. It was mostly nonsense; asking for his phone and begging for water and telling her she should take the car to the store and pick up some stuff and ‘damn, I no clue what was happening right now, isn’t this crazy?’ and trying to underplay what was going on. So many things he would never say if he were in his right mind.

Eventually he lost all of his manic steam and his mind began to fade as the pain got worse again. When the feeling of fingers carding through his hair reached his awareness, he could feel himself losing consciousness, and fast.

This was probably it. And as he felt the blackness grow, suddenly he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to finally bite it on the floor of a dirty motel bathroom with some random homeless girl watching his last few breaths. It wasn’t fair to her it wasn’t fair to his family it wasn’t fair to him it wasn’t fucking fair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, disoriented, trying to get the words out before the shaking or vomiting or pain engulfed him once more, “I’m so sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

What he was apologizing for, or who he was even talking to anymore, he couldn’t be sure.

[heavenlymemoir]

Sigma Memories

Virtue’s Last Reward spoilers ahead!

TW: Brief mentions of s//cide (due to an illness called RAD-6.)

We were not on Mars like the game suggests. I very vividly remember being on the moon and being fascinated with the fact that I was there. I remember looking out from my bunker window, and watching the faint twinkle of the stars and the comets/meteorites that flew by.

My memories are really similar to canon, but very different in some areas. Instead of RAD-9 wiping the whole population, it only got about 2-3 billion. I know it’s a lot still. What was remaining of humanity was put on other planets. We were religiously screened daily to make sure that we had no traces of having RAD-9, and when we were clear, they put us on shuttles that had a preset pathway to whatever habitable planet they could find. I was one of the few colonies sent to the Moon.

Ever since the beginning of the Nonary Game, something about K kept bugging me so badly. His name rung a bell, but I couldn’t remember much before I awoke in the elevator. Then it hit me later in game; K is my son. Even while playing VLR as myself (meaning me IRL); I knew. I knew what would happen, who K was, everything. And I didn’t piece it together until the ending of the game.

My field of work was in…genetic testing. I was in charge of the cloning department. I had cloned K. Who was his donor, I don’t know. But, K grew to resent me as he got older. I should’ve realized sooner. I was fascinated by my work and all the possibilities that I neglected him, and in turn, made him hate me. I remember he asked for a mom, and I had made an android to be the “mom role model”. He didn’t like it. He wanted an actual mom. And that’s where Akane stepped in. Why Akane was in the colony with us, when she’s supposed to be on Earth with Junpei is unknown to me. Akane was interested in my research and offered to help, and her condition was that I would have to spend time with her and K.

So I did. But…it all went wrong. Everything just went wrong. I don’t remember what happened but remember the stench of smoke. I remember screaming for Akane and K.

In the game, K goes on to state everything I just said. How he hated me, but loved Akane. Eventually, Akane stated she was willing to sacrifice her life for my research. Saying she had to. K didn’t like that and tried to argue with us. Neither of us budged, so he pleaded with her. Begged her not to.

In the events of the Nonary Game in VLR, K suffered from Generalized Amnesia. He didn’t remember me, nor anything. Barely even recalled his own past, and even then, he could only remember what I just said. I didn’t know it was my son at first, since we couldn’t see his face. He was…locked in that suit. The only way he could get out was if you had the key and unlocked the port on the back of the mask.

I was an esper. Like Clover. Snake. Akane. Junpei. Santa. I was one. That’s how I fucking knew K was Kyle; my son.

I had literally gone through the morphogenic field and saw every possible outcome. Doing so resulted in seeing every fucking ending. Clover’s; where RAD-9 took a hold of all of us. K-no, Kyle’s; where he killed Dio and I saved Phi with the Neostigmine, and I saw Kyle’s face. And then Dio’s; where me, him, and Phi escaped. Where we figured out who he was and what his mission was.

This is exactly how I fucking knew. How I knew the codes, the escape route, the neostigmine, why RAD-9 had gotten to Quark and Alice. Because they’re not Espers. RAD-9 causes your brain to absorb a shit ton of info, all at once. It impairs your brain‘s ability to think, and act.

Espers have an innate defense against the extreme suicide aspect, as our brains are conditioned to absorbing large doses of sudden info (the reason Radical 6 causes suicidal tendencies).

This would explain why I clearly fell under the effects of R6 in Luna's path, but never tried to kill myself or anyone else. Because I’m one.

I had cybernetic arms. Metal exoskeleton, with ABT. Artificial Biological Tissue. Fake nerves. I had fucking robotic arms, with fake nerves that went back to my actual skeletal system. I just knew. I…as in Stygian. Or Sigma. I don’t know. I just knew. I didn’t even fucking get that ending at the time I figured it out. I just knew and I don’t know how.

Luna was indeed a GAULEM.

The First Law of Robotics ; “A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.”

The Second Law of Robotics ; “A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.”

The Third Law of Robotics ; “A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.”

The 0th Law of Robotics ; “A robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.”

That’s why she always voted “ally”. And would never choose “betray”. Why RAD-6 didn’t seem to infect her. Why she’d get pissed if you chose to betray. Why she just “knew” certain medical things. Why she knew about RAD-6. This explains everything.

[atlasdoe]

Slytherin Horcrux Hunters

This is part four so to make sure you know what's going on please make sure to read part one here, part two here and part three here :)

SO our ot4 have all been split up

Since James’ family is rich and his parents are very well respected and all that he doesn’t get sent to Azkaban but instead is just heavily monitored and sent back to Hogwarts

Remus is sent to a dangerous creatures detention center because he’s a werewolf. His family did fight to get him out but the ministry are bastards and weren’t having any of it

Regulus (who was captured alongside Dorcas by the death eaters) had his parents to twist the tale into convincing Voldy that Regulus was a spy and force Regulus to get the dark mark then and there to prove it

Meanwhile Dorcas is kicking and screaming at everyone she comes into contact with and is sent to the cellar until they find something to do with her

 James still has the ring and has been wearing it since the ball

It’s now the end of the winter holidays, James has no idea where any of his friends are or if they’re safe (he rightly assumes they’re not) and he’s wearing a piece of Voldemort's soul everywhere he goes

So he's not in the best of moods

In fact on the first day back he burns every bridge that he has

He blames Barty for what happened to Regulus and Dorcas and gets into a fight with him cause Barty ain’t too pleased either that they tricked him into helping defeat Voldy

James finally breaks up with Lily but in a much more aggressive way then he originally intended to

And he also isn't too happy with Sirius or Marlene because they failed to help at the ball

He’s still determined to finish their mission but doesn't know how without the venom

But he continues research and befriends Alice Fortescue who is a Gryffindor in his year

Alice and James grew up together because they were neighbours but grew apart after being sorted into different houses 

Alice is a sweetheart and even though they haven't talked for years shed been worried about James and what he was doing

After some nagging James eventually gives up and tells Alice everything

He also tells Alice about the ring and its Alice who tells him that the ring must be why he’s been acting like a little bitch and should take it off

James is reluctant to do so but Alice assures him that she has a safe space to hide it where nobody will suspect

And it’ll be safer with her since nobody knows that she knows

So James hands it over and Alice hides it

Alice also tells James what happened to Remus and that he’s in one of the centers

James parents lied and told him that Remus moved in with his dad because they didn't want him doing anything stupid like trying to break Remus out

They know their son well because thats exactly what James plans to do with Alice's help

MEANWHILE Regulus is lying through his teeth 

He’s trying his hardest to go with the lie that he’s a spy without getting Dorcas in the shit 

In the end he manages to sway the truth a little

He tells them all that Dorcas never liked Dumbledore and was only ever listening to him because she wanted to protect Remus (which is true)

But he also lies to them and tells them that Dorcas would be willing to join the death eaters so long as she's convinced that they won't hurt anyone she loves

Voldy agrees and gives Regulus some time alone with Dorcas to tell her to join the death eaters

Regulus explains and Dorcas is on board until he mentions her getting the dark mark

She’s not willing to get the mark and is mad at Regulus for getting it himself although she understands

Regulus reminds Dorcas that its just a mark and at the end of the day if she’ll die

Dorcas doesn't seem to mind dying but she agrees because she wants to be there for Regulus and help finish the mission

They agree to keep a low profile while trying to also find the other horcruxes and some more venom

They both get a better look into death eater life and even go out on a few missions or two

one of which brings them to the seaside where a massive battle happens and Pandora Jenkins gets captured by the death eaters 

Pandora graduated Hogwarts only two years ago so Dorcas recognises her immediately and is very curious as to why she wasn’t just killed like everyone else

 During this time Regulus confesses to Dorcas that he has feelings for James and Dorcas confesses to Regulus that she has feelings for Marlene

(Neither of them know what happened to James and Remus btw)

Pandora is kept in the cellar of Grimmauld Place which is where Dorcas and Reg are staying 

They use Kreachure to play telephone and figure out that Pandora is a seer and the death eaters are trying to recruit her to use her powers

While Orion and Walburga are out one weekend Dorcas and Reg sneak into the cellar to talk to Pandora face to face

They let her out and let her clean herself and heal her wounds before telling her about the horcruxes and asking her to use her abilities to find the next one

Pandora finds out that the only ones that are left is the ring and the snake

They don’t know that James and Alice have the ring

Pandora also offers to try to come up with a spell to destroy horcruxes since they no longer have the venom

Somewhere during this I am going to make Pandora mention her sister who she thinks Regulus will get along with

(Because although Jegulus have my heart Regrose has my soul)

But don’t worry Maryrose wont make an appearance 

 In case you’re wondering how Remus is doing I wont lie to you he aint doing so well

He has no idea if Dorcas and Regulus are even alive and only knows that James was sent back to Hogwarts but nothing else

Theres not much for him to do but sit in the corner and sulk while the other werewolves around him socialise and all that

I imagine this detention center sorta like prison 

But i don't know really anything about prison

So he wakes up, eats, reads, eats, reads and then sleeps

Full moons are killer

In this au the Marauders obviously never became the Marauders so James isn't an animagus yet

so full moons were already hard but now they’re just a lot harder

Greyback is also here

He was arrested during the ball as well along with a bunch of other death eater werewolves

One day Remus is just minding his own business when Greyback approaches him

Greyback tells him that Voldemort wants to recruit him and that him and the other werewolves are planning to break out

Greyback is lying through his teeth

Really he knows that Remus was up to some sketchy shit and thinks that Voldemort will be less mad at him for getting arrested if he brings him Remus

Now Remus ain't no fool

And he’d never join the death eaters anyway 

So he agrees to help in the break out with the intention of completely ditching the group the moment they get out

And that's exactly what he does

ANDDDD this is where I’m leaving you until part five. I’m so sorry I didn't think this was going to be so many parts when I first started

In Case anyone's wondering with the Pandoras sister thing. Maryrose Jenkins is an oc from The Marauders series on wattpad by Pengiwen which is my favorite marauders fic ever I highly recommend. I want to reference her but I won't use her because she isnt my character  

This is going to be one long ass fanfiction I better start writing I NEED A NAME THOUGH SOMEONE HELP ME I HAVE LIMITED BRAIN CELLS

ALSO I really appreciate all of the likes and reblogs and comments. Pls tell me if you’re enjoying this and what you like i thrive off of validation and attention. Either through just commenting or sending something in my asks. I’d really like some feedback 

part five should be up maybe wednesday since I’m out tomorrow :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39098877/chapters/97810197

[sillyrabbit81]

Syverson & Vixen

Summary: Captain Syverson retires from the Army and takes an extended vacation. He wasn't planning on falling in love. Then he meets Vix, an unlucky in love tattoo artist at a party. Do they have what it takes to make it?

Pairing: Syverson x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.5k

Warnings: mild smut, recreational drinking, swearing, smoking, implied sexual assault.

Authors note: I hope you enjoy my version of Syverson. Thanks for reading.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Part 11 Part 13

Part 12

Syverson

When Vix left, I slept like a log. That God damn girl was insatiable. I needed to start working out more regularly if I was going to keep up with her fine ass. I don't think I had ever had so much sex in so short a time in my life. Even my honeymoon wasn't a fuck fest like that had been. By the time she left, I was beyond spent and to be honest, my dick was sore.

I wasn't complaining. It was amazing. Vix was amazing. She challenged me in a way no woman had before. She made me want to get down on my knees and worship the ground she walked on. But she also made my most basic instincts come out, and I wanted to own her, claim every part of her body and never let her go. I wanted to take care of her, and I wanted to be the one she came to when she had problems. I wanted to make her moan and say my name over and over. When I was with her, I had never felt so weak yet so powerful in my life.

I hadn't seen Vix in three days, and I was getting antsy. She was coming over later that evening, and the closer it got to her coming over, the worse I got. God damn, it was as bad as waiting for dusk before a mission. At least then, I wasn't alone. Now it's just me and my dick, and my dick was winning. I needed to get my mind off her for a while.

I finally decided to ring Softy. He apologised for being a dick. I said alright, but warned him I didn't think I could be around Rob again. Softy agreed and said he'd catch up with me soon.

"Maybe the four of us could get together soon. If Vix is ok with it." Softy said.

"Why wouldn't she be?" I asked.

"I said some pretty shitty things to her. You know after you left." Softy sighed. I saw red. "Then I put Rob on the phone, and he..."

"You fucking did what?" I was ropable. I felt my stomach twist.

"Look, I fucked up bad, ok. I'll talk to Vix and sort it out."

"Listen to me, Softy. You want some free advice? Don't you ever let that piece of shit near Vix again? I swear to you I'll fuck your shit up faster than a cheap dress comes off on prom night." Images of my fist hitting Rob's nose filled my mind. I wanted to feel the crunch as his nose shattered. Fuck that would feel good.

"Jesus Christ, Syverson," Softy said. "Take a fucking chill pill. I left Rob not long after the phone call. Listening to him spew his garbage to Vix, I... fuck man, I don't know. It made me realise I didn't want to be like him. I want to be with Jess and only Jess. Fuck bro, I can't explain it."

"Alright, Softy, alright." I had calmed a bit with his explanation. But my reaction even scared me. That fucking piece of shit. I had to do something instead of letting this shit stew in my mind.

I was getting so restless. I went to the beach. I still fucking hated sand, but I had to find something to keep me occupied. I wasn't used to having so much time on my hands. Yeah, there was a lot of downtime on deployment, but I always had paperwork and planning and dealing with personnel keep me busy. I probably would have moved on, got that camper and been halfway to Alice Springs if I hadn't met Vix.

I went back to my apartment and decided to go down to the parking lot and clean my truck while I waited for Vix. It didn't matter how hard I had tried to wash the sand off. It was still there, and the thought of it in the carpet pissed me off.

I felt eyes on me while I was hunched over, trying to get under the pedals to get all the sand. I turned the vacuum off, and there was Vix, leaning back on her car, her hands behind her, resting on the hood. I felt my shoulders relax, and the tension I had felt all day was gone. My Kitten was back.

She was all made up again, and her eyes had gotten their spark back. She was wearing black high waisted shorts, a white shirt and red heels. The way she leaned against the car pushed her tits out against her shirt, the buttons threatening to pop. I added it to the images of her that I will never get out of my mind.

"Oh, don't stop," said Vix with her naughty smile. "I love a guy who knows his way around a vacuum cleaner."

I grinned, not even attempting to hide my desires. "Come here, lil lady," I said to her.

Vix ran to me, and I opened my arms to catch her. She jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs and arms around me, kissing me straight away. I kissed her back, my tongue demanding entry to her mouth. My hands held her ass, squeezing her cheeks, feeling how soft and firm her flesh was. I felt her thighs tighten around my waist. God damn, I wanted to feel those thighs tremble like they did just before she came.

"Did you miss me, Kitten?" I asked, moving my kisses down to her neck. She still had that hickey on her neck, and I kissed her there, gently this time.

"Yes. You know I did." Vix replied, squirming in my arms as my beard tickled her neck. I needed to get her in my bed again.

"I like hearin' you say it." I gave her a grin. "Where's your bag?" I asked, and I carried Vix and her bag to my apartment.

"Well, this is this is better than your hotel," Vix said, looking around. I put her down, and she went to the balcony. She opened the sliding doors and stepped out to admire the view of the beach. "Wow, it's a nice view."

"Ain't that the truth. The beach is nice too." I gave her my silly grin that she likes as I came up and wrapped my arms around her.

"That is so cheesy, Sy," Vix said with a little smile.

I hummed in agreement. "It's a fact. You have a real nice ass."

Vix gently tugged my beard and pulled my face down to hers. She kissed me sweetly, her lips light as butterfly wings. She whispered, "take me to bed, Noah."

She didn't have to ask me twice. I lifted her again and took her to my room. I put her on her feet, cupped her face and kissed her softly, feeling her sweet lips against mine. Her soft kisses soothed away the urgency I had been feeling. Now I just wanted to take my time, feel every bit of her.

I let my hands roam lazily over her body, reacquainting myself to her soft curves. Vix let out faint cries as I felt her breasts and gently thumbed her piercings. Vix tried to pull my hips to hers, but I wouldn't be moved. No, I wasn't going to rush. Her hands went to my shorts, trying to get them undone, but I pulled away. She made a sound of frustration, and I chuckled. I wasn't going to let her goad me into losing control. I put my hands under her shirt, feeling her warm, soft skin against my rough hand.

I opened the buttons of her shirt and slipped my hands around her waist, opening her shirt as I went. A surprisingly bright red lacy bra greeted me. How the fuck did I not see that under her shirt? I slipped the shirt down to her elbows and held it there, her arms effectively trapped while I kissed the top of her breasts. I kissed down to her nipples and nipped at them through her bra.

Vix's hips bucked as she said, "What are you doing, Sy?"

"Just admiring you, lil Darlin'," I said, undoing her shorts one-handed and sliding them down her ass. I still held her shirt at her elbows, so I helped her step out of the shorts. "God Damn, Victoria," all she wore now was a matching red thong and bra and red heels. I turned her around in a circle. "You wear the prettiest things for me."

She smiled her naughty smile again. "Do you like them?" I nodded. "I went shopping yesterday. I got these just for you."

"Just for me, huh?" I asked. "Ain't you a good girl." Vix moaned and clamped her thighs shut. I released her arms from her shirt and gave her a  little push. She fell on the bed, her eyes wide in surprise. I chuckled.

I took my clothes off, my eyes drinking her in. She watched me undress, her eyes filled with lust. When my shorts came down and my cock was free, she licked at her lips.

Climbing up the bed, I covered Vix with my body. She wrapped her legs around me and put her hands on my ass. I smiled at her eagerness as she rutted against me, urging me to get inside her. I had wanted to play with her some more, but her desperate grinding me made me give in, and I gave her what she wanted.

I laid in bed, almost dozing when I felt Vix get up. Her phone had been going off for a while. She got it and brought it back to bed. I cuddled into her, putting my head between her tits. It was quickly becoming my favourite place in the world. I inhaled her scent. Her skin always smelled like her coconut body butter, and it made my mouth water.

Her nails tapped in the screen of her phone, and she sighed. "Hey Sy, what are your plans for tonight?"

"We're doing it, Sweet Pea," I said. I didn't want to go anywhere, nowhere was better than here. "Are you hungry? I'll order us some food if you are."

"It's just that Yobbo is having a get-together tonight," Vix said.

I looked over at the clock on my bedside. "It's 8.30 Vix, ain't it too late?"

Vix laughed, "maybe for you, old man."

I growled at her but didn't move. "I ain't old." I sighed. "Well, I ain't stoppin' you, Vix, go if you want to go," I said. I didn't mean it. I wasn't going to miss out on an evening with her. I'd go if she wanted to go, but I would rather stay here and hold her all night.

"Yobbo said you could come too."

I thought it over. "Will Rob be there?"

"Yobbo says he didn't ask him to come."

That surprised me, "I thought they were friends."

"Yeah, Nah, Yobbo had a falling out with Rob a couple of years ago when Rob knocked him out. Yob likes you."

"Is there going to be more Karaoke?"

"We usually only do that for birthdays these days. This is just an impromptu piss up."

"Alright," I kissed the skin between her tits. "You owe me lil girl."

"Yay!" Vix said and clapped her hands, making her tits bounce against my face. Fuck.

I took her nipple in my mouth and flicked my tongue over piercing, my dick already at attention. "I think I'll take what I'm owed now," I told Vix as I slid my hand between her legs.

We got to Yobbo's house at nearly 10 pm. I yawned as we went around the back. Maybe Vix was right. I was an old man. As soon as we got around the back, Yobbo ran up to Vix and hugged her, lifting her and twirling her in a circle. Vix giggled, and I felt both a pang of jealousy and warmth inside hearing her laugh.

Then she looked at me and put her hand out. I took it, and she pulled me to her, her arm slipping around my waist. Yobbo, still smiling, put his hand out to me.

"Hey mate, good to see ya again. Want a beer?" I shook his hand and nodded. I followed him over to the cooler. He gave me a beer, and we stood together awkwardly a moment. I watched as Vix said hi to her friends.

There were about half as many people as there was at the last party. They were sitting in plastic chairs around a fire in an old oil barrel. Soft music played as they all chatted together. Vix sat next to Jess. I looked around for Softy but couldn't see him anywhere.

Yobbo was still standing next to me. He looked real nervous, like he had something to say but didn't know how to say it. His dark eyes shifted around as he thought.

"Go on, kid, out with it," I said, probably sounding harsher than I meant to.

"Nah, Sy, it's ok. I just..." Yobbo started.

"Yeah?" I was getting annoyed, was this piece of shit in love with her too?

"I just wanted to say thanks for being there for Vix. She's a good chick who seems to get fucked over a lot. But uh, she really likes you and," he paused again. "ah, fuck, forget it." He ran his hand through his hair.

"You tryin' to give me the 'if you break her heart, I'll fuck you up' speech?"

Yobbo laughed and looked a bit embarrassed. He probably would be blushing if his skin wasn't so dark. "Sorta, mate. Except I'm not dumb enough to think I could fuck you up."

I gave him a grin. I supposed I could like this kid. "Alright, consider me warned."

"It's just that the shit with her ex was hard enough on her, and then Rob did what he did. It pissed me off."

"What do you mean?" His tone said there was more to the story than what Vix and Softy had told me.

Yob was surprised. "You know, got her drunk and high and... oh, you didn't know."

"I knew they made out."

"It was more than that."

Fuck. I looked at Vix. She was hugging Jess, she seemed to be wiping her eyes like she was crying, but she was smiling. "Does she know?" I asked. I knew I'd better never see Rob again, or I'd be fucked.

He shrugged, "I thought she did. Maybe they didn't actually have sex. Maybe Rob is full of shit. Rob's always been a dick. He just hides it well." Yobbo went on, "The rest of the guys got over their obsession with Vix years ago, but Rob didn't. Still hasn't."

"What about you?"

Yobbo furrowed his brows and frowned. "What about me?"

"Why are you telling me this? When did you get over Vix?"

Yobbo laughed so loudly, and half the party heard and looked at us. Vix smiled at me and gave me a little wave. "Dude, I'm gay."

"Oh," I said, a little embarrassed myself now. "I just thought you were tellin' me all this to scare me off or something." I put my hand out to shake his, "sorry, man."

Still, laughing Yobbo said, "that's gold. You really didn't know? Did you think Vix would flirt with me like she does if she thought I was interested?" He laughed some more, and we joined the party.

Vix got out of her chair and got me to sit. She perched on my knee and kept talking to Jess. I wrapped my arms around her waist and spent the whole night watching her happy and laughing with her friends. Other than when she was naked, I liked her best like this.

Part 13

[rosesareviolentlyread]

Howdy!

So, despite being a lurker, and then a semi-active person for a while I’ve never made an intro post! And, well, as one of the mods for @whumpmasinjuly now speed running the event to catch up, I figure I can be living proof that better late than never! 

I’m Rosy, she/her/hers, a 22 year old Bi baby using writing as a coping mechanism for our hellscape. I’ve always enjoyed whump, without knowing it until I found the term last fall. I’m also a comfort whore, so always know that nothing I write has a sad ending, there’s fluff coming.

I love exploring OCs, vulnerability, interesting conditions for whump, and world building/making my ideas way too complicated. That or writing random requests to prompts. There’s really no in between. I've either thought about it way too much or not at all. Which I guess is to say, if there’s a prompt or scenario you’ve always wanted written drop it in my ask box, I enjoy the challenge! I’m really passionate about creative writing as a tool to explore, which ties into my work with nonprofit alternative education models. 

I’ve got a few things posted on my blog, but none are the main stories I’ve been working on, because busy but also as said above I tend to...spend forever researching/drafting haha. If you’re interested in checking out the ideas I got in the pipeline, check under the cut! Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be tagged, some will start being published in the next few days.

And lastly, hope y’all don’t mind, but I thought I’d tag some friends & my fav authors in the community that have helped me start to get more involved!: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @straight-to-the-pain @softsweetsuffering @mottinthemainpot @burtlederp @killtheprotagonist @slaintetowhump @wildfaewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @deluxewhump @0idril0 @whumpywhumper @moose-teeth @endless-whump @bloodandbandages @whumping-every-day @card-games-and-pain @starrywhump @nowhumponmain @orchidscript @untilthepainstarts @whump-tr0pes @albino-whumpee @whumpiary ok gonna stop tagging people now wow I read too much/talk to people a lot

My WIPs: 

(Note: I’m trying to edit at least one of each to post this week but my muse hops around a lot so consistent and chronological these stories will not be. They’re ordered vaguely by where my muse is rn)

Elias: The newest one, a spur-of-the-moment addition who’s got a few more prompts coming. A boy who’s gotten the shit end of the stick in life ends up in the basement of a frat, tortured after the mob boss who took him to get a ransom from his shit-stain brother decided to cut losses and gift Elias to his nephew, passing him off as a boxboy in the process. Some well-meaning college students decide to rescue him, only to get into who knows what, certainly not me. Variation within BBU, thanks to @deluxewhump for the idea. Mainly recovery from torture for now

Studying About That Good Ole Way/Fae bb: A modern magic world loosely inspired by @0idril0 & @whumpywhumper’s Nico/Clint & Marcus/Lucien series’ respectively. Under the increased scrutiny of the modern age, magical creatures come forward with their existence. Fae have always lived in a state of fear but now more so, as their existence as a source of magic means they can be used for great feats, both by humans and magic folk alike. In fear, some hide their young as changelings in the hopes that in growing in non-magical communities, they will not develop their full magical characteristics. 

     Faith is a young girl from a ‘perfect’ anti-magic Christian family, who goes to a liberal arts college to study Theology. In her thesis work to understand how to reconcile God with the magic community, the exposure to the magic sparks her transformation into her full, natural Fae self. A professor/local pastor offers to help, which does not go well. Her brother Adam, who abandons his family and his church after it disowns and demonizes his sister, is left to pick up the pieces. Religious whump, torture, intimate whumper, some body horror/gore, recovery angst, a not-great himbo caretaker trying his best, found family eventually.

Once You Are Real: Victorian Magical vaguely Steampunk Fantasy world. A shopkeeper specializing in magical refurbishment & repair comes across a life-sized porcelain ‘doll’, broken and pieced together in webs of golden cracks. He quickly discovers that not only is this ‘doll’ actually a construct, it’s a sentient construct, the most advanced he’s ever seen, capable of distressing amounts of emotion and physical feeling. An uncanny valley of past pains that now sits on his bench to fix. Caretaker fluff, emotional angst, psychological angst, discussing human condition, some creepy/intimate whumper flashbacks. 

The Paths We Travel: A trio that takes place in @wildfaewhump ’s Pathverse. Technically the first piece of this is posted, but I’ve rehauled it since then so I’ll be rewriting that intro. 

     Oren is a former A-Class, used to experiment with the extent of Class-A’s potential. He’s now sickened by his own abilities and seeking to hide, to find a new person other than the one he was. He’s trying to write his way to freedom, all the while avoiding his own history that’s written into every part of his person.

     Cass presents an easy out, a friend-with-benefits that’s a bridge between his old life and a new one. Cass is a wealthy Class-C who’s parents hid her ability since she was the only child, and heir, to their pharmaceutical fortune. She’s on a mission to rebel and take hold of her identity, as only a privileged girl can, not understanding the consequences that may follow for a free path. 

     Alice is a Class-C who has lived her life working with a more private sector company, where her empath abilities were combined with drugs to offer high paying clients orgasmic and euphoric experiences without those nasty side effects. When Cass decides to rescue her while at a party on a whim, it’s a whim that thrusts the trio into a collision course. Drug/withdrawal whump. Recovery whump. Some real shitty caretakers, but they mean well. Exploration of not great people getting better together maybe? I control none of my characters please send help

Bakery Box Boy: Della, an older woman in charge of a popular bakeshop in a lakeside New England town is gifted a refurbished Box Boy as ‘help’ by a nosy neighbor convinced it’ll be a good way to help her finally grieve her recently deceased son. Della disagrees, and our poor BB is caught in the middle. Featuring a strong willed tough older woman caretaker, and a Box Boy who’s been refurbished about 3-5 times. God this is from a post from forever ago, but dammit it got too developed to throw away so it’s got at least a few prompts in its WIP folder I’ll get to editing eventually.

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Two: Life Being What it Is

AN: Surprise! Back to back chapter postings! So, I know said this about the last two chapters, but this is by far the darkest chapter yet. Read at your own comfort level. There’s a link of a song attached to a word in one of the paragraphs below, to me, it made the scene I wrote much more haunting.

Word Count: 3.9k

Trigger Warnings: violence, attempted rape, racism, racial slurs, torture, abuse

Chapter Three: Steal Away

Today was October 6th, 1862.

It had been officially one week since Marc Martin returned home from the Confederate Army on leave. Sabine was disappointed to say the least, she had hoped that Marc would die a slow, gruesome death within the first year of the war. The war, Sabine could hardly believe that it’s been a whole year since the fighting had erupted within the country. The nation was divided, brothers against brothers, fathers against sons. And nowhere did this sentiment ring ever truer than on the Martin Plantation. Master Martin supported the Confederacy along with Mistress Genevieve and Marc joined the army. Leaving Alain to be the odd man out, he was the only Martin that supported the Union. Sabine recalled the day Alain had left the plantation, it was only a week before the Confederacy seceded from the United States.

“You tell me that I need to escape and yet here you are packing without taking me,” Sabine whispered harshly, as she handed Alain his briefcase.

“Sabine, if I took you with me, there’s only two possible outcomes,” Alain began, grabbing the leather bag. “The first outcome would be the two of us dying. The second outcome would be me dying and you being returned to this plantation,” he explained, keeping his voice low. “God, I feel unclean even saying this, but in the eyes of the law you are property of my father Sabine,” he continued, Sabine’s eyes narrowed and scoffed at his statement. “If I take you with me, my father will accuse me of stealing and they’ll shoot me dead,” he finished, looking over at her.

“Only if we get caught,” Sabine retorted, picking up another piece of luggage.

“It’s too dangerous Sabine, I’m sorry,” Alain said, shaking his head. “My father will raise hell once he notices that you’re gone, even more some when he realizes I’m the one who took you,” he stated, a grimace forming on his face.

“This isn’t fair Alain and you know it,” Sabine said, a frown lining her forehead.

“I know and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Alain apologized, sincerity shining in his eyes. “Listen, the Underground Railroad is your best bet,” he informed quietly, taking the suitcase out of her hands. He placed his luggage down in the carriage and let out a sigh, hanging his head low. “Sabine,” he called softly.

“Yes,”

“If you see an opportunity to run, take it,” Alain stated, lifting his head up and staring at her. “You take as many slaves as you can and you run,” he repeated, his tone hushed. “It has never been safe here for you, it will never be safe here for you. So promise me, promise me that you will do that,” he finished, his tone serious.

“I promise,” Sabine answered, nodding her head and Alain exhaled loudly in relief.

“We are going to see each other again Sabine,” he promised. “You’re going to be a free woman, when we do,” he added, smiling at her.

She mirrored his expression, “I look forward to it,” she replied.

“Once I’m settled up North, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for Henry,” Alain said, and Sabine felt her heart sink at the name. She only nodded in response, words escaping her for a moment. “Now, get back up to the house, we don’t need Sydney getting suspicious before he runs off and tells my parents anything,” he finished, shaking his head.

“Farewell Alain,”

“Farewell Sabine,”

Sabine never did find an opportunity to run away from this god-forsaken plantation.

It seemed like the moment the Confederacy seceded, there was an immediate crack down on the plantation. More overseers were hired by the Martin’s, punishments were harsher, and Alice was no longer the “head slave”, she was replaced by Sydney. Oh, the Martin’s couldn’t have asked for a more obsequious slave than Sydney. The silver haired house slave seemed to be the most observant man she had ever encountered. Sabine believed that Sydney made it his personal mission to strike terror within the hearts of every slave once he was promoted to his position. Alice would be firm with her fellow slaves, but she balanced it out by being loving as well, because deep down Alice knew that they all were just trying to survive their hellacious circumstances.

Sydney on the other hand, was at the beck and call of Master Martin and Genevieve, he was more than happy to inflict their cruel orders and follow it to the letter. Not only that, he was more than willing to sell out any slave, all in the name of remaining in the good graces of the Master and Mistress. Sabine hated his guts, her hatred of Sydney was right up there with her hatred of Master Martin and Genevieve, which was quite remarkable seeing how Sydney was also a slave. She didn’t think she could loathe the man anymore than she already did, but boy did he prove her wrong.

Sydney was the reason that Sabine’s husband was stolen from her.

Henry, was one of the stable boys on the plantation, him and Sabine had been sweet on each other for awhile before he finally worked up the courage to ask for her hand. Even before their marriage Henry was Sabine’s rock, with all the daily abuse she faced the one thing she could look forward to was being wrapped up in Henry’s arms where she could find some solace. But all that was ripped away from Sabine last year. Whispers from the kitchen slaves about Sabine and Henry jumping the broom together had reached Sydney’s ears, he made sure that would be put to an end. By the next day, Sabine was forced to watch her husband be hauled away to be sold at a slave auction in town.

Master Martin was punishing her, the only person that could have Sabine was himself.

For Sabine’s audacity of getting married, she was thrown into the ‘hot box’ for a whole day. The experience was tortuous, Sabine felt like she was being burned alive while simultaneously being suffocated, the airway in her throat felt like it was growing smaller and smaller by the minute. When she was finally released, Sabine was barely conscious and had to be carried to her cabin. She felt like she was on the brink of death. Her throat felt drier than a desert, her body was so weak from the heat rays that damn near cooked her alive, and several areas of her skin were tender and flaming red from the burns she received in her temporary metal coffin.

Sabine’s fellow female slaves had to care her for the rest of the night, they bathed her, dressed her, made sure she drank plenty water, and fed her food that had been smuggled out the kitchen. Exhaustion soon took over her body and Sabine fell into a fitful sleep that night, she couldn’t even mourn the loss of her husband properly. Her mind was too busy replaying her experience of being trapped underground, where the walls surrounding her seemed like they were closing in slowly but surely, nearly about to crush her.

The next morning Sabine made up for it, she sat in her cabin and crammed her apron into her mouth and let out body rattling screams of agony or cries, sometimes both. She screamed till her voice was raspy and too painful to even use.

But that was the past.

If Sabine dwelled on it any longer she might drown herself in misery. The only thing she could do now was focus on the present.

~~~x~~~

“I look like shit,” Sabine thought.

She gazed into the vanity mirror that was located in one of the guest bedrooms she had just finished cleaning. Her warm, brown skin had lost its radiance and sets of dark bags fell below Sabine’s eyes. The hickory brown irises were void of the lively spirit they once held, now they were just…empty. Sabine was exhausted, it was almost impossible to see her signature smirk on her full lips anymore. Sabine was surprised that her face still retained some of it’s softness, the roundness of it and full cheeks made the small, round mole on her right cheek pronounced.

Sabine looked away from her reflection and turned around to make sure that Genevieve or Master Martin were nowhere around. She didn’t hear any movement in the hallway which meant Genevieve was still having her morning tea downstairs. And Master Martin must still be out in the city running errands. Sabine faced the mirror again and lifted her hands to her head, pulling off the headscarf that covered her hair. Two plaits formed a makeshift crown around her head, Sabine ran a hand over the soft, black hair, not caring that she was messing it up more than it already was. She was just happy to see her hair was growing again. Not long after Sabine’s time in 'the hotbox’, she had her hair chopped off to the point that her hair resembled some of the male slaves.

It was a nightmarish experience for Sabine, she didn’t feel feminine anymore, most importantly, she felt like a part of her identity was stripped away from her. Sabine was sure that the torture she endured was because of Sydney, he had the ear of Genevieve and Sabine knew that Genevieve would be more than happy to go along with his suggestion if it meant humiliating her. Unfortunately for them, Sabine’s hair had grown back faster, almost in defiance of Sydney and Genevieve. It wasn’t below her armpits like it was before, but her hair had reached down her neck.

And that made a small smile form on Sabine’s lip.

“My, my, my, aren’t you looking mighty fine Cecile,”

Sabine’s body froze and she felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach, hearing the voice of Marc behind her.

Sabine spun around to see Marc standing in the doorway, “M-Master,” she stuttered, unconsciously gripping the scarf in her hands tightly.

A slow, evil grin curled on Marc’s mouth, “Mmmm, I love it when you call me that Cecile,” he stated, fully stepping into the room. “Say it again,” he ordered, letting his eyes trail over her body.

Sabine had to stop herself from glaring at the bastard in front of her, “Master,” she repeated, gripping the scarf even tighter.

A menacing chuckle came from Marc’s mouth, “You know, it is so nice to be home,” he began, taking another step forward which made the wooden floor creak, almost in a foreboding manner. “This war has left me weary, but that’s nothing my bed can’t fix,” he continued, moving closer to Sabine, but this time she moved herself and stepped to her left. “Do you want to know what else this war has left me feeling for?” Marc asked, staring at Sabine.

Sabine timidly shook her head, afraid to know the answer, “No, Master,” she answered, her voice slightly wavering.

“Well, you see Cecile, I haven’t seen a woman in months while I’ve been off protecting us from those Yankees,” Marc stated, and Sabine wanted to scoff at his use of the word 'protecting’. “And that can do something to a man, take me for example, I’ve been finding myself a bit frustrated as of late,” he explained, and Sabine’s breathing became unsteady as she had an inkling on where this conversation was going. “But with you standing here Cecile, I think I found the remedy to my ailment,” he finished, a wicked smirk forming on his lips.

Sabine’s eyes were wide and her mouth slightly fell open, it felt like her stomach dropped six feet to the ground. Her eyes darted to the door that was behind Marc as she sensed her heartbeat accelerating. Sabine couldn’t help but shudder in disgust at his leering gaze as he inched closer and closer to her.

Sabine swallowed deeply, “The M-Mistress is c-calling for m-me, Master” she stated, her voice trembling.

A sinister look came over Marc’s face, “I didn’t hear anything,” he replied, a smirk on his face.

And just like that, Sabine bolted for the door but Marc beat her to it, slamming it shut and blocking it with his considerable height. He leered at her hungrily and Sabine felt her entire body trembling with pure fear. Marc was a sadistic man. She had seen the outcome of what happens to the female slaves who are forcibly brought into a room alone with Marc. Sometimes, she could hear the consequences of her fellow female slaves being with Marc. It was rape, they were violently raped. Sabine saw women become a shell of themselves after their inescapable encounter with him.

There was no telling what he would do to her now that he finally trapped her.

She was stuck with this vile monster.

“There’s no escape now, wench!” he declared, staring at her hungrily. “My little brother is no longer here to protect you anymore,” he continued, locking the door. “You are here and you are mine,” he finished, before grabbing her and pulling her close towards him.

Sabine let out a high pitch squeal of horror at feeling the growing pressure against her hipbone. She started to struggle in his arms and that only made Marc grip her arms tighter, bruising her arms with his fingers.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered gruffly, and Sabine almost went dizzy with terror. She just shook her head, unable to speak. Marc roughly pushed her back towards the bed. “I said, 'get on the bed’. Now!” he shouted, his tone poisonous.

Sabine glared at him fearfully, “No!” she croaked, the word slipped through her mouth so easily, she barely had to think about it.

She had been violated in more ways than she thought was humanly possible, but she couldn’t let this happen to her. No, she refused to let this happen to her. Sabine would rather die than be raped by Marc. She had little to live for at that point anyway.

Marc’s expression darkened, “No?” he repeated deathly calm.

Sabine’s eyes narrowed even more, “That’s what I said,” she answered firmly, sounding a lot stronger than she actually felt.

A deep roar tore Marc’s throat as he threw himself on top of Sabine and they both fell on the bed. His body was on top of hers, pinning her hands to each side of her head.

“Let me go!” Sabine screamed, trying to fight him off.

“You need to be taught a lesson!” Marc exclaimed, maintaining his crushing grip on Sabine’s wrists. “And I have just the thing in mind,” he added, grinding his groin against her.

A desperate and frantic scream erupted from Sabine’s lips, her heart was racing and fear consumed her body once more.

“No, no, no!” Sabine thought.

She started to panic and began thrashing underneath him, but to no avail. She foolishly wished that Genevieve would come upstairs and unlock the door to stop her son from having his way with her. But she knew the idea was hopeless, if anything, Genevieve would blame Sabine for her own rape.

“I like it when you struggle, it makes the experience all the more enjoyable,” he said, a cruel smile on his face as he chuckled.

Tears fell from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Marc’s eyes roved her breast before he began to lower his face toward them and Sabine did the only thing she could think of, she headbutted him. She almost immediately blacked out from the pain of skull hitting skull, but hearing the furious cry of Marc and no longer feeling the pressure of his body on top her gave Sabine motivation to stay conscious. She scrambled off the bed, seeing gold specks from the sudden motion, barely managing to steady herself and make a run for it. Grabbing the skirt of her dress, Sabine lifted it away from her feet and dashed for the bedroom door.

“You goddamn bitch!”

Suddenly, Sabine found herself being yanked down to the wooden floor and let out a loud shriek as she went. Marc’s face was red in fury and also with the crimson liquid that ran down from his forehead. He bared his teeth at Sabine with a growl and she began quickly crawling backwards from him, only for Marc to harshly seize her by the left ankle. Instinctively, Sabine’s right foot shot out and connected with Marc’s nose in a sickening crunch.

A howl of pain escaped from Marc, “I’m going to fucking kill you, you negro whore!” he bellowed, his eyes darkening with pure hatred.

From that moment on, everything sort of became a blur to Sabine. One moment she was scrambling to get up from the floor, and then the next thing she knows is that she is letting out an inhuman, blood-curdling scream as Marc lunged towards her. It was the first blow of Marc’s fist across her face that put Sabine in a daze, she never stood a chance.

And one after the other, the punches came.

Sabine believed she had to be going in and out of consciousnesses during her pummeling, when she came around one time, she felt herself being repeatedly kicked in the ribs before becoming unconscious again. The next time she awakened, she could a hand brutally gripping her by the hair as he pulled her barely conscious body with him down the hallway and down the stairs. Sabine’s head started spinning and nausea washed over her at the unexpected motion of being roughly jerked along, she hardly had time to get her bearings.

Sabine could already feel her face swelling black and blue, there was a stinging sensation underneath her right eye and Sabine wondered that could be. She also felt the same stinging sensation on her bottom lip, which also felt fatter than usual. Swollen, that’s what it had to be, her bottom lip was swollen and split. She was just now beginning to taste iron in her mouth. Her nose felt runny, like there was snot coming from her nostrils, but from the metallic scent she could smell, she knew it was not that.

And the left side of her ribs, it felt like they were on fire. She barely touched the tender spot before she felt herself wince. Her ribs were most likely bruised, if not broken.

“Sydney get my goddamn pistol!” Marc spat, stepping down from the last step with Sabine in tow. “Alice, ring the bell outside! I want every slave to witness what’s about happen! Go!” he ordered, and Sabine could hear her footfalls running out the house.

Sabine was about to die, she knew there was no way around that.

“Marc, my dear!” Genevieve said, letting out a gasp. “What did Cecile to you?!” she exclaimed, and Sabine could envision Genevieve sending her a hateful glare. “You have blood all over you!” she commented, moving closer to them.

“Cecile here,” Marc began, tightening his hold on Sabine’s hair which made her sharply gasp in pain. “Has forgotten her place here at this plantation, she’s gotten a little too uppity for my taste,” He explained, as a set of footsteps approached them.

“Here you go, Massa,”

Hearing Sydney’s weaselly voice made Sabine’s blood boil.

“But don’t worry Ma, I know just the punishment for Cecile,” Marc reassured, grabbing the gun from Sydney’s hands. “You’re more than welcome to watch,” he offered, before yanking Sabine along to follow him outside the house.

Sabine nearly tripped over her feet as she was pulled down the porch stairs, faintly she could hear the murmuring of the slaves off to the side of the house. She had faint idea of where she was being dragged to, it was more likely than not the Whipping Tree. The murmuring of the slaves became louder as they approached the congregation of people and that’s when Sabine heard the gasps of horror. A silence swept over the crowd and Sabine could only imagine what she looked like, she knew it was bad though.

Her face was probably stained red along with her dress.

Suddenly, Sabine felt herself being shoved unto the hard, dirt ground. She fell onto her left side and an ear-splitting scream of agony ripped through Sabine’s throat, the force of her fall made her see stars and left her struggling to breath. Tears began to form in her eyes as she struggled to sit up.

“Get up!” Marc roared, pacing back and forth in front of her. Sabine let out a ragged breath and looked up at Marc, squinting her eyes as the morning sun blinded her. “Stand up now!” he shouted, waving his pistol at Sabine.

On shaky arms, Sabine pushed herself onto all fours, breathing heavily from exertion. She fell back onto her knees and lightly placed her hand on her injured ribs, slowly she raised herself from the ground with a small cry of pain.

“The reason you all are gathered here today is to show you what happens to an ungrateful slave like Cecile here!” Marc stated, with a sneer as he began circling her like a predator would do its prey. Sabine was too exhausted, in too much pain, to even roll her eyes at the laughable description of her. “Here on the Martin Plantation we treat you all just fine. We feed you, clothe you, and give you a roof to live under,” he continued, now staring out into the sea of faces of the slaves. “My family and I have extended charity to you slaves, and we expect that in return,” he went on. “So if I tell you do something, remember, it is not a request, it’s an order. Even if it means you lay on your back and spread your goddamn legs open for me!” Marc shouted, and Sabine flinched and squeezed her eyes shut when she felt the cold steel of his pistol shoved into the back of her head.

Sabine’s muscles began to lock up as a slight nervousness sat in the pit of her stomach. She had already accepted her fate, so why was she so tense? This is what she wanted, an escape from this hellish existence that she was born into. Death, that was Sabine’s freedom and she received a small taste of it when she headbutted Marc. She was going to “steal away” just like the hymn they sing on Sundays, and while she didn’t put much faith into believing there’s a lord above her, because how could God watch her and her fellow slaves not save them from their suffering? Still, the spirituals and hymns painted a beautiful picture of the Promised Land and it gave her something to cling to through her torment on this plantation.

If that was what freedom looked like, then that’s where she wanted to go.

“Let Cecile here be a lesson to you all, my family and I will not tolerate any form of disobedience,” Marc said, standing in front of her now and addressing the slaves. Sabine must have went into a daze with all of the thoughts that raced through her head. “Do not be mistaken, every single last one of you are expendable. We can always buy another slave to take your place,” he finished coldly.

Laughter bubbled out of Sabine, a crazed laugh. One that caused her shoulders to shake.

Marc whipped his body around towards her, “Something funny Cecile?” he questioned, glaring at her.

“Oh it’s comical,” she corrected, her laughter subsiding. “You and your family will not be able to hurt me any longer,” she said, with a light chuckle as she shook her head. “For I am about to become a free woman, Marc,” she finished, addressing him by his name and not the title she was forced to call him for so many years.

Marc’s nostrils flared at the usage of his first name, which for a slave, was absolutely forbidden. Immediately, he aimed his revolver at her head, the steel gleaming in the bright sun. Staring down the barrel of the gun, a wide smile grew on Sabine’s face, showing the layer of blood that coated to her teeth. She watched as he slowly cocked the hammer back and Sabine smirked, her signature smirk. The sound of a gun firing one single bullet echoed in the air and just before the bullet ripped through Sabine’s forehead, she had one single thought.

“Freedom,”

Chapter Four: Resurrection

[amazingmsme]

Preventing Apotheosis Part 4

AN: As I said, a new chapter to celebrate Black Friday! Hope you’ve all enjoyed the series so far, I know I have! Just so you know, it’s really gonna pick up after this chapter. Lots of action & good shit that I can’t wait for you guys to read! 

John took out his comm and started talking to his boss, stepping out of the room. After hunting down the two infected girls and shooting them, Curt went back to the room where their hostages were tied to chairs so that their forms wouldn't slump over. He waited anxiously for John to end the call, and his head whipped toward the door when he heard the knob turn. The General walked in with a stern look on his face that Curt matched.

"You'll be pleased to hear that we won't have to kill them so long as they swear to never utter a word of this incident to anyone. They'll go into the Witness Protection Program to start their new lives and live out their days most likely traumatized."

"Well that's better than the alternative," Curt voiced. It still wasn't ideal, but at least they had the chance to live. 

"We need them to wake up, you got anything that could help with that?" John asked. Curt rapped his chin in thought, "Let's see, I'm only one of the world's greatest spies, and I interrogate people on a daily basis, of course I do. Here,"  he quipped, pulling some smelling salts out of his pocket. He shoved him out out of the way and knelt in front of them. He snapped the small packet and waved it under their noses. Both men shot up with a gasp, frantically looking around. Bill's eyes locked on McNamera and he tried to lunge forward. Thankfully the restraints held firm.

"You killed Alice! You took her away! She was only a child!" Tears welled up in his eyes, "She was too young to die!"

"Bill, your name is Bill right?" McNamera didn't wait for an answer before he continued, "That thing wasn't your daughter. She was an empty husk of a human, one of those singing alien freaks. She was about to kill you; one more second and she would've pulled the trigger an' you'd be dead on the ground."

Bill shook his head, "No, no she was still in there!" His friend in the chair turned to him, "No Bill, she wasn't. I mean, you saw the way her eyes were glowing. And they were blue, her eyes were never blue!" John took a step forward and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and he jerked away. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, but there was no other way. At least we were able to find the two of you alive." Curt found it funny how he didn't tell them how he was going to kill them only a few minutes before. John turned to the taller man in the chair, "What's your name, son?"

"Uh, Paul, sir," he said. His eyes were full of panic. He probably thought they were gonna kill them.

"Nice to meet you Paul, you too Bill, my name's General John McNamera, I'm with a special devision known as P-E-I-P we call it "Peep.""

"P.E.I.P.? I've never heard of you," Paul said. John yanked his cigarette from his mouth.

"And you never will. Not a peep. We've dealt with things like this before."

"You mean things like this have happened before?" Paul asked with worry.

"I said nothing of the sort that information is classified. This is my associate-"

"I can introduce myself," Curt cut him off and pulled out his badge. "Agent Curt Mega, C.I.A."

"We were sent here to do a clean sweep of the island, and make sure word of this doesn't spread." As he spoke he untied the men.

"Wait- are you gonna kill us too?" Bill asked in a panic. John was quick to reassure.

"Those were my orders, yes, but I talked to my superiors and they're allowing an exception. There's gonna be two choppers coming to pick us up at 23 hundred hours. That's 11:00 if you're stupid, synchronize your time piece with mine." Paul pulled out his phone to set an alarm. "Is that a phone?"

"Yeah it's a 6s-" John grabbed the phone from his hand and threw it, making it shatter on impact. "Wear a watch!"

"Jesus John, the hell's your problem?" Curt asked and pulled out a spare phone from his bag. "Here, perks of being a spy."

"Th-thanks," Paul stuttered and gingerly took it. He eyed the General carefully before fiddling with it. He pressed the home button twice, three times before going to turn off the phone only for it to spark to life with a taser. He screamed and threw it away from him.

"Shit, I gave you the wrong one! Unless you want the taser phone.  It still functions as a regular phone but if you press the home button three times followed by the power button it'll activate the taser. Guess I should've warned you..."

Paul gulped, "That would've been nice."

"The offer still stands. Like Barb says, "It just might save your life." So?"

Paul shrugged and took the offered phone/weapon. "Why not? Today can't get anymore fucked up," he sighed. "C'mon Bill, lets go get the others."

Curt held out his hand, signaling them to stop. "Wait, how many of you are there?" He glanced at John, and they both shared a look. The helicopters could only hold so many.

"There's five of us sir."

"It'll be a tight fit, but we can manage," he shrugged. John nodded.

"Just make sure your little party doesn't grow," he narrowed his eyes into slits. Paul shook his head.

"I don't think we could even if we wanted to. I'm pretty sure we're the only ones left."

"Good. Keep on your toes, and try to stay alive 'til 11:00." Paul pressed his lips into a thin line, "Will do."

Suddenly, McNamera raised his pistol, startling both of the men.

"Wha-?"

In one swift movement, he flipped the gun around with practiced ease, holding the barrel. The handle was extended towards Paul. "I'm authorizing to use my firearm," he clarified. They visibly relaxed.

"Thank you sir."

"Maybe when this is all said and done, we can meet up somewhere and talk," Curt suggested. "Catch up on how you're doing."

They both nodded.

"Sure."

"That sounds nice."

"Do you gentlemen like coffee?" John asked. Both men nodded. "Do you like musicals?"

They answered simultaneously.

"No."

"Yes!"

John scowled at Bill as Curt came up beside him, "You must have good taste." John glared daggers at Curt.

"You're both garbage," he said dryly. Mega scoffed and rolled his eyes. John pointed at Paul, then Bill. "Twenty three hundred sharp. You're not there, we leave without you." He pulled his hat on a little tighter around his head. "I don't wanna be on this God forsaken island longer than needed."

"Me either," Curt agreed, locking eyes with the general and offered a fleeting smile. Call him crazy, but he could've sworn the man returned it.

He saluted the two men as they made their way out. "Best of luck to you."

"Try not to die," Curt offered his own advice before he thought better of it. Before a mission, he and Owen would always say that to the other before diving into the mess they were about to get themselves into. A painful ache shot through his chest at the thought of his old partner. What they had was special, and just like that it had been ripped away. And when given the chance to have it all back, Owen, the stubborn bastard that he was, threw it away, giving him no choice but to shoot.

"Get your damn head out of the clouds agent, we have to move!" McNamera barked at him, sending him crashing back down to reality. He blinked a few times before shooting him a sly and cocky grin.

"Sure thing General," he said, letting a fair amount of sarcasm drip from the use of his title. John sneered at him as he followed him out of the room.

The agent was infuriating, he thought, but damnit to hell if he wasn't starting to grow on him. It didn't help that he was incredibly handsome as well, but he could dream about him once they were safe and off of the island. Until then, nothing was set in stone.

[official-mermaid]

queliot + 20 if you want!

Thank you!! This got…. maybe longer than I was intending for it to. It’s possible it no longer counts as a mini-fic. But like. That’s fine, right? That’s fine. (I also posted it on AO3)

Things You Said That I Wasn’t Meant to Hear—

In the end, when the mirror fragmented Quentin into pieces, hisshards scattered to the wind. Pieces of him ended up in trees, floating in the ocean,in the backyard of his childhood home. He couldn’t have told you how manypieces there were.

In part because he was in pieces and therefor could nottalk. In part because there were too many pieces to count.

It’s a funny thing, magic. Things don’t necessarily happenthe way you expect them to.

Quentin, for instance, expected death.

He could feel the pieces of himself drawing together likemagnets. He could gather himself up, slowly put himself back together piece bypiece. Minor mending, as it were.

He was half-aware, uncertain if he’d remember this when he’dmanaged to get back together completely. Unsure if he’d remember the piece ofhimself he’d found on the bow of the Muntjac. Or the piece of himself he’dfound on a farm in Indiana. Or the piece of himself he’d found amongst thetiles of the Mosaic.

It was strange—he was traveling more than he’d evertraveled before, but in this unreal, dreamlike state.

He got more aware as more pieces came together.

He figured that once he found the last piece, he’d rejointhe land of the living.

In a distant sense, he understood that everyone believed hewas gone for good. He’d, after all, found one piece of himself hidden among thecards that Julia had sent flying in the air. Another piece next to a burnt,blackened peach. Another piece caught in the pages of a book.

He hadn’t been quite near whole at that point, but heunderstood that he was seeing a memorial for himself.

That was before he’d found the piece that had his name, soit hadn’t hit him yet.

Now, there was only one piece left, only one piece to find,one last minor mending to perform, only—

Only—

Only—

He was here—so close to being corporeal again. So close tobeing able to come back. Sensing, a little bit, that the final piece he neededwas nearby.

But something had caught his attention.

Eliot, pacing, frantic, angry—

He was in the Physical Cottage, watching Eliot and Margo.Feeling like it was something he shouldn’t be seeing. Unable to turn away.

“Eliot,” Margo said, in an uncharacteristically placatingtone. “Calm down. You’re gonna give yourself a migraine. You don’t mean that.”

Eliot scoffed, his mouth twisted into a humorless,disbelieving smile. “Oh, don’t I?”

“El, come on—”

“Bambi, he had no business being there! How could he—howcould any of you, frankly, send him in there?” Eliot snapped.

“Eliot, he volunteered.”

“Well, that’s the problem. Isn’t it?” Eliot groaned, leaningagainst the wall heavily. He tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. “Himand his stupid fucking heroics. Him and his lack of self-preservation. This is justlike Castle Blackspire, how didyou not see that?”

Flashes of Eliotshooting the Monster went through Quentin’s mind—Eliot had stopped Quentin fromplaying martyr once already.

“Okay, no, that wasn’t that same—Blackspire was him trying sell himself foreternity, we all knew that. This wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous mission. Noone knew anyone was going to die.”Margo was crossing her arms,looking like she was losing patience.

“What are yousaying, it wasn’t supposed to be a suicidemission?” Eliot bit out. Quentin startedto take a step towards him—uncertain, hesitant. Still incomplete enough to feellike this was a dream. Complete enough to know what Eliot was trying to say.

Margo’s eyeswidened. “Eliot, I’d be real careful about the next words out of yourmouth,” she replied through her teeth.

Eliot rolled hiseyes, turning away. “Whatever, Margo. He knew what he was doing.And you should’ve been paying closer attention.”

“Fuck you,” Margospat. “You don’t get to blame me for this. Sorry I was a little preoccupied savingyour ass.”

“What, you want toshift some of the blame onto me?” Eliot said, losing the fight in his voice. “Goright ahead, I won’t disagree. There’s plenty of blame to goaround. We could blame Julia, who should’ve known better. Penny, for lettinghim do it. Alice, for being there. Or hey, let’s blame Quentin. He’s the one that chose to sacrifice himself.”

Margo let out asigh. “Okay, baby, I’m gonna let how much of a dick you’re being slide. I know—Iknow what he meant to you.”

Eliot shook hishead. “You don’t, that’s the thing. You don’t know what hemeant to me. No one does. Hell, hedoesn’t—I never got the chance to—”

A spark of somethinghappened inside Quentin’s almost-chest. There was something he was missing—somethinghe didn’t understand. The unreal quality of the air sharpened.

“Oh, honey,” Margosaid. She took a seat on Eliot’s bed, hanging her head a little. “You think youwere subtle?”

Eliot half-laughed,but the sound was brimming with nerves. “Bambi, you have no idea how much I’veheld back. How much I’ve hidden.”

She raised hereyebrows. “Given how obvious you were, I’d say that must mean he was yourfucking soul mate or something.”

Eliot glanced ather, his eyes pained.

“Well, shit,” she said.

“Did he ever,” Eliotstarted slowly, “tell you anything about the Mosaic?”

She shrugged. “Iread the letter. I know that like, some other versions of you got old and died.What about it?”

“We remembered. Weremembered everything.”

Margo stared for afew moments. “And you never toldme?” she said, and it came outstrained.

Quentin studied Eliot’sface, taking a few weightless steps towards him. He knew, he remembered—but therewas so much distance. He understood in a vague, barely-there sense what washappening. But the part of him that understood—

Well, it was havingthe noncorporeal equivalent of a panic attack.

Which is to saythat Quentin was actually quite calm and clear. There was just somethingbubbling below, like a threat to erupt when he mended that final piece.

“Bambi,” Eliotsaid, his voice cracking just a little. “I so wanted to tell you. I couldn’t, I—youdon’t understand what I did.”

“So explain it tome,” Margo said, almost gentle. Her eyes were both soft and flinty.

“After we remembered—look,alright, it was fifty years of memories, fifty years of feelings, justall at once, okay? So just like. Try and imagine it—in a matter of moments, yougo from being you to having this whole other life in yourhead, alright? All at once, all at fuckingonce.” Eliot was talking fast, hishands moving. “It was overwhelming, and terrifying, and nauseating, and yeah,alright—kind of beautiful. We were—God, we had a son together, Margo.”

Margo’s face wasslack and her eyes wide, any betrayal at being left out of the loop seeming tohave been forgotten.

“Holy shit, El,” she breathed.

“No fuckingkidding,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“A son?”

A small, sad smile appearedon Eliot’s face, fading quickly before it reached his eyes. “His name wasTeddy,” he said softly. “And he was smart, and he was snarky, and he was—God,Margo, you would’ve been a great godmother, you know that?”

Margo sniffed, andQuentin realized, vaguely, that she had tears in her eyes.

“I thought—or rather,I remember thinking about that a lot. How much Teddywould have loved you. I told him stories about you.” Eliot’s gaze dropped tothe floor. “God, it really was beautiful.”

It really was—Quentin could almost understand howbeautiful it had been. He knew, on some level.

“Fucking hell,Eliot,” Margo replied.

“Yeah.”

“Wait, but—that was,like, the middle of the fucking key quest, why weren’t you and Q all—” Margogestured vaguely.

Eliot looked up ather, a bare, hopeless smile on his face. “Margo…” he said, softly.

She stared at him. “Whatdid you do?”

Eliot took a breath,exhaling slowly. “Well, you know our Q,” he said steadily. “He wanted to jumpright in. Give us a shot. He said we had proof of concept.”

Margo’s gaze wasback to being that soft-flinty, like she couldn’t decide between anger or sympathy.“What did you do?” she repeated, sounding borderline disappointed.

Quentin watchedEliot’s face, curious—

“I told him—that itwasn’t us. Those memories, it wasn’t me and it wasn’t him. Not if we had achoice.” Eliot pressed his palms against the wall behind him, tapping with hisfingers. “I told him no, you know? I was… Afraid. Afraid of what would happento us. Afraid of—I don’t know. Something real.”

“Oh, Eliot,” Margosaid, her face softening. “You must have broken his heart.”

At that Quentinfelt something—something come back to him, a feeling—

Eliot let out ahuff of laughter. “I know. All because I was afraid. I never got the chance to—Iwas going to tell him, Bambi. I was going to tell him.”

“All of this, itjust—” Margo sighed. “It fucking sucks,Eliot. Jesus.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Eliot’s lips twitchedup in a smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

The piece, themissing piece—

Quentin had to findit. He felt an urgency in him, like he was out of time, like he needed to beback now, even through the dreamlike haze—

The last piece wason Eliot’s windowsill.

Minor mendings.

Quentin put himselfback together.

It was—a strange experience,to say the least.

Like all of Quentin’shumanity and baggage and emotional weight came crashing down. He crumpled tothe floor, gasping for air. He was back together, back together and—

And he remembered. Allof it.

“What the fuck?” Margo yelped, getting to her feet.

“Quentin?” Eliot said, disbelief and confusion in hisvoice. “How the hell—what are you—Q, Q, are you okay?”

And then Eliot wason the floor next to him, shaking hands touching his shoulders lightly. Like hewas afraid of Quentin shattering again.

“Water—I need water—”Quentin managed to croak out.

“Margo—” Eliotstarted.

“I’m on it,” shesaid, rushing out of the room.

There was a heavymoment of silence. Eliot’s hands grew steadier on Quentin’s shoulders and he wrappedhis arms around his back.

“Q, how are youhere? I don’t—” Eliot breathed out, pulling him close and tucking his headunderneath his chin. “I don’t understand.”

“I—I fixed it,”Quentin said softly, his voice starting to come back. “I put myself backtogether.”

“Well, I still don’tquite understand, but—God, Q, I’m so fucking happy to see you.”

Quentin shivered alittle, leaning closer into Eliot’s chest. He felt overwhelmed with feelings,overwhelmed in a way that had only happened once before.

“Eliot?” he saidquietly.

“Yeah?”

“I heard.”

Eliot stilledaround him, his hand pausing where it had been stroking his arm.

“You heard?” hesaid.

“Every word,” Quentinreplied.

“Oh.” Eliot clearedhis throat. “And, um. What do you think? About what you heard?”

Quentin considered.The feelings were overwhelming, but he knew.

He knew with every ounceof certainty and clarity he’d always had.

“I think—” Quentin started.“I think we have another second chance.”

Eliot laughed, butit sounded like it was to cover a sob.

“We’ll run out ofthose soon.”

Quentin smiledthrough the tears welling in his eyes, burying his face into Eliot’s shoulder.

“But not yet,” hesaid.

“Fifty years.”

“Proof of concept.”Quentin tipped his head back, gazing up at Eliot with all the adoration hefelt. “Let’s have fifty more, yeah?”

Eliot leaned down,kissing him as an answer.

[ebola-kun]

L.A.'s Music Industry Women Are Sick of the Same Old Song When It Comes to Equality | L.A. Weekly

"Threats, hate accounts, weird fan interactions, being hacked several times over the last year — reporting harassment and blocking just became a part of life as I now know it," Addams says. "For some fans it became their life's mission to watch my every move via social media, create false narratives, all in order to let people know that I am not perfect. The same fake accounts of online detectives trying to prove by my actions that I might possibly be lying. They suggested I deserved what happened to me. They questioned why after 20 years would I destroy a man's life? I did not destroy anybody's life. The man who did what he did to me and many other women destroyed his own life by his egregious actions."

Courtesy Purple Crush

Women in the music industry who come forward with similar stories can expect just as much harassment, judgment and doubt online as support, and probably more of the former because "sex, drugs and rock & roll" is built into its mystique. It's expected. Still, some have been brave enough to speak out regardless. In the pop world, Taylor Swift and Kesha were the biggest names to call out behaviors ranging from inappropriate to abusive. And in R&B and hip-hop, the list of men accused of varying degrees of assault goes on and on: Russell Simmons, R. Kelly, L.A. Reid, Chris Brown —all of whom seem to have been for the most part, unscathed professionally. Indeed, the inherent rebelliousness and seduction of the music world makes for a slippery slope. While I spoke with women in indie and rock music for this story, there are so many more to talk to and the problem is far-reaching. The L.A. Weekly will continue to explore these issues within other genres and L.A. nightlife environments on a regular basis next year.

The dance music world for example, is particularly troublesome. Isla Jones of the electro-dance group Purple Crush and promoter of L.A.'s Banjee Ball parties recalls how she found herself the target of cyberbullying via DJ/producer Diplo's Hollertronix message board. "There was this 'dude bro' persona that Diplo iconified, which legions of internet DJs emulated. Being the outspoken woman that I am, I became an easy target for them and was clowned on a weekly basis," she says. The clowning translated into physical violence a couple times, and Jones, who is known in L.A. for her inclusive LGBTQ events, says that it was celebrated online. "It felt like digital rape."

Alice Glass, former frontwoman of Crystal Castles, is one of the few indie artists who came out with a story similar to Addams', accusing her ex-bandmate and beau Ethan Kath of physical and sexual abuse in October 2017. He denied it and filed a defamation suit against her, which was later dismissed. She has gone on to make some of the most powerful music of her career and now is seen as an advocate for victims of assault. In general, though, women who want to prove they can rock with the boys seem more likely to suck it up. As one rock legend tells it, it's hard enough getting acknowledged as a musician in the first place.

"The Go-Go's had been together for three years and could sell out any club we played on the West Coast," recalls guitarist/songwriter Jane Wiedlin, "yet not one major label was interested in us. The attitude was, there'd never been a successful all-female band and so there never would be. There was even an article on the front page of the L.A. Times' Calendar section: 'Why Can't The Go-Go's Get a Record Deal?' It was very frustrating. Finally, a new and tiny label, I.R.S. Records, came to see us, loved us, and offered us a record deal."

Brit Witt at Coachella

Zane Roessell

Though I.R.S. was small, it cared about the band and supported them irrespective of sex, which put The Go-Go's on a successful, hit-packed trajectory. Still, when Wiedlin forged a career on her own years later, she was not immune to vulturous actions. "When I first went solo, in 1985, I took a dinner meeting with a record producer who claimed he wanted to work with me," she recalls. "He ended up trapping me in a room and wouldn't let me leave until I 'put out.' I ended up giving in because I didn't know what else to do. For decades I thought it was my fault, because I hadn't fought back. Now I feel differently about it. Now I know I was assaulted by a sexual predator."

Wiedlin's story is not revelatory but it does reflect how women who accepted these behaviors back then view their experiences now. And whether onstage or off-, the challenges remain the same. Even when women seemingly are in control, they often have to deal with limitations that hinder their success if they don't act a certain way. Men in power were — and are — allowed to wield it without judgment; women, not so much.

Michelle Carr at Jabberjaw

Courtesy Jabberjaw

Britt Witt has made a name for herself booking and running the Hi Hat in Highland Park, but it didn't come easy. "I think I was in denial. I think I still am because I've always just focused on getting the job done rather than why I can't," she explains. "I [used to] attribute being dismissed, ignored and underpaid to just not being good enough. Nowadays, I realize that I'm constantly overcoming the challenge of being considered intimidating, brash or bitchy just because I put my foot down in the same places men do. Encountering skepticism with ideas and facts where a man repeats the same statement minutes later to celebration."

From management to booking to being a club owner, the frustrations I've heard from women working in the music biz over the years have played like a badly broken record. "Owning a music venue with a guy was very frustrating in that I was never taken seriously," says Michelle Carr, proprietress of legendary '90s music venue Jabberjaw, where Nirvana famously first played L.A. "Most would not take my word. They more often than not would seek out Gary [her former partner] for any wants or needs — he was the default. What was most surprising was when even the Riot Grrrl contingent would treat me as such."

Dayle Gloria, who booked the legendary L.A. club Scream, helping to discover bands like Jane's Addiction in the process, and later the Viper Room, echoes Carr's complaints about being taken seriously. "In order to do that I had to really 'man up,' leaving so much of my femininity behind," she admits. "I was always a tomboy but had to be harder than that. If I asked for something once, it was never enough. It was getting to the point where to be heard I had to yell and scream. To get things done. It's not a great way to live."

"I wanted to be seen as a professional manager and executive, and not looked upon as a groupie, girlfriend or disposable mommy," echoes Vicky Hamilton, known for her work managing Guns N' Roses and Poison in the '80s. "To be treated fairly and paid equal to a man for the work done. I have a much better track record then many of my male counterparts, and the bands I have worked with have sold over 250 million records collectively, but I feel it is much harder to get financial backing for my new record company than it would be for a white male with lesser achievements."

Dayle Gloria with Scott Weiland

Courtesy Dayle Gloria

Witt books some of the hottest shows in L.A. right now, but Gloria and Carr are happily out of the music and club business (though Carr is working on a documentary about Jabberjaw). Hamilton soldiers on with a new label, Dark Spark Music, even after years of not being acknowledged for her contributions. "[When] I was an A&R person at a major label, the executive who was supposed to be mentoring me, who took full credit for a band that I brought to the label, told me that my snake in the grass was about recognition and credit. My response was, 'No shit, since I never seem to get either around here.' A month later my contract option was not renewed," she recalls.

Fear of not being seen as a team player or even losing one's job has been a factor for many women in terms of the varying levels of bad treatment they might accept. It's one of the reasons the news about FYF Fest founder Sean Carlson took so long to surface. Nobody wanted to be the first one, possibly standing alone against a powerful man, to put the truth out there. But as detailed in a 2017 Spin magazine article, Carlson's misconduct was "an open secret" for quite some time. Though the Spin piece featured all but one woman sharing stories anonymously, the tales of assault at FYF-associated parties were corroborated by many on social media afterward, and Carlson himself issued a statement to Spin acknowledging his behavior. "I acted inappropriately and shamefully, and deeply regret my actions," he wrote, though the end of the statement went for the all-too-common "blame it on the alcohol" type of excuses that some felt were disingenuous.

Goldenvoice severed all ties with Carlson just before the story broke around this time last year. Soon after, in what should have been a validating and somewhat victorious moment for women, Goldenvoice announced that FYF would go on, unveiling a female-heavy lineup minus Carlson's input, curated mostly by women at the company, including Goldenvoice vet Jennifer Yacoubian, who previously booked the El Rey Theatre and the Shrine Auditorium. The lineup, one of the best FYF would ever see, included Janet Jackson as headliner along with Florence + the Machine, St. Vincent, The Breeders, The xx, U.S. Girls, My Bloody Valentine, Charlotte Gainsbourg and more. But a few months later the entire fest was canceled, reportedly due to low ticket sales. Many journalists, including this one, were dumbfounded that a lineup like that could fail, and a fair share wondered online if there was more to the cancellation. Many of us are hoping that FYF will try again for a similarly gender-equal lineup next year. We'll see.

Vicky Hamilton with Bret Michaels

Courtesy Vicky Hamilton

Festival culture has in many ways become a microcosm of the music world these days, reflecting sexual culture and pop culture in general. The biggest, Coachella, also put together by Goldenvoice/AEG, has made some strides in representing the concerns of women onstage and off-, but for many of us more is needed, and all the major promoters could do better. Warped Tour brought in a group called Safe Spaces to monitor safety for young girls at the event, and even amidst controversy concerning the group's tactics, it was a signal for change that had a positive impact. Unfortunately, Warped is now kaput.

Warped vet Monique Powell of the ska-punk outfit Save Ferris has used her social media to call out the disparities she's seen as a performer on the festival circuit for years, such as flyers, posters and advertisements that belittle female performers by putting them at the bottom of the bill, even when their bands have bigger followings. She also has told the world about the outright sexism she's encountered on tour from promoters, other bands and even her own bandmates. Like Addams, Powell became the victim of brutal online harassment after a legal battle ensued over use of Save Ferris' name when she sought to forge a comeback after a long hiatus. It got worse when she won the case.

"People didn't like that I was bringing it back and I was doing it my way," she says wearily. "I was trolled. I got death threats. And the commonality was unmistakable: They were all young men, 25 to 35 and they all liked a specific band from Orange County."

Powell stops short of naming the band but says a long-held rivalry with a male singer in the scene has led to her feeling unsafe and targeted in recent years, even by the media (TMZ, Perez Hilton and O.C. Weekly's reports about the lawsuit all seem to subtly villainize her). Powell, who lives in L.A. now but grew up in Orange County, says she became "a punching bag. I believe that in Orange County, and in L.A. as well, there's still an accepted underlying misogyny, where strong women who have a voice are not considered ladylike, and therefore not to be trusted."

Save Ferris' Monique Powell

Josh Coffman

To counteract this perception, Powell is shining a light on it, sharing her experiences online and hashtagging them with #dontskirttheissue. She hopes to take the conversation that has emerged and turn it into something bigger, with meetups and a bona fide watchdog group that points out women in music being overlooked and judged by their gender unfairly, in promos, media and more.

Mobilization is coming from all fronts right now, and speaking out is only the beginning. Like the women mentioned thus far, Daisy O'Dell, Ana Calderon, Michelle Pesce and Kate Mazzuca are all names known in local music circles nightlife and beyond, the first three as top L.A. DJs and music curators/supervisors and the latter as a marketing and events entrepreneur. Last year, around the same time that #MeToo started building steam, they sought to make change for women in nightlife by creating a group called, fittingly, woman. The collective grew out of a weekly lunch gathering of female DJs, and its goals were many, but the main one was to create welcoming and safe environments for women in a music and club scene where objectification and discrimination had become commonplace and stories of assault and druggings at venues, some where the gals spun, had started to become more frequent. The women of woman. realized that it was the mindset — of venue owners and promoters, who were all male — that needed to change.

Calderon recalls her aggravation sitting in on club meetings. "We would hear some of the most obscene discussions that you would never expect to hear today about women and women attending venues," she reveals, going on to recount the conversation that made her quit doing clubs in bottle service–driven West Hollywood. "I was brought in to bring more interesting people to the club, and it was a lot of Eastside creatives and LGBT, but at one particular meeting a promoter said he appreciated the mix I brought in but he wondered if I could 'target prettier trans people.' I walked out. I was sad and grossed out and felt like something needed to be done. We couldn't have clubs owned and run just by men anymore."

"What's interesting is that these feelings of unrest, of wanting to take action in terms of sexism and misogyny — even though we were all somewhat isolated from each other — happened simultaneously," interjects O'Dell, who encountered a lot of both as a touring DJ for concerts and in clubs. She realized it was embedded into the system she was a part of. "We were all coming to the same realization that, as veterans in this industry, we had to do something because the younger generation kind of looks to us to lead anyway."

Courtesy woman.

Earlier this year, the ladies pulled together their resources and sought to open an all-female-run nightclub. But as fate would have it, on the day they were going to sign the lease for the perfect Hollywood space, an accusation of abuse emerged against one of the building's owners by his former girlfriend. Though he was a male ally to their vision, they opted not to move forward. Hesitant to qualify the allegations as true or false (charges have since been dropped), they admit there was internal conflict. "It was a very difficult decision to make because we had worked so hard and we had come so far and we had gotten so close," O'Dell says. Adds Calderon, "It was heartbreaking."

O'Dell and Calderon say they will open up a club one day but in the meantime they are channeling their energy into initiatives: The first is a list of guidelines for the nightclub industry touting inclusion and equality; and the second is an even bigger objective that goes beyond clubs and into events, including the all-important music festival arena.

soteria.

Named for the Greek goddess of safety and salvation, "soteria." is a designated safe space and service hub at music events created to ensure "the safety and well-being of any visitor experiencing trauma trigger, harassment, sexual misconduct and/or assault."

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They already instituted soteria. (which they stress is for everyone who might feel vulnerable at music events, not just women) at the Form festival in Arizona and the Summit LA18 event last month in DTLA with great success, providing safety ambassadors and crisis managers on the ground as well as a private "sanctuary room" and lounge area. They promise much more to come, changing the game for people who love music and those who make it at events.coalition

Sadly, Addams is not making music any longer, but for those who are, like Glass, and new female artists, establishing boundaries is key so that the various forms of mistreatment outlined here will no longer be normalized. Despite the challenges, more women than ever are out there rocking, and in L.A. acts like Starcrawler, Deap Vally, The Regrettes, Cherry Glazerr, Kate Crash, Beck Black, Feels, Dorothy, War Paint, Best Coast and so many more are re-defining the roles, audaciously and unapologetically, scoring huge opening-band tour slots and higher rankings on festival lineups in the process. Local female ground-breakers like L7, Allison Wolfe, Abby Travis, Alice Bag, and Miss Wiedlin herself, are still at it too.

In addition to woman. other groups are providing even more platforms: the Women of Rock project has been collecting stories for some time now, and there's the Girl Cult coalition (which has an event this weekend). There's also Women in Music L.A, and the new book Women Who Rock has spawned an activist group as well. Private women's groups on Facebook have been a resource for women from all walks of life (the music world included) such as "Girls Night Out" and "Binders Full of Women Writers," both of which throw events in town. The latter has led to a popular annual event called BinderCon in various cities.

Beyond supporting each other and holding certain men responsible for their actions, the cultural reckoning happening right now is about finding power in numbers. In the L.A. music scene, it's transcending talk, taking action and hopefully transforming old norms so that real change can occur and everyone, no matter what gender they identify with, can unite and celebrate life. "Solutions are the future of the conversation," O'Dell says hopefully. "It's so exciting to see what was born out of women in nightlife and music holding space for each other."

This content was originally published here.

[boilingdroid]

i’ve been at a low point in my life right now and dbh is helping me get through so much shit just by existing and giving me a new hyperfixation to keep sane lol but honestly, these characters all have something special that just rings with me

Kara showing me that you can escape a shitty household, that it’s possible to get out alive and create a new home. It’s all about hope and love, and it’s the most emotional of the three playable characters, and at least in my very first playthrough, she made it out okay with Luther and Alice, and it was all I needed to see, to hear. For me, her situation hits a little bit too close to home but I admire so so fucking much. She deserves a happy ending, deserves to feel safe, and watching/playing her to do whatever it took to ensure things work out is so, so powerful.

Markus had a loving home, full of art, given the choice and the freedom to explore himself even though he wasn’t deviant. He had it all at his fingertips, and I refuse to believe Markus only barely became deviant by the start of the game, no, this man felt love, compassion, humor, and wonder, going as far as to see Carl as a father figure, despite androids not needing or having one. He faced one injustice, just one was all it took, he died and came back, pieced himself back together and crawled out of a graveyard/junkyard and decided that no android should ever have to go through that kind of bullshit and goddamn it’s amazing. I hope he finds peace enough to smile again qwq

And Connor, he’s just been a whole lot of fun for me, I don’t know how he’s so likable but there were deeper tones and themes within him that I didn’t pick up on initially, but understand now. He was also deviant from the beginning, expressing empathy in some cases, humor, anger and frustration, but the difference was he didn’t have free will. Every trip to the Zen Garden is just a desperate effort to see if you pleased Amanda, but nothing is ever enough. The mission, the mission, the mission, that’s all he’s about, but no matter WHAT ending you get, it doesn’t matter. He’s obsolete. He’ll be deactivated and replaced regardless. He’s expendable. He doesn’t have a real place to belong, and every theme and question that pops up for Connor is “who/what are you really?”, Lucy punctuating on it with “You’re lost. You’re looking for yourself”. H: “What are you really?” C: “Whatever you want me to be”. He just needed a place to feel needed, to belong, to please, but it never matters in the end. and that SUCKS.

Each of them have something special about them that I just can’t stop thinking about and ugh i love this game so fucking much it should be illegal. I’m so mad I like it so much lol. I’ll never stop yelling about them

[sloanesmortuary]

Predecessor: Prologue

Hi!! This is my first ever fic!! I apologize in advance if there's any mistakes from grammar (I mostly learn English from the internet pls forgive) to how innacurate I could've written the characters compared to the canon (excluding OCs)

Connor/RK700!M!Reader (I think? Idk that's what I'm going for)

1711 words

"Meet RK800. The more advanced model. Stronger, faster, and more resilient."

Your eyes went wide. You knew you're just a prototype, you knew this ought to happen, but you felt as if your heart just dropped. You opened your mouth to say something. Amanda cut you just before you get the chance to. She's not allowing you to talk. "You accomplished your mission and I am pleased with your work. Because of this, now we know that your programs works well and we are ready to take the next step with RK800." Amanda glanced at your successor, "Hi, my name is Connor. I will be replacing you in the DPD," the RK800 introduced himself.

"You will be deactivated by tommorow," said Amanda.

"...deactivated..."

"No... Why can't I just stay? I can still help Detective Reynolds!" You protested to no avail, obviously. Amanda's usual stoic expression turned into a frown. "I am not here to answer your question." You've never felt this troubled in your short life. "Please, I beg you! I-I'm scared." Your LED turned to yellow, flashing back and forth to red. Connor's LED also turned to yellow, but it quickly changed to blue. "You're giving a reason why you must be replaced. Aside from the fact that Connor is more advanced than you."

"Hey, hey, [y/n] the hell? You okay?" your partner had her hand on your shoulder, she was looking at you with a worried look on her face. You were crying and you didn't realize it. "They're going to replace me, Detective Reynolds." She looks rather surprised from what you just said. You've grown to her and so had she in the past months. It's against your programming, but you don't want to lose her friendship. "What? Does that mean you'll get deactivated? Where would you go after that? Stored away at some warehouse? Can you do anything about that? Fuck- that's not right," she muttered the last bit of what she just said as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes. I will get deactivated and be stored away for further study, and I'm afraid that there's nothing I can do to prevent it. I'll be sent back to CyberLife tommorow." Leila walked back to her desk- that's infront of yours- and sighed, "What if... You don't go? I know someone who can do magic." Your LED immediately turned yellow. "What?"

---

"Are you sure about this? You'll lose your job!" She didn't respond to you and kept on driving on her old manual car. You were scared for her. Anything you see and hear are recorded and will be sent to CyberLife, though you're not sure whether they will use the footage to do anything later. She pulled over infront of an apartment building. She rushed you in and to the elevator and pressed on the button for the 4th floor. "You do know that removing trackers on androids is illegal, right?" She waved you off, "Do you wanna live or nah?" You blinked several times then nodded. "Well, then shut it."

Leila set you free. You're a true deviant. They said trackers stopped working on deviants, but who knows what sort of enhancements they put in yours?

You couldn't bear with the fact that you are actually feeling emotions. You've always thought of it as an error in one's system. Knowing that now you experience emotions like humans does made you go through everything you've learned.

---

Days passed after your disappearance (thanks to Detective Leila Reynolds who risked her job for you.) You lived in an abandoned house Leila found. You even got a friend there, his name's Ralph. A jolly kind, though a little menacing. Ralph was on edge when they trespassed the old outgrown building. He pointed his knife to your partner, but she didn't point her gun at him. She kept her hand ready for it, though. "Easy... I just wanted to find a place for him to stay. We don't want to hurt you and he just need a place to lay down for a while." Ralph looked at you. You and Leila noticed the overly large scar on his face. This guy has been through a lot of shit. "Can I stay? If you don't want a company we will find another place. It's okay," you said. "Ralph is sorry. He doesn't like trespassers- especially humans- they're nasty. They'll hurt Ralph," he lowered his knife and gestured to the house's front door. "You can stay. Ralph thinks getting a friend wouldn't hurt." You smiled and thanked him. "Succulent!" He exclaimed. "Ralph is excited to get to know his new friend!"

Leila means the world to you. She's the first person to be your friend. Others (like Detective Reed) pushes you around to do pointless tasks as if you're an android designed to do domestic works. You were the most advanced android a little while back until you met Connor. Those people didn't seem to understand how advanced you are by making you do those tasks and they might seem to think that you're just a stupid piece of plastic stealing their jobs, though you get where their thoughts come from but you're only doing what you're programmed to: helping the DPD. To Leila, you're more than you ever think you are. She thought of you as a perfect being. She thought letting you become deviant would ruin the perfection in your design, but she didn't want you to have to obey every single commands you receive even if they're wrong. She interacted with you from the very start as if you're human. She's the main reason you're feeling emotions now. She made you feel alive, more than just a machine designed to follow orders no matter what.

Obviously, the office started panicking after your disappearance. CyberLife contacted the DPD about the absence of the successful RK700 model. This resulted in Fowler screaming to Leila.

"Well, how am I supposed to know where it went?!”

"It's your partner, Reynolds!"

"So what? I gotta keep it around like a poodle so I'll know wherever it went?"

"Don't give me that attitude! Now just go fuckin find that thing. Start wherever you last saw it. If you don't find anything I'll send a search party. This is so stupid, how could they lost track of their own damn fancy property. Don't forget to close the door on your way out."

Shivers went down Leila's spine. "They won't find him," she said to herself determined. "I'll make this search pointless. Ha. Cool. I'm a criminal now," she chuckled on her way back to her desk. She passed by Gavin on the way, he shot her a glare and stopped her. She knew he's suspicious of her. He talked about how she's always nice to you and to him, that's a solid motive for her to hide you when you're going to be replaced. She just shrugged it off and left Gavin be.

---

Your place was eventually replaced by the RK800. He's partnered with Lt. Anderson. He was paired with him to see if his skills could be compared to someone more advanced than Leila. The upgrades on RK800 weren't perfect because they couldn't bring you in in time to do a further study. "Another one of those damn things and this one is partnered with ME? Why can't it just be Reynolds again? She's more of an android person!" Fowler sighed, "This one is more advanced and it should be partnered with someone with more experience. Which happens to be you, Hank." Hank looked at Connor and squinted. "At least it look different. Still doesn't change the fact that I can't stand these things, Jeff!" They kept on shouting to each other for a good minute until the Lieutenant's defeat.

Their first case together went down smoothly. Hank is glad about that. "It ain't useless. That's good. It couldn't stop licking stuff from the ground though. I probably need to bring a puke bag around whenever I gotta be around it," Hank said in his head, making a mental note. Now, they're investigating an AX400 who attacked its owner and ran away. It's also said that the RK700, you might be around the place where the AX400 was last seen.

"Mother, father, uncle, and little girl!" Ralph jumped around excitedly. You could see that Alice and Kara are extremely uncomfortable, but Kara's even more uncomfortable. You knew she also saw the police coming. Good thing that she managed to talk to Ralph that they need to hide.

Connor went inside the house. You hid with Kara and Alice under the stairs. You held on to an old, yet sturdy baseball bat you found upstairs, ready to defend them. Connor questioned Ralph and he won't budge. He continued to search the house from the living room to the kitchen but he didn't go upstairs. He knew the three of you were hiding there. He approached your hiding spot and- CLANK! You hit him in the face as Ralph held him back while Kara and Alice ran. Your successor fell on his knees from the hit. Thirium ran down from his nose and mouth, that's how strong your hit was. "Connor, what the hell are you doing there?!" You kneeled down to face him and he looked up to meet your eyes. "Don't say a word about us or I'll take out your pump regulator," you threatened him. Your hand was on the spot just below his chest, ready to take out his regulator. "I don't care if you take it out. I'm not alive." You stared at him as if he's some sort of an anomaly. Having emotions really does change you. "I'm not alive." That creeps the living hell out of you. "They're here!" He shouted. "Ralph, let's go!" The both of you sprinted to the back door as you hear people barging into the house. Shots were fired. You caught some bullets but it didn't hit any major biocomponents, though you could die from the lack of thirium. You heard Connor shout, "we need the RK700 alive!" before you feel a weight over you. An officer tackled and handcuffed you before you could do anything due to the ever decreasing thirium flowing in your systems.

[alicescripts]

Part 3, Chapter 8: “To Forgive”

Alice: The mountains in Tennessee look almost tropical this morning. Mist over forest canopy, lakes with low bridges. I don’t know what I pictured when I pictured this place, but it wasn’t this. I guess I didn’t picture it. Never bothered to.

Keisha: We come into Nashville. Each city skyline has that one building. The one that lets you know which city you’re looking at, because otherwise every skyscraper is every skyscraper. In New York, there’s the Empire State. In Los Angeles, there’s that round one. I dunno what it’s called, I don’t think anyone does. It’s… you know, the round one. And in Nashville, there’s the Batman building. That’s not what it’s called. I’m sure there’s some architectural reason for its design, but what it looks like is that it’s a building shaped like Batman’s head.

Alice: A soft tap on the cab door while we slept and I was already awake and tensed. A lot of training and even more justifiable worry had gone into my years fighting these creatures, and the slightest sound could mean anything at all. So that’s what I had to be ready for.

Keisha came awake too, in response to my getting up. I put my finger to my lips, crept to the door, and flung it open. The kids screamed. It was a teenage girl. My brain was putting together the pieces and was about to deliver the words “Oh you must be- “, when Keisha screamed too and threw herself past me. “Sylvia! Sylvia, you’re safe!” “Oh, you must be Sylvia,” I said. The girl nodded into Keisha’s shoulder.

Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole and Erica Livingston. Produced by Disparition. Part 3, Chapter 8: “To Forgive”.

Alice: The meetings of what we now called Praxis continued. We met once every three months. This was not going to be a fast process. Oh, we had aged. Oh yes, almost a year and a half of this already. The battle was never going to be fast. The only way to overthrow power is by driving in the thinnest edge of the wedge and then methodically and constantly tapping it in for years. Until there’s enough leverage for what only looks from the outside like a sudden upheaval.

The meetings had taken on a religious aspect. Stories of the Oracles were now recited like encounters with angels. It wasn’t quite worship, but it wasn’t quite not. And we didn’t (deter) that. Worship and rituals can be tools, used for good or bad.

We realized that we couldn’t oversee the group entirely on our own, so we gave all of the people an assignment. Go back to where they were from and start their own Praxis group. Gather people around the same way we had. Start hundreds of these all over the country. We tapped that wedge in a little deeper.

Keisha: First I gave Sylvia some water and a bit to eat, but next I sat her down and wanted to hear where in hell she had been all this time, and if she had found anything. “Yes and no,” she said. She had gone looking for the Oracles, just like she said she would. Just like we did. And like us, she discovered quick that the Oracles are only findable when they choose to be found. There’s no stumbling on them. They come to you. Still she visited every dusty roadside stop that hadn’t seen action since the 70’s, and she poked into the corners in the back rooms. She started to get a sense for the kind of places that they were drawn to.

She discovered, like us, that even when finally encountered, the Oracles had difficulty communicating with people who experienced through such a fundamentally different filter. The more she found and talked to them, the more she felt it was most similar to the way her mind worked when she first woke up. When her thoughts were flat and straddled what was real and unreal equally. So she would meditate for hours in the mornings, trying to hold onto and extend that way of thinking, so that she might be able to understand the Oracles better.

But ultimately, she realized that the Oracles were a cause. They existed to fight back Thistle and everything that Thistle stood for. They were a purpose more than a creature. And so she realized that while she wouldn’t be able to understand them enough to help them, she could go on continuing their purpose herself. It was all she had ever cared about. This struggle was the core and soul of her.

“And I knew,” Sylvia said, “that if I wanted to be there for the fight, I had to come to you, Keisha. Because for whatever reason, you’re where that fight ends up.”

The motel we stay at is full of high school kids on a trip, to learn how to make it in the country music business. Like any city devoted to a specific entertainment industry, like LA to the movies or New York to the theater, or Las Vegas to upper despair, Nashville has a hole at the heart of it that everything in the city slopes toward.

Alice: I wasn’t there for this, so this is what I heard. A coffee shop past closing. The owner let the folks use it because she herself was a member. This was one of hundreds of small Praxis groups started by one of the original faithful. In this case, it was Daniel, who once manned the counter at the Easy Stop in Swansea. He told the others again about what we had told them, passing along our stories as best he could remember, and like anyone sort of making it up any time he needed to fill the gaps. In this way, our story spread. In much less of a direct fashion than a big headline, but in a way that people would actually receive.

Then the others told their own stories. In the hush of that half-darkened coffee shop, they shared what they had seen that hadn’t been possible and definitely hadn’t been right. But had been real. They felt the utter relief of being believed.

Keisha: “It’s all gonna end soon,” said Sylvia. And I felt every connotation of good and bad she meant by that. This was coming to a head, even though we had no real way of knowing what that would mean. “I’m just glad we could all be together for that,” I said. “Yeah man,” she said. “The three of us scattered out real good. I guess this would have to be the end, right? How else would we have ever gotten it together to be in the same place at the same time?” “What was that name you used it to go by as a teenager?” I said. “Forget it,” she said. “Skip, right?” [chuckle] “Nobody calls me Skip anymore.” “Alright,” I said. She took my hand. “You can call me Skip if you want. [scoffs] Shit, you can call me whatever. I know what you mean by it.” I put my arm around her, this runaway teenager who I would never be able to protect as much as she deserved. We sat like that for a long while, but we couldn’t sit like that forever. Couldn’t do anything forever.

Alice: “I don’t know how this will turn out,” Keisha said. “I don’t know if there will be an after, but there might be, and so we need to talk about what comes next.” “OK,” I said with real fear. We had stayed together because we had a mission, because there was a great struggle and we were on the same side. That kind of energy can paper over a lot of dysfunction and pain. If we made it through this, maybe there wouldn’t be an us left to talk about. And maybe Keisha knew it. I dreaded this conversation, but I had a lot of experience in my life of facing what I dread. So I sat down and I listened. Keisha took a long breath with her eyes closed. And then she looked at me with a calm determination, someone who had moved past indecision and had landed, for good or bad, on their way forward. “I forgive you,” she said. “I forgive you completely.” [chuckles] I felt this wash of happiness, and also surprise because they were not the words I was expecting, but she brushed aside my hand as I moved it toward her. “I’m not finished,” she said.

The members of those smaller Praxis groups were asked to start their own groups. Now the regional became the local. Most towns of any size had a Praxis group, some as small as three or four, others in the hundreds meeting in community centers and parks, in libraries and diners. We didn’t know all the details. For instance, we didn’t know what had happened to the story. The story that we had told our group, and then the members of our groups had told their groups and so on and so on.

The story had changed. It had become less an oral history and more a religious text. We had become prophets or minor deities. There were the Oracles and they were powerful beings that many had started to worship. But there were also the stories of Keisha and Alice, who controlled the Oracles, who could fight off Thistle Men singlehandedly, who would one day come and raise up the entire country against the monster that strangled it.

I-I dunno what we would have done with that story if we had known about it. But in the end, all that can be controlled is what you do. What others think about what you do is out of your hands. It was out of our hands.

Keisha: It had been over two years of this slow growth. Praxis had unfolded from a word whispered in weird corners into a tangible movement of people, a quiet gathering ready to explode into the open. And it wasn’t lost on Thistle or on Bay and Creek.

In that motel room in Nashville, a piece of paper slid under the door. Against the curtain, the shambling shadow of a misshapen man. We prepared for a fight, but it was quiet for a long time, and so I picked up the paper.

“Alice,” it said. “We should talk. It doesn’t have to be like this. Meet me at” and here it gave directions to a remote location in southern Indiana. The paper was signed “Lucy”. “They’re ready to end this,” said Alice. “Yeah,” I said. “Put out the call. What we’ve been preparing for. It’s here.”

“I’m not finished,” I said to Alice. “I’m not forgiving you for your sake. I need you to hear all of this, not just the parts you want to hear. I don’t know if you deserve forgiveness, and maybe I don’t care. Maybe there isn’t some great balance sheet where the equation of guilt can be figured until it’s all equal on both sides. And maybe it’s just what the person who has hurt feels, right or wrong. And if so then – I don’t wanna think about what you deserve. I wanna think about what I deserve.” I paused. The heaviest part was out of me now, and I could see clear through to the finish. “I deserve to live a happy life,” I said. “I deserve to have my wife who I love at my side. I deserve to wake easy in the morning and to fall asleep easy at night. I deserve to not have what you did intruding into our lives. So I want you to understand this: in order to have what I deserve, I must forgive you. But I’m not forgiving you for you. I’m forgiving you because it’s what I deserve.”

She nodded, in understanding and agreement. And there was a moment of tension. But I had forgiven her and I meant it. I leaned forward and she leaned forward and we met in the middle in maybe the best kiss we’ve ever had. Our bodies collapsed together with the gravity of everything we felt.

I had been holding my breath for years. I opened my mouth. I breathed in. [deep breath] This is love. This is what it’s made of.

The night before Indiana. I don’t know Lucy’s plan but I can guess. I don’t know who will stand on our side, but I can hope.

There is a knock, and Sylvia calls out through the door. I open it and she’s standing in the motel walkway, looking not herself under fluorescent glare. “I feel so strange,” she said. I guided her in. Alice came over and concerned. Sylvia looked seriously ill. I had never seen her face like that. I didn’t know what was happening. And then Sylvia fell to the ground and began to tremble. Tears splashed off her face as she shook. “I understand,” she said. “I understand.”

And in a terrible moment, I did too.

[thekintsugikids]

ok so i KNOW this is dumb but i need to rant.

so i watched the new riverdale (which is probably more than enough of a reason for any of you to not read this and trust me—i understand). and ho. ly. shit. i have genuinely NEVER been so mad at a tv show in my whole fucking life.

i’ll admit here and now that i still watch riverdale, because i am unwaveringly stubborn and i’m seeing this shit show through to the end. so things that seem, from a surface level, pretty genuine, anger me more than they should because i know the context of this bullshit. which means that, if you’re reading this, you’ll have to hear all of that shit so i can fully explain my anger.

so the episode is like. almost entirely based around the high school’s guidance counselor (who everyone is conveniently going to for therapy, even a character who goes to another school, but i can’t even be mad at riverdale for using a shitty mcguffin like that. it should be expected) where all the kids talk about their fucked up lives. that’s cool, i can accept that. riverdale does some dumb shit, but if they’d just done a psychological deep dive into their characters after all the trauma they’ve been through over the course of two and a half years? sure. I’ll bite. but this is riverdale, a show that somehow seems to be written by teenage interns who have never written a script in their life and 40-somethings who have never met real teens in their lives, so that’s not what we got. no, what we did get was this shitty school counselor listening to the characters unload genuine emotional trauma about their parents, and hear the counselor basically say, “they’re just trying to protect you.”

now allow me to explain why that is absolute fucking bullshit.

Betty’s mom forced herself into her daughter’s counseling session, because Alice ran to the high school guidance counselor to ask how she should deal with her daughter being sexually actively—which already, big fucking yikes. after a couple of minutes of back and forth about how Betty is being denied by her dream college because she’s having sex and irresponsibly disregarding her future in doing so (which again, huge red flag but let’s put that on the back burner for like two seconds). the counselor decides that they should do a joint session to work some shit out. ok. fine. whatever. moving on.

Betty says her mom lying to her whole life impacted her negatively. which yeah, that actually makes sense. in less than two years her mother went undercover with the fbi and joined a cult, without telling her own child that she at least didn’t believe in what the cult preached, gave away all the money she had saved for college to said cult, and was working with her half brother who Betty believed was dead (this is riverdale it’s a lot to unpack and i don’t blame you if you stop here bc ive been watching this show since 2017 and im still confused when i read that). she also had Betty’s sister committed to the sisters of quiet mercy, which is basically a disciplinary school for literally anything and everything under the sun (pregnant teenagers, mentally ill children, and conversion therapy are a few things we’ve seen it used for), and didn’t tell Betty that her sister was there, or that she was pregnant. her parents let her believe that her sister was a drug addict in rehab, because that was better than anyone knowing their daughter was pregnant, and then ofc that Alice reads her diary because she refuses to let her daughter have any semblance of privacy. keep in mind, this whole episode started with Alice opening Betty’s mail, seeing that she didn’t get accepted to Yale, and telling her that she searched her room to see “what could be distracting her from her future” (and then gets mad at her for having birth control). her mother says, “I just wanted to protect you.” okay, fine. whatever, that’s total bullshit, but fine.

but then!!! she has a breakdown about how she wants Betty to be better and she’s scared of her growing up and she just wants her to be safe which. ok. ok. ok. shut up. she’s said this EVERY. SEASON. OF THE SHOW. how many times can she say the exact same thing and never learn from it? but Betty isn’t having that shit, she’s been dealing w this shit for so long and she’s done, right? she’s growing up, and her mom would have to be incredibly naive to think that she could just stop that, especially when they are living w her bf’s family. like yeah, they live together. they share a room. they’re teenagers, they’re gonna have sex. who. fucking. cares. her mom then tells Betty that it’s because she’s her favorite child, which........Yikes. and the scene ends.

the weird thing is like.....we’re meant to sympathize with Alice??? after everything she has done—much of which i didn’t touch on—because.............Betty’s her favorite child?????? that’s???????? SUPPOSED TO JUSTIFY THE THINGS SHE DOES?????????? no no no NO what the fuck is THAT manipulative bullshit?? what the fuck. i can’t even think of anything else to say about that, what the actual fuck.

but the real kicker ooooooooh bitch. it’s the end of the episode, with Jughead. many other things happen between the Betty’s session and Jughead’s, but they don’t necessarily fit into what I’m trying to say so I won’t be talking about it. but holy shit the things she said to Jughead? for context, Jughead’s father is an abusive piece of shit. he has gotten violent with his own son, threatened him, abandoned him for his gang when the rest of their family moved out of state to get away from him (Jughead’s dad), and he is an alcoholic who did things like getting drunk at Jughead’s 15th birthday party, and that’s just the cliff notes version. basically he’s a grade-a abusive asshole, which is a field i am well-versed in.

FP, Jughead’s father, says that his father was an abusive drunk, so obvs the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. one of the the biggest issues with this show, though, is that they refuse to acknowledge that FP himself is abusive. like, even writers of the show have said that he is not abusive, even saying that viewers were ignorant to believe that he is (and as someone with an abusive father, first of all, fuck you). and Jughead is on a mission this entire season to prove that his grandfather was some great writer or whatever and his work was stolen from him.

now, how exactly does any of that relate to the discussion at hand?, you might be asking. well he’s at riverdale high to get his transcripts or whatever bc he’s at a new school and they’re all assholes (no, im not going into further explanation of that because there is way too much to unpack). so he’s w the guidance counselor, they talk about it and she has the fucking gall to say, “but think about how your father must feel about all of this???” which, okay, i see where she might be coming from. FP was abused by his dad. but Jughead is also abused by FP, so why the fuck should he worry about whether or not he’s hurting his father? FP irreparably damaged Jughead—I promise you all that being homeless, being hit and threatened by your father, being abandoned by your entire family? that’s not shit you can repair. you don’t just fix that shit. that stays with you.

the counselor tells Jughead that he should be proud of the man his father worked to become (like he isn’t still horrible to Jughead????? for example, forcing him to go to a school that he does not want to go to because it makes their family look better??? ok), she says FP is just supporting his son. and the real kicker—she says, “and you repay him by going on this quest to prove that the man that caused him immeasurable pain is some kind of wronged hero? how do you think that makes him feel?” (that is the quote verbatim, by the way. that is what she says so Jughead)

like FP has earned something from Jughead. like Jughead is in the wrong for not wanting his name to be seen as a joke. no, this is how you repay him for everything he did for you. FP abused his son. it’s literally that fucking simple. and Jughead didn’t even want to talk to this lady, she forced him into the conversation while he waited for fucking transcripts so he could apply to colleges. and we, the audience, are supposed to be on the counselor’s side. we’re supposed to say “yeah Jughead, look at everything your dad has done for you! he loves you!!”

Jughead even says it himself. “My poor dad. I’m so selfish.” like his dad deserves his respect. like he earned Jughead’s respect. like FP deserves a single goddamn thing from his son.

keep in mind, this is a show that’s biggest demographic is people under 20 and they are basically telling their audience that their parent’s abuse is just because they’re “protective” or because they’re “trying to help them.” guess what, that’s not fucking true. if your parent, or ANYONE, is abusing you, it is because they are fucked up. it is not because they love you, it’s not because they “want what’s best for you.” and how dare anyone, let alone fucking Riverdale, try to tell me that it is. no, as someone with an abusive father, i fucking promise you, this shit is not out of love. abuse is not love. and fuck Riverdale for trying to tell me that it is.

[bugheadgivesmelife]

Cherry Bomb - A Bughead Fanfic Part 2/??

ok here’s the next part. I kinda changed up the pov a bit (more on betty now) but I think I might just keep alternating. so, I made betty kind of a mechanic-ish?? also, I am aware that the Andrew’s company is not a repair shop, but I changed it up for the story’s sake. idk how y’all feel about that I was a bit nervous to throw that in there, but I also kind of like the idea of it?? it’s all going out on a limb so I’m sorry if it’s not that great. I kind of rushed it to get it out there to y’all who are reading it (which I’m super siked about btw I still can’t believe people are reading this). anyways! feedback is greatly appreciated, especially criticism! love y’all!

<3

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Betty shrugged out of her denim jacket hurriedly, screwing her eyes shut tight as her mother continued to berate her over her choice in style. The woman continued to nag on and on, dragging the unimportant point to a dead fault. By the time she finished speaking, Betty was already out the door. With a deep inhale, the blonde tilted her gaze skywards, seeking comfort in anything that wasn’t Alice Cooper. The sky had taken a turn for the worse, instead of darkening to the point of weighted cumulonimbus clouds ready to spill over, they broke away to allow sunlight to filter through. It was a slow leak at first, but then relented onto a full fledged flood of light, voluminous and all-consuming. Suddenly, all of the cloud cover had completely disappeared. It was only a matter of time before Betty was sweating bullets and had to relieve herself of the nuisance that was her sweater - even that flimsy thing was too much fabric for her to stand.

Although Betty had only been in the house for a nearly three minutes, her mother still prevailed to attack the teen with questions on her whereabouts and fashion decisions within such a short time frame. It didn’t matter that Betty was her own person and could make her own choices or that she had her own life, Alice had the mindset that she controlled everything and everyone around her. Betty just wanted to do something bad, something no one would expect from Betty ‘Goody Two Shoes’ Cooper. She wanted to scare the living daylights out of her mom, prove she’s her own person - that she is capable of deciding her future. Her father, on the other hand, was the opposite, he gave little to no shits over what happened in Betty’s life, surrendering to his wife and allowing her to make all the calls. There was no one left to stand up for Betty, besides Betty, ever since Polly moved away with her baby.

Betty huffed down the sidewalk, hopping into her jacked up red Camaro that she managed to stitch together with some spare parts of Frank’s. It had a bunch of random inside pieces from other cars, Toyota, Ford, you name it. The shell was original though, a 1977 Camaro. That had been the only way for her to get her own car, to piece it together herself. So, that’s what she did. It wasn’t that different from writing an article. There were separate pieces to it, like a puzzle. The title, heading, body, and so on. She had asked Frank and Archie for a hand (which was pretty difficult considering her stubbornness), and that was that. It had taken a long while, probably two and a half months of long nights and grease stains that never ever came out. Still, the mission was accomplished, leaving her with a lousy hunk of junk. Yet, the thing still ran, although Betty had the sensation that one of those days, the front was just going to cave in and the car’s guts would just spill across the street - engine and all. However, that had yet to occur, so Betty hopped in the driver’s seat and jacked up the engine, making sure to rev it up a few times simply to annoy the hell out of her uptight mom, before skirting down the street and out of sight.

As Betty arrived at the Andrew’s Automobile Repair Company shortly after coaxing her mighty steed to life, Archie stepped outside the building to greet her, his greasy wife beater clinging to his muscles like a second skin. Betty paid it no mind as she parked her rusty car, laughing as it sputtered back to sleep, practically groaning with annoyance that it even had to wake up to begin with. Betty leaped out of her car, handing Archie a grin, before taking a gander at the scene around her. There were a couple of cars in the hangar, waiting to have surgery just like Betty’s own car had recently - an oil change.

“What do we got today?” Betty questioned, crossing her arms over her grey tank top which was tucked into her jeans.

“Another oil change, and a new engine transplant,” Archie gushed, obviously happy to have something to do around here for once.

It could get quite desolate at the repair shop, especially considering they were in Riverdale, where there weren’t even that many residents, and those who did live there most likely didn’t have a car since everyone walked everywhere. Betty only spent a few lazy summer afternoons at the repair shop - mostly when she needed a break of writing, of her mother’s constant fussing, and really just her own mind. Betty had the tendency to lock her own mind up, bottling her emotions inside instead of letting them out. But there were occasions when everything just built up - like a boiling pot that kept overflowing unless you turned the heat off, but there’s an endless stock of fuel, so she just kept burning and the water kept overflowing. The solution seemed to be sinking her nails into the tender flesh on her palms, allowing the pain to wash over and block out the anger. Those situations were sparse and rare, but they did happen.

Betty entered the hangar, the open space and cool shade very inviting as the sun began to get higher and higher overhead. She gave a curt greeting to Frank, who was already tinkering with the engine on the Toyota. She offered him a wave and a dimple, nothing more, before situating the navy bandana atop her ponytail clad head and getting to work. Archie gave helped her out with the oil change, but it was pretty simple since she had done one before, and Archie was pretty piggy and stole most of the actual knitty gritty part. Still, Betty enjoyed aiding the pair, especially since it was their own family company and had been for years. It felt nice helping out one of the locals.

Usually when Betty worked, she would try to completely block out the constant buzzing of her brain, and eventually, it just started to come naturally. But as Betty was fiddling with numerous car bits, her mind continued to train back to the memory of the crowned boy who stole her cherry earlier that day. She couldn’t fight the silly grin that surfaced on her face at the stupidity of it all, he literally stole her cherry, but not in the way most would take it. At that thought, Betty’s mind of course pursuited that train of thought whether she wanted to or not, and the painfully obvious question appeared. Would she let him steal her cherry? A blush followed close behind, a very odd thing from Betty, something she hardly ever does - it’s about as common as a UFO. The answer was most definite - a no, but an otherworldly feeling was stuck in her gut even after deciding that. Still, the attractive Serpent wouldn’t leave her head, sticking annoyingly in the creases of her brain like peanut butter on the roof of her mouth that she just couldn’t scrape off. It was something about the way he held himself, so fatigued and broken, yet his confident words had betrayed his stance. It was like his body and mind were at war, each yearning for different things. Betty had never experienced someone like him before.

As if on cue, a loud sound similar to a gunshot followed by a thunder-like rumble jolted the blonde out of her clashing thoughts. She poked her head out of the mangled metal underside of the car, rolling out from beneath it and pushing herself into an upright position to see what was making such a ruckus. Betty knew instantly who it was, she didn’t even have to see his face or hear his voice, his frame said enough. It wasn’t like he was bending over, or hunchbacked, or anything like that. It was a tiny, nonexistent thing, only revealed in the way he walked, the way that his slate grey eyes were always shifting, the way that he made himself appear somehow smaller without even moving. It was as if he himself wished to become invisible, and that was what intrigued Betty the most. It was the Cherry Boy himself, and he was making quite an entrance.

His motorcycle seemed to have broken down just as he showed up, making it right on time. But, he made quite a show of rolling the beast up to the hangar, pushing and heaving this way and that, acting as if the thing was a thousand pounds. Betty acted before thinking, turning her brain off without hesitation at the sight of him. She jumped to her feet and crossed the distance to him, her arms crossed in a sassy way. Jughead gaped, and was suddenly glad that he had his helmet on. He couldn’t believe that she was here, of all places. This was the last place he thought she would be, but hell, was he happy to see her. He figured she recognized him by the way she stared him down, gaze full of uncertainty and a hint of smugness. She should be proud, his friends would never let him live down after what happened, probably not for years. Jughead removed his helmet, resting it on the handlebars.

“What are you doing here, Cherry Boy?” Betty queried, eyeing his beat up bike, which certainly looked like it had seen better days.

Jughead shifted under her fiery green gaze at the specific nickname, then scolded himself for it. He shouldn’t show her weakness, especially since the bet was still on. He tugged on his leather jacket a bit, meeting her gaze with his own, his signature cocky smirk tugging on the corners of his lips, lifting them at the ends ever so slightly. If only he knew Betty was practically melting at the seams, he would be one giddy Juggie.

“Well, my bike kinda broke down. I figured I would take it to the repair shop,” Jughead proclaimed coolly, taking a panicky gander at the place, eyes darting this way and that just to add to his little skit. “Wait, don’t tell me this isn’t the car fixer upper.”

Betty rolled her eyes so hard she’s pretty sure they hit the back of her head, she was almost scared they wouldn’t come back to the front. The sarcasm in his words was practically tangible, and all Betty could do was snort at his dry sense of humor. She grabbed one of the handlebars, sensing Archie and Frank’s suspicious gazes on them. They didn’t like having a Serpent on their territory, and it showed in the way their eyes flirted back and forth like a bird stuck in a cage. They were frantically worried that Jughead would try to pull something, but he simply stood with his bike. Sill, distrust hung in the air so thick Jughead was sure he could pick out the vile scent of it.

“Come on, Cherry Boy. Let’s get this thing to ‘the car fixer upper’,” Betty quipped with a little grin, one Jughead secretly cherished.

They wheeled the heavy vehicle into one of the open spaces in the airy hangar. Frank took a pause from working on the engine and instead took a look at Jughead’s motorcycle. It turned out he only needed to get an oil change, one of the easiest things to accomplish on an automobile. Jughead simply shrugged and wore that stupid, toothy smile that Betty was ashamed to say she was familiar with by now. Frank asked Betty to take it over while he finished up on the engine, promising that Archie could handle the other oil change by himself. Archie gave his own reassurance, which Betty responded to with an eye roll and an ‘uh-huh.’ She was just waiting for him to mess it up.

So, Betty repaired Jughead’s motorcycle, which didn’t take long, since it was only a quick oil change. They kept up a small banter as she tinkered, something which both of them enjoyed far more than they would rather admit.

“You know, this whole thing could have been avoided if you had checked your gauge, Cherry Boy,” Betty asserted snarkily, glancing at the dark haired teen with a cheeky grin.

“Too bad that broke a week ago, huh? Anyways, ‘Cherry Boy’ is not my name, at least, last time I checked,” Jughead cross-examined as he leaned against the wall, watching Betty fiddle with the black bike.

Betty perked up a bit, taking a break to look Jughead in the eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s Jughead.”

A fit of snorting laughter caused Jughead to bolt upright, scaring the shit out of him. He stared at Betty as if she sprouted another head on the spot, but she didn’t care, cackling like there was no tomorrow.

Once she caught her breath, she wheezed through a watery gaze, “You can’t be serious.”

“Very,” Jughead stated.

“Oh, boy. I still think Cherry Boy is better.”

“Not very creative,” Jughead mumbled, pouting a bit.

“I’m not known for creativity,” Betty commented, delving back into the innards of Jughead’s ride.

She was nearly done, leaving a hollow feeling in her stomach - empty and foreboding. She was trying to place a finger on that sensation, when it hit her - she didn’t want Jughead to leave. Betty shoved that realization aside, pushing herself to her feet as she wrapped it up, placing the tools she used back where they belong. Jughead also regained his composure, standing a bit straighter, looking like he was waiting for something.

“It’s all done. I would say good as new, but it’s not that great, and I don’t think it was when it was new either,” Betty joked, smiling at her own humor.

Jughead smiled too, but this one seemed a bit different. It was the same brand, just a different  variation - like the original picture, but with just a different filter. This one was a bit sweeter, more genuine. The realness of it stole Betty’s breath, and she had to swallow before she trusted herself to speak again.

“You know, not to be rude, but I kinda need some money,” Betty pointed out abruptly, causing Jughead to raise his eyebrows at her blatancy.

He did as he was told, handing her the cash, but not before their fingers brushed and an electric current sparked along their spines. Betty reeled backwards, but Jughead lingered in front of her. In slow motion, his hand reached up to her face. He began to close the distance between them. Betty was lost in his gaze - the same color as a thunderstorm, one of her favorite things. And for a bittersweet moment, Betty thought he was going to kiss her (and, oh, how he wanted to).  And the worst thing about that wasn’t that he didn’t do it, it was that she leaned in. Instead, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, his spectral gaze fixating on the smudge resting upon her flushed cheek. Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, he backed away.

“Sorry, you had something on your cheek,” Jughead explained, grabbing his helmet and mounting his bike.

He looked as if he was going to leave, preparing for takeoff, but he hesitated at the last moment, as if fighting something off, but failing in the end. He turned around, looking over his shoulder to meet Betty’s gaze. She was staring, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t look away. He gave her that goddamned smile, lopsided, charming, all teeth, the one only he could pull off. Then, he winked.

“See you later, Betts.”

It wasn’t a question, but a promise.

And with that, he was gone.

[tessatechaitea]

Superman: Up in the Sky #1

If Superman throws a single punch in this series, I'll quit writing comic book reviews forever. Or I'll call Tom King a hack. One of those!

If I were going to write a Superman series, I'd embrace the biggest problem everybody says they have with Superman: he's so powerful that he's boring. He would never encounter a threat to his physical safety. He would never say stupid shit like, "That actually hurt!" He would never fucking raise a fist to anyone! Why would he need to?! The story would never be about Superman getting his ass beat by the new biggest threat he's ever faced until the big climactic moment where he stands back up and finally knocks the crap out of the villain. I wouldn't even try to trick the readers into feeling some kind of tension that Superman might not be able to handle the big threat. He'd do it easily, issue after issue. Everybody would know that he was going to save the world. But would Superman be able to save Metropolis blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back because some sick kid requested he do it? Make all the drama happen in Clark's work life and his relationship. Will he be able to save the world and make it to Lois's big award ceremony? Can he plan Jimmy Olsen's bachelor party in such a way that Jimmy discovers his fiance is a demon from Hell on his own?! Get fucking imaginative, Superman writers! All of the stuff I'd do, I'm expecting Tom King to do! Man, I'm really getting my hopes up, aren't I?! Tom King probably isn't even going to like the pedestal I've built for him!

Tom King is a hack!

Actually, that was page one and it's the moment after Superman threw that punch! So I don't think it counts as Superman throwing a punch in this series. King probably began the series like this on purpose! That's the last punch Superman is ever going to throw and we didn't get to see it in this series. Because it's all we've seen all the time always! And why?! It's especially galling when Superman punches a regular human. He could seriously injure somebody that way! If I were Superman, my main move would be picking up criminals by the scruff of their necks and wagging my finger in their faces. Above Superman and the robot are narration boxes that say, "Clark. I need you." My guess is that they aren't the robot's thoughts. I bet it's Perry J. Jameson. No, that doesn't make sense since the statement doesn't end in five exclamation points and a swear word. I guess the clue as to who is saying it lies in the gray coloring of the boxes and the little bat symbol inside them. Batman is on a case that he can solve on his own and doesn't need Superman's help at all. What he needs from Superman is for him to tell a little girl that her foster parents and two of her siblings are dead. Obviously Batman can't do that because it would mean scaring the shit out of a little girl. Also it would sort of look like failing to save the girl's family was Batman's fault somehow which it definitely wasn't. Batman hasn't failed to stop random violence for thirty years even though he vowed to. He probably would have if the medium of comic books wasn't stuck in a constant present. People sometimes think it's ridiculous that The Joker is always getting out of Arkham and murdering people. Sometimes they even suggest maybe Batman is at fault a little bit for not killing The Joker. But what they don't realize is that The Joker is always both in and out of Arkham. Batman never really catches The Joker but he also always catches The Joker and he may, in fact, have only caught The Joker the one time (but in a million different ways). If you want to take comic book canon seriously, might I suggest first getting a lobotomy? I thought maybe Superman was going to comfort the girl because that's a job for Superman. But instead he grills her so he can get all of the details for a Clark Kent exclusive. Unless maybe he's just trying to get a lead. But why would he need a lead? Batman is on the case! Superman should just stick to doing the jobs meant for Superman, like making little girls feel better and writing complimentary articles about himself under a pseudonym.

Superman is nothing more than the journalistic version of an ambulance chaser. Also, um, what does "Kansas isn't in Kansas anymore" mean?

Superman's job for this issue is to find the missing girl. You might think that's Batman's job. But Batman's job is to punch the person who took the girl until that person is hospitalized with internal injuries that won't kill him (because that's wrong) but will force him to use a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. Hey, he knew the probably consequences of crime in Gotham! Superman doesn't think of finding the girl as a job. His job is to easily dispatch dinosaurs in downtown and easily stop asteroids from colliding with Earth. His passion is saving little girls. It's all he thinks about while the comic book images portray him doing his job. Just as easily as I said I'd write Superman saving the world. I think maybe Tom King and I are on the same page.

Tom King is a hack!

I don't know. I guess it's okay to show Superman punching a guy with an atomic skull. Or is that the opposite of okay?! Shouldn't you handle nuclear material carefully? Punching Atomic Skull in the face could result in a nuclear catastrophe, couldn't it?! Why doesn't he just use his freeze breath for everything?! Except maybe crashing planes. And rescuing kidnapped children from space men. Superman feels like he doesn't have time in his life to pursue his passions so he goes to speak with Pa Kent. Not zombie Pa Kent like you're probably thinking because remember how he died on Clark's prom night? I guess that didn't happen now. Rebirth and whatever stories I probably missed because I stopped reading every single DC comic book because DC kept insisting on hiring terrible writers like redactedell and redactedenti and J. T. redacted. Pa gives Clark some good advice full of guilt but it's no Uncle Ben advice. Every relative of every super hero is just out here trying to be as great as Uncle Ben. But I don't think people are going to be quoting this advice to Clark: "Who do you think is going to save that little girl, Clark? Batman? Wonder Woman? Guy fucking Gardner?! Stop worrying about how many people are going to die on Earth while you're in space and just go get that little girl already! Sheesh! You big pansy!" But Pa's a Midwest farmer so he used a word a little stronger than "pansy." Obviously by "stronger word," I mean "pustule-ridden horse cock." I know a lot of Midwest farmers and they're disgusting! Superman learns that the girl he met in the hospital died from her injuries and/or the incompetence of the doctors. So that's another person Batman failed to save! So now Superman turns his anger to the state of the America's health care so that this never happens again! No, no! He actually gets so mad that he throws a train off of a trestle.

What a piece of shit.

Why is Superman so nervous about leaving Earth? Isn't that exactly the thing every single other DC hero says is happening whenever they're stuck with saving the world from some threat that's far beyond their power to deal with? "The Justice League are on a mission in space! I'm all that's keeping the world from sliding into Hell!" yells Green Arrow every month. Because, seriously, the only reason you rely on Green Arrow is because all the other heroes are in space. All of them. Didn't Superman used to have a clone of himself or a robot that he used for when he was away? Also for when somebody thinks Clark is Superman? Also for when Lois is super horny? Superman heads to Rann to sort through the Zeta Beam data so he can find the bastard who kidnapped the little girl. Her name, by the way, is obviously Alice. There's a lot of literary capital in that name. To sort through the Zeta Beam data, Superman must be hooked up to what I can only describe as a suicide machine.

If Superman can't survive this then who can?! Why does this machine even exist?! Except to kill?

I was reading this as some sort of device to compute Zeta Beam data but it's possible Superman is just staring down the pipe of the regular old Zeta Beam machine. But anybody can be transferred by a Zeta Beam, right? You don't have to be special. But then, maybe this scientist is just finally telling the truth! What if the Zeta Beam really is a suicide machine, destroying the individual zapped by it only to reconfigure a clone on the other end. Sure, the clone has all the same memories and feelings and attitudes of the original body. But the mind in that original body is fucking gone, man! How many times has Adam Strange killed himself in DC continuity?! In the machine, Superman remembers some kid pretending to be Superman who threw himself off of the roof of his house and killed himself. Unless it's not a memory and the machine is just expressing, in an analogy (unless it's a metaphor?), how Superman has just killed himself. It's also possible it's part of the reasons behind Superman needing to save Alice. It's also possible Tom King fucked up his script and forgot what story he was writing. In this new story, Superman wants to quit being Superman because he's too inspiring! But Wonder Woman is all, "So a few kids are going to hurl themselves from rooftops? So what?! You wanting to take responsibility for that is what makes you Superman, and what makes you Superman is what is going to keep driving kids to jump to their deaths! Imagine if Batman were to take responsibility for all the deaths on his watch instead of plugging his hears and going, 'Na na na na na na na na na na na na na?!' That's the guy who should fucking quit!" Maybe she didn't say it in those exact words but why would I repeat the exact words from the comic book? Go fucking buy it yourself! Superman also remembers fighting with Doomsday and Magog and his father, Jor-el. Oh? Hey! Has Jor-el decided to remain on Earth as Pa Kent? Is that the story I missed recently?! In Superman's hallucination, he meets Alice who is super wise but that's only because she's also Superman. It's like when you're in a dream and somebody who isn't you says something really smart or funny. I usually wake up and get angry at my brain. "Why did you give somebody else those lines?!" But then I calm down and remember that my brain came up with those lines all by itself. Then I pat myself in the groin for a few minutes and think, "That'll do, pig. That'll do." Superman: Up in the Sky #1 Rating: A. That bit by Alice at the end is particularly well done. That's why I couldn't comment on it and barely mentioned it. If I could comment on intelligent and wise stuff, do you think I'd be doing comic book commentaries?! I'd be fucking with Shakespeare and Langston Hughes! I'd be commenting on Yeats and Cervantes and Danielewski! Sometimes you just have to accept what height of brow you are and live there like a mud scrabbling land fish. I know I don't have wings! I'mma just slop around down here in the filth while occasionally pretending to understand stuff written by Tom King and Mark Russell.